And I stood in the street, staring at the door as it shut behind him,
as motionless as a tree. And I murmured to myself: Nectar when she
turns towards thee: poison when she turns away! So then, it is the
Queen's verse, sung of others and sung of me! And this was the meaning
all the time! And this is what Chaturiká was thinking of, every time
she said it, laughing at me in her sleeve, as beyond a doubt she has
laughed at many another man before! And this is what the people say!
And all the time I thought myself exceptional, I was only being made a
fool, and one of a large number, and a laughing-stock for the whole
city, and branded, as it were, with ridicule and ignominy as a
plaything of the Queen, and going about unconsciously with her label
round my neck: Nectar when she turns towards thee: poison when she
turns away!
And suddenly, rage rushed into my heart in such a flood that it felt
as if it were about to burst. And from motionless that I was, I began
all at once to run in the direction of the palace, as though about to
wreak my vengeance on the Queen without waiting for a single instant.
And then I stopped abruptly and began to laugh. And I exclaimed: Am I
actually going mad, for as yet it is still day, and I cannot even get
into the garden till the sun has set. And after thinking for a moment,
I went away to the river bank to wait till the sun was down. And there
I threw myself down at full length upon the ground, with my chin upon
my hands.
And then, strange! as I lay, little by little my heart began to cool,
and all its fury ebbed gradually away. For as I thought of Táráwalí,
it seemed as it were to say to me: I cannot find room, on second
thoughts, for any rage at all, since I belong absolutely to the Queen.
And all my rage turned slowly into such unutterable longing that her
image seemed to grow dim, seen through the mist of eyes that were
suffused with tears, as recollection brought her back to me saying:
This is how she looked when she saw thee first, and this again, is how
she lay in the swing, and this again, when she stood up before thee,
as a _chetí_, in the moonlit boat. And I exclaimed in desperation:
Alas! O Táráwalí, must I then condemn thee, whether I will or no? For
they all say the same of thee, and as it might seem, it must be true,
and yet no matter, for I absolutely cannot either hate thee or
believe them, when I think of thee as I saw thee myself. And my heart
laughs in scorn at all the efforts of my reason, never wavering for an
instant from thy side, like an incorruptible ally, that cannot be
induced by any bribe whatever to abandon its allegiance. Aye! would
she but open her arms to me again, I should forget everything else in
the three worlds, to snatch her in my own. How is it possible to hate
her? And beyond all doubt, that rascal I slew hit the mark, when he
said that Narasinha cannot quarrel with her, being utterly unable to
do without her, disarmed in all his attempts to oppose her by his own
conviction that she is absolutely indispensable to his own life. For
she may have deserved ten thousand deaths, and yet what does it
matter, if for all that she is a thing that once lost or destroyed can
never be replaced, as indeed she is, resembling the _Kaustubha_,[35]
or the third eye of the Moony-crested god, of which in the three
worlds there is only one. And so since he cannot do without her, she
is beyond all reach, and invulnerable, doing with impunity exactly
what she pleases, caring nothing whether he loves or hates her, and
laughing at the very notion of being brought to book, secure in the
magic circle of her own irresistible attraction, whose very power of
destroying all others is her own protection, like a spell with a
double edge, such that, as that rascal said, she cannot refrain from
amusing herself by trying its effect on all.
And who could find it in his heart to blame her for delighting in the
exercise of her own spell, like a child rejoicing in its toy, aye!
even were he himself its victim, as its effect would be the same, no
matter what she did, seeing that she must attract whether she will or
no? Being what she is, she cannot help it: it is involuntary and
beyond her control. And alas! I fell before it without a shadow of
resistance, enslaved even before I saw it by her own dream, not even
affording her the pleasure of watching her fascination gradually
overcoming opposition, and asserting its power, and subduing me to her
domination, against my will. And so I became a thing of no value to
her at all, since in my case there was nothing to overcome. Ah! had I
only been capable of seeming to be one on whom her charm would not
work, then indeed, as Haridása says, I might have prevailed: and she
might herself have fallen victim to the man who defied her fascination
and laughed in her face, out of pique and irritation at her own
impotence. And all the more, if what that rascal said have any truth,
that she actually took a momentary fancy to me, strange as it seems.
But alas! as he said, it is all too late.
And suddenly I started to my feet with a beating heart. And I
exclaimed: Too late! But what if it were not too late, after all?
And as I stood, thinking of it, struck into sudden agitation by my own
idea, hope glimmered in the darkness of my soul like the first faint
streak of rosy dawn at the end of a black night. And the dream of the
bare possibility of bringing back Táráwalí with all her old
intoxicating sweetness almost took away my breath. And after a while,
I said to myself: Yes, indeed, he actually said, that she took a fancy
to me, even though it were only for a moment. And how could he have
known it, if she had not herself confessed it to Chaturiká, from whom
alone he could have heard it, since very certainly he never learned it
from Táráwalí herself? Aye! and was not Chaturiká herself far sweeter
at the beginning, just as if she knew I was no ordinary lover, but one
with a little foothold in the Queen's heart? And if, then, I was ever
there, why could I not return? And if her fancy has gone to sleep,
could I not awake it? Can it be already so absolutely dead as never to
revive, with not a single spark among the ashes to be refanned into a
flame? How would it be, could I but manage to persuade her she was
utterly mistaken, in supposing that I was only a miserable victim of
her spell? How, if I could convince her that I valued all her
fascinations at a straw? Would she not at least be tempted to try them
all on me again, if only to test them and discover whether I was lying
or in very truth proof against all the power of her charm? And if only
she did, what then? For once she began, it would all depend on me,
whether she ever stopped any more.
And all at once, I uttered a shout of hope and exultation and
excitement, suddenly taking fire at the picture painted by my own
craving imagination. And I exclaimed: Ha! who knows? And at least, I
can try. And even if I fail, it cannot possibly be worse than it is
already, drowned as I am in misery without her: whereas, if I could
succeed! Ah! I would barter even emancipation for a single kiss! And O
that my courage may not fail, turning coward at the very first sight
of her again! For the struggle to appear indifferent, in such an ocean
of rapture, will be terrible indeed, since even now, the very thought
of it makes me tremble, being enough to make me fall weeping at her
feet. And now the sun is setting, and it is time to go: and in a very
little while, fate will decide, whether she and I are to die or live.
For I cannot live without her, and unless she will allow me to live
with her, she shall not live at all, either alone, or with anybody
else. For she will kill me, by driving me away, and I will take her
with me, if I am to die.