Then the King said to Rasakósha: My friend, your question was again
answered by the Princess, and of my days now three are gone, yet freely
do I forgive you, for the sake of the glance she gave me as she went
away. Oh! it snared my soul as it were in a net. And but for the
portrait to keep me alive during the period of separation, beyond
question I should never see the light of day. So he passed the night
in a state of lovelorn recollection[1], an enemy to sleep, gazing at
the portrait. And when the sun rose, he rose also, and got somehow or
other through the day, by the help of Rasakósha and the garden. Then
when the sun set, they went again to the hall of audience. And there
they saw the Princess, clad in a sable robe and a bodice studded with
sapphires, and her crown and other ornaments, sitting on her throne.
And she looked kindly at the King, who sank trembling upon a couch,
speechless and fascinated, under the spell of her beauty. Then
Rasakósha came forward, and standing before her, began again:
Lady, there lived formerly in a certain country two brothers, Brahmans,
called Bimba and Pratibimba[2], who were twins. And I think that the
Creator, when he made one, had gone under water to make the other. For
the moon does not more closely resemble her own image in a lake, nor
one leaf on a branch another, than each of them did the other. Between
them, when they were children, the sole point of distinction was the
charm tied for that purpose round their necks; and when they grew up,
those who saw them together imagined that their own eyes had become
enemies, and were each giving a separate reflection of the self-same
object. And as their external forms, so were their voices, and their
internal dispositions: they corresponded in every atom, from the
extremity of the skin to the inmost recesses of the heart.
Now one day it happened that Bimba saw a young woman[3] at the spring
festival. And she looked at him at the same moment. And then and
there the god of love penetrated their hearts, employing their mutual
glances as his weapon. So having discovered her family and place of
residence, Bimba used to go and visit her three days in every week.
But in the excess of his own happiness, proud of the extraordinary
beauty of his love, he could not contain himself, nor endure to keep
the secret of his own good fortune. So he told his brother the whole
story; and contriving a suitable opportunity, he exhibited to him his
mistress, who was all unconscious of what he was doing. But
Pratibimba, being as he was but the double of his brother, instantly
conceived an equally violent passion for her. And without scruple--for
what has love to do with honour?--he used to go himself, on the other
three days of the week, to visit her. But she in the meanwhile,
believing him to be Bimba himself, for she could not see any
difference, only rejoiced in gaining as she thought the company of her
lover twice as often as before.
But when some time had passed by, it fell out that Bimba, not being
able to endure separation, went to visit his mistress on one of his
brother's days. And when he got there, he saw Pratibimba, who had
arrived before him, and was lying asleep on a couch while his beloved
fanned him with a palm leaf. But she, when she saw Bimba come in,
uttered a shriek of astonishment and terror, which woke Pratibimba.
And while she looked in amazement from one to the other, Bimba rushed
upon Pratibimba, mad with jealousy and howling with rage, while
Pratibimba did the same to him. And grappling with one another, they
rolled upon the floor, fighting and kicking each other, till, hearing
the shrieks of the woman, the King's officers came in and separated
them, and carried them all three to the judge. Then Bimba said: This
man is my brother, and he has stolen my beloved from me. But
Pratibimba said: No, she is mine: it is you that are the thief. Then
Bimba howled: I was first, and you are a villain. And Pratibimba
echoed his words[4]. So the judge said to the woman: Which of them is
your lover? But she answered: Sir, I cannot tell which is which, nor
did I ever know that there were two till to-day.
So now tell me, Princess, how shall the judge distinguish between them?
And Rasakósha ceased. Then the Princess said: Let him take all three
apart, and ask each to describe in detail the circumstances under which
he saw the woman first. For though the impostor may have heard that it
was at the spring festival, yet the eye that saw, aided by the heart
that remembers, will convict the ear that only heard.
And when she had said this, the Princess rose up and went out, smiling
at the King over her shoulder, and she drew away the King's heart after
her. But the King and Rasakósha returned to their own apartments.
[1] _Smara_ means both love and memory.
[2] Both words mean _image, reflection_.
[3] The _hetæra_ plays in old Hindoo stories a still larger part than
she did in Greek.
[4] There is an untranslateable play on the word here.