by her beauty, modesty, and courtesy; by the charm of her speech,
her unselfishness and her austerity; and by her serenity, humility,
dignity, and purity. But now he was carried away both by the story of
her life, which showed her noble character, and by her devoted spirit,
and a fresh tenderness arose in him. With softened heart he gently
said: 'Lady, those may weep who fear pain, and are devoid of gratitude,
and love pleasure, for they are unable to do anything worthy of love,
and show their affection merely by vain tears. But thou who hast
done all rightly, what duty of love hast thou left undone, that thou
weepest? For Pundarika's sake, thy kinsfolk who from thy birth have
been around thee, dear as they were, have been forsaken as if they
were strangers. (338) Earthly pleasures, though at thy feet, have
been despised and reckoned light as grass. The joys of power, though
their riches excelled the empire of Indra, have been resigned. Thy
form has been emaciated by dread penances, even though by nature it
was slender as a lotus-stalk. Thou hast taken the ascetic vow. Thy
soul has been devoted to great penance. Thou hast dwelt in the woods,
hard though it be for a woman. Moreover, life is easily resigned by
those whom sorrow has overwhelmed, but it needs a greater effort not
to throw away life in heavy grief. This following another to death is
most vain! It is a path followed by the ignorant! It is a mere freak
of madness, a path of ignorance, an enterprise of recklessness, a view
of baseness, a sign of utter thoughtlessness, and a blunder of folly,
that one should resign life on the death of father, brother, friend,
or husband. If life leaves us not of itself, we must not resign
it. For this leaving of life, if we examine it, is merely for our
own interest, because we cannot bear our own cureless pain. To the
dead man it brings no good whatever. For it is no means of bringing
him back to life, or heaping up merit, or gaining heaven for him,
or saving him from hell, or seeing him again, or being reunited with
him. (339) For he is led helplessly, irresistibly to another state
meet for the fruits of his own deeds. And yet he shares in the guilt
of the friend who has killed himself. But a man who lives on can help
greatly, by offerings of water and the like, both the dead man and
himself; but by dying he helps neither. Remember how Rati, the sole
and beloved wife of Love, when her noble husband, who won the hearts
of all women, was burnt up by the fire of Çiva, yet did not yield
her life; and remember also Kunti, of the race of Vrishni, daughter
of Surasena, for her lord was Pandu the wise; his seat was perfumed
by the flowers in the crests of all the kings whom he had conquered
without an effort, and he received the tribute of the whole earth,
and yet when he was consumed by Kindama's curse she still remained
alive. Uttara, too, the young daughter of Virata, on the death of
Abhimanyu, gentle and heroic, and joyful to the eyes as the young
moon, yet lived on. And Duhçalya, too, daughter of Dhritarashtra,
tenderly cared for by her hundred brothers; when Jayadratha, king of
Sindhu, was slain by Arjuna, fair as he was and great as he had become
by Çiva's [288] gift, yet made no resignation of her life. (340)
And others are told of by thousands, daughters of Rakshasas, gods,
demons, ascetics, mortals, siddhas and Gandharvas, who when bereft
of their husbands yet preserved their lives. Still, where reunion
is doubtful, life might be yielded. But for thee, thou hast heard
from that great being a promise of reunion. What doubt can there be
in a matter of thine own experience, and how could falsehood find
a place in the words of such noble truth-speaking saints, even when
there might be greater cause? And what union could there be between
the dead and the living? Therefore of a surety that wondrous being
was filled with pity and carried away Pundarika to heaven solely
to bring him back to life. For the power of great men transcends
thought. Life has many aspects. Destiny is manifold. Those skilled in
penance are fitted for wondrous miracles. Many are the forms of power
gained by previous actions. Moreover, however subtly we may consider
the matter, what other cause can we imagine for Pundarika's being
taken away, but the gift of fresh life. And this, thou must know,
is not impossible. It is a path often trodden. (341) For Pramadvara,
daughter of Viçvavasu, king of the Gandharvas and Menaka, lost her
life through a poisonous snake at the hermitage of Sthulakeça, and
the young ascetic Ruru, son of Pramati and grandson of the Bhrigu
Cyavana, provided her with half his own life. And when Arjuna was
following the Açvamedha steed, he was pierced in the van of the
battle by an arrow from his own son Babhruvahana, and a Naga maiden,
Ulupa, brought him back to life. When Parikshit, Abhimanyu's son,
was consumed by Açvatthama's fiery dart, though he had already died
at birth, Krishna, filled with pity by Uttara's lament, restored
his precious life. And at Ujjayini, he whose steps are honoured
by the three worlds, carried off from the city of death the son of
Sandipani the Brahman, and brought him back. [289] And in thy case,
too, the same will somehow come to pass. For by thy present grief,
what is effected or what won? Fate is all-powerful. Destiny is
strong. We cannot even draw a breath at our own will. The freaks of
that accursed and most harsh destiny are exceeding cruel. A love fair
in its sincerity is not allowed long to endure; for joys are wont to
be in their essence frail and unlasting, while sorrows by their nature
are long-lived. (342) For how hardly are mortals united in one life,
while in a thousand lives they are separated. Thou canst not surely
then blame thyself, all undeserving of blame. For these things often
happen to those who enter the tangled path of transmigration, and it
is the brave who conquer misfortune.' With such gentle and soothing
words he consoled her, and made her, albeit reluctantly, bathe her
face with water brought in his joined hands from the cascade.
'"Straightway the sun began to sink, as if he were leaving the day's
duties from grief at hearing Mahaçveta's story. Then day faded away;
the sun hung shining red as the pollen of a cluster of priyangu in full
blossom; the quarters of space were losing the glow of sunset soft
as silk dyed in the juice of many lotuses; (343) the sky was tinged
with red, glowing like the pupils of a partridge, [290] while its
blue was hidden; twilight was reddening and lighting up the earth,
tawny as a pigeon's eye; the clusters of stars shone forth, vying
with each other; the darkness of night was deepening into black,
and stealing away the broad path of the stars with its form dark as a
forest buffalo; the woodland avenues seemed massed together as their
green was hidden by deep gloom; the wind wandered cooled by night-dew,
with its path tracked by the perfume of the wild flowers as it stirred
the tangle of trees and creepers; and when night had its birds all
still in sleep Mahaçveta slowly rose, and saying her evening prayers,
washed her feet with water from the pitcher and sat down with a hot,
sorrowful sigh on her bark couch. Candrapida, too, rose and poured a
libation of water strewn with flowers, said his evening prayer, and
made a couch on the other rock with soft creeper boughs. As he rested
upon it he went over Mahaçveta's story again in his mind. 'This evil
Love,' thought he, 'has a power hard alike to cure and to endure. For
even great men, when overcome by him, regard not the course of time,
but suddenly lose all courage and surrender life. Yet all hail to
Love, whose rule is honoured throughout the three worlds!' (344)
And again he asked her: 'She that was thy handmaiden, thy friend in
the resolve to dwell in the woods, and the sharer of the ascetic vow
taken in thy sorrow--Taralika, where is she?' 'Noble sir,' she replied,
'from the race of Apsarases sprung from ambrosia of which I told you,
there was born a fair-eyed daughter named Madira, [291] who married
King Citraratha, the king whose footstool was formed of the buds in
the crests of all the Gandharvas. Charmed by her countless virtues,
he showed his favour by giving her the title of Chief Queen, bearing
with it cowrie, sceptre and umbrella, marked by a golden throne,
and placing all the zenana below her--a woman's rarest glory! And,
as they pursued together the joys of youth in their utter devotion
to each other, a priceless daughter was in due time born to them,
by name Kadambari, most wondrous, the very life of her parents, and
of the whole Gandharva race, and even of all living beings. From her
birth she was the friend of my childhood, and shared with me seat,
couch, meat and drink; on her my deepest love was set, and she was
the home of all my confidence, and like my other heart. Together we
learnt to dance and sing, and our childhood passed away free from
restraint in the sports that belong to it. (345) From sorrow at my
unhappy story she made a resolve that she would in nowise accept a
husband while I was still in grief, and before her girl friends she
took an oath, saying: "If my father should in anywise or at any time
wish to marry me against my will and by force, I will end my life
by hunger, fire, cord, or poison." Citraratha himself heard all the
resolution of his daughter, spoken of positively in the repeated
gossip of her attendants, and as time went on, seeing that she was
growing to full youth, he became prey to great vexation, and for a
time took pleasure in nothing, and yet, as she was his only child and
he dearly loved her, he could say nothing to her, though he saw no
other resource. But as he deemed the time now ripe, he considered the
matter with Queen Madira, and sent the herald Kshiroda to me at early
dawn with the message: "Dear Mahaçveta, our hearts were already burnt
up by thy sad fate, and now this new thing has come upon us. To thee
we look to win back Kadambari." Thereupon, in reverence to the words
of one so respected, and in love to my friend, I sent Taralika with
Kshiroda to bid Kadambari not add grief to one already sad enough;
(346) for if she wished me to live she must fulfil her father's words;
and ere Taralika had been long gone, thou, noble sir, camest to this
spot.' So saying she was silent.
'"Then the moon arose, simulating by his mark the heart of Mahaçveta,
burnt through by the fire of grief, bearing the great crime of
the young ascetic's death, showing the long ingrained scar of the
burning of Daksha's curse, [292] white with thick ashes, and half
covered by black antelope skin, like the left breast of Durga, the
crest-jewel of Çiva's thick locks. (347) Then at length Candrapida
beheld Mahaçveta asleep, and quietly lay down himself on his leafy
couch and fell asleep while thinking what Vaiçampayana and sorrowing
Patralekha and his princely compeers would then be imagining about him.
'"Then at dawn, when Mahaçveta had honoured the twilight and was
murmuring the aghamarshana, and Candrapida had said his morning
prayer, Taralika was seen coming with a Gandharva boy named Keyuraka
(348). As she drew near, she looked long at Candrapida, wondering
who he might be, and approaching Mahaçveta, she bowed low and sat
respectfully by her. Then Keyuraka, with head low bent even from
afar, took his place on a rock some way off, assigned to him by a
glance from Mahaçveta, and was filled with wonder at the sight of
Candrapida's marvellous beauty, rare, mocking that of gods, demons,
Gandharvas, and Vidyadharas, and surpassing even the god of love.
(349) '"When she had finished her prayers, Mahaçveta asked Taralika,
'Didst thou see my dear Kadambari well? and will she do as I
said?' 'Princess,' said Taralika, in a very sweet voice, with
head respectfully inclined, 'I saw Princess Kadambari well in all
respects, and told her all thine advice; and what was her reply,
when with a continuous stream of thick tears she had heard it, that
her lute-player Keyuraka, whom she has sent, shall tell thee;' and
as she ceased Keyuraka said, 'Princess Mahaçveta, my lady Kadambari,
with a close embrace, sends this message, "Is this, that Taralika
has been sent to tell me, said to please my parents or to test my
feelings, or to subtly reproach me for my crime in dwelling at home;
or is it a desire to break our friendship, or a device to desert
one who loves her, or is it simply anger? Thou knowest that my heart
overflows with a love that was inborn in me. How wert thou not ashamed
to send so cruel a message? Thou, erst so soft of speech, from whom
hast thou learnt to speak unkindness and utter reproach? Who in his
senses would, even if happy, make up his mind to undertake even a
slight matter that would end in pain? how much less one like me,
whose heart is struck down by deep grief? For in a heart worn by a
friend's sorrow, what hope is there of joy, what contentment, what
pleasures or what mirth? (350) How should I fulfil the desire of Love,
poisonous, pitiless, unkind, who has brought my dear friend to so
sad a plight? Even the hen cakravaka, when the lotus-beds are widowed
by the sun's setting, renounces from the friendship that arises from
dwelling among them, the joys of union with her lord; how much more,
then, should women! While my friend dwells day and night sorrowing
for the loss of her lord and avoiding the sight of mankind, how
could anyone else enter my heart; and while my friend in her sorrow
tortures herself with penances and suffers great pain, how could I
think so lightly of that as to seek my own happiness and accept a
husband, or how could any happiness befall me? For from love of thee
I have in this matter accepted disgrace by embracing an independent
life contrary to the wont of maidens. I have despised noble breeding,
transgressed my parent's commands, set at nought the gossip of mankind,
thrown away modesty, a woman's inborn grace; how, tell me, should such
a one go back? Therefore I salute thee, I bow before thee, I embrace
thy feet; be gracious to me. As thou hast gone hence into the forest,
taking my life with thee, make not this request in thy mind, even in
a dream."' (351) Thus having said, he became silent, and Mahaçveta
thought long, and then dismissed Keyuraka, saying, 'Do thou depart;
I will go to her and do what is fitting.' On his departure she said
to Candrapida, 'Prince, Hemakuta is pleasant and the royal city of
Citraratha marvellous; the Kinnara country is curious, the Gandharva
world beautiful, and Kadambari is noble and generous of heart. If
thou deemest not the journey too tedious, if no serious business is
hindered, if thy mind is curious to behold rare sights, if thou art
encouraged by my words, if the sight of wonders gives thee joy, if
thou wilt deign to grant my request, if thou thinkest me worthy of
not being denied, if any friendship has grown up between us, or if
I am deserving of thy favour, then thou canst not disdain to fulfil
this prayer. Thou canst go hence with me, and see not only Hemakuta,
that treasure of beauty, but my second self, Kadambari; and having
removed this foolish freak of hers, thou canst rest for one day,
and return hither the next morn. For by the sight of thy kindness so
freely [293] given, my grief has become bearable, since I have told
thee my story, breathed out as it was from a heart long overwhelmed
with the darkness of grief. (352) For the presence of the good gives
joy even to those who are sad at heart, and a virtue springs from
such as thou art that wholly tends to make others happy.'
'"'Lady,' replied Candrapida, 'from the first moment of seeing thee
I have been devoted to thy service. Let thy will be imposed without
hesitation'; so saying, he started in her company.
'"In due time he reached Hemakuta, the royal city of the Gandharvas,
and passing through the seven inner courts with their golden arches,
the prince approached the door of the maidens' dwelling. Escorted
by porters, who ran forward at the sight of Mahaçveta, bowing while
yet far off, and holding their golden staves, he entered and beheld
the inside of the maidens' palace. It seemed a new woman's world,
consisting wholly of women in countless numbers, as if the womankind
of the three worlds had been gathered together to make such a total;
or it might be a fresh manless creation, a yet unborn continent of
girls, a fifth women's era, a fresh race created by Prajapati out of
hatred for men, or a treasury of women prepared for the making of many
yugas. The wave of girlish beauty which surrounded it on all sides,
which flooded space, sprinkled nectar on the day, rained splendour on
the interstices of the world, and shone lustrous as an emerald, made
the place all aglow as if with thousands of moons; (353) it seemed
modelled in moonlight; jewels made another sky; service was done by
bright glances; every part was made for youthful pleasures; here was
an assemblage for Rati's sports, a material for Love's practice; here
the entrance of all was made smooth by Love; here all was affection,
beauty, the supreme deity of passion, the arrows of Love, here all
was wonder, marvel, and tenderness of youth. (356) When he had gone a
little way in he heard the pleasant talk of the maidens round Kadambari
as they wandered hither and thither. Such as 'Lavalika, deck the
lavali trenches with ketaki pollen. Sagarika, sprinkle jewelled dust
in the tanks of scented water. Mrinalika, inlay with saffron dust the
pairs of toy [294] cakravakas in the artificial lotus-beds. Makarika,
scent the pot-pourri with camphor-juice. Rajanika, place jewelled
lamps in the dark tamala avenues. Kumudika, cover the pomegranates
with pearly nets to keep off the birds. Nipunika, draw saffron
lines on the breasts of the jewelled dolls. Utpalika, sweep with
golden brooms the emerald arbour in the plaintain house. Kesarika,
sprinkle with wine the houses of bakul flowers. Malatika, redden with
red lead the ivory roof of Kama's shrine. Nalinika, give the tame
kalahamsas lotus-honey to drink. Kadalika, take the tame peacocks to
the shower-bath. Kamalinika, give some sap from the lotus-fibres to
the young cakravakas. Cutalatika, give the caged pigeons their meal
of mango-buds. Pallavika, distribute to the tame haritala pigeons
some topmost leaves of the pepper-tree. Lavangika, throw some pieces
of pippali leaves into the partridges' cages. Madhukarika, make some
flowery ornaments. Mayurika, dismiss the pairs of kinnaras in the
singing-room. Kandalika, bring up the pairs of partridges to the top
of the playing hill. Harinika, give the caged parrots and mainas
their lesson.'
(358) '"Then he beheld Kadambari herself in the midst of her pavilion
encircled by a bevy of maidens sitting by her, whose glittering gems
made them like a cluster of kalpa trees. [295] (359) She was resting
on her bent arms, which lay on a white pillow placed on a small couch
covered with blue silk; she was fanned by cowrie-bearers, that in the
motion of their waving arms were like swimmers in the wide-flowing
stream of her beauty, as if it covered the earth, which was only held
up by the tusks of Mahavaraha.
'"And as her reflection fell, she seemed on the jewelled pavement
below to be borne away by serpents; on the walls hard by to be led
by the guardians of space; on the roof above to be cast upwards by
the gods; to be received by the pillars into their inmost heart;
to be drunk in by the palace mirrors, to be lifted to the sky by the
Vidyadharas scattered in the pavilion, looking down from the roof;
to be surrounded by the universe concealed in the guise of pictures,
all thronging together to see her; to be gazed at by the palace itself,
which had gained a thousand eyes to behold her, in that the eyes of its
peacocks' tails were outspread as they danced to the clashing of her
gems; and to be steadily looked on by her own attendants, who seemed
in their eagerness to behold her to have gained a divine insight.
'"Her beauty bore the impress of awakening love, though but yet in
promise, and she seemed to be casting childhood aside like a thing
of no worth.
(365) '"Such was Kadambari as the prince beheld her. Before her was
seated Keyuraka, loud in praise of Candrapida's beauty, as Kadambari
questioned him, saying, 'Who is he, and what are his parentage, name,
appearance, and age? What did he say, and what didst thou reply? How
long didst thou see him? how has he become so close a friend to
Mahaçveta? and why is he coming hither?'
'"Now, on beholding the moonlike beauty of Kadambari's face, the
prince's heart was stirred like the tide of ocean. 'Why,' thought he,
'did not the Creator make all my senses into sight, or what noble
deed has my eye done that it may look on her unchecked? Surely it is
a wonder! The Creator has here made a home for every charm! Whence
have the parts of this exceeding beauty been gathered? Surely from
the tears that fell from the Creator's eyes in the labour of thought,
as he gently moulded her with his hands, all the lotuses in the world
have their birth.'
(366) '"And as he thus thought his eye met hers, and she, thinking,
'This is he of whom Keyuraka spoke,' let her glance, widened by wonder
at his exceeding beauty, dwell long and quietly on him. Confused
by the sight of Kadambari, yet illumined by the brightness of her
gaze, he stood for a moment like a rock, while at the sight of him a
thrill rose in Kadambari, her jewels clashed, and she half rose. Then
love caused a glow, but the excuse was the effort of hastily rising;
trembling hindered her steps--the hamsas around, drawn by the sound of
the anklets, got the blame; the heaving of a sigh stirred her robe--it
was thought due to the wind of the cowries; her hand fell on her heart,
as if to touch Candrapida's image that had entered in--it pretended to
cover her bosom; she let fall tears of joy--the excuse was the pollen
falling from the flowers in her ear. Shame choked her voice--the swarm
of bees hastening to the lotus sweetness of her mouth was the cause;
(367) the pain of the first touch of Love's arrow caused a sigh--the
pain of the ketaki thorns amidst the flowers shared the guilt; a tremor
shook her hand--keeping off the portress who had come with a message
was her pretence; and while love was thus entering into Kadambari,
a second love, as it were, arose, who with her entered the heart
of Candrapida. For he thought the flash of her jewels but a veil,
her entrance into his heart a favour, the tinkling of her gems a
conversation, her capture of all his senses a grace, and contact
with her bright beauty the fulfilment of all his wishes. Meanwhile
Kadambari, advancing with difficulty a few steps, affectionately and
with yearning embraced her friend, who also yearned for the sight
of her so long delayed; and Mahaçveta returned her embrace yet more
closely, and said, 'Dear Kadambari, in the land of Bharata there is a
king named Tarapida, who wards off all grief [296] from his subjects,
and who has impressed his seal on the Four Oceans by the edge of the
hoofs of his noble steeds; and this his son, named Candrapida, decked
[297] with the orb of earth resting on the support of his own rock-like
arms, has, in pursuit of world conquest, approached this land; and
he, from the moment I first beheld him, has instinctively become my
friend, though there was nought to make him so; and, though my heart
was cold from its resignation of all ties, yet he has attracted it by
the rare and innate nobility of his character. (368) For it is rare
to find a man of keen mind who is at once true of heart, unselfish in
friendship, and wholly swayed by courtesy. Wherefore, having beheld
him, I brought him hither by force. For I thought thou shouldst
behold as I have done a wonder of Brahma's workmanship, a peerless
owner of beauty, a supplanter of Lakshmi, earth's joy in a noble lord,
the surpassing of gods by mortals, the full fruition of woman's eyes,
the only meeting-place of all graces, the empire of nobility, and the
mirror of courtesy for men. And my dear friend has often been spoken
of to him by me. Therefore dismiss shame on the ground of his being
unseen before, lay aside diffidence as to his being a stranger, cast
away suspicion rising from his character being unknown, and behave
to him as to me. He is thy friend, thy kinsman, and thy servant.' At
these words of hers Candrapida bowed low before Kadambari, and as she
glanced sideways at him affectionately there fell from her eyes, with
their beautiful pupils turned towards the corner of their long orbs,
a flood of joyous tears, as though from weariness. The moonlight of a
smile, white as nectar, darted forth, as if it were the dust raised
by the heart as it hastily set out; one eyebrow was raised as if to
bid the head honour with an answering reverence the guest so dear to
the heart; (369) her hand crept to her softly parting lips, and might
seem, as the light of an emerald ring flashed between the fingers,
to have taken some betel. She bowed diffidently, and then sat down on
the couch with Mahaçveta, and the attendants quickly brought a stool
with gold feet and a covering of white silk, and placed it near the
couch, and Candrapida took his seat thereon. To please Mahaçveta, the
portresses, knowing Kadambari's wishes, and having by a hand placed on
closed lips received an order to stop all sounds, checked on every side
the sound of pipe, lute and song, and the Magadha women's cry of 'All
hail!' (370) When the servants had quickly brought water, Kadambari
herself washed Mahaçveta's feet, and, drying them with her robe,
sat on the couch again; and Madalekha, a friend worthy of Kadambari,
dear as her own life and the home of all her confidence, insisted
on washing Candrapida's feet, unwilling though he were. Mahaçveta
meanwhile asked Kadambari how she was, and lovingly touched with her
hand the corner of her friend's eyes, which shone with the reflected
light of her earrings; she lifted the flowers in Kadambari's ear,
all covered with bees, and softly stroked the coils of her hair,
roughened by the wind of the cowries. And Kadambari, ashamed, from
love to her friend, of her own well-being, as though feeling that in
still dwelling at home she had committed a crime, said with an effort
that all was well with her. Then, though filled with grief and intent
on gazing at Mahaçveta's face, yet her eye, with its pupil dark and
quivering as it looked out sideways, was, under the influence of love,
with bow fully bent, irresistibly drawn by Candrapida's face, and she
could not turn it away. At that same moment she felt jealousy [298]
of his being pictured on the cheek of her friend standing near--the
pain of absence as his reflection faded away on her own breast,
pierced by a thrill--the anger of a rival wife as the image of the
statues fell on him--the sorrow of despair as he closed his eyes,
and blindness as his image was veiled by tears of joy.
(371) '"At the end of a moment Mahaçveta said to Kadambari as she was
intent on giving betel: 'Dear Kadambari, the moment has approached for
us to show honour to our newly arrived guest, Candrapida. Therefore
give him some.' But averting her bent face, Kadambari replied slowly
and indistinctly, 'Dear friend, I am ashamed to do so, for I do not
know him. Do thou take it, for thou canst without the forwardness
there would be in me, and give it him'; and it was only after many
persuasions, that with difficulty, and like a village maiden, she
resolved to give it. Her eyes were never drawn from Mahaçveta's face,
her limbs trembled, her glance wavered, she sighed deeply, she was
stunned by Love with his shaft, and she seemed a prey to terror
as she stretched forth her hand, holding the betel as if trying to
cling to something under the idea she was falling. The hand Candrapida
stretched out, by nature pink, as if red lead had fallen upon it from
the flapping of his triumphal elephant, was darkened by the scars of
the bowstring, and seemed to have drops of collyrium clinging to it
from touching the eyes of his enemies' Lakshmi, weeping as he drew
her by the hair; (372) its fingers by the forth-flashing rays of
his nails seemed to run up hastily, to grow long and to laugh, and
the hand seemed to raise five other fingers in the five senses that,
in desire to touch her, had just made their entry full of love. Then
contending feelings [299] took possession of Kadambari as if they
had gathered together in curiosity to see the grace at that moment so
easy of access. Her hand, as she did not look whither it was going,
was stretched vainly forth, and the rays of its nails seemed to hasten
forward to seek Candrapida's hand; and with the murmur of the line
of bracelets stirred by her trembling, it seemed to say, as drops of
moisture arose on it, 'Let this slave offered by Love be accepted,'
[300] as if she were offering herself, and 'Henceforth it is in thy
hand,' as if she were making it into a living being, and so she gave
the betel. And in drawing back her hand she did not notice the fall
of her bracelet, which had slipped down her arm in eagerness to touch
him, like her heart pierced by Love's shaft; and taking another piece
of betel, she gave it to Mahaçveta.
(373) '"Then there came up with hasty steps a maina, a very flower,
in that her feet were yellow as lotus filaments, her beak was like
a campak bud, and her wings blue as a lotus petal. Close behind her
came a parrot, slow in gait, emerald-winged, with a beak like coral
and neck bearing a curved, three-rayed rainbow. Angrily the maina
began: 'Princess Kadambari, why dost thou not restrain this wretched,
ill-mannered, conceited bird from following me? If thou overlookest
my being oppressed by him, I will certainly destroy myself. I swear
it truly by thy lotus feet.' At these words Kadambari smiled; but
Mahaçveta, not knowing the story, asked Madalekha what she was saying,
and she told the following tale: 'This maina, Kalindi, is a friend
of Princess Kadambari, and was given by her solemnly in marriage to
Parihasa, the parrot. And to-day, ever since she saw him reciting
something at early dawn to Kadambari's betel-bearer, Tamalika, alone,
she has been filled with jealousy, and in frowardness of wrath will
not go near him, or speak, or touch, or look at him; and though
we have all tried to soothe her, she will not be soothed.' (374)
Thereat a smile spread over Candrapida's face, and he softly laughed
and said, 'This is the course of gossip. It is heard in the court;
by a succession of ears the attendants pass it on; the outside
world repeats it; the tale wanders to the ends of the earth, and we
too hear how this parrot Parihasa has fallen in love with Princess
Kadambari's betel-bearer, and, enslaved by love, knows nothing of the
past. Away with this ill-behaved, shameless deserter of his wife,
and away with her too! But is it fitting in the Princess not to
restrain her giddy slave? Perhaps her cruelty, however, was shown at
the first in giving poor Kalindi to this ill-conducted bird. What can
she do now? For women feel that a shared wifehood is the bitterest
matter for indignation, the chief cause for estrangement, and the
greatest possible insult. Kalindi has been only too patient that in
the aversion caused by this weight of grief she has not slain herself
by poison, fire, or famine. For nothing makes a woman more despised;
and if, after such a crime, she is willing to be reconciled and to
live with him again, shame on her! enough of her! let her be banished
and cast out in scorn! Who will speak to her or look at her again,
and who will mention her name?' A laugh arose among Kadambari's women
as they heard [301] his mirthful words. (375) But Parihasa, hearing
his jesting speech, said: 'Cunning Prince, she is clever. Unsteady
as she is, she is not to be taken in by thee or anyone else. She
knows all these crooked speeches. She understands a jest. Her mind is
sharpened by contact with a court. Cease thy jests. She is no subject
for the talk of bold men. For, soft of speech as she is, she knows
well the time, cause, measure, object, and topic for wrath and for
peace.' Meanwhile, a herald came up and said to Mahaçveta: 'Princess,
King Citraratha and Queen Madira send to see thee,' and she, eager
to go, asked Kadambari, 'Friend, where should Candrapida stay?' The
latter, inwardly smiling at the thought that he had already found a
place in the heart of thousands of women, said aloud, 'Dear Mahaçveta,
why speak thus? Since I beheld him I have not been mistress of myself,
far less than of my palace and my servants. Let him stay wherever it
pleases him and my dear friend's heart.' Thereon Mahaçveta replied,
"Let him stay in the jewelled house on the playing hill of the royal
garden near thy palace,' and went to see the king.
(376) '"Candrapida went away at her departure, followed by maidens,
sent for his amusement by the portress at Kadambari's bidding,
players on lute and pipe, singers, skilful dice and draught players,
practised painters and reciters of graceful verses; he was led by
his old acquaintance Keyuraka to the jewelled hall on the playing hill.
'"When he was gone the Gandharva princess dismissed her girl-friends
and attendants, and followed only by a few, went into the palace. There
she fell on her couch, while her maidens stayed some way off, full
of respect, and tried to comfort her. At length she came to herself,
and remaining alone, she was filled with shame. For Modesty censured
her: 'Light one, what hast thou begun?' Self-respect reproached her:
'Gandharva Princess, how is this fitting for thee?' Simplicity mocked
her: 'Where has thy childhood gone before its day was over?' Youth
warned her: 'Wilful girl, do not carry out alone any wild plan of
thine own!' Dignity rebuked her: 'Timid child, this is not the course
of a high-born maiden.' Conduct blamed her: 'Reckless girl, avoid
this unseemly behaviour!' High Birth admonished her: 'Foolish one,
love hath led thee into lightness.' Steadfastness cried shame on her:
'Whence comes thine unsteadiness of nature?' Nobility rebuked her:
'Self-willed, my authority is set at nought by thee.'
(377) '"And she thought within herself, 'What shameful conduct is this
of mine, in that I cast away all fear, and show my unsteadiness and
am blinded by folly. In my audacity I never thought he was a stranger;
in my shamelessness I did not consider that he would think me light of
nature; I never examined his character; I never thought in my folly if
I were worthy of his regard; I had no dread of an unexpected rebuff;
I had no fear of my parents, no anxiety about gossip. Nay, more, I
did not in my unkindness [302] remember that Mahaçveta was in sorrow;
in my stupidity I did not notice that my friends stood by and beheld
me; in my utter dullness I did not see that my servants behind were
observing me. Even grave minds would mark such utter forgetfulness of
seemliness; how much more Mahaçveta, who knows the course of love;
and my friends skilled in all its ways, and my attendants who know
all its symptoms, and whose wits are sharpened by life at court. The
slaves of a zenana have keen eyes in such matters. My evil fate has
undone me! Better were it for me now to die than live a shameful
life. What will my father and mother and the Gandharvas say when they
hear this tale? What can I do? What remedy is there? How can I cover
this error? To whom can I tell this folly of my undisciplined senses,
(378) and where shall I go, consumed by Kama, the five-arrowed god? I
had made a promise in Mahaçveta's sorrow, I had announced it before
my friends, I had sent a message of it by the hands of Keyuraka, and
how it has now come about that that beguiling Candrapida has been
brought hither, I know not, ill-fated that I am; whether it be by
cruel fate or proud love, or nemesis of my former deeds, or accursed
death, or anything else. But some power unseen, unknown, unheard of,
unthought of and unimagined before, has come to delude me. At the
mere sight of him I am a captive in bonds; I am cast into a cage
and handed over by my senses; I am enslaved and led to him by Love;
I am sent away by affection; I am sold at a price by my feelings; I
am made as a household chattel by my heart. I will have nothing to do
with this worthless one!' Thus for a moment she resolved. But having
made this resolve, she was mocked by Candrapida's image stirred by
the trembling of her heart, 'If thou, in thy false reserve, will have
nought to do with me, I will go.' She was asked by her life, which
clung to her in a farewell embrace before starting at the moment of
her determination to give up Candrapida; (379) she was addressed by a
tear that rose at that moment, 'Let him be seen once more with clearer
eyes, whether he be worthy of rejection or no'; she was chidden by
Love, saying, 'I will take away thy pride together with thy life;'
and so her heart was again turned to Candrapida. Overwhelmed, when
the force of her meditation had collapsed, by the access of love,
she rose, under its sway, and stood looking through the window at the
playing hill. And there, as if bewildered by a veil of joyful tears,
she saw with her memory, not her eyes; as if fearing to soil with a
hot hand her picture, she painted with her fancy, not with her brush;
dreading the intervention of a thrill, she offered an embrace with
her heart, not her breast; unable to bear his delay in coming, she
sent her mind, not her servants, to meet him.
'"Meanwhile, Candrapida willingly entered the jewelled house, as if it
were a second heart of Kadambari. On the rock was strewn a blanket,
with pillows piled on it at either end, and thereon he lay down,
with his feet in Keyuraka's lap, while the maidens sat round him
in the places appointed for them. With a heart in turmoil he betook
himself to reflection: 'Are these graces of Princess Kadambari, that
steal all men's hearts, innate in her, or has Love, with kindness won
by no service of mine, ordained them for me? (380) For she gave me a
sidelong glance with loving, reddened eyes half curved as if they were
covered with the pollen of Love's flowery darts as they fell on her
heart. She modestly veiled herself with a bright smile fair as silk
as I looked at her. She offered the mirror of her cheek to receive my
image, as in shame at my gaze she averted her face. She sketched on
the couch with her nail the first trace of wilfulness of a heart that
was giving me entrance. Her hand, moist with the fatigue of bringing
me the betel, seemed in its trembling to fan her hot face, as if it
were a tamala branch she had taken, for a swarm of bees hovered round
it, mistaking it for a rosy lotus. Perhaps,' he went on to reflect,
'the light readiness to hope so common among mortals is now deceiving
me with a throng of vain desires; and the glow of youth, devoid of
judgment, or Love himself, makes my brain reel; whence the eyes of
the young, as though struck by cataract, magnify even a small spot;
and a tiny speck of affection is spread far by youthful ardour as by
water. An excited heart like a poet's imagination is bewildered by
the throng of fancies that it calls up of itself, and draws likenesses
from everything; youthful feelings in the hand of cunning love are as
a brush, and shrink from painting nothing; and imagination, proud of
her suddenly gained beauty, turns in every direction. (381) Longing
shows as in a dream what I have felt. Hope, like a conjuror's wand,
[303] sets before us what can never be. Why, then,' thought he again,
'should I thus weary my mind in vain? If this bright-eyed maiden
is indeed thus inclined towards me, Love, who is so kind without my
asking, will ere long make it plain to me. He will be the decider of
this doubt.' Having at length come to this decision, he rose, then
sat down, and merrily joined the damsels in gentle talk and graceful
amusements--with dice, song, lute, tabor, concerts of mingled sound,
and murmur of tender verse. After resting a short time he went out
to see the park, and climbed to the top of the pleasure hill.
'"Kadambari saw him, and bade that the window should be opened to watch
for Mahaçveta's return, saying, 'She tarries long,' and, with a heart
tossed by Love, mounted to the roof of the palace. There she stayed
with a few attendants, protected from the heat by a gold-handled
umbrella, white as the full moon, and fanned by the waving of four
yaks' tails pure as foam. She seemed to be practising an adornment fit
for going to meet [304] Candrapida, by means of the bees which hovered
round her head, eager for the scent of the flowers, which veiled her
even by day in darkness. Now she leaned on the point of the cowrie,
now on the stick of the umbrella; now she laid her hands on Tamalika's
shoulder, (382), now she clung to Madalekha; now she hid herself amidst
her maidens, looking with sidelong glance; now she turned herself
round; now she laid her cheek on the tip of the portress's staff;
now with a steady hand she placed betel on her fresh lips; now she
laughingly ran a few steps in pursuit of her maidens scattered by the
blows of the lotuses she threw at them. And in looking at the prince,
and being gazed at by him, she knew not how long a time had passed. At
last a portress announced Mahaçveta's return, and she went down, and
albeit unwilling, yet to please Mahaçveta she bathed and performed
the wonted duties of the day.
'"But Candrapida went down, and dismissing Kadambari's followers,
performed the rites of bathing, and worshipped the deity honoured
throughout the mountain, and did all the duties of the day, including
his meal, on the pleasure hill. There he sat on an emerald seat
which commanded the front of the pleasure hill, pleasant, green as
a pigeon, bedewed with foam from the chewing of fawns, shining like
Yamuna's waters standing still in fear of Balarama's plough, glowing
crimson with lac-juice from the girls' feet, sanded with flower-dust,
hidden in a bower, a concert-house of peacocks. He suddenly beheld
day eclipsed by a stream of white radiance, rich in glory, (383)
light drunk up as by a garland of lotus-fibres, earth flooded as by
a Milky Ocean, space bedewed as by a storm of sandal-juice, and the
sky painted as with white chunam.
'"'What!' thought he, 'is our lord, the Moon, king of plants,
suddenly risen, or are a thousand shower-baths set going with their
white streams let loose by a spring, or is it the heavenly Ganges,
whitening the earth with her wind-tossed spray, that has come down
to earth in curiosity?'
[305]'"Then, turning his eyes in the direction of the light, he
beheld Kadambari, and with her Madalekha and Taralika bearing a
pearl necklace on a tray covered with white silk. (384) Thereupon
Candrapida decided that it was this necklace that eclipsed [306]
moonlight, and was the cause of the brightness, and by rising while
she was yet far off, and by all wonted courtesies, he greeted the
approach of Madalekha. For a moment she rested on that emerald seat,
and then, rising, anointed him with sandal perfume, put on him two
white robes, (385) crowned him with malati flowers, and then gave
him the necklace, saying, 'This thy gentleness, my Prince, so devoid
of pride, must needs subjugate every heart. Thy kindness gives an
opening even to one like me; by thy form thou art lord of life to
all; by that tenderness shown even where there is no claim on thee,
thou throwest on all a bond of love; the innate sweetness of thy
bearing makes every man thy friend; these thy virtues, manifested
with such natural gentleness, give confidence to all. Thy form
must take the blame, for it inspires trust even at first sight;
else words addressed to one of such dignity as thou would seem all
unmeet. For to speak with thee would be an insult; our very respect
would bring on us the charge of forwardness; our very praise would
display our boldness; our subservience would manifest lightness,
our love self-deception, our speech to thee audacity, our service
impertinence, our gift an insult. Nay, more, thou hast conquered
our hearts; what is left for us to give thee? Thou art lord of our
life; what can we offer thee? Thou hast already bestowed the great
favour of thy presence; what return could we make? Thou by thy sight
hast made our life worth having; how can we reward thy coming? (386)
Therefore Kadambari with this excuse shows her affection rather than
her dignity. Noble hearts admit no question of mine and thine. Away
with the thought of dignity. Even if she accepted slavery to one
like thee, she would do no unworthy act; even if she gave herself
to thee, she would not be deceived; if she gave her life, she
would not repent. The generosity of a noble heart is always bent
on kindness, and does not willingly reject affection, and askers
are less shamefaced than givers. But it is true that Kadambari
knows she has offended thee in this matter. Now, this necklace,
called Çesha, [307] because it was the only jewel left of all that
rose at the churning of nectar, was for that reason greatly valued
by the Lord of Ocean, and was given by him to Varuna on his return
home. By the latter it was given to the Gandharva king, and by him
to Kadambari. And she, thinking thy form worthy of this ornament,
in that not the earth, but the sky, is the home of the moon, hath
sent it to thee. And though men like thee, who bear no ornament
but a noble spirit, find it irksome to wear the gems honoured by
meaner men, yet here Kadambari's affection is a reason for thee to
do so. (387) Did not Vishnu show his reverence by wearing on his
breast the kaustubha gem, because it rose with Lakshmi; and yet he
was not greater than thee, nor did the kaustubha gem in the least
surpass the Çesha in worth; nor, indeed, does Lakshmi approach in
the slightest degree to imitating Kadambari's beauty. And in truth,
if her love is crushed by thee, she will grieve Mahaçveta [308] with
a thousand reproaches, and will slay herself. Mahaçveta therefore
sends Taralika with the necklace to thee, and bids me say thus:
"Let not Kadambari's first impulse of love be crushed by thee, even
in thought, most noble prince."' Thus having said, she fastened on
his breast the necklace that rested like a bevy of stars on the slope
of the golden mountain. Filled with amazement, Candrapida replied:
'What means this, Madalekha? Thou art clever, and knowest how to
win acceptance for thy gifts. By leaving me no chance of a reply,
thou hast shown skill in oratory. Nay, foolish maiden, what are we
in respect of thee, or of acceptance and refusal; truly this talk
is nought. Having received kindness from ladies so rich in courtesy,
let me be employed in any matter, whether pleasing or displeasing to
me. But truly there lives not the man whom the virtues of the most
courteous lady Kadambari do not discourteously [309] enslave.' (388)
Thus saying, after some talk about Kadambari, he dismissed Madalekha,
and ere she had long gone the daughter of Citraratha dismissed her
attendants, rejected the insignia of wand, umbrella, and cowrie,
and accompanied only by Tamalika, again mounted to the roof of her
palace to behold Candrapida, bright with pearls, silk raiment and
sandal, go to the pleasure hill, like the moon to the mount of
rising. There, with passionate glances imbued with every grace,
she stole his heart. (390) And when it became too dark to see, she
descended from the roof, and Candrapida, from the slope of the hill.
'"Then the moon, source of nectar, gladdener of all eyes, arose with
his rays gathered in; he seemed to be worshipped by the night-lotuses,
to calm the quarters whose faces were dark as if with anger, and
to avoid the day-lotuses as if from fear of waking them; under the
guise of his mark he wore night on his heart; he bore in the glow of
rising the lac that had clung to him from the spurning of Rohini's
feet; he pursued the sky, in its dark blue veil, like a mistress;
and by reason of his great goodwill, spread beauty everywhere.
'"And when the moon, the umbrella of the supreme rule of Kama, the
lord of the lotuses, the ivory earring that decks the night, had
risen, and when the world was turned to whiteness, as though overlaid
with ivory, Candrapida lay down on a cool moonlit slab, pearl white,
pointed out by Kadambari's servants. It was washed with fresh sandal,
garlanded with pure sinduvara flowers, and carved round with a leafy
tracery of lotus petals. It lay on the shore of a palace lotus tank,
that seemed from the full moonlight to be made of night-lotuses,
[310] with steps white with bricks washed by the waves, as it wafted a
breeze fanned by the ripples; (391) pairs of hamsas lay there asleep,
and pairs of cakravakas kept up their dirge of separation thereon. And
while the Prince yet rested there Keyuraka approached him, and told
him that Princess Kadambari had come to see him. Then Candrapida rose
hastily, and beheld Kadambari drawing near. Few of her friends were
with her; all her royal insignia were removed; she was as it were
a new self, in the single necklace she wore; her slender form was
white with the purest sandal-juice; an earring hung from one ear; she
wore a lotus-petal in the ear, soft as a budding digit of the moon;
she was clad in robes of the kalpa-tree, [311] clear as moonlight;
and in the garb that consorted with that hour she stood revealed like
the very goddess of moonrise, as she rested on the hand offered by
Madalekha. Drawing near, she showed a grace prompted by love, and
took her seat on the ground, where servants are wont to sit, like a
maiden of low degree; and Candrapida, too, though often entreated by
Madalekha to sit on the rocky seat, took his place on the ground by
Madalekha; and when all the women were seated he made an effort to
speak, saying, 'Princess, to one who is thy slave, and whom even a
glance gladdens, there needs not the favour of speech with thee, far
less so great a grace as this. (392) For, deeply as I think, I cannot
see in myself any worth that this height of favour may befit. Most
noble and sweet in its laying aside of pride is this thy courtesy,
in that such grace is shown to one but newly thy servant. Perchance
thou thinkest me a churl that must be won by gifts. Blessed, truly,
is the servant over whom is thy sway! How great honour is bestowed
on the servants deemed worthy of the bestowal of thy commands. But
the body is a gift at the service of any man, and life is light as
grass, so that I am ashamed in my devotion to greet thy coming with
such a gift. Here am I, here my body, my life, my senses! Do thou,
by accepting one of them, raise it to honour.'
'"Madalekha smilingly replied to this speech of his: 'Enough,
Prince. My friend Kadambari is pained by thy too great ceremony. Why
speakest thou thus? She accepts thy words without further talk. And
why, too, is she brought to suspense by these too flattering
speeches?' and then, waiting a short time, she began afresh: 'How is
King Tarapida, how Queen Vilasavati, how the noble Çukanasa? What is
Ujjayini like, and how far off is it? What is the land of Bharata? And
is the world of mortals pleasant?' So she questioned him. (393)
After spending some time in such talk, Kadambari rose, and summoning
Keyuraka, who was lying near Candrapida, and her attendants, she went
up to her sleeping-chamber. There she adorned a couch strewn with
a coverlet of white silk. Candrapida, however, on his rock passed
the night like a moment in thinking, while his feet were rubbed by
Keyuraka, of the humility, beauty, and depth of Kadambari's character,
the causeless kindness of Mahaçveta, the courtesy of Madalekha, the
dignity of the attendants, the great splendour of the Gandharva world,
and the charm of the Kimpurusha land.
'"Then the moon, lord of stars, weary of being kept awake by the sight
of Kadambari, descended, as if to sleep, to the forest on the shore,
with its palms and tamalas, talis, banyans, and kandalas, [312] cool
with the breeze from the hardly stirred [313] ripples. As though with
the feverish sighs of a woman grieving for her lover's approaching
absence, the moonlight faded away. Lakshmi, having passed the night
on the moon lotuses, lay on the sun lotuses, as though love had sprung
up in her at the sight of Candrapida. At the close of night, when the
palace lamps grew pale, as if dwindling in longing as they remembered
the blows of the lotuses in maidens' ears, the breezes of dawn,
fragrant with creeper-flowers, were wafted, sportive with the sighs
of Love weary from ceaselessly discharging his shafts; the stars were
eclipsed by the rising dawn, and took their abode, as through fear, in
the thick creeper bowers of Mount Mandara. [314] (394) Then when the
sun arose, with its orb crimson as if a glow remained from dwelling
in the hearts of the cakravakas, Candrapida, rising from the rock,
bathed his lotus face, said his morning prayer, took his betel, and
then bade Keyuraka see whether Princess Kadambari was awake or no, and
where she was; and when it was announced to him by the latter on his
return that she was with Mahaçveta in the bower of the courtyard below
the Mandara palace, he started to see the daughter of the Gandharva
king. There he beheld Mahaçveta surrounded by wandering ascetic women
like visible goddesses of prayer, with marks of white ash on their
brow, and hands quickly moving as they turned their rosaries; bearing
the vow of Çiva's followers, clad in robes tawny with mineral dyes,
bound to wear red cloth, robed in the ruddy bark of ripe cocoanuts,
or girdled with thick white cloth; with fans of white cloth; with
staves, matted locks, deer-skins, and bark dresses; with the marks of
male ascetics; reciting the pure praises of Çiva, Durga, Kartikeya,
Viçravasa, [315] Krishna, Avalokiteçvara, the Arhat, Viriñca. [316]
Mahaçveta herself was showing honour to the elder kinswomen of the
king, the foremost of the zenana, by salutes, courteous speeches,
by rising to meet them and placing reed seats for them.
(395) '"He beheld Kadambari also giving her attention to the
recitation of the Mahabharata, that transcends all good omens, by
Narada's sweet-voiced daughter, with an accompaniment of flutes soft
as the murmur of bees, played by a pair of Kinnaras sitting behind
her. She was looking in a mirror fixed before her at her lip, pale as
beeswax when the honey is gone, bathed in the moonlight of her teeth,
though within it was darkened by betel. She was being honoured by a
sunwise turn in departing by a tame goose wandering like the moon
in a fixed circle, with wide eyes raised to her sirisha earrings
in its longing for vallisneria. Here the prince approached, and,
saluting her, sat down on a seat placed on the dais. After a short
stay he looked at Mahaçveta's face with a gentle smile that dimpled
his cheek, and she, at once knowing his wish, said to Kadambari:
'Dear friend, Candrapida is softened by thy virtues as the moonstone
by the moon, and cannot speak for himself. He wishes to depart; for
the court he has left behind is thrown into distress, not knowing what
has happened. Moreover, however far apart you may be from each other,
this your love, like that of the sun and the day lotus, or the moon and
the night lotus, will last till the day of doom. Therefore let him go.'
(396) '"'Dear Mahaçveta,' replied Kadambari, 'I and my retinue belong
as wholly to the prince as his own soul. Why, then, this ceremony?' So
saying, and summoning the Gandharva princes, she bade them escort
the prince to his own place, and he, rising, bowed before Mahaçveta
first, and then Kadambari, and was greeted by her with eyes and
heart softened by affection; and with the words, 'Lady, what shall
I say? For men distrust the multitude of words. Let me be remembered
in the talk of thy retinue,' he went out of the zenana; and all the
maidens but Kadambari, drawn by reverence for Candrapida's virtues,
followed him on his way like his subjects to the outer gate.
'"On their return, he mounted the steed brought by Keyuraka, and,
escorted by the Gandharva princes, turned to leave Hemakuta. His whole
thoughts on the way were about Kadambari in all things both within and
without. With a mind wholly imbued with her, he beheld her behind him,
dwelling within him in his bitter grief for the cruel separation;
or before him, stopping him in his path; or cast on the sky, as if
by the force of longing in his heart troubled by parting, so that
he could perfectly see her face; he beheld her very self resting
on his heart, as if her mind were wounded with his loss. When he
reached Mahaçveta's hermitage, he there beheld his own camp, which
had followed the tracks of Indrayudha.
(397) '"Dismissing the Gandharva princes, he entered his own abode
amidst the salutations of his troops full of joy, curiosity,
and wonder; and after greeting the rest of the court, he spent
the day mostly in talk with Vaiçampayana and Patralekha, saying,
'Thus said Mahaçveta, thus Kadambari, thus Madalekha, thus Tamalika,
thus Keyuraka.' No longer did royal Glory, envious at the sight
of Kadambari's beauty, find in him her joy; for him night passed
in wakefulness as he thought, with a mind in ceaseless longing, of
that bright-eyed maiden. Next morning, at sunrise, he went to his
pavilion with his mind still fixed on her, and suddenly saw Keyuraka
entering with a doorkeeper; and as the latter, while yet far off,
cast himself on the ground, so that his crest swept the floor,
Candrapida cried, 'Come, come,' greeting him first with a sidelong
glance, then with his heart, then with a thrill. Then at last he
hastened forward to give him a hearty and frank embrace, and made
him sit down by himself. Then, in words brightened by the nectar of
a smile, and transfused with overflowing love, he reverently asked:
'Say, Keyuraka, is the lady Kadambari well, and her friends, and
her retinue, and the lady Mahaçveta?' With a low bow, Keyuraka, as
though he had been bathed, anointed, and refreshed by the smile that
the prince's deep affection had prompted, replied respectfully:
'"'She is now well, in that my lord asks for her.' And then he showed
a folded lotus-leaf, wrapped in wet cloth, with its opening closed
by lotus filaments, and a seal of tender lotus filaments set in a
paste of wet sandal. (398) This he opened, and showed the tokens
sent by Kadambari, such as milky betel-nuts of emerald hue, with
their shells removed and surrounded with fresh sprays, betel-leaves
pale as the cheek of a hen-parrot, camphor like a solid piece of
Çiva's moon, and sandal ointment pleasant with rich musk scent. 'The
lady Kadambari,' said he, 'salutes thee with folded hands that kiss
her crest, and that are rosy with the rays of her tender fingers;
Mahaçveta with a greeting and embrace; Madalekha with a reverence
and a brow bathed in the moonlight of the crest-gem she has let fall;
the maidens with the points of the fish-ornaments and the parting of
their hair resting on the ground; and Taralika, with a prostration
to touch the dust of thy feet. Mahaçveta sends thee this message:
"Happy truly are they from whose eyes thou art never absent. For
in truth thy virtues, snowy, cold as the moon when thou art by, in
thine absence burn like sunlight. Truly all yearn for the past day
as though it were that day whereon fate with such toil brought forth
amrita. Without thee the royal Gandharva city is languid as at the end
of a feast. (399) Thou knowest that I have surrendered all things; yet
my heart, in my despite, desires to see thee who art so undeservedly
kind. Kadambari, moreover, is far from well. She recalls thee with thy
smiling face like Love himself. Thou, by the honour of thy return,
canst make her proud of having some virtues of her own. For respect
shown by the noble must needs confer honour. And thou must forgive
the trouble of knowing such as we. For thine own nobility gives this
boldness to our address. And here is this Çesha necklace, which was
left by thee on thy couch."' So saying, he loosed it from his band,
where it was visible by reason of the long rays that shot through the
interstices of the fine thread, and placed it in the fan-bearer's hand.
'"'This, indeed, is the reward of doing homage at Mahaçveta's feet,
that the lady Kadambari should lay so great a weight of honour on
her slave as to remember him," said Candrapida, as he placed all on
his head [317] and accepted it. The necklace he put round his neck,
after anointing it with an ointment cool, pleasant, and fragrant,
as it were with the beauty of Kadambari's cheeks distilled, or the
light of her smile liquefied, or her heart melted, or her virtues
throbbing forth. (400) Taking some betel, he rose and stood, with his
left arm on Keyuraka's shoulder, and then dismissed the courtiers,
who were gladly paying their wonted homage, and at length went
to see his elephant Gandhamadana. There he stayed a short time,
and after he had himself given to the elephant a handful of grass,
that, being jagged with the rays of his nails, was like lotus-fibre,
he went to the stable of his favourite steed. On the way he turned
his face now on this side, now on that, to glance at his retinue,
and the porters, understanding his wish, forbade all to follow him,
and dismissed the retinue, so that he entered the stable with Keyuraka
alone. The grooms bowed and departed, with eyes bewildered by terror
at their dismissal, and the prince set straight Indrayudha's cloth,
which had fallen a little on one side, pushed back his mane, tawny
as a lion's, which was falling on his eyes and half closing them, and
then, negligently resting his foot on the peg of the tethering-rope,
and leaning against the stable wall, he eagerly asked:
'"'Tell me, Keyuraka, what has happened in the Gandharva court since
my departure? In what occupation has the Gandharva princess spent
the time? What were Mahaçveta and Madalekha doing? What talk was
there? How were you and the retinue employed? And was there any
talk about me?' Then Keyuraka told him all: 'Listen, prince. On
thy departure, the lady Kadambari, with her retinue, climbed to the
palace roof, making in the maidens' palace with the sound of anklets
the beat of farewell drums that rose from a thousand hearts; (401)
and she gazed on thy path, gray with the dust of the cavalcade. When
thou wert out of sight, she laid her face on Mahaçveta's shoulder, and,
in her love, sprinkled the region of thy journey with glances fair as
the Milky Ocean, and, warding off the sun's touch, as it were, with
the moon assuming in jealousy the guise of a white umbrella, she long
remained there. Thence she reluctantly tore herself away and came down,
and after but a short rest in the pavilion, she arose and went to the
pleasaunce where thou hadst been. She was guided by bees murmuring in
the flowers of oblation; startled by the cry of the house peacocks,
she checked their note as they looked up at the shower-like rays of
her nails, by the circlets which lay loose round her throat; at every
step she let her hand rest on creeper-twigs white with flowers, and
her mind on thy virtues. When she reached the pleasaunce, her retinue
needlessly told her: "Here the prince stayed on the spray-washed rock,
with its creeper-bower bedewed by the stream from a pipe that ends
in an emerald fish-head; here he bathed in a place covered by bees
absorbed in the fragrance of the scented water; here he worshipped
Çiva on the bank of the mountain stream, sandy with flower-dust; here
he ate on a crystal stone which eclipsed moonlight; and here he slept
on a pearly slab with a mark of sandal-juice imprinted on it." (402)
And so she passed the day, gazing on the signs of thy presence; and
at close of day Mahaçveta prepared for her, though against her will, a
meal in that crystal dwelling. And when the sun set and the moon rose,
soon, as though she were a moonstone that moonlight would melt, and
therefore dreaded the entrance of the moon's reflection, she laid her
hands on her cheeks, and, as if in thought, remained for a few minutes
with closed eyes; and then rising, went to her sleeping-chamber,
scarcely raising her feet as they moved with graceful, languid gait,
seemingly heavy with bearing the moon's reflection on their bright
nails. Throwing herself on her couch, she was racked by a severe
headache, and overcome by a burning fever, and, in company with the
palace-lamps, the moon-lotuses, and the cakravakas, she passed the
night open-eyed in bitter grief. And at dawn she summoned me, and
reproachfully bade me seek for tidings of thee.'
'"At these words, Candrapida, all eager to depart, shouted: 'A
horse! a horse!' and left the palace. Indrayudha was hastily saddled,
and brought round by the grooms, and Candrapida mounted, placing
Patralekha behind him, leaving Vaiçampayana in charge of the camp,
dismissing all his retinue, and followed by Keyuraka on another steed,
he went to Hemakuta. (403) On his arrival, he dismounted at the gate of
Kadambari's palace, giving his horse to the doorkeeper, and, followed
by Patralekha, eager for the first sight of Kadambari, he entered, and
asked a eunuch who came forward where the lady Kadambari was. Bending
low, the latter informed him, that she was in the ice-bower on the
bank of the lotus-tank below the Mattamayura pleasaunce; and then the
prince, guided by Keyuraka, went some distance through the women's
garden, and beheld day grow green, and the sunbeams turn into grass
by the reflection of the plantain-groves with their emerald glow,
and there he beheld Kadambari. (410) Then she looked with tremulous
glance at her retinue, as, coming in one after another, they announced
Candrapida's approach, and asked each by name: 'Tell me, has he really
come, and hast thou seen him? How far off is he?' She gazed with
eyes gradually brightening as she saw him yet afar off, and rose from
her couch of flowers, standing like a newly-caught elephant bound to
her post, and trembling in every limb. She was veiled in bees drawn
as vassals by the fragrance of her flowery couch, all murmuring; her
upper garment was in confusion, and she sought to place on her bosom
the shining necklace; (411) she seemed to beg the support of a hand
from her own shadow as she laid her left hand on the jewelled pavement;
she seemed to receive herself as a gift by sprinkling [318] with her
right hand moist with the toil of binding together her falling locks;
she poured forth tears of joy cool as though the sandal-juice of her
sectarial mark had entered in and been united with them; she washed
with a line of glad tears her smooth cheeks, that the pollen from
her garland had tinged with gray, as if in eagerness that the image
of her beloved might fall thereon; she seemed to be drawn forward by
her long eyes fastened on Candrapida's face, with its pupil fixed in
a sidelong glance, and her head somewhat bent, as if from the weight
of the sandal-mark on her brow.
'"And Candrapida, approaching, bowed first before Mahaçveta, then
courteously saluted Kadambari, and when she had returned his obeisance,
and seated herself again on the couch, and the portress had brought
him a gold stool with legs gleaming with gems, he pushed it away
with his foot, and sat down on the ground. Then Keyuraka presented
Patralekha, saying: 'This is Prince Candrapida's betel-box bearer
and most favoured friend.' And Kadambari, looking on her, thought:
'How great partiality does Prajapati bestow on mortal women!' And
as Patralekha bowed respectfully, she bade her approach, and placed
her close behind herself, amidst the curious glances of all her
retinue. (412) Filled even at first sight with great love for her,
Kadambari often touched her caressingly with her slender hand.
'"Now, Candrapida, having quickly performed all the courtesies of
arrival, beheld the state of Citraratha's daughter, and thought:
'Surely my heart is dull, in that it cannot even now believe. Be
it so. I will, nevertheless, ask her with a skilfully-devised
speech.' [319] Then he said aloud: 'Princess, I know that this pain,
with its unceasing torment, has come on thee from love. Yet, slender
maiden, it torments thee not as us. I would gladly, by the offering
of myself, restore thee to health. For I pity thee as thou tremblest;
and as I see thee fallen under the pain of love, my heart, too, falls
prostrate. For thine arms are slender and unadorned, and thou bearest
in thine eye a red lotus like a hybiscus [320] from the deep wasting
of fever. And all thy retinue weep ceaselessly for thy pain. Accept
thine ornaments. Take of thine own accord thy richest adornments; for
as the creeper shines hidden in bees and flowers, so shouldst thou.'
'"Then Kadambari, though naturally simple by reason of her youth, yet,
from a knowledge taught by love, understood all the meaning of this
darkly-expressed speech. (413) Yet, not realizing that she had come to
such a point in her desires, supported by her modesty, she remained
silent. She sent forth, however, the radiance of a smile at that
moment on some pretext, as though to see his face darkened by the bees
which were gathered round its sweetness. Madalekha therefore replied:
'Prince, what shall I say? This pain is cruel beyond words. Moreover,
in one of so delicate a nature what does not tend to pain? Even cool
lotus-fibres turn to fire and moonlight burns. Seest thou not the pain
produced in her mind by the breezes of the fans? Only her strength
of mind keeps her alive.' But in heart alone did Kadambari admit
Madalekha's words as an answer to the prince. His mind, however, was in
suspense from the doubtfulness of her meaning, and after spending some
time in affectionate talk with Mahaçveta, at length with a great effort
he withdrew himself, and left Kadambari's palace to go to the camp.
'"As he was about to mount his horse, Keyuraka came up behind him,
and said: 'Prince, Madalekha bids me say that Princess Kadambari, ever
since she beheld Patralekha, has been charmed by her, and wishes to
keep her. She shall return later. (414) Having heard her message, thou
must decide' 'Happy,' replied the prince, 'and enviable is Patralekha,
in that she is honoured by so rare a favour by the princess. Let her
be taken in.' So saying, he went to the camp.
'"At the moment of his arrival he beheld a letter-carrier well known
to him, that had come from his father's presence, and, stopping
his horse, he asked from afar, with eyes widened by affection:
'Is my father well, and all his retinue? and my mother and all the
zenana?' Then the man, approaching with a reverence, saying, 'As
thou sayest, prince,' gave him two letters. Then the prince, placing
them on his head, and himself opening them in order, read as follows:
'Hail from Ujjayini. King Tarapida, king of kings, whose lotus-feet
are made the crest on the head of all kings, greets Candrapida, the
home of all good fortune, kissing him on his head, which kisses the
circle of the flashing rays of his crest jewels. Our subjects are
well. Why has so long a time passed since we have seen thee? Our
heart longs eagerly for thee. The queen and the zenana pine for
thee. Therefore, let the cutting short of this letter be a cause of
thy setting out.' And in the second letter, sent by Çukanasa, he read
words of like import. Vaiçampayana, too, at that moment came up, and
showed another pair of letters of his own to the same effect. (415)
So with the words, 'As my father commands,' he at once mounted his
horse, and caused the drum of departure to be sounded. He instructed
Meghanada, son of Balahaka, the commander-in-chief, who stood near him
surrounded by a large troop: 'Thou must come with Patralekha. Keyuraka
will surely bring her as far as here, and by his lips a message must
be sent with a salutation to Princess Kadambari. Truly the nature of
mortals deserves the blame of the three worlds, for it is discourteous,
unfriendly, and hard to grasp, in that, when the loves of men suddenly
clash, they do not set its full value on spontaneous tenderness. Thus,
by my going, my love has become a cheating counterfeit; my faith
has gained skill in false tones; my self-devotion has sunk into base
deceit, having only a pretended sweetness; and the variance of voice
and thought has been laid bare. But enough of myself. The princess,
though a mate for the gods, has, by showing her favour to an unworthy
object, [321] incurred reproach. For the ambrosially kind glances of
the great, when they fall in vain on unfitting objects, cause shame
afterwards. And yet my heart is not so much weighed down by shame
for her as for Mahaçveta. For the princess will doubtless often blame
her for her ill-placed partiality in having painted my virtues with
a false imputation of qualities I did not possess. What, then, shall
I do? My parents' command is the weightier. Yet it controls my body
alone. (416) But my heart, in its yearning to dwell at Hemakuta, has
written a bond of slavery for a thousand births to Princess Kadambari,
[322] and her favour holds it fast [323] as the dense thicket holds a
forester. Nevertheless, I go at my father's command. Truly from this
cause the infamous Candrapida will be a byword to the people. Yet,
think not that Candrapida, if he lives, will rest without again tasting
the joy of worshipping the lotus-feet of the princess. Salute with
bent head and sunwise turn the feet of Mahaçveta. Tell Madalekha that
a hearty embrace, preceded by an obeisance, is offered her; salute
Tamalika, and inquire on my behalf after all Kadambari's retinue. Let
blessed Hemakuta be honoured by me with upraised hands.' After giving
this message, he set Vaiçampayana over the camp, instructing his friend
to march [324] slowly, without overtasking the army. Then he mounted,
accompanied by his cavalry, mostly mounted on young horses, wearing the
grace of a forest of spears, breaking up the earth with their hoofs,
and shaking Kailasa with their joyful neighing as they set out; and
though his heart was empty, in the fresh separation from Kadambari,
he asked the letter-carrier who clung to his saddle concerning the
way to Ujjayini.
(417-426 condensed) '"And on the way he beheld in the forest a red
flag, near which was a shrine of Durga, guarded by an old Dravidian
hermit, who made his abode thereby.
(426) '"Dismounting, he entered, and bent reverently before the
goddess, and, bowing again after a sunwise turn, he wandered about,
interested in the calm of the place, and beheld on one side the
wrathful hermit, howling and shouting at him; and at the sight,
tossed as he was by passionate longing in his absence from Kadambari,
he could not forbear smiling a moment; but he checked his soldiers,
who were laughing and beginning a quarrel with the hermit; and at
length, with great difficulty, he calmed him with many a soothing and
courteous speech, and asked him about his birthplace, caste, knowledge,
wife and children, wealth, age, and the cause of his ascetic vow. On
being asked, the latter described himself, and the prince was greatly
interested by him as he garrulously described his past heroism, beauty,
and wealth, and thus diverted his mind in its soreness of bereavement;
and, having become friendly with him, he caused betel to be offered to
him. (427) When the sun set, the princes encamped under the trees that
chanced [325] to be near; the golden saddles of the steeds were hung
on boughs; the steeds showed the exertions they had gone through,
from the tossing of their manes dusty with rolling on the earth,
and after they had taken some handfuls of grass and been watered,
and were refreshed, they were tethered, with the spears dug into the
ground before them; the soldiery, wearied [326] with the day's march,
appointed a watch, and gladly went to sleep on heaps of leaves near
the horses; the encampment was bright as day, for the darkness was
drunk up by the light of many a bivouac fire, and Candrapida went to a
couch prepared for him by his retinue, and pointed out to him by his
porters, in front of the place where Indrayudha was tethered. But
the very moment he lay down restlessness seized his heart, and,
overcome by pain, he dismissed the princes, and said nothing even
to the special favourites who stood behind him. With closed eyes
he again and again went in heart to the Kimpurusha land. With fixed
thought he recalled Hemakuta. He thought on the spontaneous kindness
of Mahaçveta's favours. [327] He constantly longed for the sight
of Kadambari as his life's highest fruit. He continually desired
the converse of Madalekha, so charming in its absence of pride. He
wished to see Tamalika. He looked forward to Keyuraka's coming. He
beheld in fancy the winter palace. He often sighed a long, feverish
sigh. He bestowed on the Çesha necklace a kindness beyond that for
his kin. (428) He thought he saw fortunate Patralekha standing behind
him. Thus he passed the night without sleep; and, rising at dawn,
he fulfilled the hermit's wish by wealth poured out at his desire,
and, sojourning at pleasant spots on the way, in a few days he
reached Ujjayini. A thousand hands, like lotuses of offering to a
guest raised in reverent salutation, were raised by the citizens in
their confusion and joy at his sudden coming, as he then unexpectedly
entered the city. The king heard from the retinue [328] hastening to
be first to tell him that Candrapida was at the gate, and bewildered
by sudden gladness, with steps slow from the weight of joy, he went to
meet his son. Like Mandara, he drew to himself as a Milky Ocean his
spotless silk mantle that was slipping down; like the kalpa-tree,
with its shower of choice pearls, he rained tears of gladness;
he was followed by a thousand chiefs that were round him--chiefs
with topknots white with age, anointed with sandal, wearing untorn
[329] linen robes, bracelets, turbans, crests and wreaths, bearing
swords, staves, umbrellas and cowries, making the earth appear rich
in Kailasas and Milky Oceans. The prince, seeing his father from afar,
dismounted, and touched the ground with a head garlanded by the rays of
his crest-jewels. Then his father stretched out his arms, bidding him
approach, and embraced him closely; and when he had paid his respects
to all the honourable persons who were there, he was led by the king
to Vilasavati's palace. (429) His coming was greeted by her and her
retinue, and when he had performed all the auspicious ceremonies of
arrival, he stayed some time in talk about his expedition of conquest,
and then went to see Çukanasa. Having duly stayed there some time, he
told him that Vaiçampayana was at the camp and well, and saw Manorama;
and then returning, he mechanically [330] performed the ceremonies
of bathing, and so forth, in Vilasavati's palace. On the morrow he
went to his own palace, and there, with a mind tossed by anxiety,
he deemed that not only himself, but his palace and the city, and,
indeed, the whole world, was but a void without Kadambari, and so, in
his longing to hear news of her, he awaited the return of Patralekha,
as though it were a festival, or the winning of a boon, or the time
of the rising of amrita.
'"A few days later Meghanada came with Patralekha, and led her in;
and as she made obeisance from afar, Candrapida smiled affectionately,
and, rising reverently, embraced her; for though she was naturally
dear to him, she was now yet dearer as having won a fresh splendour
from Kadambari's presence. He laid his slender hand on Meghanada's
back as he bent before him, and then, sitting down, he said: 'Tell me,
Patralekha, is all well with Mahaçveta and Madalekha, and the lady
Kadambari? (430) And are all her retinue well, with Tamalika and
Keyuraka?' 'Prince,' she replied, 'all is well, as thou sayest. The
lady Kadambari, with her friends and retinue, do thee homage by making
their raised hands into a wreath for their brows.' At these words the
prince dismissed his royal retinue, and went with Patralekha into
the palace. Then, with a tortured heart, no longer able from its
intense love to overcome his eagerness to hear, he sent his retinue
far away and entered the house. With his lotus-feet he pushed away
the pair of hamsas that were sleeping happily on the slope beneath a
leafy bower that made an emerald banner; and, resting in the midst
of a fresh bed of hybiscus, that made a sunshade with its broad,
long-stalked leaves, he sat down, and asked: 'Tell me, Patralekha,
how thou hast fared. How many days wert thou there? What favour did
the princess show thee? What talk was there, and what conversation
arose? Who most remembers us, and whose affection is greatest?' [331]
Thus questioned, she told him: 'Give thy mind and hear all. When thou
wert gone, I returned with Keyuraka, and sat down near the couch of
flowers; and there I gladly remained, receiving ever fresh marks of
kindness from the princess. What need of words? (431) The whole of
that day her eye, her form, her hand, were on mine; her speech dwelt
on my name and her heart on my love. On the morrow, leaning on me,
she left the winter palace, and, wandering at will, bade her retinue
remain behind, and entered the maidens' garden. By a flight of emerald
steps, that might have been formed from Jamuna's [332] waves, she
ascended to a white summer-house, and in it she stayed some time,
leaning against a jewelled pillar, deliberating with her heart,
wishing to say something, and gazing on my face with fixed pupil
and motionless eyelashes. As she looked she formed her resolve, and,
as if longing to enter love's fire, she was bathed in perspiration;
whereat a trembling came upon her, so that, shaking in every limb as
though fearing to fall, she was seized by despair.
'"'But when I, who knew her thoughts, fixed my mind on her, and,
fastening my eyes on her face, bade her speak, she seemed to be
restrained by her own trembling limbs; with a toe that marked the
floor as if for retreat, she seemed to rub out her own image in shame
that it should hear her secret; (432) with her lotus foot--its anklets
all set jingling by the scratching of the floor--she pushed aside the
tame geese; with a strip of silk made into a fan for her hot face,
she drove away the bees on her ear-lotuses; to the peacock she gave,
like a bribe, a piece of betel broken by her teeth; and gazing often
on every side lest a wood-goddess should listen, much as she longed
to speak, she was checked in her utterance by shame, and could not
speak a word. [333] Her voice, in spite of her greatest efforts,
was wholly burnt up by love's fire, borne away by a ceaseless flow
of tears, overwhelmed by onrushing griefs, broken by love's falling
shafts, banished by invading sighs, restrained by the hundred
cares that dwelt in her heart, and drunk by the bees that tasted
her breath, so that it could not come forth. In brief, she made a
pearl rosary to count her many griefs with the bright tears that
fell without touching her cheeks, as with bent head she made the
very image of a storm. Then from her shame learnt its full grace;
modesty, a transcendant modesty; simplicity, simplicity; courtesy,
courtesy; (433) fear, timidity; coquetry, its quintessence; despair,
its own nature; and charm, a further charm. And so, when I asked her,
"Princess, what means this?" she wiped her reddened eyes, and, holding
a garland woven by the flowers of the bower with arms which, soft as
lotus-fibres, seemed meant to hold her firmly in the excess of her
grief, she raised one eyebrow, as if gazing on the path of death,
and sighed a long, fevered sigh. And as, in desire to know the cause
of her sorrow, I pressed her to tell me, she seemed to write on the
ketaki petals scratched by her nails in her shame, and so deliver her
message. She moved her lower lip in eagerness to speak, and seemed to
be whispering to the bees who drank her breath, and thus she remained
some time with eyes fixed on the ground.
'"'At last, often turning her glance to my face, she seemed to purify,
with the tears that fell from her brimming eyes, the voice that the
smoke of Love's fire had dimmed. And, in the guise of tears, she bound
up with the rays of her teeth, flashing in a forced smile, the strange
syllables of what she had meant to say, but forgotten in her tremor,
and with great difficulty betook herself to speech. "Patralekha," she
said to me, "by reason of my great favour for thee, neither father,
mother, Mahaçveta, Madalekha, nor life itself is dear to me as thou
hast been since I first beheld thee. (434) I know not why my heart has
cast off all my friends and trusts in thee alone. To whom else can I
complain, or tell my humiliation, or give a share in my woe? When I
have shown thee the unbearable burden of my woe, I will die. By my life
I swear to thee I am put to shame by even my own heart's knowledge of
my story; how much more by another's? How should such as I stain by
ill report a race pure as moonbeams, and lose the honour which has
descended from my sires, and turn my thoughts on unmaidenly levity,
acting thus without my father's will, or my mother's bestowal, or my
elders' congratulations, without any announcement, without sending
of gifts, or showing of pictures? Timidly, as one unprotected,
have I been led to deserve my parents' blame by that overweening
Candrapida. Is this, I pray, the conduct of noble men? Is this the
fruit of our meeting, that my heart, tender as a lotus filament,
is now crushed? For maidens should not be lightly treated by youths;
the fire of love is wont to consume first their reserve and then their
heart; the arrows of love pierce first their dignity and then their
life. Therefore, I bid thee farewell till our meeting in another birth,
for none is dearer to me than thou. (435) By carrying out my resolve
of death, I shall cleanse my own stain." So saying, she was silent.
'"'Not knowing the truth of her tale, I sorrowfully, as if ashamed,
afraid, bewildered, and bereft of sense, adjured her, saying:
"Princess, I long to hear. Tell me what Prince Candrapida has
done. What offence has been committed? By what discourtesy has he
vexed that lotus-soft heart of thine, that none should vex? When I
have heard this, thou shalt die on my lifeless body." Thus urged,
she again began: "I will tell thee; listen carefully. In my dreams
that cunning villain comes daily and employs in secret messages a
caged parrot and a starling. In my dreams he, bewildered in mind with
vain desires, writes in my earrings to appoint meetings. He sends
love-letters with their syllables washed away, filled with mad hopes,
most sweet, and showing his own state by the lines of tears stained
with pigment falling on them. By the glow of his feelings he dyes my
feet against my will. In his reckless insolence he prides himself on
his own reflection in my nails. (436) In his unwarranted boldness
he embraces me against my will in the gardens when I am alone,
and almost dead from fear of being caught, as the clinging of my
silken skirts to the branches hinders my steps, and my friends the
creepers seize and deliver me to him. Naturally crooked, he teaches
the very essence of crookedness to a heart by nature simple by the
blazonry he paints on my breast. Full of guileful flattery, he fans
with his cool breath my cheeks all wet and shining as with a breeze
from the waves of my heart's longing. He boldly places the rays of his
nails like young barley-sheaves on my ear, though his hand is empty,
because its lotus has fallen from his grasp relaxed in weariness. He
audaciously draws me by the hair to quaff the sweet wine of his breath,
inhaled by him when he watered his favourite bakul-flowers. Mocked by
his own folly, he demands on his head the touch of my foot, destined
for the palace açoka-tree. [334] In his utter love madness, he says:
'Tell me, Patralekha, how a madman can be rejected?' For he considers
refusal a sign of jealousy; he deems abuse a gentle jest; he looks
on silence as pettishness; he regards the mention of his faults as a
device for thinking of him; he views contempt as the familiarity of
love; he esteems the blame of mankind as renown."
'"'A sweet joy filled me as I heard her say this, and I thought,
(437) "Surely Love has led her far in her feelings for Candrapida. If
this indeed be true, he shows in visible form, under the guise of
Kadambari, his tender feeling towards the prince, and he is met
by the prince's innate and carefully-trained virtues. The quarters
gleam with his glory; a rain of pearls is cast by his youth on the
waves of the ocean of tenderness; his name is written by his youthful
gaiety on the moon; his own fortune is proclaimed by his happy lot;
and nectar is showered down by his grace as by the digits of the moon."
'"'Moreover, the Malaya wind has at length its season; moonrise has
gained its full chance; the luxuriance of spring flowers has won a
fitting fruit; the sharpness of wine has mellowed to its full virtue,
and the descent of love's era is now clearly manifest on earth.
'"'Then I smiled, and said aloud: "If it be so, princess, cease thy
wrath. Be appeased. Thou canst not punish the prince for the faults of
Kama. These truly are the sports of Love, the god of the Flowery Bow,
not of a wanton Candrapida."
'"'As I said this, she eagerly asked me: "As for this Kama, whoever
he may be, tell me what forms he assumes."
'"'"How can he have forms?" replied I. "He is a formless fire. For
without flame he creates heat; without smoke he makes tears flow;
without the dust of ashes he shows whiteness. Nor is there a being
in all the wide universe who is not, or has not been, or will not be,
the victim of his shaft. Who is there that fears him not? (438) Even
a strong man is pierced by him when he takes in hand his flowery bow.
'"'"Moreover, when tender women are possessed by him, they gaze,
and the sky is crowded with a thousand images of their beloved. They
paint the loved form; the earth is a canvas all too small. They reckon
the virtues of their hero; number itself fails them. They listen to
talk about their dearest; the Goddess of Speech herself seems all too
silent. They muse on the joys of union with him who is their life;
and time itself is all too short to their heart."
'"'She pondered a moment on this ere she replied: "As thou sayest,
Patralekha, Love has led me into tenderness for the prince. For all
these signs and more are found in me. Thou art one with my own heart,
and I ask thee to tell me what I should now do? I am all unversed in
such matters. Moreover, if I were forced to tell my parents, I should
be so ashamed that my heart would choose death rather than life."
'"'Then again I answered; "Enough, princess! Why this needless talk
of death as a necessary condition? [335] Surely, fair maiden, though
thou hast not sought to please him, Love has in kindness given thee
this boon. Why tell thy parents? Love himself, like a parent, plans
for thee; (439) like a mother, he approves thee; like a father, he
bestows thee; like a girl friend, he kindles thine affection; like
a nurse, he teaches thy tender age the secrets of love. Why should I
tell thee of those who have themselves chosen their lords? For were
it not so, the ordinance of the svayamvara in our law-books [336]
would be meaningless. Be at rest, then, princess. Enough of this talk
of death. I conjure thee by touching thy lotus-foot to send me. I am
ready to go. I will bring back to thee, princess, thy heart's beloved."
'"'When I had said this, she seemed to drink me in with a tender
glance; she was confused by an ardour of affection which, though
restrained, found a path, and burst through the reserve that Love's
shafts had pierced. In her pleasure at my words, she cast off the
silken outer robe which clung to her through her weariness, and
left it suspended on her thrilling limbs. [337] She loosened the
moonbeam necklace on her neck, put there as a noose to hang herself,
and entangled in the fish ornaments of her swinging earring. Yet,
though her whole soul was in a fever of joy, she supported herself
by the modesty which is a maiden's natural dower, and said: "I
know thy great love. But how could a woman, tender of nature as a
young çirisha-blossom, show such boldness, especially one so young
as I? (440) Bold, indeed, are they who themselves send messages, or
themselves deliver a message. I, a young maiden, [338] am ashamed to
send a bold message. What, indeed, could I say? 'Thou art very dear,'
is superfluous. 'Am I dear to thee?' is a senseless question. 'My
love for thee is great,' is the speech of the shameless. 'Without
thee I cannot live,' is contrary to experience. 'Love conquers
me,' is a reproach of my own fault. 'I am given to thee by Love,'
is a bold offering of one's self. 'Thou art my captive,' is the
daring speech of immodesty. 'Thou must needs come,' is the pride of
fortune. 'I will come myself,' is a woman's weakness. 'I am wholly
devoted to thee,' is the lightness of obtruded affection. 'I send
no message from fear of a rebuff,' is to wake the sleeper. [339]
'Let me be a warning of the sorrow of a service that is despised,'
is an excess of tenderness. 'Thou shalt know my love by my death,'
is a thought that may not enter the mind."'"'