BAKAWALI

There is in the Hindustani language a marvelous tale written

by a Moslem, but treating nevertheless of the ancient gods

of India, and of the Apsarases and of the Rakshasas. "The

Rose of Bakawali" it is called. Therein also may be found

many strange histories of fountains filled with magical

waters, changing the sex of those who bathe therein;

and histories of flowers created by witchcraft--never

fading--whose perfumes give sight to the blind; and, above

all, this history of love human and superhuman, for which a

parallel may not be found....

...In days when the great Rajah Zainu'l-Mulk reigned over the eastern

kingdoms of Hindostan, it came to pass that Bakawali, the Apsaras,

fell in love with a mortal youth who was none other than the son of

the Rajah. For the lad was beautiful as a girl, beautiful even as the

god Kama, and seemingly created for love. Now in that land all living

things are sensitive to loveliness, even the plants themselves--like

the Asoka that bursts into odorous blossom when touched even by the

foot of a comely maiden. Yet was Bakawali fairer than any earthly

creature, being a daughter of the immortals; and those who had seen

her, believing her born of mortal woman, would answer when interrogated

concerning her, "Ask not us! Rather ask thou the nightingale to sing of

her beauty."

Never had the youth Taju'l-Mulk guessed that his beloved was not of

mortal race, having encountered her as by hazard, and being secretly

united to her after the Gandharva fashion. But he knew that her eyes

were preternaturally large and dark, and the odor of her hair like

Tartary musk; and there seemed to transpire from her when she moved

such a light and such a perfume that he remained bereft of utterance,

while watching her, and immobile as a figure painted upon a wall. And

the lamp of love being enkindled in the heart of Bakawali, her wisdom,

like a golden moth, consumed itself in the name thereof, so that she

forgot her people utterly, and her immortality, and even the courts of

heaven wherein she was wont to dwell.

In the sacred books of the Hindus there is much written concerning

the eternal city Amaranagar, whose inhabitants are immortal. There

Indra, azure-bearded, dwells in sleepless pleasure, surrounded by his

never-slumbering court of celestial bayaderes, circling about him as

the constellations of heaven circle in their golden dance about Surya,

the sun. And this was Bakawali's home, that she had abandoned for the

love of a man.

So it came to pass one night, a night of perfume and of pleasure, that

Indra started up from his couch like one suddenly remembering a thing

long forgotten, and asked of those about him: "How happens it that

Bakawali, daughter of Firoz, no more appears before us?" And one of

them made answer, saying: "O great Indra, that pretty fish hath been

caught in the net of human love! Like the nightingale, never does she

cease to complain because it is not possible for her to love even more;

intoxicated is she with the perishable youth and beauty of her mortal

lover; and she lives only for him and in him, so that even her own

kindred are now forgotten or have become to her objects of aversion.

And it is because of him, O Lord of Suras and Devas, that the rosy one

no longer presents herself before thy court."

Then was Indra wroth; and he commanded that Bakawali be perforce

brought before him, that she might render account of her amorous

folly. And the Devas, awaking her, placed her in their cloud-chariot,

and brought her into the presence of Indra, her lips still humid with

mortal kisses, and on her throat red-blossom marks left by human lips.

And she knelt before him, with fingers joined as in prayer; while

the Lord of the firmament gazed at her in silent anger, with such a

frown as he was wont to wear when riding to battle upon his elephant

triple-trunked. Then said he to the Devas about him: "Let her be

purified by fire, inasmuch as I discern about her an odor of mortality

offensive to immortal sense. And even so often as she returns to her

folly, so often let her be consumed in my sight."...

[Illustration: _Indra in his Court_ _From a Fifteenth-Century fain

manuscript_] Accordingly they bound the fairest of Apsarases, and cast

her into a furnace furious as the fires of the sun, so that within

a moment her body was changed to a white heap of ashes. But over the

ashes was magical water sprinkled; and out of the furnace Bakawali

arose, nude as one newly born, but more perfect in rosy beauty even

than before. And Indra commanded her to dance before him, as she was

wont to do in other days.

So she danced all those dances known in the courts of heaven, curving

herself as flowers curve under a perfumed breeze, as water serpentines

under the light; and she circled before them rapidly as a leaf-whirling

wind, lightly as a bee, with myriad variations of delirious grace,

with ever-shifting enchantment of motion, until the hearts of all who

looked upon her were beneath those shining feet, and all cried aloud:

"O flower-body! O rose-body! O marvel of the Garden of Grace! Blossom

of daintiness! O flower-body!"

Thus was she each night obliged to appear before Indra at Amaranagar,

and each night to suffer the fiercest purification of fire, forasmuch

as she would not forsake her folly; and each night also did she return

to her mortal lover, and take her wonted place beside him without

awaking him, having first bathed her in the great fountain of rosewater

within the court.

But once it happened that Taju'l-Mulk awoke in the night, and reaching

out his arms found she was not there. Only the perfume of her head upon

the pillow, and odorous garments flung in charming formlessness upon

every divan....

When she returned, seemingly fairer than before, the youth uttered no

reproach, but on the night following he slit up the tip of his finger

with a sharp knife, and filled the wound with salt that he might

not sleep. Then, when the aerial chariot descended all noiselessly,

like some long cloud moon-silvered, he arose and followed Bakawali

unperceived. Clinging underneath the chariot, he was borne above winds

even to Amaranagar, and into the jeweled courts and into the presence

of Indra. But Indra knew not, for his senses were dizzy with sights of

beauty and the fumes of soma-wine.

Then did Taju'l-Mulk, standing in the shadow of a pillar, behold beauty

such as he had never before seen--save in Bakawali--and hear music

sweeter than mortal musician may ever learn. Splendors bewildered his

eyes; and the crossing of the fretted and jeweled archwork above him

seemed an inter-crossing and interblending of innumerable rainbows.

But when it was given to him, all unexpectedly, to view the awful

purification of Bakawali, his heart felt like ice within him, and he

shrieked. Nor could he have refrained from casting himself also into

that burst of white fire, had not the magical words been pronounced and

the wizard-water sprinkled before he was able to move a limb. Then did

he behold Bakawali rising from her snowy cinders--shining like an image

of the goddess Lakshmi in the fairest of her thousand forms--more

radiant than before, like some comet returning from the embraces of the

sun with brighter curves of form and longer glories of luminous hair....

And Bakawali danced and departed, Taju'l-Mulk likewise returning even

as he had come....

But when he told her, in the dawn of the morning, that he had

accompanied her in her voyage and had surprised her secret, Bakawali

wept and trembled for fear. "Alas! alas! what hast thou done?" she

sobbed; "thou hast become thine own greatest enemy. Never canst thou

know all that I have suffered for thy sake--the maledictions of my

kindred, the insults of all belonging to my race. Yet rather than turn

away my face from thy love, I suffered nightly the agonies of burning;

I have died a myriad deaths rather than lose thee. Thou hast seen it

with thine own eyes!... But none of mankind may visit unbidden the

dwelling of the gods and return with impunity. Now, alas! the evil hath

been done; nor can I devise any plan by which to avert thy danger, save

that of bringing thee again secretly to Amaranagar and charming Indra

in such wise that he may pardon all."...

So Bakawali the Apsaras suffered once more the agony of fire, and

danced before the gods, not only as she had danced before, but

so that the eyes of all beholding her became dim in watching the

varying curves of her limbs, the dizzy speed of her white feet, the

tossing light of her hair. And the charm of her beauty bewitched the

tongues of all there, so that the cry, "O flower-body!" fainted into

indistinguishable whispers, and the fingers of the musicians were

numbed with languor, and the music weakened tremblingly, quiveringly,

dying down into an amorous swoon.

And out of the great silence broke the soft thunder of Indra's pleased

voice: "O Bakawali! ask me for whatever thou wilt, and it shall be

accorded thee. By the Trimurti, I swear!"... But she, kneeling before

him, with bosom still fluttering from the dance, murmured: "I pray

thee, divine One, only that thou wilt allow me to depart hence, and

dwell with this mortal whom I love during all the years of life

allotted unto him." And she gazed upon the youth Taju'l-Mulk.

But Indra, hearing these words, and looking also at Taju'l-Mulk,

frowned so darkly that gloom filled all the courts of heaven. And he

said: "Thou, also, son of man, wouldst doubtless make the same prayer;

yet think not thou mayst take hence an Apsaras like Bakawali to make

her thy wife without grief to thyself! And as for thee, O shameless

Bakawali, thou mayst depart with him, indeed, since I have sworn; but I

swear also to thee that from thy waist unto thy feet thou shalt remain

a woman of marble for the space of twelve years.... Now let thy lover

rejoice in thee!"...

...And Bakawali was placed in the chamber of a mined pagoda,

deep-buried within the forests of Ceylon; and there did she pass the

years, sitting upon a seat of stone, herself stone from feet to waist.

But Taju'l-Mulk found her and ministered unto her as to the statue of a

goddess; and he waited for her through the long years.

The ruined pavement, grass-disjointed, trembled to the passing tread of

wild elephants; often did tigers peer through the pillared entrance,

with eyes flaming like emeralds; but Taju'l-Mulk was never weary nor

afraid, and he waited by her through all the weary and fearful years.

Gem-eyed lizards clung and wondered; serpents watched with marvelous

chrysolite gaze; vast spiders wove their silvered lace above the

head of the human statue; sunset-feathered birds, with huge and

flesh-colored beaks, hatched their young in peace under the eyes

of Bakawali.... Until it came to pass at the close of the eleventh

year--Taju'l-Mulk being in search of food--that the great ruin

fell, burying the helpless Apsaras under a ponderous and monstrous

destruction beyond the power of any single arm to remove.... Then

Taju'l-Mulk wept; but he still waited, knowing that the immortals could

not die.

And out of the shapeless mass of ruins there soon grew a marvelous

tree, graceful, dainty, round-limbed like a woman; and Taju'l-Mulk

watched it waxing tall under the mighty heat of the summer, bearing

flowers lovelier than that narcissus whose blossoms have been compared

to the eyes of Oriental girls, and rosy fruit as smooth-skinned as

maiden flesh.

So the twelfth year passed. And with the passing of its last moon, a

great fruit parted itself, and therefrom issued the body of a woman,

slender and exquisite, whose supple limbs had been folded up within

the fruit as a butterfly is folded up within its chrysalis, comely as

an Indian dawn, deeper-eyed than ever woman of earth--being indeed an

immortal, being an Apsaras--Bakawali reincarnated for her lover, and

relieved from the malediction of the gods.