distant from it but a little way, suddenly its great gate's mouth was
thrown open, and a stream of people shot from it like a long tongue,
and rapidly came towards him, so that he said to himself: Ha! then, as
it seems, I am expected by the citizens of this delightful city, who
are as eager to come to me as I am to get to them. And they came
closer, clamouring and buzzing as it were like bees; and he looked, and
lo! they were all women, and there was not a man among them all. And
as he wondered, they ran up, and reached him, and threw themselves upon
him like a wave of the sea, laughing and crying, and drowning him in
their embraces: and they took him as it were captive, and swept him
away towards the city, all talking at once, and deafening him with
their joyful exclamations, paying not the least attention to anything
that he tried to say. And Aja let himself go, carried away by all
those women like a leaf in a rushing stream. And he said to himself,
in astonishment: What is this great wonder? For all these women fight
for me, as if they had never seen a man in their lives before. Where
then can the men be, to whom they must belong? Or can it be that I
have come to a city composed of women without a man? Have I escaped
the desert only to be drowned in a sea of women? For what is the use
of a single man in an ocean of the other sex? Or are they dragging me
away to offer me up to the Mother,[4] having sacrificed all their own
husbands already? Or have I really died in the desert, and is all this
only a dream of the other world? Can these be the heavenly Apsarases,
come in a body to fetch me away, as if I had fallen in battle? Surely
they are, for some of them are sufficiently beautiful even for Indra's
hall. And anyhow, it is better to be torn to pieces by beautiful
women, even if there are far too many, than to die in the desert, all
alone.
So as they bore him along, chattering on like jays and cranes, he said
again to the women next him: Fair ones, who are you, and where are you
taking me, and why in the world are you so greatly delighted to see me?
And then at last, they replied: O handsome stranger, ask nothing: very
soon thou shalt know all, for we are carrying thee away to our King.
And Aja said to himself: Ha! So, then, there is a King. These women
have, after all, a King. Truly, I am fain to see him, this singular
King of a female city. And weak as he was, he began to laugh, as they
all were laughing: and so they all surged on like a very sea of
laughter, through the gates of the city, and along the streets within,
till they came at last to the King's palace. And all the way, Aja
looked, and there was not to be seen so much as the shadow of a man in
all the streets, which overflowed with women like the channel of a
river in the rainy season.
Then the guards of the palace doors, who were also women, took him, and
led him in; and all the women who had brought him crowded in behind.
And they mounted stairs, and after a while, they entered at last a
great hall, whose pillars of alabaster were reflected in its dark green
crystal floor, giving it the semblance of a silent pool in which a
multitude of colossal swans had buried their necks beneath the water.
And there Aja found himself in the presence of the King.
And instantly, all the women screamed together: Victory to thee,
Maharájá! for here have we brought thee another husband for thy lovely
daughter. And Aja started. And he said to himself: Another husband!
How many husbands, then, has this strange King's daughter got already?
Has she an insatiable thirst for husbands, whose number I am brought to
swell? So as he stood reflecting, the King leaped from his throne, and
came towards him. And as Aja looked at him, he was seized with
amazement greater than before. For the King resembled a very
incarnation of the essence of grief, yet such that it was difficult to
behold him without laughter, as if the Creator had made him to exhibit
skill in combining the two. For his long thin hair was pure white, as
if with sorrow, and his eyes were red, as if with weeping, and great
hollow ruts were furrowed in his sunk and withered cheeks, as if the
tears had worn themselves channels in which to run. And though he was
tall, he was bent and old, as if bowed down by a load of care. And he
tried, as if in vain, to smile, as he said in a mournful voice that
quavered and cracked: O man, whoever thou art, long have I waited for
thee, and glad indeed I am to see thee, and inclined to dance like a
peacock at the sight of a rainy cloud.
And as he gazed upon the King, Aja was seized with sudden laughter that
would not be controlled, saying within himself: Much in common they
have between them, a dancing happy peacock, and this doleful specimen
of a weeping King! And he laughed till tears ran down his cheeks also,
as if in imitation of those of the King. And when at last he could
speak, he said: O King, forgive me. For I am very weak, and have come
within a little of dying in the desert. And I laughed from sheer
exhaustion, and for joy to see in thy person as it were the warrant of
my escape from death. Give me food, and above all, water, if thou
wouldst not have me die at thy feet. And afterwards, show me, if thou
wilt, thy daughter, to whom, as it seems, I am to be married whether I
will or no. And the King said: O thou model of the Creator's cunning
in the making of man, thy hilarity is excused. Food thou shalt have,
and water, and everything else thou canst require, and that
immediately. But as for my daughter, there she is before thee. And
she could teach dancing even to Tumburu himself.[5]
[1] The _Lokapálas_, or regents of the world, often thus appealed to,
are eight: Kubera, Isha, Indra, Agni, Yama, Niruti, Waruna, and Wayu:
and they ride on a horse, a bull, an elephant, a ram, a buffalo, a man,
a "crocodile," and a stag.
[2] When she was lost in the gambling match, and Duhshásana tried to
strip her, as he pulled off one dress, another appeared below it,
refusing to leave her naked.
[3] Still the name of Marwar.
[4] Durgá or Párwatí.
[5] A Ghandarwa, or heavenly musician, and the dancing master of the
Apsarases. [Pronounce tum- to rhyme with _room_, rather short.]
III
And then, as the laughter surged again in Aja's soul, saying within
himself: Out on this pitiable old scarecrow of a King, whose only
thought is dancing! the King turned, and stood aside. And Aja looked,
and instantly, the laughter died out of his heart, which ceased as it
were to beat. And he murmured to himself: Ha! this is the most
wonderful thing of all. King and women and desert and all vanished out
of his mind, as if the sentiment that suddenly seized it filled it so
completely as to leave room for nothing else. And he stood still
gazing, feeling as though he were spinning round, though he was
standing still as death. For there before him stood this enigmatical
King's daughter. And like her father, she also seemed an incarnation
of the soul of grief, not as in his case ignominious and an object of
derision, but rather resembling a heavenly drug compounded of the
camphor of the cold and midnight moon, that had put on a fragrant form
of feminine and fairy beauty to drive the world to sheer distraction,
half with love and half with woe. For like the silvery vision of the
new-born streak of that Lord of Herbs, she was slender and pale and
wan, formed as it seemed of some new strange essence of pure clear ice
and new dropt snow, and she loomed on the soul of Aja out of the
blackness of his trance like a large white drooping lily, just seen in
the gloom of an inky night. And her hair and brow were the colour of a
thunder-cloud in the month of Chaitra,[1] and like that cloud, the
heavy sorrow hung in her great dark mournful eyes, drenching him as it
were with a shower of dusky dreamy dewy beauty, and drawing him down
bewitched and lost like the victim of a haunted pool into the snaky
eddy of their silent unfathomable recess. And yet her deep red lips
trembled, as it were on the very border of a smile, as if they were
hinting against their will of a mine of laughter and subtle snares that
they were not allowed to use. And she had risen up to come and meet
him, yet was hanging back as if reluctant, and so she stood, all
reflected in the polished floor, with her head thrown back to look at
him, for she was very small, like one on the very point of imploring
help, yet shrinking, as if too proud to ask it from a stranger,
balanced as it were between reliance on her own pure and pleading
beauty and doubtfulness of its reception. So she halted irresolute,
with glorious throat that was hovering still over the swell of her
lifted breasts, poised as it were on the very verge of tumultuous
oscillation, like that of Rati, preparing with timidity to cast herself
at the feet of the three-eyed God, to beg back the body of her
burned-up husband in a passion of love-lorn tears.
And Aja stood before her, like the sea when the digit of the moon rises
suddenly over its waves, stirred with a tumult of strange emotions, and
yet lit by a heavenly ray, a mass of agitated darkness mixed with
dancing, trembling light; all unaware that he was himself to the King's
daughter exactly what she was to him, a weapon of bewilderment in the
hands of the cunning god of the flowery bow, who shot him suddenly at
her, like an arrow of intoxication, and pierced her through the very
middle of the soft lotus of her heart.
So they two stood awhile in silence. And all at once, Aja spoke, not
knowing that he spoke aloud. And he said, very slowly: How many
husbands, then, have already had this lustrous beauty, who looks for
all as pure and pale and undefiled as a new young delicate jasmine bud?
And instantly, as if roused from sleep by his reproach, he saw the
colour leap up into her cheek, and spread like dawn flushing over her
burning throat and brow. And she drew a sudden breath, and her bosom
heaved abruptly as if with a sob of shame. And at that moment, the
voice of the King her father broke harshly into Aja's dream, saying:
Alas! alas! Never a husband has had her yet, though she is now long
past sixteen, and could even teach Tumburu dancing.
And then, as if the King's words had suddenly lifted a weight from his
soul, Aja burst into a shout of laughter. And he tottered, as if to
fall. And he caught at the old King's arm, and gripped it so that he
almost screamed, exclaiming amid his laughter: Ha! King, I am also the
son of a King: and now I will be thy son-in-law. And she shall have a
husband at last, and teach him, if she pleases, dances that even
Tumburu does not know. And with that, he fell into such a paroxysm of
laughter, that weak as he was, he could not stand, but fell: and his
laughing turned to sobbing. Then the King's daughter turned to her
father, with an angry flush on her brow. And she said, with strong
emotion: O father, wilt thou delay for ever to send for food and water?
Dost thou not see that this King's son, great and powerful though he
be, is weak, and it may be, perishing, before thy face, of hunger and
thirst, having escaped by a miracle out of the desert to die by thy
neglect?
And she clapped her hands, stamping her foot in indignation. Then the
women ran, and took up Aja, and carried him away. And they bathed him,
and tended him, and fed him till he was recovered: and after a while,
they brought him back, into the presence of the King.
[1] April.
IV
So he came once more into that hall, looking like another man. And he
seemed in the eyes of the King like the rising sun of his daughter's
marriage, but in those of his daughter like the very God of Love, newly
risen from his own ashes. And he said joyously: O King, now I am again
myself: and my reason and my strength have both again returned to me.
And if in their absence, I behaved strangely and without good manners,
it behoves thee to lay the blame rather on the desert of sand that
surrounds thy city, than on myself. For I was like one delirious, and
half distracted by wonder and other feelings coming to the aid of
hunger and thirst. Then he told the King his name and family, and all
his story, looking all the while at the King's daughter, as she did all
the while at him, with glances that resembled sighs. But as he watched
her, Aja said to himself in wonder: What has happened to her, since I
saw her first, and what is the matter with her, now? For her quiet
grief has abandoned her, and she looks like one in a burning fever; and
two red spots, like suns, burn and blaze upon her cheeks, and her great
eyes shine and glow, as if there were a fire within her soul. So when
he had finished his own tale, he said: Now, then, O King, I have told
thee all that I have to tell. And now it is thy turn to speak.
Explain to me all this wonder; for I seem to move in a maze of
extraordinary events. Why are there, in thy city, no men, but only
women? And what is the cause of thy grief? And, greatest wonder of
all, how comes it that thou hast found a difficulty in finding a
husband for this thy daughter? For, as for myself, know that, make any
terms thou wilt, I am ready to marry her, blindfold, on any conditions
whatever: nay, would she only be my wife, I should consider the fruit
of my birth attained.
And then, to his amazement, that strange old King began to weep once
more. And tears flowed down his cheeks like rain, as he said: Alas!
alas! O son-in-law that would be, so fine a man art thou, that I am
distressed indeed to see thee, and to hear thee so eagerly proposing to
take my daughter for thy wife. For all that have preceded thee, and
they were many hundreds, have said the very same: and yet all without
exception have come to a miserable end: and there she is, unmarried
still.[1] And yet this is no fault of hers, unless indeed it be a fault
to be beautiful beyond compare. Nor has her maiden purity been sullied
in the least degree by ever a suitor of them all. But all this has
come about by reason of a fault of mine, itself, beyond a doubt, the
bitter fruit of the tree of crimes committed in a former birth. For
know that long ago, when I was young, I conquered the entire earth, and
brought it all, from sea to sea, under the shadow of one umbrella. So
when I was reposing, after my exertions, one day there came to see me
Nárada and another _rishi_. And Nárada entered first. And when he
complimented me, as the chosen husband of the earth, I said to myself:
Now, I must make him some suitable return. And accordingly, I
presented him with the whole earth. Then he replied: O King, what is
the use of the earth to me? And he gave it back to me, with his
blessing, saying: Obtain an incomparably beautiful offspring![2] and so
he went away. And then the other great _rishi_ entered, and
congratulated me also. And I presented him also with the entire earth.
Then that _rishi_ looked at me with eyes that were red with anger. And
he said slowly: What! Is my merit utterly despised? Dost thou presume
to offer me only the leavings of another? Thou shalt indeed obtain
offspring, but only of the female sex. And beautiful it shall be
indeed: but little shall that beauty profit either thyself or her. So
having uttered his curse,[3] he laughed, and instantly went away,
refusing to be propitiated or to throw any light upon the future. And
thereafter in due time there was born to me, not the nectar of a son,
but this lump of grief in the form of a daughter. And as if her sex
were not enough,[4] her almost inconceivable beauty and accomplishments
have only added to my calamity: nay, they are the very root of it, and
the essence of its sting. For all has come to pass, exactly as that
testy old _rishi_ said. For though she is, as thou seest, beautiful as
the moon, and like it, full of arts,[5] and above all, a dancer that
would turn even Tumburu green with envy, all this nectar has become
poison by the curse of that old ascetic, and the very perfection of her
beauty has become the means of undoing us both. For about two years
ago, as we were walking together at midnight, on the terrace of the
palace, that forms the edge of the city wall, enjoying the cold camphor
of the moon after the heat of a burning day, suddenly, out of the
desert, we heard as it were the rush of wings. And as we stood and
listened, there arose in the air a sound of voices, like those of a man
and woman in vehement dispute. But though we could distinguish the
tones, we could not understand the meaning, for the language was
unknown to us. And then, after a while, those two invisible air-goers
appeared all at once before our eyes, seated on the battlements, in the
form of a pair of vultures.[6] And immediately, the male vulture spoke
with a human voice, saying: O King, give me now this daughter of thine
to wife. And instantly I answered rashly: Never will I bestow my
daughter on a bird of ill-omen such as thou art. Thereupon that
evil-minded suitor laughed like a hyæna: and instantly my daughter fell
into a swoon. And as she lay in the moonlight, she looked so
indescribably and unutterably beautiful that even that loathsome bird
was moved. And he said to his companion: Daughter, I was right, and
thou wert wrong. Look, and see, and allow, that she is far more
beautiful than even thou art. Thereupon that _gridhri_[7] laughed
also, and she said: Time shall show. Listen, King. This is
Kírttisena, a nephew of Wásuki, King of the Snakes, and I am his only
daughter. For this form of vulture was assumed by us, only to converse
with thee. Now he maintained thy daughter to be more beautiful than I
am. Thereupon I vowed vengeance. But I agreed to leave her
unmolested, if thou didst give her to him for a wife. So to preserve
her from my vengeance, he asked her of thee in marriage. Now, then,
since thou hast rejected his suit, despising him hastily for his
outward form, and since my own beauty has been slighted by his
comparison, ye two shall be punished, she for her beauty, and thou for
thine insolence, and through the means of that very beauty, on account
of which my father and I have become contemptible. See, O thou who
despisest a suitor, whether thou canst easily procure another. This
shall be the condition of thy daughter's marriage. Whatever suitor
shall lay claim to her, thou shalt send up to this terrace alone at
night. And if he claims, and does not come, we will swallow thy city
whole, houses and all. Then those two vultures disappeared. And not
long afterwards, hearing that my daughter was to be given in marriage,
suitors arrived like swarms of bees from every quarter of the world,
attracted by her fame. For she is called Yashowatí, because the fame
of her fills the world. Then all those suitors followed one another,
like the days of the year in which they went, up upon the terrace of
the city wall: and like those days, not one of them all has ever
returned, but they have vanished utterly, none knows how, or where.
And when all the distant suitors were exhausted, and all the
neighbouring kings, then, in my ardent desire to get her married, no
matter how, to no matter whom, I offered her to the men of my own city,
showing her to them from the palace windows. And every man that saw
her ran to win her; and one by one, the men of the city followed after
her former suitors, till they grew few in the city. Thereupon the
women banded together, and took their husbands and their sons and
everything in the shape of a man, and hid them: and now as thou seest,
there is not a man to be seen or found, in the whole city. But every
stranger that comes to the city, they catch, and bring him straight to
me, as they have done in thy case also. And the mere sight of my
daughter always makes him not only willing, but, as thou art, even
eager, to marry her at any cost. And yet they have all utterly
vanished, like stones dropped, one after another, into a well without a
floor. And there is my daughter, maiden and unmarried still. And I
can see my ancestors wringing their hands for grief: knowing well that
as soon as I myself am dead, it is all over with their race. For who
will offer them water, since the fatal beauty of my only daughter has
set a term to my ancient line?
So as Aja stood, lost in wonder at the old King's story, his daughter
suddenly rose to her feet with a shrill cry. And she exclaimed: O son
of a King, fly quickly! Hence! away! back with thee even into the
desert, and leave me and my father and this miserable city to our
inevitable fate. And she sank down in a swoon, and would have fallen
to the ground, but that Aja sprang quickly forward and caught her as
she fell.
So as he stood, holding her in his arms, and wishing that her swoon
might last for ever, so only that he held her, for she stole away his
senses with the seduction of her fragrance and proximity, her father
exclaimed, in dismay: Ha! this is something new, and a thing that has
never occurred before. And what can be the matter now? O son of a
King! she must have fallen in love with thee, as well indeed she might,
for thy beauty and thy youth. And doubtless it has grieved her soul,
to think of thy approaching end. But alas! alas! this is worse than
all. For now, if thou fallest a victim, as cannot fail to be the case,
like all thy predecessors, she will herself not survive thee: and then,
indeed, there is an end of all. For as long as she was left to be
married, there was still a shadow of hope behind.
And he began to ramble about, wringing his hands for grief. But Aja
said to himself, with joy: Ha! this was all I wanted, if only it be
true. And he said to the King: O King, it will be time enough to
afflict thyself for her death or for mine when we have actually died.
But count me, in the meantime, as thy son-in-law: and be under no
anxiety as to the fate of thy ancestors. For I will guarantee their
good condition: and this very night, I will rid thee of the evil demon
that molests her. And tomorrow, I will take this hand, and lead her
round the fire.[8]
And he took her hand, as she lay in his arms, and touched it with his
lips.
[1] It may not be superfluous to remind the English reader that,
according to Hindoo ideas, there is no disgrace like that of possessing
an unmarried daughter. Hence the practice, among the Rajpoots and
adjacent peoples, of destroying the female infants, to avoid it.
[2] Intending, of course, a son. Unfortunately he employed a word of
indeterminate gender: hence the lamentable _dénouement_. For in
ancient India, as in ancient Rome, the spoken word, the letter,
determined everything.
[3] Nothing in Hindoo mythology is more absurd than the implacable fury
of the most holy men for the most trifling slights, unless it be the
accuracy with which their most dreadful imprecations are literally
fulfilled. This was, I believe, characteristic also of the saints of
Erin.
[4] An English lady having called, not long ago, at the house of a
Hindoo lady, to enquire how she was, after an interesting event, and
_what was the result_, received for answer: Alas, _memsahib, nothing at
all_: a girl. Had she been a partisan of "woman's rights," she would
probably never have recovered from the shock.
[5] A play on words, not transferable to English.
[6] It is a very bad omen, in India, for a vulture to settle on a house.
[7] A female vulture. I retain the original word, because it seems to
be peculiarly expressive of the thing.
[8] That is, marry her.
V
And instantly, as though his kiss had been to her like sandal and like
palm-leaf fans, she came back to herself. And when she saw who held
her, she started up, and stood, blushing the colour of her own lips,
with eyes cast upon the ground. And the King said: O daughter, what is
this? Does it become a high caste maiden outwardly to exhibit her
inward feelings, and abandon the straight line of virgin modesty by
behaviour that betrays her heart?
And then, Yashowatí sighed deeply. And she looked for a while in
silence, first at her father, and then at Aja: and all at once, she
stood erect, like one seized by sudden resolution, and she clapped her
hands together, and exclaimed, in a voice that shook and quivered with
emotion: Ha! who can hide a forest fire by covering it over with a
little straw, or what does maiden conduct matter, in the ruin of the
three worlds! Aye! the fire of grief consumed me, to see this noble
son of a king, and to think that he escaped the desert only to meet his
death from me. Now has my punishment come upon me in the form of this
tall and splendid youth. For I grieved for the fate of my former
suitors, and yet I saw them for all that go, one by one, to their
useless doom, and still myself remained alive. Long ago, beyond a
doubt, I ought myself to have left the body, and perished of my own
accord, rather than consent to live, the cause of death to so many
others: and by putting myself to death, I should have cut in two the
fatal chain of their succession, and saved their lives by the
substitute of my own. And now, instead, I have been as it were their
murderess, and a death to them all in female form. And now the Deity
has avenged them, by sending to me at last the God of Love in human
shape, whose death will be a grief to me a hundred fold more awful than
any death I could have died. And I myself shall not survive him. Then
why waste time in chiding one who has but one more day to live? For as
soon as night arrives, he must go like the rest to meet his doom: and
certain it is, that I shall not live to see the sun rise again without
him.