II

So, then, as that suspicious yet unsuspicious old Brahman sat waiting,

with his face turned towards the east, expecting every moment the

assault of some temptation in the form of a sudden vision of

intoxicating female beauty, time wore away, little by little, and hour

succeeded hour, and he saw absolutely nothing. And the day slowly

died, and the sun travelled onwards over his head, till his shadow

crept silently from behind him and began to stretch out gradually

longer and longer before his eyes. And as the sun set, the moon rose,

and that cemetery became as it were a battleground in which the silver

and the golden light engaged, and struggled silently for mastery; while

night, their common enemy, took as it were advantage of their quarrel

to bring up a host of shadows that threatened to destroy them both.

And in the stillness of that epiphany of dusk, he listened, and heard

absolutely nothing, but the beating of his own heart. And after a

while, he said to himself: All is quiet in the forest: and now, as I

thought, this last ineffectual temptress has taken herself off, having

discovered the futility of her efforts to inveigle me, like all the

rest before.

And at that very moment, he heard at a distance among the forest trees

the noise of breaking branches, and the crashing of twigs and leaves.

And he listened again, and said: Some large animal is forcing, as it

seems, a way through the denseness of the wood and coming gradually

nearer. And he waited, and after a while, all at once there entered

the cemetery from out of the wall of trees a tall royal elephant, with

great yellow tusks that almost reached the ground. And he went slowly

and wearily, for he seemed very old, and his skin hung in folds about

him, and his body was all muddy, and crusted with the slime collected

from the forest pools in which he wallowed, dried on him by the sun.

And he came towards Trishodadhi, and passed him, paying absolutely no

regard to him at all, and went wandering about here and there in the

moonlight, as if he were looking in the cemetery for something that he

could not find. And all at once, he stopped, close beside a pippala[2]

tree, and spoke with a human voice, and said aloud in deep tones: O

pippala, art thou at last the pippala I am looking for, or only a

common tree?

And as Trishodadhi heard him, stupor came upon him, and he said to

himself in amazement: Ha! what is this wonder, that an elephant should

speak with an intelligible voice, and that I should understand him?

And then, all at once, he exclaimed, in an ecstasy of delight: Ha! I

understand. I can understand the language of the beasts. Now, beyond

a doubt, this is a fruit of the tree of my asceticism, whose

approaching term is the cause of my comprehension of his words. And

his heart swelled with vanity and triumph, at the thought of his own

forthcoming perfections. And as he listened eagerly for more, hardly

crediting his own ears, which stood as it were on tiptoe with the

intensity of their curiosity, all at once there came out of that

pippala tree a voice. And it said, softly, like a sigh: O king of

elephants, and art thou then the elephant at last, appointed me to meet?

And instantly, the elephant trumpeted with joy. And he exclaimed: O

long-expected pippala, I could dance like a very peacock at the sight

of thee! Can it be, and have I found thee? Then listen, without

wasting any time, while I tell thee my story, and end it, and so at

last free myself from the curse, and this hateful body of an elephant,

in which I have been imprisoned for a _yuga_.

Then said the pippala: O elephant, thy voice is very loud. Dost thou

not see that old ascetic, sitting plunged in meditation, surrounded by

a heap of bones, whose soul is doubtless absent far away, on some

celestial errand? Know, that I love him, for year by year I have

watched him sitting by me as I grew, almost as motionless as I myself:

and I will not have his soul disturbed. Moreover, if thy tones disturb

him, he will probably awake in wrath, and lay on thee another curse.

Come round me, therefore, to my other side, and let my trunk conceal

thee, and screen thy harsh voice; and do thou speak very low. And the

elephant obeyed, doing as the pippala said. But Trishodadhi, when he

heard it, almost abandoned the body in vexation. And he said within

himself: Out upon this pippala, and her affection for myself! Now,

very probably, I shall not hear. And he strained his ears to catch, if

possible, the matter of their conversation, utterly forgetting to

mutter, for the time.

Then said the elephant: O holy tree, the sight of thee is like water to

one dying in the sand. For long ago, when I fell into this form, by

reason of a curse, pronounced upon me for a sin, this meeting with

thyself was fixed as the termination of the curse. And I have wandered

up and down, as I think for a very _kalpa_, asking every pippala that I

saw the very question that never received an answer till this moment;

so that, hearing it, I almost leaped out of the body in my joy. Now

listen, and so at last, emerging from this dungeon of an elephant, I

shall again become a man, as soon as I have told thee of my crime;

since this is the condition of the fulfilment and abolition of the

curse.[3]

Then the pippala sighed again: Dear elephant, speak lower, lest the end

of one curse be only the beginning of another, in perhaps a lower form

than thine. And Trishodadhi, as he listened, shook with anger and

irritation. And the elephant said: O pippala, I will do my best. But

this voice of mine is my natural tone, appointed for my species. And

after all, I do not think it will disturb the sage. For though his

body is so near us, it never moves, and beyond a doubt his soul is far

away, attending to its own affairs. And how, then, should the empty

body overhear us, in the absence of its soul?