And the elephant said: Pippala, when my eyes met his, I stood
absolutely still, like a bird fascinated by the glare of a snake,
altogether forgetting what it was that I was doing, and what it was
that I was holding in my arms. And all at once he turned and went
away, without ever looking round. And at that very instant Watsatarí,
all ignorant of his presence and the cause of my behaviour, pushed me
suddenly away, with such force as all but to overthrow me. And as I
gazed at her like one dreaming, intent on nothing but her husband's
interruption, I saw an angry flush rise like dawn upon her face, and
standing like a queen, she knitted her bow-like brows in wrath, and
exclaimed, in a voice that shook with indignation: Dastard, dost thou
dare to take such cowardly advantage of my incapacity? Get thee gone,
and approach me, if at all, at the bidding of my husband. And she took
the necklace, and tearing it from her neck, still unfastened as it was,
she threw it violently away, not caring where it fell. And I in my
agitation, cowed by her vehemence and the apparition of her husband,
instantly obeyed her. And I exclaimed: O wife of Trishodadhi, thou art
mistaken and unjust, but I obey thee. And I climbed the wall, not so
much as even remembering the necklace, and hastened home, saying to
myself: Now, very likely, he will kill her. And if so, I myself shall
miserably perish, unable to endure my life without her; and what is to
be done? And I sent hastily, as soon as I arrived, for Trishodadhi,
not knowing what to say to him when he should arrive. But very soon my
messengers returned, saying: Maharáj, Trishodadhi is nowhere to be
found. And I sent them back, with orders to bring him as soon as he
could come. And all that night I waited in anxiety, sleepless, haunted
by the picture of Watsatarí, and fearing for her life. Then in the
morning, those messengers returned again, saying: Maharáj, Trishodadhi
has disappeared; and no one can tell us anything about him, or whither
he has gone.
So when I heard it, I said within myself: Now, beyond a doubt, he has
hidden himself somewhere, fearing for his life. And I sent everywhere
to search for him; and in the meanwhile, I went back secretly once more
to that garden, and climbed upon the wall, only to find it empty, for
Watsatarí was gone. And after a while I came away, sick with
disappointment, only to discover that still Trishodadhi was nowhere to
be found. And so for many days it continued; and every day I went in
vain to look for Watsatarí in the garden, and it seemed as though
Trishodadhi and she had plotted to disappear together, without leaving
any trace. But after a while, finding by inquiry that the wife of
Trishodadhi was looking for him, exactly like myself, I sent her a
message from the King, saying: Thy husband has vanished, and much I
fear, that some enemy has made away with him, leaving the affairs of my
kingdom in confusion, for want of his sagacity. But know, that I am
moving heaven and earth to find him, and do not be alarmed. For it may
be that he is absent in pursuit of some object of his policy, of his
own accord.
And then at last, parched with intolerable thirst, and unable any
longer to endure separation from its cause, I went one day as usual to
the garden, and mounted on the wall, and looked. And lo! there she was
again, looking up towards me on the wall, and listening, exactly as she
did before. And at the sight of her, my heart almost leaped out of my
body with delight. And instantly, without waiting for permission, I
sprang from the wall, and went towards her; and as I did so, something
moved under my foot. And I looked, and it was the necklace, that had
lain there where she threw it, ever since. And I left it lying, and
exclaimed: O wife of Trishodadhi, as it appears, I have discovered thee
at last. Listen now, without losing any time; and even as it is, I
fear, lest we should be overheard by spies. And she said quietly: What
is the matter? Then I said: Thou knowest that thy husband has been
missing, ever since I saw thee first. And she said: I know. Then I
said: Dost thou know where he is gone? And she said: No. And I said:
I am here to tell thee. For no sooner had I left thee than I went to
him; and I found him on the very point of setting out upon a journey.
And I told him of our meeting in the garden; and he listened, and when
I ended, he said quickly: This is no time for necklaces of pearls. For
know, that I have just discovered, by certain information, that King
Ruru, having somehow or other cast eyes upon my wife, has fallen so
violently in love with her, that he cannot even sleep. And well I know
what he will do, since only too often has he exhibited specimens of his
behaviour, in the case of other wives than mine. And therefore, while
yet time suffers, I am escaping, since if he catches me, well he knows,
and I know, that he will catch Watsatarí as well. For where I am, she
will be also, seeing that a good wife such as she is cannot desert her
husband, even in a dream. But if, as I am now about to do, I can only
place myself beyond his reach, she also will be safe. For he will not
dare openly to carry her away, at least for a little while, and in the
interval, I will remove her secretly myself. And now the deity has
sent thee to me, in the very nick of time; and I place her in thy
hands, more valuable than any necklace. Go to her quickly, for no one
will suspect thee, and bring her, telling absolutely no one, for I
cannot trust any of my household, who fear the king, and are, it may
be, in his pay. But thou shalt help me to cheat him of his prey. And
then he told me of his hiding-place, and went away; and ever since, I
have sought thee in this garden, day by day, striving to discover thee,
without letting any even of his household know. And now at last I find
thee, and nothing more remains, but to make arrangements, how and when
I shall come to thee, to carry thee away. And now, delay not, for the
king's eye is on thee; and every future hour may be too late. And the
very necklace may be to thee a pledge of my fidelity. For yonder it
lies, exactly where it fell from thy hand, though I had only to lift
it, to carry it away and make it mine.
And Trishodadhi, as he listened, ground his teeth together, and
exclaimed within himself: Ah! perjured king and royal liar, well didst
thou deserve to fall, not only into that body of an elephant, but
something lower still.