So, then, as she leaned towards him, with her head a little on one
side, and her neck a little curved, and her eyes a little closed, and
her lips a little parted in a caressing smile, the appeal of her soft
entreating beauty struck the King so hard, that in his agitation, his
tongue refused to speak. And just as if it had heard what Yogeshwara
had said, his heart, drawn towards her through his eyes, deserted him,
and going over to the enemy, nestled like a fugitive bird in the little
hollow between the twin wave of her breast, saying as it were: Here
will I dwell, close to her own, rocked to sleep on the rise and fall of
this gentle sea. And he looked at her in silence, overcome with his
own emotion, and at last he said with difficulty: Did I not say that I
was changed? For but a little while ago, before I entered this magic
arbour, my mind was made completely up, with reference to thy sex, and
I could have told thee I know not how many unanswerable reasons for
condemning it: but now my soul is in confusion, and as I look at thee,
I cannot bring against it any arguments at all. Aye! who could bring a
charge of any kind against such a thing as thee?
And as he sighed, she said, with gaiety: Ha! does the enemy surrender,
before even so much as attempting an attack? And what can have been
the strength of a fortress, which its garrison abandons at the very
sign of danger?
But the King, for answer, leaned his chin upon his hand, that rested on
his knee, and gazed at her in silence, for so long, that the smile died
away upon her lips, and she dropped her eyes upon the ground. And all
at once he said: As I look at thee, my weapons of arguments seem as it
were to bend and become blunted, and even to crumble to pieces in my
hand: and I resemble one in a dream, fighting in vain with a phantom
sword, that turns to water or disappears whenever he attempts to strike
a blow. For I used to think, that women were weak, and worthless in
the day of battle, and so it is: and yet, looking at thee, weak as thou
art, for I could crush thee in a moment, I would not have thee other
than just the thing thou art, and thy very weakness seems, I know not
how, to be a merit and a virtue in thee, and stronger than my strength;
and in thy case, the very notion of a battle seems utterly abominable,
and ludicrous, and out of place. And again, I used to think that a
woman was a burden, and as I look at thee, I think that thou art a
burden I would willingly carry, for as long as my strength would
endure. And women's voices seemed to me made only for chattering and
scolding, but thine is a music, strange, and soft, and unimaginably
beautiful, that plays upon my heart, and gladly would I listen to it
for ever, never so much as noting the passage of any time. And but
yesterday I would have told thee, a woman was a traitor, but to-day,
looking at thy soul in the colour of thine eyes, I doubt not women, but
myself. For they seem to me like two great black tanks, filled with
unearthly liquid drawn from some deep Pátála well, where ocean mixes
with the azure of the skies. And but an hour ago, I would have told
thee, a woman was an ugly little thing, a deformity of man, in every
point inferior to him: but as I look at thee, remorse comes over me,
and horror, as I recollect and shudder at my crime, and I see that I
resemble one blaspheming a divinity that ought rather to be worshipped
and adored. For I am but a clod, and a coarse and rough and rude
misshapen lump, compared with thee, and every morsel of thy fairy
figure, from thy masses of dark hair to the sole of thy little foot,
fills me with agitation and feeling that I cannot utter, and fierce
desire as it were to devour thee, and thirst to drink of thy
unutterable loveliness, that increases as I watch thee till I am likely
to die of its intolerable sting. For I am burning as if with fire, and
I know not what to do. And but an hour ago, I thought my soul a strong
tower, but as I look at thee, struck by a stroke of lightning in the
form of thy little figure, it has all tumbled to pieces, and lies in
black miserable ruin at thy feet.
X
And the King's voice trembled a little, as he spoke: and when he ended,
she remained silent a little while, while the colour came and went upon
her cheek. And at last, she laughed a little laugh, and she looked,
not at him, but away into the valley, as she said: Nay, but this is a
thing altogether incredible and strange. For King Chand, instead of
attacking women, has suddenly become, on the contrary, their partisan.
And yet I think, that his partisanship is greatly to be distrusted,
even more than his old uncompromising enmity. For just as formerly he
utterly despised and denounced all women without exception, never
having had anything to do with even one: so now he suddenly becomes
their champion, on the evidence of only a single instance, seen only
for a single instant. And so his new opinions seem even more
suspicious, and will probably be still more rapidly evanescent, than
his old.
And Chand said hastily: I swear to thee, that my mind is made up on
this matter for ever, never again to waver, even for an instant. Thou
art----But she interrupted him, holding up at him her forefinger, with
a smile. And she exclaimed: O King, is it good policy, in matters of
war, for a warrior to stake his life on so momentary a glimpse of his
enemy? Stay, was that a footstep that I heard? And she listened for a
moment, bending round in an attitude that almost broke the King's heart
as he watched her, exclaiming within himself: O that the King's Guru
were only at the bottom of the sea!
And hearing absolutely nothing, but the sighing of the wind, after a
while, she turned once more towards the King, and she said, playfully:
Must I, then, remind thee, that all this while, thou art merely an
Intruder, present only by my sufferance and condescension, and that
though it has come about, I know not how, that thou art actually
sitting here talking to me, in an arbour where no other has ever come
but me, yet, that should the Intruder become forgetful of his true
position, he will be immediately expelled?
And hearing her speak, Yogeshwara in his ambush exclaimed within
himself: Ha! wonderful beyond imagination is the craft of women, and
above all, of the one before me! For now, so far is he from dreaming
that he was brought here expressly for her purpose, that she has
convinced him that he is an interloper, indebted to her grace, and she
has even filled him with the nectar of unutterable delight, by allowing
him to suppose that she permits him to remain!