And the very next morning, King Mitra's capital went as it were wild
with joy, with smiles in the form of red banners hung from every
housetop, and laughter in the form of drums beaten in every street, and
shouts of victory in every mouth: since all had heard that King Chand
was going to marry the King's daughter, and so would the hereditary
enemy become a friend.[1] And the marriage was celebrated with all its
rites, with speed that did not however keep pace with King Chand's
impatience, who almost lost his reason on account of the delay of the
astrologers in fixing the auspicious day. And as soon as he had led
his bride with trembling hand around the fire, he took her away to his
own home.
And as he went away, Yogeshwara said to him, at the city gate: O King
Chand, dost thou bear a grudge against the old minister that lured thee
into a snare? And Chand laughed, and said: O Yogeshwara, I wish I had
a minister like thee. And as to the grudge, I owe thee what I am
anxious to repay. Come to my capital below, when thou hast leisure,
and ask me for anything whatever of most value to thee in the three
worlds, and it is thine. And Yogeshwara said instantly: I choose thy
bride. And Chand laughed again, and said: It is well chosen: and now I
see, that thy reputation for wisdom is well deserved. Nevertheless,
thou wilt have to choose again, for thou hast asked for the only thing
I will not give.
So then, as they went away, Yogeshwara said softly to himself: Now,
were I only a young man, my fortune would be made. But as it is, I am
old, and my work is done: and I have attained the fruit of my birth.
And see! how the Deity, in this case, as frequently before, has brought
about things contrary to all expectation, and such as no man could have
believed even to be possible, by the very simplest means. For King
Chand and his son have done nothing all their lives, but subdue the
regions of the earth: whereas King Mitra has done absolutely nothing,
except marry a wife and beget a daughter. And yet, aided by my policy,
this daughter has, like a wishing-tree, dropped all Chand's gains into
our lap, and so far from losing anything, we have gained all. So much
more powerful has proved this slender digit of the moon than all the
fury of the sun. And now, then, I will put off the burden of the
State, and spend the days that still remain to me in accumulating
merit, by penance and austerities.
And he handed over everything to his son, and becoming a pilgrim, went
to Wáránasi. And there he took up his station on the margin of the
holy stream, and sat there, motionless and speechless, till he died.
And they made a pyre and burned him on the Ghat: and his soul entered
another body, while the ashes of the old one floated down the river,
and were lost at last in the waters of the sea.
And then, Maheshwara stopped.
And after a while, the Daughter of the Mountain said softly: O
Moony-Crested, thy story, after all, proves absolutely nothing. For
beyond a doubt, Chand would have loved his beautiful and crafty
mountain-bride every whit as much, had she never committed any fault at
all.
Then said the God: O Daughter of the Snow, thou art altogether
mistaken. For the fact that he had, as it were, to forgive her for a
fault, in the very crisis and ecstasy of his passion, increased it not
merely a hundred, but a thousand-fold, and enriched it with a sweetness
which otherwise it could never have possessed. And so it is in every
other case: for therein lies the flattery of sex.[2] And each sex
loves the other better, if it love at all, for having something to
forgive. For nothing augments affection so much as the forgiveness of
its object. And the tests of love are only two, the power of
recollection, and the capacity to forgive. For false love forgets at
once, and cannot forgive at all. But love that is really love forgives
for ever, and never forgets.
Then said the mountain goddess: But in what, then, lies the superiority
of sex to sex, and man to woman? And why is not he a mine of faults,
as well as she?
And as she spoke, she was conscious of a change: and all at once she
looked, and found that she was lying, not on the Great God's breast,
but on the green side of a hill. And instantly she exclaimed, in a
pet: Now he has cheated me again, suddenly substituting this green hill
for his own body, and going somewhere else, leaving me in the lurch,
without an answer to my doubt. And now I shall have to wait, until he
chooses to return. And doubtless he thinks, that after a little while,
I shall have utterly forgotten all about it; but on the contrary, I
will very carefully remember to make him answer, and I will take my
hair down, and keep it so, until he does. And in the meantime, I will
go, and listen to my own praises; and show myself, it may be, for a
moment, in return for them, to my worshippers in the Windhya hills.
[1] The _upahára sandhi_, or alliance produced by a gift from one of
the contracting parties, is, according to Wishnusharma, of the fourteen
different kinds of alliance, the best. I have selected _Cordial
Understanding_ as its nearest equivalent.
[2] _Abhimánika_ is a piece of profound psychology, utterly beyond
translation. It means the intense self-gratification, or egoistic
pride felt by either lover, conscious of monopolising the other's love,
in being that other's adequate and reciprocal opposite and
satisfaction: the strange and sweet emotion, half bashful, half
triumphant; that seethes and bubbles in a young man's soul, when first
a woman falls in love with him.