IX

So then, Gangadhara did very carefully just as he was told. And

everything came about exactly as Smaradasa had predicted. For the soul

of Arunodaya almost leaped out of his body with delight, in anticipation

of the satisfaction of his curiosity, by making trial of the fruit;

while the lips of Makarandika grew whiter, and shut closer, at the sight

of it, as if it contained her rival in its core.

And that very night, Arunodaya went up upon his palace roof, according

to his custom, to sleep. And he took with him the fruit, which he

carried in his hand, not being willing to let it out of sight for a

moment, for fear that Makarandika might steal it, in order to thwart his

expectation, and prevent him from having as it were an assignation with

any other woman, even in a dream. And as it happened, that night a

strong wind was blowing from the east, and the waves of the sea broke

against the rocks of the palace foot, as if they were endeavouring to

move it from its place.

And while Arunodaya threw himself upon his bed, Makarandika went and

sat, a little way away, in her swing, that rocked and swayed to and fro

in the wind, looking out across the sea, with gloom in her eyes: and

casting, every now and then, glances at him as he lay, out of the corner

of her eye, that seemed as it were to say to him: Beware! And like her

body, her soul was tossed to and fro in the swing of unutterable longing

and despair. And she said to herself: Even in my presence, which he

absolutely disregards, he is preparing for a meeting in his dreams with

this wife of his former birth. And at the thought, she frowned, and

turned paler, clutching tighter unawares the chains of her swing, and

setting her teeth hard, and casting at Arunodaya, lying in his couch, as

it were daggers, in the form of dark menace from eyes that were filled

with misery and pain. And the moon in the first quarter of its wane

seemed as it were to say to her: See, thy power is waning, exactly like

my own.

And in the meanwhile, Arunodaya took his fruit and ate it, and lay down,

with a soul so much on tiptoe with desire and agitation that sleep

seemed to fly from him as if on purpose, out of sympathy with her. And

for a long while he tossed to and fro upon his bed, listening to the

roar of the waves and the wind. And so as he lay, little by little he

grew quiet, and sleep stole back to him silently and took him unaware.

And his soul flew suddenly into the world of dreams, leaving Makarandika

alone in the darkness, awake in her swing.

X

But Arunodaya fell into his dream, to find himself walking in a row of

kings, into a vast and shadowy hall. And as they went, that hall

re-echoed with a din that resembled thunder: and he looked, and lo! that

hall was as full of pandits as heaven is of stars, all dressed in white

with their right arm bare, and each so exactly like the other that it

seemed as though there was but one, reflected by the innumerable facets

of a mirror split to atoms, all shouting together, each as loud as he

could bawl: See, see, the suitor kings, coming to marry the pandit's

daughter! Victory to Sarojini, and the lucky bridegroom of her own

choice!

And as Arunodaya looked and listened, all at once there rushed upon his

soul as it were a flood of recollection. And he exclaimed in ecstasy:

Ha! yes, thus it was, and I have fallen back, somehow or other, into the

bliss of my former birth. And there once more, I see them, the pandits

and the hall, exactly as they were before, all shouting for Sarojini.

Aye! that was the very name, which all this time I have been struggling

to remember. And strange! I cannot understand, now that I recollect it,

how I should ever have forgotten it, even for a single instant. But

where then is she, this Sarojini, herself?

So as he spoke in agitation, he looked round as if to search, and his

heart began to beat with such violence that he stirred as he slept upon

his couch. And at that moment, there suddenly appeared to him a woman,

coming slowly straight toward him, followed by her maid. And as she

came, she looked at him intently, with huge, bewildering, gazing eyes

that seemed to fasten on his soul, filled as they were with an

unfathomable abyss of melancholy, and longing, and dim distance, and

dreamy recognition, and wonder, and caressing tenderness, and reproach.

And her body was straight and slender, and it swayed a little as she

walked, like the stalk of the very lotus whose name she bore, as if it

were about to bend, unable to support the weight of the beautiful

full-blown double flower standing proudly up above it in the form of her

round and splendid breast. And she was clothed in a dusky garment

exactly matching the colour of her hair, which clung to her and wrapped

her as if black with indignation that it could not succeed in hiding,

but only rather served to display and fix all eyes upon the body that it

strove to hide, adding as if against its will curve to its curves and

undulation to all its undulations, and bestowing upon them all an extra

touch of fascination and irresistible appeal, by giving them the

appearance of prisoners refusing to be imprisoned and endeavouring to

escape. And as it wound about her, the narrow band of gold that edged it

ran round her in and out, exactly like a snake, that ended by folding in

a ring around her feet. And she held in her right hand, the arm of which

was absolutely bare, an enormous purple flower, in which, every now and

then, she buried, so to say, her face, all except the eyes, which she

never took from Arunodaya, even for a single instant. And she seemed to

him, as he watched her, like a feminine incarnation of the nectar of

reunion, after years of separation, raised into a magic spell by an

atmosphere of memory and mystery and dream.

So as he gazed, lost in a vague ocean of intoxication, all at once her

attendant maid, who seemed for her boldness and her beauty like a man

dressed in woman's clothes, or some third nature that hovered between

the two, came out before her mistress. And she seized by the hand a

suitor king, and led him up to Sarojini, and said to him aloud: O King,

listen and reply to the question that the husband of Sarojini must

answer well.

And as she spoke, Sarojini withdrew her eyes from Arunodaya, and let

them rest for a moment on the king that stood before her. And she said

in a low voice, that sounded in the sudden stillness of that hall like

the note of a _kokila_ lost in the very heart of a wood: Maharaj, say:

should I choose the better, or the worse?[42]

[Footnote 42: This cannot be expressed in English with the point of the

original, because the word expressing preference means also _bridegroom_

(_waram_).]

And that unhappy king said instantly: The better.

Then said Sarojini: O King, I am unfortunate indeed, in losing thee.

And instantly, she turned her eyes back upon Arunodaya, and at that

moment, all the pandits in the hall began to shout: Sarojini, Sarojini,

_jayanti_! And as he listened, lo! she and her eyes, and the hall with

all its pandits, wavered, and flickered, and danced before his eyes, and

went out and disappeared. And the clamour and the tumult of the pandits

changed, and altered, and melted into the roar of the waves and the

wind. And in a frenzy of terror lest the dream should have concluded, he

woke with a cry, and raised his head from its pillow, and opened his

eyes; and they fell straight upon Makarandika, who was looking at him

fixedly, sitting in her swing.

And suddenly she said to him: Of what art thou dreaming? And he

answered: Of pandits. And immediately, his head fell back upon its

pillow, and his soul sank back into his dream.