But Makarandika's face fell. And after a while, he began to laugh, with
laughter that quivered, as if it hesitated between agony and scorn. And
she exclaimed: Pandits! Does anybody laugh, as he did in his sleep, who
dreams of pandits? What has laughter such as his to do with pandits?
Nay, he is trying to hide from me a secret, not knowing, that in the
absence of his soul, his body is playing traitor to him against his
will. Ah! well I understand, he closed his eyes, to keep me on the
outside of his soul, which he opens in the sweetness of a dream to
someone else. So, now, let him beware. And she drew still closer to his
side, and leaned over him, with her eyes fixed upon his lips, and a
heart that beat with such agitation that she pressed one hand upon her
breast, as if to bid it to be still, lest its throbbing should rouse him
from his sleep.
And as she gazed, there came over her soul such a sense of desolation,
mixed with the fire of jealousy, and wrath at her own inability to
follow him into his dream and snatch him for her own from everybody
else, that her breath was within a little of stopping of its own accord.
And she yearned to find, as it were, a refuge, in tears that refused to
flow, and her head began to spin. And all at once, a shudder that was
half a sob shook her as she kneeled, mixed with an almost irresistible
desire to clasp him in her arms, and claim him for what he actually was,
her husband, and the only lord without a rival of her own miserable
heart. And a fever that turned her hot and cold by turns began to hurry
through her limbs. And she murmured to herself, without knowing what she
said: Shall he leave me here, deserted, alone in the darkness of this
palace and the night? to meet in a dream where I cannot follow him the
wife I cannot oust from his soul? Who knows? It may be that at this very
moment, they are laughing me to scorn, locked in each other's arms.
And so as she continued, gazing at him with a soul set as it were on
fire by suspicion and images of her own creating, and a heart stung by
the viper of recollection, and yet, strange! swelling with a passionate
and hopeless yearning for his affection to return, meanwhile, the soul
of Arunodaya, all heedless of the passion that menaced his abandoned
body, lay, as it were, drowned in the honey of his dream. And once
again, amid the tumult of the pandits, the eyes of Sarojini were drawing
his soul towards her own, as if with cords, woven of the triple strands
of colour and reminiscence and the intensity of a love that was returned
tenfold. And so as he lay, conscious of absolutely nothing but the abyss
of those unfathomable eyes, all at once that shameless maid came forward
yet again, and took the hand of yet another king, and said as before:
King, listen and reply to the question that the husband of Sarojini must
answer well.
And Sarojini, hearing her speak, drew her eyes away sadly from
Arunodaya, and turned them slowly on that waiting king. And she said:
Maharaj, say, shall I choose the bitter or the sweet?
And then, that miserable king, as if he feared the fate of his
predecessors, stood for a while in silence. And he said at last: The
sweet.
Then said Sarojini: King, beyond all doubt my crimes in a former birth
are bearing fruit, in depriving me of such a husband as thyself.
And instantly, all the pandits broke into a shout, and as they did so,
she shot at Arunodaya a glance that seemed as it were to say to him: Be
patient, for thy turn also will presently arrive.
And at that very moment, something took him as it were by the throat.
And as the dream suddenly went out and disappeared, he awoke, in the
roar of the waves and the wind, to find that Makarandika had her hand
upon his breast, to wake him from his dream. And she said absolutely
nothing. But her eyes were fixed upon his own, filled to the very brim
with entreaty, and affection, and terror and grief, and despair.
And seeing her, he frowned, as if the very sight of her was poison to
his soul. And he shut his eyes, and fell back upon his pillow, to go
back to his dream.