Then he looked round to the eight quarters of the world, and he looked
up into the sky. And he said to himself: There is my ancestor, alone
above, and I am alone, below. And he put his two hands to his breast,
and flung them out into the air. And he exclaimed: Bho! ye guardians of
the world[4], ye are my witnesses. Thus do I fling away the past, and
now the whole wide world is mine, and ye are my protectors. And I have
escaped death by a miracle, and the craft of that old villain of a prime
minister, whom I will one day punish as he deserves. And now it is as
though I knew, for the very first time in all my life, what it was to be
alive. Ha! I live and breathe, and there before me is food and water.
And now we will see, which is the stronger: Death in the form of this
lonely desert, or the life that laughs at his menace as it dances in my
veins. And little I care for the loss of my kingdom, now that my father
is dead and gone. I throw it away like a blade of grass, and so far from
lamenting, I feel rather as if I had been born again. Ha! it is good to
be alive, even in this waste of sand. And he shouted aloud, and called
out to the sun above him: Come, old Grandfather, thou and I will travel
together across the sand. And yet, no. Thou art too rapid and too fierce
to be a safe companion, even for one of thy own race. So thou shalt go
before me, as is due to thee, and I will follow after.
[4] The _Lokapálas_, or regents of the world, often thus
appealed to, are eight: Kubera, Isha, Indra, Agni, Yama,
Niruti, Waruna, and Wayu: and they ride on a horse, a bull,
an elephant, a ram, a buffalo, a man, a "crocodile," and a
stag.
And then, he lay down on the sand, covering his head with his upper
garment, and slept and waited all day long, till the sun was going down.
And then he rose, and eat and drank a very little, and taking with him
his skin and corn, he walked on after the sun, which sank to his rest in
the western mountain. But Aja followed him all night long, with the moon
for his only companion. And as he went, he saw the bones of men and
camels, lying along the sand, and grinning at him as it were with white
and silent laughter, as though to say: Anticipate thy fate: for but a
little further on, and thou shalt be what we are now. But he went on
with nimble feet, like one that hurries through the den of a sleeping
hungry lion, till the sun rose at last behind him. And then again he lay
down, and rested all day long, and started again at night. And so he
proceeded for many days, till all his water and corn was gone. And as he
threw away the skin, he set his teeth, and said: No matter. I will reach
the end of this hideous sand, which like the dress of Draupadi[5], seems
to roll itself out as I go across it, though I should have to go walking
on long after I am dead.
[5] When she was lost in the gambling match, and Duhshásana
tried to strip her, still as he pulled off one dress,
another appeared below it, refusing to leave her naked.
And night after night he went on, growing every night a little weaker.
And then at last there came a night when as he toiled along with heavy
steps that flagged as it were with loaded feet, faint with hunger and
burning thirst, he said to himself: I am nearly spent, and now the end
is coming near, either of the sand, or me. And then the sun rose behind
him, and he looked up, and lo! it was reflected from the wall of a city
before him, which resembled another sun of hope rising in the west to
cheer him. And he rubbed his eyes, and looked again, saying to himself:
Is it a delusion of the desert, to mock me as I perish, or is it really
a true city? And he said again: Ha! it is a real city. And his ebbing
strength came back to him with a flood of joy. And he stooped, and took
up a little sand, and turned, and threw it back, exclaiming: Out upon
thee, abode of death![6] Now, then, I have beaten thee, and thy victim
will after all escape. And he hurried on towards the city, half afraid
to take his eyes away from it for a single instant, lest it should
disappear.
[6] Still the name of Marwar.
So as he drew near it, he saw a crowd upon its wall. And when he was
distant from it but a little way, suddenly its great gate's mouth was
thrown open, and a stream of people shot from it like a long tongue, and
rapidly came towards him, so that he said to himself: Ha! then, as it
seems, I am expected by the citizens of this delightful city, who are as
eager to come to me as I am to get to them. And they came closer,
clamouring and buzzing as it were like bees; and he looked and lo! they
were all women, and there was not a man among them all. And as he
wondered, they ran up, and reached him, and threw themselves upon him
like a wave of the sea, laughing and crying, and drowning him in their
embraces: and they took him as it were captive, and swept him away
towards the city, all talking at once, and deafening him with their
joyful exclamations, paying not the least attention to anything that he
tried to say. And Aja let himself go, carried away by all those women
like a leaf in a rushing stream. And he said to himself, in
astonishment: What is this great wonder? For all these women fight for
me, as if they had never seen a man in their lives before. Where then
can the men be, to whom they must belong? Or can it be, that I have come
to a city composed of women without a man? Have I escaped the desert,
only to be drowned in a sea of women? For what is the use of a single
man, in an ocean of the other sex? Or are they dragging me away to offer
me up to the Mother[7], having sacrificed all their own husbands
already? Or have I really died in the desert, and is all this only a
dream of the other world? Can these be the heavenly Apsarases, come in a
body to fetch me away, as if I had fallen in battle? Surely they are,
for some of them are sufficiently beautiful even for Indra's hall. And
anyhow, it is better to be torn to pieces by beautiful women, even if
there are far too many, than to die in the desert, all alone.
[7] Durgá or Párwatí.
So as they bore him along, chattering on like jays and cranes, he said
again to the women next him: Fair ones, who are you, and where are you
taking me, and why in the world are you so greatly delighted to see me?
And then at last, they replied: O handsome stranger, ask nothing: very
soon thou shalt know all, for we are carrying thee away to our King. And
Aja said to himself: Ha! So, then, there is a King. These women have,
after all, a King. Truly, I am fain to see him, this singular King of a
female city. And weak as he was, he began to laugh, as they all were
laughing: and so they all surged on like a very sea of laughter, through
the gates of the city, and along the streets within, till they came at
last to the King's palace. And all the way, Aja looked, and there was
not to be seen so much as the shadow of a man in all the streets, which
overflowed with women like the channel of a river in the rainy season.
Then the guards of the palace doors, who were also women, took him, and
led him in; and all the women who had brought him crowded in behind.
And they mounted stairs, and after a while, they entered at last a great
hall, whose pillars of alabaster were reflected in its dark green
crystal floor, giving it the semblance of a silent pool in which a
multitude of colossal swans had buried their necks beneath the water.
And there Aja found himself in the presence of the King.
And instantly, all the women screamed together: Victory to thee,
Maharájá! for here have we brought thee another husband for thy lovely
daughter. And Aja started. And he said to himself: Another husband! How
many husbands, then, has this strange King's daughter got already? Has
she an insatiable thirst for husbands, whose number I am brought to
swell? So as he stood reflecting, the King leaped from his throne, and
came towards him. And as Aja looked at him, he was seized with amazement
greater than before. For the King resembled a very incarnation of the
essence of grief, yet such, that it was difficult to behold him without
laughter, as if the Creator had made him to exhibit skill in combining
the two. For his long thin hair was pure white, as if with sorrow, and
his eyes were red, as if with weeping, and great hollow ruts were
furrowed in his sunk and withered cheeks, as if the tears had worn
themselves channels in which to run. And though he was tall, he was
bent and old, as if bowed down by a load of care. And he tried, as if in
vain, to smile, as he said in a mournful voice that quavered and
cracked: O man, whoever thou art, long have I waited for thee, and glad
indeed I am to see thee, and inclined to dance like a peacock at the
sight of a rainy cloud.
And as he gazed upon the King, Aja was seized with sudden laughter that
would not be controlled: saying within himself: Much in common they have
between them, a dancing happy peacock, and this doleful specimen of a
weeping King! And he laughed, till tears ran down his cheeks also, as if
in imitation of those of the King. And when at last he could speak, he
said: O King, forgive me. For I am very weak, and have come within a
little of dying in the desert. And I laughed from sheer exhaustion, and
for joy to see in thy person as it were the warrant of my escape from
death. Give me food, and above all, water, if thou wouldst not have me
die at thy feet. And afterwards, show me, if thou wilt, thy daughter, to
whom, as it seems, I am to be married, whether I will or no. And the
King said: O thou model of the Creator's cunning in the making of man,
thy hilarity is excused. Food thou shalt have, and water, and
everything else thou canst require, and that immediately. But as for my
daughter, there she is before thee. And she could teach dancing even to
Tumburu himself[8].
[8] A Ghandarwa, or heavenly musician, and the dancing
master of the Apsarases. [Pronounce tum- to rhyme with
_room_, rather short.]