IV.

And then she began to speak. And as she spoke, she leaned forward, as

she sat upon the fallen pillar, and fastened her great eager eyes like

magnets on his own. And as Aja watched them, they played as it were upon

his heart. For their colour wavered and changed and faltered, shifting

ever from hue to hue, turning golden and ruddy amber, and emerald-green

and lotus-blue; and over her eyes her arching brows lifted and fell and

played and flickered, fixing his troubled soul like nails, and

rivetting his attention, till her singing voice sounded in his head like

a distant tune crooned in the ear of a sleepy man. And she waved slowly

her long round arms, all the while she spoke. And she said: Far away,

over the sea, lies thy own forgotten land, and presently I will tell

thee, and even show thee, where it is. And there it was, in our former

birth, that thou and I were boy and girl. But thou wert the son of a

mighty King, and I was only a Bráhmani, a poor man's daughter, and my

father was an old ascetic, far below thee in everything else, but caste.

And I lived alone with my old father, in the very heart of a great

forest, in a little hut of bark, over which the _málatí_ creeper grew so

thick, that nothing was visible of that little hut, except its door. And

then one day I was seen by thee, standing still in that very door, with

my pitcher on my head: as thou wert passing through the wood to hunt

upon thy horse. And that moment was like a sponge, that blotted from the

mind of each everything but the other's image. And I made of thee my

deity, and forgot everything in the three great worlds, for thee alone.

And thou, that day, didst clean forget thy hunting: or rather, the God

of Love showed thee game of another kind[11], and from pursuing thou

didst fall to wooing a quarry that wished for nothing so much as to be

thy prey. And we married each other that very day, which ah! thou hast

all forgotten. What! dost thou not remember how I used to meet thee

every day in the little hut, when my father was away in the wood engaged

in meditation? What! hast thou really all forgotten how it was thy

supreme delight to bring me garments and costly jewels, which I put on

for thy amusement, thy forest-queen of the little hut? Has thy memory

cast away every vestige of reminiscence of thy old sweet love in the

little hut? So then it happened that on a day we were together, blind

and drunk with each other's presence, shut within the little hut like a

pair of bees in a nectared lotus. And I was standing like an idol,

dressed like the queen of a _chakrawarti_[12], loaded with gold on

wrists and feet, with great pearls wound about my neck; and thou wert

contemplating me, thy creature[13], with intoxication, and hard indeed

it was to tell, which of us two was the idol, and which was the

devotee. And as we woke up from a kiss that lasted like infinity, lo! my

father stood before us. And he said slowly: Abandoned daughter, that

hast forgot thy duty in thy passion for this King's son, become what

thou hast represented, an idol[14] of stone on the wall of a ruined

temple far away: and thou, her guilty lover, fall again into another

birth, and be separated from thy guilty love. Then being besought by us,

to fix some period to the curse, he said again: When ye two shall meet

again, and thy husband in his curiosity shall touch thee with his

finger, she shall regain her woman's state, and be as she was before.

And now all this has come about, exactly as he said. And I have found

thee once again, only to find alas! alas! that thou hast left thy heart

behind thee in that old delicious birth.

[11] In Sanskrit, hunting and wooing can be mixed up

together by plays on words.

[12] An emperor. Hindoo idols are dressed and undressed,

like dolls, by their officiating priests.

[13] She means, he was her Creator.

[14] The Hindoos have no word, because they have not the

idea, of an _idol_. They call it a _god_ or an _image_. Our

word _idol_ implies the antagonism to paganism involved in

Christianity, and no two books are more alike than S.

Augustine's _City of God_ and Ward's _Hindoo Mythology_.

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