The Ashes of a God

And once again I started and exclaimed: What! the wife of Trishodadhi? Then she said: I see, thou knowest. And I said again: What! can it be? Trishodadhi? And as I spoke, I looked at her in absolute dismay. And I murmured to myself: Alas! alas! Had she only been the wife of any other husband in the three wide worlds, only not of him.

And Trishodadhi, as he listened, exclaimed within himself: Ah! yes, indeed; thou art right. Had it only been any other husband than myself, indeed it had been well. And oblivious of his muttering, he listened in agitation to the tale.

And the elephant said: Pippala, as I gazed at her, struck by the thunderbolt of astonishment and dismay, my heart smote me: for all unintentionally, I found myself playing the traitor to my minister, and becoming, as indeed I was already, the worshipper of his wife. And well I knew, that love would prove stronger than gratitude, and more powerful than friendship, and that he was already doomed. And I said to myself: Ha! now destiny and the deity of Love have combined, to throw me, as it were against my will, into the company of one whom I had determined to avoid, and are driving me to injure, one, whom I would rather wish to honour and regard. But now it is too late, and well I see, that will happen which must happen, and she and I and her husband are but puppets, dancing to the bidding of powers that are greater than our own. And once again I murmured: Watsatarí; Trishodadhi; it cannot be. Then she said: Who art thou, to be so well acquainted, as it seems thou art, both with my husband and myself, and what is there in the circumstances that arouses in thee such surprise?

And as I looked at her, I trembled, saying to myself: Now perhaps it is as well, she cannot see. And now I dare not tell her who I am, for that would be utter ruin, since doubtless rumour has told her all about me. And I thought for a moment, and then all at once I laughed aloud. And I exclaimed: O wife of Trishodadhi, if one should have commissioned thee, saying, Go at dead of night to the very middle of the sea, and there catch in its immensity a single little mina[41] that has swallowed such-and-such a ring; and thou going accordingly and grasping blindly in its water shouldst find that very fish enclosed in thy hand, say, would it not surprise thee also, to find chance putting into thy clutch a thing no ingenuity could ever have discovered? And she said with a smile: Who then is the fish; is it I, or is it he? And I said: It is thy own pretty neck which is the fish; for yonder necklace was commissioned to encircle it. And now let me tell thee, since I see thou art suspicious of myself, fearing no doubt the anger of thy husband, should he discover thee in my society, that he would hardly have excused thee for sending me away, as presently he himself will tell thee, as soon as he returns. For know that I am a Rajpoot, and the confidential agent of a neighbouring king, to whom thy husband lately rendered by his policy an inestimable service. And since he absolutely refused reward, the king my master said to me: Gratitude, like a river, dammed in one direction, will find an outlet in another; and since I may do nothing for Trishodadhi, I will at least do something for his wife. For I have heard, that she is of incomparable beauty. Take, then, this necklace, and answer for its safety with thy head. And ride night and day, going towards the capital of Ruru, and seek out his minister, and ask for Watsatarí his wife. And when she is actually before thee, put with thy own hands the necklace on her neck, and say: King Chandradatta bids thee know, by this emblem, that the chain of obligation to thee and to thy husband is on his neck, and when there is a difficulty, send him this; and he will overcome it. And now, right glad I am to find thee; for I have not slept since I started, for fear of losing the necklace, and forfeiting my head. And surely the bird which filched it from me to carry it to thee was some deity in disguise; for how could a mere bird know, for whom it was designed? So take thou the necklace, and when thy husband sees it, summon me: and I will tell him also, and depart.

And she listened attentively, looking as it were straight at me as I lied, till I trembled, rejoicing, and yet hardly crediting, that she could not see me; and when I ended, she stood meditating, while I watched her, in ecstasy at having hit upon a clever lie, by means of which I hoped to prolong our conversation, and look at her with impunity, careless of what might come of it at last. And presently she said: Where then is the necklace? And I placed it in the lotus of the hand she held toward me, stealing guilty undetected glances at her creeper of an arm; and she took it, and felt it all over, telling every pearl, exactly as yonder old ascetic told his beads as I passed him; while I stood gazing at her, hardly able to draw breath. And after a while she said: Surely these pearls are very large? And I said: There are no others equal to them, even in the sea. And she sighed a very little, and she said with regret: Their beauty is for other eyes than mine. And I watched her eagerly, saying to myself: Ha! can it be that this delicious beauty resembles all her far inferior sisters, and is tempted by the pearls she cannot see? O pippala, I tell thee, that though it made for my advantage, it was a grief to me to find her, as I thought, like other women. Ha! but I did her wrong, and did not know her, for she had something in her soul that I did not understand.

And all at once, half, as I conjectured, in derision, and half, it may be, tempted by the shadow of a wish to try them on her neck, she took the necklace by both ends in her hands, and hung it up around her throat, letting those lucky pearls rest for a single instant on the margin of her swelling breast. And utterly bewildered, instantly I forgot my self-control. And I stepped forward, saying hastily: Nay, thou dost not know the secret of its clasp. And before she could prevent me, for blind as she was, she knew not what I meditated, I put my two arms, that trembled with intoxication and timidity, and wonder at their own audacity, suddenly around her neck, and took the two ends of the necklace in my hands, and placing them together, was just about to clasp them. And at that very moment, I looked, and lo! there, at a distance in the garden, stood Trishodadhi her husband, looking at me with eyes that resembled caverns, filled with black and shining water in the form of unutterable despair.

And Trishodadhi, as he listened, groaned within himself, writhing as he sat at the reminiscence of that moment, which shot into his heart like a flame. And utterly oblivious of his muttering, he listened eagerly for the remainder of the tale.

And the elephant said: Pippala, when my eyes met his, I stood absolutely still, like a bird fascinated by the glare of a snake, altogether forgetting what it was that I was doing, and what it was that I was holding in my arms. And all at once he turned and went away, without ever looking round. And at that very instant Watsatarí, all ignorant of his presence and the cause of my behaviour, pushed me suddenly away, with such force as all but to overthrow me. And as I gazed at her like one dreaming, intent on nothing but her husband's interruption, I saw an angry flush rise like dawn upon her face, and standing like a queen, she knitted her bow-like brows in wrath, and exclaimed, in a voice that shook with indignation: Dastard, dost thou dare to take such cowardly advantage of my incapacity? Get thee gone, and approach me, if at all, at the bidding of my husband. And she took the necklace, and tearing it from her neck, still unfastened as it was, she threw it violently away, not caring where it fell. And I in my agitation, cowed by her vehemence and the apparition of her husband, instantly obeyed her. And I exclaimed: O wife of Trishodadhi, thou art mistaken and unjust, but I obey thee. And I climbed the wall, not so much as even remembering the necklace, and hastened home, saying to myself: Now, very likely, he will kill her. And if so, I myself shall miserably perish, unable to endure my life without her; and what is to be done? And I sent hastily, as soon as I arrived, for Trishodadhi, not knowing what to say to him when he should arrive. But very soon my messengers returned, saying: Maharáj, Trishodadhi is nowhere to be found. And I sent them back, with orders to bring him as soon as he could come. And all that night I waited in anxiety, sleepless, haunted by the picture of Watsatarí, and fearing for her life. Then in the morning, those messengers returned again, saying: Maharáj, Trishodadhi has disappeared; and no one can tell us anything about him, or whither he has gone.

So when I heard it, I said within myself: Now, beyond a doubt, he has hidden himself somewhere, fearing for his life. And I sent everywhere to search for him; and in the meanwhile, I went back secretly once more to that garden, and climbed upon the wall, only to find it empty, for Watsatarí was gone. And after a while I came away, sick with disappointment, only to discover that still Trishodadhi was nowhere to be found. And so for many days it continued; and every day I went in vain to look for Watsatarí in the garden, and it seemed as though Trishodadhi and she had plotted to disappear together, without leaving any trace. But after a while, finding by inquiry that the wife of Trishodadhi was looking for him, exactly like myself, I sent her a message from the King, saying: Thy husband has vanished, and much I fear, that some enemy has made away with him, leaving the affairs of my kingdom in confusion, for want of his sagacity. But know, that I am moving heaven and earth to find him, and do not be alarmed. For it may be that he is absent in pursuit of some object of his policy, of his own accord.

And then at last, parched with intolerable thirst, and unable any longer to endure separation from its cause, I went one day as usual to the garden, and mounted on the wall, and looked. And lo! there she was again, looking up towards me on the wall, and listening, exactly as she did before. And at the sight of her, my heart almost leaped out of my body with delight. And instantly, without waiting for permission, I sprang from the wall, and went towards her; and as I did so, something moved under my foot. And I looked, and it was the necklace, that had lain there where she threw it, ever since. And I left it lying, and exclaimed: O wife of Trishodadhi, as it appears, I have discovered thee at last. Listen now, without losing any time; and even as it is, I fear, lest we should be overheard by spies. And she said quietly: What is the matter? Then I said: Thou knowest that thy husband has been missing, ever since I saw thee first. And she said: I know. Then I said: Dost thou know where he is gone? And she said: No. And I said: I am here to tell thee. For no sooner had I left thee than I went to him; and I found him on the very point of setting out upon a journey. And I told him of our meeting in the garden; and he listened, and when I ended, he said quickly: This is no time for necklaces of pearls. For know, that I have just discovered, by certain information, that King Ruru, having somehow or other cast eyes upon my wife, has fallen so violently in love with her, that he cannot even sleep. And well I know what he will do, since only too often has he exhibited specimens of his behaviour, in the case of other wives than mine. And therefore, while yet time suffers, I am escaping, since if he catches me, well he knows, and I know, that he will catch Watsatarí as well. For where I am, she will be also, seeing that a good wife such as she is cannot desert her husband, even in a dream. But if, as I am now about to do, I can only place myself beyond his reach, she also will be safe. For he will not dare openly to carry her away, at least for a little while, and in the interval, I will remove her secretly myself. And now the deity has sent thee to me, in the very nick of time; and I place her in thy hands, more valuable than any necklace. Go to her quickly, for no one will suspect thee, and bring her, telling absolutely no one, for I cannot trust any of my household, who fear the king, and are, it may be, in his pay. But thou shalt help me to cheat him of his prey. And then he told me of his hiding-place, and went away; and ever since, I have sought thee in this garden, day by day, striving to discover thee, without letting any even of his household know. And now at last I find thee, and nothing more remains, but to make arrangements, how and when I shall come to thee, to carry thee away. And now, delay not, for the king's eye is on thee; and every future hour may be too late. And the very necklace may be to thee a pledge of my fidelity. For yonder it lies, exactly where it fell from thy hand, though I had only to lift it, to carry it away and make it mine.

And Trishodadhi, as he listened, ground his teeth together, and exclaimed within himself: Ah! perjured king and royal liar, well didst thou deserve to fall, not only into that body of an elephant, but something lower still.

And the elephant said: Pippala, when I ended, all at once that lady of the steady eyes laughed as it were in my very face. And while I stood confounded and astounded by her laughter, which poured from her like a stream, she broke off abruptly, and she said: O King Ruru, I congratulate thee from my heart on thy extraordinary talent for deceit. And I waited, just to hear what further artifice thou hadst concocted, in order to beguile me. And I admire thy roguery, and as I think, King Bhartrihari[42] was but a novice in comparison with thee, such a master art thou of thy trade, and all the arts of cozening my sex. But now, cease wallowing like a hog in the mire of lying and deceit, and tell me truly, what thou hast done with my husband. For know, that thou wouldst never have found me here to-day to meet thee, but for my determination to ask of thee this very question. Hast thou murdered him, or stolen him away, or what?

And as she spoke, I staggered, like one that has received a blow. And I ejaculated: O lady, art thou dreaming, or what is this delusion? And then, angrily she stamped her little foot upon the ground. And she said sternly, yet with derision: O King, has not thy own experience yet taught thee, that kings are harder to conceal than the very sun at noon? And has thy dealing with such multitudes of women not yet shown thee, that even a king, versed in trickery and every diplomatic art, might take lessons in intrigue from any woman, aye, even from so incomplete a specimen of womankind as me? Hast thou allowed thyself to be outwitted even by the blind? And she laughed, while I gazed at her, astounded by her exaltation, arising like a storm in such gentleness as hers, and helpless in my anger, which was impotent, being swallowed by admiration for her beauty and her craft. And presently she said: What! art thou dumb at last, and has thy voluble eloquence deserted thee, when truth was wanted rather than a lie? Know, that I suspected thee, from the very first, for thy voice betrayed thee, carrying in it as it were an echo of command. And for this very reason was it that I fingered thy necklace, by express design, to ascertain whether thou wert speaking truth about its value. And I said privately to myself, as I handled it: This is surely the ornament of no other than a king. And as to thy story of the bird that brought it hither, well I understand that it was a fable, like thy fish; and thy necklace was nothing but a snare, by means of which thou didst hope to bribe me, cunning in thy knowledge of my sex. And thereafter, all unknown to thee, I caused myself to be carried in a palanquin, a day or two ago, where I could listen to the voice of the king, and lo! it was thy own. So drop thy mask, for it is only too transparent, since even the blind can easily see through it. And tell me, what hast thou done with my husband? Hast thou murdered the husband, as a stepping-stone to the embraces of the wife?

And I said hastily: O admirable lady, I swear to thee, that I am as innocent of thy husband's disappearance as thyself. Nay, I have striven to discover him, without avail, and his going is a mystery I cannot fathom. Then she said: Thou art prevaricating, and if thou art ignorant of the reason of his absence, I am not. For certain I am, that it is somehow or other connected with thy design upon myself, with which it coincides in the time of its occurrence, though I cannot understand it.

Pippala, as she spoke, I wondered at her sagacity, for blind as she was, not having seen him as I did in the garden, she came within but a little of the truth. And I said: Watsatarí, I swear to thee, that thy husband has made himself invisible absolutely of his own accord, and I am absolutely guiltless of any practices against him, as indeed my kingdom suffers by his absence. Then she said: Partly I believe thee, though not relying on thy own asseveration. For thou hast forfeited all claim to be believed, in anything whatever. But even if thou hast not actually removed him, thy action it is, which has driven him away. For beyond a doubt, he must somehow or other have penetrated thy design, and gone away accordingly, and O that this may be all. For bitterly do I reproach myself, for having, in a moment of curiosity, lent a colour to his suspicion; and even though he was not there, yet as thou didst place thy arms about my neck, on pretext of fastening the necklace, taking a cowardly advantage of my impotence of sight, I felt myself a criminal. And when he comes again, I will confess it, and take his forgiveness for my fault, into which I fell by my own blindness, and thy abominable treachery.

And Trishodadhi, as he listened, exclaimed within himself: Ha! very wonderful is the intuition of women pure in soul; for she hit upon the very truth. Ah! that I should have doubted her, even in a dream! And oblivious of his muttering, he listened to the tale.

And the elephant said: Pippala, I gazed at her in silence, utterly unable to find anything to say. And yet, alas for her! convicted as I was, by everything she said, she did but add to the volume of my passion, like one that pours oil upon a flame. For her anger and her grief and her repentance, and her extraordinary subtlety, only made her more beautiful than ever, and my own evil conduct resembled the radiance of a lamp, that was thrown back from the opal of her purity in showers of incomparable colour on myself. And all at once she seated herself upon the ground. And she said: Stand thou there before me, and listen. For my husband having gone away, no matter how or where, what is it thy intention to do now? Here am I a prey to thee, and utterly defenceless; and now there is absolutely nothing to prevent thee from completing thy design. Tell me, then, what thou art proposing to do. And she waited, while I answered her absolutely nothing, watching her with intoxication, and lurking as it were under the protection of her blindness. And presently she said again: Why art thou silent? Art thou meditating in what manner to appropriate me? Save thyself the trouble, for I myself will tell thee of my own accord. Art thou not a king, with agents about thee for any base design? Send them secretly at night, and steal me, and thy business is done. And she laughed again, and said: Or didst thou think me one, like others, doubtless, such as thou hast known, to be flattered by the vanity of having a lover in the king? Then why didst thou endeavour to hide from me thy rank? Surely thou wast deserted by thy reason. Art thou not aware, that women, as a rule, flutter round a king like silly moths about a torch, ready to burn up, not only the wings of their reputation, but even their very souls in the form of the honour of their husbands, so that only they may bathe for a moment in his glitter, before shrivelling in its flame? Or didst thou trust in thy favour as a man; for I have heard that no man in thy kingdom can compare with thee: not considering that I was blind, and unable either to admire or dislike thee, even though thy ugliness were such as to frighten me away? Aye, and verily I think, that if thy exterior correspond to what thou art within, thou art surely very ugly; and I rejoice, for the first time in my life, I cannot see. And again she laughed, like one in a fever of desperation, while all the while I stood before her silent, wroth with her and with myself, yet attracted to her rather than repelled, by everything she said.

And all at once she said: Say, Maharáj, what was thy object in originally pursuing me? Come, tell me frankly. Is it not my love that thou wouldst have? And I exclaimed: Aye! it is thy love indeed; and for it I would cast my kingdom into the very bottom of a well. Then she said: See, now, every way thou hast acted like a fool. What! gain a woman's love by murdering her husband! Then what a monster must have been the woman thou art ready to adore! And I said hastily: I am no murderer of thy husband, as I told thee. And moreover, O thou angry beauty, not every woman loves her husband; and thine is far too old for thee, and leaves thee, moreover, deserted and alone. And instantly, she put up her two hands to stop her ears, exclaiming: Say not a word against my husband, or I will become deaf as well as blind. Why didst thou not rather endeavour to persuade me, he had deserted me in favour of thyself? For had I only been the woman thou art taking me to be, nothing could have been better to the point. Or why didst thou not try to buy me from him? Thou art rich. Was it that it was only too well known to thee, he would not sell me, even for a very mountain of pure gold? Then what art thou but a thief, seeking underhand to rob him of the thing he would not sell?

And Trishodadhi, as he listened, murmured to himself: Aha! well said, well done! O irrefutable wife, well might he stand before thee, in silence and abashed. And oblivious of his muttering, he listened to the tale.

And the elephant said: O pippala, little as she knew it, she was but pleading against herself, and losing her own cause, even in the winning of it, by making herself ever more and more the mistress of my soul. And all the while she was reducing me as it were to ashes, by the fire of her scorn; strange! she was but raising out of those very ashes other and far fiercer fire than hers, so unutterably beautiful was the body and the soul of my despiser. And then all at once, as if driven to despair by the consciousness of her own forlorn position, she burst from laughter into tears. And she wept, rocking herself to and fro before me as she sat, while I watched her with a heart that almost broke, in despair that I should grieve her, yet fiercely determined to win her for my own. Ha! very terrible is the cruelty of love, piercing with marble heart the very thing it loves with swords; and very wonderful the conduct of a lover, treating as if with hatred, and pitilessly torturing, the thing for which he longs to give his life. For I would have given my kingdom, only to take her in my arms and soothe her; and yet my heart was adamant to her reproaches, intent on nothing but breaking her determination, and bending her to my will. And so I stood, waiting till the tempest of her sorrow should abate, and allow her to bring about herself a change in a situation, with which I myself was powerless to deal. And at last she raised her head, and said: O King, thou seest that I am absolutely at thy mercy. And hast thou then no pity or compassion? Is it my love that thou aimest at possessing? Then how will it advantage thee to take by force, what has value only when it is given of its own accord? Or what can be the value of a body, dead and without a soul? Wilt thou love a corpse, or will a corpse relove thee? Callest thou love, such a union with the dead? I tell thee, such love would turn to hatred in a day.

And I exclaimed: Ah! Watsatarí; say not, say not, thou canst not love me; and speak not of thyself as dead, who art my life, and as it were, the very soul and self of me. Nay, rather is it I, who am altogether dead, without thee. Aye! all these years I have been dead, having only now at last begun to live, since first I climbed upon the wall, to see my life at last, in thee below. Alas! Watsatarí, and dost thou talk of pity or compassion, that hast thyself no grain of either in that heart of thine, that, as I think, is harder than a stone? Or being blind thyself, dost thou imagine all others also blind? And O that I myself were blind indeed, and could not see thee, for as it is, the sight of thee is poison more fell than any kálakuta,[43] since that at least was drinkable, but thy blue bewildering beauty is fatal even at a distance, showing the traveller a mocking picture in the desert, only to whet his thirst, without allowing him to drink at all. Aye! surely thou art an incarnation of illusion, more bitter even than the ocean with its brine; for thou art salt not only to the taste but to the sight. And why, then, didst thou allure me with the mystery and depth of thy still unfathomable eyes, or lull my senses and dash my reason from its rock by the surge of the wave that throbs in the motion of thy tantalising breast, only to drive me from thee by menaces of death? Did the Creator mould thee to such incomparable form, or bestow on every movement of thy body so delicate and characteristically feminine a grace, only for my destruction? Did he fill me with passionate longing for exactly such a perfect model of the soft and seductive sweetness of a woman as thyself, only to show me the reality in derision, and say to me as soon as I had found it, Forget it, and go away, and leave it to another. Nay, but I will not go away, and I tell thee, that in vain dost thou endeavour to deprive me of thyself. Rather will I bind thee to myself, making thee a part of me, as is Gauri of Maheshwara, and thou shall be the complement and the other half of me, and shrine me in thy heart and thee in mine.