A Syrup of the Bees Part 5

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.

XI

But Makarandika started, and she exclaimed within herself: Pandits! Ha!

Then, as it seems, he really is dreaming of the things of his former birth. And her eyes grew darker as she watched him, sitting in her swing, very still, with one foot upon the ground. And all at once, she left the swing, and came to him very quickly, and knelt, sitting upon her feet, upon the ground, beside him, gazing at him in silence as he slept, with eyes that never left his face for even a single instant.

But the soul of Arunodaya, leaving his body lying on the couch, flew back like a flash of lightning eagerly to his dream. And once more he found himself in that hall, with all its pandits shouting, just as if he had never left it to awake. And lo! the eyes of Sarojini were fastened on his own, as if with joy; and in his relief, occasioned by sudden freedom from the fear of the dream having reached its termination, and the recovery of those eyes, his heart was filled with such a flood of ecstasy that, all unaware, he laughed in his sleep. And in the meantime, that unabashed and clever maid came forward, and seized by the hand another king, and led him forward like the last. And she said, exactly as before: King, listen and reply to the question that the husband of Sarojini must answer well.

And then once more, the eyes of Sarojini lingered for a little on those of Arunodaya, and left him, as if reluctant to depart, and rested, as if carelessly, upon that second king. And she said in the silence that waited, as it were, for her to speak: Maharaj, say, shall I choose the greater or the less?

And that unhappy king hesitated for an instant; and he said: The less.

Then said Sarojini: Alas! O King, once more I am unfortunate: for I should be inexcusable, in choosing thee.

And instantly, she turned, and her eyes met those of Arunodaya, waiting in the extremity of agitation, with a glance that seemed to say to him: Be not afraid. And as he sighed in his sleep, for delight, lo! once again, she and her eyes, and the pandits, and the shouting, and the hall, s.h.i.+vered, and wavered, and receded into the darkness, and went out and disappeared. And the din of the triumph of the pandits changed and altered and ended in the roar of the waves and the rus.h.i.+ng of the wind.

And once more he awoke and opened his eyes: and lo! there just in front of him was Makarandika, with eyes that gazed, as if with wrath, straight into his own.

And when she saw his open, she said in a low voice, very slowly: Of what wert thou dreaming? And Arunodaya murmured: Of pandits. And instantly, he closed his eyes, as if to shut her from his soul. And then, he forgot her in an instant, and flew back, as if escaping from a pursuer, into his dream.

XII

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 s.n.a.t.c.h 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 pa.s.sionate and hopeless yearning for his affection to return, meanwhile, the soul of Arunodaya, all heedless of the pa.s.sion 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.

XIII

But Makarandika shrank from the glance that he cast upon her, exactly as if he had struck her in the face with his clenched hand. And she turned suddenly white, as if the marble floor she sat on had claimed her for its own. And all at once she fell forward, and remained, crouching, with her face upon her hands, like a feminine incarnation of Rati when she saw Love's body burned to ash. And time pa.s.sed, while the moon looked down at her as if with pity, wondering at her stillness, and saying as it were in silence: Can it be that she is dead? And then, suddenly, Arunodaya laughed aloud in his sleep, and he murmured, as if with affection: Sarojini, Sarojini.

And then, Makarandika looked up quickly. And lo! there came over her a smile, like that of one suddenly rejoicing at the arrival of unexpected opportunity. And all at once she stood erect, as if all her agony had been changed in a moment to resolution. And she looked down at him as he slept, and she said, very slowly: Ah! lover of Sarojini, dost thou leave me, as it were, spurned from thee with aversion, alone on the roof of thy palace, to spend thy time with her? What! shall the wife of this birth sit, weeping as it were outside the door, while she embraces thee within? Ah! but thou hast forgotten, that if I cannot enter, at least I can interrupt thee, since I am mistress of the dream.

And she put her hands up to her head, and undid the knot of her braided hair. And she took from it, as it fell around her, as if to shroud her action in the darkness of a cloud, a long thin dagger,[43] that resembled a crystal splinter of lightning picked up on a mountain peak, and shone in the moon's rays like a streak of the essence of vengeance made visible to the eye. And she went close up to him, and remained standing silent, watching his face turned upwards as he lay before her, with a smile on her lips that resembled the gleam of her own dagger, as it waited in her trembling hand.

[Footnote 43: "Did not Windumati slay Widuratha the Wrishni with a stiletto that she had hidden in her hair?" (_Harsha charita_).]

XIV

But in the meanwhile Arunodaya fled as it were from Makarandika to take refuge in his dream. And he found Sarojini as it were waiting for him with anxiety, with eyes that seemed to say to him: Amidst all this tumult of the pandits, thou and I are as it were alone together. And it seemed to Arunodaya as he watched her, that her lips moved, and were striving to say to him something, that by reason of the distance and the shouting, he could not understand. And in his delight, he began to laugh in his sleep, and murmur back to her in answer: Sarojini, Sarojini. And filled with unutterable desire to approach her, and take her in his arms, he was on the very point of rus.h.i.+ng forward, urged by the irritation of an impatience that was becoming unendurable, when once again that maid devoid of modesty came straight towards him, and almost broke his heart in two by taking by the hand not himself, but the king who stood beside him. And as he muttered to himself: Out on this interloping king, who comes between me and my delight! beginning to tremble all over as he lay, that maid said again: King, listen and reply to the question that the husband of Sarojini must answer well.

And Sarojini turned half towards him, leaving as it were her eyes behind, fastened still on Arunodaya, as if unable to bear again the pain of separation, and calling as it were to him, from over the sea of time.

And then she said, as if her words were meant for him alone! Maharaj, Maharaj, say, shall I choose the past or the present, the living or the dead?

And then, ere that unhappy king could answer, Arunodaya leaped towards her, while all his body quivered as he lay upon his bed, as if struggling in desperation to accompany his soul. And he cried out, not only with his soul, but his body: Sarojini, Sarojini, never shall thou choose, since I will not leave the choice to thee at all. Dead or living, I am thine and thou art mine. And as she threw herself into his arms, he caught her, and pulled her to his breast, while she put up her face to him, as if dying to be kissed.

And then, strange! that face suddenly eluded him, with a derisive sneer.

And his ears rang with a din composed of the shouting and laughter of pandits, mingled with the roar of the wind and the sea. And she and the dream together suddenly went out and disappeared. And he saw her face, for the fraction of a second, change, as if by magic, into the face of Makarandika, pale as ashes: and then, something suddenly ran into his heart like a sword. And his soul abandoned his body, with a sharp cry, never to return.

XV

So then, the very moment it was done, Makarandika woke, herself, as it were, from a dream. And horror at her own action, as if it had waited till the very moment when it should be unavailing, suddenly flowed in upon her soul. And as she gazed at Arunodaya, lying still in the moonlight with her dagger in his heart, and found herself with absolutely no companions but the dead body, and the darkness, and the wind and the waves, alone on that palace roof, she murmured to herself, as if she hardly understood: What! can this be of my doing? What! have I actually slain the husband of my own choice, jealous of his very dreams?

And she stood, for a little while, with one hand upon her head, and then, she uttered a scream. And she seized him by the hand, and shook it violently, as if endeavouring to wake him and recall him from a dream, in which she herself had buried him for ever, cutting off its termination, and prisoning his soul in an everlasting dungeon, like a stone dropped beyond recovery, fallen with a hollow echo into the black darkness of a well.

And lo! that shriek reverberated as it were in heaven, and was answered by a peal of laughter that fell on her from the sky. And she looked up into the air, and saw, hovering in rows above her, all those Widyadhara suitors whom she had rejected long ago, gazing down at her with faces that were distorted with malice and derision. And as she stood, confounded, with their laughter ringing in her ears, Smaradasa swooped towards her, and called to her ironically: Ha! Makarandika the scornful, how is it with thy mortal husband? How could he prefer another to such a beauty as thyself?

And Makarandika gazed at them all for an instant, with eyes that exactly resembled those of a fawn, on the very verge of escaping from its pursuers by leaping from a cliff. And her reason fled away from her, as if antic.i.p.ating her own flight. And strange! at that moment, as if bewildered by her own deed and the very sight of those Widyadharas of whom she had been one, she utterly forgot for an instant that she herself was no longer a Widyadhari, and had lost her own power of flying through the air. And she made a bound to the edge of the parapet, and leaped off, thinking to fly over the sea, and escape, and be at rest.

But instead of flying, she fell, and was broken to pieces at the bottom of the wall, in the foam of the waves that were also broken, at the foot of the palace rock.

So then, when at last Maheshwara ended, the Daughter of the Mountain asked eagerly: But, O thou of the Moony Tire, tell me, how as to the dream. Was it the very truth, and Sarojini the very wife of his former birth?

And Maheshwara said slowly: Nay, O Snowy One, not at all. For it was not even a true dream. For if it had really been a dream, it would not have continued, as it actually did, in spite of its interruptions. But the whole was a delusion, and a contrivance of the Widyadharas, who lured his soul out of his body by means of a magic drug, and acted all before him, exactly like a play. For the Widyadharas were the pandits, and the great hall was nothing whatever but the sky. And the noise was nothing whatever but that of the wind and waves, and Sarojini herself was Makarandika's own sister, who hated her for her beauty, which was greater than her own. And as for Makarandika, she was all the time her own rival; for she herself, and no other, was the real wife of his former birth.

And the Daughter of the Mountain started, and she uttered a little cry.

And she exclaimed: Ah! no! O Moony-crested, it cannot be. Surely thou art only jesting? What! was their happiness divided from them by so thin a wall as that? What! when they would have given, each his soul, to know it? Alas! alas! what cruelty of the Creator, to bring the cup of happiness as it were to their very lips, without allowing them to taste!

simply by reason of a film of utter darkness, that prevented them from seeing it was actually there!

And after a while, that Lord of Creatures said slowly: O Daughter of the Mountain, yet for all that it was true. And many a traveller crosses over seas and years of separation, surmounting every peril, to perish at the very last moment, when the ecstasy of reunion is almost in his grasp, on the step of his own door. And be not thou hasty to lay cruelty to the door of the Creator, who is absolutely blameless in the matter, seeing that all these and similar misfortunes come about, as the necessary consequence of works. And though the extremity of happiness, arising from mutual recognition, was divided from Arunodaya and Makarandika by a screen thinner than the thickness of a single hair, they could not reach it, for thin as it was, that screen had been erected by their own wrong-doing, and was nothing whatever but the doom p.r.o.nounced against themselves by their own misbehaviour in a former birth. And thus it came about, that Makarandika played the part of Arunodaya's former wife, never even dreaming that she was only claiming to be what she actually was: while Arunodaya shrank, in his ignorance, from the very wife whom he would have given the three worlds to discover, in pursuit of a phantom, that was subst.i.tuted for her by his own unilluminated longing for a treasure that, all unaware, he held already in his hand. For souls that wander to and fro in the waste of the world's illusion resemble chips tossing aimlessly up and down on the heaving waves of time, driving about at random they know not how or where, under a night that has no moon, in an ocean without a sh.o.r.e: for whom the very quarters of heaven are lost in an undistinguishable ident.i.ty, and even distance and proximity are but words without a sense.