A Digit of the Moon: A Hindoo Love Story

by F. W. Bain

DAY 10.

Then the King said to Rasakósha: My friend, now nine days are gone, and I begin to fear: and certainly, I never will forgive you if I lose my darling. For she looks at me now, not as she used to look, but kindly, as if she also felt the pang of separation. Now, therefore, devise some cunning question that she cannot answer, while I endeavour by means of the portrait to keep my soul from parting from my body till to-morrow. So the King passed the night in a state of doubtful perplexity, gazing at the portrait. And when the sun rose, he rose also, and got somehow through the day, aided by Rasakósha and the garden. And when the sun set, they went again to the hall of audience. And there they saw the Princess, clad in a robe of dazzling white, and a bodice studded with amethysts, and her crown and other ornaments, sitting on her throne. And she looked at the King and drew a long breath, and the King sank upon a couch, speechless and fascinated, under the spell of her beauty. Then Rasakósha came forward and stood before her, and began again:

Lady[[1]], there lived formerly in a certain village, a tawny-haired wrestler, who kept in his house a pet. And one day he returned home and found that it had gone out. So he ran out into the street to look for it. And seeing a man sitting at the corner of the street, he asked him: Have you seen my pet? The man said: Had it a string tied round its neck? The wrestler said: Yes. Then the man said: It went this way. So the wrestler went on, and enquired again. And one said: I saw it standing on two legs, endeavouring to climb that wall. Then another said: And I saw it on all fours crawling along by the wall. And a third said: And I saw it, on three legs, scratching its head with the fourth. So going still further, he met a washerman, who told him: It came this way and made faces at its own face in the water. And going still further, he met a fruit-seller, who said: I saw it sitting under that tree, pulling out the feathers of a bleeding crow[[2]], and I gave it a handful of monkey nuts.

Then going on, he met two men conversing together, and he asked them. And one said: I saw it with another of its own species searching for fleas in its hair. And the other said: What was the colour of the hair[[3]]? The wrestler answered: The same as mine. So the other replied: It is over yonder in the tree, swinging on a branch.

So now tell me, Princess, what kind of creature was that wrestler's pet? And Rasakósha ceased. Then the Princess smiled and said: It was no ape, but a child; perhaps his own son.

And when she had said this, she rose up and went out, as if with difficulty, looking reproachfully at the King, whose heart went with her. But the King and Rasakósha returned to their own apartments.

[[1]] The point of this crafty little story almost evaporates in translation. It is artfully contrived to entrap the Princess into saying 'an ape:' but she is too cunning. Tawny-haired means, literally, 'ape-coloured.'

[[2]] The pun is untranslateable: it may mean also, 'tossing up its gory locks' (kákapaksha).

[[3]] This is the critical point. These words may also mean: What is the caste of the child? The wrestler's answer fits both. The searching for fleas, as applied to the child, will surprise no one who has been in India.