XXIII
And next day, I waited all the morning for Chaturiká to come, and noon arrived without her coming. And I said to myself as I sat waiting: She will come by and by, and I cannot expect her very early, for she may have many other things to do as well as mine. And it may be no easy task that I have given her to do. And now, what am I to say to Táráwalí, when I come upon her in the garden, and see her, O ecstasy! again? And strange! at the very thought of seeing her again, my heart began to burn, as if turning traitor to my own determination. And I said sadly to myself: Alas! I am afraid, or rather I am sure, that the very sight of her will be like a flood, in which every fragment of my resentment against her for treating me as she has done, and every atom of my resolution, and every recollection of all that I have heard to her discredit, will be swept away like chips and straws. Do what she may, I cannot drive my affection for her out of my heart, which obstinately clings to her image, utterly refusing to be torn away. And notwithstanding all that those two rascals said in her disparagement, my soul laughs them to utter scorn, telling them they lie. And who knows? For who could believe that a body so unutterably lovely could harbour a soul so unutterably base as they said, on evidence such as theirs? Aye! my recollection of her soul is an argument in her favour that nothing that they said can overcome, and I could forgive her absolutely anything, when I think of the gentle sweetness that echoed in her every word, resembling a perfume somehow mixed with her voice. And yet if my resolution wavers, even now, how will it be when she actually stands before me as she will to-night? And yet, how is it possible to absolve her for her inexplicable behaviour to me?
And so as I mused, touching all unconsciously the strings of my lute which was lying in my hands suddenly a thought came into my mind of its own accord. And I took the lute and unstrung it, and chose from among its strings one, which I rolled like a bangle on my wrist. And I said to the lute aloud: Old love, we will work together: for if indeed she is my enemy, she is thine as well. And if, as those assassins said, she is only a body without a soul, playing on us both merely for her own amusement, then we will give her together a music lesson of a novel kind, and teach her that the deadliest of all poisons is a love that has been betrayed.
And suddenly I heard loud laughter, like an echo to my words. And I looked up, and lo! there was Haridása, standing in the open door. And he said: What is this, O Shatrunjaya? Whom art thou about to poison, or who is going to poison thee? And hast thou solved thy problem, since I saw thee from the camel's back, pondering on thy own beauty? Or hast thou arrived already at the poison in the bottom of love's cup? How is good advice thrown away upon a fool! Did I not warn thee? Wilt thou never understand that the nectar of a woman is like the red of dusk, lasting for but an instant, and like the cream of milk, turning sour if it is kept, and like foam of the sea, which exists only during agitation, melting away into bitterness and ordinary water as soon as it is still? As indeed every woman well knows, without needing to be told, and therefore it is that she is nectar always to a stranger, and insipid, even when she is not very disagreeable, to her friends, losing her fascination, like the thirst of the antelope[32] on Marusthalí, for all that approach her too near: since all her delusion depends upon her distance, and vanishes altogether by proximity. Keep her always at a distance, O Shatrunjaya, if thou art anxious to remain under the spell.
And I said: Haridása, I am only a fool, as thou sayest, but thou art wise. And now, wilt thou serve me at a pinch, by something more than good advice? And he said: By what? Then I said: To-night, I have business that I cannot avoid, and yet I cannot go out, unless I can find one whom I can absolutely trust to remain here till morning in my place, to guard a deposit. And so, wilt thou be my guard? And Haridása said: I cannot refuse, if thy need be extreme. For men to be absolutely trusted are very rare, and I am one. And is thy deposit large? And I laughed, and I said: Nay, on the contrary, it is very small. And it will be here in another moment, for I have been waiting for it all day long. And as I spoke, lo! Chaturiká appeared in the door, as if by a toss of the curtain,[33] And I said to Haridása: Here it is.
And seeing that I was not alone, Chaturiká turned, as if to go away. And I called out to her, saying: Wait but for a single instant, O thou destitute of patience, and give me back my key that I gave thee last night, since I am in sore need of it. And then she came to me in silence and gave me a key. And I said: Hast thou put off the petitioner as I desired, to another day? And she said: Yes. And then I went to the door, and shut it. And I said to Haridása: I have an appointment, with one who may be friend or foe, for I cannot tell. But here is a hostage, that I leave behind me. Keep her for me, and never take thy eyes off her, and give her back to me, safe and sound, on my return. But if the sun rises to-morrow, and I am not here, cut her head off, for she will have led me into a trap, all unaware that she was setting it for herself as well.
And Haridása looked thoughtfully at Chaturiká as she stood aghast, rubbing his chin with his hand. And he said slowly: It would be a great pity, my pretty maiden, if he came late, for thy head looks very well as it is on thy little body, which without it would look as melancholy as a palm broken short off by the wind.[34] And yet, do not weep. For Shatrunjaya is a bad judge of men and women, and I am a very good one. And if, as I think, he is altogether wronging thee by his suspicion, thou hast absolutely nothing to fear from me, and I will be thy father and thy mother till he returns to free thee in the morning. So dry thy tears, and I will return to thee in a moment to make thee laugh.
And he led me away out at the door, and shut it behind him. And he said: Shall I tell thee the name of thy very pretty deposit? Dost thou think I do not know what thou art endeavouring so clumsily to hide? Nectar when she turns towards thee: poison when she turns away?
And as I started, staring at him in stupefaction, he said with a laugh: Ha! thou hast heard it before? Didst thou not betray to me thy secret unawares, repeating it before? What! dost thou not know, it is the Queen's verse, which all the people in the city sing of every man who dooms himself by becoming the Queen's lover? I could have told thee, even without seeing Chaturiká at all, that it was Táráwalí herself who was thy nectar, and is going to be thy poison; and well I understand who is the friend or foe to whom thou art just about to go. It is the Queen.
And he took me by both hands, and looked straight into my eyes. And he said: Fool! and art thou actually hoping still for the nectar that is gone? Thy hope will be in vain. I told thee, without naming her, to hold her very cheap, if ever thou wouldst have her hold thee dear. It was useless to restrain thee, for thou wouldst not have believed me, no matter what I said. There was but a single chance. For the moment that she sees that her fascination works, and that her lover lies gazing without reason or senses at her terrible beauty, she is satisfied, and throws him away: whereas had he only the strength to resist it, she might against her will fall in love with him herself for sheer exasperation at her impotence, in his case alone. But she swept thee clean away like a straw in a flood, and thou art lost. Thou hast been playing unaware with a queen-cobra, that has smitten thy soul with the poisonous fascination of its magnificent hood and its deadly eyes, and bitten thy heart with its venomed fang; and now all remedies are worse than useless, and come too late. I can see death written on thy brow, and almost smell its odour in the air. Beware of Narasinha!
And he went in, and shut the door upon himself and Chaturiká, leaving me alone in the street.