A Mine of Faults

by F. W. Bain

A Diplomatic Interview

I

And Maheshwara said: So then, on a day appointed, in the light half of the month of Chaitra,[[1]] King Chand and his retinue arrived at the capital of King Mitra, just as his ancestor the sun was rising over the hills on which it stood. And at the gates, Yogeshwara was waiting, barefooted, with an escort, to do him honour, and food and drink of every description, to refresh him. And he introduced himself by name and family, and said: O King, thy coming here is altogether fortunate. For see, the Lord of Day rises auspiciously on one side, as if to greet and welcome his descendant and rival on the other. And now my old eyes are as it were dazzled, by two rising suns. And Chand said: I marvel, that my very great grandfather has not long ago died, of sheer fatigue, being obliged to climb up here every day to reach thee, as I have now. For thy capital is one that deserves to be inhabited by birds, rather than by men, and now the world lies, as it seems, beneath us in the clouds.

And when they were sufficiently refreshed, Yogeshwara handed over King Chand's attendants to his own, and said: Maháráj, as for thee, I will myself be thy guide, for I have matters to say to thee in private, which, but for his age, our King would have been here to say to thee himself. And as he led the King away, Chand said to him: O Yogeshwara, though to-day I see thee for the very first time, fame has told me of thee much; and they say, that thou art a very mine of craft, with a soul as full of snares as is a hunter's net of holes. And now I am afraid of thee and of thy net.

And Yogeshwara laughed, and he said: King, those who transact the business of states, even for a very little while, make enemies: how much more one who like me has borne the burden of this kingdom on his shoulders all his life! And it is these enemies of mine, who calumniate me, saying that I am crafty: for all my friends know that I am a very simple old man, who desires nothing more than to shift his burden on to other shoulders, and spend his life's evening in the practice of austerities: which, if only the Lord of Obstacles be favourable for just a very little longer, I shall presently do. But as for difficult affairs, the King my master leaves them in abler hands than mine, as in the present case, with which I have no more to do than just to be thy guide, as now I am, to the minister entrusted with its management. For our King's family and thine are hereditary enemies, and there are some matters to be settled of extreme delicacy, such as can only be adjusted by one, in whose especial care the honour of the family is placed. And there is but one, qualified to deal with this affair, and it is, as thou hast doubtless anticipated, no other than the Guru[[2]] of the King: to whom, therefore, I am commissioned now to lead thee. And Yogeshwara paused, for a moment, and he said: Maháráj, it is known to thee, who art versed in affairs, how important, in matters of this kind, is absolute secrecy. Now, eavesdroppers and busybodies abound, in this city. And therefore, it is given out, that thy reception will take place in the palace hall, where everything has been accordingly prepared, to throw everybody off the scent. But in the meantime, while all faces are turned in that direction, I am instructed to conduct thee, at the very instant of thy arrival, to a place least of all to be suspected as the scene of a diplomatic interview, and chosen with that object by the Guru himself, where he will personally settle everything beforehand, with thee alone. And in this way, no one will have had any time to penetrate the design, and the object is attained.

And all the while he spoke, Yogeshwara led the King away, by winding paths that climbed about the hill, through a wood, till at last they reached a garden, whose air was loaded with the fragrance springing from the jostling spirits of innumerable flowers wandering about at random like wyabhicháris[[3]] looking for their lover, the mountain breeze, out of jealousy lest he should be sporting with their rivals. And they came in time to a terrace that was hanging as it were suspended on the very edge of a precipice, about which the early morning mists still floated, drifting here and there, rising up out of the valley, that stretched like a cloudy ocean, far away below. And on the very brink of that terrace there stood a little arbour, almost buried in a bushy clump of trees. And there came from that half-hidden arbour the sound of the humming of innumerable bees, that were hanging like clouds of another kind about the branches that concealed it, and clustering around them like troops of black lovers struggling for the favour of the snowy blossoms which kept tumbling from their places to lie strewn about the ground like pallid corpses slain in the madness of excitement by those boisterous wooers, the bees. And the delicious scent of those blossom-laden mountain bushes was wafted towards them in yet other clouds that were invisible to the eye, seeming to say by their irresistible aroma: What though you cannot see us, we are not inferior to our visible rivals, the mists and the bees, in making this arbour a place without a peer. And Yogeshwara stood still, and looked towards it, and he said: Maháráj, it is well chosen by the Guru. Who would ever dream of a diplomatic interview, in such a place as that?[[4]]

And he looked at the King, and laughed softly, rubbing his hands together. And he said: O King, the Guru, though he is very old, would have been here before us, had not thy activity in climbing taken us by surprise, and even anticipated the sun. But now I will go very quickly, and bring him; and in the meantime, the arbour is empty, and thou canst go in without fear of any intrusion, before his arrival. For I have taken special care to secure it this morning from all interruption, even of its owner.

And the King went forward, pushing his way among the trees. And as soon as he was lost among them, Yogeshwara went quickly round those trees, and entered them on tiptoe on the opposite side, and hid himself in an ambush carefully prepared beforehand for that very purpose by himself, from which he could see and hear everything that passed within, being himself unseen. And he said to himself: Now will I myself play the eavesdropper, unknown to them both. For in matters of policy, nobody should be trusted, but one's own eyes and ears. And the best way to hear, is to overhear, and to see, is to peep. And so will I make a third party to their interview. And though my own diplomatic interviews could be numbered by the score, certain it is, that I cannot recollect one, to which I looked forward with even half such anxiety as this.

II

But in the meanwhile, Chand went through the trees, towards the arbour. And he said to himself: Is it a snare? Or can King Mitra be intending to break his own safe-conduct? But in any case, I cannot exhibit any fear, or even suspicion. For what this old man says, is plausible, and may, possibly, be, after all, the truth: and then, I should be utterly ashamed.