A Mine of Faults

by F. W. Bain

And Chand said: Where, and of what nature is the danger? And as he spoke, she turned round, and bent her great blue eyes upon him, with her two lips closed, as though determined not to smile, almost into a ball, so that they exactly resembled a ripe bimba fruit. And she seemed as it were to say to him: Dost thou not recognise, who is the danger? And after a while, she turned away, saying: The danger is, that King Chand may utterly wreck his reputation for misogyny, by betraying an inclination for the society of women. For I think that his friends in the plains would be very much astonished; if they knew that he had actually gone so far as to return of his own accord to an arbour, out of which the unsuspected and abominable presence of one of that insignificant and useless sex had originally driven him.

And then she sat in silence, stealing at him every now and then glances from eyes he could not see, that resembled soft flashes of lightning in the form of blue and silent laughter, from under the long lashes which as he watched her he could see standing out from her round soft cheek like the roof of a house. And though she never laughed, he knew that she was laughing at him, by that very cheek, from which he could not take his eyes, resembling as it did a very incarnation of round, soft, delicious, unpunishable impertinence, that attracted him with so irresistible a longing for its owner that he could hardly breathe. And yet he was filled with shame, and confusion, and rage against himself, and also against her; and all the while he felt, that his anger against her was as it were impotent and helpless, for his soul began as it were to turn traitor to him, going over in spite of himself to her side. And so he stood, gazing at her in wrath that was mixed with a smile of delight, utterly unable either to say or to do anything at all. And he strove to be offended with her, in vain, in spite of the shame and exasperation that she was pouring into his heart. And so as he stood, like a picture of wounded pride and helpless irresolution, all at once, she looked round, and as it were caught him unawares, standing at her mercy, abashed and ashamed, the very target of her mocking eyes. And utterly unable to endure it any longer, he suddenly turned and ran out of the arbour, as if he were escaping from a foe.

VI

And then, strange! hardly had he gone a few steps from the terrace, when again his feet stopped, as if utterly refusing to carry him away. And he stood, burning with shame, and anger, and yet unable to move. And he thought no longer, as at first, of her beauty, but simply of herself: and he was absolutely miserable, feeling that somehow or other she had mastered him; and his soul was filled to the very brim with nothing but her, and as it were kept on repeating obstinately, she, she, she, as if her personality had filled it to the exclusion of his own. Alas! by reason of his youth and inexperience he was all unaware, that the poison of Love was in his heart, and beginning to work. And she danced as it were before his eyes, and whirled all round him, and sat in his soul, and seized upon it and its faculties and senses, and it was as though the world had vanished, leaving in its place nothing but a void, composed of a blue that was the very substance of herself. And so he stood, still, like one torn by strong chains in opposite directions, determined to go away, and yet never moving, and ashamed to go back, and yet drawn by an irresistible spell, that whispered as it were in his ear: Return: return. And so he stood a long while, as utterly unconscious of everything around him, as if he had become a tree, fanned by the wind.

And at last, he turned, and went back, very slowly, with sad and heavy feet, that moved, as if they were carrying a guilty criminal to his own execution. And when he reached the arbour door, again he stopped, and stood irresolutely near it, looking out over the valley, like one paralysed by his own indecision. And then at length, unable to endure the separation from her any longer, he said to himself with a sigh: Now everything is quiet: and doubtless, she has utterly forgotten all about me, thinking me gone, not again to return. And now no doubt she will be working with her flowers, just as she was at first, and with her back towards me. Therefore, if I stoop down, very carefully, making no noise, I shall be able to watch her, unobserved. And he stooped, stealthily, and peeped round the edge of the door.

And lo! when he looked, she also was standing, stooping, almost exactly like himself, on the other side, close to the door, and leaning forward eagerly, with a great bunch of flowers in one hand, and the other stretched, like a creeper, bowing in the wind of excitement, a little way before her, watching, as if with eager desire, to see him return. And when, all at once, their eyes met, she stood a little while looking at him exactly like a child in the extremity of delight. And all at once, she began to laugh, with low, long, joyous and unrestrainable laughter, that went on and on, sounding in his ears like the murmur of a waterfall, and seeming as though it would never stop. And the King, reduced as he was to the very lowest depth of utter shame, and blushing, till the very hair seemed to stand up upon his head, found as it were a refuge in his very desperation. And he said to himself: I care not, for now I am at the very bottom of the abyss of shame: and let her laugh, if she will, at me, or anything in the three worlds: so only that I listen to her, and am here, to look at her again.

And at last, she said, with her laughter still hanging as it were in the music of her voice: O King Chand, if thou art really he, come in, since as it appears, thou absolutely must, for I have a question to put to thee. And the King entered, like a culprit, and stood looking at her like one ready to submit to any punishment she chose. And she came towards him and stood, with her two little bare feet exactly together, side by side, and her two hands clasped behind her back, and her head thrown right back upon her shoulders to look up at him, so that her two small breasts jutted out like round bosses on the edge of the delicious terrace of her throat. And she said: Maháráj, wilt thou, to whom all women are equally contemptible, only tell me, for I am curious to know, why thou art so utterly unable to go away from this arbour of mine? Is it these flowers that attract thee? For here there is absolutely nothing other than these flowers, and myself.

And as she spoke, her small mouth, that resembled the incarnate fragrance and colour of a flower, with its two intoxicating lips parted in the curl of a smile, just over the leaf-like point of her small soft chin, bewildered him so, that he could hardly listen to the meaning of her words. And he stammered, and hesitated, and said: I came, because I had nowhere else to go. Then she said: And why, then, didst thou go away at all? And suddenly he said: I went, in order to escape, alas! from thee. And she said, shaking her head slowly from side to side: Nay, not from me, but it may be, from thyself. Art thou sure that it is not thy own self, from which thou art vainly endeavouring to escape? Dost thou know thyself so well, as to be certain what it is, that thou art shunning or desiring? Stand, now, there a little while, and examine for thyself thy condition, while I finish my work.

VII

And as she spoke, once more she went back to her flowers. And she dragged her great basket, with difficulty, to the very edge of the cliff, and knelt, sitting on her own feet, beside it. And taking out its flowers, one by one, she began rapidly and skilfully to weave them in a garland, crooning to herself all the while a kind of song, in a voice so low as to be all but inaudible. And she paid absolutely no attention to the King at all, wholly absorbed as it seemed in her work, and ignoring his presence altogether. And every now and then, she took a flower, and held it up before her, speaking as it were to it, before she wove it in among its fellows; and now and then she looked, with attention, at a flower, and as if condemning it, threw it away into the valley. So she continued, weaving, and muttering as it were a spell. And all the while she swayed to and fro, a very little, as if keeping time to her own unintelligible song.