A Syrup of the Bees

by F. W. Bain

And Arunodaya gazed at her in silence, exactly as she did at him. And after a while, he murmured aloud, as if speaking to himself: Can this be in very truth the wife of my former birth, or only a thing seen in a dream?

And when he spoke, she started, and moved a very little from the wall, with one hand resting still against it, as if it was her refuge. And she said, in a low voice: I thought the dreamer was myself. Art thou some deity come to tempt me, and where am I, if it is reality and not a dream? And Arunodaya said: It is not I that am the deity, but thou. For who ever saw anything like thee in the world? And yet if thou art Shri, where is Wishnu? or if Rati, where is Love?

And she looked at him steadily, and after a little while, she said with a sigh: Alas! thou hast spoken truly: where is Love?[26] What! can it be? and dost thou not remember me? And Arunodaya said: How could I remember what I never saw before in my life? Then she said: What does this life matter? Hast thou then so utterly forgotten everything of the life before?

And as he gazed at her in perplexity, all at once she started from the wall and ran towards him, clapping her hands, and laughing, with her bangles and anklets and her girdle clashing, as if keeping time with her movements, and exclaiming: The forfeit! the forfeit! I have won! I have won! And he said, smiling as if against his will: What forfeit? What dost thou mean? And for answer, she threw herself into his arms, and began to kiss him, laughing in delight, and crying out: I said it, I said it. I have remembered, and thou hast forgotten. Did I not tell thee, thus it would be, when we met again in another birth? Come, cudgel thy dull memory, and listen while I help thee; and after, I will exact from thee the forfeit that we fixed. And Arunodaya said again: What forfeit? For I remember absolutely nothing of it all. And she said: Out on thee! O thou of no memory at all. What! is thy little pandit all forgotten? What! hast thou forgotten, what as I think could never be forgotten, how all the pandits shouted together at our marriage? And he exclaimed: Ha! pandits! Then she said: Ah! Dost thou actually begin to recollect? then I have hopes of thee. But as to the forfeit, wilt thou actually persist in obstinately forgetting all about it? Must I actually tell thee, and art thou not utterly ashamed? Art thou not ashamed, after all thy protestations, to look me in the face?

And as she gazed, with eyes filled to the brim with passionate affection that was not feigned, straight into his own, holding him with soft arms that resembled creepers, and as it were caressing him with the touch of her bosom and the perfume of the honey of her lips and her hair, taking him as it were prisoner by the sudden assault of irresistible flattery in the form of her own surrender, Arunodaya's head began to spin, lost as he was in a whirlpool of bewilderment springing half from her beauty's intoxicating spell, and half from ineffectual striving to recall at her bidding what she said, so that in his perplexity he could not even comprehend whether he recollected anything or not. And he murmured to himself: Surely she must be the wife I was looking for, for who else can she be? and certainly she is beautiful enough to be anybody's wife. And as he hesitated, balanced in the swing of indecision, she began to draw her forefinger over his eyebrows, each in turn, saying in a whisper: Aryaputra,[27] this was the forfeit. Give me thy hand, and shut, for a while, thy eyes. And as he did so, saying to himself: Now I wonder what she will give me: all at once he uttered a cry of pain. For she had taken his little finger with her teeth, and bitten it hard. And as his eyes flew open, as it were of their own accord, she said, with a frown and a smile mixed together: Why didst thou forget me? Was it not agreed between us that the forgotten should exact from the forgetter whatever penalty he chose?

And at the reproach in her eyes, the heart of Arunodaya began as it were to smite him, saying: Surely thou art but churlish in returning her affection, and refusing to remember her: for she is well worthy to be remembered. And being totally unacquainted with woman, and her sweetness, and her snare, his youth and his sex began as it were to side with her against his reason and his doubt, saying to his soul: What more canst thou possibly require in a wife, than such an incarnation of charm and affection and intoxicating caress. And all at once, he took her and drew her towards him with one arm about her slender waist, that a hand might have grasped, and the other round her head, and he began to kiss her as fast as he could, with kisses that she returned him till her breath failed. And after a while, he said, in a low voice: Who art thou in this birth, if as thou sayest, I was thy husband in the last? And hast thou fallen from the sky? For thou art altogether too different from the others, to be but a woman.[28] And what is thy name?

Then said Makarandiká: Thou art not absolutely wrong: for I am not a woman of the earth, but a Widyádharí, by name Makarandiká. And by and bye I will tell thee all about myself, and my coming here, to rediscover and regain thee; and learn of thee thine. But in the meanwhile, come outside this gloomy temple into the moonlight, where I can see thee. And she drew him out of the temple, and as they stood, looking at one another, she said: Dost thou know, that I am paying a great price for thee? See, a little while ago, I came hither flying through the air. And as I came, I said to myself, with regret: I am flying for the very last time: for to-morrow I shall forfeit all my magic sciences, by marrying a mortal. And as my resolution wavered, at that very moment, I arrived, and saw thee, lying asleep in the moonlight, at the feet of Maheshwara yonder on the wall. And instantly, I exclaimed: Away with these miserable sciences, for what are they worth in comparison with him, or, worse, without him?

And Arunodaya exclaimed: What! wilt thou sacrifice all thy condition as a Widyádharí for such a one as me? Out, out, upon such a price, for such a worthless ware!

And for answer, she took his hand, and put it on her heart, looking at him with eyes that shone not only with moonlight, but with a tear. And Arunodaya said, with emphasis: Thou must be my wife: for how could I think, having seen thee, of any other woman in the world, even in a dream.

And as he spoke, he started, almost uttering a cry. For suddenly she clenched the hand she held with a grip that almost hurt it, and he felt the heart it lay on suddenly leap, as it were, and stop. And as he looked at her in wonder, he saw her turning paler and paler, till she seemed in that white moonlight about to become a stone image, in imitation of ours, just behind her, on the wall.