The Ashes of a God

by F. W. Bain

So when I saw her, I uttered a cry, and stood. But they, seeing me, separated like a flash of lightning, and fled, he back into the street, and she to her own apartments. And where he went, or what she did, I know not. But when the dawn was breaking, I looked, and again I saw her coming back with stealthy step. And all at once, as she came, she looked, and saw me standing, exactly where I stood before, never having moved, all night long. And instantly, she stopped short, and gazed at me with eyes that were filled with amazement, which changed, as I watched her, into the extremity of fear. And all at once, I uttered a terrible cry. And instantly she sank to the ground, bereft of reason. But I turned, and ran away, and went out into the street.

And I wandered up and down in the darkness that was just becoming daylight, with a soul on fire, not knowing where I went or what I did; and I came suddenly upon a miserable wretch in ragged garments, and I said to him: Change now very quickly thy garments for my own. And he, looking at me, very rapidly agreed, and we changed, and I gave him all my jewels, and put on his very loathsome rags; and so he went away. And I said to myself: Now will I leave my palace and my kingdom, and become a sannyási, turning my back upon the world. And lo! almost as I spoke, another man suddenly came upon me, a little old man with grey hair that escaped from his handkerchief,[[5]] and keen eyes like those of a weasel. And he said to me: Ha! night-walker, who art thou? And I laughed, guessing him to be a thief; and I said: Maharáj,[[6]] I am a robber, like thyself. Then said that old man: I am the chief of all the robbers in this city, and I know thee not. And I said: How shouldst know me, who am but just arrived in the city, having fled here by reason of trouble in my own? And he said: Wilt thou come and be of mine? And I said: Aye! with thee or any other rascal. What does it matter? And I laughed in bitterness, not caring if I died. Then that little old man came up close, and looked at me narrowly for a while; and he said: Thou art very young and handsome, and as I think, no thief at all. And whence comes the trouble of the young but from women? And I said: O king of robbers, thou art subtle; for I am indeed the victim of a woman, and my life is at an end.

And then suddenly, that strange old man struck me a blow with his open hand upon my shoulder, so hard, that it hurt. And he exclaimed: Fool! art thou actually grieving for the loss of a woman? What! dost thou not know, that he who loses one, can find without any difficulty a hundred other women, just as good or better than herself? And as he spoke, all at once I began to laugh, and as I laughed, I cried. And I exclaimed: Ha! old thief, I am obliged to thee; and like a good physician, thou hast cured my malady, with words that are sharper than a knife. But beware! for if I ever meet thee again, I will have thee thrown to be trampled by an elephant. And then I turned my back upon him, and went away, and left him standing, saying to myself as I went: He is right. And now, then, I will go back into my palace, and make all the other women in the three worlds pay for the conduct of my wife. Ha! I should indeed have been a fool, to become a sannyási, for such a thing as her; and this old rascal has raised me as it were from the dead, and replaced the danda[[7]] in my hand.

And then, O pippala, as I said, so I did. And laying the burden of the state upon the shoulders of my minister, Trishodadhi, I ran wild among the women of my kingdom, and I became an object of dread to every one of my subjects that had either a daughter or a sister or a wife.

And as he listened, Trishodadhi said within himself: Aye! robber of a king, so it was; and little dost thou dream how close to thee is a living witness to the truth of thy words. And all forgetful of his muttering, he listened eagerly for the remainder of the tale.

V

And the elephant said: Pippala, as it happened, I had for my wita[[8]] a very incarnation of malignity and craft, on whom I laid the duty of discovering every woman in my kingdom or elsewhere, whose beauty might make her worthy of my regard. And this wita, while bringing to my notice every day the treasures of others, never told me of his own, but kept me scrupulously ignorant. But one day there came to me one of his agents, to whom he had done some injury or other, and he said: O Maharáj, thy wita is offering thee husks, and keeping back the kernel; possessing as he does a daughter more beautiful than the moon. And hearing this, I flew into a rage. And I sent for the wita, and compelled him, under penalty of death, to produce his daughter; and I took her away from him, disregarding all his prayers. So at last, finding all his supplications useless, all at once that wita yielded, and acquiesced in his dishonour, like an elephant tamed. Ha! had I only known him, I should have put him instantly to death; for he was but waiting till he saw his opportunity. And the consequence of my action in this matter of the wita and his daughter lay waiting: till the time came, when it rose up suddenly like a cobra, and bit me in the heel.

But in the meantime, careless of the wita and his vengeance, I lived like a mad bee, intent upon nothing but ruining the lotuses that I rifled of their honey, remaining beside each, only so long as was necessary to destroy it, after sipping its sweet. And gradually my kingdom began to assume the semblance of a garden, in which every tree was mourning, bewailing the fate of its loveliest blossoms, which lay on the ground, trampled as it were into the mud. Enough! for why should I detain thee and delay my own emancipation from this carcase of an elephant by enumerating details that are not to the point. Know, that there came a day, when having left as usual the burden of the kingdom on the shoulders of my minister, I went out into the forest to hunt. And after a while, growing weary of the chase, I dismissed my attendants, and came slowly home alone, wandering after them on foot. And I lingered as I went, listening to the noise of the canes, singing in the breeze; aye! well do I remember the music that they made, as if prognosticating by their exquisite melody the sweetness of the meeting that was just on the very point of crossing my steps, to plunge my soul, in the twinkling of an eye, as it were into a vat, and change its dye, turning it first into red, and finally into deep and inalterable blue.[[9]]

For as I rambled slowly on, it happened, by destiny's decree, that a necklace of great pearls, that I always wore around my neck, its clasp coming open, slipped off, and fell upon the ground. And at that very moment, a bird of the race of hawks pounced suddenly upon it, and carried it away, attracted by its glitter, or who knows? For I think that the very god of Love took, it may be, that form of a bird, to bring about his end. And I ran after it, as it were awaking from my musing, with a shout, and the bird, after flying a little way, becoming frightened, or it may be, by express design, let fall the necklace from his claws, and flew away. And seeing it fall, I ran towards it, and all at once, I found my way blocked by a very high wall, on the farther side of which the necklace fell. And I went up to that wall, and as I did so, I listened, and heard the noise of steps beyond the wall. And instantly I called aloud: O thou, whoever thou art, beyond the wall, know, that the necklace is mine. And hearing no answer, I looked about, and seeing a tree standing near, I swung myself up, by means of its branches, upon the wall, and looked over. And when I did so, lo! there below me in the garden stood a young woman, looking up towards me; and on the ground was the necklace, lying at her very feet.

And as I looked down at her, O pippala, all at once the necklace, the very object of my coming, vanished clean out of my mind, obliterated in an instant, and swept into oblivion by the wonder of her eyes. And yet it was not merely their beauty that amazed me, pools of lapis lazuli though they were, to whose brink that bird had brought me, as if to drown me, dizzy at their very depth. But strange! fixed as they were, upturned towards me, bent and as it were pointed full upon my own, they never wavered, and I was puzzled by their gaze. For there was no curiosity at all in them, nor any trace of timidity or fear, far less of challenge, or anger, or agitation, or any tumult of emotion, but rather an ocean, and as it were an atmosphere of silence, and shadowy peace, and a spirit of unutterable quiet and repose, like that of some unviolated water, bound by a spell of secrecy and lying hidden in the middle of a forest, on whose dark film the dead leaves lie, unmoved by animals that drink, or winds that blow. And so little did I seem to be the target of those motionless unfathomable eyes, that I would have turned my head, to discover what thing other than myself it was that she regarded, but that I could not look away from them at all. And she stood with her head, a little bent, like one that listens rather than that looks, and thrown just a very little back upon her shoulders, so that all unknown to her the round bosses of her wide and glorious bosom stretched out and up towards me, as if dying to express that curiosity and agitation which was wanting in her eyes, while her slender figure, like a stalk, stood still and seemed to sway, as if with anxiety, lest the weight that it supported should snap it in the middle. And as I sat gazing, lost in a sea of perplexity and admiration, all at once she spoke, and said in a low voice that resembled a caress rendered audible to the ear: Who art thou, if, as I guess, thou hast climbed upon the wall, and what is thy intention?