The Substance of a Dream

by F. W. Bain

And again he made obeisance, and went away on foot, leading his horse behind. And I stood, looking after him in a stupor, like one struck by a bolt from heaven, in the form of his appalling news. And I said to myself: Go I must, or my mother is ousted, and the ráj lost. And yet if I go, the sun will set in the Queen's garden, and I shall not be there.

And I pushed my door wide open, and went in, and sat down, with my face buried in my hands. And my own words sang in my head, over and over again: Go I must, or the ráj is lost, and my mother ousted. And the sun will set in the Queen's garden, and I shall not be there.

And I heard a laugh beside me, and I looked up. Lo! there was Chaturiká, standing in the open door! And she looked at me with laughing eyes, and she said: Ha! as it seems, I am just in time to save thy life: for thou art apparently all but dead. And, beyond a doubt, the Queen is a cunning doctor, who understands her patient's case. For she sent me to thee, saying: Go to him, O Chaturiká, since without thee he will die: and help him, how thou canst, to live until the sun has set.

And I stood up, and seized my hair with both my hands. And I groaned aloud, and said: Alas! O Chaturiká, what is a man to do, when two suns set, in opposite directions? And instantly, all the laughter died out of her face. And she looked at me with dark eyes, and she said: Two suns! What dost thou mean? And I told her all, and she listened in silence, till I ended. And then she said, with a sigh of relief: Ah! is that all? And I exclaimed: All? is it not enough for thee? And she said: I was terrified, by thy talking of two suns. For I began to think the Queen had a rival in thy affection. And I laughed, in anger and derision, and I exclaimed: A rival! Thou little fool! I am sorely tempted to beat thee, for daring to think anything of the kind, even in a dream. What! a rival! to Táráwalí! Thou art stark mad. How could she possibly have a rival in the three worlds? But what am I to do? And she said: It is thy choice, not mine. Only when once a sun has set, who can tell, if it will ever rise again? And what am I to say to the Queen?

And as she stood, looking at me, for an answer, there rose into my recollection the image of Táráwalí, leaning towards me in the moonlight, and saying: To-morrow, at sunset, I will be thy dream. And suddenly I exclaimed: Go back to her, O Chaturiká, and tell her that my only sun is the sun that sets in a Queen's garden.

And then, to my astonishment, that singular Chaturiká suddenly threw herself into my arms, and kissed me without waiting to be asked. And seeing me look at her in perplexity, she burst out laughing, and she said with delight: Ah! ah! So then, after all, there is a difference, as it seems, between Chaturiká and Táráwalí. No doubt some kisses are far sweeter, but the sun must set, ere the lovely digit of the moon rises, and I must do what I can meanwhile, to help thee to keep alive. It was her own order. And moreover she will not be jealous, and will not scold me when I tell her all about it on my return. And I said: Nay, thou saucy little beauty, tell her with all my heart, and add, that her drug was efficacious, since sandal-wood and camphor turn everything that touches them into a little bit of fragrance exactly like their own. And take her hand, and kiss it, and say I send the kiss, like her message, by thy mouth, and here it is.

And I caught her in my arms, and kissed her as she struggled, not willing this time to be kissed at all, exactly on her laughing lips, and then she went away.

XIV

And I said to myself in ecstasy, as she disappeared: Out on the very notion of leaving Táráwalí in the lurch, and losing the very essence of the nectar of the lady of my dream, so kind, so clever, and so wonderful as she is! Well did she understand, how the very sight of this audacious little chetí would act like a balm on the fever of my longing for herself: carrying about with her, as she does, a reminiscence of the intoxicating fragrance of the great champak flower, whose messenger she is, like a female bee, scattering another's honey as she goes. Aye! Chaturiká is like a letter, smelling of the sandal of the hand that wrote it, far away. And Táráwalí understood it all, and sent her; not being jealous, as Chaturiká says, and indeed, as she said herself, last night. As if a star of heaven could possibly be jealous of a little Ganges pot![27] Aye! little did my mother dream, when she sent to fetch me, what influence she had against her. As if I would purchase any kingdom in the world at the price of sacrificing my sunset with the Queen! And how can I help it, if the King my father chose just this unlucky astrological conjunction, to die? Or what good can be done by haste? For if he is dead already, as is very likely, all is lost, and it is useless to go at all. And if on the contrary, he lives for a little longer, I shall find him still alive, if I start to-morrow. And is it likely he will live or die exactly so, as to make my starting now either necessary or advantageous? And shall I take the risk, and throw away the very fruit of my birth, for nothing at all? And what would Táráwalí think of me, if I left her in the lurch, counting her inestimable favour as a straw? Beyond all doubt, she would wipe me from her memory as a thing beneath even contempt, like a sieve, all holes, into which it is futile to pour anything at all. No, I will keep my sunset, even if I lose my kingdom. And yet, why should I, after all? For to-morrow when I actually start, I will go very fast indeed, preparing everything beforehand, and having my horse waiting for me, so as to lose no time when I leave the Queen, carrying with me as I ride the memory of to-night: whereas if I threw her over, and set off to-night, the thought of what I was leaving behind would be so heavy as utterly to prevent me from going along at all.

And so I mused, waiting all the time with fierce impatience for the sun to sink, till at last day came to an end. And then I rose in delight, exclaiming: At last, at last, separation is over, and now it is time! And I went very quickly to the palace, and found the pratihárí: and she led me away straight to the door, and opened it, and I went in.