The Substance of a Dream

by F. W. Bain

And I looked at her with scrutiny and I said: I will help thee out of jeopardy. There must be another entrance to the garden. Is there no other door? And she said unwillingly: There is, but none can enter from without, unless he has the key, which the Queen trusts to no custody but her own.

And I said: Then the way is found, luckily for thee: and thou art saved, since none will ever guess thy part in the arranging for my entry, if as I imagine thou art only sufficiently adroit to procure for me a key without her knowledge. And that I leave to thee, only be careful to bring it in good time, before to-morrow evening. And in the meanwhile, go and tell that other lover that the Queen has changed her mind: and put him off to any other day, it does not matter which, seeing that it will never come at all: since for the future, I am going to be the only lover of the Queen.

And then, Chaturiká looked at me in such amazement that it deprived her for an instant of her terror, and suddenly she began to laugh. And I stooped and lifted her, and whirled her in the air, and stood her breathless on her feet. And I took her two hands and held them tight, and I said: Dost thou feel what thou art in hands like mine, a feather, and a nothing, and a straw? Now listen and be wise. Stand out of the way, between the Queen and me, for we shall crush thee, and the battle is one that I mean to win. And now I am going to show her something that she never saw before, the strength of a man: for a woman presumes, forgetting altogether that she owes all to the forbearance of one who can sweep her away if he chooses, like a wild elephant snapping a twig. And if anything goes amiss by any treachery of thine, I will break thee in pieces with my bare hands, hide where thou wilt, making it unnecessary even to betray thee to the Queen. And now, what have I ordered thee to do?

And Chaturiká said humbly, quivering like a wild heifer that is suddenly tamed by the sound of a tiger's roar: To put off a lover and bring thee a key.

And I said: Thou hast still forgotten the thing without which both are useless, and that is, to show me the outside of the door to be opened by the key. And that thou shalt do at once. Go out now, and walk without stopping straight to the door: and I will follow in thy steps. And do not look back, until thou art standing just beside it, and then turn for a single instant, and meet my eye without a sign. And then begone where thou wilt until to-morrow.

And I opened the door and let her out, and she went away very quickly, leading me through the city and past the palace gates, and a long way round the palace wall, until at last she suddenly came to a dead stop, beside a little door in the wall, that stood exactly opposite a ruined temple of the great god. And there she turned and looked at me, and then continued on her way until she disappeared. And I stood and watched her go, saying to myself: I think she will bring me the key to-morrow, without dreaming of betraying me: for I scared her almost to death, and she is frightened. And I was very sorry for her, and yet it was the only thing to do, for there was no other means of reducing her to absolute submission. And yet she was beautiful to look at, even so, resembling as she did a feminine incarnation of audacity suddenly changed into unconditional obedience by standing between two appalling dangers, and only doubting which was the most to be feared. And very strange is the difference fixed by the Creator between a woman and a man: since the very timidity that makes him utterly contemptible only makes her even more beautifully delicious than she was before.

XXIII

And next day, I waited all the morning for Chaturiká to come, and noon arrived without her coming. And I said to myself as I sat waiting: She will come by and by, and I cannot expect her very early, for she may have many other things to do as well as mine. And it may be no easy task that I have given her to do. And now, what am I to say to Táráwalí, when I come upon her in the garden, and see her, O ecstasy! again? And strange! at the very thought of seeing her again, my heart began to burn, as if turning traitor to my own determination. And I said sadly to myself: Alas! I am afraid, or rather I am sure, that the very sight of her will be like a flood, in which every fragment of my resentment against her for treating me as she has done, and every atom of my resolution, and every recollection of all that I have heard to her discredit, will be swept away like chips and straws. Do what she may, I cannot drive my affection for her out of my heart, which obstinately clings to her image, utterly refusing to be torn away. And notwithstanding all that those two rascals said in her disparagement, my soul laughs them to utter scorn, telling them they lie. And who knows? For who could believe that a body so unutterably lovely could harbour a soul so unutterably base as they said, on evidence such as theirs? Aye! my recollection of her soul is an argument in her favour that nothing that they said can overcome, and I could forgive her absolutely anything, when I think of the gentle sweetness that echoed in her every word, resembling a perfume somehow mixed with her voice. And yet if my resolution wavers, even now, how will it be when she actually stands before me as she will to-night? And yet, how is it possible to absolve her for her inexplicable behaviour to me?

And so as I mused, touching all unconsciously the strings of my lute which was lying in my hands suddenly a thought came into my mind of its own accord. And I took the lute and unstrung it, and chose from among its strings one, which I rolled like a bangle on my wrist. And I said to the lute aloud: Old love, we will work together: for if indeed she is my enemy, she is thine as well. And if, as those assassins said, she is only a body without a soul, playing on us both merely for her own amusement, then we will give her together a music lesson of a novel kind, and teach her that the deadliest of all poisons is a love that has been betrayed.

And suddenly I heard loud laughter, like an echo to my words. And I looked up, and lo! there was Haridása, standing in the open door. And he said: What is this, O Shatrunjaya? Whom art thou about to poison, or who is going to poison thee? And hast thou solved thy problem, since I saw thee from the camel's back, pondering on thy own beauty? Or hast thou arrived already at the poison in the bottom of love's cup? How is good advice thrown away upon a fool! Did I not warn thee? Wilt thou never understand that the nectar of a woman is like the red of dusk, lasting for but an instant, and like the cream of milk, turning sour if it is kept, and like foam of the sea, which exists only during agitation, melting away into bitterness and ordinary water as soon as it is still? As indeed every woman well knows, without needing to be told, and therefore it is that she is nectar always to a stranger, and insipid, even when she is not very disagreeable, to her friends, losing her fascination, like the thirst of the antelope[32] on Marusthalí, for all that approach her too near: since all her delusion depends upon her distance, and vanishes altogether by proximity. Keep her always at a distance, O Shatrunjaya, if thou art anxious to remain under the spell.