“The divinity is propitiated,” said the sanctified impostor. “Your prayers have been heard, and you are favoured with the especial notice of one, in whose term of life the Maha Yug[3] is no more than a single instant, by comparison with this earth’s duration. Prepare to meet the god at midnight.”
“You mock me. Does the deity condescend to become incarnate, and reveal himself in a mortal body to his worshippers?”
“Yes: where it is his will to favour those whose homage he approves, he reveals himself to them in the likeness of his creatures, generally assuming the form of some devout priest, whose ministrations he especially approves, and thus signifies his approval. You will see him this night, under the similitude of a favourite Brahmin. He has determined to grant your supplications.”
She was astonished at this communication. The reverence in which she had been accustomed to hold the character of the priesthood—the wild solemnity of the scene around her—the dazzling light that seemed supernaturally to float over the ponderous image—the excitement under which she laboured, from her anxiety for her husband’s welfare and the issue of her appeal—the promise that her supplications had been favourably heard—all tended to throw her into such a tumult of agitation, that she became bewildered; and, under the impulse of superstitious enthusiasm, consented to meet the god at midnight.
Guileless as the mother dove, she did not dream that danger could accrue from her meeting a spiritual being who merely condescended to assume the garb of mortal flesh, in order to render himself intelligible to mortal faculties; and as, according to the impure creed in which she had been reared, gods had occasionally united themselves to mortals in an alliance of love, her heart’s purity was not shocked at the idea which the Brahmin broadly hinted, of the divinity of Somnat favouring her by such especial predilection. She was aware also that her husband, as well as herself, would look upon it as a signal mark of distinction, and feel himself honoured at his wife’s exaltation by so eminent a token of divine preference.
The wily Brahmin, however, knew his victim too well to suppose that, notwithstanding her visionary impressions, she would fall an easy prey; and it was only whilst he could keep up the delusion under which she then laboured, that he would find her a submissive votary at the shrine of the most odious superstition which has ever degraded the sacred name of religion. In order to maintain the excitement by which she was at that moment actuated, and strengthen the impressions to which she was expected to become a prey, some of those abominable mummeries were performed, so commonly practised at the altars of Hindoo gods. A number of dancing girls were introduced, who went through various obscene antics before the idol, in which several Brahmins joined, with all the apparent enthusiasm of an absorbing devotion.
The beautiful Hindoo looked on without a blush, under the persuasion that these were sacred ministrations peculiar to the divinity of Somnat, and she came to the conclusion that such were the pleasures in which that divinity delighted to revel. After these orgies had been gone through, and the temple of religion made a scene of revolting indecency, the lamp was suddenly extinguished, and the immense edifice involved in profound darkness. The young wife was confounded. She heard the laughter of those who, like the Greek bacchantes, had been performing the grossest scenes in the very presence of their deity, and shouts of joy seemed to issue from a thousand throats. She stood mute, between astonishment and apprehension. Her awe had given way to momentary terror. She was preparing to retreat toward the portal through which she had entered, when a soft but repulsive voice caught her ear:
“Come to the embrace of the god; he awaits thee; ’tis midnight, and he is impatient to meet thee.”
Her heart palpitated; she was struck with a sudden suspicion. The voice was evidently disguised, but, to her quick ear, could not be mistaken: it was that of the Brahmin. Her brain flashed with instant conviction, as if the deity had lighted up her soul with a positive revelation. The impulse was irresistible. The illusions of superstition vanished, and she felt herself in the meshes of the betrayer. She gasped for breath; she spoke not; she groped for a resting-place, and her arm fell upon the pedestal of the idol.
“Come,” said the voice, in a gentle whisper; “why this delay? The god is impatient, and he is not used to be slighted: where he honours, he expects obedience. Come!”