A Syrup of the Bees Part 2

VI

And they all stood, when she had gone, gazing at one another in silence, as motionless as though they had been painted on the walls that stood behind them. And then they all exclaimed, as if with a single voice: What! is not one of us all fit for this fastidious beauty's taste? And instantly that ring of disappointed suitors broke up as they flew away, and vanished like a mist, for in their fury they would not even so much as wait to take leave of her father, counting it as it were a crime in him to be father of such a daughter, and to have lured them into shame.

And seeing them go, Mahidhara went himself to the apartments of his daughter. And he said to her in dudgeon: Out on thee! Makarandika;[21]

for here have all the Widyadharas become my bitter enemies by reason of this insult. Has thy reason left thee? Or where wilt thou find a husband, if not even one of all the kings of the Widyadharas can please thy foolish fancy? Dost thou not understand, that a daughter who is not married disgraces her father's house?

[Footnote 21: i.e. _one made of the honey or syrup of flowers_. (Note, that the first syllable rhymes with _luck_, and the third with _fund_.)]

Then said Makarandika: Dear father, I am far too ugly to be married. And Mahidhara laughed, and he said: What new caprice is this? Thou ugly!

Why, if thou art too ugly, being far the most beautiful of all, what of thy sisters, whose beauty all united is not equal to thy own, and yet have they all chosen? And Makarandika laughed, and she exclaimed: What!

can it be? What! shall the most beautiful of all be content with others'

leavings, and choose only out of what they have all rejected? As if the whole world were not full to the very brim of husbands! Shall my choice be the refuse? Moreover, I do not want a Widyadhara for a husband at all. And Mahidhara said, with amazement: And why not a Widyadhara? Then said Makarandika: Widyadharas are fickle, and roaming about in the air, come across all sorts of other women and make love to them, deceiving their own wives. But I will marry only such a husband as never will deceive me.

Then said her father, smiling: But, O thou very jealous maiden, where wilt thou discover him? For did not even Indra himself play Sachi false?

Or dost thou think that mortal men are always constant, when even G.o.ds are not? Choose, if thou wilt, a mortal for thy husband, only to discover that Widyadharas are not more treacherous than they are. Thy husband will deceive thee, as it may be, no matter what his birth.

And lo! as he looked at her, jesting, he saw her suddenly turn paler, and still paler, as if the very thought resembled poison in her ears.

And she said in a low voice: Better never to be married at all, than marry a deceiver: better far for me, and better far for him. And her father exclaimed, in astonishment: What! O Makarandika! thou hast not even got a husband as yet at all; yet here thou art already, jealous without a cause! What will it be, when thou art actually married? Truly I fear for thy unhappy husband, whoever he may be. And yet, be very careful. Bethink thee, O daughter, that if thou dost choose a mortal, it will be at the cost of thy condition. For any Widyadhari becoming the wife of a mortal man loses all her magic sciences, and is levelled with himself.

And Makarandika said with scorn: Thy warning is unnecessary, and there is not any risk. For it will be long before I place myself in danger of any such description from a husband of any kind.

VII

So that haughty beauty spoke, ignorant of the future, not dreaming that her destiny in the form of a mortal husband was just about to laugh her vaunt to scorn. And leaving her father abruptly, she rose up into the air, and began to fly swiftly like a wild white swan away towards the western quarter, looking down upon the sea, that resembled a blue mirror of the sky that stretched above it, with foaming waves in place of clouds, and water instead of air: saying to herself: Only let me get away, where not a Widyadhara of them all is to be seen. And the wind caressed her limbs like a lover, stealing embraces as she went along, and whispering in the sh.e.l.l of her little ear: Be not alarmed, O vagrant beauty, if I reveal thy outline to the whole world, for there is n.o.body by to see. And she watched the sun go down before her, and went on all night long, with no companion but the new moon that sank into the sea in a little while, as if ashamed to rival her, leaving her alone with night. And at last, when dawn was just breaking, she saw below her this very temple, standing alone on the sandy sh.o.r.e between the forest and the sea. And a little further on, the King's palace was standing up like a tower, reddened by the young sun's rays. So, feeling tired, she swooped down, to rest for a little while. And she settled on the edge of the palace roof, taking the form of a snowy bird, with a ruddy bill and legs, as if to mock and imitate the colour of the sun.

And at that very moment, Arunodaya came out upon the roof, with his prime minister behind him, like Winter following the G.o.d of Spring. And the very instant she set eyes on him, she became as it were a target for Love's arrow, as if, although invisible, he were there beside his friend.[22] And she fell suddenly in love with the young king as he came towards her, and shook with such agitation, that she came within a very little of falling straight into the sea. And she murmured to herself, with emotion: Can this be a second dawn[23] appearing just to confound the other? Or can it be Kamadewa, in a body more beautiful than his own?

But if so, where is Rati? Or am I only dreaming, having fallen unawares asleep, thinking of husbands and my father's words?

[Footnote 22: _i.e._ Spring, who is Love's companion.]

[Footnote 23: This is an allusion to the King's name (see note, _ante_) the point of which will presently appear.]

So as she spoke, Arunodaya looked towards her, and presently he said aloud: See, Gangadhara, how yonder snowy sea-bird has come to me as it were for refuge, tired beyond a doubt by some long journey across the sea! Let us not go too near it, lest out of fright it may take to flight, before its wings are rested. And he sat down a little way off, on the very edge of the terrace, keeping his eye on Makarandika, who laughed at his words in her sleeve, saying softly to herself: There is no fear, O handsome stranger, that I shall fly away, since thy arrival, so far from scaring me away, has nailed me to the spot. And the prime minister said meanwhile: Maharaj, here I am, according to thy appointment, to discuss thy marriage with thee, where n.o.body can overhear. And know, that since thou art absolutely bent on marrying no other than the wife of thy former birth, I do not despair of finding her, if she is able to be found. But who can find anything, unless he knows what it is like? For if not, he will not know that he has found it, when it lies before his eyes. So tell me, to begin with, what this wife of thine resembles; and then I will set to work and find her, without the loss of any time.

Then Arunodaya said slowly: O Gangadhara, how can I tell thee what I do not know myself? And Gangadhara said, in wonder: Maharaj, it cannot be.

How will thou recognise her, not knowing what she looks like? And Arunodaya said again: I shall know her in an instant, the moment I set eyes on her. For at the very sight of her, love, that depends on the forgotten a.s.sociations of a previous existence, will suddenly shoot up in the darkness of my heart, like flame. For this is the only proof, and no other is required. And yet, there is something else, to give me as it were a clue. For though, strive as I may, I cannot even guess what she was like, yet my memory, as it seems, is not absolutely blank. For I remember, that she was the daughter of a pandit, and maybe herself a pandit; and I seem to listen in a dream, whenever I think about her, to the noise of innumerable pandits, all shouting at the same time some name that I can never catch, mingling with the roar of the waves of the sea.

And when he ended, Gangadhara stared at him, in utter stupefaction, saying within himself: Beyond a doubt, this King is mad. And presently he said aloud: O King Arunodaya, who ever heard of a woman, suited for a king's wife, who had anything to do with pandits? What is there in common between pandits and the wives of kings? Certainly, thou art doomed to live and die unmarried: for a beauty who is a pandit is not to be found in the three worlds.

VIII

Then said Arunodaya: Gangadhara, who knows? But be that as it may, this is absolutely certain, that I will not marry any woman who was not the wife of my former birth. And so, if thou canst find her, well. And if not, then thy prophecy will be true, for I shall live and die without a wife.

And Gangadhara went away again, more at a loss than he was before. And when he reached his home, all at once he began to laugh, as if his reason had left him. And he said to himself: Ha ha! Out on this unhappy King, who hears the noise of pandits in the roaring of the sea! Why, even Maheshwara himself could not find a shout of laughter, to match the absurdity of this extraordinary jest. And he went on laughing all day long, till his family grew frightened and summoned the physicians, saying: He is possessed.

And meanwhile Makarandika remained upon the terrace, watching Arunodaya, as if fascinated by a snake. And as she listened to their conversation, her heart beat with such exultation that it shook her like wind. And she said to herself: Surely I am favoured by the deity. Well was it for me, that I scorned to choose a husband from among those miserable Widyadhara kings: for had I done so, I should have missed the very fruit of my birth. And now, by the favour of Ganapati, I have come here in the very nick of time: and I know all. And no other than myself shall be his wife. And indeed, beyond a doubt I was the very wife he looks for, since everything corresponds, and exactly as he said; love has suddenly burst out flaming in my heart, at the very first sight of him, suddenly recollecting its old forgotten state. But whether I was his wife or not, in any other birth, I will very certainly become his wife in this. And all the symptoms conspire in my favour.

For not only is my right eye throbbing, but I actually stumbled in ignorance on his very name, before I ever heard it. And now, I will, as Gangadhara said, set to work immediately without losing any time: for I know, as they do not, exactly what his wife is like. And now, everything will turn out well, so long as he never discovers in his life that I overheard him, on this terrace, before he ever saw me. And that cannot be, for he never can learn it from anyone but me.

So as she spoke, Arunodaya suddenly recollected the coming of the bird, and looked round, and rejoiced, to find that it was still there. And he said aloud, as if expressly to chime in with her thoughts: Ha! so, then, thou art not gone, as I feared. O sea-bird, from what far-off land art thou arrived? For none of the birds that haunt my palace resemble thee in the least degree. Art thou also looking for thy mate, as I am? Or hast thou lost thy way, blown by the winds over the home of monsters and of gems?

And instantly the bird replied: O King Arunodaya, not so: for I am looking neither for a mate nor a way: but have come here expressly, sent by the G.o.d, to tell thee how to find thy own mate, and thy own way.

And then, as Arunodaya started to his feet, scarcely crediting his own ears, she went on with that human voice: Listen, and do not interrupt, for I have overstayed my time, obliged to wait till thy conversation ended and thy minister was gone, and I have far to go. And tell me, first. Is there a little ruined temple, near thy city on the north, standing alone upon the sh.o.r.e? And Arunodaya said: There is. Then said Makarandika: Then it all corresponds, and tallies exactly with my instructions. For only last night, as the sun was going down, I pa.s.sed by a lonely island in the middle of the sea. And there in the evening twilight, I saw the Lord of Obstacles dancing all alone, throwing up his trunk that was smeared with vermilion into the purple sky. And he called to me as I was going by, and said: Carry for me a message to King Arunodaya, for thou wilt see his palace in the morning, standing up out of the sea, ruddy as my trunk in the early dawn. And tell him that I am pleased with his resolute perseverance: and by my favour he shall find the wife of his former birth. Let him go at midnight, on the fifteenth day of the light half of this very moon, into the ruined temple that stands on the sh.o.r.e of the sea, and I will put something in it that will fill his heart with joy.

And then, she rose from the terrace, and flew away across the sea: while Arunodaya stood still, gazing after her in wonder, till she dwindled to a speck and disappeared.

And then, he drew a long breath, and murmured to himself: Am I asleep or dreaming? Or can it really be, that the very Lord of Obstacles has been listening to my prayers, as well he might, considering their number, and taking pity on his devotee, has revealed to me the secret, by the means of this white bird: wishing to show Gangadhara, as if in jest, how easily the Deity laughs at obstacles that seem absolutely insurmountable, even to such a minister as mine?

IX

So then he waited, with a soul that almost leaped from his body with impatience, for the wax of the moon, which seemed to stand still, as if on purpose to destroy him. And he sent, in the meanwhile, a message to Gangadhara, saying: Everything is easy to those favoured by the Deity.

And I have found what I was seeking, even without thy a.s.sistance, as I will prove to thee, by ocular demonstration, on the day of the full moon.

And as he listened, Gangadhara was so utterly confounded, that he could hardly understand. And finally, he said to himself: Beyond a doubt, this kingdom will presently be ruined, for the King is out of his mind. And now I begin to perceive, that it will become my duty to remove him from the throne, in favour of his maternal uncle, who is waiting and watching to devour him like a crab,[24] if only he can find his opportunity. Or is it only, after all, a device, to marry some girl that he has set his heart on, without consulting either policy or me? If so, let him beware!

for he shall do penance for despising me, in full. But let me wait, in any case, for the moon to grow round. Yet what can the Lord of Herbs[25]

have to do with this matter, unless he possesses a medicine suited to the King's disease?

[Footnote 24: The crabs of Ceylon (presumably the same as those of southern India, whose sh.o.r.es I do not know) are the most extraordinary things I ever saw. They run like the wind, and jump, over immense s.p.a.ces and chasms, from rock to rock, better than any horse.]

[Footnote 25: _i.e._ the moon.]

So then, at last, when the moon had gathered up all his digits but the last, as soon as he rose, Arunodaya went out of his palace to wander on the sh.o.r.e, with no companion but his sword. For he said to himself: What if it were all but a dream or a delusion? Then, were it to be known, I should become a very target for the ridicule of all the people in the city. So it is better to keep the secret to myself. And he roamed about the sand of the sh.o.r.e, near the temple, for hours, ready to curse both sun and moon together, the one for his delay in going down, and the other for taking such a time to climb into the sky. And finally, unable to wait any longer, he went directly, long ere midnight, to the temple, and stood for a while, exactly where yonder sleeper lies now, as if making up his mind. And at last, he came up between us, and peeped in, with a beating heart, and saw absolutely nothing inside, but emptiness and dark. And presently he said: Has that Lord of Obstacles deceived me, or is it too soon, for his present to arrive? And how will she come? Yet if that sea-bird was either a liar or a dream, it will be time enough to go away, before dawn returns, at any hour of the night. And he sat down at my feet, leaning his back against me, and looking out to sea, over which the moon was slowly climbing, exactly as it does to-night. And worn out with agitation, and fatigue, and suspense, he went off to sleep unawares. And he looked as he lay in the moonlight like the G.o.d of Love resting, after he had conquered the three worlds.

X

So then, when at last he woke, he lay for a little while puzzled, and trying to remember where he was, and why. And so as he lay, he heard suddenly behind him in the temple the faint clash of anklets, saying to him as it were: Thou art sleeping, but I am waiting. And like a flash of lightning, his memory returned; and he started to his feet, and turned, and looked in at the temple door.

And lo! when he did so, there, in a ray of moonlight that fell in through the ruined wall, and clung to her affectionately, as though to say: Here hiding in this dark cave have I suddenly fallen on my sixteenth digit that was wanting to complete my orb: there stood a young woman, looking like the feminine incarnation of the realisation of his longing to find the wife of his former birth. And she was leaning against the wall, half in and half out of the shadow, with her head thrown back against it, so that her left breast stood out in the light of the moon as if to mock it, leaving the other dark: and the curve of her hip issued from the shadow and again was lost in it, like that of a wave that rises from the sea. And he saw her eyes shining, as they gazed at him in curiosity, like stars in a moonless night reflected in a pool, whose light serves only to make the darkness it is lost in more visible than before. And her att.i.tude gave her the appearance of a statue fixed upon the wall, that had suddenly emerged from it, and taken life, half doubtful, by reason of timidity, whether she should not re-enter it again. And she was dressed, like Janaki, when the Ten-headed Demon seized her, in a robe of yellow silk, with golden bangles, and golden anklets, and a necklace of great pearls around her neck, like a row of little moons formed out of drops of the lunar ooze: and in her hair, which shone like the back of a great black bee, was a single champak blossom, that resembled an earthly star shedding fragrance as well as light. And her red lips looked as if the smile that was on the very point of opening like a flower had been checked in the very act, by the hesitation springing from a very little fear.

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?

[Footnote 26: _Love_, in Sanskrit, means also _recollection_.]

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 pa.s.sionate 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 a.s.sault 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?

[Footnote 27: A name given only by a wife to her husband, implying the claim.]

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 s.e.x 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?