Part 20

'"'Not knowing the truth of her tale, I sorrowfully, as if ashamed, afraid, bewildered, and bereft of sense, adjured her, saying: "Princess, I long to hear. Tell me what Prince Candrapida has done. What offence has been committed? By what discourtesy has he vexed that lotus-soft heart of thine, that none should vex? When I have heard this, thou shalt die on my lifeless body." Thus urged, she again began: "I will tell thee; listen carefully. In my dreams that cunning villain comes daily and employs in secret messages a caged parrot and a starling. In my dreams he, bewildered in mind with vain desires, writes in my earrings to appoint meetings. He sends love-letters with their syllables washed away, filled with mad hopes, most sweet, and showing his own state by the lines of tears stained with pigment falling on them. By the glow of his feelings he dyes my feet against my will. In his reckless insolence he prides himself on his own reflection in my nails. (436) In his unwarranted boldness he embraces me against my will in the gardens when I am alone, and almost dead from fear of being caught, as the clinging of my silken skirts to the branches hinders my steps, and my friends the creepers seize and deliver me to him. Naturally crooked, he teaches the very essence of crookedness to a heart by nature simple by the blazonry he paints on my breast. Full of guileful flattery, he fans with his cool breath my cheeks all wet and shining as with a breeze from the waves of my heart's longing. He boldly places the rays of his nails like young barley-sheaves on my ear, though his hand is empty, because its lotus has fallen from his grasp relaxed in weariness. He audaciously draws me by the hair to quaff the sweet wine of his breath, inhaled by him when he watered his favourite bakul-flowers. Mocked by his own folly, he demands on his head the touch of my foot, destined for the palace açoka-tree. [334] In his utter love madness, he says: 'Tell me, Patralekha, how a madman can be rejected?' For he considers refusal a sign of jealousy; he deems abuse a gentle jest; he looks on silence as pettishness; he regards the mention of his faults as a device for thinking of him; he views contempt as the familiarity of love; he esteems the blame of mankind as renown."

'"'A sweet joy filled me as I heard her say this, and I thought, (437) "Surely Love has led her far in her feelings for Candrapida. If this indeed be true, he shows in visible form, under the guise of Kadambari, his tender feeling towards the prince, and he is met by the prince's innate and carefully-trained virtues. The quarters gleam with his glory; a rain of pearls is cast by his youth on the waves of the ocean of tenderness; his name is written by his youthful gaiety on the moon; his own fortune is proclaimed by his happy lot; and nectar is showered down by his grace as by the digits of the moon."

'"'Moreover, the Malaya wind has at length its season; moonrise has gained its full chance; the luxuriance of spring flowers has won a fitting fruit; the sharpness of wine has mellowed to its full virtue, and the descent of love's era is now clearly manifest on earth.

'"'Then I smiled, and said aloud: "If it be so, princess, cease thy wrath. Be appeased. Thou canst not punish the prince for the faults of Kama. These truly are the sports of Love, the god of the Flowery Bow, not of a wanton Candrapida."

'"'As I said this, she eagerly asked me: "As for this Kama, whoever he may be, tell me what forms he assumes."

'"'"How can he have forms?" replied I. "He is a formless fire. For without flame he creates heat; without smoke he makes tears flow; without the dust of ashes he shows whiteness. Nor is there a being in all the wide universe who is not, or has not been, or will not be, the victim of his shaft. Who is there that fears him not? (438) Even a strong man is pierced by him when he takes in hand his flowery bow.

'"'"Moreover, when tender women are possessed by him, they gaze, and the sky is crowded with a thousand images of their beloved. They paint the loved form; the earth is a canvas all too small. They reckon the virtues of their hero; number itself fails them. They listen to talk about their dearest; the Goddess of Speech herself seems all too silent. They muse on the joys of union with him who is their life; and time itself is all too short to their heart."

'"'She pondered a moment on this ere she replied: "As thou sayest, Patralekha, Love has led me into tenderness for the prince. For all these signs and more are found in me. Thou art one with my own heart, and I ask thee to tell me what I should now do? I am all unversed in such matters. Moreover, if I were forced to tell my parents, I should be so ashamed that my heart would choose death rather than life."

'"'Then again I answered; "Enough, princess! Why this needless talk of death as a necessary condition? [335] Surely, fair maiden, though thou hast not sought to please him, Love has in kindness given thee this boon. Why tell thy parents? Love himself, like a parent, plans for thee; (439) like a mother, he approves thee; like a father, he bestows thee; like a girl friend, he kindles thine affection; like a nurse, he teaches thy tender age the secrets of love. Why should I tell thee of those who have themselves chosen their lords? For were it not so, the ordinance of the svayamvara in our law-books [336] would be meaningless. Be at rest, then, princess. Enough of this talk of death. I conjure thee by touching thy lotus-foot to send me. I am ready to go. I will bring back to thee, princess, thy heart's beloved."

'"'When I had said this, she seemed to drink me in with a tender glance; she was confused by an ardour of affection which, though restrained, found a path, and burst through the reserve that Love's shafts had pierced. In her pleasure at my words, she cast off the silken outer robe which clung to her through her weariness, and left it suspended on her thrilling limbs. [337] She loosened the moonbeam necklace on her neck, put there as a noose to hang herself, and entangled in the fish ornaments of her swinging earring. Yet, though her whole soul was in a fever of joy, she supported herself by the modesty which is a maiden's natural dower, and said: "I know thy great love. But how could a woman, tender of nature as a young çirisha-blossom, show such boldness, especially one so young as I? (440) Bold, indeed, are they who themselves send messages, or themselves deliver a message. I, a young maiden, [338] am ashamed to send a bold message. What, indeed, could I say? 'Thou art very dear,' is superfluous. 'Am I dear to thee?' is a senseless question. 'My love for thee is great,' is the speech of the shameless. 'Without thee I cannot live,' is contrary to experience. 'Love conquers me,' is a reproach of my own fault. 'I am given to thee by Love,' is a bold offering of one's self. 'Thou art my captive,' is the daring speech of immodesty. 'Thou must needs come,' is the pride of fortune. 'I will come myself,' is a woman's weakness. 'I am wholly devoted to thee,' is the lightness of obtruded affection. 'I send no message from fear of a rebuff,' is to wake the sleeper. [339] 'Let me be a warning of the sorrow of a service that is despised,' is an excess of tenderness. 'Thou shalt know my love by my death,' is a thought that may not enter the mind."'"'

PART II.

(441) I hail, for the completion of the difficult toil of this unfinished tale, Uma and Çiva, parents of earth, whose single body, formed from the union of two halves, shows neither point of union nor division.

(442) I salute Narayana, creator of all, by whom the man-lion form was manifested happily, showing a face terrible with its tossing mane, and displaying in his hand quoit, sword, club and conch.

I do homage to my father, that lord of speech, the creator by whom that story was made that none else could fashion, that noble man whom all honour in every house, and from whom I, in reward of a former life, received my being.

(443) When my father rose to the sky, on earth the stream of the story failed with his voice. And I, as I saw its unfinished state was a grief to the good, began it, but from no poetic pride.

For that the words flow with such beauty is my father's special gift; a single touch of the ray of the moon, the one source of nectar, suffices to melt the moonstone.

As other rivers at their full enter the Ganges, and by being absorbed in it reach the ocean, so my speech is cast by me for the completion of this story on the ocean-flowing stream of my father's eloquence.

Reeling under the strong sweetness of Kadambari [340] as one intoxicated, I am bereft of sense, in that I fear not to compose an ending in my own speech devoid of sweetness and colour.

(444) The seeds that promise fruit and are destined to flower are forced by the sower with fitting toils; scattered in good ground, they grow to ripeness; but it is the sower's son who gathers them. [341]

'"Moreover," Kadambari continued, "if the prince were brought shame itself, put to shame by my weakness, would not allow a sight of him. (446) Fear itself, frightened at the crime of bringing him by force, would not enter his presence. Then all would be over if my friend Patralekha did her utmost from love to me, and yet could not induce him to come, even by falling at his feet, either perchance from his respect for his parents, or devotion to royal duty, or love of his native land, or reluctance towards me. Nay, more. (448) I am that Kadambari whom he saw resting on a couch of flowers in the winter palace, and he is that Candrapida, all ignorant of another's pain, who stayed but two days, and then departed. I had promised Mahaçveta not to marry while she was in trouble, though she besought me not to promise, saying, that Kama often takes our life by love even for one unseen. (449) But this is not my case. For the prince, imaged by fancy, ever presents himself to my sight, and, sleeping or waking, in every place I behold him. Therefore talk not of bringing him."

'(450) Thereupon I [342] reflected, "Truly the beloved, as shaped in the imagination, is a great support to women separated from their loves, especially to maidens of noble birth." (451) And I promised Kadambari that I would bring thee, O Prince. (452) Then she, roused by my speech full of thy name, as by a charm to remove poison, suddenly opened her eyes, and said, "I say not that thy going pleases me, Patralekha. (453) It is only when I see thee that I can endure my life; yet if this desire possess thee, do what thou wilt!" So saying, she dismissed me with many presents.

'Then with slightly downcast face Patralekha continued: "The recent kindness of the princess has given me courage, my prince, and I am grieved for her, and so I say to thee, 'Didst thou act worthily of thy tender nature in leaving her in this state?'"

'Thus reproached by Patralekha, and hearing the words of Kadambari, so full of conflicting impulses, the prince became confused; (454) and sharing in Kadambari's feeling, he asked Patralekha with tears, "What am I to do? Love has made me a cause of sorrow to Kadambari, and of reproach to thee. (455) And methinks this was some curse that darkened my mind; else how was my mind deceived when clear signs were given, which would create no doubt even in a dull mind? All this my fault has arisen from a mistake. I will therefore now, by devoting myself to her, even with my life, act so that the princess may know me not to be of so hard a heart."

'(456) While he thus spoke a portress hastened in and said: "Prince, Queen Vilasavati sends a message saying, 'I hear from the talk of my attendants that Patralekha, who had stayed behind, has now returned. And I love her equally with thyself. Do thou therefore come, and bring her with thee. The sight of thy lotus face, won by a thousand longings, is rarely given.'"

'"How my life now is tossed with doubts!" thought the prince. "My mother is sorrowful if even for a moment she sees me not. (457) My subjects love me; but the Gandharva princess loves me more. Princess Kadambari is worthy of my winning, and my mind is impatient of delay;" so thinking, he went to the queen, and spent the day in a longing of heart hard to bear; (458) while the night he spent thinking of the beauty of Kadambari, which was as a shrine of love.

'(459) Thenceforth pleasant talk found no entrance into him. His friends' words seemed harsh to him; the conversation of his kinsmen gave him no delight. (460) His body was dried up by love's fire, but he did not yield up the tenderness of his heart. (461) He despised happiness, but not self-control.

'While he was thus drawn forward by strong love, which had its life resting on the goodness and beauty of Kadambari, and held backwards by his very deep affection for his parents, he beheld one day, when wandering on the banks of the Sipra, a troop of horse approaching. (462) He sent a man to inquire what this might be, and himself crossing the Sipra where the water rose but to his thigh, he awaited his messenger's return in a shrine of Kartikeya. Drawing Patralekha to him, he said, "Look! that horse-man whose face can scarce be descried is Keyuraka!"

'(463) He then beheld Keyuraka throw himself from his horse while yet far off, gray with dust from swift riding, while by his changed appearance, his lack of adornment, his despondent face, and his eyes that heralded his inward grief, he announced, even without words, the evil plight of Kadambari. Candrapida lovingly called him as he hastily bowed and drew near, and embraced him. And when he had drawn back and paid his homage, the prince, having gratified his followers by courteous inquiries, looked at him eagerly, and said, "By the sight of thee, Keyuraka, the well-being of the lady Kadambari and her attendants is proclaimed. When thou art rested and at ease, thou shalt tell me the cause of thy coming;" and he took Keyuraka and Patralekha home with him on his elephant. (464) Then he dismissed his followers, and only accompanied by Patralekha, he called Keyuraka to him, and said: "Tell me the message of Kadambari, Madalekha and Mahaçveta."

'"What shall I say?" replied Keyuraka; "I have no message from any of these. For when I had entrusted Patralekha to Meghanada, and returned, and had told of thy going to Ujjayini, Mahaçveta looked upwards, sighed a long, hot sigh, and saying sadly, 'It is so then,' returned to her own hermitage to her penance. Kadambari, as though bereft of consciousness, ignorant of Mahaçveta's departure, only opened her eyes after a long time, scornfully bidding me tell Mahaçveta; and asking Madalekha (465) if anyone ever had done, or would do, such a deed as Candrapida, she dismissed her attendants, threw herself on her couch, veiled her head, and spent the day without speaking even to Madalekha, who wholly shared her grief. When early next morning I went to her, she gazed at me long with tearful eyes, as if blaming me. And I, when thus looked at by my sorrowing mistress, deemed myself ordered to go, and so, without telling the princess, I have approached my lord's feet. Therefore vouchsafe to hear attentively the bidding of Keyuraka, whose heart is anxious to save the life of one whose sole refuge is in thee. For, as by thy first coming that virgin [343] forest was stirred as by the fragrant Malaya wind, so when she beheld thee, the joy of the whole world, like the spring, love entered her as though she were a red açoka creeper. (466) But now she endures great torture for thy sake." (466-470) Then Keyuraka told at length all her sufferings, till the prince, overcome by grief, could bear it no longer and swooned.

'Then, awakening from his swoon, he lamented that he was thought too hard of heart to receive a message from Kadambari or her friends, and blamed them for not telling him of her love while he was there.

(476) '"Why should there be shame concerning one who is her servant, ever at her feet, that grief should have made its home in one so tender, and my desires be unfulfilled? (477) Now, what can I do when at some days' distance from her. Her body cannot even endure the fall of a flower upon it, while even on adamantine hearts like mine the arrows of love are hard to bear. When I see the unstable works began by cruel Fate, I know not where it will stop. (478) Else where was my approach to the land of the immortals, in my vain hunt for the Kinnaras? where my journey to Hemakuta with Mahaçveta, or my sight of the princess there, or the birth of her love for me, or my father's command, that I could not transgress, for me to return, though my longing was yet unfulfilled? It is by evil destiny that we have been raised high, and then dashed to the ground. Therefore let us do our utmost to console [344] the princess." (479) Then in the evening he asked Keyuraka, "What thinkest thou? Will Kadambari support life till we arrive? (480) Or shall I again behold her face, with its eyes like a timid fawn's?" "Be firm, prince," he replied. "Do thine utmost to go." The prince had himself begun plans for going; but what happiness or what content of heart would there be without his father's leave, and how after his long absence could that be gained? A friend's help was needed here, but Vaiçampayana was away.

'(484) But next morning he heard a report that his army had reached Daçapura, and thinking with joy that he was now to receive the favour of Fate, in that Vaiçampayana was now at hand, he joyfully told the news to Keyuraka. (485) "This event," replied the latter, "surely announces thy going. Doubtless thou wilt gain the princess. For when was the moon ever beheld by any without moonlight, or a lotus-pool without a lotus, or a garden without creeper? Yet there must be delay in the arrival of Vaiçampayana, and the settling with him of thy plans. But I have told thee the state of the princess, which admits of no delay. Therefore, my heart, rendered insolent by the grace bestowed by thy affection, desires that favour may be shown me by a command to go at once to announce the joy of my lord's coming." (486) Whereat the prince, with a glance that showed his inward satisfaction, replied: "Who else is there who so well knows time and place, or who else is so sincerely loyal? This, therefore, is a happy thought. Go to support the life of the princess and to prepare for my return. But let Patralekha go forward, too, with thee to the feet of the princess. For she is favoured by the princess." Then he called Meghanada, and bade him escort Patralekha, (487) while he himself would overtake them when he had seen Vaiçampayana. Then he bade Patralekha tell Kadambari that her noble sincerity and native tenderness preserved him, even though far away and burnt by love's fire, (489) and requested her bidding to come. (491) After their departure, he went to ask his father's leave to go to meet Vaiçampayana. The king lovingly received him, and said to Çukanasa: (492) "He has now come to the age for marriage. So, having entered upon the matter with Queen Vilasavati, let some fair maiden be chosen. For a face like my son's is not often to be seen. Let us then gladden ourselves now by the sight of the lotus face of a bride." Çukanasa agreed that as the prince had gained all knowledge, made royal fortune firmly his own, and wed the earth, there remained nothing for him to do but to marry a wife. "How fitly," thought Candrapida, "does my father's plan come for my thoughts of a union with Kadambari! (493) The proverb 'light to one in darkness,' or 'a shower of nectar to a dying man,' is coming true in me. After just seeing Vaiçampayana, I shall win Kadambari." Then the king went to Vilasavati, and playfully reproached her for giving no counsel as to a bride for her son. (494) Meanwhile the prince spent the day in awaiting Vaiçampayana's return. And after spending over two watches of the night sleepless in yearning for him, (495) the energy of his love was redoubled, and he ordered the conch to be sounded for his going. (497) Then he started on the road to Daçapura, and after going some distance he beheld the camp, (501) and rejoiced to think he would now see Vaiçampayana; and going on alone, he asked where his friend was. But weeping women replied: "Why ask? How should he be here?" And in utter bewilderment he hastened to the midst of the camp. (502) There he was recognised, and on his question the chieftains besought him to rest under a tree while they related Vaiçampayana's fate. He was, they said, yet alive, and they told what had happened. (505) "When left by thee, he halted a day, and then gave the order for our march. 'Yet,' said he, 'Lake Acchoda is mentioned in the Purana as very holy. Let us bathe and worship Çiva in the shrine on its bank. For who will ever, even in a dream, behold again this place haunted by the gods?' (506) But beholding a bower on the bank he gazed at it like a brother long lost to sight, as if memories were awakened in him. And when we urged him to depart, he made as though he heard us not; but at last he bade us go, saying that he would not leave that spot. (508) 'Do I not know well' said he, 'all that you urge for my departure? But I have no power over myself, and I am, as it were, nailed to the spot, and cannot go with you.' (510) So at length we left him, and came hither."