After the foregoing specimen of the curious sentiments of this extraordinary man—to whose charge at least one cannot lay, as to that of so many other noted thinkers, that he didn't put his theories into practice—I resume the thread of my narrative.
In the presence of these manifold adventures and new mental occupations—I naturally didn't neglect the opportunity either of making the robbers' jargon my own—it was impossible that the time should not pass quickly. But the nearer it approached its end, the more was my confidence shaken by oppressive fears. Would the ransom come at all? Although the safe-conduct given him could protect the old servant against robbers, yet a tiger might have rent him in pieces at some point on his journey, or a swollen river swept him away, or any one of the countless unforeseen chances of travel might have detained him until too late. Angulimala's flaming glances shot so often and so evilly over to me that I felt as if he were hoping for something of the kind, and then perspiration born of sheer fear broke forth from every pore. However wonderfully and systematically introduced, and with whatever keenest logic established, Vajaçravas' reasoned statement might be, that in every case in which the ransom was not forthcoming within the proper time, the prisoner in question had to be sawn through the middle with a cross-cut saw, and both parts tossed on to the high-road with the head towards the rising moon, yet I must honestly confess that my admiration for this, scientifically regarded, assuredly astounding performance of my learned friend was somewhat spoiled by a peculiar sensation in my more than slightly interested peritoneum, particularly as the double-toothed cross-cut saw used on such occasions was fetched, and, to illustrate what he said, was set in motion by two horrible-looking fellows, its victim for the moment being a faggot representing a human being.
Vajaçravas, who noticed that I began to feel sick, patted me encouragingly on the shoulder, and said that the thing did not in any way concern me. From which I naturally began to hope that, in case of necessity, he would come to my rescue for the third time. But when I, in most grateful words, hinted at something of the kind, he drew a very long face and said—
"If thy Karma should really bear thee such a grudge as to suffer thy ransom to come late, were it but by so much as half a day, then assuredly no god and no devil could help thee, for the laws of Kali are inviolable. But comfort thyself, my son. Thou art designed for quite other things. Rather do I fear for thee that thou wilt one day, after a notable robber career, be beheaded or impaled in some public place. But that is a long way off yet."
I could not say that this comfort uplifted me greatly, and so was not a little relieved when, a full week before the expiry of the allotted time, our faithful old servant arrived with the sum demanded. I bade farewell to my horrible host—who, remembering his slain friend, put on a gloomy expression, as though he would much rather have had me sawn asunder—and affectionately pressed the hand of the Brahman, who banished a tear of emotion by the confident assurance that we should certainly meet again on the nightly paths of Kali. Then we left accompanied by four robbers, who had to answer with their lives for our safe arrival in Ujjeni. For Angulimala, who was very jealous of his robber honour, promised them, as he sent us away, that if I were not handed over, safe and sound, in my native town, he would flay them alive and hang their skins up at the four corners of a cross-road; and men knew that he kept his word.
Fortunately, however, it did not, in this instance, become necessary, and the four rogues, who behaved admirably on the way, may still be in the service of the goddess-dancer with her swaying necklace of skulls.
We reached Ujjeni without further adventure; and, to be quite truthful, I had had enough with what I had already gone through. The joy of my parents at seeing me was indescribable. But all the more was it impossible to wring from them the permission to undertake a journey to Kosambi very soon again. My father had lost, as thou knowest, in addition to my by no means insignificant ransom, all the goods and all the people in my caravan, and was not in a position at once to fit out a new one. Yet that was a small hindrance in comparison with the terror which overcame my parents at the thought of the dangers of the road. In addition, we did not fail to hear from time to time of Angulimala's fearful deeds; and I cannot deny that I had no great desire to fall into his hands a second time. Nor was there just then the slightest possibility of getting a message through to Kosambi, so that I was obliged to content myself with memories, and, confidently relying upon the fidelity of my adored Vasitthi, to comfort myself with the hope of better times.
And at last these came. One day a rumour flew like wild-fire through the town, that the frightful Angulimala had been utterly defeated by Satagira, the son of the Minister in Kosambi, his band cut down or dispersed, and he himself with many of his most notorious followers taken prisoner and executed.
My parents were now no longer able to resist my passionate entreaties. People had really good reason at last to believe that, for a long time to come, the roads would be free; and my father was not disinclined to try his luck again. But at this juncture I became ill, and when I rose from my bed the rainy season was so near, that it was necessary to wait till it should be past. Then, indeed, nothing further stood in my way. With many admonitions to be prudent, my parents bade me farewell, and I was once more on the road, at the head of a well-stocked caravan of thirty ox-wagons, with a heart full of joy and courage, and urged forward by consuming desire.
Everything ran as smoothly on the present journey as on my first one, and one beautiful morning I entered Kosambi, half-crazed with joy. I was soon aware, however, of a most unusual throng of people in the streets, and my progress became ever slower, till at length, at a spot where we had to cross the chief thoroughfare in the town, our train of wagons came to a complete standstill. It was literally impossible to force our way through the crowd, and I now noticed that the chief street, of which I have spoken, was most magnificently decorated with flagstaffs, carpets depending from the windows and balconies, and festoons hung from side to side of the street, as for some pageant. Cursing with impatience, I asked those who stood in front of me what was taking place.
"Why," they cried out, "dost thou not know then that this day Satagira, the son of the Minister of State, celebrates his marriage? Thou canst consider thyself most fortunate to have arrived just at this moment, for the procession is now on its way from the temple of Krishna, and passes here; and such magnificence thou hast assuredly never beheld!"
That Satagira should be celebrating his marriage was to me no less important than welcome news, because his seeking the hand of my Vasitthi in marriage would have been, with her parents, one of the greatest hindrances to our union. So the waiting did not displease me, and the less that it could not last long, for already we were able to see the lances of a cavalry division which moved slowly past amid the deafening plaudits of the crowd. These horsemen enjoyed, as the people told me, the greatest popularity in Kosambi, because it was chiefly they who had rendered Angulimala's band innocuous.
Almost directly behind them came the elephant carrying the bride—beyond all, question a stupendous sight—the crusted, knoll-like forehead of the gigantic animal—which reminded one of Meru, the mountain of the gods—covered with a veil of many-coloured jewels. And just as, in the early year, a fiery bull elephant moves along, the drops of moisture rolling down his temples and cheeks, and swarms of bees, allured by the sweet odour, hang over it, so here, temples and checks shimmered with the most wonderful pearls, above which dangled limpid garlands of black diamonds—an effect beautiful enough to make one cry out. The powerful tusks were mounted in the purest gold; and from the breastplate, which was made of the same precious metal and set with large rubies, the airiest of Benares muslin hung down and softly wound itself around the powerful legs of the animal, like morning mists around the stems of lordly forest trees.
But it was the trunk of the state elephant that, before all things else, enchained my glance. Processions I had seen in Ujjeni, and gorgeously decorated elephants' trunks, but never one displaying such taste as this. With us, the trunk was usually divided into fields which formed one exquisite pattern and were completely covered with colour. But here the skin was left free as the ground-tone, and over this branch-like foundation was twined a loose spray of lancet-shaped asoka leaves, from the midst of which yellow, orange, and scarlet flowers shone forth—the whole, in treatment and finish, the perfection of exquisite ornamental stylisation.
While I now, with the eye of a connoisseur, studied this marvellous piece of work, there began to creep over me a home-sick feeling, and I seemed to inhale again all the love-odour of those blissful nights upon the terrace. My heart began to beat violently as I was involuntarily drawn on to think of my own marriage; for what happier adornment, than just this, could be invented for the animal which should one day carry Vasitthi, seeing that the "Terrace of the Sorrowless" was famed throughout Kosambi for its wonderful asoka blossoms?
In this dreamy condition, I heard, near me, one woman say to another: "But the bride—she doesn't look at all happy!"
Hardly conscious of what I did, I glanced upward, and a strangely uneasy feeling stole over me as I caught sight of the figure sitting there under the purple baldachin. Figure, I say—the face I couldn't see, because the head was sunk upon the breast—but even of a figure one saw little, and it seemed as if in that mass of rainbow-coloured muslins, although a body did exist, it was not one gifted with life or any power of resistance. The way in which she swayed hither and thither at every movement of the animal, whose powerful strides caused the tent on his back to rock violently to and fro, had something unutterably sad, something to make one shudder in it. There was really cause to fear that she might at any moment plunge headlong downward. Some such idea may have occurred to the maiden standing behind her, for she laid her hand on the shoulder of the bride, and bent forward, possibly to whisper a word of courage in her ear.
An icy fear all but lamed me as, in the supposed servant, I recognised—Medini. And before this suddenly awakened foreboding had time to grow clear within me, Satagira's bride had raised her head.
It was my Vasitthi.