At that time I always spent the first hours of the night on the Terrace of the Sorrowless, either alone or with Medini. On the evening of the day of which I have just spoken, I was there by myself, and, in the state of mind in which I then was, the solitude was most agreeable. The full moon shone as on those memorable nights of the past, and I stood before the great asoka with its wealth of blossoms, to beg from it, from the "heartsease," a comforting omen for my troubled heart. After some time I said to myself, "If, between me and the trunk, a saffron-yellow flower should fall before I have counted a hundred, then is my beloved Kamanita yet alive."
When I had counted to fifty, a flower fell, but an orange-coloured one. When I reached eighty I began to count more and more slowly. Just then a creaking door opened in the corner between the terrace and the wall of the house, where a stair led down into the courtyard—a flight of steps really intended only for workmen and gardeners.
My father came forward, and behind him Satagira. A couple of soldiers armed to the teeth followed, and after them came a man who towered a full head above the others. Finally, yet other soldiers brought up the rear of this strange, not to say inexplicable, procession. Two of the latter remained to guard the door, while all the others came directly towards me. At the same time I noticed that the giant in their midst walked with great difficulty, and that at every step he took there resounded a dismal clanking and rattling.
That very instant a saffron-yellow leaf floated down and remained lying just at my feet. I had, however, from sheer astonishment, ceased counting, and, as a consequence, could not be sure whether it had fallen before or after the hundred was reached.
The group now advanced from the shadow of the wall into the moonlight, and then I saw with horror that the giant figure was loaded with chains. His hands were fettered at his back, about his ankles clanked heavy iron rings which were linked to either end of a huge rod, and were connected by double chains of iron with a similar ring about his neck. To it, in turn, two other chains were fastened, and these were held by two of the soldiers. As is usual in the case of a prisoner who is being conducted to the scaffold, there hung around his neck and on his hairy breast, a wreath of the red Kanavera blossom; and the reddish-yellow brickdust, with which his head was powdered, caused the hair hanging down over his forehead, and the beard which reached almost to his eyes, to appear yet more ferocious. From this mask his eyes flashed out at me, and then fell, wandering furtively hither and thither on the floor like those of an evil beast.
As to who stood before me I should not have needed to inquire, even if the Kanavera blossoms had concealed the symbol of his terrible name—the necklace of human thumbs.[1]
"Now, Angulimala," Satagira broke the silence, "repeat in the presence of this noble maiden what thou hast confessed on the rack regarding the murder of the young merchant Kamanita of Ujjeni."
"Kamanita was not murdered," answered the robber gruffly," but taken prisoner and made away with, according to our customs."
And he now related to me in a few words what my father had already told me of the matter.
I stood, meanwhile, with my back to the asoka tree, and supported myself by clutching the trunk with both hands, burying my finger-nails convulsively in the bark in order to keep myself from falling. When Angulimala had finished speaking, everything seemed to be going round in a whirl. But even yet I did not give up.
"Thou art an infamous robber and murderer," I said. "What value can thy word have for me? Why shouldst thou not say what he commands thee, into whose power thy villainies have brought thee?"
And, as if by an inspiration which astonished even myself, and caused a glimmer of hope to flash up within me, I added—
"Thou dost not dare to look me even once in the eyes—thou, the terror of all human beings—me, a weak girl! Thou dost not dare—because at the instigation of this man thou art telling a cowardly lie."
Angulimala did not look up, but he laughed harshly, and answered in a voice that sounded like the growling of a fettered beast of prey—
"What good end would be served by looking thee in the eyes? I leave that to young dandies. The eyes of an 'infamous robber' thou wouldst believe as little as his words. And his oath would, I suppose, signify just as little."
He came a step nearer.
"Well then, maiden, be witness now to the 'Rite of Truth.'"
Once again the lightning of his glance struck me as it swept upward and fixed itself upon the moon in such a way that, in the midst of the tangle of his discoloured hair and beard, only the whites of his eyes were still visible. His breast heaved, so that the red flowers moved as in a dance, and, with a voice like that of thunder rolling among the clouds, he called aloud—
"Thou who dost tame the tiger, snake-crowned goddess of night! Thou who dost dance by moonlight on the pinnacles of the mountains, jangling thy necklace of skulls, gnashing thy teeth, swinging thy blood-basin! Kali! Mistress of the robbers! Thou who hast led me through a thousand dangers, hear me! Truly as I have never withheld a sacrifice from thee; truly as I have ever loyally observed thy laws; truly as I did deal with this Kamanita according to our statute—the statute which commands us 'Senders' when the ransom does not arrive by the appointed hour, to saw the prisoner through the middle and cast his remains on the public road—just as truly do thou stand by me now in my direst need, rend my chains, and free me from the hands of mine enemies."
As he said this he made a mighty effort—the chains rattled, arms and legs were free, the two soldiers who held him lay prone with the earth, a third he struck down with the piece of chain which hung at his wrist, and, before any one of us clearly understood what was happening, Angulimala had swung himself over the breastwork. With a fierce shout Satagira gave chase.
That was the last I saw and heard.
Afterwards I learned that Angulimala had fallen, had broken a foot, and had been captured by the guard; that he had later died in prison, under torture, and that his head had been placed over the east gate of the town where Medini and Somadatta had seen it.
With Angulimala's "Rite of Truth" my last doubt and my last hope had left me. For I knew well that even that devilish goddess Kali could have worked no miracle to rescue him if he had not had the strength which truth lends on his side.
As to what should now become of me I troubled myself little, for, on earth, everything was henceforth lost to me. Only in the Paradise of the West could we meet again. Thou hadst gone before and I would, as I ardently hoped, soon follow. There happiness blossomed, all else was a matter of indifference.
As Satagira now continued to press his suit, and my mother, always wailing and weeping, kept on making representations to me that she would die of a broken heart if she should suffer through me the disgrace of having a daughter remain unmarried in the house of her parents—she "might just as well have given birth to the ugliest maiden in Kosambi!"—little by little my resistance weakened.
Over and above, I had no longer so much to bring against Satagira as before. I could not avoid recognising the steadfastness and fidelity of his attachment, and I also felt that I owed him gratitude for having avenged the death of my beloved.
Thus, then, I became—after almost another year had passed—Satagira's bride.
- ↑ Angulimala = wreath of fingers.