The Ashes of a God

Then said the elephant: O holy tree, the sight of thee is like water to one dying in the sand. For long ago, when I fell into this form, by reason of a curse, pronounced upon me for a sin, this meeting with thyself was fixed as the termination of the curse. And I have wandered up and down, as I think for a very kalpa, asking every pippala that I saw the very question that never received an answer till this moment; so that, hearing it, I almost leaped out of the body in my joy. Now listen, and so at last, emerging from this dungeon of an elephant, I shall again become a man, as soon as I have told thee of my crime; since this is the condition of the fulfilment and abolition of the curse.[³³]

Then the pippala sighed again: Dear elephant, speak lower, lest the end of one curse be only the beginning of another, in perhaps a lower form than thine. And Trishodadhi, as he listened, shook with anger and irritation. And the elephant said: O pippala, I will do my best. But this voice of mine is my natural tone, appointed for my species. And after all, I do not think it will disturb the sage. For though his body is so near us, it never moves, and beyond a doubt his soul is far away, attending to its own affairs. And how, then, should the empty body overhear us, in the absence of its soul?

III

And the pippala said: Speak on. Then said the elephant: O pippala, know, that long ago, in my former birth, I was a king, named Ruru. And I had for my minister, a Brahman, named Trishodadhi. And he had an incomparable wife, by name Watsatarí, a very paragon of beauty and devotion to her husband.[³⁴] And she it was, whose virtue was the cause of my falling into this body of an elephant, by reason of a curse.

So as he spoke, the heart of Trishodadhi, as he listened, almost jumped from his body with amazement. And he said to himself: Ha! what! Am I dreaming, or can it actually be, that this is my old master, King Ruru, in the semblance of an elephant? And suddenly, that old life which he had so long forgotten and abandoned, rose up and stood before him, like a picture in a dream. And like a flash of lightning, he flew back into the past. And all at once, a pang shot into his heart, keen as long ago, at that moment of intolerable agony, when he looked and saw his wife, for the very last time, in the arms of the King. And suddenly, a thirst like fire rose up out of his soul, and took him by the throat. And he gasped, not knowing what he did, and at that moment, wonder changed into a very fever of fierce curiosity, and he murmured to himself: Ha! what! Was she then, after all, not guilty, but as he says virtuous? Ha! then, now I shall discover the whole truth, and learn, what I never knew, the story of her fall, if indeed she fell, and what occurred after I went away, never so much as bidding her farewell.

And lo! strange! as he thought of her again, there ran as it were a sword into his soul. And like flame, that suddenly bursts out anew in the ashes of a fire extinct, so all at once grief, and fierce regret, and a passionate yearning for the wife that played him false, surged and struggled in the dark oblivion of his ocean of recollection, so that he swayed and tottered as he sat. And utterly forgetting all, he let his rosary suddenly drop out of his hand, and turned abruptly round, to see as well as hear. And when he looked, he saw the elephant, standing still with drooping ears, leaning against the pippala's trunk. And then again, no sooner had he turned, than he exclaimed within himself: Ha! now again, I have come within a little of spoiling all, by betraying to them that I am a party to their interview, and moreover, not a bystander indifferent, but one very much concerned indeed. And instantly he turned back, resuming his old attitude, and remained, still as a tree, almost dying with apprehension, lest he should lose even a single word of their discourse.

So as he sat listening, all at once the pippala said: O king of elephants, why, after commencing thy narration, hast thou suddenly broken off, no sooner than begun? Then the elephant sighed deeply. And he said: Holy tree, I stopped, as it were against my will, at the thought of her innocence, and my own evil conduct, and the terrible retribution, that overtook me in the shape of this elephant's skin, which is as it were nothing but the consequence of my own works in a brutal form. Truly have the sages said: What is the cause of the misery of soul, if not the envelope of body? And whence arises the envelope of body, but from works? And from what do works originate, if not from passion, and this again, from pride, itself the fruit of the tree of a want of discrimination, and the black night of ignorance? Alas! while I thought myself a king, what was I but a chip, tossed upon the waves of time; a very bubble, rolling from side to side, like the drop of rain water on the leaf of a blue lotus; more momentary than the lightning playing on the clouds; unsubstantial, fleeting, and unsteady as the shadow of a foolish moth, fluttering about the flame of a flickering torch agitated by sighing gusts of wind?

Then said the pippala: O elephant, thou speakest the very truth; nevertheless, thy reflections only delay the progress of the tale, and thy own release from the very thing that thou deplorest; and at this rate, the sun will return to us long before thy story is half told. And the elephant said: Pippala, I have done. Listen, then, to the story of my crime, and may its memory desert me, together with this skin of a forest elephant, as soon as it is told. For even the body of a brute is not so great a punishment to the evil-doer, as the remorse which never leaves him, in the form of the recollection of his crime.

IV

For long ago, being, as I told thee, a king, named Ruru, I was married in my youth to a queen. And she was beautiful, with a beauty that resembled the beauty of a panther, for it was fierce and spotted and treacherous and crafty, and I was a prey to it, for I was very young, and I knew not anything of woman but her shell. And I was devoted to my wife, and trusted her implicitly, and had never suspected her fidelity even in a dream. And I returned suddenly one evening at nightfall into my palace, and looked, and lo! she was fondling another man, a Rajpoot, whom she had brought into the palace through a window by a ladder, having fallen in love with him as she saw him in the street.

So when I saw her, I uttered a cry, and stood. But they, seeing me, separated like a flash of lightning, and fled, he back into the street, and she to her own apartments. And where he went, or what she did, I know not. But when the dawn was breaking, I looked, and again I saw her coming back with stealthy step. And all at once, as she came, she looked, and saw me standing, exactly where I stood before, never having moved, all night long. And instantly, she stopped short, and gazed at me with eyes that were filled with amazement, which changed, as I watched her, into the extremity of fear. And all at once, I uttered a terrible cry. And instantly she sank to the ground, bereft of reason. But I turned, and ran away, and went out into the street.

And I wandered up and down in the darkness that was just becoming daylight, with a soul on fire, not knowing where I went or what I did; and I came suddenly upon a miserable wretch in ragged garments, and I said to him: Change now very quickly thy garments for my own. And he, looking at me, very rapidly agreed, and we changed, and I gave him all my jewels, and put on his very loathsome rags; and so he went away. And I said to myself: Now will I leave my palace and my kingdom, and become a sannyási, turning my back upon the world. And lo! almost as I spoke, another man suddenly came upon me, a little old man with grey hair that escaped from his handkerchief,[³⁵] and keen eyes like those of a weasel. And he said to me: Ha! night-walker, who art thou? And I laughed, guessing him to be a thief; and I said: Maharáj,[³⁶] I am a robber, like thyself. Then said that old man: I am the chief of all the robbers in this city, and I know thee not. And I said: How shouldst know me, who am but just arrived in the city, having fled here by reason of trouble in my own? And he said: Wilt thou come and be of mine? And I said: Aye! with thee or any other rascal. What does it matter? And I laughed in bitterness, not caring if I died. Then that little old man came up close, and looked at me narrowly for a while; and he said: Thou art very young and handsome, and as I think, no thief at all. And whence comes the trouble of the young but from women? And I said: O king of robbers, thou art subtle; for I am indeed the victim of a woman, and my life is at an end.

And then suddenly, that strange old man struck me a blow with his open hand upon my shoulder, so hard, that it hurt. And he exclaimed: Fool! art thou actually grieving for the loss of a woman? What! dost thou not know, that he who loses one, can find without any difficulty a hundred other women, just as good or better than herself? And as he spoke, all at once I began to laugh, and as I laughed, I cried. And I exclaimed: Ha! old thief, I am obliged to thee; and like a good physician, thou hast cured my malady, with words that are sharper than a knife. But beware! for if I ever meet thee again, I will have thee thrown to be trampled by an elephant. And then I turned my back upon him, and went away, and left him standing, saying to myself as I went: He is right. And now, then, I will go back into my palace, and make all the other women in the three worlds pay for the conduct of my wife. Ha! I should indeed have been a fool, to become a sannyási, for such a thing as her; and this old rascal has raised me as it were from the dead, and replaced the danda[³⁷] in my hand.

And then, O pippala, as I said, so I did. And laying the burden of the state upon the shoulders of my minister, Trishodadhi, I ran wild among the women of my kingdom, and I became an object of dread to every one of my subjects that had either a daughter or a sister or a wife.

And as he listened, Trishodadhi said within himself: Aye! robber of a king, so it was; and little dost thou dream how close to thee is a living witness to the truth of thy words. And all forgetful of his muttering, he listened eagerly for the remainder of the tale.

V

And the elephant said: Pippala, as it happened, I had for my wita[³⁸] a very incarnation of malignity and craft, on whom I laid the duty of discovering every woman in my kingdom or elsewhere, whose beauty might make her worthy of my regard. And this wita, while bringing to my notice every day the treasures of others, never told me of his own, but kept me scrupulously ignorant. But one day there came to me one of his agents, to whom he had done some injury or other, and he said: O Maharáj, thy wita is offering thee husks, and keeping back the kernel; possessing as he does a daughter more beautiful than the moon. And hearing this, I flew into a rage. And I sent for the wita, and compelled him, under penalty of death, to produce his daughter; and I took her away from him, disregarding all his prayers. So at last, finding all his supplications useless, all at once that wita yielded, and acquiesced in his dishonour, like an elephant tamed. Ha! had I only known him, I should have put him instantly to death; for he was but waiting till he saw his opportunity. And the consequence of my action in this matter of the wita and his daughter lay waiting: till the time came, when it rose up suddenly like a cobra, and bit me in the heel.

But in the meantime, careless of the wita and his vengeance, I lived like a mad bee, intent upon nothing but ruining the lotuses that I rifled of their honey, remaining beside each, only so long as was necessary to destroy it, after sipping its sweet. And gradually my kingdom began to assume the semblance of a garden, in which every tree was mourning, bewailing the fate of its loveliest blossoms, which lay on the ground, trampled as it were into the mud. Enough! for why should I detain thee and delay my own emancipation from this carcase of an elephant by enumerating details that are not to the point. Know, that there came a day, when having left as usual the burden of the kingdom on the shoulders of my minister, I went out into the forest to hunt. And after a while, growing weary of the chase, I dismissed my attendants, and came slowly home alone, wandering after them on foot. And I lingered as I went, listening to the noise of the canes, singing in the breeze; aye! well do I remember the music that they made, as if prognosticating by their exquisite melody the sweetness of the meeting that was just on the very point of crossing my steps, to plunge my soul, in the twinkling of an eye, as it were into a vat, and change its dye, turning it first into red, and finally into deep and inalterable blue.[³⁹]

For as I rambled slowly on, it happened, by destiny's decree, that a necklace of great pearls, that I always wore around my neck, its clasp coming open, slipped off, and fell upon the ground. And at that very moment, a bird of the race of hawks pounced suddenly upon it, and carried it away, attracted by its glitter, or who knows? For I think that the very god of Love took, it may be, that form of a bird, to bring about his end. And I ran after it, as it were awaking from my musing, with a shout, and the bird, after flying a little way, becoming frightened, or it may be, by express design, let fall the necklace from his claws, and flew away. And seeing it fall, I ran towards it, and all at once, I found my way blocked by a very high wall, on the farther side of which the necklace fell. And I went up to that wall, and as I did so, I listened, and heard the noise of steps beyond the wall. And instantly I called aloud: O thou, whoever thou art, beyond the wall, know, that the necklace is mine. And hearing no answer, I looked about, and seeing a tree standing near, I swung myself up, by means of its branches, upon the wall, and looked over. And when I did so, lo! there below me in the garden stood a young woman, looking up towards me; and on the ground was the necklace, lying at her very feet.

And as I looked down at her, O pippala, all at once the necklace, the very object of my coming, vanished clean out of my mind, obliterated in an instant, and swept into oblivion by the wonder of her eyes. And yet it was not merely their beauty that amazed me, pools of lapis lazuli though they were, to whose brink that bird had brought me, as if to drown me, dizzy at their very depth. But strange! fixed as they were, upturned towards me, bent and as it were pointed full upon my own, they never wavered, and I was puzzled by their gaze. For there was no curiosity at all in them, nor any trace of timidity or fear, far less of challenge, or anger, or agitation, or any tumult of emotion, but rather an ocean, and as it were an atmosphere of silence, and shadowy peace, and a spirit of unutterable quiet and repose, like that of some unviolated water, bound by a spell of secrecy and lying hidden in the middle of a forest, on whose dark film the dead leaves lie, unmoved by animals that drink, or winds that blow. And so little did I seem to be the target of those motionless unfathomable eyes, that I would have turned my head, to discover what thing other than myself it was that she regarded, but that I could not look away from them at all. And she stood with her head, a little bent, like one that listens rather than that looks, and thrown just a very little back upon her shoulders, so that all unknown to her the round bosses of her wide and glorious bosom stretched out and up towards me, as if dying to express that curiosity and agitation which was wanting in her eyes, while her slender figure, like a stalk, stood still and seemed to sway, as if with anxiety, lest the weight that it supported should snap it in the middle. And as I sat gazing, lost in a sea of perplexity and admiration, all at once she spoke, and said in a low voice that resembled a caress rendered audible to the ear: Who art thou, if, as I guess, thou hast climbed upon the wall, and what is thy intention?

And I said, with confusion and surprise: I came upon the wall, O lady of the lovely eyes, to recover yonder necklace which is lying at thy feet. Then she said: Dost thou see it lying? And I said: Surely I see it very plainly, as thou dost also. Then she said: Come down, then, and take it, and begone. For I cannot do it for thee, seeing that I am blind.

And Trishodadhi, as he listened, groaned within himself. And he murmured: Aye! indeed! alas! so she was; and these were her very eyes: and now well I know that the story of this elephant is true. And all oblivious of his muttering, he listened to the tale.

VI

And the elephant said: Pippala, when I heard her, I came within a little of falling from the wall, struck by the shock of pity and amazement at her words. And I exclaimed: Blind, O thou beautiful and unfortunate! But thou art surely jesting. What! can such eyes as thine, more lovely than the pool in which the lotuses delight, O, which put to shame the very heaven at midnight with its stars, be really blind? And she said, quietly: Yet is it as I say. And I struck my hands together, and groaned aloud, almost weeping, for remorse and despair. And I exclaimed: Out, out on the Creator, who could be guilty of so criminal a blunder as to make such eyes as thine, and yet forget to give them sight, which he has been so careful to remember in the case of every common eye! Then she said gently: Nay, utter no blame of the Creator. Blame rather me myself, since doubtless this my blindness is a punishment deserved, for sins committed by myself, in some forgotten former birth, and the fruit of a tree I and no other planted. Or rather, blame not anything at all, since thy business is neither with my eyes, nor me, at all, but rather with thy necklace. Come, as I said, and take it quickly, and begone.

And I looked at her for a moment in agitation, and I said, with emphasis: Take thou the necklace; it is no longer mine, having fallen at the feet of its proper owner: and wise was the bird that stole it from me, to lay it where it is. This only I regret that alas! thou canst not see it, for it is worthy of beauty such as thine. And she smiled, looking at me, as it were, with those eyes that did not falter, and she said: Stranger, what have I to do with thee or with thy necklace? Come, now, cease talking nonsense on the wall, to one that must not listen; but take thy necklace and begone.

O pippala, I know not if I tell thee what befel, so as to make thee comprehend. But know, that in that moment since I came upon the wall, I was changed. For her voice completed what her eyes began, and her smile took my heart and set it shaking like a leaf with an ecstasy of rapture and anxiety, causing me to tremble with so violent an agitation that I could hardly keep my place upon the wall. And I knew that I was looking at a woman of a kind that I had never seen before, and I tossed away my past in the twinkling of an eye. And I said to myself, quivering with the extremity of delight and the fever of determination: Ha! then as it seems, destiny waited till this moment, to show me perfection in the form of the woman of my dreams. And what! O thou matchless, intoxicating beauty, now that I have found thee, dost thou bid me go away, and leave thee as soon as found? Nay, nay; not for the three great worlds with all that they contain, will I consent ever to part from thee again. And now, thou shalt be my wife and queen, whether thou wilt or no.

And at that moment, I think that the very god of Love himself put a thought into my heart. And I looked at her with fierce affection, as she stood waiting quietly below, and said softly to myself: I will stay, O peremptory beauty, in despite of thee, and all the powers of earth and heaven combined. And I said to her aloud: Since then I must, and thou permittest, I will descend, and take it, and begone. And I leaped from the wall towards her, awkward by express design, intending to feign injury to myself, and with so good a will, that as it happened, I actually did the very thing I meant to feign. And fell heavily, bruising my foot upon the ground beside her, so that she drew back in alarm. And I uttered a moan that was anything but feigned. And immediately she said, with commiseration in her voice: Alas! now I fear my impotence has been a cause of injury to thyself. Art thou hurt? And I said: Nay, it is nothing. Let me rest for but a moment, and so I will depart. And she hesitated, and said with indecision: This is a misfortune and a difficulty. For I know thee not, being utterly in the dark about thee; and I dare not stay beside thee, not knowing who thou art. And yet, if thy voice is any indication of thy quality, I think I need not fear thee. And I said hastily: Fear absolutely nothing; and I will tell thee my family and name, in exchange for thy own. And easy is it to perceive that thou art no common person's wife. Then she said: I am called Watsatarí, and my husband is the minister of the king, of whom doubtless thou hast heard,[⁴⁰] since everybody knows him, not only in this city, but elsewhere.

And once again I started and exclaimed: What! the wife of Trishodadhi? Then she said: I see, thou knowest. And I said again: What! can it be? Trishodadhi? And as I spoke, I looked at her in absolute dismay. And I murmured to myself: Alas! alas! Had she only been the wife of any other husband in the three wide worlds, only not of him.

And Trishodadhi, as he listened, exclaimed within himself: Ah! yes, indeed; thou art right. Had it only been any other husband than myself, indeed it had been well. And oblivious of his muttering, he listened in agitation to the tale.

VII

And the elephant said: Pippala, as I gazed at her, struck by the thunderbolt of astonishment and dismay, my heart smote me: for all unintentionally, I found myself playing the traitor to my minister, and becoming, as indeed I was already, the worshipper of his wife. And well I knew, that love would prove stronger than gratitude, and more powerful than friendship, and that he was already doomed. And I said to myself: Ha! now destiny and the deity of Love have combined, to throw me, as it were against my will, into the company of one whom I had determined to avoid, and are driving me to injure, one, whom I would rather wish to honour and regard. But now it is too late, and well I see, that will happen which must happen, and she and I and her husband are but puppets, dancing to the bidding of powers that are greater than our own. And once again I murmured: Watsatarí; Trishodadhi; it cannot be. Then she said: Who art thou, to be so well acquainted, as it seems thou art, both with my husband and myself, and what is there in the circumstances that arouses in thee such surprise?

And as I looked at her, I trembled, saying to myself: Now perhaps it is as well, she cannot see. And now I dare not tell her who I am, for that would be utter ruin, since doubtless rumour has told her all about me. And I thought for a moment, and then all at once I laughed aloud. And I exclaimed: O wife of Trishodadhi, if one should have commissioned thee, saying, Go at dead of night to the very middle of the sea, and there catch in its immensity a single little mina[⁴¹] that has swallowed such-and-such a ring; and thou going accordingly and grasping blindly in its water shouldst find that very fish enclosed in thy hand, say, would it not surprise thee also, to find chance putting into thy clutch a thing no ingenuity could ever have discovered? And she said with a smile: Who then is the fish; is it I, or is it he? And I said: It is thy own pretty neck which is the fish; for yonder necklace was commissioned to encircle it. And now let me tell thee, since I see thou art suspicious of myself, fearing no doubt the anger of thy husband, should he discover thee in my society, that he would hardly have excused thee for sending me away, as presently he himself will tell thee, as soon as he returns. For know that I am a Rajpoot, and the confidential agent of a neighbouring king, to whom thy husband lately rendered by his policy an inestimable service. And since he absolutely refused reward, the king my master said to me: Gratitude, like a river, dammed in one direction, will find an outlet in another; and since I may do nothing for Trishodadhi, I will at least do something for his wife. For I have heard, that she is of incomparable beauty. Take, then, this necklace, and answer for its safety with thy head. And ride night and day, going towards the capital of Ruru, and seek out his minister, and ask for Watsatarí his wife. And when she is actually before thee, put with thy own hands the necklace on her neck, and say: King Chandradatta bids thee know, by this emblem, that the chain of obligation to thee and to thy husband is on his neck, and when there is a difficulty, send him this; and he will overcome it. And now, right glad I am to find thee; for I have not slept since I started, for fear of losing the necklace, and forfeiting my head. And surely the bird which filched it from me to carry it to thee was some deity in disguise; for how could a mere bird know, for whom it was designed? So take thou the necklace, and when thy husband sees it, summon me: and I will tell him also, and depart.

And she listened attentively, looking as it were straight at me as I lied, till I trembled, rejoicing, and yet hardly crediting, that she could not see me; and when I ended, she stood meditating, while I watched her, in ecstasy at having hit upon a clever lie, by means of which I hoped to prolong our conversation, and look at her with impunity, careless of what might come of it at last. And presently she said: Where then is the necklace? And I placed it in the lotus of the hand she held toward me, stealing guilty undetected glances at her creeper of an arm; and she took it, and felt it all over, telling every pearl, exactly as yonder old ascetic told his beads as I passed him; while I stood gazing at her, hardly able to draw breath. And after a while she said: Surely these pearls are very large? And I said: There are no others equal to them, even in the sea. And she sighed a very little, and she said with regret: Their beauty is for other eyes than mine. And I watched her eagerly, saying to myself: Ha! can it be that this delicious beauty resembles all her far inferior sisters, and is tempted by the pearls she cannot see? O pippala, I tell thee, that though it made for my advantage, it was a grief to me to find her, as I thought, like other women. Ha! but I did her wrong, and did not know her, for she had something in her soul that I did not understand.

And all at once, half, as I conjectured, in derision, and half, it may be, tempted by the shadow of a wish to try them on her neck, she took the necklace by both ends in her hands, and hung it up around her throat, letting those lucky pearls rest for a single instant on the margin of her swelling breast. And utterly bewildered, instantly I forgot my self-control. And I stepped forward, saying hastily: Nay, thou dost not know the secret of its clasp. And before she could prevent me, for blind as she was, she knew not what I meditated, I put my two arms, that trembled with intoxication and timidity, and wonder at their own audacity, suddenly around her neck, and took the two ends of the necklace in my hands, and placing them together, was just about to clasp them. And at that very moment, I looked, and lo! there, at a distance in the garden, stood Trishodadhi her husband, looking at me with eyes that resembled caverns, filled with black and shining water in the form of unutterable despair.