indignantly and asked what gave him the right to believe
that I had sunk low enough to take a thief and robber as
an ally.
“In the case of an ally,” replied Angulimāla quietly,
“the chief thing is that they are to be depended upon, and
you feel — of that I am convinced — that I am absolutely
to be relied upon in this matter. On the other hand I need
your help, for only in that way can I learn with certainty
what I wish to know. True I have a source of information
which is usually reliable, and from which as a matter of
fact I know of Sātāgira’s journey, yet if our man causes a
false report to be circulated, even this source can become
untrustworthy. But you need me, because in a case like
yours a proud and lofty being finds satisfaction only in the
death of the traitor. If you were a man, then you would
kill him yourself; as you are a woman, my arm is neces‐
sary to you.”
I was about to dismiss him angrily, but with a
dignified movement of his hand he gave me to understand
that he had not said all that he had to say — so, against
my will, I paused and became silent.
“Thus far, noble lady, I have spoken of revenge.
But there is something other and weightier to come. For
you, to secure future happiness; for me, to atone for the
past. Justly, it is said of me that I am cruel, without com‐
passion for man or beast. Yes, I have done a thousand
deeds for each of which one must receive the conse‐
quences, as the priests teach, for a hundred or even a
thousand years in the lowest hell. It is true I had a wise
and learned friend, Vājashravas — whom the common
people now even revere as a saint, and on whose grave I
have offered rich sacrifices — and that he often demon‐
strated to us that there were no such hell‐punishments but
that, on the contrary, the robber was the most Brahman‐
filled of all living beings and the crown of creation. Yet he
244
was somehow never able to convince me of the truth of
his position.
“Be that as it may, however — whether there are
hell‐punishments or not — this much is certain, that of all
my deeds only one lies heavily upon my conscience, and
that is that with my deceitful Rite of Truth I cheated you.
Even then I did not dare to look you in the face — as you
rightly discerned — and the memory of that hour sits ever
like a thorn in my flesh. Well, the wrong I did you then I
would now like to make good, so far as that is still pos‐
sible, and so do away with the hurtful consequences of
my act. By my sly dealing you were separated from
Kāmanīta, whom you believed to be dead, and were
chained instead to this false Sātāgira. These fetters I now
wish to take from you so that you may be free to unite
yourself with your belovèd, and I will go to Ujjenī myself
and bring him to you safe and sound. Now do your part
— and I will do mine. It is not difficult for a beautiful
woman to draw a secret from her husband. Tomorrow, as
soon as it is dark, I shall come here again to get the neces‐
sary information from you.”
He bowed deeply and, in my bewilderment and
dismay, before it was possible for me to utter a single
word, he vanished from the Terrace as suddenly as he had
appeared.
245
~ 32 ~
S
ĀTĀGIRA
T
HE WHOLE NIGHT THROUGH I remained on the
Terrace, the unresisting prey of passions hitherto un‐
known to me, but which were now unchained and
which made sport with my heart as the whirlwind
flurries the leaf.
*
*
*
My Kāmanīta was still alive! In his distant homeland
he must have heard of my marriage, for otherwise he
would have come long ago. How faithless — or how
pitilessly weak — I must appear in his eyes! And for this
degradation of mine Sātāgira was alone to blame. My
hatred for him grew more deadly with every passing
minute and deeply did I feel the truth of Angulimāla’s
words that, if I had been a man, I would assuredly have
killed him.
Then the prospect that Angulimāla had so unexpectedly
opened up to me presented itself: that, if I were
free, I could marry my belovèd. At the thought my whole
being became so wildly excited that I felt as if my blood
would rend my breast and burst my temples. Incapable of
holding myself upright I was not even able to totter to the
bench, but sank down upon the marble tiles and my
senses left me.
Eventually the coolness of the morning dew
247
brought me back to my unhappy existence, together with
its terrible questions:— Was it true that I wished to band
myself together with a robber and thousandfold murderer,
in order to get the man out of the way who had once led
me around the nuptial fire?
*
*
*
As yet, however, I had not the least knowledge of
when my husband was to leave. And how was I to ascer‐
tain the time of his departure, or the exact route he inten‐
ded to take, if he had made a secret of these?
“It is not difficult for a beautiful woman to draw a
secret from her husband” — these words of the robber still
rang in my ears and made plain to me the lowness of such
a course of action. Never would I be able to make up my
mind to inveigle myself into his confidence by tenderness,
in order then to betray him to his arch‐enemy. But just
because I felt this so clearly, so did it also become clear to
me that it was really only the idea of the treacherous and
hypocritical worming out of his secret that I deeply
loathed. Had I already been in possession of it — had I
known where to go in order to find a tablet on which it all
stood written — I should certainly have furnished
Angulimāla with the fatal information.
When this became plain to me I trembled with
horror, as though I were already guilty of Sātāgira’s death.
I thanked fate that there was no possibility of getting this
information, for even if I had been able to learn at what
hour they were to start, still only Sātāgira himself and at
the most perhaps one confidant, would know what roads
and paths had been decided upon.
I saw the rising sun gild the towers and cupolas of
Kosambī, as I had seen this ravishing spectacle so many
times from the Terrace of the Sorrowless — but with what
248
Dostları ilə paylaş: |