the hungry stones and other stories-第3章

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I　could　sing　to　the　unknown：　　〃O　fire；　the　poor　moth　that　made　a　vain　effort　to　fly　away　has　come　back　to　thee！　Forgive　it　but　this　once；　burn　its　wings　and　consume　it　in　thy　flame！〃

Suddenly　two　tear…drops　fell　from　overhead　on　my　brow。　　Dark　masses　of　clouds　overcast　the　top　of　the　Avalli　hills　that　day。　　The　gloomy　woods　and　the　sooty　waters　of　the　Susta　were　waiting　in　terrible　suspense　and　in　an　ominous　calm。　　Suddenly　land；　water；　and　sky　shivered；　and　a　wild　tempest…blast　rushed　howling　through　the　distant　pathless　woods；　showing　its　lightning…teeth　like　a　raving　maniac　who　had　broken　his　chains。　　The　desolate　halls　of　the　palace　banged　their　doors；　and　moaned　in　the　bitterness　of　anguish。

The　servants　were　all　in　the　office；　and　there　was　no　one　to　light　the　lamps。　　The　night　was　cloudy　and　moonless。　　In　the　dense　gloom　within　I　could　distinctly　feel　that　a　woman　was　lying　on　her　face　on　the　carpet　below　the　bedclasping　and　tearing　her　long　dishevelled　hair　with　desperate　fingers。　　Blood　was　tricking　down　her　fair　brow；　and　she　was　now　laughing　a　hard；　harsh；　mirthless　laugh；　now　bursting　into　violent　wringing　sobs；　now　rending　her　bodice　and　striking　at　her　bare　bosom；　as　the　wind　roared　in　through　the　open　window；　and　the　rain　poured　in　torrents　and　soaked　her　through　and　through。

All　night　there　was　no　cessation　of　the　storm　or　of　the　passionate　cry。　I　wandered　from　room　to　room　in　the　dark；　with　unavailing　sorrow。　　Whom　could　I　console　when　no　one　was　by？　　Whose　was　this　intense　agony　of　sorrow？　　Whence　arose　this　inconsolable　grief？

And　the　mad　man　cried　out：　〃Stand　back！　　Stand　back！！　　All　is　false！　All　is　false！！〃

I　saw　that　the　day　had　dawned；　and　Meher　Ali　was　going　round　and　round　the　palace　with　his　usual　cry　in　that　dreadful　weather。　　Suddenly　it　came　to　me　that　perhaps　he　also　had　once　lived　in　that　house；　and　that；　though　he　had　gone　mad；　he　came　there　every　day；　and　went　round　and　round；　fascinated　by　the　weird　spell　cast　by　the　marble　demon。

Despite　the　storm　and　rain　I　ran　to　him　and　asked：　〃Ho；　Meher　Ali；　what　is　false？〃

The　man　answered　nothing；　but　pushing　me　aside　went　round　and　round　with　his　frantic　cry；　like　a　bird　flying　fascinated　about　the　jaws　of　a　snake；　and　made　a　desperate　effort　to　warn　himself　by　repeating：　〃Stand　back！　　Stand　back！！　　All　is　false！　　All　is　false！！〃

I　ran　like　a　mad　man　through　the　pelting　rain　to　my　office；　and　asked　Karim　Khan：　〃Tell　me　the　meaning　of　all　this！〃

What　I　gathered　from　that　old　man　was　this：　That　at　one　time　countless　unrequited　passions　and　unsatisfied　longings　and　lurid　flames　of　wild　blazing　pleasure　raged　within　that　palace；　and　that　the　curse　of　all　the　heart…aches　and　blasted　hopes　had　made　its　every　stone　thirsty　and　hungry；　eager　to　swallow　up　like　a　famished　ogress　any　living　man　who　might　chance　to　approach。　　Not　one　of　those　who　lived　there　for　three　consecutive　nights　could　escape　these　cruel　jaws；　save　Meher　Ali；　who　had　escaped　at　the　cost　of　his　reason。

I　asked：　〃Is　there　no　means　whatever　of　my　release？〃　The　old　man　said：　〃There　is　only　one　means；　and　that　is　very　difficult。　　I　will　tell　you　what　it　is；　but　first　you　must　hear　the　history　of　a　young　Persian　girl　who　once　lived　in　that　pleasure…dome。　　A　stranger　or　a　more　bitterly　heart…rending　tragedy　was　never　enacted　on　this　earth。〃

Just　at　this　moment　the　coolies　announced　that　the　train　was　coming。　　So　soon？　　We　hurriedly　packed　up　our　luggage；　as　the　tram　steamed　in。　　An　English　gentleman；　apparently　just　aroused　from　slumber；　was　looking　out　of　a　first…class　carriage　endeavouring　to　read　the　name　of　the　station。　As　soon　as　he　caught　sight　of　our　fellow…passenger；　he　cried；　〃Hallo；〃　and　took　him　into　his　own　compartment。　　As　we　got　into　a　second…class　carriage；　we　had　no　chance　of　finding　out　who　the　man　was　nor　what　was　the　end　of　his　story。

I　said；　〃The　man　evidently　took　us　for　fools　and　imposed　upon　us　out　of　fun。　　The　story　is　pure　fabrication　from　start　to　finish。〃　　The　discussion　that　followed　ended　in　a　lifelong　rupture　between　my　theosophist　kinsman　and　myself。



THE　VICTORY

She　was　the　Princess　Ajita。　　And　the　court　poet　of　King　Narayan　had　never　seen　her。　　On　the　day　he　recited　a　new　poem　to　the　king　he　would　raise　his　voice　just　to　that　pitch　which　could　be　heard　by　unseen　hearers　in　the　screened　balcony　high　above　the　hall。　　He　sent　up　his　song　towards　the　star…land　out　of　his　reach；　where；　circled　with　light；　the　planet　who　ruled　his　destiny　shone　unknown　and　out　of　ken。

He　would　espy　some　shadow　moving　behind　the　veil。　　A　tinkling　sound　would　come　to　his　car　from　afar；　and　would　set　him　dreaming　of　the　ankles　whose　tiny　golden　bells　sang　at　each　step。　　Ah；　the　rosy　red　tender　feet　that　walked　the　dust　of　the　earth　like　God's　mercy　on　the　fallen！　　The　poet　had　placed　them　on　the　altar　of　his　heart；　where　he　wove　his　songs　to　the　tune　of　those　golden　bells。　　Doubt　never　arose　in　his　mind　as　to　whose　shadow　it　was　that　moved　behind　the　screen；　and　whose　anklets　they　were　that　sang　to　the　time　of　his　beating　heart。

Manjari；　the　maid　of　the　princess；　passed　by　the　poet's　house　on　her　way　to　the　river；　and　she　never　missed　a　day　to　have　a　few　words　with　him　on　the　sly。　　When　she　found　the　road　deserted；　and　the　shadow　of　dusk　on　the　land；　she　would　boldly　enter　his　room；　and　sit　at　the　corner　of　his　carpet。　　There　was　a　suspicion　of　an　added　care　in　the　choice　of　the　colour　of　her　veil；　in　the　setting　of　the　flower　in　her　hair。

People　smiled　and　whispered　at　this；　and　they　were　not　to　blame。　　For　Shekhar　the　poet　never　took　the　trouble　to　hide　the　fact　that　these　meetings　were　a　pure　joy　to　him。

The　meaning　of　her　name　was　the　spray　of　flowers。　　One　must　confess　that　for　an　ordinary　mortal　it　was　sufficient　in　its　sweetness。　　But　Shekhar　made　his　own　addition　to　this　name；　and　called　her　the　Spray　of　Spring　Flowers。　　And　ordinary　mortals　shook　their　heads　and　said；　Ah；　me！

In　the　spring　songs　that　the　poet　sang　the　praise　of　the　spray　of　spring　flowers　was　conspicuously　reiterated；　and　the　king　winked　and　smiled　at　him　when　he　heard　it；　and　the　poet　smiled　in　answer。

The　king　would　put　him　the　question；　〃Is　it　the　business　of　the　bee　merely　to　hum　in　the　court　of　the　spring？〃

The　poet　would　answer；　〃No；　but　also　to　sip　the　honey　of　the　spray　of　spring　flowers。〃

And　they　all　laughed　in　the　king's　hall。　　And　it　was　rumoured　that　the　Princess　Akita　also　laughed　at　her　maid's　accepting　the　poet's　name　for　her；　and　Manjari　felt　glad　in　her　heart。

Thus　truth　and　falsehood　mingle　in　lifeand　to　what　God　builds　man　adds　his　own　decoration。

Only　those　were　pure　truths　which　were　sung　by　the　poet。　　The　theme　was　Krishna；　the　lover　god；　and　Radha；　the　beloved；　the　Eternal　Man　and　the　Eternal　Woman；　the　sorrow　that　comes　from　the　beginning　of　time；　and　the　joy　without　end。　　The　truth　of　these　songs　was　tested　in　his　inmost　heart　by　everybody　from　the　beggar　to　the　king　himself。　　The　poet's　songs　were　on　the　lips　of　all。　　At　the　merest　glimmer　of　the　moon　and　the　faintest　whisper　of　the　summer　breeze　his　songs　would　break　forth　in　the　land　from　windows　and　courtyards；　from　sailing…boats；　from　shadows　of　the　wayside　trees；　in　numberless　voices。

Thus　passed　the　days　happily。　　The　poet　recited；　the　king　listened；　the　hearers　applauded；　Manjari　passed　and　repassed　by　the　poet's　room　on　her　way　to　the　riverthe　shadow　flitted　behind　the　screened　balcony；　and　the　tiny　golden　bells　tinkled　from　afar。

Just　then　set　forth　from　his　home　in　the　south　a　poet　on　his　path　of　conquest。　　He　came　to　King　Narayan；　in　the　kingdom　of　Amarapur。　　He　stood　before　the　throne；　and　uttered　a　verse　in　praise　of　the　king。　　He　had　challenged　all　the　court　poets　on　his　way；　and　his　career　of　victory　had　been　unbroken。

The　king　received　him　with　honour；　and　said：　〃Poet；　I　offer　you　welcome。〃

Pundarik；　the　poet；　proudly　replied　：　〃Sire；　I　ask　for　war。〃

Shekhar；　the　court　poet　of　the　king　did　not　know　how　the　battle　of　the　muse　was　to　be　waged。　　He　had　no　sleep　at　night。　　The　mighty　figure　of　the　famous　Pundarik；　his　sharp　nose　curved　like　a　scimitar；　and　his　proud　head　tilted　on　one　side；　haunted　the　poet's　vision　in　the　dark。

With　a　trembling　heart　Shekhar　entered　the　arena　in　the　morning。　　The　theatre　was　filled　with　the　crowd。

The　poet　greeted　his　rival　with　a　smile　and　a　bow。　　Pundarik　returned　it　with　a　slight　toss　of　his　head；　and　turned　his　face　towards　his　circle　of　adoring　followers　with　a　meaning　smile。　　Shekhar　cast　his　glance　towards　the　screened　balcony　high　above；　and　saluted　his　lady　in　his　mind；　saying！　〃If　I　am　the　winner　at　the　combat　to…day；　my　lady；　thy　victorious　name　shall　be　glorified。〃

The　trumpet　sounded。　　The　great　crowd　stood　up；　shouting　victory　to　the　king。　　The　king；　dressed　in　an　ample　robe　of　white；　slowly　came　into　the　hall　like　a　floating　cloud　of　autumn；　and　sat　on　his　throne。

Pundarik　stood　up；　and　the　vast　hall　became　still。　　With　his　head　raised　high　and　chest　expanded；　he　began　in　his　thundering　voice　to　recite　the　praise　of　King　Narayan。　　His　words　burst　upon　the　walls　of　the　hall　like　breakers　of　the　sea；　and　seemed　to　rattle　against　the　ribs　of　the　listening　crowd。　　The　skill　with　which　he　gave　varied　meanings　to　the　name　Narayan；　and　wove　each　letter　of　it　through　the　web　of　his　verses　in　all　mariner　of　combinations；　took　away　the　breath　of　his　amazed　hearers。

For　some　minutes　after　he　took　his　seat　his　voice　continued　to　vibrate　among　the　numberless　pillars　of　the　king's　court　and　in　thousands　of　speechless　hearts。　　The　learned　professors　who　had　come　from　distant　lands　raised　their　right　hands；　and　cried；　Bravo　！

The　king　threw　a　glance　on　Shekhar's　face；　and　Shekhar　in　answer　raised　for　a　moment　his　eyes　full　of　pain　towards　his　master；　and　then　stood　up　like　a　stricken　deer　at　bay。　　His　face　was　pale；　his　bashfulness　was　almost　that　of　a　woman；　his　slight　youthful　figure；　delicate　in　its　outline；　seemed　like　a　tensely　strung　vina　ready　to　break　out　in　music　at　the　least　touch。

His　head　was　bent；　his　voice　was　low；　when　he　began。　　The　first　few　verses　were　almost　inaudible。　　Then　he　slowly　raised　his　head；　and　his　clear　sweet　voice　rose　into　the　sky　like　a　quivering　flame　of　fire。　　He　began　with　the　ancient　legend　of　　the　kingly　line　lost　in　the　haze　of　the　past；　and　brought　it　down　through　its　long　course　of　heroism　　and　matchless　generosity　to　the　present　age。　　He　fixed　his　gaze　on　the　king's　face；　and　all　the　vast　and　unexpressed　love　of　the　people　for　the　royal　house　rose　like　incense　in　his　song；　and　enwreathed　the　throne　on　all　sides。　　These　were　his　last　words　when；　trembling；　he　took　his　seat：　〃My　master；　I　may　be　beaten　in　play　of　words；　but　not　in　my　love　for　thee；〃

Tears　filled　the　eyes　of　the　hearers；　and　the　stone　walls　shook　with　cries　of　victory。

Mocking　this　popular　outburst　of　feeling；　with　an　august　shake　of　his　head　and　a　contemptuous　sneer；　Pundarik　stood　up；　and　flung　this　question　to　the　assembly；　〃What　is　there　superior　to　words？〃　　In　a　moment　the　hall　lapsed　into　silence　again。

Then　with　a　marvellous　display　of　learning；　he　proved　that　the　Word　was　in　the　beginning；　that　the　Word　was　God。　　He　piled　up　quotations　from　scriptures；　and　built　a　high　altar　for