I may say here, that the nature of the, to all appearance, enigmatic and sudden attack had not remained a mystery to us. No other than the son of the Minister of State—Satagira was his hated name—with whom I had striven on that unforgettable afternoon in the park for Vasitthi’s ball—no other than he had set the hired murderers upon me. Beyond a doubt he had noticed that I remained behind in the town, after the departure of the embassy, and his suspicions having been thereby awakened, he had very soon spied out my nightly visits to the terrace.
Ah! that Terrace of the Sorrowless was, to our love, like a sunken island now. True, I would have joyfully flung my life into the breach, over and over again, to be able to embrace my sweet darling. But even if Vasitthi had had the heart to expose me every night to deadly danger, any such temptation was spared us. Satagira, in his baseness, must have informed the parents of my sweetheart of our secret meetings, for it was soon apparent that Vasitthi was carefully and jealously watched; besides which, staying out on the terrace after sundown was forbidden to her—ostensibly on account of the danger to her health.
Thus, then, was our love homeless. That which, most of all, feels itself at home in secret, might only be so now where the whole world looked on. In that public garden where I first beheld her divine form, and had sought for her several times in vain, we met once or twice, as if by chance. But what a meeting was that! How fleeting the stolen minutes! how hesitating and few the hasty words! how forced the movements which felt themselves exposed to curious or even spying glances! Vasitthi besought me at once to leave the town in which I was threatened with deadly danger because of her neighbourhood. She reproached herself bitterly for having by her obstinacy, on that first evening on the terrace, prevailed upon me to stay, and thereby all but driven me into the jaws of death already. Perhaps even at this very moment in which she was speaking, a fresh band of assassins was being hired against me. If I did not depart at once, and so place myself beyond the reach of this peril, I should make her the murderess of her best beloved. Suppressed sobs choked her utterance, and I was obliged to stand there without being able to enfold her in my arms, or kiss away the tears which rolled, heavy as the first drops of a thundershower, down over her pallid cheeks. Such a farewell I could not suffer, and I told her it was not possible to leave without first meeting her alone, in what way soever this might have to be accomplished.
Vasitthi’s despairing and beseeching look, as, just at that moment, we were obliged, owing to the approach of several people, to part, could not shake my determination. I trusted to the invention of my beloved, who now, spurred on by longing for me and fear for my life, counselled moreover by her clever and—in all love matters—experienced foster-sister Medini, would be certain to find some way out of the difficulty. And I was not deceived; for that very night Somadatta was able to tell me of a most promising plan of hers.
VIII
The Paradise Bud
A little behind the eastern wall of Kosambi lies a beautiful sinsapa wood which is, strictly speaking, a sacred grove. In an open glade the sanctuary yet stands, though in a sadly dilapidated condition. It is long since any sacrificial service has taken place in this ancient fane, because Krishna, to whom it is dedicated, has had a magnificent and much larger temple built to him in the town itself. In the ruin, however, dwelt, besides a pair of owls, a holy woman, who enjoyed the reputation of having relations with spirits, by whose help she was able to look into the future—insight which the good soul did not withhold from such of her fellow-creatures as brought votive offerings. Such persons made pilgrimages to her in large numbers, among them, and particularly after sunset, being young folks of both sexes, who were, or fancied themselves, in love, and there were not lacking malicious tongues which asserted that the old woman should rather be called a female pander than a saint. However that may have been, this saintliness was just what we needed, and her little temple was chosen as the place for our meeting.
Next day I started with my ox-wagons, and took care that it should be at the hour when people were on their way to the bazaar or to the law-courts. In doing so, I intentionally chose the most frequented streets, so that my departure could not possibly remain hidden from my enemy Satagira. After but a few hours’ travel, however,
