Fortunately, however, it did not, in this instance, become necessary, and the four rogues, who behaved admirably on the way, may still be in the service of the goddess-dancer with her swaying necklace of skulls.
We reached Ujjeni without further adventure; and, to be quite truthful, I had had enough with what I had already gone through. The joy of my parents at seeing me was indescribable. But all the more was it impossible to wring from them the permission to undertake a journey to Kosambi very soon again. My father had lost, as thou knowest, in addition to my by no means insignificant ransom, all the goods and all the people in my caravan, and was not in a position at once to fit out a new one. Yet that was a small hindrance in comparison with the terror which overcame my parents at the thought of the dangers of the road. In addition, we did not fail to hear from time to time of Angulimala’s fearful deeds; and I cannot deny that I had no great desire to fall into his hands a second time. Nor was there just then the slightest possibility of getting a message through to Kosambi, so that I was obliged to content myself with memories, and, confidently relying upon the fidelity of my adored Vasitthi, to comfort myself with the hope of better times.
And at last these came. One day a rumour flew like wildfire through the town, that the frightful Angulimala had been utterly defeated by Satagira, the son of the Minister in Kosambi, his band cut down or dispersed, and he himself with many of his most notorious followers taken prisoner and executed.
My parents were now no longer able to resist my passionate entreaties. People had really good reason at last to believe that, for a long time to come, the roads would be free; and my father was not disinclined to try his luck again. But at this juncture I became ill, and when I rose from my bed the rainy season was so near, that it was necessary to wait till it should be past. Then, indeed, nothing further stood in my way. With many admonitions to be prudent, my parents bade me farewell, and I was once more on the road, at the head of a well-stocked caravan of thirty ox-wagons, with a heart full of joy and courage, and urged forward by consuming desire.
Everything ran as smoothly on the present journey as on my first one, and one beautiful morning I entered Kosambi, half-crazed with joy. I was soon aware, however, of a most unusual throng of people in the streets, and my progress became ever slower, till at length, at a spot where we had to cross the chief thoroughfare in the town, our train of wagons came to a complete standstill. It was literally impossible to force our way through the crowd, and I now noticed that the chief street, of which I have spoken, was most magnificently decorated with flagstaffs, carpets depending from the windows and balconies, and festoons hung from side to side of the street, as for some pageant. Cursing with impatience, I asked those who stood in front of me what was taking place.
“Why,” they cried out, “dost thou not know then that this day Satagira, the son of the Minister of State, celebrates his marriage? Thou canst consider thyself most fortunate to have arrived just at this moment, for the procession is now on its way from the temple of Krishna, and passes here; and such magnificence thou hast assuredly never beheld!”
That Satagira should be celebrating his marriage was to me no less important than welcome news, because his seeking the hand of my Vasitthi in marriage would have been, with her parents, one of the greatest hindrances to our union. So the waiting did not displease me, and the less that it could not last long, for already we were able to see the lances of a cavalry division which moved slowly past amid the deafening plaudits of the crowd. These horsemen enjoyed, as the people told me, the greatest popularity in Kosambi, because it was chiefly they who had rendered Angulimala’s band innocuous.
Almost directly behind them came the elephant carrying the bride—beyond all, question a stupendous sight—the crusted, knoll-like forehead of the gigantic animal—which reminded one of Meru, the mountain of the gods—covered with a veil of many-coloured jewels. And just as, in the early year, a fiery bull elephant moves along, the drops of moisture rolling down his temples and cheeks, and swarms of bees, allured by the sweet odour, hang over it, so here, temples and cheeks shimmered with the most wonderful pearls, above which dangled limpid garlands of black diamonds—an effect beautiful enough to make one cry out. The powerful tusks were mounted in the purest gold; and from the breastplate, which was made of the same precious metal and set with large rubies, the airiest of Benares muslin hung down and softly wound itself around the powerful legs of the animal, like morning mists around the stems of lordly forest trees.
But it was the trunk of the state elephant that, before all things else, enchained my glance. Processions I had seen in Ujjeni, and gorgeously decorated elephants’ trunks, but never one displaying such taste as this. With us, the trunk was usually divided into fields which formed one exquisite pattern and were completely covered with colour. But here the skin was left
