Simultaneously Kamanita and Vasitthi stretched out their arms to one another, and hand in hand they floated away over the pond towards the bank.
Kamanita observed, of course, that Vasitthi had not as yet recognised him, but had only turned to him unconsciously as the sunflower to the sun. How should she have recognised him—seeing that no one, immediately on awaking, remembered anything of his previous life—even if, at sight of him, in the depths of her heart, dim presentiments might stir, as had happened in his own case when his neighbour spoke of the heavenly Gunga?
He showed her the gleaming river, which emptied itself noiselessly into the pond—
“In like fashion do the silver waters of the heavenly Gunga feed all the lakes in the fields of the Blest.”
“The heavenly Gunga,” she repeated questioningly, and drew her hand across her forehead.
“Come, let us go to the Coral Tree.”
“But the grove and the shrubbery are so beautiful over there, and they are playing such delightful games,” said Vasitthi, pointing in another direction.
“Later! First let us go to the Coral Tree in order that thou mayst be vivified by its wonderful perfume.”
Like a child one has comforted by the promise of a new toy, for not having been allowed to take part in the joyous games of its comrades, Vasitthi followed him willingly. As the perfume began to float towards them her features grew more and more animated.
“Whither dost thou lead me?” she asked, as they turned into the narrow gorge among the rocks. “Never have I been so filled with expectation. And it seems to me that I have often in the past been filled with expectation, although thy smile reminds me that I have but just awakened to consciousness. But thou hast surely mistaken the way, we can go no farther in this direction.”
“Oh, we can go farther, much farther,” smiled Kamanita, “and perhaps thou wilt now become aware that that feeling of which thou hast spoken has not deceived thee, dearest Vasitthi.”
Even as he spoke there opened before them the basin of the valley amid the malachite rocks, with the red Coral Tree and the deep blue sky. Then the perfume of all perfumes enveloped her.
Vasitthi laid her hands on her breast as if to check her all too deep breathing, and in the rapid play of light and shadow on her features, Kamanita discerned how the storm of life-memories was sweeping over her.
Suddenly she raised her arms and flung herself on his breast—
“Kamanita, my beloved!”
And he bore her thence, speeding back through the gorge with eager haste.
In the open, if still somewhat sombre, valley with its dark shrubbery and thickset groves, where the gazelles were at play but no human form disturbed the solitude, he descended with her, finding shelter under a tree.
“Oh, my poor Kamanita,” said Vasitthi, “what must thou have suffered! And what thought of me when thou didst learn that I had married Satagira!”
Then Kamanita told her how he had not learned that from hearsay but had himself, in the chief street of Kosambi, seen the bridal procession, and how the speechless misery graven on her face had directly convinced him that she had only yielded to the pressure of her parents.
“But no power on earth would have compelled me, my only love, if I had not been forced to believe myself in possession of sure proof that thou wert no longer alive.”
And Vasitthi began to tell him of the events of that bygone time.
XXVI
The Chain with the Tiger-Eye
When thou, my friend, wert gone from Kosambi, I dragged myself miserably through the days and nights, as a girl does who is devoured by a fever of longing, and is at the same time a prey to a thousand fears on behalf of her beloved. I did not even know whether thou didst still breathe the air of this world with me, for I had often heard of the dangers of such journeys. And now I was constrained to reproach myself most bitterly, because, with my foolish obstinacy, I was to blame for thy not having made the return journey in perfect safety under the protection of the embassy. Yet, with all this, I was not able really to repent of my thoughtlessness, because I owed to it all those precious memories which were now my whole treasure.
Even Medini’s cheering and comforting words were seldom able to dissipate for any length of time the cloud of melancholy which hung over me. My best and truest friend wag the asoka under which we stood on that glorious moonlit night, the tree thou, my sweetheart, hast assuredly not forgotten; and to which I addressed on that occasion the words of Damayanti. Countless times did I try to obtain, by listening to the rustling of its leaves, an answer to my anxious questions, to see in the falling of a leaf or the play of light and shadow on the ground an omen of some kind. If then it happened that the sign given by such a self-invented oracle bore a favourable interpretation, I was able to feel happy for a whole day or even longer, and to look hopefully into the future. But just for that very reason my longing increased, and with the longing my fears returned as naturally as evil dreams result from a fevered temperature.
In this condition it was almost a benefit that, after a short time, my love was not permitted to live in lonely inactivity dedicated to suffering alone, but that it was forced into a combative attitude and obliged to gather up all its strength even if it did thereby bring me to the verge of a complete estrangement from my own people.
It
