On my lips there hung the reply that so clever a goldsmith as himself would, no doubt, succeed as perfectly in the matter of the proper mixture of the gold as in turning out the characteristic workmanship; for I saw everyone and everything conspiring against our love, and did not trust even my nearest relatives. However, I ended the matter by saying that I would in no wise suffer myself to be convinced by this chain that my Kamanita was not still alive.
My father then left me in great anger, and I was able in solitude to give myself wholly up to my despair.
XXVII
The Rite of Truth (Saccakiriya)
At that time I always spent the first hours of the night on the Terrace of the Sorrowless, either alone or with Medini. On the evening of the day of which I have just spoken, I was there by myself, and, in the state of mind in which I then was, the solitude was most agreeable. The full moon shone as on those memorable nights of the past, and I stood before the great asoka with its wealth of blossoms, to beg from it, from the “heartsease,” a comforting omen for my troubled heart. After some time I said to myself, “If, between me and the trunk, a saffron-yellow flower should fall before I have counted a hundred, then is my beloved Kamanita yet alive.”
When I had counted to fifty, a flower fell, but an orange-coloured one. When I reached eighty I began to count more and more slowly. Just then a creaking door opened in the corner between the terrace and the wall of the house, where a stair led down into the courtyard—a flight of steps really intended only for workmen and gardeners.
My father came forward, and behind him Satagira. A couple of soldiers armed to the teeth followed, and after them came a man who towered a full head above the others. Finally, yet other soldiers brought up the rear of this strange, not to say inexplicable, procession. Two of the latter remained to guard the door, while all the others came directly towards me. At the same time I noticed that the giant in their midst walked with great difficulty, and that at every step he took there resounded a dismal clanking and rattling.
That very instant a saffron-yellow leaf floated down and remained lying just at my feet. I had, however, from sheer astonishment, ceased counting, and, as a consequence, could not be sure whether it had fallen before or after the hundred was reached.
The group now advanced from the shadow of the wall into the moonlight, and then I saw with horror that the giant figure was loaded with chains. His hands were fettered at his back, about his ankles clanked heavy iron rings which were linked to either end of a huge rod, and were connected by double chains of iron with a similar ring about his neck. To it, in turn, two other chains were fastened, and these were held by two of the soldiers. As is usual in the case of a prisoner who is being conducted to the scaffold, there hung around his neck and on his hairy breast, a wreath of the red Kanavera blossom; and the reddish-yellow brickdust, with which his head was powdered, caused the hair hanging down over his forehead, and the beard which reached almost to his eyes, to appear yet more ferocious. From this mask his eyes flashed out at me, and then fell, wandering furtively hither and thither on the floor like those of an evil beast.
As to who stood before me I should not have needed to inquire, even if the Kanavera blossoms had concealed the symbol of his terrible name—the necklace of human thumbs.9
“Now, Angulimala,” Satagira broke the silence, “repeat in the presence of this noble maiden what thou hast confessed on the rack regarding the murder of the young merchant Kamanita of Ujjeni.”
“Kamanita was not murdered,” answered the robber gruffly, “but taken prisoner and made away with, according to our customs.”
And he now related to me in a few words what my father had already told me of the matter.
I stood, meanwhile, with my back to the asoka tree, and supported myself by clutching the trunk with both hands, burying my fingernails convulsively in the bark in order to keep myself from falling. When Angulimala had finished speaking, everything seemed to be going round in a whirl. But even yet I did not give up.
“Thou art an infamous robber and murderer,” I said. “What value can thy word have for me? Why shouldst thou not say what he commands thee, into whose power thy villainies have brought thee?”
And, as if by an inspiration which astonished even myself, and caused a glimmer of hope to flash up within me, I added—
“Thou dost not dare to look me even once in the eyes—thou, the terror of all human beings—me, a weak girl! Thou dost not dare—because at the instigation of this man thou art telling a cowardly lie.”
Angulimala did not look up, but he laughed harshly, and answered in a voice that sounded like the growling of a fettered beast of prey—
“What good end would be served by looking thee in the eyes? I leave that to young dandies. The eyes of an ‘infamous robber’ thou wouldst believe as little as his words. And his oath would, I suppose, signify just as little.”
He came a
