“Well then, maiden, be witness now to the ‘Rite of Truth.’ ”
Once again the lightning of his glance struck me as it swept upward and fixed itself upon the moon in such a way that, in the midst of the tangle of his discoloured hair and beard, only the whites of his eyes were still visible. His breast heaved, so that the red flowers moved as in a dance, and, with a voice like that of thunder rolling among the clouds, he called aloud—
“Thou who dost tame the tiger, snake-crowned goddess of night! Thou who dost dance by moonlight on the pinnacles of the mountains, jangling thy necklace of skulls, gnashing thy teeth, swinging thy blood-basin! Kali! Mistress of the robbers! Thou who hast led me through a thousand dangers, hear me! Truly as I have never withheld a sacrifice from thee; truly as I have ever loyally observed thy laws; truly as I did deal with this Kamanita according to our statute—the statute which commands us ‘Senders’ when the ransom does not arrive by the appointed hour, to saw the prisoner through the middle and cast his remains on the public road—just as truly do thou stand by me now in my direst need, rend my chains, and free me from the hands of mine enemies.”
As he said this he made a mighty effort—the chains rattled, arms and legs were free, the two soldiers who held him lay prone with the earth, a third he struck down with the piece of chain which hung at his wrist, and, before any one of us clearly understood what was happening, Angulimala had swung himself over the breastwork. With a fierce shout Satagira gave chase.
That was the last I saw and heard.
Afterwards I learned that Angulimala had fallen, had broken a foot, and had been captured by the guard; that he had later died in prison, under torture, and that his head had been placed over the east gate of the town where Medini and Somadatta had seen it.
With Angulimala’s “Rite of Truth” my last doubt and my last hope had left me. For I knew well that even that devilish goddess Kali could have worked no miracle to rescue him if he had not had the strength which truth lends on his side.
As to what should now become of me I troubled myself little, for, on earth, everything was henceforth lost to me. Only in the Paradise of the West could we meet again. Thou hadst gone before and I would, as I ardently hoped, soon follow. There happiness blossomed, all else was a matter of indifference.
As Satagira now continued to press his suit, and my mother, always wailing and weeping, kept on making representations to me that she would die of a broken heart if she should suffer through me the disgrace of having a daughter remain unmarried in the house of her parents—she “might just as well have given birth to the ugliest maiden in Kosambi!”—little by little my resistance weakened.
Over and above, I had no longer so much to bring against Satagira as before. I could not avoid recognising the steadfastness and fidelity of his attachment, and I also felt that I owed him gratitude for having avenged the death of my beloved.
Thus, then, I became—after almost another year had passed—Satagira’s bride.
XXVIII
On the Shores of the Heavenly Gunga
When Kamanita perceived that even here, in the abode of bliss, these memories overshadowed, as with dark and troublous wings, the yet delicate, newly awakened soul of his beloved, he took her by the hand and led her away, guiding their flight to the charming hill on whose slope he had lately lain and watched the games of the floating dancers.
Here they sought a resting-place. Already groves and shrubberies, meadows and hill-slopes were filled with countless floating figures, red, blue, and white. Group after group surrounded them to greet the newly awakened one. And the two mingled in the ranks of the players.
They had been gliding hither and thither for a long time, through the groves, round about the rocks, over the meadows and lotus ponds, wherever the chain of dancers led, when they were suddenly met by the white-robed companion who had formerly called upon Kamanita to face the journey to the Gunga with her. As they held out their hands to one another in the dance, she asked, with a sunny smile—
“Well, hast thou been at the shores of the Gunga yet? Now thou hast a companion, I see.”
“Not yet,” answered Kamanita.
“What is that?” asked Vasitthi.
And Kamanita told her.
“Let us go there,” said Vasitthi. “Oh, how often have I, down in the sad valleys of earth, looked up to the distant reflection of the heavenly stream, and thought of the blessed plains that are enfolded and watered by it, and asked myself if we should really one day be united in this place of bliss. Now I feel myself irresistibly drawn thither, to linger with thee on its shores.”
They withdrew from the chain of dancers and turned their flight in a direction which led them far from their own lake. After some time they saw no more lotus ponds, nor lotus roses bearing happy beings; the wealth of blossoms decreased perceptibly; more and more rarely did they meet the figures of the Blest; herds of antelopes here gave life to the plain; on the lakes swans glided along, drawing trains of glistening waves behind them over the dark waters. The hills, which in the beginning had grown ever steeper and more rocky, disappeared entirely.
They floated over a flat, desert-like plain covered with tiger-grass and thorny shrubs. Before them lay stretched the endless curves of a forest of palms.
They reached the forest. More and more deeply did the shadows close around them. The ringed trunks gleamed like bronze. High above them, the treetops resounded with a clang as of metal.
In front, glistening points and streaks of light began to dance. And suddenly there
