Almost did I fear that the latter might be the case, but yet I asked where that great ascetic whom he called his Master was to be found, and whether I should be able to visit him.
“It is right that thou shouldst ask that question at the very first,” answered Angulimala, “and really what shouldst thou ask save this? Just for that very reason have I come to thee. We who purposed being associates in evil, let us now be associates in good. The Perfect One abides at present in the Sinsapa wood of which thou thyself didst make mention. Betake thyself thither tomorrow, but not till evening. For then the monks have finished their silent meditation, and assembled before the old Krishna temple, and the Master speaks to them there and to any others who are present. For at that hour many men and women go thither from the town in order to see the Blest One and to listen to his luminous teachings; and with each evening the press grows greater. Often these meetings last till late into the night. Of all that, I had already exact information, because, in the sinfulness of my heart, I had forged the monstrous plan of shortly falling upon the assembly with my followers. The gifts of foodstuffs and cloths brought by many of the visitors as presents to the Order already form a booty which, if not rich, is yet by no means to be despised. But specially it was my intention to capture several citizens of distinction, and to force heavy ransoms from them; and I cherished, at the same time, the hope that I should by such a daring deed, done at the very gates of the town, at last entice Satagira without the walls. For, when I formed the plan, his impending journey was still unknown to me. Do not neglect then, noble lady, to go tomorrow towards sundown to the old Krishna temple; it will long be a source of salvation to thee. I want to get back there now as quickly as possible. It is not certain, of course, whether I shall be in time to hear anything. Still, on such beautiful moonlit nights, the monks stay long together, deep in religious conversation, and willingly permit others to listen.”
He bent himself low before me, and quickly went away.
The next forenoon I sent to Medini, who was, with her husband Somadatta, just as ready to bear me company to the Krishna grove as she had been in those days of the past, when the matter in hand was the bringing about of a meeting between two lovers. As a matter of fact, she had already begged her husband once to take her out there some evening, for she didn’t readily let anything escape her of which people talked. But Somadatta had been afraid of the house Brahman, and so she was more than delighted to have the excuse, as over against that tyrant, of a summons from the wife of the Minister.
We drove at once to the markets, where Somadatta, who was attending to his vocations there, helped us in seeking out such stuffs as were suitable for the clothing of the monks and nuns. I also purchased a large quantity of medicines. Arrived at home again, we plundered the storerooms. Vessels full of the finest ghee, boxes of honey and sugar, jars with preserves of every kind, were set aside for our pious object. My own cupboards had to furnish the choicest of all they contained of perfumed water, sandal-powder, and camphor; and then we went to the garden, whose wealth of flowers we did not spare.
When the longed-for hour came, all these things had been loaded on a wagon to which the mules were already harnessed. We ourselves took our seats under the awning of another wagon, and, drawn by the two silver-white, full-blooded, Sindh horses which every morning ate three-year-old rice from my hand, drove out at the city gate.
The sun was already nearing the cupolas and towers of the town behind us, and its rays gilded the dust which, along the whole way, was stirred up by the multitude that, like ourselves—the most of them, however, on foot—had come out to see and hear the Buddha.
We soon reached the entrance to the forest. Here we had the wagons stopped, and pursued our way on foot, followed by servants who bore the votive offerings we had brought with us.
Since that night when we had taken leave of one another here, I had not been in this wood. And when I now, in the same company, entered its cool shade, I was overcome by so piercing a breath of memory—an odour that seemed to have been stored up for me here till its concentrated sweetness had, with the lapse of years, become poison—that I remained standing like one stupefied.
It seemed to me as if my love, awakened to its full strength, had placed itself in my way, charging me with desertion and with treachery. For I had not come there, as I knew, to give it fresh nourishment by inhaling the odour of memory, but to seek peace for my disappointed and tortured heart. And could not that, with justice, be called forgetting love, wilfully renouncing it? Was not that the violation of my word, and cowardly treachery?
In such fearful uncertainty did I stand there, undecided whether to go on or to turn back—to the great disappointment of Medini, who danced with impatience when others overtook us.
The look of the interior of the forest, however, softly illumined by the golden rays off the late afternoon sun; the gentle admonitory rustle and whisper of the leaves; the people who at once on entering grew silent and looked around expectantly and almost timidly; here and
