 Section 10 of the Ninth Vibration and Other Stories by L. Adams-Beck This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Fire of Beauty The salutation to Ganasa the Lord of Wisdom and to Saraswati, the Lady of Sweet Speech. This story was composed by the Brahmin Visravas, the dweller on the banks of Holikashi, and though the events it records are long past, yet it is absolutely and immutably true because, by the power of his yoga, he summoned up every scene before him and beheld the persons moving and speaking as in life. Thus he had not to do but to set down what befell, what follows that hath he seen. Wide was the plain, the morning sun shining full upon it, drinking up the dew as the divine drinks up the spirit of man. Far it stretched, resembling the ocean, and riding upon it like a stately ship, was the league-long rock of Chittor. It is certainly by the favor of gods that this great fortress of the Rajput kings, thus rises from the plain, leagues in length, noble in height, and very strange it is to see the flat earth fall away from it, like waters from the boughs at a bolt, as it soars into the sky with its burden of palaces and towers. Here dwelt the queen Padmini and her husband Bunsi, the Rana of the Rajputs. The sight of the holy ascetic Visravas pierced even the secrets of the Rani's bower, where, in the Ma'inmos chamber of marble, carved until it appeared like lace of the foam of the sea, she was seated upon cushions of blue, volcanic silk, like the lotus whose name she bore floating upon the blue depths of the lake. She had just risen from the shallow bath of marble at her feet. Most beautiful was this queen, a haughty beauty such as should be a Rajput lady. For the name Rajput signifies son of a king, and this lady was assuredly the daughter of kings and no lesser persons. And since that beauty is long since ashes, all things being transitory, it is permitted to describe the melod ivory of her body, the smooth curves of her hips, and the defiance of her glimmering bosom, half veiled by the long silken tresses of sandal-scented hair, which a maiden on either side, bowing toward her, nodded upon her head. But even he who with his eyes has seen it, can scarce tell the beauty of her face, the slender arched nose, the great eyes like lakes of darkness in the reeds of her curled lashes, the mouth-loved roses, the glance, dear like but proud, that courted in repelled admiration. She cannot be told, nor could the hand of man paint it. Scarcely could that fair wife of the Padava Prince Draupadi, the beautiful, who bore upon her perfect form every auspicious mark, excel this lady. Ashes, ashes, may Maheshwara have mercy upon her rebirths. Throughout India had run the fame of this beauty. In the bazaar of Kashmir they told of it. It was recorded in the palaces of Travancore, and all the lands that lay between. And in an evil hour, may the gods curse the mother that bore him. It reached the ears of Alauddin, the Muslim dog, a very great fighting man who sat in the Middle India, looting and spoiling. Hi, he, for the beauty that is a burning of flame. In the gardens beneath the windows of the queen, the peacocks, those maharajas of the birds, were spreading the bronze and emerald of their tails. The sun shone on them as on heaps of jewels, so that they dazzled the eyes. They stood about the feet of the ancient Brahmin sage. He who had tutored the queen in her childhood, and given her wisdom as the crust jewel of her loveliness. He, the twice-born, sat under the shade of a neem tree, hearing the gurgle of the sacred waters from the cow's mouth, where the great tank shone under custard-apple-bows. And at peace with all the world he read in the scripture which affirms the transience of all things drifting across the thought of the supreme, like clouds upon the surface of the ocean. Hi, he, that loveliness is also illusion. Her women placed about the queen, the lotus of women, a robe of silk of which none could say that it was green or blue, the noble colors so mingled into each other under the lattice goldwork of Kashi. They set the jewels on her head, and wide thin rings of gold heavy with great pearls in her ears. Upon the swell of her bosom they clasped the necklace of table emeralds, large, deep, and full of green lights, which is the token of the Chittor Queens. Upon her slender ankles they placed the jewels of pure soft gold, set also with grass-green emeralds, and the delicate soles of her feet they reddened with luck. Nor were her arms forgotten, but loaded with bangles so free from alloy that they could be bent between the hands of a child. Then with a fine pace that they painted the symbol between her dark brows, and rising she shone divine as a nymph of heaven who should cause the righteous to stumble in his austerities and arrest even the glances of the gods. Ahi that the transient should be so fair! Two. Now it was the hour that the Rana should visit her. For since the coming of the Lotus Lady he had forgotten his other woman, and in her was all his heart. He came from the hall of audience, where petitions were heard, and just as done to rich and poor, and as he came, the queen, hearing his steps on the stones, dismissed her women, and smiling to know her loveliness bowed before him, even as the goddess Uma bows before him who is her other half. Now he was a tall man, with the falcon look of the hill Rajputs, and mustaches that curled up to his eyes, lion-waisted and lean in the flanks, like Arjun himself, a very ruler of men. And as he came his hand was on the hilt of his sword that showed beneath his gold coat of Hingum, on the high cushions he sat, and the Rani is stepped beneath him, and she said, raising her lotus head, speak, Aryaputra, son of a noble father, what hath be fallen? And he, looking upon her beauty with fear, replied, it is thy beauty a wife that brings disaster. And how is this? She asked, very earnestly. For a moment he paused, regarding her as might a stranger, as one who considers a beauty in which he hath no part, and, drawn by this, she rose anelt beside him, pillowing her head upon his heart. Say on, she said, in her voice of music. He unfurled a scroll that he had crushed in his strong right hand, and read aloud, thus says Alauddin, shadow of God, wonder of the age, vice-regent of kings. We have heard that in the treasury of Chittor is a jewel, the like of which is not in the Four Seas, the work of the hand of the only God, to whom be praised. This jewel is thy queen, the Lady Padmini. Now, since the sons of the prophet are righteous, I desire but to look upon this jewel, and describing glory to the Creator, to depart in peace. Granted requests are the bonds of friendship, therefore lay the head of acquiescence in the dust of opportunity and name an auspicious day. He crushed it again and flung it furiously from him on the marble. The insult is deadly, the sorry son of a debased mother. Well, he knows that to the meanest Rajput his women are sacred, and how much more the daughters and wives of the kings. The jackals feast on the tongue that speaks his shame. But this is a threat, beloved, a threat. Give me thy counsel that never failed me yet. For the Rajputs take counsel with their women who are wise. They were silent, each weighing the force of resistance that could be made, and this the Rani knew even as he. It cannot be, said the queen. The very ashes of the dead would shudder to hear. Shall the queens of India be made the sport of barbarians? Her husband looked upon her fair face. She could feel his heart labor beneath her ear. True, wife, but the barbarians are strong. Our men are tigers, each one. But the red dogs of the Deccan can pull down the tiger, for they are many, and he alone. Then that great lady, accepting his words and conscious of the danger, murmured this, clinging to her husband. There was a princess of our line, whose beauty made all other women seem as waning moons in the sun splendor. And many great kings sought her, and there was contention and war. And she, fearing that the Rajputta would be crushed to powder between the warring kings, sent unto each this message, Come on such and such a day, and thou shalt see my face, and hear my choice. And they, coming, rejoiced exceedingly, thinking each one that he was the chosen. So they came into the great hall, and there was a table, and somewhat upon it covered with a gold cloth. And an old veiled woman lifted the gold, and the head of the princess lay there with the lashes like night upon her cheek, and between her lips was a little scroll saying this, I have chosen my lover and my lord, and he is mightiest, for he is death. So the kings went silently away, and there was peace. The music of her voice ceased, and the Rana clasped her closer. This I cannot do. Better die together, let us take counsel with the ancient Brahmin, thy guru, teacher, for he is very wise. She clapped her hands, and the maidens returned, and, bowing, brought the venerable Prabhu Dharian into the presence, and again those roses retired. Respectful salutation was then offered by the king and queen to that saint, Hori with wisdom. He who had seen her grow into loveliness of the sea-born Shri, yet had never seen that loveliness, for he had never raised his eyes above the chores about her ankles. To him the king related his anxieties, and he sat wrapped in musing, and the two waited in dutiful silence until long minutes had fallen away, and at the last he lifted his head, weighed his wisdom, and spoke. O king, descendant of Rama, this outrage cannot be. Yet knowing the strength and desire of this obscene one and the weakness of our power, it is plain that only with cunning can cunning be met. Here, therefore, the history of the fox and the drum. A certain fox searched for food in the jungle, and so doing beheld a tree on which hung a drum, and when the bows knocked upon the parchment it sounded aloud. Considering, he believed that so round a form and so great a voice must portend much good feeding. Neglecting on this account a foal that fed nearby, he ascended to the drum. The drum, being rent, was but air and parchment, and meanwhile the foal fled away. And from the eyes of Fali he shed the tear of disappointment, having bartered the substance for the shadow. So must we act with this bud-sma, scoundrel. First, receiving his oath that he will depart without violence, bid him hither to a great feast, and say that he shall behold the face of the queen in a mirror. Provide that some fair woman of the city show her face, and then let him depart in peace, showing him friendship. He shall not know he hath not seen the beauty he would be full. After consultation no better way could be found, but the heart of the great lady was heavy with foreboding. Ahi the beauty should wander a pilgrim in the ways of sorrow. To al-O'din, therefore, did the king dispatch this letter by swift writers on mares of Muar. After salutations, now whereas thou hast said thou wouldst look upon the beauty of the treasure of Shittor. No, it is not the custom of the Rajputs that any eye should light upon their treasures. Yet assuredly, when requests arise between friends, there cannot fail to follow distress of mind and division of soul if these are ungranted. So, under promises that follow, I bid thee to a feast at my poor house of Shittor, and thou shalt see that beauty reflected in a mirror, and so seen depart in peace from the house of a friend. This being writ by the twice-born, the Brahmin, did Iran a sign with bitter rage in his heart, and the days passed. 3 On a certain day found fortunate by the astrologers, a day of early winter, when the dawns were pure gold and the nights radiant with a cool moon, did a mighty troupe of Muslims set their camp on the plain of Shittor. It was as if a city had blossomed in an hour. Those who looked from the walls muttered prayers to the Lord the Trident. 4 For these men seemed like swarms of locusts, people, warriors all, fierce fighting men, and in the ways of Shittor, and up the steep and winding causeway from the plains, were warriors also, the chosen of the Rajputs, thick as blades of corn hedging the path. 5 I heed that the blossom of beauty should have swords for thorns. 6 Then, leaving his camp, attended by many chiefs, made the mothers and sires that begot them be accursed, came alohed in, riding toward the lower gate, and so upward along the causeway, between the two rows of men, who neither looked nor spoke, standing like the carvings of war in the caves of the Ajanta. 7 And the moon was rising through the sunset as he came beneath the last and seventh gate. Through the towers and palaces he rode with his following, but no woman, veiled or unveiled, no, not even an outcast of the city, was there to see him come, only the men, armed and silent. So he turned to Moon and Khan that rode at his bridle, saying, Let not the eye of watchfulness close this night on the pillow of forgetfulness. And thus he entered the palace. Very great was the feast in Chittor, and the wines that those accursed should not drink, since the outcast whom they call their prophet forbade them, ran like water, and at the right hand, alohed in, was set the great crystal cup, inlaid with gold by a craft that is now perished. And he filled and refilled it, and his own prophet cursed this wine. Because the sons of kings sat not with the outcasts, the rana entered after, clothed in chain armor of blue steel, and having greeted him, bid him to the sight of that treasure, and alohed in, his eyes swimming with wine, and yet not drunken, followed, and the two went alone. Purtas, curtains, of great splendor were hung in the great hall that is called the Rajas Hall, exceeding rich with gold, and in front of the opening was a kneeling cushion, and a gold stool before a polished mirror. Ahi for gold and beauty the scourges of the world. And the rana was pale to his lips. Now as the princess stood by the Purtas, a veiled woman, shrouded in white so that no shape could be seen in her, came forth from within, and kneeling upon the cushion she unveiled her face, bending until the mirror, like a pool of water, held it, and that only. And the king motioned his guests to look, and he looked over her veiled shoulder and saw. Very great was the bowed beauty that the mirror held, but alohed in turned to the rana. By the bread and the salt, by the guest-right, by the honor of thy house, I ask, is this the treasure of Cheetor? And since the sun descended cannot lie, no, not though they perish, the rana answered, fleshing darkly, this is not the treasure. Will Thess bear? But he would not, and the woman slipped, like a shadow, behind the purda, and no word said, then was heard the tinkling of churis, and the little noise fell upon the silence like a fear, and parting the curtains came a woman veiled like the other. She did not kneel, but took the mirror in her hand, and alohed in drew up behind her back. From her face she raised the veil of a gold daka-webs, and gazed into the mirror, holding it high, and that accursed stumbled back, blinded with beauty, saying this only, I have seen the treasure of Cheetor! So the purda fell about her. The next day, after the imam of the accursed had called them to prayer they departed, and alohed in, paying thanks to the rana for honors given and taken, and swearing friendship, besought him to ride to his camp, to see the marvels of gold and steel armor brought down from the passes, swearing also safe conduct. And because the Rajputs trust the word even of a foe, he went. Ahi, that honor should strike hands with traitors. Four. The hours went by, heavy-footed like mourners, had Meenidharani knelt by the window in her tower that overlooks the plains. Motionless she knelt there, as the goddess Uma lost in her penances, and she saw her lord ride forth, and the sparkle of steel where the sun shone on them, and the standard of the cold disc on its black ground. So the camp of the Muslims swallowed them up, and they returned no more. Still she knelt, and none dared speak with her. And as the first shade of evening fell across the hills of Rajasthan, she saw a horseman spurring over the flat, and he rode like the wind, and, seeing, she implored the gods. Then entered the twice-born, that saint of clear eyes, and he bore a scroll. And she rose and seated herself, and he stood by her as her ladies cowered like frightened doves before the wall in his face as he read, to the rose of beauty thy pearl among women, the chosen of the palace, who, having seen thy loveliness, can look on another, who, having tasted the wine at the Aries, but thirsts for ever, behold, I have thy king as hostage. Come thou and deliver him. I have sworn that he shall return in thy place. And then, from a smaller scroll, the Brahman read this, I am fallen in the snare, act thou as becomes a Rajputni. Then that daughter of the sun lifted her head. After the thronging of armed men was heard in the council-hall below. From the floor she caught her veil, and veiled herself in haste, and the Brahman with bowed head followed, while her women mourned aloud. And descending between the folds of the purda she appeared white and veiled, and the Brahman beside her, and the eyes of all the princes were lowered to her shrouded feet, while the voice they had not heard fell silvery upon the air, and the echoes of the high roof repeated it. Chief of the Rajputs, what is your council? And he of Marwar stepped forward, and not raising his eyes above her feet, answered, Queen, what is thine? For the Rajputs have ever heard the voice of their women. And she said, I counsel that I die and my head be sent to him, that my blood may quench his desire. And each talked sagesly with the other, but amid the tumult the twice-born said, This is not good talk. In his rage he will slay the king. By my yoga I have seen it. Seek another way. So they sought, but could determine nothing, and they feared to ride against the dog, for he held the life of the king, and the tumult was great. But all were for the king's safety. Then once more she spoke, Seeing it is determined that the king's life is more than my honour, I go this night. In your hand I leave my little son, the prince, I easy. Prepare my leaders, seven hundred of the best, for all my women go with me. Depart now, for I have a thought from the gods. When returning to her bower, she spoke this letter to the saint, and he wrote it, and it was sent to the camp. After salutations, wisdom and strength attained their end. Have ready for release the Rana of Chittor, for this night I come with my ladies, the prize of the conqueror. When the sun sank, a great procession with torches descended the steep ways of Chittor, seven hundred litters, and in the first was born the queen, and all her women followed. All the streets were thronged with women, weeping and beating their breasts. Very greatly they wept, and no men were seen, for their livers were black within them for shame, as the treasure of Chittor departed. Nor would they look upon the sight, and across the plains went that procession, and if the stars had fallen upon the earth, so glittered the sorrowful lights of the queen. But in the camp was great rejoicing, for the barbarians knew that many fair women attended on her. Now before the entrance to the camp they had made a great Shemaina, tent ready, hung with the shawls of Kashmir and the plunder of Delhi, and there was set a silk divan for the Rani, and beside it stood the loser and the gainer, Alo Dinn and the king, awaiting the treasure. And she entered, stepping proudly, and taking no heat of the Muslim, she stood before her husband, and even through the veil he could feel the eyes he knew. And that accursed spoke, laughing, I have won, I have won, O king! Bid farewell to the chosen of the palace, the beloved of the vice regent of kings. Then she spoke softly, delicately, in her own tongue, that the outcast should not guess the matter of her speech. Stand by me, stir not, and when I raise my arm cry the cry of the Rajputs. Now! And she flung her arm above her head, and instantly, like a lion roaring, he shouted, drawing his sword, and from every litter sprang an armed man, glittering in steel, and the bearers, humble of mine, were Rajput knights, every one. Dalu Dinn thrust at the breast of the queen, but around them surged the war, and she was hedged with swords, like a rose in the thickets. Very full of wine, dull with feasting and lust and surprised, the Muslims fled across the plains, streaming in a broken rabble, cursing and shouting like low-caste women, and the Rajputs, wiping their swords, returned from the pursuit and laughed upon each other. But what shall be said of the joy of the king, and of her, who had imagined this thing, instructed of the goddess, who is the other half of her lord? So the procession returned, singing to Chitor, with those two in the midst, but among the dogs that fled was Dalu Dinn, his face blackened with shame and wrath, and curses choking in his foul throat. A'ee, that the devil still walks the ways of the world. So the time went by and the beauty of the queen grew, and her king could see none but hers. Like the moon she obscured the stars, and every day he remembered her wisdom, her valour, and his soul did homage at her feet. And there was great content in Chitor. It chanced one day that the queen, looking from her high window that, like an eagle's nest, overhung the precipice, saw on the plain beneath, a train of men, walking like ants, and each carried a basket on his back, and behind them was a cloud of dust, like a great army. Already the city was a steward because of the sing. And the rumors came thick, and the spies were sent out. In the dark they returned, and the Rana entered the bower of Padmini, his eyes burning like coal with hate and wrath, and he flung his arm round his wife like a shield. He has returned, and in power, counsel me again, O wife, for great is thy wisdom. But she answered only this, fight for this time it is to the death. Then each day she watched how the baskets of earth, emptied upon the plain at first, made nothing, and ant-heap where fools might laugh, but each day as the trains of men came, killing their baskets, the great earthworks grew, and their height mounted. Day after day the Rajputs rode forth and slew, and they slewed it seemed that all the teeming millions of the earth came forth to take the places of the slain. And the Rajputs fell also, and under the penance the thundering forces returned daily, thinned of their best. Ahi that evil rules the world as God. Then still the earth grew up to the heights, and the protection of the hills were slowly withdrawn from Chittor, for on the heights they made they set their engines of war. Then in a red dawn the great Saint Narayan came to the Queen, where she watched by her window and spoke, O great lady, I have dreamed a fearful dream. Nay, rather I have seen a vision. With her face set like a sword, the Queen said, Say on, In a light red like blood I waked, and beside me stood the mother, Durga, awful to see with a girdle of heads about her middle, and the drops fell thick and slow from that which she beheld in her hand, and in the other was her sickle of doom. Nor did she speak, but my soul heard her words. She commanded, Say this to the Rana, In Chittor is my altar, In Chittor is my throne, If thou wouldst save either, send forth twelve crowned kings of Chittor to die. As he said this, the Rana, forspent with fighting, entered and heard the divine word. Now there were twelve princes of the Rajput blood, and the youngest was the son of Padmini. What choice had these most miserable but to appease the dreadful anger of the goddess? So on each fourth day a king of Chittor was crowned, and for three days set upon the throne, and on the fourth day, set in the front, went forth and died fighting. So perished eleven kings of Chittor, and now there was left but the little Aizu, the son of the queen. And that day was a great council called. Few were there, on the plains many lay dead, holding the gates many watched, but the blood was red in their hearts, and flowed like Indus in the melting of the snows. And to them spoke the Rana, his hand clenched on his sword, and the other laid on the small dark head of the Prince Aisha, who stood between his knees, and as he spoke his voice gathered strength till it rang through the halls like the voice of Indra when he thunders in heaven. Men of the Rajputs, this child shall not die. Are we become jackals that we fall upon the weak and tear them? When have we put our women and children in the forefront of the war? I, I only am king of Chittor, Nerean shall save this child for the time that will surely come, and for us what shall we do? I die for Chittor. And like the hollow waves of a great sea they answered him, we will die for Chittor. There was silence, and Marwar spoke. The women, do they not know the duty of a Rajputni, said the king? My household has demanded that the caves be prepared. And the men clashed Jew joy with their swords, and the council dispersed. Then that very great saint, the twice-born, put off the sacred thread that is the very soul of the Brahmin. In his turban he wound it secretly, and he stained his noble Aryan body until it resembled the Pryas, fell for the pure to see, loathsome for the pure to touch. And he put on him the rags of the lowest of the earth. And taking the prince, he removed from the body of the child every trace of royal and Rajput birth. And he appeared like a child of the bills, the vile forest wanderers that shame not to defile their lips with carrion. And in the skies they stood before the queen. And when she looked on the saint, the tears fell from her eyes like rain, not for grief for her son, nor for death. But that for their sake the pure should be made impure, and the glory of the Brahminhood be defiled. And she fell at the old man's feet and laid her head on the ground before him. Rai's daughter, he said, and take comfort, are not the eyes of the gods clear that they should distinguish, and, this day, we stand before the God of gods. Have not the great one said that which causes life also causes decay and death? Therefore we who go and you who stay are alike a part of the divine. Embrace now your child and bless him, for we depart. And it is on account of the sacrifice of the twelve that he has saved alive. So controlling her tears she rose, and clasping the child to her bosom, she bade him to be of good cheer since he went with the gods. And that great saint took his hand from hers, and for the first time in the life of the queen he raised his aged eyes to her face. And she gazed at him. But what she read, even the ascetic Visravas, who saw all by the power of his yoga, could not tell, for it was beyond speech. Very certainly the peace thereafter possessed her. So these two went out by the secret ways of the rocks, and wandering far were saved by the favor of Durga. Six. And the nights went by and the days, and the time came that no longer could they hold Chittor, and all hope was dead. On a certain day the Rana and Rani stood for the last time in their bower, and looked down into the city. And in the streets were gathered in a very wonderful procession the women of Chittor, and not one was veiled. Flowers that had bloomed in the inner chambers, great ladies veiled for a festival, young brides, aged mothers, and girl children clinging to the robes of their mothers who held their babes, crowded the ways. Even the low-caste women walked with measured steps and proudly licked in what they had at best. Their eyes lengthened with surma, and flowers in the darkness of their hair. The queen was clothed in a gold robe of rejoicing. Her bodice laddced with diamonds and gray gems. And upon her bosom the necklace of tablet emeralds, a light with green fire which is the jewel of the queens of Chittor. So she stood radiant as a vision of Shri, and it appeared that raised and circled her person. And the Rana, unarmed, safe for a sword, had the saffron dress of a bridegroom, and this jeweled cap of the Rajput kings. And below in the hall were the princes and chiefs, clad even as he. Then raising her lotus eyes to her lord the princess said, Beloved, the time has come, and we have chosen rightly. For this is the way of honor, and it is but another link forged in the chain of existence. For until existence itself has ended and rebirth destroyed, still shall we meet in lives to come, and still be husband and wife. What room then for despair? And he answered, This is true. Go first, wife, and I follow. Let not the door swing too behind thee. But oh, to see thy beauty once more, that is the very speech of gods with men. Will thus surely come again to me and again be fair? And for all answer she smiled upon him, and at his feet performed the obeisance of the Rajput wife when she departs upon a journey, and they went out together, the queen unveiled. As she passed through the princes they lowered their eyes so that none saw her, but when she stood on the steps of the palace, the women all turned eagerly toward her like stars about the moon, and lifting their arms they began to sing the dirge of the Rajput women. So they marched, and in great companies they marched, company behind company, young and old, past the queen, sleuthing her and drawing courage from the loveliness and kindness of her unveiled face. In the rocks beneath the palaces of Chitur are very great caves, big long and terrible, with ways of darkness no eyes have seen, and it is believed that in times past spirits have haunted them with strange wailings. And these were prepared great store of wood and oils and fragrant matters for burning. So to these caves they marched, and company by company disappeared into the darkness, and the voice of their singing grew faint and hollow, and died away as the men stood watching their women go. Now when this was done, and the last had gone, the Rani descended the steps, and the Rana, taking a torch dipped in fragrant oils, followed her and the princes walked after, clad like bridegrooms but with no faces the bridal joy. At the entrance of the caves, having lit the torch, they gave it into her hand, and she, receiving it and smiling, turned once upon the threshold, and for the first time those princes beheld the face of the queen, but they hid their eyes with their hands when they had seen. So she departed within, and the Rana shut to the door and barred and bolted it, and the men with him flung down great rocks before it, so that none should know the way, nor indeed is it known to this day, and with their hands on their swords they waited there, not speaking, until a great smoke rose between the crevices of the rocks, but no sound at all. Ashes of roses, ashes of roses, ahie for the beauty that is but touched, and remitted. The sun was high when those men with their horses and on foot marched down the winding causeway beneath the seven gates, and so forth into the plains, and the charging unarmed upon the Muslims they perished every man. After it was asked of one who had seen the great slaughter, say how my king bore himself, and he who had seen told this, reaper of the harvest of battle, on the bed of honor he has spread a carpet of the slain. He sleeps ringed about by his enemies. How can the world tell of his deeds? The tongue is silent. When that accursed aludin came up the winding hide of the hills, he found only a dead city, and his heart was sick within him. Now this is the sack of Cheetor, and by the oath of the sack of Cheetor do the Rajputs swear when they bind their honor. But it is only the ascetic, Visravas, who by the power of his yoga has heard every word, and with his eyes beheld the flame of beauty, who for a brief space illuminating the world as a queen, returns to birth in many a shape of sorrowful loveliness, until the blue-throated god shall in his favor destroy her rebirths. Salutation to Ganesa, the elephant-headed one, and to Shree, the lady of beauty. END OF SECTION X SECTION XI OF THE NINTH VIBRATION AND OTHER STORIES BY L. ADAMS BEK. THE BUILDING TAJMAHAL. IN THE NAME OF GOD, THE COMPASSIONATE, THE MERCIFUL, THE SMITING, A DAY WHEN THE SOUL SHALL KNOW WHAT IT HAS SENT ON OR KEPT BACK, A DAY WHEN NO SOUL SHALL CONTROL OTT FOR ANOTHER, AND THE BIDDING BELONGS TO GOD. THE CORRON. ONE Now, in the Shah and Shah, Shah Jahan, emperor in India, loved his wife with a great love. And of all the wives of the Mogul emperors, surely this lady Arjamand, Mumtaz Immahal, the chosen of the palace, was the most worthy of love. In the trusses of her silk-soft hair his heart was bound, and for none other had he so much as a passing thought since his soul had been submerged in her sweetness. Of her, he said, using the words of the poet Faizai, How shall I understand the magic of love the juggler? For he made thy beauty enter at that small gate, the people of my eye, and now, and now my heart cannot contain it. But who should marvel? For those who have seen this Arjamand crowned with the crown of the Padashah, set upon her sweet low-brows, with the lamps of great jewels lighting the dimples of her cheeks as they swung beside them, have most surely seen perfection. He who sat upon the peacock throne, where the outspread tail of the mass gems is centered by that great ruby, the eye of the peacock, the tribute of the world, valued it not so much as one lock of the dark and perfumed tresses that rolled to her feet. As to him the twelve throne columns set close with pearls than the little pearls she showed in her sweet laughter. For if this lady was all beauty, so too was she all goodness. And from the shine-shaw to the poorest, all hearts of the world knelt in adoration before the chosen of the palace. She was, indeed, an extraordinary beauty, in that she had the soul of a child, and she alone remained unconscious of her power. And so she walked, crowned and clothed with humility. Cold, haughty, and silent was the shaan-shaw before she blessed his arms, flattered, envied, but loved by none. But the gift this lady brought with her was love, and this, shining like the sun upon ice, melted his coldness, and he became indeed the kingly center of a kingly court made the peace be upon her. Now it was the dawn of a sorrowful day when the pains of the Lady Arjaman came strong and terrible, and she travailed in agony. The hakeems, physicians, stroked their beards and reasoned with one another. The wise women surrounded her, and remedies many and great were tried, and still her anguish grew, and in the hall without sat the shaan-shaw upon his divan, in anguish of spirit yet greater. The sweat ran on his brows, the knotted veins were thick on his temples, and his eyes, sunk in their caves, showed as those of a maddened man. He crouched on his cushions and stared at the purda that divided him from the lady, and all day the people came and went about him, and there was silence from the voice he longed to hear, for she would not moan, lest the sound should slay the emperor. Her women besought her, fearing that her strong silence would break her heart, but still she lay her hands clenched in one another enduring, and the emperor endured without, the day of the smiting. So as the time of the evening prayer drew nigh, a child was born, and the empress, having done with pain, began to sink slowly into that profound sleep that is the shadow cast by the last. May Allah the Upholder have mercy on our weakness, and the women, white with fear and watching, looked upon her, and whispered one to another, it is the end. And the aged mother of Abdul Mirza, standing at her head, said, She heats not the cry of the child, she cannot stay. And the newlywed wife of Saif Khan, standing at her feet, said, The voice of the beloved husband is as the call of the angel, let the padasha be summoned. So the evening prayer, being over, but the emperor had not prayed, the wisest of the hekeems, Qazim Sharif, went before him and spoke. In Allah, may the will of the issuer of decrees in all things be done, ascribe unto the Creator glory, bowing before his throne. And he remained silent, but the padasha, haggard in his jewels, with his face hidden, answered thickly, the truth, for Allah has forgotten his slave. Qazim Sharif, bowing at his feet, unveiling his face with his hands, replied, The voice of the child cannot reach her, and the lady of delight departs. He who would speak with her must speak quickly. Then the emperor rose to his feet unsteadily, like a man drunk with the forbidden juice. And when Qazim Sharif would have supported him, he flung aside his hands, and he stumbled, a man wounded to death, as it were, to the marble chamber where she lay. In that white chamber it was dusk, and they had lit the little crescents so that a very faint light fell upon her face. A slender fountain a little cooled the hot, still air with its thin music its sprinkled diamonds, and outside the summer lightnings were playing wide and blue on the river. But so still was it that the dragging footsteps of the emperor raised the hair of the flesh of those who heard, so the women who should failed themselves, and the others remained like pillars of stone. Now when those steps were heard, a faint color rose in the cheek of the lady Arjamund, but she did not raise the heavy lashes or move her hand, and he came up beside her and the shadow of God who should kneel to none, knelt, and his head fell forward upon her breast, and in the hush the women glided out like ghosts, leaving the husband with the wife, accepting only that her foster nurse stood far off with eyes averted. So the minutes drifted by, falling audibly one by one into eternity, and at the long last she opened her eyes and, as from the depths of a dream, beheld the emperor, and in a voice faint as the fall of a rose-leaf she said the one word, beloved. And he from between his clenched teeth answered, Speak, wife. So she, who in all things had loved and served him, she, light of all hearts, dispeller of all gloom, gathered her dying breath for consolation, and raised one hand slowly, and it fell across his, and so remained. Now her beauty had been broken in the anguish like a rose and storm, but it returned to her, doubtless that the padasha might take comfort in its memory. And she looked like a oary of paradise, who kneeling beside the zem-zem well, beholds the waters of peace. Not Fatima herself, the daughter of the prophet of God, shown more sweetly. She repeated the word, beloved, and after a pause she whispered on with lips that scarcely stirred. King of the age, this is the end. But still he was like a dead man, not lift a disface. Only all things pass, and though I go, in your heart I abide, and nothing can sever us, take comfort. But there was no answer. Nothing but love's own hand can slay love, therefore remember me, and I shall live. And he answered from the darkness of her bosom, the whole world shall remember, but when shall I be united to thee? O Allah, how long wilt thou leave me to waste in this separation? And she, beloved, what is time? We sleep, and the night is gone. Now put your arms about me, for I sink into rest. What words are needed between us? Love is enough. So making not the profession of faith, and what needs, since all her life was worship, the Lady Arjaman turned in his arms like a child, and the night deepened. Morning with its arrows of golden light that struck the river to splendor. Morning with its pure breath, its sunshine of joy, and the coals fluting in the palace gardens. Morning divine and new from the hand of the Maker, and in the innermost chamber of marble, a white silence, and the Lady, the mirror of goodness, lying in the compassion of Allah, and a broken man stretched on the ground beside her, for all flesh, from the camel-driver to the Shah and Shah, is as one in the day of the smiting. 2 For weeks the Emperor lay before the door of death, and had it open to him, he had been blessed. So the months went by, and very slowly the strength returned to him, but his eyes were withered and the bones stood out in his cheeks. But he resumed his throne, and sat upon it kingly, black-bearded, eagle-eyed, terribly apart in his grief and his royalty. And so seated among his Uzbeks he declared his will. For this Lady, upon whom be peace, departed to the mercy of the giver and taker, shall a tomb-palace be made, the like of which is not found in the four corners of the world. Send forth, therefore, for craftsmen, like the builders of the Temple of Solomon the Wise, for I will build. So taking counsel they sent in haste into Agra and Ustad Izzah the master-builder, a man of Shiraz, and he, being presented before the Pahadasha, received his instructions in these words. I will, that all the world shall remember the flower of the world, that all hearts shall give thanks for her beauty, which was indeed the perfect mirror of the Creator. And since it is abhorrent of Islam that any image be made in the likeness of anything that has life, make for me a palace tomb, gracious as she was gracious, lovely as she was lovely, not such as the tombs of kings and the conquerors, but of a divine sweetness. Make me a garden on the banks of Jumna, and build it there, where, sitting in my pavilion of marble, I may see it rise. And Ustad Izzah, having heard, said, upon my head and eyes, and went out from the presence. So musing upon the words of the Pahadasha he went to his house in Agra, and there pondered the matter long and deeply, and for the whole day and night he refused all food and secluded himself from the society of all men, for he said, This is a weighty thing for this lady upon whom be peace. Must visibly dwell in her tomb palace, on the shore of the river. And how shall I, who have never seen her, imagine the grace that was in her, and restore it to the world? Oh, had I but the memory of her face. Could I but see it, as the Shah in Shah sees it, remembering the past? Prophet of God intercede for me, that I may look through his eyes if but for a moment. That night he slept, wearied and weakened with fasting, and whether it were that the Pahadi guarded no longer the gates of the soul I cannot say, for when the body ails the soul soars free above its weakness. But a strange marvel happened. For, as it seemed to him, he awoke at the mid-noon of the night, and he was sitting, not in his own house, but upon the roof of the royal palace, looking down on the gliding Jumna, where the low moon slept in silver, and the light was alone upon the water. And there were no boats, but sleep and dream, hovering hand in hand, moved upon the air, and his heart was dilated in the great silence. Yet he knew well that he waked in some supernatural sphere, for his eyes could see across the river as if the opposite shore lay at his feet, and he could distinguish every leaf on every tree, and the flowers moon-blanched and ghost-like. And there in the blackest shade of the pebble abows he beheld a faint light, like a pearl, and looking with unspeakable anxiety, he saw within the light, slowly growing, the figure of a lady exceedingly glorious in majesty, and crowned with red crown of mighty jewels on white and golden splendor. Her gold robe fell to her feet, and, very strange to tell, her feet touched not the ground, but hung a span's length above it, so that she floated in the air. But the marvel of marvels was her face, not indeed for its beauty, though that transcended all, but for its singular and compassionate sweetness, wherewith she looked toward the palace beyond the river as if it held the heart of her heart, while death and its river lay between. And Eustad Izzah said, O dream, if this sweetness be but a dream, let me never wake. Let me see for ever this exquisite work of Allah the Maker, before whom all the craftsmen are as children, for my knowledge is as nothing, and I am ashamed in its presence. And as he spoke, she turned those brimming eyes on him, and he saw her slowly absorbed into the glory of the moonlight. But as she faded into dream, he beheld, slowly rising, where her feet had hung in the blessed air, a palace of whiteness, warm as ivory, cold as chastity, domes and cupolas, slender minars, arches of marble fretted into seafoam, screen within screen of pure mist marble, to hide the sleeping beauty of a great queen, silence in the heart of it, and in every line a harmony, beyond all music. Grace was about it, the grace of a queen who prays and does not command, who, seated in her royalty, yet inclines all hearts to love. And he saw that its grace was her grace, and its soul her soul, and that she gave it for the consolation of the emperor. And he fell on his face and worshipped the master builder of the universe, saying, Praise cannot express thy perfection, thine essence confounds thought, Surely I am but the tool in the hand of the builder. And when he woke, he was lying in his own secret chamber, but beside him was a drawing, such as the craftsmen make of the work they have imagined in their hearts. And it was the palace of the tomb. Henceforward, how should he waver? He was a slave who obeys his master, and with haste he summoned to Agra his army of beauty. Then were assembled all the master craftsmen of India and of the outer world, from Delhi, from Shiraz, even from Baghdad and Syria they came. Muhammad Hanif, the wise Mason, came from Kandahar, Muhammad Sayyid from Multan, Aminat Khan, and other great writers of the Holy Quran, who should make the scripts of the book upon fine marble, inlayers from Kano, with fingers like those of spirits that bowed before Solomon the king, who should make beautiful the pure stone with inlay of jewels, as did their forefathers, for the Rajah of Muir. Mighty dealers with Agate, Cornelian, and Lapis Lazuli, came also from Bukhara, Adam Muhammad, and Chakri Muhammad, that they might carve the lilies of the field very glorious about that flower of the world. Men of India, men of Persia, men of the outer lands, they came at the bidding of Ustad Issa, that the spirit of his vision might be made manifest. And a great council was held among these servants of beauty, so they made a model in little of the glory that was to be, and laid it at the feet of the Shah and Shah, and he allowed it, though not as yet fully discerning their intent. And when it was approved, Ustad Issa called to him a man of Kashmir, and the very hand of the Creator was upon this man, for he could make gardens, second only to the gardens of Paradise, having been borne by that dull lake where there are those roses of the earth, the Shalamar and the Nishatba, and to him said Ustad Issa, Behold, rain-law Kashmiri, consider this design, thus and thus shall a white palace, exquisite in perfection, arise on the banks of Jumna. Here, in little, in this model of sandalwood, see which shall be. Consider these domes, round it as the bosom of beauty, recalling the mystic fruit of the lotus flower. Consider these four minars that stand about them like spirits about the throne, and remembering that all this shall stand upon a great dais of purest marble, and that the river shall be its mirror, repeating to everlasting its loveliness. Make me a garden that shall be the throne room to this queen. And Ram Lal Kashmiri salamed and said, Obedience, and went forth and pondered night and day, journeying even over the snows of the pure Panjal to Kashmir, that he might bathe his eyes in beauty, where she walks, naked and divine upon the earth, and he it was who imagined the black marble and white that made the way of approach. So grew the palace that should murmur, like a seashell, in the ear of the world the secret of love. Veiled had that loveliness been in the shadow of the palace, but now the sun should rise upon it and turn its ivory to gold, should set upon it and flush its snow with rose. The moon should lie upon it like the pearls upon her bosom, the visible grace of her presence, breathe about it, the music of her voice, hover in the birds and trees of the garden. Times there were when Ustadizah disbared, blessed even these mighty servants of beauty should miss perfection. Yet it grew and grew, rising like the growth of a flower. So on a certain day it stood completed, and beneath the small tomb in the sanctuary, veiled with screens of wrought marble so fine that they might lift in the breeze the veils of a queen, the Lady Arjaman, and above her a narrow coffer of white marble, enriched in a great script with the ninety-nine wondrous names of God, and the Shah and Shah, now gray and worn, entered and, standing by her, cried in a loud voice. I ascribed to the unity the only creator, the perfection of his handy work made visible here by the hand of mortal man, for the beauty that was secret in my palace is here revealed, and the crowned lady shall sit forever upon the banks of the Jumna River. It was love that commanded this tomb. And the golden echo carried his voice up into the high dome, and it died away in whispers of music. But Ustadizah, standing far off in the throng, for what a craftsman in the presence of the mighty, said softly in his beard, it was love also that built, and therefore it shall endure. Now it is told that, on a certain night and summer, when the moon is full, a man who lingers by the straight water, where the cypresses stand over their own image, may see a strange marvel, may see the palace of the Taj dissolve like a pearl and so rise in a mist into the moonlight. And in its place, on her dais of white marble, he shall see the lady Arjumand, Mumtazim Mahal, the chosen of the palace, stand there in the white perfection of beauty, smiling as one who hath attained unto the peace. For she is its soul, and kneeling before the dais, he shall see Ustadizah, who made this body of her beauty, and his face is hidden in his hands. A Japanese story. O lovely one, O thou flower, with thy beautiful face, with thy beautiful eyes, pour light upon the world. Adoration to Kwanan. In Japan, in the days of the remote ancestors, near the little village of Shaobara, the river ran through rocks and a very strange blue color, and the bed of the river was also composed of these rocks, so that the clear water ran blue as turquoise gems to the sea. The great forests murmured beside it, and through their swaying boughs was breathed the song of eternity. Those who listen may hear if the ears are open. To others it is but the idle sighing of the wind. Now, because of all this beauty, there stood in these forests a roughly built palace of unbarked wood, and here the great emperor would come from city royal to seek the rest for his doubtful thoughts and cares of state, turning aside often to see the moonlight in Shaobara. He sawed also the free air and the sound of falling water, yet dearer to him than the plucked strings of Sho and Biwa. For he said, where and how shall we find peace even for a moment, and afford our heart refreshment even for a single second? And it seemed to him that he found such moments at Shaobara. Only one of his great nobles would his majesty bring with him the Danagon, and him he chose because he was a worthy and honorable person and a very simple heart. His majesty long since slept for sheer weariness. For the night was far spent, but the emperor and the Danagon still sat with their eyes fixed on the venerable Semaru. For many hours he had played, drawing strange music from his Biwa. Sometimes it had been like rain blowing over the plains of Azuma. Sometimes like the winds roaring down the passes of the Yoshino Mountains, and yet again like the voice of far cities. For many hours they listened without weariness, and thought that all the stories of the ancients might flow past them in the weird music that seemed to have neither beginning nor end. It is as the river that changes and changes not, and is ever and ever the same, said the emperor in his own soul. And certainly had a voice announced to his agustness that centuries were drifting by as he listened he could have felt no surprise. Before them, as they sat upon the silk and floor cushions, was a small shrine with a Buddha shelf and a hanging picture of the Amida Buddha within it, the expression one of wrapped piece. Figures of Fugun and Fudo were placed before the curtain doors of the shrine, looking up in adoration to the blessed one. A small and aged pine tree was in a pot of gray porcelain from Chosen, the only ornament in the chamber. Suddenly his majesty became aware that the Danagon had also fallen asleep from weariness, and that the recluse was no longer playing, but was speaking in a still voice like a deeply flowing stream. The emperor had observed no change from music to speech, nor could he recall when the music had ceased so that it altogether resembled a dream. When I first came here, the venerable one continued, it was not my intention to stay long in the forest. As each day dawned, I said, In seven days I go, and again in seven. Yet have I not gone? The days glided by, and here have I attained to look on the beginnings of peace. Then wherefore should I go? For all life is within the soul. Shall the fish weary of his pool? And I, who through my blind eyes, feel the moon illuminating my forest by night, and the sun by day, abide in peace, so that even the wild beasts press round to hear my music. I have come by a path overblown by autumn leaves, but I have come. Then said the divine emperor, as if unconsciously, would that I also might come. But the august duties cannot easily be laid aside. And I have no wife, no son. And Samaral, playing very softly on the strings of his biwa, made no other answer, and his majesty, collecting his thoughts, which had become, as it were, frozen with the cold and with the quiet and the strange music, spoke thus as if in a waking dream. Why have I not wedded? Because I have desired a bride beyond the women of the earth, and of none such as I desire has the rumor reached me. Consider that ancestor, who wedded her shining majesty. Evil and lovely was she, and the passions were loud about her, and so it is with women. Trouble and vexation of spirit, or instead a great weariness. But if the blessed one would vouchsafe to my prayers, a maiden of blossom and dew, with the heart calm as moonlight, her would I wed. O honourable one, whose wisdom surveys the world, is there in any place near or far, in heaven or on earth, such a one that I may see confined? And Samaral, still making a very low music on his beewa, said this. Supreme Master, where the Shyobara River breaks away through the gorges to the sea, dwelt a poor couple, the husband a woodcutter. They had no children to aid in their toil, and daily the woman addressed her prayers for a son to the Bodhisattva, Kwanan, the lady of pity, who looketh down for ever upon the sound of prayer. Very fervently she prayed, and with such offerings as her poverty allowed, and on a certain night she dreamed this dream. At the shrine of the Senju Kwanan she knelt as was her custom, and that great lady, sitting enthroned upon the lotus of purity, opened her eyes slowly from her divine contemplation, and heard the prayer of the woodcutter's wife. Then, stooping like a blown willow branch, she gathered a bud from the golden lotus plant that stood upon her altar, and breathing upon it, became pure white and living, and it exhaled a perfume like the flowers of paradise. This flower, the lady of pity, flung into the bosom of her petitioner, and closing her eyes, returned into her divine dream, whilst the woman awoke weeping for joy. But when she sought in her bosom for the lotus it was gone. Of all this she had boasted loudly to her folk and kin, and the more so when in due time she perceived herself to be with child, for from that august favor she looked for nothing less than a sun radiant with the five ornaments of riches, health, longevity, beauty, and success. Yet when her hour was come a girl was born and blind. Was she welcomed? asked the dreaming voice of the emperor. A gusness but as a household drudge, for her food was cruelty and her drink tears, and the shrine of the Senju Kwanan was neglected by her parents because of the disappointment and shame of the unwanted gift. And they believed that, lost in her divine contemplation, the great lady would not perceive this neglect. The gods, however, are known by their great memories. Her name? Majesty, Tsaisu Morning-Doo, and like the Morning-Doo she shines in stillness. She has repaid good for evil to her evil parents, serving them with unwearied service. What distinguishes her from others? Augustus, a very great piece, doubtless the shadow of the dream of the holy Kwanan. She works, she moves, she smiles, as one who has tasted of content. Has she beauty? Supreme Master, am I not blind? But it is said that she has no beauty that men should desire her. Her face is flat and round, and her eyes blind. And yet content? Philosophers might envy her calm, and her blindness is, without doubt, a grace from the excelling pity, for could she see her own exceeding ugliness she must weep for shame. But she sees not. Her sight is inward, and she is well content. Where does she dwell? Supreme Majesty, far from here, where in the heart of the woods the river breaks through the rocks. Venerable one, why have you told me this? I have asked for a royal maiden, wise and beautiful, calm as the dawn, and you have told me of a woodcutter's drudge, blind and ugly. And now Samarao did not answer, but the tones of the Biwa grew louder and clearer, and they rang like a song of triumph, and the Emperor could hear these words in the voice of the strings. She is beautiful as the night, crowned with moon and stars, for him who has eyes to see. Princess Splendor was dim beside her. Prince fireshine gloom. Her shining majesty was but a darkened glory before this maid. All beauty shines within her hidden eyes. Having uttered this the music became wordless once more, but it still flowed on more and more softly, like a river that flows into the far distance. The Emperor stared at the mats, musing. The light of the lamp was burning low. His heart said within him, This maiden cast like a flower from the hand of Kwanansama, will I see. And as he said this, the music had faded away into a thread-like smallness. And when, after a long thought, he raised his august head, he was alone, safe for the Danagon, sleeping on the mats behind him, and the chamber was in darkness. Samarao had departed in silence, and his majesty, looking forth into the broad moonlight, could see the track of his feet upon the shining snow, and the music came back very thinly like spring rain in the trees. Once more he looked at the whiteness of the night, and then, stretching his august person on the mats, he slept amid dreams of sweet sound. The next day, forbidding any to follow, saved the Danagon. His majesty went forth upon the frozen snow, where the sun shone in a blinding whiteness. They followed the track of Samarao's feet far under the pine trees, so heavy with their load of snow that they were bowed as if with fruit. And the track led on, and the air was so still that the crackling of a bow was like the blow of a hammer, and the sliding of a load of snow from a branch like the fall of an avalanche. Nor did they speak as they went. They listened. Nor could they say for what. Then, when they had gone a very great way, the track ceased suddenly as if cut off. And at this spot, under the pines furred with snow, his majesty became aware of a perfume so sweet that it was as though all the flowers of the earth haunted this place with their presence, and a music like the Biwa of Samarao was heard in the treetops. This sounded far off like the whispering of rain when it falls in very small leaves, and presently it died away, and a voice followed after, singing, alone in the woods, so that the silence appeared to have been created that such a music might possess the world. So the emperor stopped instantly, and the Danagon behind him, and he heard these words. In me the heavenly lotus grew, the fibers ran from head to feet, and my heart was the august blossom. Therefore the sweetness flowed through the veins of my flesh, and I breathed peace upon all the world, and about me was my fragrant shed that the souls of men should desire me. Now, as he listened, there came through the wood a maiden, barefooted, save for grass sandals, and clad in coarse clothing, and she came up and passed them, still singing. And when she was passed, his majesty put up his hand to his eyes, like when dreaming, and said, What have you seen? And the Danagon answered, Agustness, a country wench, flat-faced, ugly, and blind, and with a voice like a crow. Has not your majesty seen this? The emperor, still shading his eyes, replied, I saw a maiden so beautiful that her shining majesty would be a black blot beside her. As she went, the spring and all its sweetness blew from her garments. Her robe was green with small gold flowers. Her eyes were closed, but she resembled a cherry tree, snowy with bloom and dew. Her voice was like the singing flowers of paradise. The Danagon looked at him with fear and compassion. Agustness, how should such a lady carry in her arms a bundle of firewood? She bore in her hands three lotus flowers, and where each foot fell I saw a lotus bloom and vanish. They retraced their footsteps through the wood. His majesty radiant as Prince Fireshine, with the joy that filled his soul. The Danagon, darkened as Prince Fires spayed, with fear, believing that the strange music of Semerao had brewitched his majesty, or that the maiden herself might possibly have the power of the fox in shape-changing and bewildering the senses. Very sorrowful and careful was his heart, for he loved his master. That night his majesty dreamed that he stood before the Kakamono of the Amida Buddha, and that as he raised his eyes in adoration to the blessed face, he beheld the images of Fugin and Fudo rise up and bow down before the one who is, then gliding in before these holinesses stood a figure, and it was the woodcutter's daughter, homely and blinded. She stretched her hands upward as though invoking the Supreme Buddha, and then, turning to his majesty, she smiled upon him, her eyes closed as in bliss unutterable. And he said aloud, wood that I might see her eyes, and so saying awoke in a great stillness of snow and moonlight. Having awaked, he said within himself, this marvel will I wed, and she shall be my empress, were she lower than the Etta, and whether her face be lovely or homely, for she is certainly a flower dropped from the hand of the divine. So when the sun was high, his majesty, again followed by the Danagon, went through the forest swiftly, and like a man that sees his goal, and when they reached the place where the maiden went by, his majesty straightly commanded the Danagon that he should draw apart and leave him to speak with the maiden, yet that he should watch what befell. So the Danagon watched, and again he saw her come, very poorly clad, and with bare feet that shrank from the snow in her grass sandals, bowed beneath a heavy load of wood upon her shoulders, and her face flat and homely, like a girl of the people, and her eyes blind and shut. And as she came she sang this. The eternal way lies before him, the way that is made manifest in the wise, the heart that loves reveals itself to man, for now he draws nigh to the source, the night advances fast, and low the moon shines bright. And to the Danagon it seemed a harsh crying, nor could he distinguish any words at all. But what his majesty beheld was this. The evening had come on, and the moon was rising, the snow had gone. It was the full glory of spring, and the flowers spring thick as stars upon the grass, and among them lotus flowers, great as the wheel of a chariot, white and shining with the luminescence of the pearl, and upon each one of these was seated an incarnate holiness, looking upward with joined hands. In the trees were the voices of the mystic birds that are the utterance of the blessed one. Proclaiming in harmony the five virtues, the five powers, the seven steps ascending to perfect illumination, the noble eightfold path, and all the law, and bearing in the heart of the Son of Heaven awoke the three remembrances, the remembrance of him who is blessed, remembrance of the law, and remembrance of the communion of the assembly. So looking upward to the heavens, he beheld the infinite Buddha high and lifted up in a great, reying glory. About him were the exalted bodhisattvas, the mighty disciples, great arhatzal, and all the countless angelhood. And these rose high into the infinite until they could be seen but as a point of fire against the moon. With this golden multitude beyond all numbering was he. Then, as his majesty had seen in the dream of the night, the woodcutter's daughter, moving through the flowers like one blind that gropes his way, advanced before the blessed feet, and uplifting her hands, did adoration, and her face he could not see, but his heart went with her, adoring also the infinite Buddha seated in the calms of the boundless light. Then enlightenment entered at his eyes, as the man that wakes from sleep, and suddenly he beheld the maiden, crowned and robed and terrible in beauty, and her feet were stayed upon an open lotus, and his soul knew the senjuquan and herself myriad armed for the helping of mankind. And turning she smiled as in the vision, but his eyes being now clear, her blinded eyes were opened, and that glory, who shall tell as those living founts of wisdom, raid upon him their ineffable light? In that ocean was his being drowned, and so, bowed before the infinite Buddha, he received the greater illumination. How great is the glory of Kwanan! When the radiance in the vision were withdrawn, and only the moon looked over the trees, his majesty rose upon his feet, and standing on the snow, surrounded with calm, he called to the Danagon and asked this, What have you seen? Augustus, nothing but the country wench and moon and snow, and heard? Augustus, nothing but the harsh voice of the woodcutter's daughter, and felt? Augustus, nothing but the bone piercing cold. So his majesty adored that which cannot be uttered, saying, So wisdom, so glory, encompass us about, and we see them not, for we are blinded with illusion. Yet every stone is a jewel, and every clawed is spirit, and to the hems of the infinite Buddha all cling. Through the compassion of the supernal mercy that walks the earth as the Bodhisattva Kwanan, am I admitted to wisdom and given sight and hearing, and what is all the world to that happy one who has beheld her eyes? And his majesty returned through the forest, when the next day he sent for the venerable Samarut that holy recluse had departed and none knew where. But still when the moon is full, a strange music moves in the treetops of Shyabara. Then his sacred majesty returned to city royal, having determined to retire into the quiet life, and there, abandoning the throne to a kinsman, wise in greatness, he became a dweller in the deserted hut of Samara. His life, like a descending moon approaching the hill that should hide it, was passed in meditation on that incarnate love and compassion whose glory had augustly been made known to him, and having cast aside all save the image of the divine from his soul, his majesty became even as that man who desired enlightenment of the blessed one. For he, desiring instruction, gathered precious flowers and journeyed to present them as an offering to the Guatma Buddha. Standing before him he stretched forth both hands holding the flowers. Then said the holy one, looking upon his petitioner's right hand, loose your hold of these, and the man dropped the flowers from his right hand. And the holy one looking upon his left hand said, loose your hold of these. And sorrowing he dropped the flowers from his left hand. And again the master said, loose your hold of that which is neither in the right nor in the left. And the disciple said very pitifully, Lord, of what should I loose my hold for I have nothing left? And he looked upon him steadfastly. Therefore, at last, understanding, he emptied his soul of all desire and of fear that is the shadow of desire, and being enlightened relinquished all burdens. So was it also with his majesty. In peace he dwelt and becoming a great arhat. In peace he departed to that uttermost joy whereas the blessed one made manifest in pure light. As for the parents of the maiden, they entered after sore troubles into peace having been remembered by the infinite. For it is certain that the enemies also of the supreme Buddha go to salvation by thanking on him, even though it be against him. And he who tells this truth makes this prayer to the lady of pity. Grant me, I pray, one dew drop from thy willow spray, and in the double lotus keep my hidden heart asleep. How great is the glory of Kwanin. End of section 12