XXXI

The Apparition on the Terrace

When Satagira had reached the goal he had set himself, of possessing me as his wife, his love rapidly cooled, and the more quickly, that it met with no response on my side. I had promised to be a true wife to him, and he knew well that I would keep my word. But more did not lie in my power, even if I had wished it.

As I bore him only a daughter who died in her second year, no one wondered⁠—and I, certainly, least of all⁠—that he took a second wife. She bore him the wished-for son. As a consequence, she received the first place in the house; and was able, in clever fashion, to attach to herself the love that I had so willingly resigned. Over and above this, matters of business more and more claimed the attention of my husband, for, after the death of his father, he had succeeded the latter as Minister.

In this way, several years slipped quietly by, and I was left, for the most part, to myself, which was just what I desired. I gave myself up to my grief, communed only with memories, and lived in the hope of a happy meeting here above⁠—a hope in which I have not been disappointed.

Satagira’s palace lay close to the same ravine from which thou hast so often climbed up to the Terrace of the Sorrowless, but at a much steeper place, and had a terrace similar to the one at my father’s house. Here I was accustomed to spend all the fine evenings, in the hot season⁠—often passing even the whole night there, reposing on a couch. For the rocky front of the ravine, which was, besides, surmounted by a high wall, was so steep and slippery that I felt certain no human being could scale it.

Once, on a mild and glorious moonlit night, I lay on my bed unable to sleep. I was thinking of thee, and particularly of that first evening together; the moment when I sat with Medini on the marble bench, on the Terrace, awaiting thy arrival, stood vividly before my mind’s eye; and I thought of how, even before we hoped for it, thy form suddenly appeared over the top of the wall⁠—for, in thy passionate ardour, thou hadst outdistanced Somadatta.

Lost in these sweet dreams, I had unconsciously let my gaze rest on the parapet, when suddenly a figure rose above it.

I was so convinced that no human being could ever scale this part of the wall, that I did not doubt in the least but that thy spirit, conjured up by my longing, had come to comfort me, and to bring news of the blessed place where thou didst now await me.

For which reason I was in no way frightened, but got up and extended my arms to embrace my visitor.

When, however, he stood on the Terrace and approached me with rapid steps, I saw that his figure was much taller than thine⁠—indeed, even gigantic⁠—and I perceived that I had the spirit of Angulimala before me. But at that I became so greatly terrified, that I was obliged to cling to the head of my couch in order not to fall down.

“Whom didst thou expect?” asked the fearful apparition, coming close to me.

“A spirit, but not thine,” I answered.

“Kamanita’s spirit?”

I nodded.

“When thou madest thy movement of welcome,” he went on, “I feared that thou hadst a lover who visited thee here at nights. If that were so, thou wouldst in no wise help me. And I need thy help as much as thou dost at present need mine.”

At these strange words I ventured to look up, and now it seemed to me that I had no spirit before me, but a being of flesh and blood. The moon, however, was behind him, and, dazzled by its beams, as well as confused by my terror, I could only see the outlines of a figure which might well belong to a demon.

“I am not the spirit of Angulimala,” he said, guessing my thoughts, “I am Angulimala himself, a living human being as thou art.”

I began to tremble violently, not from fear, but because I was standing face to face with the man who had cruelly murdered my beloved.

“Do not be afraid, gracious lady,” he went on, “thou hast nought to fear from me; on the contrary, thou art the only person I myself have ever been afraid of, and whom I dared not look in the eyes, as thou didst so truly say, because I was deceiving thee.”

“Thou didst deceive me?” I exclaimed, and I scarcely know even now whether joy rose up in my soul, awakened by the hope that my loved one was yet alive, or whether yet greater despair did not seize upon me as I thought that I had allowed myself to be deluded into separating myself from the living.

“I did,” he said, “and for that reason we are thrown upon one another. For we both have something to avenge, and on the same man⁠—on Satagira!”

With the bearing of a prince, this robber made a movement of his hand, bidding me be seated, as though he had much to say to me. I had been holding myself erect with difficulty, and now sank down upon the bench without power of volition. I gazed at him, breathlessly eager to hear his next words which should enlighten me as to the fate of my beloved.

“Kamanita with his caravan,” he went on, “fell into my hands in the wooded region of the Vedisas. He defended himself bravely, but was captured unwounded, and, as the ransom arrived in good time, was sent home without molestation. He arrived safely in Ujjeni.”

At this news a deep sigh escaped my breast. For the moment I felt only joy in the knowledge that my beloved was yet among the living, foolish as the feeling was. For, living, he was even further removed from me than he would have been by death.

“When I fell into Satagira’s power,” Angulimala continued, “he at once recognised the crystal chain with the tiger-eye amulet on my neck as the same which had belonged to Kamanita. On the following evening he came to my prison alone, and promised, to my unbounded astonishment, to give me my freedom if I would swear in the presence of a maiden that I had killed Kamanita. ‘Thy oath alone,’ he said, ‘would, to be sure, not convince her, but she must believe the “Rite of Truth!” ’ He explained to me that I was, at the first hour of night, to be conducted to a terrace where the maiden would be found. He would see that the fetters were filed through so that I could without difficulty burst them, after which it would be an easy matter for me to swing myself over the breastwork, climb down into the ravine, and, following it downward, to escape, as it finally ended in a narrow watercourse through which a small brook ran under the city wall and emptied itself into the Gunga. With a solemn oath he swore that he would do nothing to hinder my escape from Kosambi.

“It is true I did not trust him overmuch, but I saw no other way of escape. To perform the ‘Rite of Truth,’ and, in so doing, to utter an absolute falsehood⁠—nothing whatever could have induced me to do that, I acknowledge; for I should thereby have called down on myself the most fearful judgment of the angry and insulted goddess. But I saw at once how I could so express my oath as not in so many words to tell an untruth, while, at the same time, everyone hearing would believe I had killed Kamanita; and I trusted that Kali, who finds pleasure in craftiness of all kinds, would stand by me with all her power, on account of this masterpiece, and would lead me safely through the snares which the treachery of Satagira might lay for me.

“Everything now fell out, as a matter of fact, in the way we had arranged, and thou thyself didst see how I burst the iron chains asunder. But, to this day, I don’t know whether Satagira kept faith with me and had the chains filed through, as he promised, or whether Kali helped me by a miracle. I am more inclined, however, to believe the former. For scarcely had I swum a few fathoms out into the Gunga when I was fallen upon by a boatload of armed men. So he had evidently relied upon that ambush. Yet here could be seen what Kali’s help is worth; for, although the pieces of chain hanging to my wrists were my only weapons, I succeeded in killing every man of them, and on the boat, which had capsized during the fight, I fortunately reached the safe north bank, though, to be sure, not without bearing away so many and such deep wounds that a whole year passed before I had recovered from them. During that time I often swore that Satagira should expiate what he had done. And now the time for that expiation has come.”

In my heart there raged a storm of indignation at this unheard of deception which had been practised upon me. I couldn’t blame the robber for saving his life as he did, and, as he hadn’t soiled his hands with the blood of my beloved, I forgot for the moment how much other innocent blood adhered to them, and felt neither fear nor disgust in the presence of this man who, whatever he might have done, had brought me the message that my Kamanita yet dwelt in this world, even as I. But a bitter hatred rose up within me against him to whose guilt it was owing that we were obliged to wander apart to the end of our earth journey, and I heard Angulimala threaten his life with an involuntary pleasure which, I imagine, was to be read in the expression of my face.

For, in an excited and passionate tone of voice, Angulimala continued⁠—

“I perceive, noble lady, that thy lofty soul thirsts for revenge, and soon thou shalt have thy desire. For with that end in view I have come hither. Many weeks have I lain in wait for Satagira, just outside of Kosambi, and at last have learned from a sure source that, in the course of the next few days, he will leave the town for the valleys lying to the east, where a legal dispute, at present impending between two villages, has to be settled. My original plan, formed before I knew of this, was to force him to make a sally against me in order to take me prisoner again; but this journey of his has greatly simplified matters. To be sure I have, in pursuance of my first intention, made no secret of my presence, but have let my deeds speak for me, and the report of my reappearance has for a long time been freely circulated.

“Although most people believe that some imposter has arisen who gives himself out for Angulimala, yet fear has already seized on people to such an extent that only large and well-armed bands now venture out into the wooded region to the cast, where I have my headquarters. To all appearance, it is true, thou hast heard nothing of it, probably for the reason that, as a woman despoiled of her life happiness, thou dost dwell alone with thy grief.”

“I have certainly heard of a daring band of robbers, but without mention as yet of thy name, wherefore I believed at first I saw thy ghost.”

“But Satagira has heard me named,” went on the robber, “depend on that, and, as he has good reason to believe that it is the veritable Angulimala, and yet better reason to fear him, it may be taken for granted that he will not only travel under powerful escort, but will also take other precautions and make use of many devices, with intent to conceal his real plans. However, although the band which I command is not very large, neither the one nor the other shall help hint, if I only know for certain at what hour he moves out and what road he takes. And this it is that I hope to learn from thee.”

Although I had up till now listened to what he had to say, dumb with amazement, and, as if laid under a ban, without thinking how much I was already compromising myself by doing so, yet, at this suggestion, I rose up indignantly and asked what gave him the right to believe that I had sunk low enough to take a thief and robber as an ally.

“In the case of an ally,” replied Angulimala quietly, “the chief thing is that he is to be depended upon, and thou dost feel⁠—of that I am convinced⁠—that I am absolutely to be relied upon in this matter. On the other hand I need thy help, for only in that way can I learn with certainty what I wish to know. True, I have a source of information which is usually reliable, and from which, as a matter of fact, I know of Satagira’s journey, yet, if the latter causes a false report to be circulated, even this source can become untrustworthy. But thou dost need me, because a proud and lofty soul finds, in a case like thine, satisfaction only in the death of the traitor. If thou wert a man, then thou wouldst kill him thyself; as thou art a woman, my arm is necessary to thee.”

I was about to dismiss him angrily, but he gave me to understand, with such a dignified movement of his hand, that he had not said all he had to say, that, against my will, I became silent.

“Thus far, noble lady, I have spoken of revenge. But there is something other and weightier to come. For thee, to secure future happiness; for me, to atone for the past. With justice, it is said of me that I am cruel, without pity for man or beast. Yes, I have done a thousand deeds, for each of which one must do penance, as the priests teach, for a hundred or even a thousand years in the lowest hell. It is true I had a wise and learned friend, Vajaçravas, whom the common people now even reverence as a saint, and on whose grave I have offered rich sacrifices; he often demonstrated to us that there were no such hell punishments, but that, on the contrary, the robber was the most Brahman-filled of all living beings and the crown of creation. Yet he was somehow never able to convince me of the truth of his position.

“Be that as it may, however⁠—whether there are hell-punishments or not⁠—this is certain, that, of all my deeds, only one lies heavy on my conscience, and that is, that with my crafty ‘Rite of Truth’ I cheated thee. Even then I did not dare to look thee in the face, and the memory of that hour sits ever like a thorn in my flesh. Well, the wrong I did thee then, I would now like to make good, so far as that is still possible, and to do away with the evil consequences of my act. Thou wert separated by my guilty dealing from Kamanita whom thou didst believe to be dead, and wert chained to this false Satagira. These fetters I now wish to take from thee that thou mayst be free to unite thyself to thy beloved, and I will myself go to Ujjeni and bring him safe and sound. Now do thy part⁠—I will do mine. For a beautiful woman, it is not difficult to draw a secret from her husband. Tomorrow, as soon as it is dark, I shall come hither to get the necessary information from thee.”

He bowed deeply, and, before it was possible for me in my bewilderment and dismay to utter a word, he vanished from the Terrace as suddenly as he had appeared.