Chapter Two

The Acquaintance

It was the young man who first yielded to his curiosity. Addressing himself to the elder, he said: "I perceive by all the signs before me that you are ladies of a great household, and I hesitate to inquire your names; yet the impediment which restrains me from giving my own name may perhaps not apply to you — and therefore I venture to ask."

The elder lady replied: "What name has a woman to give? She who may not take the name of her family — what can she say of herself? She whose religion is to live in concealment — how shall she make herself known? The day that fate forbade a wife to name her husband was the day that forbade her to name herself."

The young man made no answer to this, for his mind was elsewhere. The younger lady had gradually drawn aside a corner of her veil and, from behind her companion, was gazing at the young man with unwavering eyes. In the midst of their conversation the traveller's glance fell suddenly in that direction — and did not return. He felt as though he might never again behold such transcendent beauty. The eyes of the young woman met the eyes of the traveller. She instantly cast her gaze downward. The companion, receiving no answer to her words, looked towards the traveller's face, and marked where his eyes were turned; and perceiving that the girl at her side was looking at the young man with hungry eyes, she whispered in her ear: "What, then — art thou minded to hold thy own svayamvara here, in the presence of Shiva himself?"

The younger lady pinched the other's arm and whispered back in the same soft tone: "Go to perdition."

The shrewd companion pondered within herself: given the signs I see before me, if this child entrusted to my charge should be pierced by Cupid's arrows at the sight of this stranger's dazzling beauty, then whatever else may or may not befall, her peace of mind is destroyed for ever. I must close this path at once. But how is this purpose to be accomplished? If by some device or pretext I can send the young man elsewhere, that would be best. Thus resolving, with the ready wit that is native to women, she said aloud: "Sir, a woman's reputation is so frail a thing that the wind itself weighs too heavily upon it. The storm has now ceased, and we shall see whether we may go home on foot."

The young man replied: "If you are truly resolved to go on foot at this hour of the night, I will accompany you and see you safe. The sky has cleared — I should long since have continued my own journey, but I had no mind to leave your companion unprotected."

The lady answered: "The kindness you have shown us makes me reluctant to seem ungrateful, and that is why I cannot speak quite freely. Sir, of the ill fortune of women what shall I say to you? We are distrustful by our very nature. It would be our great good fortune if you were to escort us — yet when my master, this young lady's father, asks her, 'With whom didst thou come home that night?' — what answer shall she give him?"

The young man reflected a moment, then said: "She will answer that she came with Jagatsingh, son of the Maharaja Mansingh."

Had a thunderbolt fallen in the temple at that instant, the two women within could scarcely have started more violently. Both rose at once to their feet. The younger retreated behind the Shivalinga. The quick-witted elder placed the border of her sari about her neck and prostrated herself in full reverence; then, with joined palms, she said: "Your Highness! In our ignorance we have committed a thousand offences — in your graciousness, forgive foolish women who knew not what they did."

The young prince smiled and said: "These are grave offences indeed, not lightly pardoned. Yet I will pardon them — if you will tell me who you are. If you will not, I shall certainly inflict a suitable punishment."

A gentle word always gives courage to one of a playful temper; the lady smiled slightly and said: "What punishment does Your Highness command? Name it — I am ready to accept it."

Jagatsingh laughed and said: "I shall come with you and see you both home."

The companion saw that this was a serious difficulty. For reasons of her own she had been unwilling to reveal the young lady's identity to the emperor's general; and that he should accompany them home was even worse than that — for it was a disclosure beyond the mere giving of names. She therefore stood with eyes cast down and said nothing.

At that moment, from not far off the temple, came the sound of many horses' hoofs. The prince went out hastily and saw that some hundred horsemen were passing by. By their dress he knew them at once for his own Rajput troopers. He had gone to the region of Bishnupur on military business and was now hastening back to his father at the head of a hundred cavalry. He had ridden ahead of his escort that afternoon, and they had gone one way while he had gone another, so that he had found himself alone on the plain in the storm. Now he saw them again, and to discover whether they had seen him he called out: "Victory to the Lord of Delhi!" At this call, one of the horsemen drew near. The prince looked at him and said: "Dharamsingh — I was waiting here on account of the rain and storm."

Dharamsingh bowed low in salutation and said: "We had searched long for Your Highness and came hither; we found your horse standing near that banyan tree and have brought him."

Jagatsingh said: "Take the horse and wait here with him; send two men to a neighbouring village to fetch a palanquin and bearers; bid the rest of the troopers advance."

Dharamsingh was a little surprised at this order, but knowing that it was not for him to question his master's commands, he gave the word and informed the troopers of the prince's wishes. One or two among the soldiers, hearing of the palanquin, smiled quietly and said to their neighbours: "A new fashion tonight." Another answered: "And why not? The Maharaja, lord of the Rajputs, has his hundreds of wives."

Meanwhile, in the young man's absence, the younger lady drew aside her veil and said to her companion: "Bimala — why wert thou so unwilling to give the prince our names?"

Bimala replied: "I will answer that question before thy father. But now — what is this fresh commotion I hear?"

The young lady said: "I believe it is the prince's own soldiers come to seek him. When the young prince himself is here, what cause is there for alarm?"

Before the horsemen who had gone to seek a palanquin could return, the bearers and guards who had abandoned the ladies in the storm and sheltered in the village came back of themselves. Jagatsingh, seeing them approach from a distance, re-entered the temple and said to the attendant: "A party of armed men with bearers and a palanquin are coming — are they your people?" Bimala stood at the temple door and saw that they were indeed their own guards.

The prince said: "Then I will tarry here no longer; were I seen with you, it might bring harm upon you. Therefore I take my leave. I pray Shaileshwar that you may reach home in safety. Of you I ask one thing: let it not become known within a fortnight that we have met. Forget not this request — or, for remembrance, keep this trifle by thee. And as for me — the fact that I came away without knowing the name of thy mistress's daughter shall remain with me as a token of remembrance in my heart." So saying, he took from his turban his pearl necklace and laid it upon Bimala's head. Bimala held the precious gems at her hair, bowed humbly before the prince, and said: "Your Highness, do not think me culpable for having withheld the name — there is assuredly sufficient cause for it. If Your Highness has been greatly exercised in curiosity on this matter, tell me where I may meet with you a fortnight hence."

Jagatsingh thought for a little while and then said: "A fortnight hence, at night, thou shalt find me here within this same temple. If thou dost not find me here — then the meeting is not to be."

"May God preserve Your Highness," said Bimala, prostrating herself once more. The prince cast one last look — of irresistible and thirsting longing — upon the young lady; then leaped into the saddle and rode away.