Chapter Six

Nabakumar entered the hut, closed the door behind him, and sate down with his head resting in his palms. For a long while he raised it not.

"What was this — goddess, mortal woman, or but an illusion wrought by the Kapalik?" Motionless, Nabakumar tossed this question to and fro within his breast. Nothing could he resolve.

Being thus distracted of mind, Nabakumar had not marked another thing. Within the hut, even before his coming, a piece of wood had been burning. Later, when at a late hour it came into his recollection that the evening rites stood still unperformed, and the need of water led him to break off from his musings, he could then conceive how strange a thing this was. Not light only, but rice also, and certain other materials fit for cookery, lay there in readiness. Yet Nabakumar marvelled not — he thought, this also is the Kapalik's doing — what cause of wonder in this?

When his evening devotions were ended, Nabakumar boiled the rice in an earthen vessel that he found within the hut, and made his meal.

On the morrow's dawn he rose from his couch of skin and set forth straight towards the sea-shore. By favour of the previous day's wandering, he now traced the way with little difficulty. Arriving there, he performed his morning rites and set himself to wait. For whom did he wait? How strong, in Nabakumar's heart, was the hope that the enchantress of yesterday would come again to that spot, I cannot say — but quit the place he could not. Even when much of the day was spent, no one came. Then Nabakumar walked about the neighbourhood. It was a vain seeking. Of the presence of any human being he could discover not the least sign. He returned and sate down again in the same place. The sun went down; darkness began to gather; and Nabakumar, despondent, turned back to the hut. Coming back from the shore at eventide, he beheld the Kapalik seated upon the floor of the hut in silence. Nabakumar first enquired after his welfare; whereto the Kapalik vouchsafed no reply.

Nabakumar said, "Wherefore have I, till this hour, been deprived of my lord's presence?" The Kapalik answered, "I was engaged in mine own vow."

Nabakumar made known his desire to return to his home, saying, "I know not the path — I have no provision for the way; if by my lord's contrivance any means may be devised, in that hope I rest."

The Kapalik said only this: "Come thou with me." And so saying, the recluse rose from his place. In the hope that some good means of returning home might be found, Nabakumar followed after him.

The twilight had not yet quite faded — the Kapalik went before, and Nabakumar came behind. On a sudden, upon Nabakumar's back, there fell the touch of a soft hand. Turning, what he saw made him stand still. It was she — the wild goddess-like figure with the dense tresses falling to her ankles! As before, silent and motionless. Whence had this form come thus suddenly behind him? Nabakumar saw that the maiden held her finger to her lips. He understood that she forbade him to speak; though indeed there was little need of such command. What word could Nabakumar speak? Astonished, he stood there. The Kapalik saw none of this, but went on before. When the recluse was passed beyond the reach of hearing, the maiden spake softly. These words entered Nabakumar's ear:

"Whither dost thou go? Go not. Turn back — flee."

Having uttered these words, she who had spoken withdrew, and waited not for any answer. For some moments Nabakumar stood as one overcome; then he was eager to follow, but he could in no wise determine in which direction the maiden had gone. He began to muse: "Whose witchery is this? Or is it some confusion of mine own? The thing I heard sounds as a warning — but warning of what? These tantriks can do all things. Shall I then flee? But wherefore flee? If on yonder day I escaped with life, to-day also I shall live. The Kapalik also is a man, and I too am a man."

Nabakumar was reasoning thus, when he perceived that the Kapalik, not finding him at hand, was returning. The Kapalik said, "Why dost thou tarry?"

At the Kapalik's second summons Nabakumar, without further word, followed him.

After they had gone some way, he saw before them a hut of mud walls. It might be called a hut, or a small house; but with that we have no concern. Behind it lay the sandy strand of the sea. Past the side of the house the Kapalik led Nabakumar towards the sands; at that very moment, with the speed of an arrow, the maiden whom he had seen before passed by his side, and as she went, spake into his ear: "Yet now, flee. Without human flesh, the tantrik's worship is not accomplished — knewest thou not?"

The sweat broke out upon Nabakumar's brow. By an ill chance, these words of the young woman reached the ear of the Kapalik. He cried, "Kapalkundala!"

The voice thundered upon Nabakumar's ear as a peal of thunder out of a cloud. But Kapalkundala made no reply.

The Kapalik seized Nabakumar by the hand and led him onward. At the touch of that man-slaying hand, Nabakumar's blood ran an hundredfold faster through his veins — his vanished courage came back to him. He said, "Loose mine hand."

The Kapalik answered nothing. Again Nabakumar asked, "Whither dost thou lead me?"

The Kapalik said, "To the place of worship."

Nabakumar said, "Wherefore?"

The Kapalik said, "To slay thee."

With a violent wrench Nabakumar drew back his hand. With that force, had any common man held him, far from keeping his grip, he would have been hurled to the ground. But the Kapalik's frame stirred not the least — Nabakumar's wrist remained as it was within his grasp. It seemed to Nabakumar as though the very joints of his arm were broken. He saw that force would not avail. Craft was needed. "Let us see, then," — so he resolved within himself, and went on with the Kapalik.

Being brought into the midst of the sands, Nabakumar saw, as upon the night before, a great fire of logs burning there. About it were ranged the appurtenances of the tantrik worship, and amongst them a human skull filled with wine — but no corpse was there. He guessed that he himself must furnish the corpse.

Certain dry, tough creepers and shrubs had been gathered beforehand. With these the Kapalik began to bind Nabakumar fast. Nabakumar put forth what strength he had; but his strength availed nothing whatever. He was made aware that, old as he was, the Kapalik bore the strength of a maddened elephant. Beholding Nabakumar's efforts, the Kapalik said:

"Fool! wherefore dost thou struggle? Thy birth is this day made fruitful. To the worship of the Bhairavi this thy fleshly frame shall be offered up: what greater fortune can befall such a one as thou?"

Having bound Nabakumar fast, the Kapalik laid him upon the sands, and addressed himself to the rites that go before the slaying. Meanwhile Nabakumar laboured to break his bonds; but the dry creepers were hard, and the binding very fast. Death was at hand! Nabakumar fixed his thought upon the feet of his chosen god. Once the land of his birth rose in his mind, once the dwelling of his own ease, once the faces of his father and mother, long parted from him; one or two drops of tears fell, and were drunk up by the sands. The Kapalik, having ended the rites preliminary to the sacrifice, rose from his seat to fetch the sword wherewith he should slay. But where he had laid the sword, the sword was not. Strange! The Kapalik was somewhat astonished. He was well assured that in the afternoon he had brought the sword and laid it in its proper place, nor had he since removed it; whither then was the sword gone? He searched hither and thither. Nowhere could he find it. Then, turning towards the said hut, he called upon Kapalkundala; but call as he would, again and again, Kapalkundala made no answer. Then his eyes turned red, and his brows knit together. With hasty steps he set off towards the dwelling. During that pause Nabakumar once more strove to break the bonds — but again that striving was in vain.

In that moment, near him upon the sands, fell a very soft sound of footsteps — and these were not the Kapalik's. Turning his eyes, Nabakumar saw — that enchantress — Kapalkundala. In her hand the sword was swinging.

Kapalkundala said, "Hush! speak not — the sword is with me — I have stolen it and kept it by."

So saying, with very swift hand she fell to cutting Nabakumar's bonds of creeper with the sword. In a moment she had set him free. She said, "Flee; come after me, I will shew thee the way."

So saying, Kapalkundala, swift as an arrow, led the way. With a single bound Nabakumar followed her.