Chapter Twenty

Lutfunnisa, returning to her dwelling, with a face of gladness called Peshman and laid aside her ornaments. Casting off the raiment wrought with gold and pearls, she said to Peshman, "Take thou this dress."

Peshman, hearing her, was somewhat amazed. The dress had but lately been wrought at great cost. She said, "Wherefore the dress to me? What tidings to-day?"

Lutfunnisa said, "Glad tidings, in truth."

P. So much I can perceive. Is the dread of Meher-un-nissa then past?

Lu. It is past. On that account there is now no concern.

Peshman, greatly rejoiced, said, "Then now I am the handmaid of the Begum."

Lu. If it is to be the Begum's handmaid that thou wilt, then I will bespeak Meher-un-nissa for thee.

P. How so? Thou sayest thyself there is no likelihood that Meher-un-nissa shall be the Emperor's Begum.

Lu. I said no such thing. I said that on that matter I have no concern.

P. Why no concern? If thou be not the sole sovereign lady at Agra, then all is vain.

Lu. With Agra I keep no connection.

P. How? I understand nothing at all. What then is this glad tidings to-day? Make it plain to me.

Lu. The glad tidings is this — that for the rest of my life I leave Agra and depart.

P. Whither wilt thou go?

Lu. To Bengal I shall go and there abide. If I am able, I shall be the wedded wife of some honest gentleman.

P. Such jesting is novel indeed, but the hearing of it makes the soul shudder.

Lu. I jest not. In very truth I depart from Agra. I have taken my leave of the Emperor.

P. Hath such evil inclination arisen in thee?

Lu. It is no evil inclination. Long have I roamed at Agra, and what hath been the fruit? The thirst for happiness was, from my childhood, exceeding strong. To slake that thirst I left Bengal and came as far as this. To purchase this jewel, what wealth have I not paid? What evil deed have I not done? And of all those ends for which I went thus far, which hath not come into my hand? Lordship, wealth, riches, honour, fame — all have I tasted in abundance. And after all this, what hath come of it? Sitting here this day I can count over all the days of my life, and tell thee that for one day I have not been happy, for one moment have I never tasted joy. I have never been satisfied. The thirst doth only grow. If I exert myself I may gain still more wealth, still more lordship, but unto what end? Were there happiness in these things, in all these days I should for one day at least have been happy. This longing for happiness is even as a mountain stream — at first a clear, slender thread issuing from a lonely region, hidden in its own bosom, known to none; murmuring of itself to itself, heard of none. As it goes onward, so its body swells, so it grows turbid. And not that only: at times the wind blows upon it, waves arise, crocodiles and sea-creatures take their dwelling therein. The body swells yet more, the water grows yet more clouded, more salt; countless shoals and sandbanks — a very desert — sit in the heart of the river, the current is slackened, and at the last in what far place that muddied river-body is lost in the boundless ocean, who shall tell?

P. Of this I understand nothing. Wherefore canst thou not find joy in these things?

Lu. Wherefore I cannot, that I have at last learned. The joy that came not to me in three years beneath the shadow of the royal palace, that joy came to me in one night upon the road of return from Orissa. By that very thing have I learned.

P. What hast thou learned?

Lu. All this while I have been like the idol of the Hindus — without, encrusted with gold and gems; within, but stone. Seeking after delights of the senses I have wandered amid fire, yet never touched the fire. Now let me look but once — whether, searching within the stone, I may find a heart with a red, living vein.

P. This too I understand not.

Lu. Have I in all this Agra ever loved any?

P. (in a whisper) None.

Lu. Then am I not a woman of stone?

P. Then, if love thou wouldst now, why dost thou not love?

Lu. Such is my mind. For that I am leaving Agra.

P. But wherefore the need of that? Are there no men in Agra, that thou must go into the land of churls? Why not love him who now loves thee? In beauty, in wealth, in dominion, who in all the earth is greater than the Emperor of Delhi?

Lu. When the sun and moon are in the sky, wherefore doth water flow downward?

P. The writing of fate.

Lutfunnisa did not unfold the whole matter. Into the stone had entered fire. The stone was melting.