-Olive-Percival- 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 H OF CALIFORNIA 
 ■ LOS ANGELES
 
 Silent Gods 
 
 and 
 
 Sun-Steeped Lands
 
 SOME PRESS OPINIONS OF THE 
 FIRST ETHTION OF ^'SILENT 
 GO'DS & SUN-STEEP E'D LJND'^." 
 
 By R. W. FRAZER. 
 
 Lecturer in Telu^i and Tumi! i'iin\rs:ty College and 
 Imperial Institute: Aivards from Government of 
 Madras for Hi'di Proficiency in Sanskrit, Uriya, and 
 Telugfi ; Secretary and Princifal Librarian, London 
 Institution. 
 
 " Sucli a book could only have been written by a 
 man who is steeped — to borrow a word from his 
 title — to the finger-ends in Indian lore and Indian 
 superstition. . . . The opening story . . . Mr. Frazer 
 tells with such skill and such realism that it is to the 
 Yogi himself we seem to be listening." — Mr. Coulson 
 Kernahan in T/ic Literary PForld. 
 
 "These weird, dramatic, half-savage, wholly 
 mystical idylls which Mr. Frazer has woven in this 
 remarkable book." — Vanity Fair. 
 
 "The author has succeeded in permeating every 
 page with the spirit of India . . . with a spirit and 
 a force which can spring only out of an intimate and 
 scholarly knowledge of history and of modern con- 
 ditions in the East. Mr. Frazer sets the superstition 
 of 'The Tailless Tiger' in an imaginative episode 
 which enhances greatly its appeal ; he weaves a 
 subtle spell, too, around other strange prejudices and 
 beliefs. . . . The illustrations have caught much of 
 the weird charm of the text." — Academy. 
 
 "A series of stories not only terribly weird and 
 fascinating, not only set in a glamour of Eastern light 
 and shade depicted in poetic language, but containing 
 a distinct underlying current of thought respecting 
 many pressing questions — religious, social, :uid political 
 — in India of to-day." — Indian Magazine. 
 
 "Mr, Frazer writes powerfully and well. . . . The 
 tale of the Khond sacrifice is the most striking in the 
 volume, which ... a most notable contribution to 
 recent Indian fiction." — Glasgcnu Herald. 
 
 "There is a weird horror about some of his tales." 
 — Westminster Gazette. 
 
 "These stories by Mr. R. W. Frazer are a land- 
 mark in the history of our literature, for they are the 
 first imaginative treatment by a scholar and a poet of 
 the vast mass of information which has slowly been 
 accumulating about the people and tlieir lives." — 
 Sj^eaier.
 
 
 /'.. //"'
 
 Silent Gods 
 Sun-Steeped Lands 
 
 BY 
 
 R. W. FRAZER, LL.B., 
 I.C.S., Retired 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 A. D. iMCCORMICK 
 
 
 T FISHER UNWIN 
 1896 
 
 Second Edition.
 
 \All ii,i>hts rfSftvfti.]
 
 
 ?R 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1. THE TAILLESS TIGER ... 9 
 
 2. THE PEARL OF THE TEMPLE ; OR 
 
 THE WANTON' VASANTASENA . 39 
 
 3. THE CRY FROM THE RIVER . . 61 
 
 4. THE WAIL OF THE WOMAN . . 93 
 
 5. THE LAST HUMAN SACRIFICE, AND 
 
 THE ABBE LEROUX . . . IO7 
 
 6. THE DREAM OF LIFE . . . 167 
 
 7. THE CLOUD MESSENGER {Adapted 
 
 frotyi the Sanscrit) . . '195 
 
 LIB SETS
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 HAVE YOU NO THOUGHT, O DREAMER, THAT 
 
 IT MAY BE ALL MAYA ? . . FrOtltispieCe 
 
 I WATCHED THE EYES OF THE 
 CHIEF PRIEST AS THEY FOL- 
 LOWED HER FAIR FIGURE . Facuig page 19 
 
 SHE FELL SLAIN BEFORE THE 
 
 IMAGE OF THE GOOD GOD 
 
 VISHNU . . . . „ ,,52 
 
 DEATH ALONE COULD FREE HIM „ „ 85 
 
 DAILY THE POTTER CLANGED 
 
 HIS CYMBALS . . . „ „ l6c
 
 THE TAILLESS TIGER.
 
 There was no doubt much trutli . . . that the tigers which 
 now infest the wood from Sagar to Devri were of a different 
 kind, ... in fact, that they were neither more nor less than 
 men turned into tigers, ... a thing which took place . . . 
 much more often than people were .iware of. The only 
 visible difference between the two ... is that the meta- 
 morphosed tiger has no tail, while the ordinary tiger hai a 
 very long one. — Sleeman, " Rambles and Recollection*," 
 vol. i. p. 154 (Con8tablc's Edition, 1893).
 
 THE TAILLESS TIGER. 
 
 ONE night I journeyed north, from 
 where the sacred city of Rumbha 
 lies deep hid amid the dense jungles 
 stretching round the southern shores 
 of Lake Chilka, towards the holy city 
 at Puri, within whose portals lies en- 
 shrined the shapeless triple form of the 
 great god Jagannath, Lord of the 
 World. Beneath the arching branches 
 of the massive banyan trees, that lined 
 the roadside in many miles of long 
 stretching avenues, I swiftly rode on, 
 passing the footsore and dust-stained 
 women and children as half-dazed from 
 want of sleep they vainly strove to drag 
 
 IT
 
 ^9 The Tailless 
 
 their weary limbs after the men who, 
 intoxicated with the crushed-out juice 
 of the hemp-leaf, hurried on crying out 
 the names of their gods. 
 
 Here and there, by the roadside, 
 groups of pilgrims crouched round their 
 camp-fire hastily cooking their food, 
 eager to enter the temple and place 
 their wealth before the priests of Jagan- 
 nath, receiving in return the sin-destroy- 
 ing food that had been set before the 
 god. 
 
 As the night advanced all lay wrapped 
 in silence, save when the sad moan of 
 the sea-wind swept through the rustling 
 leaves of the trees, or the shrill, grating 
 creak of the rough native carts echoed 
 in the far distance. At times the wild 
 howls of the jackals broke the stillness 
 as they dashed past in fierce packs seek- 
 ing out the bodies of the fair women 
 and children who had drunk the waters 
 
 12
 
 Tiger ^ 
 
 of the wayside tanks and had fallen, slain 
 by the fell cholera. 
 
 On I rode in the dense darkness, my 
 horse now and again starting at the 
 weird figures of the pilgrims as, 
 wrapped in white clothes, they lay 
 sleeping round the flickering embers 
 of the dying fires where the gaunt 
 village dogs hungrily fought over the 
 fallen grains of rice. 
 
 Suddenly, as the moon shone out 
 from behind the heavy clouds, I saw 
 striding along in the centre of the road 
 a wild, almost unclad. Yogi, his body 
 smeared from head to foot with grey 
 ashes, his long unkempt matted hair 
 hanging down to his waist. As I drew 
 near he seemed not to hear the sound 
 of the horse's footfall, but strode on 
 uttering maniac cries. To all dwellers 
 in India the sight of these half-crazed 
 ascetics is familiar, so I was hurrying
 
 -o-; The Tailless 
 
 past when my horse shied, for the Yogi 
 had plucked a dagger from his waist- 
 cloth, and rushed forward crying madly 
 in his own uncouth language, " Gyalopo, 
 Bahmono, hani debi ! " which may be 
 interpreted " Base-born Brahman, die ! " 
 A blow from the heavy hunting whip 
 I carried in my hand sent the dagger 
 ringing to the ground, whereon the 
 Yogi stood still, gazing up at me in 
 stupid surprise, his thin face, streaked 
 across the forehead with the three broad 
 white lines of Siva, bearing the far-ofF 
 look of one drunk with opium, v/hile 
 his eyes gleamed red with the maddening 
 hemp juice. Leaning over the neck of 
 my horse I looked down into the won- 
 dering eyes that met mine, and cried 
 out in his own language, "Son-in-law 
 of an outcast pariah, dare you raise your 
 hand against an English Sahib ? " 
 
 "Babu," pleaded the Yogi, placing 
 
 H
 
 Tiger ^^ 
 
 his hands to his forehead in submissive 
 salutation, " I dreamed that the spirit 
 of the avenging dead had laid hands 
 on me to drag me down to the nether 
 worlds where my soul will soon be 
 gnawed by foul demons. For have I 
 not sinned the worst sin the heart of 
 man knoweth, and how can I escape? 
 Babu," he continued, glancing round 
 in wild fear, " to-day, when the sun 
 was high in the heavens, I heard the 
 cry of the wolf, and none has yet heard 
 the cry of the v^'olf in the daytime and 
 lived to see the sunrise. Thrice this 
 evening I heard the hooting of the 
 owl, and Babu," here the Yogi, half 
 frenzied from fear, drew near and seized 
 my hand, his long nails sinking into my 
 flesh, while he continued to speak in 
 hurried whispers, " saw you not, as you 
 rode beneath the shadow of the trees, 
 the tiger that sat by the roadside ? " 
 
 15
 
 ^ The Tailless 
 
 " No," I replied, looking back un- 
 easily, " I saw no tiger ; was it far from 
 here ? " 
 
 " Babu, no man may see that tiger 
 and yet live, for it had no tail ; why 
 does the Sahib laugh ? he knows our 
 language and knows he not that some- 
 times the spirits of the dead wander 
 about in the form of tigers ? By no 
 mortal eye may they be seen till the 
 day of doom approaches, when they 
 appear visible to those who have injured 
 them when living as man, and then they 
 are known, for they have no tails as real 
 tigers have. Babu, I have seen the tail- 
 less tiger, and before the darkness of 
 night rolls away my body will lie 
 mangled in the jungle. As your horse 
 breathed by my side I feared that the 
 accursed Brahman whom I have slain 
 had returned back from the land of 
 
 the dead to send my soul to hell." 
 
 i6
 
 Tiger ^ 
 
 As I listened to the words of the 
 
 Yogi I knew not what to do. Before 
 
 me lay some four hours' journey, and 
 
 if I delayed probably the last hour 
 
 would be spent beneath a hot June 
 
 sun on a jaded horse. Still it was the 
 
 first time I had ever met a native who 
 
 professed to have seen a ghost-tiger, 
 
 though many were the stories I had 
 
 heard of them. Besides, the Yogi, 
 
 excited and half-dazed, seemed to have 
 
 made up his mind that he was to die 
 
 before sunrise, and as it was but a few 
 
 hours till dawn I thought that I might 
 
 keep by his side and see how he would 
 
 behave when his omens proved false. 
 
 As I lighted a cheroot I offered him one, 
 
 but evidently deeming that it would 
 
 not be polite to accept it, he unravelled 
 
 some coarse leaves from his long matted 
 
 hair, and soon, soothed by the smoke, 
 
 strode along with erect head and gleam- 
 
 17 B
 
 ^ The Tailless 
 
 ing eyes, telling the story of his past 
 in wild, unconnected words. 
 
 " Long years ago," he fiercely began, 
 " I sat by the temple gate of Holy 
 Sripati and sold the sandal-wood images 
 of the gods to the pilgrims that passed 
 up and down the sacred hill on which 
 the holy city was built. Babu, I was 
 but a low-caste seller of idols, and none 
 knew of the wealth I had buried in the 
 house where I dwelt. One day a family 
 of my caste people visited the temple, 
 and among them I saw the face of a 
 maiden that looked fairer than the lotus 
 flowers that shine in the moonlight. 
 Babu, when a man is born the finger 
 of fate writes on his forehead the course 
 he must run, so — fool that I was ! — I 
 declared my wealth to her people, and 
 the maiden, whose eyes shone bright 
 as those of the chakora-bird, and whose 
 walk was as that of the stately crane,
 
 
 
 I WATCHED THK F.VKS OF THE CHIEF TKIEST AS THEV 
 FOI.I.OWEIi HKK FAIK FIGCKE.
 
 Tiger 5^ 
 
 remained behind as my wife. Babu, 
 I had hidden my wealth, but who can 
 hide the beauty of his wife ? As I sold 
 my gods by the temple-gate, I watched 
 the eyes of the chief priest as they 
 followed her fair figure to the tank 
 where she bathed. But was I not a 
 low-caste seller of idols ? So one day 
 I had to journey down the hill to buy 
 new images of my gods, and there they 
 kept me waiting, for, Babu, I speak as 
 a simple man, they whisper in our 
 villages that the power of the priest 
 can stay even the hand of the English 
 rule ; who then was I to know the 
 cunning that crept round about me .'' 
 But when I returned, my heart grew 
 cold, for I knew not the strange look 
 that lived in the face of my wife. Who 
 can fathom the desire of a man or the 
 love of a woman ? I had watched the 
 eyes of the priest, but had let my wife 
 
 19
 
 '^' The Tailless 
 
 roam abroad. I dreamed in my rage 
 that the cold eyes of the chief priest 
 met those of my wife, but the tremor 
 of rest ran through my limbs, for I 
 swore that the smile would fade from 
 his face as the slow death crept by his 
 side. When my wife drew nigh I felt 
 that the lips that met mine were cold, 
 and I knew that the love that lit up 
 her heart shed no light on my life, but 
 my eyes laughed bright, for I wished her 
 not to see the rage that surged in my 
 heart. In the night-time, when she slept, 
 dreaming of her lover, 1 rose and scat- 
 tered my wealth in the tank near the 
 temple, and as I saw it quickly sink, 
 I swore that so the loathing would sink 
 into the hearts of my wife and her lover 
 ere they died. In the morning I threw 
 ashes on my head and cried aloud that 
 my wealth had been stolen from our 
 house during the night. Eagerly my 
 
 20
 
 Tiger 5«» 
 
 wife watched my face as I showed her 
 the broken box where once her rich 
 jewels lay hid, but when she wept and 
 rent her garments, I told her to be 
 comforted, for our love was more than 
 money or jewels, and still lay buried 
 in our hearts beyond the reach ot 
 cunning hands. Soon she became 
 soothed, and said she would go south 
 to her people till I gathered more 
 wealth, and my hate grew stronger 
 when I saw that she mourned the loss 
 of her jewels and thought not of the 
 loss of our love. As I sat by her the 
 tears faded from her long eyelashes, and 
 her sloping black eyes flashed with 
 anger while she reviled the poverty 
 of the low-caste seller of idols. I 
 praised the beauty of her face, and told 
 her how the eyes of the priest had 
 followed her as she passed to the well, 
 and how the people who bought my 
 
 21
 
 ^ The Tailless 
 
 gods had told me that the dancing girls 
 in the temple had ceased to dance before 
 the god, for the chief priest had declared 
 that the grace of the wife of the low- 
 caste seller of idols excelled that of 
 Rumbha the chief of the dancing girls 
 in the heaven of Indra. 
 
 '* The face of my wife shone strangely 
 as I told her the words of the people, 
 and she braided up her long black hair 
 that fell in heavy folds over her youthful 
 limbs, glowing here and there with the 
 gleam of the polished tusks of the wild 
 roaming elephant. I laughed as I told 
 her how the eyes of the chief priest had 
 followed her as she went to the well, 
 and bade her not to fear, for her beauty 
 would always hold the love of the low- 
 caste seller of idols. Long she mused 
 in doubt, till, seeing the laugh in my 
 eyes, she told me how the chief priest 
 of the temple had gained her love, and 
 
 22
 
 Tiger ^ 
 
 she showed me the rich necklace of gold 
 he had given her, which she had hidden 
 in the palm-leaved roof of our house. 
 I bowed my head to hide the hate that 
 surged in my heart, but the laugh grew 
 again in my eyes when I thought how 
 her beauty would soon fade as she 
 waited by the side of the priest for 
 the slow-coming death. 
 
 "In the dark of the evening I sat 
 waiting in my house, and the red veins 
 throbbed in my head as my wife stood 
 by the door till her lover drew nigh. 1 
 listened as he told her of his love, and 
 came out and bowed down before him 
 as he rose to depart. 
 
 " He listened in silence to the story 
 of our loss, and promised to give us 
 wealth if we came that night to the 
 temple. My wife and I waited till all 
 was quiet in the village, and then we 
 stole out and stood in the shade of the 
 
 23
 
 ^ The Tailless 
 
 high wall running round the temple till 
 the priest came forth and led us through 
 the wicket of the iron-studded massive 
 gate beneath the many storied gopura 
 towering into the clear starlit sky 
 that gleamed overhead. Hurriedly we 
 passed to the sanctuary of the temple 
 where the light set before the image of 
 the god flickered in the gentle night 
 wind, and the deep silence cast fear on 
 the heart of my wife who crept near my 
 side as I walked on in deep thought, 
 dreading lest I should slay her in my 
 rage and spare her the slow-coming 
 death that would fill her with loathing. 
 Babu," the Yogi cried, halting, and 
 looking towards me with his wild 
 gleaming eyes, " have you ever climbed 
 the sacred hill of Sripati, and seen the 
 holy temple ? " 
 
 " Yes, my friend," I replied, halting 
 to light another cheroot, " few foreigners 
 
 24
 
 Tiger 5^ 
 
 have ever stood within the portals of 
 that temple save myself. I know not a 
 few of its secrets, and many are the 
 stories I have heard of its chief priest." 
 
 " Babu," whispered the Yogi, coming 
 close to my side, " beneath the holy 
 place in the centre of the temple lies 
 the wealth of ages, and no man knows 
 the way thither, for the chief priest, who 
 held the secret, lay dead before he could 
 tell another. To me alone the secret is 
 known and," here the Yogi gazed with 
 straining eyes into the thick forest that 
 grew down to the road-side, " before 
 the dawn breaks my soul will be 
 wandering to its black abode. To you 
 I will tell the secret of the path to the 
 wealth of the holy temple of Sripati. 
 In the far corner of the temple lies a 
 well hewn out of the solid rock, and 
 down its sides winds a long flight of 
 circling steps. As you turn a wheel 
 
 25
 
 ^ The Tailless 
 
 close at hand the waters rush down the 
 
 mountain through the opened sluice 
 
 at the bottom of the well, and as you 
 
 once more close the sluice the well is 
 
 filled from a channel leading from the 
 
 tank outside the temple. That night 
 
 the chief priest emptied the waters of 
 
 the well, and led us down the steps till 
 
 we reached a door concealed in the 
 
 damp weed-grown side of the wall. 
 
 There he lit a torch, and drawing back 
 
 the door, disclosed to us a long passage 
 
 which he said led to the chamber where 
 
 the jewels of the god lay concealed 
 
 beneath the sanctuary in the centre of 
 
 the temple, so high that the water could 
 
 not reach them when the well and the 
 
 passage were filled. I and my wife 
 
 swore by the triple thread of the priest 
 
 that we would never tell of the deeds 
 
 done that night, and I swore to myself 
 
 by my scattered wealth and lost love 
 
 26
 
 Tiger .^^ 
 
 that I alone should live to keep the 
 secret of the strange path whose entrance 
 would ere long lie hid under the silent 
 waters of the well. 
 
 " We entered the passage and my 
 wife followed the chief priest up the 
 long flight of steps into the darkness 
 beyond, but I turned and stole back 
 with my heart beating thick in my 
 throat. I held the stone gate in my 
 hand, and watched the shaven head of 
 the chief priest shine in the flaring light 
 of the torch that he carried, while the 
 slender, graceful figure of my wife 
 followed behind, her long black hair 
 rivalling the thick darkness that would 
 soon creep around as she sat by the 
 door listening to the splash of the waters 
 filling the well. 
 
 " I laughed wildly when I heard the 
 loud cry of the priest as he turned know- 
 ing that I had not followed. I watched
 
 ^ The Tailless 
 
 the black eyes of my wife gleam with 
 horror as they shone in the red glare of 
 the torch that had fallen at her feet ; I 
 rolled the door back to its place and 
 drew the bolt so that no force of man 
 could break it open. 
 
 " I sat on the steps, but no sound 
 came through the massive stone, so I 
 ascended and raised the gate admitting 
 the waters of the tank, and waited till 
 I saw that the well was filled, and knew 
 that the rising waters in the passage had 
 driven the priest and my wife back up 
 to the chamber where the jewels lay 
 hid. 
 
 " The voice of the watchman sounded 
 
 in the distance, and the cries of the 
 
 jackals broke through the morning air 
 
 as I climbed the high wall of the temple 
 
 and stole through the deserted streets 
 
 of the village to my home, where I 
 
 smeared my body with ashes, and swore 
 
 28
 
 Tiger 5^ 
 
 that I would not cut the hair of my 
 head till I reached the far-off river of 
 Ganges, and be washed free from the sin 
 of killing a Brahman. 
 
 " In the morning the village watchers 
 came, saying that they had seen me 
 pass with the priest and my wife into 
 the temple during the night, but that 
 I alone had returned. I opened not my 
 mouth when they threatened violence 
 unless I declared the secret of that 
 night, for had I not sworn on the 
 sacred triple thread of a Brahman that 
 I would not tell where the jewels of the 
 god lay hid.^ When they saw that I 
 remained silent, they brought me out 
 to the jungle in the dead of night, and 
 tied lighted matches to my fingers, but 
 I laughed as I thought of the dread 
 darkness that crept through the chamber 
 where the priest cried for help. 
 
 "The next day they placed me in
 
 '^ The Tailless 
 
 the tank so that the waters rose to my 
 lips, and the hot sun poured on my 
 head, till, weary of life, I called them 
 to take me forth, and promised to 
 tell them where my wealth lay hid if 
 they would let me go free. In the 
 night time they dragged up my wealth 
 from the bottom of the tank where I 
 had scattered it, and told me to depart 
 far from the holy hill, so that no man 
 might know how I had escaped. 
 
 " So I passed forth from my home, 
 and have wandered to and fro for many 
 weary years from the far south, where 
 the holy bridge of Rama pierces the 
 black waters, to the far north, where 
 the snowy mountains rise on the boun- 
 daries of the world, but still I know no 
 rest, for I have committed the sin of 
 Brahman murder, and I know that I must 
 be reborn through countless ages in 
 hideous crawling and creeping forms to 
 
 30
 
 Tiger 5^ 
 
 be crushed by the careless foot of man 
 or destroyed by the myriad hosts of 
 animals that will ever seek to prey on 
 my flesh. But praise be to the gods, 
 the end is at hand, for in the midday 
 I heard the cry of the wolf, thrice I 
 heard the hoot of the owl, and have I 
 not seen the tailless tiger, and before 
 the dawn breaks " 
 
 Somehow, as the droning voice of the 
 Yogi sounded in my ears, I must have 
 gone to sleep, for I remember no more 
 till I was roused by a sudden stumble 
 of my horse. Glancing, half awakened, 
 around I saw that I was alone, the Yogi 
 had vanished as the vision seen in a 
 dream, save that his strange words still 
 rang through my memory. 
 
 The night had passed away ; down 
 below the road, beyond the dark 
 forest, lay the calm lake of Chilka, 
 glistening in the early rays of the 
 
 31
 
 ^ The Tailless 
 
 morning sun, while along the narrow 
 strip of land that divided its waters 
 from the far stretching ocean, came 
 rolling the sound of the long sea swell. 
 
 Still an hour's journey lay before me, 
 so I hastened on till at length I reached 
 my camp where my tents lay pitched 
 in the shade of a mango grove close 
 to a small village, by the roadside. 
 Tired and jaded, I had hardly drunk 
 the cup of tea my servant held ready 
 for me, when I fell into an uneasy sleep 
 in a long chair in front of my tent 
 dreaming of the wild words of the 
 Yogi. 
 
 How long I slept I know not, but 
 when I woke a group of natives stood 
 silent beneath the shade of a distant 
 mango tree, while in front, leaning on 
 a long bamboo stick, waited the village 
 headman, gazing towards my tent. 
 
 As I rose and advanced they bowed 
 32
 
 Tlorer 5^ 
 
 D 
 
 down in salutation, and then moving 
 to -one side disclosed a long bundle 
 wrapped up in white cloth lying on 
 the ground. 
 
 " Maharaja," said the headman, com- 
 ing forward and bowing down, " at 
 daybreak, as the village herdsman drove 
 his goats through the jungle near the 
 village, he saw stretched across his path 
 the dead body of a holy man who had 
 strayed from the roadside. Frightened 
 he ran back, and not knowing what to 
 do we brought the body here, so that 
 the ruler might see and no guilt rest 
 on our heads." 
 
 As he spoke the two village servants 
 bent down and, drawing away the long 
 white robe, disclosed the emaciated, ash- 
 besmeared body of the Yogi. There he 
 lay, his troubled soul at rest, his face 
 unchanged, save that the wild look of 
 excitement had faded away, the broad 
 
 33 c
 
 "*? The Tailless 
 
 white lines on his massive forehead and 
 thick white ashes with which he had 
 smeared himself, to ever keep in his 
 memory the near presence of death, 
 conceahng all trace of pallor. 
 
 As I watched the still face 1 noticed 
 that his rosary of thick beads had 
 slipped from his neck and lay stained 
 with blood on the ground beside him. 
 Quickly I looked to the village head- 
 man for an explanation. Bending down, 
 he turned the body over and pointed 
 with outstretched finger to the neck 
 of the Yogi while he watched my 
 face. There, a few inches apart, were 
 two wounds just as if ai\ arrow had 
 been shot through the nape of the 
 neck. 
 
 Sickened, I moved away, and motioned 
 to the village servants to throw the cloth 
 over the body of the Yogi. Turning 
 to the group of villagers I scanned face 
 
 34
 
 Tiger l-t^ 
 
 after face, and could read there no 
 gleam of intelligence, for they all sat 
 watching in still silence the dead form 
 of the Yogi. Glancing round I met 
 the eyes of the headman who, leaning 
 on his staff, answered back my look 
 of wonder, by slowly saying — 
 
 '* Maharaja, there lives no animal in 
 the jungle that could so slay the holy 
 man, save the tiger. Yet when has 
 the tiger relinquished his prey and not 
 torn it in pieces ? " 
 
 " Said you not," I replied, " that the 
 herdsman came up with his goats ; per- 
 chance he frightened the tiger away at 
 the moment it killed the Yogi. If you 
 bring the body of the holy man back 
 to the spot where he was found, I will 
 wait near at hand and kill it when it 
 comes in the night-time to prowl in 
 search of its prey." 
 
 " Maharaja," replied the villager, 
 
 35
 
 -^ The Tailless 
 
 " we dare not do as you say, for it is 
 the custom of our land to bury the 
 bodies of our holy men before sunset, 
 and never yet have they been burned 
 or longer kept on this earth. Even if 
 we dare do as the protector-of-the 
 poor tells us, yet would he never see 
 the form of that tiger. Maharaja," he 
 continued, coming close to me, while 
 the villagers shook, their heads as they 
 listened to his words, " when the herds- 
 man called us forth from the village, 
 and we stood in the jungle near the 
 roadside, we looked and traced the 
 marks of the feet of the tiger in the 
 forest, and saw how it had sprung on 
 the Yogi, but in the dust we saw no 
 switching of its tail. Maharaja, you 
 know the signs of the forest, and have 
 told us how no tiger leaves its prey till 
 it has drunk the blood. Maharaja, we 
 know not the fate that was written on 
 
 36
 
 Tiger 5^ 
 
 the forehead of the holy man, nor why 
 the spirit of the dead has followed him 
 to our village. We but pray your 
 order that we may bear him forth and 
 bury him according to the custom of 
 our forefathers, so that no guilt may 
 rest upon us. Maharaja, we are but 
 simple villagers, and know nothing ; 
 you are the ruler and will not laugh 
 when we send our report that the holy 
 man was slain by the tailless tiger. 
 Sal am, Mahaprabhu, grant us leave to 
 go and bury the holy man." 
 
 So saying, the headman motioned to 
 the servants to raise the body of the 
 Yogi, and as they once more bowed, 
 before passing on to the village, I 
 turned towards my tents to wonder 
 how in that land of India, where all is 
 hidden from the gaze of the foreigner, 
 I alone knew the story of the Yogi 
 and the tailless tiger. 
 
 37
 
 THE PEARL OF THE TEMPLE.
 
 " All the temples also maintain troops of dancing girls . . . 
 deilicated to the service of the temples, like the Vestal Vir- 
 gins of Europe. They were held to be married to the god. 
 . . . Hence they were called the god's slaves." — Monier- 
 WiLLiAMS, " Brahmanism and Hinduism," p. 451.
 
 THE PEARL OF THE TEMPLE. 
 
 THE Dravidian people of South 
 India hold no traditions from 
 their forefathers of their ancient pri- 
 meval home. Though they speak 
 languages allied to those spoken by 
 races living far away to the north of 
 Europe, by the people of Hungary, as 
 well as by aboriginal inhabitants of 
 Australia, yet no man knows when or 
 whence they came to the lands where 
 they now live. No man knows when 
 they learned to bow down before the 
 Aryan gods of North India, or who 
 taught them to build their strangely- 
 
 41
 
 '^ The Pearl of 
 
 carved, many storeyed temples, and to 
 choose out the fairest maidens in their 
 villages to dance before the Idols they 
 worship. The foreigner neither knows 
 nor cares ; he Imagines that the time has 
 already come when the people look no 
 more to their priests, that soon the 
 strange names of their gods will be 
 unheard in the land, and their temples 
 lie silent and deserted. So, perchance, 
 it may be in the future, but one day, as 
 I listened to the story of the good god 
 Vishnu and the wanton Vasantasena, 
 the Pearl of the Temple, I learned how 
 in the villages the simple folk still dread 
 the wrath of their gods, and honour 
 their dancing girls who bestow their 
 love where they please. 
 
 It was in the days when famine lay 
 sleeping over the land, and the dread 
 cholera mowed down the half-starved 
 folk, that I first journeyed among the
 
 the Temple §^ 
 
 people, and heard from their lips the 
 sad, simple story of their lives. 
 
 One morning I stood alone on a wide, 
 bleak, treeless plain, watching a herd of 
 antelopes as, startled by the report of my 
 rifle, they fled with frightened leaps far 
 away into the distance. Overhead the 
 sun shed pitiless rays from a brazen sky 
 that for two long years had been crossed 
 by no speck of cloud, giving hope to 
 the people that the rains might fall, fill 
 the rivers, tanks, and dried-up water- 
 channels. 
 
 For miles around the waste, black 
 cotton soil gaped in wide fissures, vomit- 
 ing forth the stifling heat that panted as 
 it surged up, changing the far-ofi^ mirage 
 into bewildering, fantastic shapes. I 
 turned to look towards my tents, which 
 lay pitched some five miles distant, in a 
 mango tope by the side of the burning 
 sands of the wide Krishna river, and
 
 ^'9 The Pearl of 
 
 saw advancing towards me the thin, 
 spare figure of an old man who slowly 
 drove before him two oxen laden with 
 pitchers of goat-skins. 
 
 Having eagerly drunk of the cool 
 water he poured into my outstretched 
 hand from his store, I asked him his 
 name and caste, and inquired where his 
 village lay. 
 
 "Far away, Maharaja," he replied, 
 " beneath the palm-trees, the white walls 
 and thatched roofs of my village shine 
 in the sunlight. It now lies empty ; no 
 man lives there save myself — I, the vil- 
 lage watcher, wait alone for the return 
 of the rains, when those who have fled 
 from the wrath of the raging goddess 
 will again come back to their homes." 
 
 The old man sighed as he spoke, and 
 then twisting the tails of his oxen, and 
 driving his goad into their sides, pro- 
 ceeded on his way. As my tents stood 
 
 44
 
 the Temple .")«» 
 
 too distant to journey back in the heat 
 of the mid-day sun, I followed the old 
 man across the bleak plain, hoping to 
 find shelter in his deserted village till 
 the cool of the evening. As we drew 
 near to the dried rice-fields on the out- 
 skirts of the hamlet, I stayed to watch 
 the starved village cattle wander un- 
 tended along the sides of the empty 
 water-channels, vainly striving to dig 
 out with their heavy horns the green 
 grass roots that had crept deep be- 
 neath the parched soil. Close at hand 
 circling groups of unclean vultures 
 danced with long, craning necks and 
 flapping wings round the thin oxen 
 that, too weak to drag their dying 
 bodies out of the reach of the hideous 
 claws and fierce beaks of the well-fed 
 birds, had sunk helpless to the ground. 
 Sad and<^ickened I hurried away to 
 join the old man, who had climbed the 
 
 45
 
 "^ The Pearl of 
 
 steep side of the tank, and now stood 
 on the broad bank above. There 
 beneath a solitary drooping palm-tree 
 lay a small white temple containing the 
 symbol of the god, a rude carved stone, 
 daubed with red, before which the 
 women and other simple village folk 
 once bowed down. 
 
 The door of the shrine stood open, 
 but within all was neglected, the flower- 
 offerings faded and trampled in the dust. 
 Close at hand was the short square pillar 
 ever to be found in the hamlets of the 
 south, with the sacred TulsT plant grow- 
 ing on its summit, but the small sweet- 
 scented basil shrub, loved and worshipped 
 by all women of India, long unwatered, 
 was withered and dead. 
 
 By the wide uneven stone steps, stretch- 
 ing down to the bed of the tank, where 
 once the village people were wont to 
 bathe, all lay silent ; no longer the quick 
 
 46
 
 the Temple .'c» 
 
 voices were heard pouring forth gossip 
 as ~ in former days, when the village 
 maidens sat happy in the sunshine, or 
 stood knee-deep in the water, their 
 youthful limbs gleaming through their 
 wet white robes, which clung in close 
 folds around them. Walking along the 
 bank we soon gained the high ground 
 on which the small hamlet was built, 
 and, slowly passing through the deserted 
 streets, reached the centre of the village, 
 where, beneath the deep shade of an 
 ancient banyan tree, the old man tied 
 up his oxen, while weary and dazed 
 from the heat of the sun, I seated myself 
 on the crumbling wall of an empty well 
 half-way down which a broken pitcher 
 hung idle at the end of an unused, 
 decaying rope. Around the sun shone 
 bright and weird as if sadly mourning 
 that it alone smiled, while man with his 
 cares and wild passions no longer crept 
 
 47
 
 '^ The Pearl of 
 
 beneath the shade to gaze in wonder at 
 its passing power. It gleamed on the 
 edges of the broad raised verandahs, and 
 cast set shadows on the frail carved 
 pillars which supported the overhanging 
 roofs, leaving in deep gloom the doors 
 and thresholds. Through the rafters, 
 left bare here and there of their 
 thick, palm-leaved thatch, it stole within 
 the empty rooms, vainly seeking out 
 those who no more would come forth to 
 greet it with their morning song of praise. 
 
 With shaking fingers and nodding 
 head the old man slowly rolled together 
 a few leaves of half-dried tobacco, and as 
 we sat smoking told me the story of the 
 hamlet : 
 
 " Father," he began, " we were once 
 
 happy in the village, the tank and the 
 
 wells were filled with water, the young 
 
 green rice glistened in the sun, growing 
 
 quick in the flooded fields where it had 
 
 48
 
 the Temple /-^ 
 
 been planted by the busy hands of our 
 women. See, yonder, half-way down 
 the Brahman street, the white walls of 
 the temple gleam in the sunlight, the 
 lofty pinnacles, carved in cunning devices, 
 rise high, surmounted by the Wheel of 
 Life ; but no longer does the protecting 
 god of our village ride out during the 
 night-time on his great eagle, Garuda, 
 to see that his people sleep safe. 
 
 '* Then, day and night the wide gates 
 of the temple lay open, and within might 
 be heard the song of the dancing girls 
 as they placed flowers before the image 
 of the god and decked his head with 
 jasmine while they waited for the chief 
 priest. On none was he known to 
 smile save on Vasantasena, the Pearl of 
 the Temple, whose dancing princes and 
 rich men had oft travelled from afar to 
 gaze on, bringing rich offerings to the 
 temple, and wealth to the village. 
 
 49 D
 
 *«'; Tht; Pearl of 
 
 "One night while I watched within 
 the sanctuary, a dread seized me, and 
 my aged limbs trembled, for the eyes of 
 the chief priest flamed with anger and 
 his face grew stern when he saw that 
 Vasantasena, the chief of the dancing 
 girls, was not there. The people passed 
 out, but still the chief priest paced to 
 and fro, muttering wrathful words in 
 the holy Sanskrit language, whose sacred 
 sound I, an outcast pariah, had never 
 before been permitted to hear. At 
 length, in harsh tones, he told me to 
 summon Vasantasena, so I went forth 
 trembling, for I knew that she danced 
 that night in the house of Gopala, a 
 Brahman from Benares, who had come 
 offering wealth beyond the dream of our 
 poor village, if she would accompany 
 him back to the far north where he dwelt. 
 
 " Quickly I went to the house of the 
 Brahman from Benares, for the behests
 
 the Temple ^^ 
 
 of the chief priest brooked no delay ; 
 those who opposed him soon died from 
 the pain of the aconite poison or bite of 
 the deadly cobra creeping near as they 
 slept. When I saw Vasantasena dancing, 
 in the pride of her beauty and glow of 
 her youth, before Gopala, I mingled in 
 the song of the singers the words of the 
 chief priest so that they fell on her ear 
 alone. 
 
 '* Laughing, she whispered in the ear 
 of Gopala, while in jest she sheathed his 
 sharp jewelled dagger in her girdle as 
 she hurried away at the summons she 
 dared not disobey. She hastened to the 
 temple, and her eyes laughed bright as. 
 she placed her hand laden with rich 
 jewels on the arm of the priest, who 
 turned his face stern as fate on the eyes 
 that met his. 
 
 " Long and low he spoke as she 
 plucked the lotus petals she held in her 
 
 51
 
 '%' The Pearl of 
 
 hand to pieces, or played with the long 
 ruby stones that hung from her ears. 
 Twice her eyes flashed angrily, and she 
 turned to leave the temple, but the 
 priest held her back by whispered words 
 of love. She braided the jasmine flowers 
 in her long black hair, where shone the 
 massive diamond given her that night 
 by Gdpala, and saw not the rage that 
 surged in the heart of the priest. 
 
 "The dead still of the lull that comes 
 before the whirl as the tempest seemed 
 to steal through the temple, as the 
 girl talked on of her new lover, of his 
 wealth and power, but the laugh died 
 on her lips, and her hands remained 
 raised to unfasten the diamond of Go- 
 pala, as the priest seized the dagger that 
 gleamed in her girdle. Trembling she 
 drew back to rush from the temple, but 
 the life left her limbs, and she fell slain 
 before the image of the good god Vishnu, 
 
 52
 
 SHE FELL SLAIN BEFORE THE IMAGE OF THE GOOD GOD VISHNU.
 
 the Temple 5©» 
 
 protector of life, who is ever gentle, 
 shrinking from blood sacrifice. The 
 priest watched the face of the god as I 
 drew near, and turned not as he told me 
 to place the body of the dancing girl by 
 the side of the Brahman from Benares, 
 so that the guilt might rest on his head. 
 Long I watched near the house of Go- 
 pala, till weary with waiting for the 
 dancing girl, he sank to sleep, when I 
 crept near and placed the body of his 
 love by his side and drew the dagger 
 from her heart. 
 
 " In the early morning I paced through 
 the village, crying out that the night had 
 broken, for the villagers are glad to hear 
 the voice of the watchman telling that 
 all is well. Soon the village awoke, and 
 eager voices cried for the chief men to 
 come forth, for the blood of the dancing 
 girl stained the dagger and garments of 
 the Brahman from Benares. The course 
 
 53
 
 ^ The Pearl of 
 
 of man's life is written on his forehead, 
 and according to the writing his fate 
 must fall, so Gopala bowed his head in 
 silence before the English judge when it 
 was told how he had threatened violence 
 unless the Pearl of the Temple and pride 
 of the village would accompany him to 
 Benares. So he was found guilty of 
 slaying Vasantasena, and condemned to 
 death by our rulers, though the native 
 assessors who sat by the side of the 
 English judge would not agree, for they 
 listened not to our evidence, knowing 
 that the chief priest had somehow set 
 snares about Gopala so that he might die. 
 But, praise be to Vishnu, he died not by 
 the hand of the hangman, for the power 
 of a Brahman holds sway within the 
 prison gates which swung open in the 
 dead of night to let Gopala steal forth 
 to seek the dancing girls who waited for 
 him in Benares. 
 
 54
 
 the Temple i^-c^ 
 
 " Father, that night, when the dancing 
 girl lay dead in the temple, the good 
 god Vishnu went torth from the vil- 
 lage mourning for the spilt blood of 
 his servant Vasantasena, and there was 
 none left to protect us. Though the 
 chief priest performed the sacred rites 
 for the purification of the temple, 
 where never till Vasantasena lay dead 
 had aught save sweet scents and fair 
 flowers been strewed, his limbs grew 
 numb and his eyes sank deep when one 
 night the dread cholera crept near. They 
 carried him out and laid him to rest by 
 the running waters of the river, but the 
 wrath of the fierce goddess surged in his 
 veins and shook his frame, till weary 
 of life his soul struggled out to seek the 
 god he had dishonoured. The same 
 morning the pains of death passed into 
 the limbs of the dancing girls as six of 
 them sang their sad song of sorrow, 
 
 55
 
 ^^^ The Pearl of 
 
 seated in the street before the abode of 
 Vasantasena, and the same flame wafted 
 the souls of the chief priest and the six 
 women to the heaven of Indra. 
 
 "The wide Brahman street stretching 
 in front of us, which once echoed with 
 the sacred sound of the Sanskrit sloka, 
 is now empty and deserted, for one by 
 one the holy men walked the path of 
 Yama the Messenger of Death. Outside 
 the village, as we passed the house of 
 the potter, saw you not the half-moulded 
 water-pot still standing dry on the centre 
 of the wheel which whirls no longer ? 
 Father, the hand that nKUilded the clay 
 was numbed and the voice that sang as 
 the shape took form moaned but for a mo- 
 ment as the tremor of death passed over 
 the threshold. In days gone by I have 
 often stood in the midday heat before 
 the house of the potter and watched him 
 mould his clay, wondering if the gods
 
 the Temple ^ 
 
 mould the hearts of men with as cunning 
 hands. Who knows ? The gods have 
 made us, and we dare not wonder at 
 their handiwork. The ryots who spread 
 the water in the fields and sowed the 
 seeds that woke to life lay dead before 
 the rice v/as ready for reaping. No man 
 knows how the gods work ; it were better 
 perhaps the rice should grow and the 
 men die. 
 
 " Here is my horoscope cunningly 
 devised by the astrologer, who read my 
 fate in the stars and saw not the writing 
 that foretold his own end. All have 
 died, even the Yogi who fasted and 
 defiled the body he dreaded to part with 
 when the messenger of death came to 
 call his soul away. 
 
 " For long days in the village we sat 
 waiting for death, each thinking for him- 
 self. The village doctor hastened round 
 and gathered up wealth ; it now lies by 
 
 57
 
 '^' The Pearl of 
 
 him in the rushes where the jackals 
 buried him. As the people died one by 
 one, the weaver stiil sang as he quickly 
 shot the shuttle with the weft through 
 the warp, while his wife sat spinning by 
 his side. But one day he went weeping 
 to gather up the silk and carry the 
 spindle and spinning-wheel to the side 
 of his wife, when weary with the weight 
 of the water-pot she bore from the well, 
 she came home to die. Now the half- 
 weaved cloth lies idle on the loom before 
 the house where they once lived. 
 
 "Seeing the village grow empty, the 
 merchants gathered up their merchandise 
 and fled from the wrath of the raging 
 goddess, who slew them in the highways, 
 and drank up their life as they slept by 
 the roadside. 
 
 " Does the Protector of the Poor 
 ask who is the raging goddess ^ 
 Knows he not the fierce Kali, who 
 
 58
 
 the Temple ^ 
 
 wears a necklace of dead men's skulls 
 and a girdle of dead men's hands, who 
 once danced on the body of her husband, 
 the three-eyed Siva, and ever since rides 
 through the land, seated on the spotted 
 tiger, seeking to lick up the life of the 
 living with her red, lolling tongue. She 
 has cursed the waters of our wells, and 
 swept the clouds from the skies. I 
 alone live, for I drink not the sweet 
 waters of the wells ; in the night-time I 
 steal out and fill mv goatskins from the 
 stream that springs up in the far-off 
 river. But soon, Father, the favour of 
 Vishnu will shine again, for before night- 
 time the roar of the thunder will be 
 heard and the flash of the lightning will 
 be seen as the good god Indra pours 
 down the rain and the dread goddess 
 Kali rides forth from the village." 
 
 As the old man spoke, he pointed to 
 the dark clouds that now rolled heavily 
 
 59
 
 '^' The Pearl of the TempJe 
 
 up along the horizon. Far overhead 
 the rushing wind chased the ragged 
 fleece clouds across the pale grey sky. 
 Soon in the distance the tall palm-trees 
 bowed before the raging storm, while 
 through the village swept the scattered 
 straw from the roof-tops, mingled with 
 the driving dust and sweet scent of the 
 coming rain, through which I rode back 
 to my tents by the side of the sands of 
 the wide Krishna river. 
 
 60
 
 THE CRY FROM THE RIVER.
 
 There h one world-wide and inveterate superstition belong- 
 ing to the sacrificial class — of which we have many vestiges 
 in India — it is the belief that a building can be made strong, 
 can be prevented from falling, by burying alive some one, 
 usually a child, under its foundation. — Lvam., Sir Alfred, 
 "Natural lleligion in India," Rede Lecture, iSgi, p. 47.
 
 THE CRY FROM THE RIVER. 
 
 XIJ'VERY river in India, from its birth 
 *^ in the lonely mountains above 
 the Ghauts, along its wild career through 
 the fertile plains, till it sullenly bursts 
 over the bar of sand impeding its passage 
 to the sea, bears stories strange and 
 weird of the sages, saints and priests cf 
 old who blessed or cursed the flowing 
 waters as the fancy took them. 
 
 To many is known the black Raksha- 
 kuliya as it rolls past the ancient town 
 Aloka. Round the buttresses of the 
 nine-spanned bridge that locks its banks 
 together it whirls and swishes its raging 
 waters ever sadly murmuring- o'er and
 
 ^ The Cry from 
 
 o'er again the story of the two fair 
 women whose love lies chilled to death 
 in its cold embrace. 
 
 One night, when the rains of the 
 south-west monsoon hurried down the 
 streams from the mountain tops, the 
 village watchers of Aloka sent word to 
 my camp saying that their homes lay 
 in danger from the river's flood. 
 
 As I rode through the village to the 
 river bank the people, with bowed heads 
 and folded hands, crowded round crying 
 out that since the bridge lower down the 
 river had been built the pent-up waters 
 had yearly swept closer in on their houses 
 and temple. Loudly they prayed that 
 orders should be given to make the 
 river banks safe, for it had ever been 
 the custom of their ancient rulers to 
 protect the poor and see that no harm 
 came to the village. 
 
 However, I knew too well that many 
 
 64
 
 the River ^^ 
 
 were the reports that would have to be 
 prepared, and many the days that must 
 elapse before the Government would 
 undertake the work, so I shortly told 
 the people that nothing could be done 
 till the water subsided, and warned the 
 headman that if in the night-time the 
 river rose higher, the land on which the 
 village temple and surrounding huts 
 stood lay in danger of being swept away 
 by the monsoon flood. 
 
 As I spoke the temple priest, an aged 
 Brahman, standing tall and erect with 
 folded arms, his sharp features deeply 
 marked from small-pox, fixed his small 
 cunning eyes, with half-concealed con- 
 tempt, on mine, and asked in haughty 
 tones — 
 
 " The temple of Siva has stood here 
 since the days of my forefathers. They 
 and I have lived on the lands, now stand- 
 ing in my name in the Government 
 
 65 E
 
 "^ The Cry from 
 
 Records, set apart for the service of the 
 god. Has not the temple been here for 
 ages the sole temple of the village, why 
 then should it now be in danger ? " 
 
 " I know nothing of the rich lands 
 you and your forefathers have eaten," I 
 carelessly replied, not liking the look 
 nor the tone of the priest. " See you 
 not for yourself how the river has crept 
 in, washing the banks away from above 
 and below the temple ^ Were it not for 
 the long roots of the toppling trees near 
 the stream, the sandy bank would ere 
 now have been swept away." 
 
 " The banks of the river not five years 
 
 ago stood far away from the temple ; 
 
 house after house, tree after tree, has 
 
 fallen away, yet never have the waters 
 
 eome over the threshold of the abode of 
 
 the gods, why now should they come 
 
 nearer .'' " asked the priest in the same 
 
 defiant voice. 
 
 66
 
 the River 5^ 
 
 ** Proud Brahman priest," I answered 
 bick in his own language, for till now 
 we had spoken in English, which he had 
 learned well. " See you not the nine- 
 spanned bridge but a man's cry down 
 the river ? Since the day that bridge 
 was built the waters, changed in their 
 course, have come rolling- in here on your 
 village, and are even now creeping be- 
 neath the very foundations of the temple." 
 
 As I spoke I wondered at the strange 
 
 change that came over the scowling face 
 
 of the priest. It grew pale and his 
 
 eyes flashed fiercely. His lips moved 
 
 quickly while he muttered rapid words, 
 
 but as he raised his clenched hand 
 
 and seemed about to speak he checked 
 
 himself, and drawing his white robe 
 
 round his arms hastened away from the 
 
 river's bank down the long village street. 
 
 The crowd slowly followed, passing away 
 
 one by one with downcast looks. 
 
 67
 
 '^ The Cry from 
 
 Left alone with my syce I rode along 
 the banks of the river towards the bridge. 
 Hardly had I ridden half the distance 
 before the rain increased till it fell in heavy 
 sheets, while the gleam of each lightning 
 flash dashed along the edges of the thick 
 clouds only to fade away and leave the 
 heavens dull and sullen. As my horse 
 stumbled on through the soft sand, I saw 
 in the distance an ancient, dismantled, 
 two-storeyed mansion, standing out clear 
 on the river's bank as the lightning 
 flashed bright. Riding near I gazed with 
 wonder at the massive pillai-s and broad 
 staircase leading to the upper storey, all 
 built with marble brought from the west 
 to satisfy the lordly whim of some former 
 owner. In front lay the neglected re- 
 mains of a spacious garden where the 
 splashing rain now collected in pools and 
 filled up the basins of ruined fountains. 
 
 Dismounting, I walked with heavy boots 
 
 68
 
 the River ^ 
 
 and clanking spurs round the lower 
 verandah, where the wind came whistling 
 through the tattered remains of the 
 close cane blinds which once served as 
 a shade. Every door was closely locked, 
 and as I strode on, my footsteps echoing 
 hollow in the strange stillness, innumer- 
 able bats flew out from the cornices and 
 nooks, rousing, by the soft flapping of 
 their wings, ghostly thoughts that the 
 place was haunted by unclean spirits. 
 Fearing that the dreaded cobra and other 
 snakes might have sought refuge from 
 the rains in the dry stone pavement, I 
 hastened out and ascended the broad 
 steps leading from the garden to the 
 storey above. 
 
 There all seemed silent and de- 
 serted. 
 
 As I stood undecided on the top of 
 the staircase, I saw through the closed 
 Venetian shutters of a window facing the 
 
 69
 
 ^ The Cry from 
 
 river the gleam of a faint light. My 
 footsteps must have been heard, for 
 the broad double door of the room 
 was slowly opened, and a tall English- 
 man with straggling black beard, wear- 
 ing slip-shod boots and shirt unbuttoned 
 at the throat, stood gazing at me with 
 vacant look as if he were drunk or 
 dazed. 
 
 In answer to the words of apology I 
 stammered forth for my intrusion his 
 replies were few, coming from his lips 
 mechanically, as though he took no 
 interest either in my presence or re- 
 marks. 
 
 " Yes, I might have a light for my 
 
 cheroot. Sorry there was nothing in the 
 
 house to offer me. He never went out 
 
 now. Yes, he would have a cheroot ; 
 
 glad to get one, as he could only get 
 
 native tobacco from the village. Would 
 
 bring out a chair for me, and sit himself 
 
 70
 
 the River ^ 
 
 on the parapet. No, he did not mind 
 the rain, had lived a long time in the 
 country and was used to it." 
 
 As he did not seem inclined to talk 
 further, I sat watching him, hoping that 
 soon the rains would cease, so that I 
 might hasten back to my camp. At 
 times he stood gazing down over the 
 parapet into the river, where the raging 
 waters rushed past the side of the house. 
 At times he walked aimlessly up and 
 down the verandah, his hands in his 
 pockets, his head sunk deep on his 
 breast, unheeding the incessant gleam of 
 the lightning in which the white polished 
 walls of the house shone as though it 
 were bright day. 
 
 Suddenly a wild shriek, rising above 
 the rush of the storm and whirl of the 
 waters, broke the stillness of the place, 
 echoing down the wide verandah. 
 
 Again and again the cry was re- 
 
 71
 
 ^ The Cry from 
 
 peated, each time sounding nearer and 
 nearer, till the lightning bursting forth 
 disclosed the erect figure of the priest I 
 had seen in the village. Up the centre 
 of the steps he strode, cries of rage 
 and passion broke from his lips as his 
 eyes met those of the Englishman, whom 
 he seized by the arm, dragged to the 
 edge of the verandah facing the river, 
 and, pointing to where the swollen 
 waters hurled themselves against the 
 sides and piers of the bridge, hoarsely 
 shrieked — 
 
 *' May the wrath of the gods fall 
 heavy on your head, may your soul 
 ever wander unappeased about your 
 accursed bridge. See, down in the vil- 
 lage the lights flit to and fro round the 
 temple near which the waters now rush, 
 threatening ruin. For ten long years I 
 have waited the summons of the god, 
 
 shed daily before him the blood of 
 
 72
 
 the River 5^ 
 
 goats, poured forth wealth at his feet, 
 brought dancing girls from afar to sing 
 his praise, but the mighty Siva slept 
 satisfied with the blood and love of the 
 two victims I placed in his strong arms. 
 To-night, as I stood watching the 
 image in the temple, I saw the deadly 
 cobra, that bears the foot of Vishnu on 
 its head, crawl from the mouth of the 
 god, overturn the sacred offerings and 
 flickering fire, so that I knew the dread 
 god Siva slumbered no longer and that 
 he had gone forth threatening woes, 
 disease and pestilence unless appeased 
 with the blood he loves. 
 
 " The cry that you and I have twice 
 heard came again last night from the 
 river and sounded through the village, 
 telling that the spirits of the dead move 
 about wailing the fate that hangs over 
 those soon to join them in the rolling 
 tide. Now let the dread god select 
 
 73
 
 ^ The Cry from 
 
 whom he chooses, and may you and 
 your black bridge be swept far away 
 so that the village again be in peace. 
 Once more, mighty Lord of the Three 
 Spaces and Times, declare your wishes ; 
 the blood of my blood lies cold in the 
 dread depths of the river, and the love 
 of the foreigner lies quenched on the 
 cold bosom of its waters. Thrice have 
 I prayed for your wrath to fall on his 
 head ; stretch forth your dread hand 
 and sweep the accursed Mleccha, who 
 has polluted the Aryan blood, and his 
 bridge from off the land." 
 
 The priest paused to gaze down on 
 the swollen river, now rising higher and 
 higher, till at length its water lapped 
 over the basement of the house. Long 
 and eagerly he listened to the loud whirl 
 and roar as if he expected a voice to 
 come from the flood. Raising his eyes 
 he looked in anger at the bridge that 
 
 74
 
 the River ^ 
 
 loomed indistinctly through the sur- 
 rounding darkness, and then turned to 
 hsten to the confused cries that came 
 from the villagers who flitted to and 
 fro bearing lights near the temple round 
 which the raging waters now swept. 
 As the Englishman drew back from the 
 edge, dazed by the noise and blinding 
 lightning, increasing in intensity and 
 brightness with every peal of thunder, 
 the priest followed, and drawing him 
 again towards the parapet of the veran- 
 dah, continued in frenzied tones — 
 
 " Deem not that you can escape from 
 the wrath of the gods once they have 
 paused to listen to the prayers of a 
 Brahman, and heard his curse go forth 
 on those who do evil. Listen now to 
 what my power has worked in the past 
 and judge if the gods hearken not to 
 my call. 
 
 " Twice ten long years ago you first 
 
 75
 
 ^ The Cry from 
 
 came to our village. You grew in 
 wealth as you bought the crops and sold 
 them abroad, and the willing hands of 
 our people built you this house, for to 
 all you seemed just and generous. You 
 had grown to live among us as one of 
 our race, so, according to our customs, I, 
 the chief priest, was besought to declare 
 an auspicious day for the consecration of 
 your new home, for none of our people 
 would enter till the signs were declared 
 favourable. You freely poured forth 
 wealth to feast the gods and temple 
 servants, still the stars and omens were 
 adverse, so, in spite of your prayers and 
 entreaties, I refused to perform the 
 sacred rites. At length one day, moved 
 to wrath by your importunities and in- 
 sults, I called down -the anger of the 
 gods on you and all your works. When 
 the people heard my wrathful words, 
 
 they told me of your evil deeds, how 
 
 76
 
 the River ^ 
 
 you had gained the love of my daughter 
 doomed to widowhood through the 
 death of her affianced husband, how you 
 had trampled on our religion and caste, 
 daring to hope that a woman descended 
 from a race sprung from the gods might 
 be yours, 
 
 *' Fool ! listen now to what a Brah- 
 man's pride and curse can work. You 
 entered your house, your wealth broke 
 down the religious scruples of the people, 
 but while the great god Siva slept I 
 waited, knowing that the curse and the 
 power of a Brahman never fell futile. 
 My daughter — outcast from her religion 
 and people — sat alone pining for a sin- 
 ful, polluted love, and a false message 
 told you that she was dead. She died 
 not then, for I had sworn that she should 
 die by the hand that had robbed her of 
 honour here and hope hereafter. Mad 
 with grief and sorrow, you quitted this 
 
 77
 
 ^ The Cry from 
 
 land for your own, and returned one 
 year afterwards full of new hopes. 
 Vainly you sought to bridge the sacred 
 river, but the great god Siva scattered 
 your walls in the waters. Six times you 
 laid your foundations, six times they 
 were swept away. The people then 
 listened to my voice and prayed you to 
 hearken to the wishes of the gods, and to 
 call forth the village priest to perform 
 the sacred rites, else the foundation 
 stone could not stand. You consented, 
 and in the night-time I concealed your 
 love and her child in a hollow dug out 
 in the dry bed of the river, and I told 
 the people that there the foundations 
 must first be laid. You laughed as you 
 lowered the stone that condemned them 
 to a living tomb, for you never knew 
 that the cries of your loved one were 
 drowned by my song of praise, giving 
 thanks to the gods that the curse of a 
 
 78
 
 the River ,^©» 
 
 Brahman had not fallen in vain. P'ool, 
 the bosom of the waters held my only 
 offspring sacrificed to the outraged pride 
 of a Brahman, but my revenge was not 
 complete. 
 
 " Day by day I kneeled before the god 
 in the temple praying for an ampler and 
 fuller revenge that would sink into the 
 inmost recesses of your heart. Your 
 most trusted servants were in my pay 
 and would have sacrificed all to do my 
 behests, but I wanted not your life, I 
 wished you to live and eat the fruits of 
 the deeds you had done. 
 
 *' I heard that a woman was coming 
 from your own country to gain 
 the love that had polluted our race. 
 The letters you received and the 
 letters you wrote were opened and 
 read by the gleam of the light that 
 shone before the god in the temple ; 
 and on the boat that bore your love 
 
 79
 
 ^ The Cry from 
 
 from the black sea waters up the sacred 
 river that runs before us, my power 
 held sway and the steersman was sworn 
 to ruin your hopes as you reached out 
 your hands to grasp them. You knew 
 not that I stood by as you watched the 
 smoke rise above the horizon, telling 
 that the love you hoped to grasp once 
 more was being rapidly carried nearer. 
 Do you remember how the rain fell 
 and the waters rose as the boat came 
 in view with the pale-faced English 
 maiden standing at the bow, how the 
 torrent came rushing from the moun- 
 tain tops and the boat swung round and 
 drifted to the bridge ? 1 laughed as I 
 heard you cry out wildly to the boat- 
 men, and I chanted hymns of praise 
 to the gods of the waters as you fell 
 on your knees, praying for the help 
 that came not. I gathered up my 
 
 raiment together as I passed out of 
 
 80
 
 the River ^ 
 
 the midst of the crowd, when the crash 
 and wild shriek came telling that your 
 love and hopes were again shattered on 
 the pier, held firm by the arms of the 
 woman you had buried beneath it. In 
 the pride of my victory I scattered the 
 wealth hoarded up by my forefathers 
 for generations, thwarted your plans, 
 ruined your endeavours, brought your 
 proud head to bow where you had 
 been master, and have lived to see 
 you an outcast beggar in the ruined 
 house that once rang with your laugh 
 of mockery over the village Brahman 
 and his anger," 
 
 As the Brahman spoke the English- 
 man swayed to and fro, his ashy pale 
 face, from which now all traces of the 
 havoc wrought by the foul drink had 
 passed, glaring in the incessant flashes 
 of lightning as that of one who had 
 risen from the grave. Twice he pre- 
 
 8l K
 
 ^ The Cry from 
 
 pared to hurl himself on the weird, 
 thin figure that stood erect and vaunt- 
 ing before him, twice the set features 
 of the Brahman seemed as if they 
 owned a power not born of this world 
 and held him back. 
 
 With gleaming eyes and erect head 
 the priest turned and strode away, 
 down the steps, along the avenue of 
 palm-trees leading from the house to 
 the village, crying with still, clear voice 
 to the protecting god of his race, *' Om ! 
 Om ! Hari, Om." 
 
 Long I stood gazing after the priest, 
 astounded at the wild words he had 
 spoken. As I looked once more 
 towards the lone Englishman, I saw 
 that he leaned far over the parapet 
 listening to the distant cries from the 
 village, now faintly heard amid the rush 
 of the waters and moan of the wind. 
 Following his eager gaze, I fancied that 
 
 82
 
 the River ^ 
 
 I saw the flickering hghts near the 
 temple come towards us, moving down 
 the stream. 
 
 Suddenly a wild shriek — it was the 
 voice of the priest — burst from the 
 midst of the seething waters as the 
 lights came rushing past the house. 
 The thunder rang from heaven to 
 earth, the lightning lit up the sky, 
 showing that a raft of hewn timber, 
 broken from its moorings in the higher 
 reaches of the river, had been hurled 
 against the jutting bank, which it now 
 swept, with temple, priest, and people, 
 down the river towards the ill-fated 
 bridge. There it struck, damming up 
 the waters till the bridge gave way. 
 The thunder rolled but to drown the 
 crash of the falling masonry and the 
 wild cries of the people hurled to and 
 fro in the seething waters. One more 
 
 flash of lightning burst forth as the 
 
 83
 
 ^ The Cry from 
 
 escaping waters rushed forwards, sweep- 
 ing before them their devastating 
 burden. Slowly the wind became 
 hushed and the sullen roar of the 
 thunder faded in the distance, while 
 the lightning played in a faint and 
 fitful gleam over the thick darkness 
 that lay sleeping on the black river. 
 The storm was quickly passing, and 
 as with beating heart and trembling 
 lips I turned to call for help, I saw 
 that the Englishman had disappeared. 
 Still the dim light shone from the half- 
 opened door. In the room beyond he 
 sat, his head bowed down on a table, 
 his hand stretched out grasping an 
 empty tumbler, near which stood a 
 bottle like those sold in the villages 
 of India to hold the vile spirit dis- 
 tilled from the opium-poisoned juice 
 of the palm-trees. I would have 
 
 entered and spoken, but I saw that 
 
 84
 
 
 X 
 
 « 
 as 

 
 the River 5^ 
 
 before him lay no future ; death alone 
 could free him from the bonds that 
 bound him hand and foot to his 
 fate, for beside him stood a native 
 woman with face bent down, but 
 whose small, thin hand and heavy gold 
 jewels told me that it was one who 
 had known him in the days of his 
 wealth and still clung to his side. 
 
 I hastened away to join the villagers, 
 who now with loud cries hurried past 
 the house, but when we reached the 
 bridge the swollen waters ran high, 
 and nought could be seen but the 
 black, rolling flood. 
 
 Early the next morning I had to 
 travel away from the village to visit 
 other towns in the district, where the 
 heavy monsoon rains had spread ruin 
 far and wide. Two years elapsed 
 before I again visited the village of 
 Aloka. 
 
 85
 
 ■^ The Cry from 
 
 Riding in late one moonlit evening 
 I learned that my servants had placed 
 my cot and camp furniture in the very 
 room in the ancient mansion where 
 once the strange, lonely Englishman 
 lived. As I dismounted at the foot 
 of the wide staircase I noticed that 
 the house and all around was in the 
 same desolate, deserted condition as of 
 old. 
 
 Ascending to the verandah above, 
 I looked down once more on the black 
 Rakshakuliya to watch the gleam of 
 the moonlight flit on the still waters of 
 the wide flowing river. In the distance 
 still loomed the bridge, six arches stand- 
 ing, three on each side near the banks, 
 the centre three gone, never having been 
 rebuilt since they had given way before 
 the monsoon flood. As the wild words 
 of the Brahman priest rose in my 
 
 memory I dreaded to look round, for 
 
 86
 
 the River 5^ 
 
 a weird fancy seized me that the 
 Englishman stood close at hand, gazing 
 towards the still waters below, on the 
 sad faces of the two women swept from 
 his side by the pride of race and fanatic 
 power of superstition. 
 
 Again I pictured to myself the peace- 
 ful country village in England where 
 perhaps free from all ties, but heart- 
 broken and footsore, he now journeyed 
 alone along some well-known road run- 
 ning past a rustic, moss-grown church, 
 standing in the midst of the sad 
 memorials of those among whom he 
 longed to be at rest. Else perchance, 
 with bitter heart and weary mind he 
 still wandered, like many another ruined 
 soul of his race, through the peaceful 
 villages of India, begging for the vile 
 drink the people gladly gave him 
 when he promised to remove his hated 
 presence from their midst. As I sat 
 
 87
 
 ^ The Cry from 
 
 dreaming I was suddenly roused by 
 hearing a light footfall and tinkle of 
 a woman's jewels close by my side. 
 
 There stood a fair dancing girl, 
 whom I guessed from her figure to 
 be the woman I had seen before in the 
 room, standing by the side of the 
 Englishman. 
 
 As I turned and my face shone bright 
 in the moonlight, she smiled, and rais- 
 ing her heavily bejewelled hands to her 
 forehead, lisped out in the soft, plead- 
 ing tones of her caste — 
 
 " Maharaja, I was in fear when I saw 
 you sitting here alone, for I fancied 
 that the Englishman who built the 
 house and bridge had come back to 
 the land of the living." 
 
 " Sister," I answered, rising, " what 
 
 brings you here ? The house is empty, 
 
 I alone sleep here for the night." 
 
 " Maharaja," she said, coming nearer, 
 
 88
 
 the River 5^ 
 
 " fear you not to be here alone ? They 
 say in our village that the spirit of the 
 Englishman still wanders about, and at 
 times when the waters come rushing 
 from the mountain tops, leaping like 
 wild horses, the sound of his voice 
 may be heard crying from the waters." 
 
 " Is, then, the Englishman dead ? " I 
 asked in anxious curiosity. 
 
 " Maharaja, I know not ; one night 
 
 some two years ago I sat by his side, 
 
 for of the great wealth he had stored 
 
 I was then all that was left to him. 
 
 I had eaten of his wealth in days gone 
 
 by, so I left him not when the people 
 
 held aloof. That night I heard him 
 
 speak angry words with the chief priest, 
 
 who, I am glad, was swept away in the 
 
 river, for when afterwards I spoke words 
 
 of love to the Englishman, he drove me 
 
 from his side and bade me never more 
 
 come near the house." 
 
 89
 
 ^ The Cry from 
 
 " Why, then, have you come here 
 to-night ? " I said, noticing that the 
 dancing girl wept and drew her white 
 robe round her face. " Tell me, sister, 
 what became of the Englishman ? " 
 
 " Brother," she replied, holding my 
 hand as she gazed in fear into the 
 surrounding darkness, " that night I 
 slept in the far verandah of the house. 
 Once I woke in fear, for the cry that 
 is ever since heard when the waters 
 come rushing down from the moun- 
 tains rang through the house. I hurried 
 round the verandah and looked in each 
 room, but the Englishman had vanished, 
 and ever since his spirit wanders about 
 near at hand. So weekly I come here 
 bringing cigars and brandy to place on 
 the verandah, so that his soul may not 
 go away unappeased. Maharaja, when 
 the grey morning creeps up from be- 
 yond the far-off horizon, be not afraid 
 
 90
 
 the River ^ 
 
 if you hear the cry from the river creep 
 round the verandah, for it is but the 
 wail of the soul of the Englishman 
 going forth to the river below. Salam, 
 Maharaja, bid your servants not to 
 touch the offerings I leave here. I 
 will come again in the morning to 
 know if you have heard the cry from 
 the river." 
 
 91
 
 THE WAIL OF THE WOMAN.
 
 It is calculated that in India one woman in live is a widow ; 
 of these a very large proportion must be women who, having 
 been betrothed any time between the cradle and ten years of 
 age, have become widows without ever having been wives. 
 ... It is only by the education and elevation of women that 
 any change can come over the feeling of the people with 
 regard to marriage. — Dufkkrik and Ava, Marchioness of, 
 Nineluntk Century. 
 
 Widow marriage among the high caste people will not for a 
 long time become an approved custom. The old idea is too 
 deeply rooted in the heart of society to be soon removed. 
 Secondly, there are not many men who will boldly come 
 forward and marry widows. — Ramabai, "The High-Caste 
 Hindu Widow," p. ^i.
 
 THE WAIL OF THE WOMAN. 
 
 I"' HE wide Brahman street in the 
 village of Kamapuram lay deserted 
 and silent beneath the burning rays of 
 a mid-day sun, for the men and women 
 had gone forth in the pride of their 
 caste to the English Court House to 
 laugh at the laws of their rulers. 
 
 Inside the Court a young Brahman 
 widow, her fair face hidden in the folds 
 of her long white robe, stood before 
 the pale-faced English judge who wearily 
 gazed now and then at the slow-swing- 
 ing punkah that fitfully moved the 
 stifling air in hot blasts over a long 
 
 95
 
 ^ The Wail of 
 
 table below, where the native Brahman 
 pleaders sat cold and immovable. By 
 the side of the judge stood a native 
 clerk, who, with droning voice, read out 
 the charge, telling how the woman had 
 cast herself and her child into the well 
 near the village temple, and how, though 
 the woman had been saved, her child 
 lay dead. 
 
 The Court became still, and the people 
 bowed down as her father — a proud 
 Brahman priest, tracing back his descent 
 from the Vedic sages of old — came for- 
 ward, and stood erect and haughty, 
 dreading lest even his white robes should 
 be contaminated by the low-caste Eng- 
 lish officials. Deliant and calm he gave 
 witness that his daughter, widowed from 
 her youth, had broken the laws of their 
 caste, and following the law of the 
 foreigner had married one who dared to 
 
 think that he could defy the wrath of 
 
 96
 
 the Woman ."^o* 
 
 the gods. He then told how her hus- 
 band, the outcast breaker of the laws of 
 his race, had died, and how his daughter 
 had thrown herself and her child into 
 the well in front of his house. 
 
 When he ceased the slow, monotonous 
 voice of the native clerk sounded through 
 the Court as he read the report of the 
 English doctor, declaring that the child 
 had been cast into the well after the life 
 had gone from its limbs, and that it had 
 died from the aconite poison found con- 
 cealed in the house of the Brahman priest. 
 
 As the woman listened to the words 
 of the report, and saw the stern face of 
 her father grow pale, she threw the white 
 robe from her head and her eyes gleamed 
 with rage. 
 
 The Court became hushed as the Eng- 
 lish judge leaned forward and bade her 
 stand by his side and fear not to tell the 
 truth. 
 
 97 G
 
 ^^ The Wall of 
 
 ."I am a woman," she said, drawing 
 the white robe once more round her head, 
 *' and know nothing ; how can I speak ? 
 Yet the love of my husband and child 
 cries in my heart ; wild words rush to 
 my lips, and I would that their death 
 were avenged ere I die. Once I was 
 happy as a child, and ran free through 
 the village, till one day I was told that 
 my affianced husband, whom I had never 
 seen, lay dead, and that I must hence- 
 forth live alone and mourn all the days 
 of my life. I remember how I shud- 
 dered when, according to the custom of 
 our race, the outcast wife of the village 
 barber was hastily summoned to shave 
 the long black hair from my head, and 
 gather the jewels from my ears, and break 
 the bracelets on my arm, while my 
 mother sat by my side and bitterly 
 cursed the fate that had fallen on our 
 family. For five long years I mourned 
 
 98
 
 the Woman 5®» 
 
 in silence, and patiently bore the stern 
 looks of my father and my mother's 
 hate which day by day grew deeper as 
 she remembered how her only child had 
 been born unlucky. 
 
 " When the dancing-girls passed down 
 the busy sun-lit streets singing their 
 glad songs of welcome before the happy 
 bride I sat alone, for I knew that all 
 looked with loathing on the woman 
 whom death had forgotten. So the 
 weary days wandered on, till there came 
 to our village a Brahman who had been 
 outcast from his own people, for he had 
 crossed the black waters of the far- 
 stretching sea, and had eaten with the 
 foreigners who have no fear in their 
 hearts, and care not for the power of 
 caste, or the wild, silent passion that 
 rages in the hearts of the people whose 
 gods they have broken in pieces. 
 
 " In secret we wandered together 
 99
 
 -®? The Wall of 
 
 through the deep grove by the side of the 
 river, where the painted butterflies flitted 
 round the thick clustering blossoms of 
 the sweet scented babool-trees, and the 
 dark tamarind topes cast a deep shade 
 over the hot sand, till weary with the heat 
 of the day we sank to dream of the 
 happy life that throbbed all around. 
 
 " For years the weary nights had 
 passed slowly and sadly, and I woke in 
 the mornings to wash the tears from my 
 eyes, but now, as I lay awake under the 
 open verandah of our home, I watched the 
 far-ofi^ heavens where the stars laughed 
 music back to my soul while I dreamed 
 that the eyes of my beloved kept watch 
 close beside me. 
 
 " When I closed my eyes to seek 
 sleep, my thoughts wandered back to 
 the cool sedges by the side of the slow- 
 flowing waters of the wide river near the 
 grove where we had sat together in the 
 
 lOO
 
 the Woman §^ 
 
 sunshine, breathing the heavy perfume of 
 the long trailing jasmine. So the sorrow 
 went forth from my heart, and the laugh 
 grew again on my lips, and as I looked 
 in the water I loved to think that my 
 lover had not lied when he spoke of my 
 beauty. But my soul grew dead when 
 I watched the fair moon, the Mother of 
 Lovers, whose glance fell cold on the 
 outcast widow, for I remembered the 
 wild words my father had wrathfully 
 uttered when my mother told him 
 of the love that had grown in my 
 heart. 
 
 " One day, when the warm wind blew 
 over the hot sands of the river, I went 
 to the grove and waited for my lover, 
 who came smiling, not seeing that I sat 
 silent. He laughed at the words of my 
 father, and told me how the law of the 
 Raj, stronger than the law of caste, had 
 declared that a widow might marry, and 
 
 lOI
 
 ^ The Wall of 
 
 he prayed me to come forth from my 
 people and live by his side. 
 
 " I consented, and we were married 
 according to the laws of the Raj ; but 
 as we passed home the streets were 
 deserted, and my father sat by the 
 temple gates and cast dust on his head, 
 praying that the curse of a Brahman 
 might fall heavy on the head that had 
 defied the wrath of the gods, and had 
 brought his pride low before the people. 
 
 " The laws of the caste are strong, and 
 they declare that no widow of our race 
 may re-marry, so we were not allowed 
 to draw water from the well, or receive 
 fire from the house of any caste man ; 
 but we laughed in the joy of our youth 
 at the anger of the people and the 
 wrath of my father. 
 
 " So the days of a happy year passed by 
 and our child was born. One day when 
 my husband returned home, the smile 
 
 102
 
 the Woman ^ 
 
 had faded from his face, for he had seen 
 my father, who still sat daily by the 
 temple gates, having refused to enter 
 into his house or eat with his own 
 people till the stain was removed from 
 his race. Who can stand long alone? 
 We sat silent that evening, and ate not ; 
 but my husband drank of the milk they 
 brought him from the village ; and in 
 the night time he cried aloud that the 
 sight had faded from his eyes, and that 
 he dreaded to face the gods he had 
 forgotten. I gave him water to quench 
 the fire that burned in his throat, but 
 the life fled from his lips as I watched 
 alone by his side. 
 
 " In the morning my mother came and 
 took my child and bade me go bathe as 
 a widow in the waters of the river, and 
 there I sat mourning as the quick flame 
 carried the soul of my husband to the 
 abode of the gods. When I returned 
 
 103
 
 ^^ The Wail o f 
 
 home I found that my child lay dead ; 
 so I carried it to the well by the side of 
 the temple, for I could not leave it 
 alone when I went forth to seek the soul 
 of my husband, as it wearily waited on 
 its lone journey through the cold realms 
 of death. 
 
 " I am a woman, and cannot tell what 
 all these things may mean. My hus- 
 band has told me that the law of the 
 Raj is strong, and that the God of your 
 people is mighty ; but I know that the 
 laws of the caste strike deep, and that 
 the gods of our people are many. Will 
 the law of the Raj now lay hands on 
 those who rule the law of the caste and 
 make the gods of the people ? " 
 
 The English judge wrote on, and his 
 
 pale face turned not as the woman fell 
 
 and placed her hands on his feet. The 
 
 widow was free to go where she would, 
 
 for the law knew not of her cries and 
 
 104
 
 the Woman ^ 
 
 tears ; but her father lay dead ere the 
 rains had ceased. 
 
 The story is old ; but still in the 
 land of India, though the sun shines 
 bright and the soft, warm wind lulls the 
 soul to rest as it wantonly waits for the 
 eyes that love and the voice that whispers 
 as the dreams drift past, woes and wails 
 of years, tears and moans untold rise 
 unheard to the heavens above, for the 
 woman that sins must die that the will 
 of the man may live. 
 
 105
 
 i
 
 THE LAST HUMAN SACRIFICE 
 AND THE ABBE LEROUX.
 
 The best known cases of human sacrifices, systematically 
 offered to insure good crops, is supplied by the Khonds, or 
 Kandhs, another Dravidian race. . . . The sacrifices were 
 offered to Tari Pennu or Bern Pennu. . . . The victim or 
 Meriah was acceptable to the goddess only if it had been 
 purchased, or had been born a victim, . . . the flesh and 
 ashes of the victim were believed to be endowed with a 
 magical or physical power of fertilising the land. The same 
 intrinsic power was ascribed to the blood and tears of the 
 Meriah, his blood causing the redness of the turmeric and 
 his tears producing rain. — Frazer, J. C, "The Golden 
 Bough," vol. i. pp. 384-390. 
 
 The Kharwars, since adopting Hinduism, performed human 
 sacrifices to Kali. . . . The same was the case with the 
 Bhuiyas, Khands and Mundas. — Crooke, " Popular Religion 
 and Folklore in North India," p. 296. 
 
 The low castes pour out the lives of countless goats at the 
 feet of the terrible Kali, and until lately, in time of pestilence 
 and famine, tried in their despair to appease the relentless 
 goddess by human blood. During the dearth of 1866, in a 
 temple to Kali, a body w-as found with his neck cut. ... In 
 another temple at Hiigli (a railway station only 25 miles 
 from Calcutta) the head was left before the idol decorated 
 with flowers. Such cases are the survivals of the regular 
 system of human sacrifices which we ... see among the 
 non-Aryan tribes.— Hunter, Sir W. W., "The Indian 
 Empire," p. 264.
 
 THE LAST HUMAN SACRIFICE 
 AND THE ABBE LEROUX. 
 
 I. 
 
 A MID the deep recesses of the forest- 
 -^^^ clad mountain slopes, forming the 
 steep barrier between the Highlands ot 
 Central India and the lowland plains, lie 
 hid away from all save the stray traveller 
 strange wild scenes of primeval grandeur. 
 Nature, gloomy and mysterious, holds 
 there eternal revel. 
 
 The days blaze bright with tropical 
 sunshine, the nights clear and chill strew 
 the sedges of the marshes with white 
 hoar frost. The streams, rippling clear 
 
 109
 
 "^ The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 as translucent silver, bear the poisoned 
 seeds of deadly fever. Beneath tall 
 forest trees creeps the dank, moist 
 atmosphere, bearing lazily through the 
 thick tangled undergrowth its heavy 
 taint of malaria. 
 
 The crow of the gaudy-coloured 
 jungle cock, the cry of the peacock, and 
 quick bark of the tiny, slender barking 
 deer alone, now and then, break the sad, 
 weird silence of the lonely forests. The 
 tall samber deer, with long branching 
 antlers, keep watch and ward in the 
 shaded glens over the timid does and 
 their fawns ; the fierce cheetah and 
 black-skinned panther prowl through 
 the grass which grows on the mountain 
 side higher than the height of a tall 
 man ; the gliding trails of serpents of 
 huge girth may be traced across the 
 sands of the dry streams, the man-eating 
 
 tiger wanders about slaying between 
 
 xio
 
 and the Abbe Leroux ^ 
 
 sunset and sunrise belated travellers who 
 journey on mountain tracks separated 
 by some eighty miles of almost im- 
 penetrable forest. At times the tinkling 
 bells of the pack bullocks of Brinjari 
 gipsies, the ancient carriers in many 
 lands, sound up the sides of the ghauts, 
 as the long caravans pass through the 
 forests bearing salts and merchandise 
 from the sea-coast to the rich valleys 
 away towards the West. As caravan 
 meets caravan the gipsy women, bril- 
 liantly arrayed in thick raiment of many 
 colours, with massive silver bangles on 
 their arms, and long heavy gold chains 
 and bells hanging from their ears, 
 dismount hastily from their asses and 
 oxen, fall with loud cries on each other's 
 necks, then crouch down with heads 
 buried in their hands weeping and 
 moaning as they remember the lonely 
 terrors of the land through which they 
 
 III
 
 ^ The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 journey, their kinship and long separa- 
 tion, while the men sit silent, gazing at 
 each other with sullen brows, and the 
 tall, gaunt dogs, guardians of the gipsy 
 camp at night-time, attack each other in 
 fierce anger. 
 
 At length the caravans separate to 
 continue their course, the one down the 
 mountain path to the distant sea, the 
 other to the wild country above the 
 ghauts where the Khonds, a race some 
 100,000 in number, haveg rouped them- 
 selves together in hamlets to plough and 
 till the soil cleared here and there by 
 fire of the forest trees and thick jungle. 
 
 In these rich valleys hid among the 
 
 hills, the savage tribes live fierce and 
 
 untamed, simple and truthful, knowing 
 
 nothing of the blessings or curses of 
 
 civilisation, for the lowland trader has 
 
 not yet taught them how to lie. Keen 
 
 of hearing and quick of sight they 
 
 112
 
 and the Abbe Leroux 5^ 
 
 watch the forest signs, track the wounded 
 tiger and mark down the lairs of the 
 brute beasts with unfaihng instinct. In 
 the hot weather they roam through the 
 jungle in search of food, or else, intoxi- 
 cated from the crushed-out juice of the 
 mohwa flower and fermented sap of the 
 stately sago-palm, rest beneath the shade 
 of the trees, their long-handled battle- 
 axes, bows and arrows ever lying ready 
 for use to avenge a real or imaginary 
 wrong. 
 
 Well it is that the strong arm of the 
 English rule metes out speedy and stern 
 justice to the offender who unjustly sheds 
 blood, else soon clan would rise against 
 clan, tribe against tribe, and the wild, 
 savage instincts of the people burst 
 forth unchecked as in days not long 
 past. 
 
 In the sacred groves by the Khond 
 
 hamlets may still be seen the sacrificial 
 
 113 H
 
 ^ The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 stakes to which human victims — boys, 
 maidens, even old men and women, pur- 
 chased or kidnapped from afar — were 
 wont to be tied ; and still is remembered 
 the song of the sacrificing priest, in 
 which he prayed for forgiveness as he 
 slew the offering, sprinkled the blood 
 on the fields, and divided the flesh 
 among the assembled folk to plant in 
 the earth so that the turmeric dye might 
 grow red and the crops yield in abund- 
 ance. Still in the Khond hamlets may 
 be seen the bent-down old men and 
 women once destined for the sacrifice, 
 from which they were rescued by their 
 English rulers. 
 
 Still yearly the officer in charge of the 
 hill tracts travels through the hamlets, 
 taking count of rescued victims, present- 
 ing each with prized strips of red cloth, 
 a few leaves of tobacco, match-boxes or 
 
 small mirrors, to induce them to come 
 
 114
 
 and the Abbe Leroux ,^ 
 
 forward so that he may see that none of 
 them is missing. He then calls on the 
 village chiefs to renew the promise 
 they swore in the past, that so long as 
 the foreigner stands between them and 
 the wrath of their gods no more human 
 sacrifices will take place in the land, for 
 years must elapse before the Khond will 
 Jay down his battle-axe and forget the 
 lust of his Earth Goddess. 
 
 The simple people still dread the 
 spirits who hover ever near— spirits of 
 the earth, of the crops, of the flowing 
 waters and moving winds ; spirits of the 
 rustling trees and solitary mountains ; 
 spirits who move amid the roar of the 
 battle, and who planted the iron in the 
 bowels of the earth wherewith man 
 might shed his neighbour's blood. Yet 
 to his gods, who live far and near, he 
 builds no temples. Sometimes he plants 
 by the roadside a rude stone image daubed 
 
 "5
 
 ^y The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 red as a symbol of the former blood 
 sacrifices. 
 
 Slowly and steadily as the forests are 
 cleared and new roads open up the fer- 
 tile valleys, temples filled with strange 
 idols of Hindu gods are seen in the 
 villages, the Khonds become fettered by 
 the usages and customs of caste, the 
 lowland priests gain power, and the 
 primitive superstitions of the aboriginal 
 folk are mingled with Aryan myths and 
 legends till a new religious belief is 
 formed, difficult to fathom, in which old 
 and new, true and false, are so woven 
 together by the subtle ingenuity of its 
 founders, that it remains almost unas- 
 sailable by the ever-continued attacks of 
 civilisation and Christianity. 
 
 Were it not for these facts the Jesuit 
 
 Father, the Abbe Leroux, who, not many 
 
 years ago, took up his abode in the feverish 
 
 tracts where the wild Khonds live, might 
 
 ii6
 
 and the Abbe Leroux 5^ 
 
 have established his schools and drawn the 
 people to listen to his message of peace 
 and good will. When first he came 
 among the Khonds he was wont to 
 wander through their hamlets, watching 
 the ways of the people, till soon his 
 tall, erect form, clad in long white robe 
 stretching down to his feet, and flow- 
 ing white beard became familiar to the 
 villagers, who ceased to view his visits 
 with fear or to disappear into the jungle 
 at his approach. Quickly he learned to 
 speak all the dialects of the tribes, and it 
 was said that he could converse with 
 travellers from many parts of India in 
 their own varied languages. Once when 
 certain learned Brahmans had travelled 
 through the country on a pilgrimage to 
 a fam^ed temple in Central India, they 
 told the villagers that the French padre 
 had spoken to them in their own ancient 
 
 Sanskrit language, arguing many points 
 
 117
 
 ^ The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 of philosophy and doctrine known only 
 to the deepest scholars in the land. 
 Before many months had elapsed 
 the gentle Jesuit Father's life of self- 
 denial and his simple manners had so 
 impressed the fierce Khonds of the 
 hamlet of Adeva, that they readily 
 granted him a piece of land near their 
 village whereon to found a school and 
 erect a chapel. There he patiently strove 
 to teach, such of the Khonds and their 
 children as he could assemble together, to 
 read and write, each day's work com- 
 mencing and ending with the singing of 
 songs composed by the Abbe himself 
 from the Christian Scriptures. By de- 
 grees, as his influence increased, he was 
 able to build a home for some of the 
 children of the wretched victims saved 
 from the human sacrifice, who still led 
 a lonely and degraded life on the land 
 
 granted to them outside the Khond 
 
 ii8
 
 and the Abbe Leroux 5^ 
 
 hamlets. Over this home he placed 
 an aged matron, the wife of Billo the 
 village weaver, hoping that in time, as 
 the children grew up, taught and trained 
 by himself, they would become helpers 
 in the cause he had at heart — the re- 
 generation of the Khonds. 
 
 Though the Abbe Leroux devoted his 
 life to the work he had taken in hand 
 he was no enthusiast, he knew that the 
 course before him was long and tedious. 
 He had weighed the minds of many 
 peoples in many lands, and knew well 
 the virtues and failings of the savages 
 among whom he now lived. He never 
 wearied when visiting the English officers 
 of repeating the same note of warning, 
 urging them never to rest assured that 
 the custom of human sacrifice had died 
 out from among the people. Watch, 
 ever watch, were his constant words ; 
 
 old beliefs, old superstitions, die not in 
 
 119
 
 ^ The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 a day nor in a generation. Though on 
 the surface aJl may appear calm and 
 fair as truth, stiJ! beneath lie buried 
 the cankered roots ready to throw up 
 a wide-spreading, noisome growth of 
 foul wickedness and wrong. 
 
 The Abbe, who kne\\' these things, 
 however failed to take note of a low 
 caste potter, by name Chengal, who had 
 travelled up from the lowland plains, 
 having been driven from his native vil- 
 lage for the foul wrong he had done his 
 neighbour's wife. 
 
 As the cunning hand of the potter 
 deftly moulded the earth into strange 
 shapes of water-pitchers and quaint idols, 
 his mind noted how the simple drunken 
 Khonds gathered round to watch the 
 quick rolling twirl of his wheel and 
 listen to his lying words. Though he 
 had taken up his abode in the hamlet of 
 
 Adeva, yet he was not allowed to live 
 
 1 20
 
 and the Abbe Leroux 5^ 
 
 in the wide street where the low log huts 
 of the Khonds were built, for the fierce 
 folk scorn all who work with their hands 
 and cannot plough the earth or wield the 
 battle-axe. The potter had to live in 
 one of the huts at the back of the 
 village along with the weaver, the black- 
 smith, the village servants, and the seller 
 of opium and arrack. When daily the 
 jungle fever racked his bones, he learned 
 to drink more than was good for him, 
 as do all Khonds and lowland dwellers 
 in the hills. In the long evenings, when 
 he remained drinking in his hut, he was 
 glad if Billo the weaver came in to sit 
 with him, and talk of such things as 
 the potter liked to listen to when foolish 
 with the sweet fermented juice of the 
 Mohwa flower, 
 
 " Abba," cried the potter one night, 
 as he and the weaver sat drinking to- 
 gether, " I was but an empty fool to 
 
 121
 
 ^ The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 leave my wife and native village and 
 come here to dwell in a wilderness. Do 
 not our Shastras tell us that a wise man 
 should live only in a village where there 
 is a temple, a Brahman priest, and sweet 
 water? The Khonds are cattle, and 
 have no gods nor temples." 
 
 " Ah, you know nothing ! " replied 
 Billo, drawing a rolled-up leaf from his 
 hair and proceeding to fill it with tobacco. 
 *' Who taught the Khonds to plough the 
 earth and make terraces on the hillside 
 to grow their rice.^ Was it not Tari, 
 the Earth Goddess.^ Have not I and 
 my forefathers, the village weavers for 
 generations past, brought the lovely 
 boys and girls from the lowland villages 
 to be offered as a sacrifice to the goddess 
 in the sacred grove near the village. But 
 now, since the red-faced foreigners rule 
 the land, I get no wealth to buy offerings 
 for the goddess, and live neglected at the 
 
 122
 
 and the Abbe Leroux Tfr 
 
 back of the village with you and the 
 blacksmith. Bah ! the Khonds have 
 become as monkeys who run through 
 the forest, and as pigs who root up the 
 ground. The goddess will yet tear them 
 in pieces and blacken their homes if 
 they listen not to her words, and give 
 her the food she loves and sprinkle the 
 blood on the fields." 
 
 " Godless husbands of one wife, they 
 love blood and are as fierce as jungle 
 cats," said the potter, raising a bottle 
 with trembling hand and pouring the 
 strong oily liquor into his open mouth, 
 his lowland habits still clinging to him 
 and preventing him touching the flask 
 with his lips, " to-day I quaked as a reed 
 shaken by the wind when the jabbering 
 monkeys carried past one of their village 
 to cut off his nose for looking at another 
 man's wife." 
 
 " Bah ! " cried Billo, pausing to help
 
 '^ The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 himself from the potter's flask and 
 drinkino- in the same manner as his 
 companion. " What does a lowland 
 potter know of the ways of a Khond ? 
 If the fool's nose was cut some woman 
 told her husband to do it so that the 
 village might think she had a lover. 
 The women do as they like, and often 
 marry two husbands. If a woman sits 
 with her lover in the forest or in her 
 home, she need but place her lover's 
 shoes or bow and arrow across the path 
 or on the threshold and the husband 
 dare not pass. Why not ? The women 
 stay at home and tend the cattle while 
 the men lie drunk under the sago-trees. 
 Oh ! the Khond women know their 
 value, and will run away if not obeyed. 
 How can a Khond get a new wife ^ 
 He must go to a far-off village and pay 
 the purchase money, or else serve for six 
 months in the home of her parents, and
 
 and the Abbe Leroux .^c» 
 
 even then he must carry her off from 
 her relatives by force. Ho ! ho ! " 
 laughed Billo, noticing the eager looks 
 with which the potter, as he leaned 
 forward, listened to his words, " Ho ! 
 ho ! to think of Chengal the potter 
 running off with a Khond woman and 
 laying his earthen pot across the path to 
 prevent her husband following. Why, 
 the village bachelors would place it on 
 your head, tie you to your potter's 
 wheel, and hack you to pieces as it 
 whirled round, while the husband and 
 wife would stand by laughing. Last 
 year," continued the weaver, sinking his 
 voice, " when the English sahib cut 
 down one of their sago-palms to make a 
 salad of the young, tender leaves, they 
 tied lighted tow to an arrow, and shot it 
 into the thatched roof of the house where 
 he dwelt. No Khond would then 
 re-thatch the roof, and the sahib 
 
 125
 
 ^' The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 had to sleep under the trees in the 
 forest." 
 
 " What becomes of the unmarried 
 girls in the eventime ? I see none of 
 them in the hamlet," asked the potter, 
 not heeding the Avords of the weaver. 
 
 " Ah ! you have not found out, though 
 you have lived here six months," replied 
 Billo, smiling. " You know the big log 
 hut at the end of the village, there at 
 sunset they lock up all the unmarried 
 girls and place the key in charge of an 
 old woman. In a similar house at the 
 other end of the village they lock up the 
 bachelors. If they find you prowling 
 about the hamlet in the eventime, they 
 will lock you up with the bachelors." 
 
 " One might as well be a croaking 
 frog at the bottom of a dried-up well as 
 live here alone," cried Chengal in angry 
 tones. " If I am not to have a wife like 
 ail other respectable men, I will leave 
 
 126
 
 and the Abbe Leroux ^ 
 
 the village. Why cannot I as well as a 
 monkey Khond buy a wife ? " 
 
 " Women are few in the Khond 
 villages," replied the weaver, quietly, 
 watching the potter ; " the Khonds kill 
 their female children, and keep but a 
 few. A wife is dear to buy. Besides, 
 you are old and ugly." 
 
 " Ah ! " answered the potter, growing 
 cautious, and not noticing the taunt, 
 " the Khond women are flat-nosed, half- 
 clad, black witches. A man is perhaps 
 better alone." 
 
 " I know a maiden of your own caste, 
 who has not yet seen fifteen crops," said 
 the weaver, gazing through the thick 
 smoke at the black thatched roof in an 
 absent manner, pretending not to notice 
 the eager looks of the potter who, half 
 drunk, bent forward to catch every 
 word. 
 
 " Her people owe me yet for the cloth 
 
 127
 
 ^ The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 I vveaved for her last year. She will soon 
 get a husband, and then they will pay 
 me. Fifty rupees they hope to get. 
 Yesterday her parents asked me if I 
 would travel to the low country and find 
 her a husband. Ah ! " continued Billo, 
 pausing to light his tobacco, and watching 
 the face of the potter from under his 
 half-closed eyes, " ah ! the lovely-eyed 
 Kamakshi walks like a drunken ele- 
 phant. I could swear on a tiger-skin 
 that she paints her eyes black." 
 
 " Vile weaver of coarse cloths," inter- 
 rupted Chengal, " what mean you by 
 saying that a woman of my caste lives in 
 the jungle, among people who have no 
 caste ? Know you not that a Brahman 
 will sleep in the house of a man of my 
 caste.'' " 
 
 " I know you and your caste, you 
 
 drunken moulder of pots," answered 
 
 Billo, unmoved ; " many of your people 
 
 128
 
 and the Abbe Leroux .^ 
 
 when in want have sold to me and my 
 fathers their children. Kamakshi is no 
 black-skinned Khond woman. Her 
 cheeks are like the ripe mango fruit. 
 May I fall to dust like that of the ant- 
 hill if her hair is not black as charred 
 wood and long as the trail of the 
 serpent. May I become leprous as the 
 lizard if her ears are not as big as 
 lotus leaves." 
 
 " Wretched bearer of other men's 
 messages, you lie like a ploughing 
 Brahman of Orissa, if you say that a 
 woman of my caste lives in the hamlet 
 and I know it not." 
 
 Billo answered not^ but sunk his head 
 on his breast as if half asleep. 
 
 " Billo," continued the potter, fearing 
 
 he had offended his companion, " I have 
 
 heard that you can weave cloths fringed 
 
 with silk and gold thread if you are 
 
 well paid. The people say that as you 
 
 129 I
 
 ^ The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 have no male child, and your wife is 
 growing old, you intend to seek a new 
 wife. Billo, I am a poor potter ; how 
 can I gather up wealth to buy your 
 cloths and help you to purchase a new 
 wife ; but I know my people would 
 send me twenty rupees if they heard I 
 was seeking Kamakshi ? Tell me, 
 friend of the Khonds, how came a 
 woman of my caste to the hamlet?" 
 
 The weaver looked long at the 
 wizened face and cunning eyes of the 
 potter before he replied, " Chengal, 
 moulder of clay, I will tell you, 
 though no one else in the hamlet knows 
 the story, and little good will it do you. 
 
 " Some forty years ago, I was sent 
 to the plains to purchase or kidnap 
 victims, thirty or more. In those 
 days, Tari the goddess was raging 
 through the land, she had swept away 
 the rains and sent the tigers down 
 
 130
 
 and the Abbe Leroux 5^ 
 
 from the mountain tops, so that the 
 people were afraid to leave their homes. 
 Among those I brought back were a 
 boy and girl of your caste. They were 
 not sacrificed, for the English sahib 
 released them. So they married and 
 settled in our hamlet, and Kamakshi 
 was born to them. Eh ! why do you 
 sleep, fool of a potter ? I alone know 
 now where Kamakshi is, and without 
 my aid you cannot get her. I bought 
 her father and mother, and the man 
 who marries their daughter pays me 
 fifty rupees. By the claws of the tiger 
 it is not much ; half will have to go to 
 her parents." 
 
 " Fifty rupees," repeated Chengal, 
 with drunken gravity, " fifty rupees, 
 fifty cowries you mean, base-born seller 
 of another man's children ; why in my 
 village I could buy ten girls of my caste 
 for fifty rupees." 
 
 131
 
 ^ The L ast Human Sacrifice 
 
 " So have I, friend Chengal, but we 
 live in the hills, and women are scarce. 
 What women of your caste would come 
 here to die of fever ? Fifty rupees, oh ! 
 oh 1 frog at the bottom of a dried-up 
 well." 
 
 Long Chengal and Billo watched each 
 other's eyes through the thick smoke 
 with which the room was filled. At 
 length the potter rose, and with uncer- 
 tain steps made his way to the corner of 
 the room, and there unlocking a wooden 
 box carried back to the weaver a heavy 
 bag of rupees. Seizing the weaver's 
 outstretched hand, he whispered in his 
 ear, still holding the bag — 
 
 " Brother-in-law, fifty long-saved 
 rupees, all I own in the world. Will 
 Kamakshi's mother bring her here in 
 the morning ? " 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! " laughed the weaver, 
 
 " you will have to visit the maiden 
 
 132
 
 and the Abbe Leroux 5^ 
 
 yourself. Bring her a rich cloth and 
 some jewels, if she consent not, then 
 her mother " 
 
 A significant look passed between the 
 potter and the weaver, and as the latter 
 seized the bag and tied it beneath his 
 waistcloth he turned to leave. Before, 
 however, he reached the door, the potter 
 seized him hastily by the arm and 
 whispered hoarsely— 
 
 *' You have not yet said where I 
 am to find my loved wife, the bright- 
 eyed Kamakshi." 
 
 Billo stood for a moment by the 
 door looking into the black darkness, 
 and then turned and whispered in the 
 ear of his companion. 
 
 *' Kamakshi lives under the charge 
 of my wife, to whom I will speak, in 
 the home built near the village by the 
 French padre, the Abbe Leroux." 
 
 133
 
 ^ The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 II. 
 
 "NTEXT morning Billo, the weaver, 
 ^ ^ sat on the verandah of his house 
 at the end of the hamlet, waiting for 
 his wife to come from the school of the 
 French padre and prepare his mid-day 
 meal. As he watched her shamble along 
 down the middle of the street as fast as 
 her aged limbs would carry her, he noticed 
 that her head shook and her lips moved 
 quickly as though she were muttering 
 to herself When she approached nearer 
 and saw the angry looks of her husband, 
 her thin, bent-down body seemed to 
 shrink more than ever, while her shaking 
 hand hastily drew her scanty raiment, 
 
 134
 
 and the Abbe Leroux .^ 
 
 which reached but half way down to her 
 knee, closer round her shrivelled, ash- 
 coloured shoulder. Silently and with 
 bent-down eyes she stole towards the 
 verandah and, seating herself near the 
 door of the house a few paces behind 
 her husband, commenced once more to 
 moan and wring her hands. She heeded 
 not as Billo glared at her out of the 
 corner of his eyes with growing wrath, 
 but continued muttering to herself — 
 
 "Three children have I born, all 
 useless girls ; never once has a boy been 
 born to us ; never once has a full crop 
 grown in our fields since the time the 
 Earth Goddess last received a sacrifice. 
 Ten girls, all sacred to the mother, live 
 in the school kept by the French padre, 
 and none of our village has the heart 
 of a tiger to give the mother the food 
 she loves. One, only one, the mother 
 longs for ; then my husband would gain 
 
 135
 
 ^ The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 wealth and buy a young wife to fetch 
 water from the river and cook his food, 
 to bear him a boy child to continue our 
 race. He is an owl that sits on the 
 housetop bringing ruin to the family." 
 
 " Where am I to get money to buy a 
 girl ? " cried the weaver, now roused to 
 anger by her taunts. " Toothless tigress, 
 fed by the food of another, get more 
 money from your master, the French 
 padre, and I will bring home a girl for 
 you to beat." 
 
 ** The padre will give us no more 
 money," she fiercely answered, raising 
 her thin arm and shaking it at her 
 husband in rage. " To-day he drove 
 me out of the school, and told me to 
 come no more. May the mother turn 
 him into a tiger to devour the girls he 
 keeps from her." 
 
 " Mother of girls," cried the weaver, 
 " your words are as the cawing of a 
 
 136
 
 and the Abbe Leroux ^ 
 
 crow. If you bring not home the 
 padre's money, I will tie you to a tree 
 as food for jackals." 
 
 " Unmarried man, you rave as the 
 madman in the village whom the people 
 keep locked up in his house, chained 
 to a log of wood. You and your low- 
 caste maker of pots have taken the food 
 from our stomachs. When he spoke to 
 the foul fiend, Kamakshi, the padre came 
 and beat him across the back with a 
 heavy stick. The girl, who took the 
 potter's rupees and jewels, laughed as 
 she heard him cry out, and clapped her 
 hands when the padre drove us forth 
 from the school." 
 
 " Listen to my words, dried-up mother 
 of girls," said the weaver, scowling 
 fiercely from beneath his shaggy brows 
 at his wife, who sat trembling with 
 mingled fear and anger. " You remem- 
 ber how, five years ago, I told the 
 
 137
 
 ^ The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 • — — ^■^^-^— — ^^— ^^— — — — — — — ^— 
 
 Khonds that you stole out iti the dead 
 of night and roamed through the village 
 in the form of a tigress. They then 
 made you eat blows, and have ever 
 since prevented you from coming near 
 the village, except in the daytime to 
 cook my food. If you tell of what you 
 have seen to-day, I will swear before 
 the Khonds that I have seen you assume 
 the form of a tigress during the day- 
 time, and then they will pull out your 
 teeth and slay you as a witch. Go now 
 to the padre, fall at his feet, and tell 
 him that the potter brought Kamakshi 
 a message of love from a Khond of 
 another tribe in a far-off village. Tell 
 the girl that the potter will give her 
 rich jewels and rupees if she makes the 
 long-bearded foreigner believe your 
 words, else we will slay her parents in 
 the sacred grove. Go, the anger of 
 the foreigner will have passed like a 
 
 138
 
 and the Abbe Leroux f^^ 
 
 hot-day cloud ; he knows not the way 
 of our people, and how when we smile 
 we love to throw dust in his eyes." 
 
 So saying, the weaver hurried out ; 
 but as he approached the potter's house 
 he grew uneasy, for the door was closed, 
 and in front, beneath the open thatched 
 shed, the earth lay dry on the wheel. 
 Hastily throwing open the door, he 
 looked into the dimly lighted room, 
 where, in a corner, he discerned the 
 potter lying half asleep on a cot. 
 
 On seeing the weaver, he raised him- 
 self and, shaking his hand in anger, 
 burst into a loud torrent of abuse. 
 
 " May you and all your race be sus- 
 pended by a rope, which is ever gnawed 
 by rats, over the bottomless pit. Who 
 am I to be beaten like a pariah dog 
 with a stick by a drunken priest of a 
 godless temple ? May the goddess of 
 small-pox ride on an ass through your 
 
 139
 
 ^ The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 villages and the goddess of cholera slay 
 your sons. I, Chengal, the potter, in 
 whose house a Brahman priest has eaten 
 food, driven through the streets as if I 
 were a base-born son of a dancing girl. 
 To the maiden have I given the nose- 
 rings of my wife and ten rupees, yet she 
 laughed in my face when the long- 
 bearded padre beat me like a dog." 
 
 " Bah," said the weaver, leaning 
 against the doorpost, " you can laugh 
 in the beard of the French priest when 
 you bring Kamakshi to your home. 
 Spoke I not truth when I told you she 
 was fair as a girl of the lowland 
 villages.'* " 
 
 '* Listen, blinking owl of ill omen," 
 
 cried Chengal, fiercely, " half of the 
 
 fifty rupees you can keep if you help 
 
 me to drive the French padre from the 
 
 village, and as for Kamakshi, who stole 
 
 my money and jewels and laughed in 
 
 140
 
 and the Abbe Leroux ^^ 
 
 my face, you can keep her for your- 
 self." 
 
 Billo stood thinking as he watched 
 the potter, who had risen, and now 
 paced up and down the room muttering 
 angry words to himself. 
 
 " Chengal," at length he said, " you 
 speak like the wind, knowing not the 
 ways of our people. When I seek a 
 wife I seek one from a distant tribe, 
 as do the Khonds. Besides, I have 
 paid the parents of Kamakshi the pur- 
 chase money in full, and they have 
 consented to give you the girl. How, 
 then, can we take her back.^ Is she 
 not yours ? " 
 
 "Do as you will with the girl," 
 replied Chengal, in fierce anger. " I 
 have sworn by the black Kah that she 
 and the French padre will yet eat dirt. 
 I took count of each blow, and all will 
 be paid back with interest. Let him 
 
 141
 
 ^ The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 watch the food he eats and the milk 
 he drinks. I have sworn to build a 
 temple to KaH in the village when he 
 dies. Come, now, weaver, in the forest 
 I will show the black Khonds how we 
 honour our goddess Kali, for never yet 
 has a new temple been erected in her 
 honour but we shed the blood of a 
 human victim before her image." 
 
 " Brother," said Billo, starting, " you 
 lie like a lowland trader. I have 
 travelled in your villages and never 
 yet seen aught but the blood of igoats 
 shed before the mother Kali. It is 
 the Goddess of the Earth, the loved 
 Tari, alone who demands human blood." 
 
 "Bah," interrupted Chengal, "wise 
 
 man in your own house and a fool in 
 
 the streets, you know not the mysteries 
 
 of our temples. Once we appease the 
 
 mother Kali with a human offering, 
 
 ever afterwards she is satisfied with the 
 
 142
 
 and the Abbe Leroux .^^ 
 
 blood of goats and fowls. Now, beloved 
 of the gods and knower of nothing, will 
 you swear that the Khonds never offer 
 a sacrifice in the sacred grove to their 
 mother Tari ? " 
 
 Billo, the weaver, looked warily out 
 of the house and round the room to see 
 that no one was near, and then beckon- 
 ing him to his side, whispered — 
 
 " Once in twelve years a sacrifice 
 takes place among one or other of the 
 tribes who worship Tari. Last year 
 the word was sent to our hamlet that 
 this year our turn would come to pro- 
 vide a victim, but we fear the English 
 rulers, and have none ready for the 
 sacrifice. The offering must be given 
 by the parents or purchased for a price, 
 for the Khonds like not the guilt to fall 
 on their own heads. The Khond but 
 obeys the goddess, and gives her her 
 own. Who now is to give a victim to 
 
 H3
 
 ^ The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 Tari ? The Khonds have given me 
 the money to purchase one, but I fear 
 to go to the lowland plains, for the 
 rulers have sworn to hang me if I am 
 found in the villages." 
 
 " Then go," cried Chengal, with 
 flashing eyes, his thin arm raised above 
 his head exultingly, " go quick, send 
 out word to the Khonds of the tribes 
 who honour the goddess. Bid them 
 assemble here with the heads of the 
 villages and chiefs of their clans, for 
 the offering is now ready. Let the 
 Khonds pay me back the money I 
 gave you for Kamakshi and she will 
 be theirs. No blame will rest on their 
 heads, for it is I and her parents who 
 give her as a sacrifice. Speed the word 
 from village to village, but let each 
 Khond who hears the message swear 
 on the earth, on the tiger skin, on the 
 
 anthill, to hold the secret in silence, for 
 
 144
 
 and the Abbe Leroux ^ 
 
 if the Enghsh officer or French padre 
 hear, the villages will be burned to the 
 ground, the sacred groves will be cut 
 down, and all of us carried off to the 
 lowland plains, where we will surely 
 be hung. Let the message go quick, 
 for even now the fierce Kali knows our 
 thoughts and has entered into my veins. 
 Wealth according to their desire belongs 
 to those who serve her. She whispers 
 in the ear of her lord and husband, the 
 three-eyed Siva, to forgive the past and 
 future sins of those who wait in her 
 temples. Holy mother Kali, thy wor- 
 ship will yet take the place of Tari in 
 the Khond villages, the people will bring 
 thee the food thou lovest, and ever after 
 present goats and fowls to thy dread 
 image. Appoint me, O mother, thy 
 priest. The sacred grove will echo 
 with the cries of thy worshippers ; the 
 white walls of thy temple will shine 
 
 145 K
 
 ■^ The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 beneath the tamarind-trees. Hasten, O 
 mother, drive the foreign priest from 
 the land, raze his schools and chapel to 
 the ground, cover them with ashes, and 
 the Khonds will dance with wild joy as 
 they slay the victim till the earth shakes 
 beneath their feet, even as it did when 
 thou didst dance on the bodies of thy 
 fallen foes. Abide in the village. I, 
 thy priest, will present the offerings of 
 the people before thine image. 
 
 " Go now, weaver of cloths, you will 
 yet grow rich with the offerings of the 
 people when the loved image of Kali 
 takes the place of the red-smeared 
 stone, the symbol of Tari. Go, make 
 all ready, for the sacrifice will take place 
 on the tenth day from now. I will build 
 a temple of stone and earth, and place 
 therein an image of Kali, marked with 
 blood, so that the Khonds may imagine 
 that it is their loved goddess, Tari." 
 
 146
 
 and the Abbe Leroux ^ 
 
 Excited by the words of the potter, 
 Billo, the weaver, hastened back to the 
 hamlet and sent out word to the fields 
 and forests, telling the Khonds and their 
 headmen to assemble that night to hear 
 a message that had been sent from the 
 people of their tribe, respecting the 
 sacrifice to the Earth Goddess, He 
 then made his way to the hut of the 
 Soondi, whose business it was to distil 
 the sap of the sago-palm and juice of 
 the fallen flowers of the mohwa-trees, 
 and told him to bring forth as many 
 pots of strong drink as he possessed, or 
 could make ready, for great would be 
 the rejoicing in the village when the 
 Khonds assembled together to listen to 
 the message from the goddess. 
 
 The sun had long sunk below the 
 forest-clad hill-tops surrounding the 
 valley in which lay the hamlet of 
 Adeva, before the Khonds, already half- 
 
 147
 
 ^ The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 intoxicated, uttering fierce cries, brand- 
 ishing their battle-axes, or aimlessly 
 discharging their arrows into the sur- 
 rounding darkness, commenced to as- 
 semble together, some dancing beneath 
 the massive cotton-trees in the centre 
 of the village ; others engaging here and 
 there in mock combat near the huge 
 log-fires, which burned brightly in front 
 of each house. Soon the scene became 
 wilder as the Khonds gathered in from 
 the fields and surrounding hamlets, or 
 hurried down from the mountain-sides, 
 where for days past they had been busy 
 clearing the fertile soil for cultivation, 
 ringing the tall forest trees, burning the 
 high jungle grass and dried undergrowth, 
 so that now a broad belt of fire, half- 
 way up the surrounding hills, enclosed 
 the valley. Above, the heavens shone 
 white with bands of deep clustering 
 
 stars ; below, in the hamlet, it seemed 
 
 148
 
 and the Abbe Leroux iV 
 
 as if demons and foul spirits danced 
 amid the flare and smoke of the torches 
 the Khonds carried in their hands. As 
 their eyes grew red and their throats 
 parched, the Soondi was ready with his 
 maddening drink to rouse still further 
 their wild passions. 
 
 At a signal from the headman of the 
 hamlet, the Khonds, some wearing 
 buffalo horns tied to their foreheads, 
 others, with their hair wound round in 
 a circle on one side of their heads, 
 gaudily decorated with strips of red 
 cloth and brilliant peacock's or jungle 
 fowl's feathers, ranged themselves in a 
 circle close together, their elbows pressed 
 to their sides, and commenced their 
 wild, mad, tribal dance. With bodies 
 bent down, eyes fixed on the ground, 
 each dancer raised his feet in high regular 
 step, all keeping pace, till by degrees 
 the circle moved round quicker and 
 
 149
 
 ^ The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 quicker, no word being uttered, save 
 when now and then a wild, muffled cry 
 arose, proclaiming the fierce excitement 
 of one or other of the dancers. 
 
 The potter and the weaver stood aloof 
 with the headman watching the dance, 
 and waiting for the time to come when 
 the Khonds would be ready to listen to 
 their words. 
 
 Suddenly the wife of the weaver 
 rushed forth from the darkness, break- 
 ing the ring, and taking her place be- 
 tween two young Khonds commenced 
 to dance, step by step, with the others, 
 she, the only woman present. Her 
 feet were raised high ; her shrieks 
 burst forth wildly, as bent down she 
 danced on as if possessed by an evil 
 spirit ; her scanty cloth leaving un- 
 covered her withered breasts ; her coarse 
 grey hair standing out round her head 
 
 and shoulders in wild confusion ; her 
 
 'SO
 
 and the Abbe Leroux 5^ 
 
 face daubed with saffron, looking weird 
 and fierce in the bright glare from the 
 burning torches and log fires piled up 
 high by the women and children with 
 huge logs of wood. 
 
 Wilder grew the dance, till one fierce 
 shriek arose as the wife of the weaver 
 rushed forward towards the centre of 
 the ring, foaming at the mouth, con- 
 vulsively writhing her frail body as 
 moaning she fell to the ground. With 
 frantic yells the dancers crowded round, 
 each savagely fighting to get near and 
 hear the words that fell from the lips 
 of the woman now supposed to be seized 
 by the spirit of the goddess. Loud came 
 the cries from the struggling crowd — 
 
 " The goddess has entered into the 
 wife of the weaver, let her now declare 
 to us Her will. Did not the goddess 
 teach the wife of the weaver to assume 
 the form of a tigress in the night-time ? 
 
 151
 
 ■^ The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 Now the words of the goddess hang on 
 her lips ; let her speak, and we listen. 
 . Who are we to be swept from the land 
 like ploughed earth down the mountain- 
 side by the heavy rain ? Our fields are 
 lying waste ; the samber deer eat our 
 crops, and the wild forest pig root up 
 the earth ; too long have we neglected 
 the Earth Goddess, Tari. Let her now 
 speak, and we will do her will." 
 
 As the weaver's wife struggled on the 
 ground, those nearest listened to the 
 words that were shrieked from her 
 foaming lips, and cried them to the 
 others, till the air rang with the sup- 
 posed commands of the Goddess of the 
 Earth. 
 
 " Tari calls. She waits in the sacred 
 grove. 
 
 " Last year the tiger she sent slew the 
 village priest. The goddess will yet 
 send tigers, so that the fields will be 
 
 152
 
 and the Abbe Leroux ^ 
 
 # 
 
 deserted, and the mountain paths grow 
 covered with jungle as the people sit 
 at home afraid to go out. The goddess 
 cries for a sacrifice. The turmeric will 
 grow red, and the crops plentiful, when 
 the blood is sprinkled and the flesh 
 planted in the earth. No blame will 
 rest on the Khonds, the blame will rest 
 on the goddess who demands the sacri- 
 fice, and on those who sell their children. 
 For twelve years no sacrifice has taken 
 place in the sacred grove. Let the 
 people swear on the earth to obey the 
 goddess. Let them swear not to tell 
 the French priest, or send word to the 
 English rulers." 
 
 At these words a murmur arose 
 among the crowd, and there was an 
 angry silence, till a young Khond, whose 
 battle-axe, with three bands of silver 
 round its long handle, had a blade 
 divided into nine broad teeth, and whose 
 
 153
 
 ^' The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 hair was decorated with brighter cloth 
 and Jonger feathers than that of the 
 others, stepped forward, and first sa- 
 luting the headman with folded hands 
 raised to his head, the thumbs touching 
 his nose, turned towards the Khonds, 
 and spoke in slow, clear voice — 
 
 " Let the Khonds hear my words, 
 then let the headman speak wisdom. 
 Am I not known to the Khonds ? Have 
 I not slain a tiger with the iron-shod 
 end of a bamboo pole, and did not the 
 English sahib give me a gun as a re- 
 ward ? Since that day have I done any 
 work ; do not the Khonds honour me 
 as having the heart of a tiger ; may I 
 not go into any man's house and take 
 all I desire ? Let them now listen. 
 The Khonds lie not like the lowland 
 dwellers in the plains ; they are one race 
 bound together, not divided into caste. 
 Yet in our villages live foreigners, base- 
 
 '54
 
 and the Abbe Leroux 5^ 
 
 born men, who plough not nor fight, 
 but work with their hands. Base-born 
 slaves, who live not in the Khond street, 
 whom we, kings of the hills, found here 
 dwelling as pigs when we came from our 
 ancient home ; they lie and steal like 
 lowland thieves. Let us then all swear 
 on the earth to do the bidding of the 
 goddess, and slay with lingering torture 
 the man, woman, or child, who bears 
 news to the foreign priest or hill police." 
 As the Khond ceased, and stepped 
 back amid shouts of applause and ap- 
 proval, the weaver came forward, and 
 throwing himself prone on the ground 
 in front of the headman, waited for per- 
 mission to speak, which being granted, 
 he rose, and facing the Khonds, spoke 
 with a loud voice, as one accustomed to 
 be listened to : — " Khonds of Adeva, I, 
 Billo, the village Dombo, bearer of 
 your messages, and buyer of your offer- 
 
 155
 
 ^ The Last Human Sacrific 
 
 ings, wilJ take the oath. But where is 
 the victim ? Fifty rupees has the head- 
 man given me to purchase for the sacri- 
 fice, but have not our rulers told us that 
 they will hang me if I go through the 
 villages in search of a new victim ? " 
 
 A roar of discontent rose from amid 
 the Khonds as with drunken reckless- 
 ness they flourished their battle-axes, 
 and, twirling them round, hurled them 
 in the air, around and above the head of 
 the weaver, who stood unmoved, watch- 
 ing the scene, as one well accustomed to 
 the wild ways of the people. In an 
 instant the wife of the weaver struggled 
 out of the arms of two of the village 
 matrons who were leading her away and, 
 rushing back, cried in wild excitement — 
 
 *' Let not the words of the goddess be 
 disobeyed, else ruin, disease and pesti- 
 lence will prowl through your homes. 
 Let the stranger in our midst provide 
 
 156
 
 and the Abbe Leroux .^ 
 
 the victim, and then no blame will rest 
 on us. Call forth the potter and let the 
 Khonds pay him the price he gave for 
 the maiden he has bought from her 
 parents, and let him go seek a wife for 
 himself among his own people." 
 
 " The voice of the goddess speaks 
 in her words," cried the weaver. 
 "The parents of Kamakshi sold her to 
 the potter ; let him go seek a wife 
 in the lowland villages, and let the 
 Khonds bid me pay him the fifty rupees 
 he gave for the girl. Let the parents 
 of Kamakshi be brought here to say if 
 they have sold their daughter to the 
 potter for fifty rupees." 
 
 Quickly the parents of Kamakshi 
 were fetched from the hut where they 
 lived outside the village limit, for they 
 never joined in the Khond life, but lived 
 poor and neglected on the land given 
 them, when they had been rescued from 
 
 157
 
 ^ Th e Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 the sacrifice for which they had in past 
 days been purchased by the weaver, who 
 alone knew their race and parentage. 
 TrembHng the old man and woman told 
 how their daughter Kamakshi had been 
 taken from their home by the French 
 priest, and how they were glad to re- 
 ceive the rupees of the potter to whom 
 they had given her, and that they now 
 wished not to see her again. As the 
 Khonds heard the words they crowded 
 round the parents of Kamakshi, crying 
 out that their reward would be as great 
 as if they themselves had been sacrificed 
 in their youth to the goddess who 
 would ever in the future hold them 
 under her protection. 
 
 Loud cries arose as the headman 
 raised his hand and stood waiting to 
 speak ; his short, thin beard, piercing 
 eyes and keen glance, broad nose, firm 
 forehead, full chest, thin waist, and high, 
 
 TS8
 
 and the Abbe Leroux ^ 
 
 arched instep marking him out as a 
 Khond of the Khonds, one who knew 
 no fear of man, but whose simple mind 
 dreaded the unknown forces that lay hid 
 all around him in the dim mysteries of 
 nature. Quietly the Khonds squatted 
 round to listen in silence to the words 
 of their chief. Twice as he strove to 
 speak the words died away in his throat, 
 and as he bowed his head on his breast, 
 women's tears trickled down the cheeks 
 of the fierce clansmen who had oft 
 witnessed the feats of daring, and knew 
 the cunning skill of their loved chief. 
 At length his sentences came slow, till, 
 as he continued, the wild, fierce words 
 came flowing from his lips, and his form 
 grew erect and defiant, as each sentence 
 was followed by loud cries of approval 
 from his listening people. 
 
 " Khonds of Adeva, have not I and 
 my forefathers oft led you to battle ? 
 
 159
 
 ^* The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 Two years ago we slew sixty men of 
 
 the clan who sacrifice not to Tari. 
 
 When the arrows fell as hail and the 
 
 stones came from the slings like rain, 
 
 was not I the first to hew the hand 
 
 from one of our vaunting foes and hang 
 
 it on the tree as an offering to the God 
 
 of Battle ? How many times have you 
 
 carried me home covered with wounds? 
 
 Khonds of Adeva, far away lies the 
 
 place of judgment for those of our race 
 
 who die. The way is dreary, the river 
 
 flows swift round the smooth mountain 
 
 side, where the God of Judgment sits 
 
 waiting for our spirits. All of my 
 
 forefathers have leaped the flowing river 
 
 and found firm foothold on the slippery 
 
 rocks, for the goddess whom they served 
 
 held their footsteps firm and led them 
 
 safe to the summit of the mountain to 
 
 receive their reward from the God of 
 
 Judgment. Not one of them has fallen 
 
 160
 
 and the Abbe Leroux 5^ 
 
 down the steep ascent, and returned to 
 the land of the living deformed in body 
 or limb. We have all lived among you 
 fair, strong men. We have led you to 
 battle, joined in your dances, chased the 
 tiger to its lair, driven the bear and 
 cheetah from their caves in the hills. 
 We have chosen your priests and made 
 peace with the English soldiers when 
 we saw they were many and had guns 
 and swords against which our battle- 
 axes, bows and arrows could not fight. 
 Have we ever lied or spoken words of 
 folly? Let the English sahibs keep 
 their rescued victims from the goddess. 
 We can buy new ones. The goddess 
 calls. The summons has come from 
 the clans. For twelve years the earth 
 has cried in our hamlet with hunger, 
 for no sacrifice has taken place in the 
 sacred grove. You have heard her 
 words, will you face her wrath if dis- 
 
 l6l L
 
 ^ The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 obeyed ? See, the fire creeps up the 
 mountain side, the earth Hes bare, will 
 it yield if the flesh be not planted and 
 the blood sprinkled? Swear, then, on 
 the earth to keep secret the rites we 
 will perform, and all the clans who 
 share in the sacrifice will call the 
 Khonds in the hamlet of Adeva men 
 with the hearts of tigers. By the hill- 
 side and by the mountain paths you 
 have placed stones and daubed them 
 with red, to keep in your memories the 
 blood sacrifice. Let, now, the priest 
 take the symbol, and set it as he will 
 in the sacred grove, that the goddess 
 may know we have not forgotten her. 
 In the villages of the plains, in the chief 
 hamlets in the hills, the people now 
 build temples and set therein the sym- 
 bols of the spirits they appease with the 
 blood of fowls and goats. Listen, now, 
 
 to my words. Our priest has been 
 
 162
 
 and the Abbe Leroux .W 
 
 slain by a tiger sent by the angry 
 
 goddess. In his place I appoint Chengal, 
 
 the potter, as priest, to carry out the 
 
 sacred rites, and on my head be the 
 
 blame if any part of the rites be not 
 
 fully carried out ten days from now. 
 
 Let Chengal be the priest, and let the 
 
 blame of the bloodshed be on his head, 
 
 for he has sold us the victim, the maiden 
 
 Kamakshi." 
 
 For ten days the Khonds held revel ; 
 
 for ten days the potter laboured in the 
 
 sacred grove, building a temple ten feet 
 
 square, with pointed roof, wherein he 
 
 placed the image of Kali, a fierce image 
 
 of the goddess, with red streaked face 
 
 and lolling tongue, and four arms, one 
 
 hand bearing a sword, one hand holding 
 
 a human head, dripping blood, one hand 
 
 pointing to the heavens, one hand held 
 
 forth to her worshippers ; her eyes 
 
 painted black with white circles, her 
 
 163
 
 ^ The Last Human Sacrifice 
 
 girdle painted with dead men's hands, 
 her necklace painted with dead men's 
 skulls. 
 
 On the third day before the sacrifice 
 the Abbe Leroux was told by the wife 
 of the weaver that Kamakshi had fled 
 from the home during the night, to seek 
 a Khond whom she loved in a far-off 
 hamlet, and that the rest of his girls 
 had fled to their parents, fearing his 
 anger. 
 
 That night Kamakshi, stupefied with 
 opium, lay in the house of the potter, 
 and so she remained for three days, 
 being led out during the eventime to 
 the sacred grove, where she was honoured 
 and worshipped, for the K bonds hold 
 the victim sacred even before the sacri- 
 fice takes place. 
 
 Before sunrise of the fourth day there 
 was not a Khond hamlet within sixty 
 miles of the grove in which the sacred 
 
 164
 
 DAILY THE I'Ori'i:K CLAN(;K1i his CVMliALS.
 
 and the Abbe Leroux 5^ 
 
 flesh had not been planted, for swift 
 runners quickly bore their share from 
 post to post along the lonely mountain 
 paths. 
 
 Ever afterwards the Khonds of Adeva 
 worshipped the goddess Kali, bringing 
 the flesh of sheep and goats to be eaten 
 by the weaver and the potter, and no 
 more was the worship of Tari heard of 
 in the hamlet. For long the Abbe 
 Leroux went in vain through the 
 neighbouring villages seeking out chil- 
 dren for his school, and daily Chengal 
 the potter clanged his cymbals in fierce 
 exultation as he thought of the down- 
 cast face of the Jesuit Father who never 
 knew how the shrine of the lowland 
 goddess Kali had risen in the Khond 
 hamlet of Adeva. 
 
 165
 
 THE DREAM OF LIFE.
 
 " You sec the concordance of Indian, Greek, and German 
 metaphysics ; the world is Maya, is illusion," says Cankara. 
 " It is a world of shadows, not of realities," says Plato. " It 
 is appearance only, not the thing in itself," savs Kant. — 
 Deu6SEN, " Philosophy of the Vedfinta," p. 332.
 
 THE DREAM OF LIFE. 
 I. 
 
 "Have you no thought, O Dreamer, that it 
 may be all Maya, illusion." — Walt Whitman. 
 
 ALL Hindu people bow down before 
 the Brahmans, counting them as 
 holy, of divine birth, very gods among 
 men. Inheritors and guardians of the 
 sacred lore and learning of the past, the 
 Brahmans trace back their descent from 
 the ancient Vedic sages, and claim 
 kindred with the Aryan races of the 
 West. Tall and well formed, with 
 high foreheads, thin, compressed nostrils, 
 
 169
 
 ^ The Dream 
 
 and of fair complexion, they look down 
 with haughty contempt on the dark- 
 skinned descendants of the aboriginal 
 inhabitants of the land, holding them- 
 selves aloof from all, allowing no low- 
 caste villager even to pass down the 
 streets where their rich houses are built. 
 Asserting that in the beginning they 
 were created from the head of the 
 Creator, that all other castes — soldiers, 
 merchants, and servile people — were 
 produced from the arms, body, or feet 
 of God for the sole protection of their 
 will and power, they have so moulded 
 the laws, religions, and customs of the 
 people that the duty of every man in 
 life, from birth to the funeral pyre, is 
 clearly laid down, and none dares depart 
 from the course thus allotted. As 
 counsellors of kings, as scholars, poets, 
 and philosophers, as priests in the 
 
 temples, and writers in the offices of 
 
 170
 
 of Li fe ^ 
 
 their rulers, wherever they may be 
 found, they have made their learning 
 honoured and their power feared. 
 
 To-day, wise men in our own land 
 find in the depths of their philosophy 
 all that has been reasoned out by the 
 ancient philosophers of Greece and the 
 deepest minds of to-day in the West. 
 Others, vainly seeking to pierce through 
 the dark mystery of Creation, would 
 fain believe that to the ascetic Brahman 
 sages and Mahatmas of India, secret 
 knowledge of the Unknown has been 
 revealed, and that their souls, rising 
 above all the trammels of the body, 
 wander free at will. 
 
 Renowned above all the Brahmans of 
 India for his learning in the Vedas, 
 Upanishads, and Vedanta, was the holy 
 and self-subdued Satyakama, the Lover 
 of Truth. For many generations past 
 his forefathers had lived wealthy and 
 
 171
 
 ^* The Dream 
 
 honoured in the weJl-known village of 
 Achinta, in the south where the 
 Brahman is still held holy as of old. 
 Step by step he had followed out all 
 the rules and ordinances laid down of 
 old for the guidance for his high order. 
 Sitting at the feet of his Guru, a learned 
 teacher, he had passed from youth to 
 manhood, learning by rote the entire 
 Sanskrit scriptures, glosses, and com- 
 mentaries. In manhood, self-contained 
 and subdued, he had poured forth to 
 scholars, seeking knowledge, the stored 
 treasures of his mind, his subtle brain 
 piercing deep through the hidden mean- 
 ing of the ancient sayings of the Vedic 
 sages. All debts to the gods and fore- 
 fathers he had paid. The temple priests 
 had gained rich presents from his hands 
 when they performed the religious rites 
 for his ancestors and family ; none of 
 
 his caste had ever been known to depart 
 
 172
 
 of Life fi^ 
 
 from his home empty-handed. When 
 his wife died he mourned for many 
 months, knowing that his life had been 
 rent in twain, and that nevermore would 
 the depths of his heart be read through 
 and through. Though three sons and 
 three fair daughters lived to hand down 
 his race unsullied to future generations, 
 yet he bowed his head before the words 
 of his people and knowing the disgrace 
 that clung to an unmarried man of his 
 caste, had taken to his home a second 
 wife, the youthful Slta, daughter of his 
 kinsman. 
 
 At length, having lived to see chil- 
 dren of his children and his own grey 
 hairs he longed to be finally freed from 
 all desires of the body, and end his days 
 as a hermit in the depths of the forest, 
 far away from the abode of man, brood- 
 ing over the mystery of that secret, 
 breathed forth in the infinite past, still 
 
 173
 
 ^* The Dream 
 
 ever echoing back to his soul weird 
 Avhispers from the endless bounds of 
 space. 
 
 The day when, according to the 
 customs of his forefathers, the ascetic 
 sage journeyed forth from his native 
 village, accompanied only by his gentle 
 wife Sita, was one long after remembered 
 by the grave elders, and ever held sacred 
 by the village maidens of Achinta. 
 Early, when the gleam of the morning 
 sun shone softly on the red-tiled houses in 
 the wide Brahman street, groups of sedate 
 holy men gathered together beneath 
 the shade of the sacred banyan trees, 
 waiting in silence, before the abode of 
 Satyakama, to accompany him on his 
 way as far as the village limits. Close 
 at hand, beneath the deep shadows of 
 the high pinnacles of the temple, bright- 
 eyed dancing girls stood ready to strew 
 rice and sweet-scented flowers before 
 
 174
 
 of Li fe ^ 
 
 the path of the youthful Slta, loved 
 throughout the village for her beauty 
 and piety. When at length Satyakama 
 came forth from his home his stern 
 features moved not as the holy men 
 pressed forward to bow down before 
 him in reverend salutation while the 
 dancing girls drew near singing hymns 
 of praise to their gods. He had long 
 since rooted out from his heart all the 
 fond delusions of life. He but now 
 hoped to reach the lonely solitudes of 
 the forest, commune with his own soul, 
 seeking that haven of rest where the 
 result of his good and evil actions would 
 never more throb down through the 
 ages producing birth and rebirth after 
 their own kind. 
 
 With white robes wrapped round his 
 folded arms he strode down the wide 
 Brahman street, where the lazy, sad-eyed 
 oxen lay half asleep beneath the thick 
 
 175
 
 ^ The Dream 
 
 shade of the holy fig-trees, and the naked 
 
 children stood gazing in wonder, with 
 
 wide open black eyes, at the passing 
 
 crowd, or sat by the wayside raising 
 
 mud heaps, crowned with yellow flowers, 
 
 to bow down before them with folded 
 
 hands, imitating in sad fancy the manner 
 
 of their parents. Slowly he passed on 
 
 through the busy streets of the merchants, 
 
 where in the heat and thick red dust 
 
 the ponderous bulls, sacred to Siva, 
 
 broke their rough way through the 
 
 crowd surging to and fro round the 
 
 deep verandahs heavily laden with 
 
 baskets of grain or filled with strange 
 
 idols cunningly worked in the sandal 
 
 wood of Tripati and roughly hewn brass 
 
 of Benares. Reaching the outskirts of 
 
 the village he hastened on past the palm 
 
 leaf round huts of the outcast pariahs 
 
 who, dreading lest even their shadows 
 
 might fall before the path of those born 
 
 176
 
 o f L i f e .5o» 
 
 from the head of the Creator, lay prone 
 on the ground in the midst of mire 
 where wallowed unclean pigs. He 
 stayed not to gaze where the trunks of 
 the dark green mango-trees were painted 
 in fantastic bands of red and white to 
 ward off the evil eye of the passer-by 
 from the heavy fruit that clustered over- 
 head. Wrapt in deep thought he 
 journeyed on beneath the shaded groves 
 of the stately cocoanut-trees whose broad 
 leaves rustled in the morning wind, on 
 between the thick edges of the screw 
 pines, where the golden chrysallises of 
 butterflies glistened on the edges of the 
 spiked trailing leaves, and venomous 
 snakes lay hid amid the thick twisted 
 roots, till at length he reached the 
 village tank in the midst of the rich 
 rice-fields. There he stayed to once 
 more gather up the sacred waters in his 
 hands and scatter them for the last time 
 
 177 M
 
 ^ The Dream 
 
 to the four quarters as he muttered 
 prayers to the gods and fathers. 
 
 The sun had risen high in the heavens 
 ere he reached the running waters of the 
 wide river forming the village boundary, 
 where he parted from the following 
 twice-born caste men, while STta took 
 her last sad farewell of the fond com- 
 panions of her youth, who bowed down 
 to touch her raiment, their soft limbs 
 gleaming olive-coloured through their 
 white robes yet wet with the waters of 
 the sacred tank. So, followed by his 
 wife, even as Rama was followed by his 
 STta in days of old when faith was firm 
 and men and women holy and pure, the 
 ascetic sage left his home to travel for 
 many months towards the far north. 
 Long they journeyed together, through 
 the sacred portals of holy Tripati, across 
 the broad Godaveri, over the burning 
 sands of the Kistna, towards the lofty 
 
 178
 
 of Life §^ 
 
 peaks of Mahendragiri, till they reached 
 
 the heights of Kailasa where they took 
 
 up their lonely abode, tended by the 
 
 wild hill people who lived in the 
 
 surrounding forests. There for many 
 
 weary months, Satyakama sitting in 
 
 strange postures, deeply pondered over 
 
 the teaching of the ancient Vedic sages, 
 
 performed all the penances and fastings, 
 
 suppression of the breath, ordained from 
 
 of old for all those who would free their 
 
 souls from the defilement of the body 
 
 and pierce through the secret of life and 
 
 death, birth and rebirth. 
 
 From the precipitous peaks of the 
 
 lofty mountain he gazed towards the 
 
 distant plains and thought how, in the 
 
 villages, dotted here and there along the 
 
 silvery lines of the broad rivers, amid 
 
 the busy haunts of men, the labourer 
 
 ever toiled for leave to live, how the 
 
 rich feverishly struggled through thank- 
 
 179
 
 ^ The Dream 
 
 less days and sleepless nights to increase 
 the wealth they hoarded, how the poet 
 and pandit hungered for fame, and the 
 lover sighed for love, all wearily knowing 
 deep down in their hearts that their 
 desire was a bubble destined to disappear 
 when grasped. He looked away towards 
 the stretching sand of the far off sea 
 shore, where the rolling waters lapped 
 in long white lines by the side of 
 the green snake and sleeping turtle 
 basking in the sunshine ; he looked 
 across the unrippled surface of the dark 
 blue ocean as it lay speckled with the 
 faint shadows of the light azure cloud 
 flecks floating gently over the face of 
 the deep heavens, and saw how beyond 
 was still the mystery of endless space 
 over which the unconscious soul of the 
 universe breathed calm from before all 
 time, one only without a second. 
 
 His soul then rested in peace while 
 i8o
 
 of Li fe 5^ 
 
 he pondered over the sad secret, ever 
 
 held dear by all holy men of his race, 
 
 that our life is but an uneasy dream, 
 
 conjuring forth diversity soon to vanish 
 
 away when all passes into unconscious 
 
 rest to evermore sleep in unison. Long 
 
 he meditated in deep thought over the 
 
 treasured lore of his land, telling how 
 
 the life that throbbed in the burning 
 
 rays of the sun, in the cold gleam of the 
 
 moon, in the deep love of his wife, 
 
 within himself and all creation, was the 
 
 unreal fancy of a dream conjured up by 
 
 the deluding power of Maya, which in 
 
 the beginning woke up the universe 
 
 from unconscious rest, to dream the sad 
 
 dream of life soon to cease when the 
 
 soul awakes seeing unity in all. By 
 
 some in his land the One God might be 
 
 seen as real in the wilderness, by some 
 
 in the rushing waters, by some in the 
 
 images they fashioned and worshipped, 
 
 i8i
 
 ^ The Dream 
 
 he alone longed to find a safe release 
 from endless transmigration of his soul 
 through birth after rebirth, ever produ- 
 cing desire, sorrow, and loss. He longed 
 that his soul might pass into unconscious 
 rest, equal and one with Brahma, pure 
 existence, thought, and joy, with naught 
 second over which it would ever rejoice 
 or be sad, never more to be awakened to 
 dream again the sad Dream of Life. 
 
 182
 
 of Lif 
 
 e .-c«» 
 
 II. 
 
 " We are no other than a moving row 
 Of magic shadow-shapes that come and go. 
 
 Impotent pieces of the game he plays 
 
 Upon the chequer-board of nights and days." 
 
 Omar Khayyam. 
 
 WHILE Satyakama dreamed on 
 the mountain summit an English 
 traveller, having heard of the strange 
 hermit of Mount Kailasa, resolved to 
 climb the steep ascent and see face to 
 face the ascetic sage who, unmoved by 
 the rise and fall of empires, still stood 
 firm and fixed in his own faith and 
 belief. For days he journeyed from the 
 lowland plains, toiling up the mountain 
 
 183
 
 •«? The Drea 
 
 m 
 
 sides, towards the far off peaks. There, 
 
 beneath the deep shades of the forest, 
 
 where creepers, rich with flowers, 
 
 stretched from branch to branch of the 
 
 massive teak-trees, growing around in 
 
 virgin luxuriance, all lay wrapped in 
 
 silence, save when the ripple of the 
 
 silvery streams broke the deep stillness, 
 
 or the pitiful plaint of the peewit rose 
 
 sad. At times the sudden shriek of the 
 
 peacock, warning the timid deer of the 
 
 stealthy approach of the tiger, made 
 
 the heart of the traveller stand still, 
 
 astounded at the deep solitudes into 
 
 which he had penetrated. Ascending 
 
 higher up the mountain-paths he now 
 
 and then paused to watch the plains 
 
 beneath, where the peaceful villages shone 
 
 in the midst of the rice-fields, growing 
 
 green beneath the rays of the burning 
 
 sun. 
 
 At length, one evening, as the cold 
 184
 
 of Li f e ^ 
 
 grey mist was fast creeping up the pre- 
 cipitous ravines on the mountain side, 
 he reached the summit of the far-famed 
 Kailasa, where, half concealed beneath 
 the forest trees, he saw the leaf-thatched 
 hut of the ascetic sage. On the edge of 
 the mountain stood Satyakama, gazing 
 with deep-sunk eyes on the last rays of 
 the setting sun, as they faded away 
 beyond the distant ocean. The gleam 
 of the twilight hung over the mountain 
 glade for a moment, and the chill night 
 wind swept by as the traveller told 
 Satyakama how he had travelled far 
 from his camp and now sought shelter. 
 The ascetic sage answered not, but re- 
 membering how the tree withdraws not 
 its shade from the woodcutter that 
 comes to cleave it asunder, and how 
 the sandal wood scents the axe that 
 pierces deep into its bleeding heart, he 
 
 led the stranger to his hermitage, placed 
 
 18:;
 
 ^ The Dream 
 
 food before him, and then showed him 
 an ancient ruined monastery that lay 
 close at hand, carved out of solid rock 
 on the mountain side, where he might 
 find rest. 
 
 Over-wearied from his long day's 
 journey, the traveller lay awake, wonder- 
 ing over the strange hermit of Mount 
 Kailasa, watching, as the moonbeams 
 shone through his lonely cell, the dim 
 walls around, from which painted 
 pictures of holy saints looked down 
 with placid faces and dead eyes, while 
 close at hand might be heard the 
 muffled cries of the shaggy bears as 
 they wrestled in wild anger by the 
 rushing waters of the mountain streams. 
 In the early morning, as the damp 
 clinging mist crept through his cell, 
 he wandered forth to view the ruins 
 scattered round, where in ages long 
 
 past heretic Buddhist monks had built 
 
 1 86
 
 of Li f e 5^ 
 
 the monastery, so that they might live 
 secure from the fierce wrath of the re- 
 lentless Brahmans, who ever sought to 
 drive the followers of Sagya Muni forth 
 from the land. 
 
 The sun had risen high in the 
 heavens ere he reached the edge of 
 the forest, when he saw Satyakama, 
 seated alone, wrapped in holy medita- 
 tion. 
 
 When the stranger drew near, and 
 
 prayed that he might learn of the sacred 
 
 love of the East, Satyakama fixed his 
 
 proud eyes on him in cold contempt, 
 
 for the Brahmans have ever held the 
 
 foreigners as very Mlecchas, outcast, 
 
 impure and abhorred, unable to perform 
 
 the sacred rites, seek knowledge, or 
 
 hope for freedom from rebirth, equally 
 
 with all women, and men of servile 
 
 caste. 
 
 When the stranger further sought 
 187
 
 •«? The Drea 
 
 m 
 
 to know if the ascetic sages of India 
 could free their souls from the body, so 
 that they might pass to and fro working 
 strange deeds, Satyakama grew weary 
 and turned away in silence, well know- 
 ing that no such powers were ever 
 sought by even the holiest in his land, 
 and that no freedom could ever come 
 to those who clung to delusive dreams 
 of this world and its passing desires. 
 So when the English traveller saw that 
 he had no part in the ways or thoughts 
 of the East he slowly wandered towards 
 the hermit's hut, in front of which sat 
 Sita, her hands, stained at the finger- 
 tips with the dark henna juice, raised 
 to braid her long black hair which 
 shone in the gleam of the morning sun. 
 As he advanced Sita raised her head 
 and her soft brown eyes met his. 
 
 Rising, she received him, after the 
 
 manner of her people, as a guest, telling 
 
 i88
 
 of Life c^«^ 
 
 him that she had cooked rice, and placed 
 
 it in front of their forest home. As he 
 
 ate she told him how for five happy 
 
 years she had lived by the side of her 
 
 husband in the village of Achinta, away 
 
 in the south. When she told of her 
 
 future, how she would journey alone 
 
 to the far-off Ganges, bearing the ashes 
 
 of her husband to scatter on the holy 
 
 waters, and herself sink to rest in its 
 
 cold bosom, her voice trembled, and 
 
 she went to weep alone, for Satyakama 
 
 still sat on the mountain edge gazing 
 
 far away, having crushed out from his 
 
 heart all memory of his wife and her 
 
 beauty. 
 
 For many days the traveller remained 
 
 on the summit of Mount Kailasa, 
 
 having forgotten Satyakama and his 
 
 learning. Often he wandered through 
 
 the forest in search of the prowling 
 
 leopard and roaming tiger ; often he 
 
 189
 
 ^tj The Dream 
 
 sat by the side of STta, listening while 
 she told her happy stories of the past, 
 or recited the loves of Nala and Dama- 
 yantl and the sad story of Sakuntala. 
 When he prayed her to let him wait 
 near, so that he might accompany her 
 on the lonely journey through the forest 
 when the soul of her husband found 
 the rest it long sought, she smiled at 
 his gentle words of loving pity, know- 
 ing that he understood not the ancient 
 laws and customs of her caste. She 
 told him that she must go alone, but 
 that great would be her reward in the 
 future. Well she had been taught, and 
 fully she hoped, that, for her love and 
 piety, her soul would in the heavenly 
 abode of the gods eat the sweet fruits 
 of the deeds it had done in the past, 
 and then be reborn, free from evil, able 
 to live here on earth a holy life for 
 
 the benefit of all living creatures, till 
 
 190
 
 of L i f e 5^ 
 
 finally, released from all transmigrations, 
 it soars away into eternal rest, never 
 more to be awakened by sad dreams of 
 separation. 
 
 One day, when the sun shone bright 
 while the traveller sat by the side of Sita, 
 breathing in her words and marvelling 
 at her beauty, a tiger stole from the 
 forest edge, sweeping its tail from side 
 to side, as uncertain and uneasy it 
 watched the still form of Satyakama, 
 who stood wrapped in his own thoughts, 
 seeming as if he were carved out of 
 stone. Silently the traveller arose and 
 hurried through the jungle towards the 
 tiger, as it glared back angrily at the 
 faint and uncertain sound of the ap- 
 proaching footsteps. In an instant the 
 loud report of his rifle broke the still- 
 ness of the mountain glade, followed 
 by the dead break in the whirl of the 
 
 bullet, telling that its course had ceased. 
 
 191
 
 ^' The Dream 
 
 Ere the echo of the sound had died 
 away down the mountain ravines, the 
 traveller hastened back to the side of 
 Sita, who had fallen trembling to the 
 ground. With tender care he raised 
 her, swept back her long black hair 
 that lay fallen in wild confusion over 
 her shoulders, from which her white 
 robe had slipped, uttering words, he 
 knew not what, of comfort. Soon a 
 smile broke through the tears that hung 
 like dewdrops on her long eyelashes, 
 and as she looked into the eyes that 
 met hers she sighed, for she felt for the 
 first time since she had left her native 
 village that she was not alone. 
 
 Neither thought, neither spoke, their 
 hearts beat happy, as the life that made 
 them man and woman broke forth with 
 a triumphant song of freedom, but she 
 shuddered as she placed her arms around 
 
 the foreigner as if for protection. 
 
 192
 
 of Life ^ 
 
 When STta looked up she saw that 
 her husband, to whom life had once 
 more grown real, had rushed forward, 
 his face raging with fury and passion, 
 to save his wife from the polluting 
 touch of the abhorred MIeccha who 
 knelt by her side. 
 
 The veil of Maya once more shrouded 
 the soul of Satyakama, and he saw not 
 in his delusion that STta had thrown 
 herself in front of the unresisting 
 stranger. 
 
 Swift fell the stroke, and deep 
 plunged the knife into the gentle heart 
 of STta, who fell to kiss the feet of 
 her husband, who once dreamed that he 
 
 was God. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 The wild wind moaned as it crept 
 up the side of the mountain, and 
 laughed in the ears of Satyakama as 
 it sped to lick up the flames that carried 
 
 193 N
 
 ^5> The Dream of Life 
 
 the soul of Slta to rest. The tiger 
 roared as it prowled round the flickering 
 embers, turning every now and then to 
 listen to the maniac cries of the Brah- 
 man who sat by the mountain side, 
 proclaiming that the world was false, 
 and that he had gained Nirvana, and 
 the song of the bearers broke the still- 
 ness of night as they rapidly bore the 
 traveller down the hillside to seek his 
 camp at the foot of the mountain. 
 
 194
 
 THE CLOUD MESSENGER.
 
 The poem, in the original, is unanimously considered by 
 all critics, European and Indian, to be the most perfect gem 
 of Sanskrit literature. It was composed by Kalidasa, the 
 acknowledged Shakespeare of the Indian Drama, who, accord- 
 ing to evidence which I see no reason to reject, flourished 
 at the Court of a king entitled Vikramaditya, whose reign 
 commenced at Ujjayint in the year 56 B.C. 
 
 The Text, with a translation in English verse, was first 
 published at Calcutta in 1813 by Horace Hayman WiUon.
 
 THE CLOUD MESSENGER. 
 
 {^Adapted froju the Sanskrit.) 
 
 DEEP hid amid the holy recesses 
 of the Himalayas lies the abode 
 of the dread god Siva, a city, stored 
 with treasures loved by God and men, 
 guarded by the Yakshas, once kings 
 among mortals. 
 
 Of old it is told how, while the 
 appointed guardian, a lordly Yaksha, 
 slept, dreaming of the beauty of 
 his newly-wedded wife, the great Ele- 
 phant on which the God of the Rain 
 rides through the clouds, broke down 
 the boundaries of the heaven of the 
 
 197
 
 ^ The Cloud 
 
 fierce god and roamed in wild rage 
 through the celestial pleasure groves. 
 Then the Yaksha king, driven forth 
 from heaven by the wrath of Siva, 
 took up his lonely abode in the far- 
 famed hermitage in the south, where 
 once the exiled Rama mourned in sad 
 silence by the side of his gentle wife 
 Sita. There for eight long months, 
 amid the shades of the forest trees, 
 by the banks of the holy river ever 
 running clear since the glad day when 
 the loved form of STta was mirrored 
 in its rippling waters, the Yaksha king, 
 bereft of his power and severed from 
 his wife, pined in sad solitude. 
 
 One day in the hot months, when 
 the parched earth pants for the rain 
 as the loving heart pants for the return 
 of a lover, the king, whose sorrow had 
 so paled his cheeks and thinned his 
 
 frame that his heavy gold bracelet had 
 
 198
 
 Messenger 5«» 
 
 slipped down from his arm and lay 
 loose on his hand, sat gazing on a 
 dark heavy cloud as it came creeping 
 up a far-off" mountain side, like to an 
 elephant hastening to rush in playful 
 sport against a city's ramparts. Long 
 he sat sighing deeply as he remembered 
 how in the long hot days, not only the 
 face of the husbandman shines bright 
 when the rain cloud comes near, bring- 
 ing joy to the waving rice-fields, but 
 how the heart of a lover pants to beat 
 happy by the side of a loved one. As 
 he watched the heavy, dark, clinging 
 cloud, he longed to pour forth words 
 of love to his wife, telling of his wel- 
 fare, so that her life might be com- 
 forted. With gentle care he plucked 
 the frail forest flowers, and, scattering 
 them to the winds as an offering, 
 spoke trembling words, so that the 
 
 lingering cloud might waft them to 
 
 199
 
 ^ The Cloud 
 
 the ears of his beloved, for oft the 
 
 soul when pained with love pours forth 
 
 its woes to the running brook and 
 
 whispering wind. So he breathed his 
 
 eager prayer to the Cloud, as if it 
 
 tarried on the mountain side to drink 
 
 in the plaint of a lover, his eager 
 
 thoughts staying not to consider that 
 
 as it hurried on to the far north, with 
 
 its heavy burden of thunder, rain, and 
 
 lightning, it had no ear for his words. 
 
 " O heavenly Cloud, ever changing in 
 
 form, I know thee, world renowned, 
 
 born in the ethereal mists, great friend 
 
 of the God of Rain, stay and listen 
 
 to the prayer of one cursed by fate, 
 
 for even if your aid fail, I pray to one 
 
 of no mean power. You, great friend 
 
 of the weary, you who gladden the 
 
 dried-up land with your water, bear 
 
 news of my welfare to my beloved, 
 
 for the curse of the mighty god sits 
 
 200
 
 Messenger f-^ 
 
 heavy on our hearts. Hasten on to 
 the heavenly city where the abode of 
 my loved one gleams bright amid the 
 pleasure groves ever shining in the 
 glowing rays that circle round the 
 divine head of the great god Siva. 
 
 " Mount quick on the wings of the 
 moving winds, stay not on your path 
 to gladden the hearts of those who, 
 bereft of their husbands, rush forth 
 with new awakened joy, hoping that 
 with the coming of the rain their 
 long trailing hair will be loosened to 
 fall in heavy folds round their 
 shoulders as they welcome the home 
 coming of their loved ones who have 
 travelled afar. My wife sits pining 
 alone, her hair is bound up, she hastens 
 not forth at the coming of the rain, 
 and none beareth news of her beloved, 
 for I wait here the servant of another. 
 Hasten on to her side, gladden her 
 
 20 1
 
 ^' The Cloud 
 
 heart. Gently glide on the soft south 
 wind, following the fleeting birds, while 
 round about thy path hover the trail- 
 ing cranes, stretching forth their long 
 necks in pride as they hasten north 
 to build their nests and rear their 
 young. 
 
 " Hurry on to the side of my wife, 
 thou whose path none can stay. Her 
 soul is weary, for when has the gentle 
 heart of a loved one borne up against 
 sad fate unless urged by hope it fades 
 as a flower. 
 
 " She mourns alone, my sole beloved, 
 
 counting the weary days of separation 
 
 not yet full. But you, O Cloud, travel 
 
 not alone, for by your side plays your 
 
 dazzling bride the Lightning, on whose 
 
 brightness no eye may long rest, and as 
 
 your thunder bursts forth the stately 
 
 swans fly from the lotus leaves to 
 
 accompany you to the far-off^ heavenly 
 
 202
 
 Messenger ."^ 
 
 Kailasa, where lie hid the pleasing waters 
 of the holy lake Manasa. Quit now 
 thy dear friend the lofty peak, marked 
 on its side by the deep impress of the 
 sacred foot of Rama, the holy place of 
 pilgrimage of all born in our land. Year 
 by year, as you return, linger for a 
 moment to shed warm tears in sad 
 sorrow for thy long absence. Ere you 
 depart I whisper in your ear my fond 
 message for my wife, and tell the long 
 journey that lies before you, the many 
 mountain peaks where, when weary, 
 your foot may rest, the many flowing 
 rivers whose cooling waters you, when 
 faint, may drink. 
 
 " First rise from these hills in whose 
 recesses lie sedge-grown ponds and lonely 
 marshes, float towards the far north, 
 terrifying the heavenly nymphs who, 
 with timid eyes, look up fearing, as thy 
 black form hurries past, that the wind
 
 '^' The Cloud 
 
 now hurls the mountain summit through 
 the skies. Drive from thy path the 
 mighty elephants, guardians of the 
 world's eight quarters, drown their 
 pride with the roar of thy thunder. 
 
 " Soon athwart the bow of the Rain- 
 god, now quivering in the eastward sky, 
 thy dark side will gleam forth, shining 
 bright with the many tints of rich jewels 
 as when the divine face of the black 
 Krishna sprang radiant from amid the 
 plumage of the peacock's tail. 
 
 " Tarry not, vain with your glory, for 
 
 far away to the west the land smells 
 
 heavy from the newly ploughed earth, 
 
 and the soft, pleading eyes of the simple 
 
 village women, who know not how to 
 
 woo thee with wanton looks, wait the 
 
 coming of the rain to the new-sown 
 
 seed. As you sail on, tarry for a 
 
 moment when weary on the summit of 
 
 the high mountain famed for its thick 
 
 204
 
 Messenger .'^•^ 
 
 groves of dark mango-trees. Oft has 
 its high peak cried in joy when your 
 heavy rain has cooled its sides, burned 
 deep with the quick-rolling forest fires. 
 Even those who are lowly remember 
 past kindnesses, and turn not from a 
 pleading friend who seeks refuge. Will 
 not the high hill be gladdened by your 
 coming ? 
 
 " Then the mountain, thick covered 
 with the glowing mango fruit, will 
 shine pale in the mid-day sun, as though 
 it were the earth's vast swelling breast, 
 crowned at its summit with thy dark 
 shadow trailing down its sides like the 
 tresses of a maiden. 
 
 " Lightened of your teeming burden, 
 the heavy rain, sink to rest for a moment 
 amid the rude forest huts of the wild 
 hill people, then soar high to the lofty 
 Vindhya, from whose rugged sides spring, 
 like the serried lines down the elephant's 
 
 20:
 
 . -•i- The Cloud 
 
 dark back, the many rippling streams of 
 the wide-spreading Nerbudda. 
 
 " Alight on the banks of the wide 
 river as it glides slowly beneath the 
 spreading trees of the forest, where the 
 roaming elephants sport in wild rage, for 
 if empty of rain you drink not up the 
 sweet waters, the wind, in playful sport, 
 will scatter abroad your frail form. 
 
 " As you once more ascend, the new- 
 blown buds, the plantains by the river 
 side, the birds, as they drink in the sweet 
 scent of the forest burned soil, and see 
 the new dark-green shoots burst forth, 
 will herald forth thy course with songs 
 of joy. When in the air your thunder 
 rolls, the heavenly hosts accompanied by 
 their fond, eager wives will echo forth 
 thy praise as they watch the birds drink 
 in the water drops, and count the long 
 lines of circling cranes that sail around 
 
 thy course. 
 
 206
 
 Messenger .'^ 
 
 *' Still, bearer of my message, delay 
 not amid the mountaiti tops, wooed by 
 the cries of the watery-eyed peacocks. 
 Hasten down to the peaceful villages 
 shining bright amid the growing rice- 
 fields, for there the stately swans await 
 for long days the coming shower, and 
 the sacred fig-trees grow heavy with the 
 nests of the building cranes. There 
 sprinkle the new buds of the young 
 jasmine in the groves, and cool for a 
 moment with your shade the glowing 
 cheeks of the maidens whose lotus ear- 
 rings have faded from the hot rays of 
 the sun. 
 
 " Glide by the side of the sorrowing 
 
 Sindhu ; her slow waters are slender like 
 
 the tied-up hair of a woman who mourns 
 
 the absence of a lover. Pour forth thy 
 
 rain and fill her with gladness, for even 
 
 now the gleam of her waters are paled 
 
 by the strewn leaves of the forest trees. 
 
 207
 
 ^ The Cloud 
 
 Then hasten to the far-famed city of 
 
 Ujjain, founded in ancient days by holy 
 
 men whose souls, finding not within the 
 
 boundaries of Heaven a fit recompense 
 
 for their good deeds, descended again to 
 
 this world bearing a portion of their 
 
 celestial abode wherewith to frame here 
 
 a kingdom equal to their merits. 
 
 " The sacred city lies by the deep 
 
 gliding river whose waters gleam bright, 
 
 girdled by long rows of birds heaving on 
 
 the gentle swell of its rippling waves. 
 
 There the wind echoes with the sweet, 
 
 deep-sounding notes of cranes ; it steals 
 
 gently on, as the whispered words of a 
 
 lover, soft as the perfume of the lotus 
 
 in the early morning, over the languid 
 
 limbs of those who, dreaming sweet 
 
 dreams of their lovers, sink to rest. 
 
 Sweep on past the latticed windows, 
 
 drinking in the sweet perfume from the 
 
 dark tresses of the city maidens, stay to 
 
 208
 
 Messenger ^ 
 
 watch the peacocks dance in the pleasure 
 groves as they greet thy coming, then 
 rest on the palace roofs stained here and 
 there by the red dye from the damp feet 
 of the dancing girls. 
 
 " But tarry not long, speed on thy way 
 towards the abode of the great god Siva, 
 the dread ruler of the three worlds, there 
 his attendant hosts will bow down before 
 thee, dreaming that they see in thy blue 
 tint the dark stain on the neck of their 
 lord, received when he drank up the 
 flaming poison as it crept forth over the 
 land when the great waters receded after 
 the deluge. The pleasure gardens or 
 the heavenly home are gently swayed 
 by winds sweet-smelling with the lotus 
 pollen, blowing cool over the fragrant 
 streams where sport the heavenly nymphs. 
 Ever, O Bearer of the rain, as you approach 
 these happy realms, stay so long as the 
 rays of the warm sun beat across your 
 
 209 o
 
 *o? The Cloud 
 
 path, for if in the evening service of the 
 mighty Siva your thunder rolls forth in 
 the many temples like the peal of the 
 loud sounding drum, great will be your 
 reward. The dancing girls, eager for 
 thy waterdrops falling gentle as the 
 sweet touch of a lover's hand, will hurry 
 forth to greet thee, their black eyes 
 gleaming like long rows of bees, their 
 hands weary with waving the heavy fans 
 deep inlaid with rich jewels, their girdles 
 tinkling to the quick dancing of their 
 feet. When the evening sky lights up 
 your side with the red crimson of the 
 deep coloured rose, spread then like a 
 halo round the outstretched arms of the 
 forest trees, pass not on till the dancing 
 girls have ceased their song of welcome, 
 and the hands of the Great God have 
 forgotten to draw round his form the 
 blood-stained robe from which his be- 
 loved wife has ever shrunk in wild terror. 
 
 2IO
 
 Messenger 5^ 
 
 Let thy lightning, hke the running streak 
 on the goldsmith's touchstone, gleam 
 forth with wild glee as it pierces the 
 black darkness that strikes fear to the 
 hearts of those who steal in secret to 
 their lovers ; drive them not back with 
 thy rolling thunder and heavy rain. 
 Rest then for the night by the side of 
 thy spouse the Lightning, she will be 
 weary from her loving play. But soon 
 as the first rays of the sun move the 
 morning air, rise and hurry on with thy 
 message, stay not in the path of the sun, 
 as it comes to gladden the hearts of 
 those who mourn through the long 
 night, and to dry up the heavy tears 
 glistening on the lotus leaves. 
 
 " As you sail on let thy shadow sink 
 deep into the waters of the Gambhlra as 
 it sparkles with the gleam of its glistening 
 gold fish, let not her glance, clear as the 
 lotus flower, fall on your heart in vain. 
 
 211
 
 ^ The Cloud 
 
 Strip from off her rolling sides her 
 covering of blue water, held there by 
 her tender hands the Jong trailing reeds ; 
 but tarry not to drink in the beauty of 
 her form, else you may there sink to 
 rest forgetful of my beloved who mourns 
 alone. 
 
 " The wind, cool as it floats over the 
 new-ploughed damp earth, will waft 
 thee over the lofty mountains, where 
 the elephants await with raised trunks 
 the coming rain. Make the peacocks, 
 whose eyes shine white in the rays of 
 the crescent moon that rests on the head 
 of Siva, dance as they hear the heavy 
 roll of thy thunder echo on the hill tops. 
 
 " Bow down as you approach the 
 battle-field of the dread god of war ; be 
 not angry if the heavenly minstrels, 
 fearing thy waterdrops, tune not their 
 Vinas, from afar they watch in wonder- 
 ing silence thy bright form shine as a 
 
 212
 
 Messenger .^ 
 
 sapphire in the midst of the broad river 
 which gleams as a long pearl necklace in 
 the far distance beneath. 
 
 " Approach near the sacred pass, 
 whence springs forth from the sides of 
 the snowy peaks the holy Mother 
 Ganges, whose wild waves, falling from 
 heaven, once circled amid the matted 
 locks of the great god Siva before they 
 sped on to earth to water the ashes of 
 the hundred sons of Sagara, her white 
 foam laughing loud at the angry frown 
 of the god's dreaded wife. 
 
 " Ascend and circle round the lofty 
 summit of the mountain marked with 
 the foot of the great god Siva ; there 
 the heavenly hosts bow down in adora- 
 tion and there hover for a moment the 
 souls of those who, freed from sin, seek 
 rest as they journey on towards their 
 eternal abode in the heavenly Kailasa. 
 
 " There celestial minstrels sing the 
 213
 
 ^ The Cloud 
 
 well-known victories of their Lord and 
 Master ; the reeds rustle loud, filled by 
 the rushing wind ; let now thy thunder 
 roll to swell the song of great Siva's 
 praise. 
 
 " Near at hand, nestling close to the 
 mountain side, like a lover to the side 
 of a fair one, lies the Heaven of Siva, 
 round the boundaries of which the great 
 Ganges glides as though it were the 
 woven silk of a maiden's raiment clinging 
 close to her limbs. There the mighty 
 temple spires, deep inlaid with jewels, 
 shining like dewdrops, pierce the skies 
 high as your misty depths. The palace 
 walls gleam with colours painted bright, 
 and blended fine as your coloured bow. 
 The sweet, soft sound of drums echoes 
 through the city deep as your thunder. 
 
 " There women fair as thy bride, the 
 
 vivid lightning, move to and fro bearing 
 
 gold lotuses in their hands ; their tresses 
 
 214
 
 Messenger 5^ 
 
 wave, bound up with long shoots of 
 young jasmine ; their faces shine radiant 
 with the pale lodra pollen. There the 
 nights shine bright, the darkness fades 
 in heaven's clear light, trees eternal 
 bloom, and celestial swans glide to and 
 fro amid the swaying lotus leaves, while 
 on the palace roofs shrill shrieking pea- 
 cocks gleam bright. 
 
 " Steal gently o'er the palace roofs 
 which glitter white with inlaid precious 
 stones and star-like flowers, there, as the 
 beaten drum peals forth its deep roll, the 
 Yaksha kings sink weary to drink the 
 amorous wine of ever-flowing kalpa-trees 
 of plenty, while their stately brides turn 
 their blushing faces from the burning 
 flames set in jewelled lamps and strive 
 to tame the flickering tell-tale light 
 with sand strewn from their outstretched 
 hands. 
 
 " But note — the God of Love, dread- 
 215
 
 -»? The Cloud 
 
 ing great Siva's wrath, bears not there 
 
 his bee-strung brow. With wanton 
 
 looks shot from their circling brows, 
 
 maidens fair bent captive to their will 
 
 their yielding lords. 
 
 *' From afar you will see the abode of 
 
 my beloved. The entrance-door gleams 
 
 like thy rainbow, while bending low with 
 
 clustered blossoms, stands the glowing 
 
 young coral-tree ever tended as a dear 
 
 loved child by my wife. There the 
 
 stately swans await the coming rain. 
 
 They gently glide in glittering ponds 
 
 within whose limpid waters golden 
 
 lotuses float tremulous on long stems 
 
 of brilliant turquoise close by sloping 
 
 steps formed of slabs of cut emerald. 
 
 There soon the sparkle of thy lightning 
 
 will spread over the sapphire summit of 
 
 the lofty hill, deep girt with golden 
 
 plantains, rising up from the water's- 
 
 edge. 
 
 216
 
 Messenger 5^ 
 
 "Steal gently near, O Cloud, the 
 pleasure-grove of my beloved, in the 
 midst stands a mirror of clear crystal, 
 set here and there with rich jewels like 
 young-grown reeds, from out of which 
 rises a golden pillar bearing the sacred 
 blue-necked peacock, wont to dance in 
 the eventime to the gentle music of my 
 wife's tinkling girdle. 
 
 " By these signs hid deep in your heart, 
 O Cloud, by the sounding sea-shell and 
 sacred lotus, emblems of the dread god 
 Siva, marked on the door-post, you will 
 know the home of my love now empty 
 of joy, for the lotus sinks sad when the 
 sun gleams not near. Light up her 
 home with the soft gentle play of your 
 lightning, dwell by her side, whisper 
 words of hope. For there she mourns 
 alone, she with teeth like the flower of 
 the jasmine, lips like the glowing red 
 
 berry, tall and dark, with timid soft 
 
 217
 
 ^ The Cloud 
 
 brown eyes like those of the young deer, 
 flowing hips and gleaming waist, panting 
 with the joy of life, she mourns alone, 
 she the youthful first creation of the 
 Creator. Second life of my life, she sits 
 silent during the long sad days, her lover 
 being absent she pines away like the 
 lotus chilled by the bleak cold wind. 
 The eyes of my beloved are swollen 
 from long weeping, the colour has faded 
 from her lips by her heavy sighing ; her 
 face, hid deep by her heavy, black trail- 
 ing hair, lies buried in her hands, she 
 mourns as the moon in the dark weary 
 nights. Seeing thee, her grief bursts 
 forth anew, for the rains bring not back 
 her lover to her side, she falls deep in 
 holy meditation, or in idle fancy wanders 
 through the house, dreaming that I am 
 by her side, as in playful sport she stands 
 before the golden cage of her talking 
 
 mlna, while it echoes back her whispered 
 
 218
 
 Messenger 5^ 
 
 words of love. At times she sits lonely 
 with the Vina by her side, longing to 
 sing the old stories of our race, but as 
 her tears fall fast on the moving strings 
 she forgets the flowing words composed 
 in happy days by herself. Soon wearied 
 with the heavy day, she thows aside her 
 tight-braided locks and seeks for rest, 
 hoping perchance that in her dreams she 
 may see the face of her beloved, but ever 
 her falling tears drive slumber far away. 
 Wait near, and stay your lightning when 
 she sleeps smiling, dreaming that I am 
 by her side. Breathe thy cold wind, 
 scented with the soft rain and young 
 blossom of the jasmine, gently on her 
 faded cheeks, whisper in her ear by the 
 slow, rolling sound of your thunder, 
 these words my fond message. 
 
 " ' Know me, the heavy cloud, bearer 
 of the rain, dear friend of thy lover. 
 To your side I bear sweet music of his 
 
 219
 
 -»? The Cloud 
 
 heart. I am the carrier of the flashing 
 light and rolling thunder, hurrying on 
 the travellers to their homes, where their 
 wives lie pining for their lovers who 
 hasten to undo their long, braided 
 tresses. 
 
 " 'Thy husband waits, bereft of joy in 
 the lonely hermitage sacred as the abode 
 of the exiled Rama, he longs for news 
 of your welfare, for he knows that 
 dangers creep on all sides round those 
 held dear. Removed far from your side 
 by the cruel hand of fate, his loving 
 thoughts follow yours day and night. 
 His drooping soul sighs deep as yours, 
 the weary days of separation hang heavy 
 by him as by you, his tears bedew his 
 cheeks even as yours, his love follows 
 thee, his body droops and fades with 
 thine. He who oft stole to your side 
 to whisper soft words of love now sends 
 from afar his heart's bemoan. 
 
 220
 
 Messenger ^-^ 
 
 " ' Beloved of my soul, thou art ever 
 near, I see thy clinging form in the trail- 
 ing forest tendrils, the glance of thine eye 
 in the startled look of the timid, fright- 
 ened deer, the play of thy brow in the rip- 
 pling waters, the glow of thy cheek, in 
 the pale rays of the moon, the gleam of 
 thy hair in the long glistening tail of the 
 peacock, but thou, soul of my soul, art 
 far away. In my dream I see thee, my 
 hands are ever stretched out to the high 
 heavens ; surely if the gods look down 
 their tears will fall like dewdrops on the 
 tender forest shoots. 
 
 " ' But it is not given to us to shorten 
 the days or quench the heat of the sun. 
 Left without aid, O loved one, our 
 heart's desire is in vain. Beloved, be 
 not cast down, ever I live, ever hoping. 
 To none have the gods allotted endless 
 joy or endless sorrow, the course of man's 
 life runs, now up, now down, like the 
 
 221
 
 ^^ The Cloud Messenger 
 
 rim of a carter's wheel. The Cloud, O 
 dark-eyed one, brings thee tidings of my 
 welfare ; be not in doubt from whispered 
 worlds of evil rumour. They tell how 
 love fades from absence of news of one 
 beloved, let, then, this message once 
 more light up your heart.' 
 
 "Give this my message, O Cloud, 
 hasten soon back from the mountain 
 summit made sacred by the touch of the 
 roaming bull of the three-eyed Siva, 
 hasten, having banished the deep sorrow 
 from the heart of my beloved, and bear 
 me fond words of her welfare, revive my 
 life now shrunk like the closed jasmine 
 bud in the early dawn. Hasten on, O 
 Cloud, bear news to my beloved, spread 
 thy heavenly rain over the parched land, 
 and may you never be separated from 
 your loved bride, the dazzling light- 
 ning." 
 
 222
 
 UNWIN BROTHERS, 
 CHILWORTH aND LONDON.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 Huci b 19581 
 
 ?ormL9-25m-8, '46(9852)444 
 
 ^ 
 
 THE TJBRARY
 
 4705 ?razer - 
 
 F868s Sdlent ^nds L. 
 
 sim-steeped 
 -lands ,.^ 
 
 AUG 6 ^Q^^i 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 000 373 638 6 
 
 PR 
 
 4705 
 
 F868s