While matters stood thus, Madhavan and Indulekha were one day playing chess, when Madhavan taking up one of the pieces gazed absently into Indulekha’s face without making his move.
"What is the matter?" asked Indulekha, "why don’t you move? It is your turn."
"I don’t feel much inclined to play today." replied Madhavan.
"Your thoughts have been wandering all this time," said Indulekha. "You seem to be anxious about the result of your examination, but there is no use in thinking of it now. Don’t worry yourself for nothing."
"I wasn’t thinking of the examination," said Madhavan; "when a man feels that his happiness or unhappiness depends on causes beyond his power, how can he control his mind?"
"But he must." said Indulekha. "It is a man’s duty."
"And what about a woman’s duty?" suggested Madhavan.
"It was not a woman who said just now that she did not care for chess because she had no peace of mind," replied Indulekha. "I think it was some one called Madhavan."
"Perhaps Indulekha can always keep her feelings under control." said Madhavan.
"I have never been put to the test," said Indulekha. "It is only when you are losing control that you must try and keep it, isn’t it? And I have never yet found myself losing control. If you look at it in that way, you see I have never had to make the effort."
"When all one’s wishes can be satisfied," said Madhavan, "then of course the mind is at rest. It is just because you can obtain your desire in everything, Indulekha, that you have never had occasion to prove the strength of your mind."
"But I never set my heart on what is impossible," said Indulekha, "and I am delighted to feel that this is my nature. So, Madhavan, what you say is quite right, and my mind is occupied with nothing which can cause me pain or grief."
"Will it always be thus?" asked Madhavan, "and if so, is it not because you have gained the power of self-control?"
"No" said Indulekha, "self-control is maintained by calling other qualities, such as courage and patience, into play. Without the help of such qualities my mind has confidence in itself. Tranquillity and self-reliance are, I think, inherent in my nature."
"But, Indulekha," said Madhavan, "have you never bent your mind to anything which was impossible at the time?"
"I don’t think so," answered Indulekha, "but I don’t understand what you mean by ‘impossible at the time.’ I refer only to things which are generally possible."
"I will give you an example," said Madhavan. "Supposing you saw a lovely and fragrant flower, but knew that it would not be easy for you to pluck it. Would you not, in spite of this knowledge, have any fancy or wish to hold it in your hand, and enjoy its sweetness just as you would if your wish could be gratified on the spot? Or would your desire for the flower depend, entirely on the consideration whether it can be fulfilled or not, and whether it can be fulfilled at once or at some future time?"
"If I were sure from its appearance that the flower is sweet and lovely," replied Indulekha, "I might take the greatest pleasure in contemplating it. But before I gave way to the desire for holding it in my hand, I must be sure that it would be right and possible for me to pluck it. This, I think, is the natural temper of my mind."
"What you now say, Indulekha," argued Madhavan, "agrees with what I said before. The pleasure you would take in looking at the flower does not simply mean a passive joy in its contemplation, but implies that you would long to possess it. But your efforts to gain your wish would be regulated by the consideration whether its attainment is possible or difficult. This at least seems to me to be the meaning of what you have just said, and if so, it is plain that you conquer your inclinations by fortitude and patience."
"Not so," replied Indulekha, ‘you don’t understand what I said, and I do not think the illustration you chose of a flower is good. I will give you a better one and try to make you see what I mean. Supposing I were a marriageable woman and met a handsome young man. Now, until I felt satisfied that he would make me a good husband, I would not let his image engross my thoughts. As then my feelings would not be enlisted in the matter at the outset, I should not have to call up my resolution to protect me against them. My inclinations would not enter into the question at all at first. Just in the same way, I should never dream of coveting wealth which I could not reasonably hope to acquire. Some people are born with this disposition of the mind, but with others it is not so, and they strain alike after the attainable and the unattainable, the needful and the superfluous. But if they are endowed with tact and firmness of mind and good sense, they can curb their impulses into contentment. Thus, Madhavan, if you belong to the latter class, and your heart has precipitated itself on some object, which is almost or entirely beyond your reach, can you not with your power of intellect, recall it? If you can thus recall it, then you have acquired self-control."
"I can’t agree with what you say, Indulekha," said Madhavan, "but I will not argue with you any more on the point. I have no heart to discuss matters with you now as I used to."
"I thought it was chess you did not care about," said Indulekha, "but now I am surprised to find that you don’t even care to talk to me!"
"Why do you speak to me like this, Indulekha? I think I am the most miserable man in existence. Can a man help being wretched when he is harassed with anxiety?"
"The wretchedness consists in not being able to shake off the anxiety." said Indulekha.
"Tell me, Indulekha," entreated Madhavan, "how to shake off my anxiety, and I shall be thankful."
"If I knew what your distress is, I would try," said Indulekha with a smile.
"Then I will tell you," agreed Madhavan.
"Go on with the game," said Indulekha. "See, Madhavan, I am going to take your knight. You have been holding a piece in your hand and talking of distress, and gazing into vacancy. Come, play; can you save your knight? Let us see your skill."
"Let it pass" said Madhavan. "I can’t play now, there is no use in my trying to go on with the game. Let me rest a little on this sofa," and so saying he threw himself on it while Indulekha, rising from her place and laughing, took up the play of Sakuntalam and, resuming her seat, began to read.
"What is your book?" asked Madhavan.
"Sakuntalam."
"What passage are you reading?"
"Shall I read aloud to you?" offered Indulekha.
"Please" replied Madhavan, and Indulekha read as follows:
"Her face is wan-her cheek is pale,
"And for her love she pines away,
"The Maiden’s form is bent and frail,
"For Cupid holds her in his sway.
"Oh! like unto the Jasmine fair,
"Which seeks some bough whereon to cling,
"By rough winds scattered here and there
"The Maiden’s charms lie withering.
"Great heaven!" said Madhavan, "if I could see something like that now, there would be an end to in pain and grief. "
"I am afraid there is not much chance of your seeing Sakuntala nowadays," said Indulekha, "but if you lie with your eyes shut and think of her with all your might, you may perhaps be able to conjure her up at least in a dream!"
"Indulekha! With all your beauty and wit I think your heart is a flint."
"Quite so," responded Indulekha, "I am very stonyhearted. But never mind. Shall I read you another verse from Sakuntalam?"
"What is it?"
Indulekha read thus:
"Lotus flower, with fragrance sweet
"Emblem for this Maiden meet;
"Lotus flower, with petals white
"Emblem of this Maiden bright!
"Love has never dared to sip
"Nor with tender true caress
"Clasp her radiant loveliness.
"On whom shall Heaven in blissful hour
"Bostow this beauteous Lotus flower?
"This ruby, fresh from out the mine,
"Whose crimson colors softly shine?
"This lotus maid mu
st surely be
"The fruit of virtuous ancestry.
"Ah! who shall then this treasure gain,
"This good and pleasant fruit obtain?
"That is a verse which I might quote, I think," said Madhavan.
"It is in Sakuntalam, and anyone can quote it." returned Indulekha.
"I am always astonished," said Madhavan, "when I think of the insolence of the human mind."
"What do you mean?" asked Indulekha.
"Without compassion for one’s fellow creatures in general," answered Madhavan, "when one uses mockery where compassion is due, is not that insolence? Is not that heaping insult on the injured?"
"Certainly it is, if mockery is used," replied Indulekha.
"And do you never mock at anyone, Indulekha?"
"Wouldn’t you like an English book to read? I well get one for you if you would," said Indulekha innocently.
"I don’t want to read any book." growled Madhavan.
"Then just try Sanskrit and read Bharthruhari," said Indulekha.
"I don’t want to read anything" repeated Madhavan. "I only want you to be so good as not to make fun of me."
"Then let me play to you a little on the lute; if you are depressed it will cheer you." persisted Indulekha.
"I don’t want to hear the lute." said Madhavan.
"Then just go to sleep and dream of Sakuntala. If you like, keep the play beside you. Here, will you have it?"
So saying Indulekha offered him the book; but Madhavan exclaimed, "Why do you jeer at me like this? What pleasure can you see in it?"
"I did not know I was jeering at you," answered Indulekha. "But whatever it is, this little drama amuses me immensely, and I must go on with it if you won’t play chess. Come, up and save your knight, Madhavan."
"I don’t care two straws about the knight or his castle either." said Madhavan.
"Then all you want is to be dreaming of Sakuntala, is it?"
"Quite so, quite so," said Madhavan testily.
"But jesting apart, Madhavan, why do you never go shooting these days? You never seem to fire off a gun now. What is the reason?"
"I have no inclination for it." said Madhavan.
"What!" exclaimed Indulekha. "You are not feeling any symptom of insanity, are you?"
"Sometimes I think I am." sighed Madhavan.
"Dear me!" said Indulekha. "We must try and find some remedy for you."
"I wish you would." said Madhavan.
"Then I must tell your father forthwith. I’ll do so at once. But it is time for tea. Will you have some?"
"No, thank you" replied Madhavan. "I don’t want any tea."
"Will you have some cake?"
"‘No, thank you"
"What is the matter with you? Don’t you feel well?"
"I am out of sorts altogether" said Madhavan.
"Ah! that is a desperate disease" observed Indulekha.
"I think it is indeed a desperate disease," said Madhavan, "and I doubt if recovery is ever possible. I don’t think I shall ever get back my peace of mind, Indulekha! Sit beside me here on the sofa for a little, won’t you?"
"No, No" cried Indulekha, "Now we are grown up, we can’t play as we used to in old days when we were children."
"What objection have you to sit beside me?" asked Madhavan.
"The strongest objection" replied Indulekha. "We must never sit beside each other now."
"Will the time ever come when we may?" asked Madhavan.
"How can I say for certain now?" answered Indulekha. "Can any dip into the future and foretell what will happen?"
Madhavan seemed lost in thought for a time, and then, rousing himself, said "No, it is very true; the future is hid from us."
As he spoke a servant entered with the tea things, and Madhavan rose and went away.
It is painful to relate how he passed his days for sometime after this interview. Indulekha might talk and laugh and jest as she pleased, but Madhavan seemed to have bound himself to a vow of silence. Sometimes Indulekha used to ask him what craze possessed him, but before Madhavan could answer, plied him with other questions. One evening while Indulekha was at her toilet, Madhavan went to her boudoir and filled half a sheet of paper, which was lying there, with his griefs. This he placed on her writing table and departed. Next evening, he returned to the room and asked Indulekha if she had seen a piece of paper on which he had been scribbling and which he must have left there. Indulekha, parrying the question, immediately began talking of other things, and gave no sign of emotion in response to his evident anguish, but kept her love for him hidden in her heart. Matters continued in this state when, one clear moonlight night, Madhavan was standing in the southern courtyard of the house at Puvarangu. Indulekha, looking through the lattice window of her balcony, saw him and called to him.
"What is the matter?" asked Madhavan.
"What is the matter?" repeated Indulekha. "Are you railing at the moon like a lovelorn swain? Why, come up and see how the moonbeams fill even this room with splendour. Have you any objection to come up here?"
"I cannot come up" said Madhavan. "If it is improper for us to sit together on a sofa, it would be still more improper for me to come up to your room and sit with you there at night."
"You are right," replied lndulekha. "It would be very improper. I had forgotten that when I spoke. I will come down to the courtyard."
"Pray, don’t trouble to do so on my account," retorted Madhavan.
"O dear no!" said Indulekha, "but perhaps I may come down to please myself."
"Certainly," replied Madhavan, and lndulekha, descending the stairs into the courtyard, stood near Madhavan in the glorious light of the moon. She bore in her hand a jasmine garland which she had woven that evening, and as Madhavan gazed on the superb beauty of her face, hair and form in the silvery radiance, he grew faint with irrepressible emotion. "Great God!" he thought, "if this, the fairest of His creatures, loves me, then I am the happiest of men. If not, I care no more for life, and it would be better for me to die now at her feet."
Indulekha also was herself deeply affected, although she did not suffer any change in her demeanour to betray her thought. The fact was, that by the command which she exercised over her mind, she had acquired the art of restraining her emotions and carrying them off lightly in her gestures. But in times of gladness of heart and merriment, laughter is the natural outlet of the feelings, and in times of affliction, the outward manifestation of distress tends to assuage its pangs. It is some alleviation of misery when a man, overtaken by sorrow, can pour his tale into a sympathising ear, but if he attempts to confine his grief within the recesses of his heart and bear himself with assumed indifference on the stage of life, then, like a torrent checked in its course, his feelings burst forth suddenly and bear him away in their vehemence.
When Indulekha saw the pain which was unmistakably depicted on Madhavan’s face in the moonlight, she was well nigh overpowered by her sensations. Moonlight in itself naturally arouses all the feelings of romance latent in the mind, and it is no wonder, therefore, that when she found herself standing, in such moonlight as then flooded the scene, near a man so well-favoured as Madhavan, and filled, as she knew, with an affection for herself as true and tender and steadfast as the love she felt for him, Indulekha realized the keenness of her passion. Nevertheless, by sheer strength of mind and patience and endurance she restrained all indication of the struggle in her breast, and both she and Madhavan stood for some time in silence gazing at the moon. At last Indulekha repeated the following stanza:
"The Moon, who withers in deadly hate the crimson Lotus flower,
"Who quickens the water lily white with Love’s mysterious power.
"The Moon, who kindles in maiden’s breast true love into passionate glow.
"Who causes the ardent youth to rave, and the waters to ebb and flow,
"Who bids the crane to bemoan his mate, as he wings his very flight,
"Who, waving wide her magic wand, dispers
es the shades of night,
"The Moon who spreads o’er the enchanted earth her mantle of silvery sheen,
"All glorious in her majesty, arose the witching Queen"
When she had finished, Madhavan said "I can hardly think that the man who composed those lines was well acquainted with the qualities of the moon."
"How do you mean?" asked Indulekha.
"I mean" replied Madhavan "that if the quality he describes in the words, ‘kindles in maiden’s heart true love into passionate glow,’ really belonged to the moon, it would now reveal itself."
Indulekha laughed and said "Then I will quote another verse."
"Behold, the damsel night appear,
"A glittering circlet in her ear,
"Which Cupid with consummate art,
"Employs to whet his piercing dart.
"It is some time, I think, since women’s hearts were pierced by Cupid’s arrows" observed Madhavan.
"But you forget," replied Indulekha, "women are soft and yielding, women are cowards. Perhaps Cupid has, in compassion, refrained from teasing us."
"Oh, is that so," answered Madhavan, "then I would say that this same god of love is not only a rogue but also blindly stupid. If he shows mercy to the women and spares them, what does he gain by interfering with the men? What is the use of tormenting them if there is no benefit?"
"There is something in that" said Indulekha. "But it is possible that the god of love thinks that if he oppresses the men, who are far stronger than the women, they can oppress and subdue the women for themselves without any effort on his part. But look, Madhavan, I have brought with me a jessamine wreath which I made to day. The central flower in it is this small lotus which I gathered at daybreak in the western pond at Puvalli. The wreath will look lovely on your hair. See, Madhavan, will you take it?"
Indulekha Page 4