Atmâ

by C. A. Frazer

  CHAPTER XV.

  The Rajah of Kashmir and his court went a-hunting on the day of LalSingh's return to their good company. They swept down the valley, agorgeous train of nobles and host of attendants with falcons girt forforay, and moved with much state and circumstance among the hills untilthe sun grew hot, when silken tents were pitched in a walnut grove nearby a smoothly flowing river. Here they ate and drank and reposed whileobsequious servants fanned them, and the sweet music of vinas blendedwith the murmur of the water and the droning of the bees.

  The Rajah sat in the entrance of a crimson tent and enjoyed thedelicious air. The nest-laden branches drooped above, the twittering ofbirds ceased, but gentle forms hopped lightly from twig to twig, andcurious eyes peeped from leafy lurking-places. In the turban of theRajah, the Sapphire of Fate shone with serene lustre like the bluewater-lily of Kashmir. His fingers toyed idly with the plumage of amagnificent hawk, now unhooded but still wearing the leathern jessesand tiny tinkling bells of the chase. The leash by which it was heldslipped gradually from the arm of an attendant and it was unconfined.Its keen eye knew all the ambushed flurry overhead, but it did notrise--a more curious prey lay nearer.

  In a moment it was poised in air. Another second and it had gainedpossession of the Mystic Stone, the augur of weal to the Khalsa, itsmenace when borne by a foe, the portentous Sapphire of Fate!

  All was consternation and clamour. The unlucky fellow who had slippedthe leash, waving his wrist, sought to induce the bold robber to alight,but his cries were scarcely heard above the vociferation of the throng,and he was fain to tear his beard and curse the day of his birth. But asneither lamentation nor rage could restore the treasure, cooler headsdispatched a party of horsemen with falcons and lures to decoy therecreant.

  With the first shout of dismay and horror Atma stood as if transfixed,enwrapt in thought, and did not stir nor speak until the rescuing partyhad long vanished across the plain, and Bertram touching him on theshoulder rallied him on his abstraction, and told him that the Nawabwas about to beguile the time and reanimate the flagging spirits of theillustrious company with a tale. Repressing a sigh, Atma smiled andsuffered his friend to lead him into the circle forming about thestory-teller.

  "Far back," began the Nawab, "far back in the ages whose annals are lostin story, when, Time and Eternity being nearer the point of theirdivergence, things preternatural and strange entered into the lives ofmen, there lived a mighty king of great renown, who, being stricken witha lingering but fatal malady, spent the last years of his life inadjusting the affairs of his kingdom and preparing all things to thesingle end that the reign of his successor, who was his only son, mightexcel in grandeur and dominion all other empires of that era. This sonascended the throne while still of tender years, and found that parentalfondness had endowed him with unequalled power and dominion. Hissubjects, under the beneficent rule of the departed king, had become agreat and prosperous nation; he was at peace with all neighbouringmonarchs; his treasuries were filled to overflowing; and, more than all,the wisdom of the counsellors whom the king this father had appointed toinstruct and guide his early years had sunk deep into a heartwell-fitted by Nature to receive it, and his demeanour was such that theloyal affection which was his by inheritance soon changed to a heartfeltadmiration and love of the virtues which all men perceived him topossess. Surely no monarch ever began to reign under more auspiciousskies. One of his palaces, his chief pleasure-house, had been built forhim by command of the late king, and was of unique excellence. Itsprogress during erection had been impatiently watched by the monarch,who desired to see it complete and be assured of its perfection beforehe closed his eyes on the world, so that the skilful builders whowrought day and night were distracted between the injunction laid onthem that it should be in every part of unrivalled beauty, and thehourly repetition of the royal mandate that the task be accomplishedimmediately. But, notwithstanding, so well did they succeed that amongall the wonderful palaces of that age and land there was none to comparewith The Magic Isle, for thus was it called, because by ingenious deviceit floated on the bosom of one of the lakes by which that country wasdiversified. No bridge led to this palace, but gilded barges were everready to spread their silken sails and convey the king to and from theelysium, which sometimes, as if in coquetry, receded at his approachamong flower-decked islands, and sometimes bore down to meet the gayflotilla, branches spread and garlands waving, like some enchantedvessel of unknown fashion and fragrance.

  "But strange to tell, the young king grew every day more grave andpensive in the midst of all these delights. Music nor mirth could winhim from the melancholy which overshadowed him. The truth was, that amidso much adulation as surrounded him, the idol of a nation, his soul nolonger increased in wisdom; and loving virtue beyond all other things,he secretly bemoaned his defection whilst not perceiving its cause. Hisvirtues, the cynosure of all eyes, withered like tender flowers meant toblossom in the shade, but unnaturally exposed to noon-day. His adoringpeople bewailed what they thought must be a foreshadowing of mortalillness, and the wise counsellors of his childhood vainly strove tofathom his mood. But those who know us best are ever the Unseen, andabout the young monarch hovered the benignant influences that hadwatched his infancy, and now rightly interpreted the sorrow of hisheart. In sooth, that this sorrow was matter of rejoicing in the Air, Igather from the joyous mien of that river-sprite which one day surprisedhim as he languidly mused in a balcony that overhung the water, andspoke to him in accents strange to his ear and yet at once comprehended.

  "'Come, O king, my voice obey; Come where hidden things are seen; Come with me from garish day, Withering, blasting, grievous, vain, To retreat of mystery, Haunt of holy mystery.'

  "These words, as I have related, were spoken in an unknown tongue, andyet my story gives the mystic speech in pleasant and familiar rhythm. Ido not know how this may be," and Nawab Khan gravely shook his head,"but perchance in recounting his experience, the king, unable to exactlyreproduce in his own tongue the message brought to him by the sprite,for the thoughts of the Immortals cannot be expressed in human speech,conveyed a semblance of it in such words as he could command, and soughtto veil their incompetency by an agreeable measure. In like manner Ithink may the art of poetry have been invented. It is an effort tocover by wile of dulcet utterance the impotence of mortal speech to tellthe things that belong to the spirit. And, after all, language as weknow it is an uncertain interpreter of even human emotions. So many ofour words, and they our dearest, are but symbols representing unknownquantities.

  "But to return to my story," continued the Nawab, "the sprite waving herarms beckoned the king to follow her, and led the way towards theriver's mouth. It entered the lake only a short distance from where theywere. The king experienced a poignant grief when for a moment he fearedthat, unable to follow her, he must forever lose sight of his beauteousvisitant. But in another instant he was stepping into a tiny skiff whichsuddenly appeared where a moment before had floated a lily. The magicalcraft followed its spirit guide, moving against the tide, impelled byunseen power, and ever and anon the sprite beckoned him onward. Soonthey entered the river, which here was deep, broad, and smoothlyflowing. Motion ceased when they were under a high overhanging bankwhose drooping foliage screened them from view. Here his guide againspoke:

  "'Ask and ye hear, O king, 'tis meet That mortal want should be replete From fulness of immortal state.'

  "At once his soul's sadness found voice and he cried:

  "'Tell me how may my increase in virtue resemble this river in itsonward flow?'

  "Then the spirit answered:

  "'From veiled spring that river sweeps Whose swelling tides in glory Roll onward to th' infinite deeps, It is the soul's own story.'

  "Again she beckoned him on, and without effort of his own he glided overthe water until they paused again where a lotus flower rested on thetide. The bees clustered around it, attesting
its sweetness, and whenthe king bent over it and breathed its odour he cried:

  "'Ah, how shall my piety be pure like the lotus, and the savour of myvirtues spread abroad?'

  "And again the sprite replied:

  "'Fairest flowers bloom unseen, Graces that are manifest Are of largess less serene; Ever veiled things are best.'

  "When the eve deepened they were in a forest, a single star overheadshone through the gloom, and was reflected in the water. Looking upwardthe king asked for the third time:

  "'How shall the days of my life be glorious and shine like the stars?'

  "Ere she plunged beneath the flood to vanish forever, his guideanswered:

  "'Love, like the star, the shade of eve, Seclusion, heavenly rest, And calm, for these things interweave The bowers of the Blest?'

  "The king was now at the river's secret source, and on the bank abovethe deep pool he saw a man of a more princely aspect than any he hadever known. He stood grand and divine, extending his hand with a mostbenignant smile, and the story goes that the king perceived that he helda luminous gem, some say a diamond and some an emerald--both stones, ashas often been proved, having magical potency. I cannot tell what itwas, but the king reached out his own hand to touch it, when instantly,he knew not how, it seemed that something, a Resolve, a Desire, who cansay what, went from him into the bright orb, bearing which the creatureof light arose through the air, ascending higher and higher, bearing thejewel which shone like the everlasting stars. And the king knew that hissoul's life had gone to other regions beyond the knowledge and speech ofmen.

  "The magical skiff bore him swiftly down the stream and disappeared ashe stepped from it to his palace. And tradition has it that hisheaviness of heart was gone from that night, and that his soul increasedin excellence and beauty, but that of its hidden life he was ever averseto tell."