A little behind the eastern wall of Kosambi lies a beautiful sinsapa wood which is, strictly speaking, a sacred grove. In an open glade the sanctuary yet stands, though in a sadly dilapidated condition. It is long since any sacrificial service has taken place in this ancient fane, because Krishna, to whom it is dedicated, has had a magnificent and much larger temple built to him in the town itself. In the ruin, however, dwelt, besides a pair of owls, a holy woman, who enjoyed the reputation of having relations with spirits, by whose help she was able to look into the future—insight which the good soul did not withhold from such of her fellow-creatures as brought votive offerings. Such persons made pilgrimages to her in large numbers, among them, and particularly after sunset, being young folks of both sexes, who were, or fancied themselves, in love, and there were not lacking malicious tongues which asserted that the old woman should rather be called a female pander than a saint. However that may have been, this saintliness was just what we needed, and her little temple was chosen as the place for our meeting.

Next day I started with my ox-wagons, and took care that it should be at the hour when people were on their way to the bazaar or to the law-courts. In doing so, I intentionally chose the most frequented streets, so that my departure could not possibly remain hidden from my enemy Satagira. After but a few hours' travel, however, I halted in a large village and had my caravan go into night quarters there, to the no small delight of my people. Shortly before sunset, I myself mounted a fresh horse, and, wrapped in the coarse mantle of one of my servants, rode back to Kosambi, over the road we had just come.

Night had fallen, and it was quite dark by the time I reached the sinsapa wood. As I carefully guided my horse between the tree-trunks, I was welcomed by the splendid odour of the blossoms of the night-lotus, which rose to greet me from the ancient Krishna pond. Very soon the crumbling roof of the temple, with its swarming images of the gods, and its jagged and tangled outlines, began to show against the starlit heavens. I was at the appointed place. Scarcely had I swung myself out of the saddle when my friends were at my side. With a cry of rapture, Vasitthi and I rushed into one another's arms, half beside ourselves with the joy of meeting again, and all my recollections now are of caresses, stammered words of endearment, and assurances of love and fidelity, which absorbed us utterly, till I was rudely startled by the unexpected feeling of a wing that softly fanned my check as it brushed lightly past. This, with the hoot of an owl, and the hateful clang of a cracked bronze bell which immediately followed, had the effect of completely rousing me from my love-trance. Medini had pulled the old prayer-bell, and so scared the owl from the recess in which she dwelt. The good-hearted girl had done it, not so much to summon the saintly woman, as because she saw that formidable person already coming out of the sanctuary, plainly indignant that she should hear voices within the sacred precincts, although no one had either rung or knocked.

Medini informed the ancient dame that her great reputation for holiness, and the report of her marvellous knowledge, had brought herself and this young man—pointing to Somadatta—to seek her, in order to receive information about what was yet concealed in the lap of time. The holy woman raised her glance searchingly towards heaven, and gave it as her opinion that, as the Pleiades occupied a particularly favourable position with regard to the Polar Star, she had good reason to hope that the spirits would not refuse their help; upon which she invited Somadatta and Medini to enter the House of Krishna, the Sixteen-thousand-one-hundredfold Bridegroom,[1] who delighted in granting to a pair of lovers the inmost wishes of their hearts. Vasitthi and I, however, as the supposed attendants, remained outside.

How we now assured one another, with the most solemn oaths, that only the All-destroyer, Death, should be able to part us, how we spoke of my speedy return so soon as the rainy season should be over, and discussed ways and means by which her extremely rich parents should be brought to consent to our union, and how all this was intermingled with innumerable kisses, tears, and embraces, I could not now tell thee with even an attempt at truth, for it abides with me only as the remembrance of a vague dream. Still less, however, can I, if thou thyself hast not lived through a similar experience, give thee any idea of the way in which, in every embrace, sweetest rapture and heart-rending despair clasped each other round; for each embrace reminded us that the last for this time would soon come, and who could give us the assurance that it would not then be the very last for all time?

All too soon, Somadatta and Medini came forth from the temple. The saintly woman wished to reveal the future to us also now, but Vasitthi shrank from the thought.

"How should I bear it," she exclaimed, "if a future menacing disaster were to be unveiled?"

"But why then just menacing disaster?" said the well-meaning old woman, whose life experiences, presumably as the result of her sanctity, had probably been happy ones. "For the servant also, happiness waits," she added, with a look fraught with promise.

But Vasitthi was not to be allured; sobbing, she clung around my neck.

"Ah! my only love!" she cried, "I feel as though the future with inexorable face were looking down upon us. Oh! I feel it—I shall never see thee more."

Although these words caused an icy chill to creep over me, I tried to reason her out of this groundless fear; but, just because it was groundless, my most eloquent words availed little or nothing. The tears rolled in an unbroken stream over her cheeks; with a look of divine love, she caught my hand and pressed it to her breast.

"Yet if we should nevermore see each other in this world, we shall still remain faithful; and when this short and painful life on earth is ended, we shall find one another in Paradise, and, united there, for ever enjoy the raptures of heaven.… O Kamanita, promise me that. How much more will that upraise and strengthen me than any words of comfort! For these are as powerless against the inevitable stream of Fate, already surging towards us, as the reeds against the floods of waters. But all-powerful, bringing forth new life, is sacred, deep-seated resolution."

"If it depends only upon that, beloved Vasitthi, how should I fail to find thee anywhere?" I said. "But let us hope that it will be in this world."

"Here everything is uncertain, and even the moment in which we now speak is not ours, but it will be otherwise in Paradise."

"Ah! Vasitthi," I sighed, "is there a Paradise—and where does it lie?"

"Where the sun sets," she replied, with complete conviction, "lies the Paradise of Infinite Light; and for all who have the courage to despise the earthly, and to fix their thoughts upon that place of bliss, there waits a pure birth from the bosom of a lotus flower. The first craving for that Paradise causes a bud to appear in the holy waters of the crystal seas; every pure thought, every good deed, causes it to grow and develop; while all evil committed in thought, word, and deed gnaws like a worm within it, and brings it near to withering away."

Her eyes shone like temple lights as she spoke thus in a voice which sounded like sweetest music. Then she raised her hand and pointed over the: dark tops of the sinsapa trees to where the Milky Way, with a soft radiance upon it as of glowing alabaster, lay along the dark purple star-sown field of heaven.

"Look there, Kamanita," she cried, "the heavenly Gunga! Let us swear by its silver waters—which feed the lotus seas of yonder fields of the blest—to fix our whole souls upon the preparing of an eternal home there for our love."

Strangely moved, completely carried out of myself, and agitated to the very depths of my being, I raised my hand to hers, and our hearts thrilled as one at the divine thought that, at that instant, in endless immensities of space, high above the storm of this earthly existence, a double bud of the life of eternal love had come into being.

As though with the effort her strength was exhausted, Vasitthi sank into my arms, where, after having pressed yet another lingering farewell kiss upon my lips, she lay to all appearance lifeless.

I put her softly into Medini's arms, mounted my horse, and rode away without once venturing to look round.



[1] The legend attached to this strange name is told in the chapter entitled "Buddha and Khrishna."