the ninth vibration-第20节

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t　our　meal　might　be　unwatched　by　one　or　two　friends　who　had　followed　us　in　with　breathless　interest。　Still　further　to　entertain　us　a　great　rarity　was　brought　out　and　laid　at　Vanna's　feet　as　something　we　might　like　to　watch　…　a　curious　bird　in　a　cage；　with　brightly　barred　wings　and　a　singular　cry。　She　fed　it　with　fruit；　and　it　fluttered　to　her　hand。　Just　so　Abraham　might　have　welcomed　his　guests；　and　when　we　left　with　words　of　deepest　gratitude；　our　host　made　the　beautiful　obeisance　of　touching　his　forehead　with　joined　hands　as　he　bowed。　To　me　the　whole　incident　had　an　extraordinary　grace；　and　ennobled　both　host　and　guest。　But　we　met　an　ascending　scale　of　loveliness　so　varied　in　its　aspects　that　I　passed　from　one　emotion　to　another　and　knew　no　sameness。

That　afternoon　the　camp　was　pitched　at　the　foot　of　a　mighty　hill；　under　the　waving　pyramids　of　the　chenars；　sweeping　their　green　like　the　robes　of　a　goddess。　Near　by　was　a　half　circle　of　low　arches　falling　into　ruin；　and　as　we　went　in　among　them　I　beheld　a　wondrous　sight　…　the　huge　octagonal　tank　or　basin　made　by　the　Mogul　Emperor　Jehangir　to　receive　the　waters　of　a　mighty　Spring　which　wells　from　the　hill　and　has　been　held　sacred　by　Hindu　and　Moslem。　And　if　loveliness　can　sanctify　surely　it　is　sacred　indeed。

The　tank　was　more　than　a　hundred　feet　in　diameter　and　circled　by　a　roughly　paved　pathway　where　the　little　arched　cells　open　that　the　devotees　may　sit　and　contemplate　the　lustral　waters。　There　on　a　black　stone；　is　sculptured　the　Imperial　inscription　comparing　this　spring　to　the　holier　wells　of　Paradise；　and　I　thought　no　less　of　it；　for　it　rushes　straight　from　the　rock　with　no　aiding　stream；　and　its　waters　are　fifty　feet　deep；　and　sweep　away　from　this　great　basin　through　beautiful　low　arches　in　a　wild　foaming　river　…　the　crystal　life…blood　of　the　mountains　for　ever　welling　away。　The　colour　and　perfect　purity　of　this　living　jewel　were　most　marvellous　…clear　blue…green　like　a　chalcedony；　but　changing　as　the　lights　in　an　opal　…　a　wonderful　quivering　brilliance；　flickering　with　the　silver　of　shoals　of　sacred　fish。

But　the　Mogul　Empire　is　with　the　snows　of　yesteryear　and　the　wonder　has　passed　from　the　Moslems　into　the　keeping　of　the　Hindus　once　more；　and　the　Lingam　of　Shiva；　crowned　with　flowers；　is　the　symbol　in　the　little　shrine　by　the　entrance。　Surely　in　India；　the　gods　are　one　and　have　no　jealousies　among　them　…　so　swiftly　do　their　glories　merge　the　one　into　the　other。

〃How　all　the　Mogul　Emperors　loved　running　water；〃　said　Vanna。　〃I　can　see　them　leaning　over　it　in　their　carved　pavilions　with　delicate　dark　faces　and　pensive　eyes　beneath　their　turbans；　lost　in　the　endless　reverie　of　the　East　while　liquid　melody　passes　into　their　dream。　It　was　the　music　they　best　loved。〃

She　was　leading　me　into　the　royal　garden　below；　where　the　young　river　flows　beneath　the　pavilion　set　above　and　across　the　rush　of　the　water。

〃I　remember　before　I　came　to　India；〃　she　went　on；　〃there　were　certain　words　and　phrases　that　meant　the　whole　East　to　me。　It　was　an　enchantment。　The。　first　flash　picture　I　had　was　Milton's…

　　　'Dark　faces　with　white　silken　turbans　wreathed。'

and　it　still　is。　I　have　thought　ever　since　that　every　man　should　wear　a　turban。　It　dignifies　the　un…comeliest　and　it　is　quite　curious　to　see　how　many　inches　a　man　descends　in　the　scale　of　beauty　the　moment　he　takes　it　off　and　you　see　only　the　skull…cap　about　which　they　wind　it。　They　wind　it　with　wonderful　skill　too。　I　have　seen　a　man　take　eighteen　yards　of　muslin　and　throw　it　round　his　head　with　a　few　turns；　and　in　five　or　six　minutes　the　beautiful　folds　were　all　in　order　and　he　looked　like　a　king。　Some　of　the　Gujars　here　wear　black　ones　and　they　are　very　effective　and　worth　painting　…　the　black　folds　and　the　sullen　tempestuous　black　brows　underneath。〃

We　sat　in　the　pavilion　for　awhile　looking　down　on　the　rushing　water；　and　she　spoke　of　Akbar；　the　greatest　of　the　Moguls；　and　spoke　with　a　curious　personal　touch；　as　I　thought。

〃I　wish　you　would　try　to　write　a　story　of　him　…　one　on　more　human　lines　than　has　been　done　yet。　No　one　has　accounted　for　the　passionate　quest　of　truth　that　was　the　real　secret　of　his　life。　Strange　in　an　Oriental　despot　if　you　think　of　it！　It　really　can　only　be　understood　from　the　Buddhist　belief；　which　curiously　seems　to　have　been　the　only　one　he　neglected；　that　a　mysterious　Karma　influenced　all　his　thoughts。　If　I　tell　you　as　a　key…note　for　your　story；　that　in　a　past　life　he　had　been　a　Buddhist　priest　…　one　who　had　fallen　away；　would　that　in　any　way　account　to　you　for　attempts　to　recover　the　lost　way？　Try　to　think　that　out；　and　to　write　the　story；　not　as　a　Western　mind　sees　it；　but　pure　East。〃

〃That　would　be　a　great　book　to　write　if　one　could　catch　the　voices　of　the　past。　But　how　to　do　it？〃

〃I　will　give　you　one　day　a　little　book　that　may　help　you。　The　other　story　I　wish　you　would　write　is　the　story　of　a　Dancer　of　Peshawar。　There　is　a　connection　between　the　two　…　a　story　of　ruin　and　repentance。〃

〃Will　you　tell　it　to　me？〃

〃A　part。　In　this　same　book　you　will　find　much　more；　hut　not　all。　All　cannot　be　told。　You　must　imagine　much。　But　I　think　your　imagination　will　be　true。〃

〃Why　do　you　think　so？〃

〃Because　in　these　few　days　you　have　learnt　so　much。　You　have　seen　the　Ninefold　Flower；　and　the　rain　spirits。　You　will　soon　hear　the　Flute　of　Krishna　which　none　can　hear　who　cannot　dream　true。〃

That　night　I　heard　it。　I　waked；　suddenly；　to　music；　and　standing　in　the　door　of　my　tent；　in　the　dead　silence　of　the　night；　lit　only　by　a　few　low　stars；　I　heard　the　poignant　notes　of　a　flute。　If　it　had　called　my　name　it　could　not　have　summoned　me　more　clearly；　and　I　followed　without　a　thought　of　delay；　forgetting　even　Vanna　in　the　strange　urgency　that　filled　me。　The　music　was　elusive；　seeming　to　come　first　from　one　side；　then　from　the　other；　but　finally　I　tracked　it　as　a　bee　does　a　flower　by　the　scent；　to　the　gate　of　the　royal　garden　…　the　pleasure　place　of　the　dead　Emperors。

The　gate　stood　ajar　…　strange！　for　I　had　seen　the　custodian　close　it　that　evening。　Now　it　stood　wide　and　I　went　in；　walking　noiselessly　over　the　dewy　grass。　I　knew　and　could　not　tell　how；　that　I　must　be　noiseless。　Passing　as　if　I　were　guided；　down　the　course　of　the　strong　young　river；　I　came　to　the　pavilion　that　spanned　it　…　the　place　where　we　had　stood　that　afternoon　…　and　there　to　my　profound　amazement；　I　saw　Vanna；　leaning　against　a　slight　wooden　pillar。　As　if　she　had　expected　me；　she　laid　one　finger　on　her　lip；　and　stretching　out　her　hand；　took　mine　and　drew　me　beside　her　as　a　mother　might　a　child。　And　instantly　I　saw！

On　the　further　bank　a　young　man　in　a　strange　diadem　or　miter　of　jewels；　bare…breasted　and　beautiful；　stood　among　the　flowering　oleanders；　one　foot　lightly　crossed　over　the　other　as　he　stood。　He　was　like　an　image　of　pale　radiant　gold；　and　I　could　have　sworn　that　the　light　came　from　within　rather　than　fell　upon　him；　for　the　night　was　very　dark。　He　held　the　flute　to　his　lips；　and　as　I　looked；　I　became　aware　that　the　noise　of　the　rushing　water　was　tapering　off　into　a　murmur　scarcely　louder　than　that　of　a　summer　bee　in　the　heart　of　a　rose。　Therefore　the　music　rose　like　a　fountain　of　crystal　drops；　cold；　clear；　and　of　an　entrancing　sweetness；　and　the　face　above　it　was　such　that　I　had　no　power　to　turn　my　eyes　away。　How　shall　I　say　what　it　was？　All　I　had　ever　desired；　dreamed；　hoped；　prayed；　looked　at　me　from　the　remote　beauty　of　the　eyes　and　with　the　most　persuasive　gentleness　entreated　me；　rather　than　commanded　to　follow　fearlessly　and　win。　But　these　are　words；　and　words　shaped　in　the　rough　mould　of　thought　cannot　convey　the　deep　desire　that　would　have　hurled　me　to　his　feet　if　Vanna　had　not　held　me　with　a　firm　restraining　hand。　Looking　up　in　adoring　love　to　the　dark　face　was　a　ring　of　woodland　creatures。　I　thought　I　could　distinguish　the　white　clouded　robe　of　a　snow…　leopard；　the　soft　clumsiness　of　a　young　bear；　and　many　more；　but　these　shifted　and　blurred　like　dream　creatures　…　I　could　not　be　sure　of　them　nor　define　their　numbers。　The　eyes　of　the　Player　looked　down　upon　their　passionate　delight　with　careless　kindness。

Dim　images　passed　through　my　mind。　Orpheus　…　No；　this　was　no　Greek。　Pan…yet　again；　No。　Where　were　the　pipes；　the　goat　hoofs？　The　young　Dionysos　…　No；　there　were　strange　jewels　instead　of　his　vines。　And　then　Vanna's　voice　said　as　if　from　a　great　distance；

〃Krishna　…　the　Beloved。〃　And　I　said　aloud；　〃I　see！〃　And　even　as　I　said　it　the　whole　picture　blurred　together　like　a　dream；　and　I　was　alone　in　the　pavilion　and　the　water　was　foaming　past　me。　Had　I　walked　in　my　sleep；　I　thought；　as　I　made　my　way　hack？　As　I　gained　the　garden　gate；　before　me；　like　a　snowflake；　I　saw　the　Ninefold　Flower。

When　I　told　her　next　day；　speaking　of　it　as　a　dream；　she　said　simply；　〃They　have　opened　the　door　to　you。　You　will　not　need　me　soon。

〃I　shall　always　need　you。　You　have　taught　me　everything。　I　could　see　nothing　last　night　until　you　took　my　hand。〃

〃I　was　not　there；〃　she　said　smiling。　〃It　was　only　the　thought　of　me；　and　you　can　have　that　when　I　am　very　far　away。　I　was　sleeping　in　my　tent。　What　you　called　in　me　then　you　can　always　call；　even　if　I　am　…　dead。〃

〃That　is　a　word　which　is　beginning　to　have　no　meani