s
almost intolerable sweet before? And suddenly, the little hut rushed
into his mind, and he exclaimed: It is the very smell of the creeper on
its roof. And instantly, a feeling of amazement that almost overcame
him, mingled with terror, crept like a shudder over his limbs, and his
hair stood on end. And he looked at Natabhrukuti, who was watching him
intently, and said, hoarsely: Who art thou, thou strange beauty, and
what dost thou want of me? And what is the meaning of these inexplicable
mysteries, before which I feel as if my reason were deserting me, and I
were about to faint again?

VIII.

Then she laughed, and said: Fair boy, I am only that bitter-sweet[18], a
woman: and I want no more than what every woman wants, the man she
loves, and that is thou. Aye! dost thou ask me, who and what I am?
Listen then, and I will tell thee. I am a bee, which not like other
bees, roams roving to flower after flower, but confines itself
exclusively to one. I am a breeze, which not like other breezes blows
fickle and inconstant now hither and now thither, but is fixed and ever
steady, coming straight from Malaya laden with the sandal of affection
to lay it at thy feet. I am only the echo of a voice which is thyself,
the shadow of a substance and the reflection of a sun. I am like the
other half of the god that carries the moon upon his head, the twin, the
duplicate and counterpart of a deity who is thou, I am Rati, rejoicing
to find again the body of her husband, and thou art Love himself
returned to life whom I have found. I am an essence of the ocean, but
unlike it, I hold within my heart not many pearls, but only one, which
is thyself. I am a wick, consuming in thy flame, and like the music of a
lute, I am a thing wholly compounded of melodies and tones, whose mood
and being are dependent on the player, who is thou. Art thou sad? then I
am also: art thou joyous? so am I: my soul is tossed about, and hangs on
thy smiling or thy sighing, as a criminal depends on the sentence of the
judge. And like a crystal, I am colourless[19] without thee, but ready
on the instant to assume every tinge of the colour of thyself. Cast thy
eyes upon me, and thou shalt see as in a glass thy every mood painted
on the surface of my face. Ah! dost thou ask me what I am? Alas! I am a
target for the poisoned arrows which Love shoots at me in the form of
thy beauty greater than his own. And I am like a bare and withered,
leafless and frost-bitten