by refusing to go at all. And
unless that lucky elephant had chanced to come along, I was absolutely
lost. And yet, how could I possibly have guessed that Tarawali would
turn out to be the lady of my dream? O joy, that she caught me just
before I went away! O the star in her hair, and the sound of her
voice, and O the unendurable torture of being absent for an instant
from the possibility of the nectar of her kiss!

And then, all at once, I started, for a thought ran of its own accord
like a dagger straight into my heart. And I exclaimed: Alas! I had
forgotten. How in the world am I ever to see her again? And she said:
Good-bye! Can it be that she intended I was never to return? Alas!
beyond a doubt, good-bye was good-bye, and for all her extraordinary
kindness, she was offended by my overweening presumption, and sent me
away, and will not send for me again. Aye! all is over: for like
Durga,[24] she is absolutely inaccessible, unless she chooses to
reveal herself to her miserable devotee of her own accord. Aye indeed!
my arrogance has ruined me in her estimation, and I cannot even hope
ever to see her any more. Fool that I was, and mad, to run away like a
deer, never so much as dreaming of providing for my return! Now
indeed, I have dropped myself into a well without a rope, and she is
as utterly beyond my reach, as if indeed she were a star.

And my knees shook, and I sank down, with my head buried in my hands,
ready to cry, for sheer anguish, at the thought of my inability to get
at her, and the horror on purpose to keep me in suspense, and torture
my impatience. And then at last, she said: Sunset! What! didst thou
fear I was going to say Farewell?

And as she laughed again, I caught her by the hand, in exultation, and
her laughter suddenly changed into a shriek. And she said, with more
laughter: Nay, thou hast come within a little of breaking my hand in
pieces, gripping it like one that catches at a twig, to save himself
from drowning. What! wouldst thou requite a benefit, by injuring thy
benefactor? Or hast thou again mistaken one hand for another? And
again she began to laugh, looking at me slily, with her provoking
pretty eyes: and she said: No matter, I forgive thee, for as I said, I
understand. But O Shatrunjaya the lute-player, what is it that has
made thee change thy mind, since yesterday? Or am I to go back and
tell the Queen, once more, that her music-master will not come?

And she turned, laughing still