the hungry stones and other stories-第4部分

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Manjari；　the　maid　of　the　princess；　passed　by　the　poet's　house　on　her　way　to　the　river；　and　she　never　missed　a　day　to　have　a　few　words　with　him　on　the　sly。　　When　she　found　the　road　deserted；　and　the　shadow　of　dusk　on　the　land；　she　would　boldly　enter　his　room；　and　sit　at　the　corner　of　his　carpet。　　There　was　a　suspicion　of　an　added　care　in　the　choice　of　the　colour　of　her　veil；　in　the　setting　of　the　flower　in　her　hair。

People　smiled　and　whispered　at　this；　and　they　were　not　to　blame。　　For　Shekhar　the　poet　never　took　the　trouble　to　hide　the　fact　that　these　meetings　were　a　pure　joy　to　him。

The　meaning　of　her　name　was　the　spray　of　flowers。　　One　must　confess　that　for　an　ordinary　mortal　it　was　sufficient　in　its　sweetness。　　But　Shekhar　made　his　own　addition　to　this　name；　and　called　her　the　Spray　of　Spring　Flowers。　　And　ordinary　mortals　shook　their　heads　and　said；　Ah；　me！

In　the　spring　songs　that　the　poet　sang　the　praise　of　the　spray　of　spring　flowers　was　conspicuously　reiterated；　and　the　king　winked　and　smiled　at　him　when　he　heard　it；　and　the　poet　smiled　in　answer。

The　king　would　put　him　the　question；　〃Is　it　the　business　of　the　bee　merely　to　hum　in　the　court　of　the　spring？〃

The　poet　would　answer；　〃No；　but　also　to　sip　the　honey　of　the　spray　of　spring　flowers。〃

And　they　all　laughed　in　the　king's　hall。　　And　it　was　rumoured　that　the　Princess　Akita　also　laughed　at　her　maid's　accepting　the　poet's　name　for　her；　and　Manjari　felt　glad　in　her　heart。

Thus　truth　and　falsehood　mingle　in　lifeand　to　what　God　builds　man　adds　his　own　decoration。

Only　those　were　pure　truths　which　were　sung　by　the　poet。　　The　theme　was　Krishna；　the　lover　god；　and　Radha；　the　beloved；　the　Eternal　Man　and　the　Eternal　Woman；　the　sorrow　that　comes　from　the　beginning　of　time；　and　the　joy　without　end。　　The　truth　of　these　songs　was　tested　in　his　inmost　heart　by　everybody　from　the　beggar　to　the　king　himself。　　The　poet's　songs　were　on　the　lips　of　all。　　At　the　merest　glimmer　of　the　moon　and　the　faintest　whisper　of　the　summer　breeze　his　songs　would　break　forth　in　the　land　from　windows　and　courtyards；　from　sailing…boats；　from　shadows　of　the　wayside　trees；　in　numberless　voices。

Thus　passed　the　days　happily。　　The　poet　recited；　the　king　listened；　the　hearers　applauded；　Manjari　passed　and　repassed　by　the　poet's　room　on　her　way　to　the　riverthe　shadow　flitted　behind　the　screened　balcony；　and　the　tiny　golden　bells　tinkled　from　afar。

Just　then　set　forth　from　his　home　in　the　south　a　poet　on　his　path　of　conquest。　　He　came　to　King　Narayan；　in　the　kingdom　of　Amarapur。　　He　stood　before　the　throne；　and　uttered　a　verse　in　praise　of　the　king。　　He　had　challenged　all　the　court　poets　on　his　way；　and　his　career　of　victory　had　been　unbroken。

The　king　received　him　with　honour；　and　said：　〃Poet；　I　offer　you　welcome。〃

Pundarik；　the　poet；　proudly　replied　：　〃Sire；　I　ask　for　war。〃

Shekhar；　the　court　poet　of　the　king　did　not　know　how　the　battle　of　the　muse　was　to　be　waged。　　He　had　no　sleep　at　night。　　The　mighty　figure　of　the　famous　Pundarik；　his　sharp　nose　curved　like　a　scimitar；　and　his　proud　head　tilted　on　one　side；　haunted　the　poet's　vision　in　the　dark。

With　a　trembling　heart　Shekhar　entered　the　arena　in　the　morning。　　The　theatre　was　filled　with　the　crowd。

The　poet　greeted　his　rival　with　a　smile　and　a　bow。　　Pundarik　returned　it　with　a　slight　toss　of　his　head；　and　turned　his　face　towards　his　circle　of　adoring　followers　with　a　meaning　smile。　　Shekhar　cast　his　glance　towards　the　screened　balcony　high　above；　and　saluted　his　lady　in　his　mind；　saying！　〃If　I　am　the　winner　at　the　combat　to…day；　my　lady；　thy　victorious　name　shall　be　glorified。〃

The　trumpet　sounded。　　The　great　crowd　stood　up；　shouting　victory　to　the　king。　　The　king；　dressed　in　an　ample　robe　of　white；　slowly　came　into　the　hall　like　a　floating　cloud　of　autumn；　and　sat　on　his　throne。

Pundarik　stood　up；　and　the　vast　hall　became　still。　　With　his　head　raised　high　and　chest　expanded；　he　began　in　his　thundering　voice　to　recite　the　praise　of　King　Narayan。　　His　words　burst　upon　the　walls　of　the　hall　like　breakers　of　the　sea；　and　seemed　to　rattle　against　the　ribs　of　the　listening　crowd。　　The　skill　with　which　he　gave　varied　meanings　to　the　name　Narayan；　and　wove　each　letter　of　it　through　the　web　of　his　verses　in　all　mariner　of　combinations；　took　away　the　breath　of　his　amazed　hearers。

For　some　minutes　after　he　took　his　seat　his　voice　continued　to　vibrate　among　the　numberless　pillars　of　the　king's　court　and　in　thousands　of　speechless　hearts。　　The　learned　professors　who　had　come　from　distant　lands　raised　their　right　hands；　and　cried；　Bravo　！

The　king　threw　a　glance　on　Shekhar's　face；　and　Shekhar　in　answer　raised　for　a　moment　his　eyes　full　of　pain　towards　his　master；　and　then　stood　up　like　a　stricken　deer　at　bay。　　His　face　was　pale；　his　bashfulness　was　almost　that　of　a　woman；　his　slight　youthful　figure；　delicate　in　its　outline；　seemed　like　a　tensely　strung　vina　ready　to　break　out　in　music　at　the　least　touch。

His　head　was　bent；　his　voice　was　low；　when　he　began。　　The　first　few　verses　were　almost　inaudible。　　Then　he　slowly　raised　his　head；　and　his　clear　sweet　voice　rose　into　the　sky　like　a　quivering　flame　of　fire。　　He　began　with　the　ancient　legend　of　　the　kingly　line　lost　in　the　haze　of　the　past；　and　brought　it　down　through　its　long　course　of　heroism　　and　matchless　generosity　to　the　present　age。　　He　fixed　his　gaze　on　the　king's　face；　and　all　the　vast　and　unexpressed　love　of　the　people　for　the　royal　house　rose　like　incense　in　his　song；　and　enwreathed　the　throne　on　all　sides。　　These　were　his　last　words　when；　trembling；　he　took　his　seat：　〃My　master；　I　may　be　beaten　in　play　of　words；　but　not　in　my　love　for　thee；〃

Tears　filled　the　eyes　of　the　hearers；　and　the　stone　walls　shook　with　cries　of　victory。

Mocking　this　popular　outburst　of　feeling；　with　an　august　shake　of　his　head　and　a　contemptuous　sneer；　Pundarik　stood　up；　and　flung　this　question　to　the　assembly；　〃What　is　there　superior　to　words？〃　　In　a　moment　the　hall　lapsed　into　silence　again。

Then　with　a　marvellous　display　of　learning；　he　proved　that　the　Word　was　in　the　beginning；　that　the　Word　was　God。　　He　piled　up　quotations　from　scriptures；　and　built　a　high　altar　for　the　Word　to　be　seated　above　all　that　there　is　in　heaven　and　in　earth。　　He　repeated　that　question　in　his　mighty　voice：　〃What　is　there　superior　to　words？〃

Proudly　he　looked　around　him。　　None　dared　to　accept　his　challenge；　and　he　slowly　took　his　seat　like　a　lion　who　had　just　made　a　full　meal　of　its　victim。　　The　pandits　shouted；　Bravo　！　　The　king　remained　silent　with　wonder；　and　the　poet　Shekhar　felt　himself　of　no　account　by　the　side　of　this　stupendous　learning。　　The　assembly　broke　up　for　that　day。

Next　day　Shekhar　began　his　song。　　It　was　of　that　day　when　the　pipings　of　love's　flute　startled　for　the　first　time　the　hushed　air　of　the　Vrinda　forest。　　The　shepherd　women　did　not　know　who　was　the　player　or　whence　came　the　music。　　Sometimes　it　seemed　to　come　from　the　heart　of　the　south　wind；　and　sometimes　from　the　straying　clouds　of　the　hilltops。　　It　came　with　a　message　of　tryst　from　the　land　of　the　sunrise；　and　it　floated　from　the　verge　of　sunset　with　its　sigh　of　sorrow。　　The　stars　seemed　to　be　the　stops　of　the　instrument　that　flooded　the　dreams　of　the　night　with　melody。　　The　music　seemed　to　burst　all　at　once　from　all　sides；　from　fields　and　groves；　from　the　shady　lanes　and　lonely　roads；　from　the　melting　blue　of　the　sky；　from　the　shimmering　green　of　the　grass。　　They　neither　knew　its　meaning　nor　could　they　find　words　to　give　utterance　to　the　desire　of　their　hearts。　　Tears　filled　their　eyes；　and　their　life　seemed　to　long　for　a　death　that　would　be　its　consummation。

Shekhar　forgot　his　audience；　forgot　the　trial　of　his　strength　with　a　rival。　　He　stood　alone　amid　his　thoughts　that　rustled　and　quivered　round　him　like　leaves　in　a　summer　breeze；　and　sang　the　Song　of　the　Flute。　　He　had　in　his　mind　the　vision　of　an　image　that　had　taken　its　shape　from　a　shadow；　and　the　echo　of　a　faint　tinkling　sound　of　a　distant　footstep。

He　took　his　seat。　　His　hearers　trembled　with　the　sadness　of　an　indefinable　delight；　immense　and　vague；　and　they　forgot　to　applaud　him。　　As　this　feeling　died　away　Pundarik　stood　up　before　the　throne　and　challenged　his　rival　to　define　who　was　this　Lover　and　who　was　the　Beloved。　　He　arrogantly　looked　around　him；　he　smiled　at　his　followers　and　then　put　the　question　again　：　〃Who　is　Krishna；　the　lover；　and　who　is　Radha；　the　beloved？〃

Then　he　began　to　analyse　the　roots　of　those　names；and　various　interpretations　of　their　meanings。　　He　brought　before　the　bewildered　audience　all　the　intricacies　of　the　different　schools　of　metaphysics　with　consummate　skill。　　Each　letter　of　those　names　he　divided　from　its　fellow；　and　then　pursued　them　with　a　relentless　logic　till　they　fell　to　the　dust　in　confusion；　to　be　caught　up　again　and　restored　to　a　meaning　never　before　imagined　by　the　subtlest　of　word…mongers。

The　pandits　were　in　ecstasy；　they　applauded　vociferously　；　and　the　crowd　followed　them；　deluded　into　the　certainty　that　they　had　witnessed；　that　day；　the　last　shred　of　the　curtains　of　Truth　torn　to　pieces　before　their　eyes　by　a　prodigy　of　intellect。　　The　performance　of　his　tremendous　feat　so　delighted　them　that