Vikram and the Vampire

‘Nothing!’ replied the other laconically, when he found his friend beginning to take an interest in the affair.

‘Then,’ said the minister’s son, ‘it will be exceedingly difficult to get possession of her.’

‘Then,’ repeated the Raja’s son, ‘I am doomed to death; to an early and melancholy death!’

‘Humph!’ ejaculated the young statesman rather impatiently, ‘did she make any sign, or give any hint? Let me know all that happened: half confidences are worse than none.’

Upon which the prince related everything that took place by the side of the tank, bewailing the false shame which had made him dumb, and concluding with her pantomime.

The pradhan’s son took thought for a while. He thereupon seized the opportunity of representing to his master all the evil effects of bashfulness when women are concerned, and advised him, as he would be a happy lover, to brazen his countenance for the next interview.

Which the young Raja faithfully promised to do.

‘And, now,’ said the other, ‘be comforted, O my master! I know her name and her dwelling-place. When she suddenly plucked the lotus flower and worshipped it, she thanked the gods for having blessed her with a sight of your beauty.’

Vajramukut smiled, the first time for the last month.

‘When she applied it to her ear, it was as if she would have explained to thee, “I am a daughter of the Carnatic;”[54 - Properly Karnatak; karna in Sanskrit means an ear.] and when she bit it with her teeth, she meant to say that “My father is Raja Dantawat,”[55 - Danta in Sanskrit is a tooth.] who, by the bye, has been, is, and ever will be, a mortal foe to thy father.’

Vajramukut shuddered.

‘When she put it under her foot it meant, “My name is Padmavati.”’[56 - Padma means a foot.]

Vajramukut uttered a cry of joy.

‘And when she placed it in her bosom, “You are truly dwelling in my heart” was meant to be understood.’

At these words the young Raja started up full of new life, and after praising with enthusiasm the wondrous sagacity of his dear friend, begged him by some contrivance to obtain the permission of his parents, and to conduct him to her city. The minister’s son easily got leave for Vajramukut to travel, under pretext that his body required change of water, and his mind change of scene. They both dressed and armed themselves for the journey, and having taken some jewels, mounted their horses and followed the road in that direction in which the princess had gone.

Arrived after some days at the capital of the Carnatic, the minister’s son having disguised his master and himself in the garb of travelling traders, alighted and pitched his little tent upon a clear bit of ground in one of the suburbs. He then proceeded to inquire for a wise woman, wanting, he said, to have his fortune told. When the prince asked him what this meant, he replied that elderly dames who professionally predict the future are never above ministering to the present, and therefore that, in such circumstances, they are the properest persons to be consulted.

‘Is this a treatise upon the subject of immorality, devil?’ demanded the King Vikram ferociously. The Baital declared that it was not, but that he must tell his story.

The person addressed pointed to an old woman who, seated before the door of her hut, was spinning at her wheel. Then the young men went up to her with polite salutations and said, ‘Mother, we are travelling traders, and our stock is coming after us; we have come on in advance for the purpose of finding a place to live in. If you will give us a house, we will remain there and pay you highly.’

The old woman, who was a physiognomist as well as a fortune-teller, looked at the faces of the young men and liked them, because their brows were wide and their mouths denoted generosity. Having listened to their words, she took pity upon them and said kindly, ‘This hovel is yours, my masters, remain here as long as you please.’ Then she led them into an inner room, again welcomed them, lamented the poorness of her abode, and begged them to lie down and rest themselves.

After some interval of time the old woman came to them once more, and sitting down began to gossip. The minister’s son upon this asked her, ‘How is it with thy family, thy relatives, and connections; and what are thy means of subsistence?’ She replied, ‘My son is a favourite servant in the household of our great king Dantawat, and your slave is the wet-nurse of the Princess Padmavati, his eldest child. From the coming on of old age,’ she added, ‘I dwell in this house, but the king provides for my eating and drinking. I go once a day to see the girl, who is a miracle of beauty and goodness, wit and accomplishments, and returning thence, I bear my own griefs at home.’[57 - A common Hindu phrase equivalent to our ‘I manage to get on.’]

In a few days the young Vajramukut had, by his liberality, soft speech, and good looks, made such progress in nurse Lakshmi’s affections that, by the advice of his companion, he ventured to broach the subject ever nearest his heart. He begged his hostess, when she went on the morrow to visit the charming Padmavati, that she would be kind enough to slip a bit of paper into the princess’s hand.

‘Son,’ she replied, delighted with the proposal – and what old woman would not be? – ‘there is no need for putting off so urgent an affair till the morrow. Get your paper ready, and I will immediately give it.’

Trembling with pleasure, the prince ran to find his friend, who was seated in the garden reading, as usual, and told him what the old nurse had engaged to do. He then began to debate about how he should write his letter, to cull sentences and to weigh phrases; whether ‘light of my eyes’ was not too trite, and ‘blood of my liver’ rather too forcible. At this the minister’s son smiled, and bade the prince not trouble his head with composition. He then drew his inkstand from his waist-shawl, nibbed a reed pen, and choosing a piece of pink and flowered paper, he wrote upon it a few lines. He then folded it, gummed it, sketched a lotus flower upon the outside, and handing it to the young prince, told him to give it to their hostess, and that all would be well.

The old woman took her staff in her hand and hobbled straight to the palace. Arrived there, she found the Raja’s daughter sitting alone in her apartment. The maiden, seeing her nurse, immediately arose, and making a respectful bow, led her to a seat and began the most affectionate inquiries. After giving her blessing and sitting for some time and chatting about indifferent matters, the nurse said, ‘O daughter! in infancy I reared and nourished thee, now the Bhagwan (Deity) has rewarded me by giving thee stature, beauty, health, and goodness. My heart only longs to see the happiness of thy womanhood,[58 - Meaning marriage, maternity, and so forth.] after which I shall depart in peace. I implore thee read this paper, given to me by the handsomest and the properest young man that my eyes have ever seen.’

The princess, glancing at the lotus on the outside of the note, slowly unfolded it and perused its contents, which were as follows:

1

She was to me the pearl that clings
To sands all hid from mortal sight,
Yet fit for diadems of kings,
The pure and lovely light.

2

She was to me the gleam of sun
That breaks the gloom of wintry day;
One moment shone my soul upon,
Then passed – how soon! – away.

3

She was to me the dreams of bliss
That float the dying eyes before,
For one short hour shed happiness,
And fly to bless no more.

4

O light, again upon me shine;
O pearl, again delight my eyes;
O dreams of bliss, again be mine! —
No! earth may not be Paradise.

I must not forget to remark, parenthetically, that the minister’s son, in order to make these lines generally useful, had provided them with a last stanza in triplicate. ‘For lovers,’ he said sagely, ‘are either in the optative mood, the desperative, or the exultative.’ This time he had used the optative. For the desperative he would substitute:

4

The joys of life lie dead, lie dead,
The light of day is quenched in gloom;
The spark of hope my heart hath fled —
What now withholds me from the tomb?

And this was the termination exultative, as he called it:

4

O joy! the pearl is mine again,
Once more the day is bright and clear,
And now ’tis real, then ’twas vain,
My dream of bliss – O heaven is here!

The Princess Padmavati having perused this doggrel with a contemptuous look, tore off the first word of the last line, and said to the nurse, angrily, ‘Get thee gone, O mother of Yama,[59 - Yama is Pluto; ‘mother of Yama’ is generally applied to an old scold.] O unfortunate creature, and take back this answer’ – giving her the scrap of paper – ‘to the fool who writes such bad verses. I wonder where he studied the humanities. Begone, and never do such an action again!’

The old nurse, distressed at being so treated, rose up and returned home. Vajramukut was too agitated to await her arrival, so he went to meet her on the way. Imagine his disappointment when she gave him the fatal word and repeated to him exactly what happened, not forgetting to describe a single look! He felt tempted to plunge his sword into his bosom; but Fortune interfered, and sent him to consult his confidant.