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Atma - A Romance

Page 43

"But strange to tell, the young king grew every day more grave and

pensive in the midst of all these delights. Music nor mirth could win

him from the melancholy which overshadowed him. The truth was, that amid

so much adulation as surrounded him, the idol of a nation, his soul no

longer increased in wisdom; and loving virtue beyond all other things,

he secretly bemoaned his defection whilst not perceiving its cause. His

virtues, the cynosure of all eyes, withered like tender flowers meant to

blossom in the shade, but unnaturally exposed to noon-day. His adoring

people bewailed what they thought must be a foreshadowing of mortal

illness, and the wise counsellors of his childhood vainly strove to

fathom his mood. But those who know us best are ever the Unseen, and

about the young monarch hovered the benignant influences that had

watched his infancy, and now rightly interpreted the sorrow of his

heart. In sooth, that this sorrow was matter of rejoicing in the Air, I

gather from the joyous mien of that river-sprite which one day surprised

him as he languidly mused in a balcony that overhung the water, and

spoke to him in accents strange to his ear and yet at once comprehended.

"'Come, O king, my voice obey;

Come where hidden things are seen;

Come with me from garish day,

Withering, blasting, grievous, vain,

To retreat of mystery,

Haunt of holy mystery.' "These words, as I have related, were spoken in an unknown tongue, and

yet my story gives the mystic speech in pleasant and familiar rhythm. I

do not know how this may be," and Nawab Khan gravely shook his head,

"but perchance in recounting his experience, the king, unable to exactly

reproduce in his own tongue the message brought to him by the sprite,

for the thoughts of the Immortals cannot be expressed in human speech,

conveyed a semblance of it in such words as he could command, and sought

to veil their incompetency by an agreeable measure. In like manner I

think may the art of poetry have been invented. It is an effort to

cover by wile of dulcet utterance the impotence of mortal speech to tell

the things that belong to the spirit. And, after all, language as we

know it is an uncertain interpreter of even human emotions. So many of

our words, and they our dearest, are but symbols representing unknown

quantities.

"But to return to my story," continued the Nawab, "the sprite waving her

arms beckoned the king to follow her, and led the way towards the

river's mouth. It entered the lake only a short distance from where they

were. The king experienced a poignant grief when for a moment he feared

that, unable to follow her, he must forever lose sight of his beauteous

visitant. But in another instant he was stepping into a tiny skiff which

suddenly appeared where a moment before had floated a lily. The magical

craft followed its spirit guide, moving against the tide, impelled by

unseen power, and ever and anon the sprite beckoned him onward. Soon

they entered the river, which here was deep, broad, and smoothly

flowing. Motion ceased when they were under a high overhanging bank

whose drooping foliage screened them from view. Here his guide again

spoke: "'Ask and ye hear, O king, 'tis meet

That mortal want should be replete

From fulness of immortal state.' "At once his soul's sadness found voice and he cried: "'Tell me how may my increase in virtue resemble this river in its

onward flow?' "Then the spirit answered: "'From veiled spring that river sweeps

Whose swelling tides in glory

Roll onward to th' infinite deeps,

It is the soul's own story.' "Again she beckoned him on, and without effort of his own he glided over

the water until they paused again where a lotus flower rested on the

tide. The bees clustered around it, attesting its sweetness, and when

the king bent over it and breathed its odour he cried: "'Ah, how shall my piety be pure like the lotus, and the savour of my

virtues spread abroad?' "And again the sprite replied: "'Fairest flowers bloom unseen,

Graces that are manifest

Are of largess less serene;

Ever veiled things are best.' "When the eve deepened they were in a forest, a single star overhead

shone through the gloom, and was reflected in the water. Looking upward

the king asked for the third time: "'How shall the days of my life be glorious and shine like the stars?' "Ere she plunged beneath the flood to vanish forever, his guide

answered: "'Love, like the star, the shade of eve,

Seclusion, heavenly rest,

And calm, for these things interweave

The bowers of the Blest?' "The king was now at the river's secret source, and on the bank above

the deep pool he saw a man of a more princely aspect than any he had

ever known. He stood grand and divine, extending his hand with a most

benignant smile, and the story goes that the king perceived that he held

a luminous gem, some say a diamond and some an emerald--both stones, as

has often been proved, having magical potency. I cannot tell what it

was, but the king reached out his own hand to touch it, when instantly,

he knew not how, it seemed that something, a Resolve, a Desire, who can

say what, went from him into the bright orb, bearing which the creature

of light arose through the air, ascending higher and higher, bearing the

jewel which shone like the everlasting stars. And the king knew that his

soul's life had gone to other regions beyond the knowledge and speech of

men.

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