CHAPTER XISUNRISE
By night, on the eastern slope, Oman, under the light of the stars and moon, built a great funeral pyre of dry wood, brought from his store in the cave. There was in it neither sandal nor aloes, nor yet frankincense, nor any fragrant spice to cover the stench of burning human flesh. But the dry fagots would blaze high and fast; and the gay flames would quickly purify the long-tenanted body. When all was ready, Oman returned to the cave, and, lifting the still form of the old man, bore it out into the air of heaven and laid it on the pyre, its face turned toward the west, where the moon was now quietly sinking. Then, with a blazing stick brought from the cave, he lighted the funeral pyre and stood watching the flame-wreath that rose in a halo round the hoary head.
To an Indian, this purification by fire is no infamy, nor is there anything horrible in it. It is his sacred ceremony for the beloved dead. While Oman made his preparations for it, he had suffered no repulsion. And yet now, as he watched the dead form—so pinched, so pallid, so unreal, lying complacently on the great fire-bed, with the flames curling around the flesh: now, as the long beard and white hair were singed away,and the blackened visage grinned in horrid baldness, a thrill shot through Oman’s breast, and, stifling a cry, he turned and ran from the spot, up, up, through the wood, and into the open, on the height. There he threw himself down, beside a giant boulder, and, burying his head in his arms, gave himself up to a new repulsion and a new heart-sickness.
The moon had set; and the world was very still. The crackling of the fire and the hiss that went with it were the only audible sounds. Animal noises had ceased. A far, faint breeze stirred the tree-tops; but there was no suggestion of the fierce rains of the previous day. The whole sky was softly luminous with waning moon- light and the redoubled splendor of stars. Far below, the valleys and the base of the hills were lightly swathed in mist. Peace brooded over the great Vindhyas; and gradually Oman’s horror was swept away. The sweet night air cooled his frame and dried the tears that had wet his face. Weariness overcame his excitement at the events of the day and night; and he fell into a kind of stupor. He was not asleep, for he was still conscious of the workings of nature:—the setting of the moon, the dark hour, the dying glow of the fire, whose work was done, and the heavy wheeling through the sky of two or three night birds. His brain, however, was numb. He neither thought, nor felt the desire to think. His head rested against the rock, and his eyes closed. An hour passed; and, by degrees, the darkness gave way to a faint, shadowy light. The night was over. Day was at hand.
In this first grayness, Oman lifted his head and opened his eyes. Then he rose and looked down to the wood, where the fire had been. For a moment he hesitated, but finally turned away. He could not go there yet. For a few moments he paced up and down the broad, treeless space on the height, and then returned to his rock, and set his face to the wondrous east.
The far horizon was streaked with palest rose and yellow, melting into a shadowy sky. Above this bed of color, the starry rushlights one by one melted away. Only the morning star, the jewel in Ushas’ frontlet, remained, flashing in the now deepening crimson, till Ushas herself, having opened the sun-gates, passed from the sky and returned into the land of the gods. The colors were intensified as new light crept up the heavens; and above the gold was a band of pale, clear green that merged softly into the upper blue. Now, down the slope, and over all the wooded hillsides, rose a musical murmur, the song of waking things: birds, and insects. And fearlessly they performed the morning hymn, undisturbed by any thought of man. By now the creatures of the jungle had returned to their lairs, the night’s prowling ended; and the world was waking from dread to the joy of new day.
There was a long, still pause. The clear light grew clearer, the crimson deepened with inner fire, two or three little cloud-boats near the horizon were gay with rosy glow; but the shimmering valley mists had passed quietly away. The world was ready and waiting. Yet still Surya, rejoicing in the magnificence of hispageantry, delayed his coming, till the man upon the mountain top, impatient of the time, bethought him of his treasure, pulled the golden box from beneath his robe, opened it, and let the contents fall into his hand. The ruby seemed a talisman; for, as Oman held the clear stone against the sky, the first fire-beam shot above the horizon, and the great, flaming wheel rolled up from behind a far-off hill. The world broke into the climax of its morning song; and, in his heart, Oman also sang: strange words, fitted to a wondrous melody. Then, by degrees, he was silent again, his eyes, lowered from the too dazzling light, fixed upon the fiery heart of Churi’s legacy—the Asra ruby.
As Oman gazed into the scintillating depths of this rare and wonderful stone, he was thrown into a kind of waking slumber, a trance, in which scenes of a dim-lit past crowded upon him. Churi’s tale returned:—the young prince in captivity, who had bought his love with this stone:—Fidá el-Asra. Oman saw him, clearly, standing in a small and richly furnished room, beside a woman clad in clinging, scarlet draperies, a wreath of poppies woven in her heavy hair. This woman’s face grew more distinct, and shone almost transparent, till, as she gazed into the face of the man, a faint smile lighted her lips. But there was a mournful sadness in her lustrous eyes; and, seeing these eyes, Oman’s heart throbbed with understanding.
This man and this woman, burning in the depths of the ruby, were no vision. Nay, he knew them both:he, Oman, the outcast, the hermit. But howexplain the reality of the dream? Had he sheltered the twain in his own breast? How else came he to know their suffering: to suffer with them? How else was it that he saw the dark shadow of crime lying on both their hearts? How else that a gurgle and rush of water sounded in his ears, and that he shuddered as he felt the chilly contact? How else could he realize the terror of helplessness that had been upon these two souls, as they rose together from the embracing waters, to that space where water could not hide their deed? How, finally, was it that, straightway after this, he was himself again, standing upon the height where his battle had been fought and won, and where the vision had appeared? The jewel was still glowing in his fingers; the sun was only just upon the edge of the horizon;—but he had lived a year in three minutes. Did this mendicant’s gem hold within it some baleful magic? With a sudden sense of revulsion he dropped the ruby back into its box, thrust it out of sight under his robe, and, shaking away the still clinging dream, walked slowly back into his cave.
Fortunately his fire had not quite gone out; and, with a little effort, he revived it. Then he cooked himself some food, ate, threw himself upon the bed where Churi had died, and fell into a deep sleep.
When he awoke, it was afternoon. Clouds were rolling up the west, and there was promise of more rain. Oman went slowly out of his cave, with a new sense of desolation on him. The air was cold. The surrounding hills lay wrapped in still, gray shadows.All the morning joy had left the world. Reluctantly, with dread in his heart, Oman made his way down the eastern slope to the place of the funeral pyre. There lay a heap of wood ashes, mingled with white bones, a few scraps of cloth, and some pieces of charred and blackened flesh. That was all. The fire had done its work well. A week of rains and wind, and no trace would remain of him who had ascended the Silver Peak to die. The sight was less dreadful than Oman had feared; and he returned to his cave with a lighter heart.
During the remainder of the daylight, Oman occupied himself in a desultory way by reviewing his depleted resources. His fire-wood was nearly gone; and, the woods around being soaked with rains, it would be a month or more before a new stock could be gathered and sufficiently dried to burn. His food supply was also very low. This fall he had neglected to care for his grain field; and the crop, which, by this time, should have been harvested, still lay in the soil, draggled with mud and mildewed with wet. He had yet a little millet from the last season, and some rice and dried dates brought by visitors, before the rains. But, fast as he might, these could not suffice for the winter. Tired and heavy-hearted, he sat in the doorway of his cave and watched night and the storm come on together. Then, while the rain beat into his shelter, and a fierce wind raged without, he rekindled his fire in the farthest corner of the cave, and lay down upon his grass bed, thinking to sleep.
But rest was not yet for him. By degrees he wasseized with a great restlessness of mind and body. He tossed and turned, nor was able to shut his eyes, which stared wide into the light-streaked gloom. His brain burned, and was filled with chaotic visions. The spirit of Churi moved close beside him; and he chilled with dread. Where was the calm of his former high estate? Alas! It had of late become a mockery. On his breast the ruby burned; and at length he took it out and gazed at it by the light of the fire. Again it brought upon him strange thoughts, bathed him in a stream of remembrances so vivid that he felt himself of another life. Under this influence, after a long time, he fell asleep, only to find his dreams taking the same direction as his waking visions. He found himself standing on a great eminence, a vast plateau, rising sheer out of a fertile plain. Behind him were rice-fields, trees, running water, and vast buildings. He was standing with his back to one of these buildings, which was half hidden in clustering tamarinds and bamboo; and the structure was called, in his dream, the water-palace. In the dying light of day he stood there, looking down over the far plain, to a broad river that rushed through the fields. His old calm was upon him, for he was at home. This, he perceived, was the land of his desire, the place where he should find welcome and rest. And so the vision faded and his sleep became dreamless.
When he awoke, the morning was well along. He found that he still clasped the ruby in his right hand; and, returning it to its box, he prepared to go about the duties of his day. He was determined now to forcehimself to a long period of reflection, as a remedy for the restlessness brought about by recent happenings. But, to his great disturbance, he found his determination easier made than carried out. True, he meditated. Long habit had not so basely deserted him. But his meditations were no longer satisfying, and, when they were over, the dreaded mood, a restless loneliness, an unquenchable yearning, crept upon him again, till he soothed himself anew with thoughts of the ruby, the power of which never failed.
All this could end only in one way. For three weeks longer he dwelt on his height; and then, suddenly abandoning a useless battle, made ready to leave the mountain top. At dawn of a December day he stood for the last time on the summit where he had dwelt for so many years; and then, at last, not without a pang of regret, he turned his steps downward, toward the haunts of men.