‘You can laugh at the sands as they run through the hour glass. You need not hurry. You can walk through life with slow, deliberate steps,—an aristocrat in the midst of slaves!’

Nothing consoled me save thought. This sharp blade that hurt most men, was like a cool, smooth hand caressing me. In Reality, I found the Great Fiction which other people endeavor to snatch from Illusion.

‘Cartaphilus,’ I said to myself, ‘if your life is suitable only for a god or a demon—be a god or a demon!’

I soon discovered that I was still human. Drouth was parching India. In vain the priests sacrificed victims to the implacable gods. Moved to pity, I tried my arts as a rainmaker. It was one of the lesser tricks which I had learned in the house of Apollonius. I do not know whether natural causes or my incantations produced the rain, but I was regarded by the natives as their saviour. This made my position unpleasantly conspicuous and aroused the jealousy of the Rajah.

“Miraculous coincidences,” he remarked, to me, as he bade me farewell, “sometimes save the faces of prophets and of kings.”

“Not only their faces,” I replied, “but also their necks.”

He smiled.

Two black eyes peered at us from behind the curtain of a window. Was it one of the Rajah’s wives? The Rajah’s enormous belly shook with suppressed excitement. Touching the rug before the throne three times with my head, I departed.

My elephant had carried me several miles beyond Delhi when suddenly I heard someone shouting. A man ran towards me waving his hands. His body heaved grotesquely and he wiped the foam from the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand.

“My mistress, Princess Asi-ma, is more beautiful than the full moon in whose reflection the leaves of the great palm trees carve their gorgeous patterns.”

“I doubt it not.”

“Her love for my new master whose word brought rain to the city is deeper than the seas.”

“Your new master accepts both you and the Princess.” We were silent for a while.

“If Buddha is propitious, and we can escape the Rajah’s men, my mistress shall be my master’s wife.”

“Your master’s joy is great.”

“If not, we shall all three be crushed by the elephant’s paws, for the Rajah wished to marry my mistress, himself.”

“Is it permissible for a brother to marry his sister?”

“The Rajah’s sword is very sharp, Master.”

I knew now what face had peered at me from behind the curtain.

Asi-ma approached us, and knelt before me. I raised her, and looked at her. “You are indeed more beautiful than the full moon.” She lowered her lids. Her skin was much lighter than that of the pure Hindu type. Her hair, however, was as black and lustrous. Her breasts were full-blown, as well as her hips, although she could hardly have been more than about fifteen or sixteen years old. She turned to her slave. “Ra-man, have you delivered my message to our master?”

“I have.”

“Come,” I said. “We have no time to linger, Asi-ma, adorable child.”

The two of us mounted one elephant while Ra-man mounted another, and we galloped away.

When we reached the harbor, we descended from our animals. Ra-man ran ahead of us. We followed slowly in the same direction, my arm tightly wound about Asi-ma’s waist. The time we had ridden together, her head upon my chest, sufficed to endear her to me. Ra-man waved to us. We approached. A small sailboat was anchored at some distance, but a rowboat scratched its nose gently against the shore. We entered into it. The slave rowed vigorously so that in a few moments we reached the boat. Ra-man jumped into it, lifted Asi-ma, and assisted me. I helped him raise the rowboat, and in another moment we were sailing.

“Look! Look!” exclaimed Asi-ma. “They just missed us.” She laughed like a little child. On the shore, a number of armed men upon elephants looked in our direction, and either waved their hands or shook their fists, I could not tell.

“Make me your wife, Cartaphilus.”

“You are my wife.”

“Make me, now…now…” She drew my head to her lips and kissed me. “Now… Cartaphilus.”

I pointed to Ra-man.

“He is not a man. It does not matter if he sees.”

“Asi-ma, you are a great joy to me.”

“Undress me, Cartaphilus.”

I was a little clumsy, and at one or two points, perplexed. She laughed, and clapped her hands, but would not help me. She stood at last in the full reflection of the moon, more dazzling than that cold divinity.

“Asi-ma, beloved!”

I spread a lion’s skin on the deck, and laid her down gently upon it. For a long while I caressed her. Her body was as smooth as the surface of a still lake. Her breasts were tinged with thin blue veins, which appeared and vanished under her skin. She drew me to her. I relaxed my grip.

The reflection of the moon danced upon us with her soft, silver feet, then lay quietly over us like a head that sleeps. Ra-man, his arms crossed, looked silent and thoughtful as a sphinx.

“Cartaphilus, you were my husband before.”

I did not answer.

“Don’t you remember, beloved…long, long ago? And you will be again…and again…until we are one in Nirvana.”

“Yes, Asi-ma.”

I tried in vain to find any resemblance between her and Lydia, or any of my mistresses. Only the perfume of her hair reminded me of someone whose face I could not recollect.

AFTER a few days of sailing, we landed in a small town situated upon a hill that had the shape of a sharp cone. I bought a villa with a large orchard, and built a high, stone wall around it. I was weary of the world and longed for seclusion.

“Asi-ma, my wife, here let us spend the rest of our days in love-making, and peace.”

“I am the slave of Cartaphilus.”

‘The rest of your days, Cartaphilus?’ I thought. ‘Who knows how many more there will be?’ “I have brought a little gift to my husband.” She clapped her hands. “Ra-man, where is the casket?”

Ra-man placed before me a gold casket, an exquisite piece of workmanship. “Open it, Cartaphilus.” I opened it. It was filled almost to the brim with jewels—the crown jewels of the Rajah.

“Asi-ma, I will not accept your gift. I have enough wealth.”

She did not answer, but played with the jewels, raising them in half-fistfuls and letting them drop back in tiny cascades. “Cartaphilus does not love his wife.”

“How can she say that?”

“He scorns her gift, for which she nearly lost her life.”

“She herself was a gift beyond compare.”

“Is not what she possesses part of herself? Why should he scorn any particle of her?”

I remembered what Apollonius had said in reference to Jesus. Was I still so much a Jew that property mattered to such a degree? Did not my refusal to accept the jewels indicate what importance I really attached to their value? Had her gift been a flower, say, or a trinket, should I have refused?

“My dear, I accept your gift.”

“Ra-man, Ra-man! Cartaphilus accepts my gift.”

I was happy. With the exception of Hindu philosophers, who initiated me into many of the greater mysteries of the East, and one or two shipowners, with whom I invested some capital, my house was closed to the outer world.

I studied the pathways of the stars. I watched the growth of my trees and flowers. One hundred and twenty different species of birds sang for me; deer gamboled at my approach; an elephant extended his great trunk to be filled with nuts,—and at my feet, like a magnificent lioness, purring delicious nonsense mingled with profound wisdom, stretched out lazily my beloved, my wife.

Asi-ma was standing before the tall, Corinthian silver mirror which I had recently imported for her.