The Daughter of Brahma by I. A. R. Wylie (to read list txt) 📕

"Dead dead the curse is on us! Dead Sarasvati is dead her blood is on the altar!"

The cry reached the distant station. It lingered on till daybreak, like a child's disconsolate wailing then died into the leaden silence of despair. The day broke very perfectly over the quiet temple. The beacon fires had long since died out, and unruffled peace brooded on the sacred waters of the pool. Over the Gopuras the violet dome softened to the palest sapphire, and from the west golden heralds of the morning rode gaily on the wings of the breeze.

From the island shrine a boat was pushed off and allowed to drift slowly, almost imperceptibly, shorewards. No hand held the dragon-headed rudder, and the oars lay unused in the rowlocks, their slender blades breaking the still mirror of the waters. The man seated in the prow looked back over the widening space to where the shrine's delicate minaret rose up amidst the reflected shadows of the temple. His chin resting in his hand, he seemed to be unconscious of all things but the scene before him, and long after the keel had grated against the stones he remained motionless, like some statue of Meditation. Then he rose and faced the shore. No surprise or fear showed itself on his impassive features. He waded through the shallow water and confronted the man who awaited him. Silently they measured each other through the twilight which still lingered in the Temple Court.

"We are quite alone," Hurst said simply. "I have waited for you for three long hours, Rama Pal, and you, perhaps, have waited many years for me let us settle our account now."

The Hindu raised his hand with a movement of stern dignity, infinite resignation.

"Our account is settled, Lord Sahib. Pass on. My hours are few, and the curse is on me. I have stained my hands in my own blood. If indeed the God of my fathers lives I am thrice damned if not--" he smiled and the smile was very terrible " then is all life vain." He raised his hand in solemn farewell to his forehead, and Hurst saw that the sacred mark had been washed away. They looked each other in the eyes. For the last time the subtle tragedy which underlies all life bridged the gulf of hatred, and in silence Rama Pal passed on into the shadows.

Through the increasing brightness David Hurst rowed out over the still waters. No light burnt out to meet him. All life seemed to have sunk into abeyance. The grating of his boat against the shore sounded loud and harsh in the holy stillness. He passed on slowly, a pale stream of sunshine marking his path, and, as once before in that first meeting, he stood at the shrine's entrance and saw the wonder of the divine dreamer.

The Daughter of Brahma slept. Peacefully, her dark head pillowed on a white heap of fresh lotusblossoms, she lay beneath the shadow of the great idol, and no trace of the darker shadow clouded the serene loveliness which in that hour had been given back to her. David Hurst drew nearer, and, on the lowest step of the altar, knelt. A simple reverence had placed flowers over the stain upon the breast and in the clasped hands. The insignia of that hour of sinister majesty lay upon the altar. In her own beauty alone the Daughter of Brahma had gone forth in the search of God.

Gently David Hurst lifted one frail hand and slipped the ring of their short union back on to the empty finger. It was to him the symbol of a greater unity. The turmoil of life into which he had drawn her had hidden her from him now he saw her as she was, as she would remain to him to the end of time as the mirror of his soul. The ideal had been re won. The Daughter of Brahma was in her temple.

He bent and kissed her. Her lips were faintly parted, no longer in breathless longing, but very peacefully, and that same peace was in his own heart. Grief sank submerged in the recognition of a divine purpose fulfilled. Here, in the heathen temple of the Unknown God, the vain shadows of man's arrogant knowledge vanished, and David Hurst faced God Himself.

"Daughter of Brahma!"

And when he looked at her again, he saw that the sunlight surrounded her in golden majesty.

He rose and turned. A slight sound on the path outside had warned him, and he felt no surprise when he saw Heilig standing on the threshold. The broad shoulders were bowed. In the clear light of the morning the determined face looked old and haggard.

"I thought to find you here," Heilig said gently. "I took the priest's barge and rowed across. I thought you would forgive me if I, too, came to bid farewell."

David Hurst nodded, and in silence the two men gazed down upon the quiet sleeper.

"A dream--" Heilig said under his breath "--an inspiration." Then he took Hurst's arm. "Come, let us leave her," he said. "God will take care of her better in her temple."

They rowed across the sacred pool. From where the bo-tree threw its delicate shadow on to the quiet water, David Hurst looked back. It seemed to him, in that last moment, that a light burned within the island shrine, and brightening, even as he gazed, poured forth to meet the rising of the sun.

Then he turned resolutely, and followed Heilig down into the valley.

Publication Date: 12-01-2014

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