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Matara burst out of the thicket; before him the petals of torn flowers whirled high as if driven by a tempest. I heard her cry; I saw her spring with open arms in front of the white man. She was a woman of my country and of noble blood. They are so! I heard her shriek of anguish and fear and all stood still!
Stars shone through her bosom, through her floating hair. I was overcome with regret, with tenderness, with sorrow. Matara slept . . . Had I slept? Matara was shaking me by the shoulder, and the fire of the sun was drying the grass, the bushes, the leaves. It was day. Shreds of white mist hung between the branches of trees. "Was it night or day?
I thought, walking dizzy and weary in sunshine on the hard paths of white men I thought, She is there with us! . . . Matara was sombre. We were often hungry. "We sold the carved sheaths of our krisses the ivory sheaths with golden ferules. We sold the jewelled hilts. But we kept the blades for them. The blades that never touch but kill we kept the blades for her. . . . Why?
We lied, we cringed, we smiled with hate in our hearts, and we kept looking here, looking there for them for the white man with hair like flame, and for her, for the woman who had broken faith, and therefore must die. We looked. At last in every woman's face I thought I could see hers. We ran swiftly. No! Sometimes Matara would whisper, 'Here is the man, and we waited, crouching. He came near.
A few miles distant from Matara, we turned out of the beaten road which leads from Delhi to Mutra, a town which still remains under English government. Matara is a pretty little town, with a very neat mosque, broad streets, and walled houses, many of which, indeed, are decorated with galleries, columns, or sculptures of red sandstone.
I sat and thought and thought, till suddenly I could see again the image of a woman, beautiful, and young, and great and proud, and tender, going away from her land and her people. Matara said, 'When we find them we shall kill her first to cleanse the dishonour then the man must die. I would say, 'It shall be so; it is your vengeance. He stared long at me with his big sunken eyes.
We heard jeers, mockery, threats words of wonder and words of contempt. We never knew rest; we never thought of home, for our work was not done. A year passed, then another. I ceased to count the number of nights, of moons, of years. I watched over Matara.
The broad river was stretched under him level, smooth, shining, like a plain of silver; and his prau, looking very short and black from the shore, glided along the silver plain and over into the blue of the sea. "Thrice Matara, standing by my side, called aloud her name with grief and imprecations. He stirred my heart.
But the Dutch ships were near, and watched our coast greedily. My brother said, 'If he dies now our land will pay for his blood. Leave him alone till we grow stronger and the ships are gone. Matara was wise; he waited and watched. But the white man feared for her life and went away. "He left his house, his plantations, and his goods! He departed, armed and menacing, and left all for her!
It leaped three times; and three times with the eyes of my mind I saw in the gloom within the enclosed space of the prau a woman with streaming hair going away from her land and her people. I was angry and sorry. Why? And then I also cried out insults and threats. Matara said, 'Now they have left our land their lives are mind.
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