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BETWEEN THE TWILIGHTS
BETWEEN THE TWILIGHTS:
BEING STUDIES OF INDIAN
WOMEN BY ONE OF
THEMSELVES
BY
CORNELIA SORABJI
LONDON AND NEW YORK
HARPER AND BROTHERS
45, Albemarle Street, W.
1908
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CHISWICK PRESS: CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO.
TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.
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DEDICATED
TO
THE HOUR OF UNION
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COVER AND END PAPER
DESIGNED BY
J. LOCKWOOD KIPLING
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PREFACE
In the language of the Zenana there aretwo twilights, “when the Sun drops intothe sea,” and “when he splashes up stars forspray,” ... the Union, that is, of Earth andSun, and, again, of Light and Darkness.
And the space between is the time of timesin these sun-wearied plains in which I dwell.One sees the world in a gentle haze of reminiscence—reminiscenceof the best. There,across the horizon, flames the Sun’s “good-bye.”Great cave of mystery, or lake of liquidfire: anon pool of opal and amethyst, thoughtscuriously adjustable to the day that is done,memory of joy or sorrow, of strength of love,or disregard of pain. Gradually the colourfades, now to a golden fleece of the softest,now to wisps of translucence, blush-pink,violet: oft-times the true ecstasy of colour isin the east, away from the Sun’s setting. Or,now again, the sky is a study in grays and[Pg viii]blue-grays, in that peculiar heat-haze whichbelongs to May and September, and the palecurve of the new moon looks old and weary.Is not all Life marching towards the Silence?it seems to say.
Yes, the manner of its loitering is varied,but always, always, is it an hour of enchantment,this hour Between the Twilights: andit is my very own. I choose it, from out theday’s full sheaf, and I sit with it in the Silenceson my roof-tree.
It was in this hour, through a hot summer,that the thoughts which make this little bookcame to me, and were written down. I hadspent my days going in and out among myfriends of the Zenana, and a great yearningwas in my heart that others should knowthem as I did, in their simplicity and theirwisdom.
The half is not yet told: much would notbear telling—I had no business to takestrangers into the walled garden of our intimacy—andsome things were too elusive forspeech, but the sounds which have thriddedthe Silence have been echoes of reality, and Ican only hope that they may convey some[Pg ix]impression of the gently pulsing life of theZenana.
Not by any means are the Studies meant tobe exhaustive. I have left out of count theAnglicized and E