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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11096 ***
+
+TALES OF IND
+
+_AND OTHER POEMS_
+
+
+BY
+
+T. RAMAKRISHNA
+
+
+
+1896
+
+
+
+
+  TO
+  THE MEMORY OF
+  MY DEAR DAUGHTER
+  KAMALA.
+
+
+  The star that rose to cheer our humble life,
+  And make a little heaven of our home,
+  Shall rise again--yes, surely rise again
+  To give us everlasting joy divine.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  CONTENTS.
+
+
+  TO MY DAUGHTER
+
+  LORD TENNYSON
+
+  SEETA AND RAMA--A TALE OF THE INDIAN FAMINE
+
+  THE STORY OF PRINCE DÉSING
+
+  THE STORY OF RUDRA
+
+  THE STORY OF THE ROYAL HUNTRESS
+
+  CHANDRA--A TALE OF THE FIELD OF TELLIKÓTA
+
+  THE KORATHY'S LULLABY
+
+
+
+
+_LORD TENNYSON._
+
+
+  A poet of my native land has said--
+  The life the good and virtuous lead on earth
+  Is like the black-eyed maiden of the East,
+  Who paints the lids to look more bright and fair.
+  The eyes may smart and water, but withal
+  She loves to please them that behold her face.
+  E'en so, my Master, thine own life has been.
+  Thy songs have pleased the world, thy thoughts divine
+  Have purified, likewise ennobled man.
+  And what are they, those songs and thoughts divine,
+  But sad experience of thy life, dipt deep
+  In thine own tears, and traced on nature's page?
+  To please and teach the world for two dear ones
+  You mourned--a friend in youth, a son in age
+  'Tis said the life that gives one moment's joy
+  To one lone mortal is not lived in vain;
+  But lives like thine God grants as shining lights
+  That we in darkness Him aright may see.
+  Nay more, such lives the more by ills beset
+  Do shine the more and better teach His ways.
+  Alas! thou'rt gone that wert so kind to one
+  Obscure--a stranger in a distant land.
+  Accept from him this wreath uncouth of words
+  Which do but half express the grief he feels.
+
+
+
+
+_SEETA AND RAMA_.
+
+A TALE OF THE INDIAN FAMINE.
+
+
+  It was by far the loveliest scene in Ind:--
+  A deep sunk lonely vale, 'tween verdant hills
+  That, in eternal friendship, seemed to hold
+  Communion with the changing skies above;
+  Dark shady groves the haunts of shepherd boys
+  And wearied peasants in the midday noon;
+  A lake that shone in lustre clear and bright
+  Like a pure Indian diamond set amidst
+  Green emeralds, where every morn, with songs
+  Of parted lovers that tempted blooming maids
+  With pitchers on their heads to stay and hear
+  Those songs, the busy villagers of the vale
+  Their green fields watered that gave them sure hopes
+  Of future plenty and of future joys.
+  Oh, how uncertain man's sure hopes and joys!
+  In this enchanted hollow that was scooped--
+  For so it seemed--by God's own mighty hand,
+  Where Nature shower'd her richest gifts to make
+  Another paradise, stood Krishnapore
+  With her two score and seven huts reared by
+  The patient labour of her simple men.
+
+  In this blest hamlet one there was that owned
+  Its richest lands: beloved by all its men,
+  Their friend in times of need, their guide in life,
+  Partaker of their joys and woes as well,
+  The arbiter of all their petty strifes.
+  By him his friend the village master lived
+  That at his door a group of children taught;
+  A man he was well versed in ancient lore;
+  And oft at night, when ended was their toil,
+  The villagers with souls enraptured heard him
+  In fiery accents speak of Krishna's deeds
+  And Rama's warlike skill, and wondered that
+  He knew so well the deities they adored.
+  One only daughter this schoolmaster had,
+  And Seeta was her name, the prettiest maid
+  In all the village, nursed by the fond cares
+  Of her indulgent sire, and loved with all
+  The tender feelings that pure love inspires
+  By the rich villager's only son, the heir
+  Of all his father's wealth; the best at school,
+  The boldest of the village youths at play,
+  And the delight of all those that saw him;
+  And these seemed such a fitting pair that oft
+  The secret whisper round the village ran
+  That Seeta was to wed the rich man's son.
+  Thus, in this Eden, its blest inmates lived
+  And passed their days, the villagers at the fields,
+  Their busy women at the blazing hearths,
+  The village master at his cottage door,
+  And Rama and fair Seeta in true love.
+
+  Hither a monster came, that slowly sucked
+  The vigour, the very life of Krishnapore.
+  The brilliant lustre of the diamond lake,
+  The emerald greenness of the waving fields,
+  The shady groves and pleasant cottage grounds,
+  And all the beauties of the happy vale
+  Soon vanished imperceptibly, as if
+  Some unconsuming furnace underneath
+  Had baked the earth and rendered it all bare,
+  Until its inmates wandered desolate,
+  With hollow cheeks, sunk eyes, and haggard faces,
+  Like walking skeletons pasted o'er with skin.
+  No more would blooming girls with pitchers laden
+  Repair to the clear lake while curling smoke
+  Rose from their cottage roofs; no more at morn
+  Would Rama be the first at school to see
+  His Seeta deck her father's house with flowers;
+  No more at eve the village master pour
+  From Hindu lore the mighty deeds of gods
+  To the delighted ears of simple men;
+  For these have left their lands and their dear homes.
+  And Seeta with her father left her cot,
+  And cast behind, with a deep, heavy sigh,
+  One ling'ring look upon that vale where she
+  Was born and fondly nursed,--where glided on
+  Her days in pleasure and pure innocence,--
+  Where Rama lived and loved her tenderly.
+  Her father died of hunger on the way,
+  And the lone creature wandered in the streets
+  Of towns from door to door, and vainly begged
+  For food, till some, deep moved by the sad tales
+  Of the lone straggler, safely lodged her in
+  A famine camp, where, heavy laden with
+  A double sorrow (for her lover too,
+  She thought, had died), her tedious life she spent.
+  And days and weeks and months thus rolled away,
+  Until at last her love for the dead youth
+  Mysterious waned, and, like a shallow lamp,
+  Burnt in her breast with nothing to feed it.
+
+  One day the news went through the famine shed
+  That a lean youth, plucked from the very arms
+  Of cruel death, was tenderly nursed there;
+  And all its inmates hurried to the scene.
+  Poor Seeta saw the youth, and that sad sight
+  She ne'er forgot; the youth was in her mind
+  Too firmly rooted to be rooted out,
+  Who ev'ry day in strength and beauty grew, till he
+  Appeared the fairest youth in all the camp.
+  First pity for the youth, then love for him
+  Mysterious came to her, until at last
+  The flick'ring flame shone sudden in her breast.
+  "This stranger I must wed, for him I love,
+  I know not how; that pleasant face is like
+  The face of him I dearly loved; I see
+  Appearing ev'ry day upon that face,
+  As if by magic wrought, those beauties that
+  Were seated on dead Rama's face." Thus mused
+  This maiden of the camp, and the fair youth
+  Thus kindled in her breast the hidden flame
+  Of love and fed it ever with new strength,
+  Which shone again in all its purity.
+
+  As the moon whose effulgence hidden lies
+  When dimmed by clouds, suddenly blazes forth
+  And in her wonted beauty shines again
+  What time she darts into the cloudless vault,
+  So shone again in lovely Seeta's breast
+  The lamp of love by clouds of sorrow dimmed.
+  The smothered passion suddenly blazed forth
+  In brighter lustre, and to her returned
+  With double force, as when the flaming fire
+  Is smothered when more fuel is on it thrown,
+  And straightway flames and gives a brighter light.
+
+  At last the monster left the land, the camp
+  Was broke, its inmates left it for their homes.
+  England, would that one of thy sons were there
+  To hear what words, what blessings now burst from
+  Their inward hearts for nursing them when they
+  From all estranged had poured into thine arms!
+  Poor Seeta hastened to the youth she loved,
+  And to him with a gladdened heart thus spake:--
+  Her rosy lips, just oped to speak, were like
+  A half-blown rosebud blossoming all at once;
+  Such magic was wrought on her ere she spake:
+  "Kind stranger, whither goest thou? I am
+  A lonely maiden, and friends I have none;
+  And thee alone I trust as my safe guide
+  To Krishnapore."
+                   "Dear maid! thy sorrows cease;
+  My way now lies through Krishnapore: fear not,
+  I shall restore thee to thy home and friends;
+  Trust me as your safe guide and dearest friend."
+  She, overjoyed, recounted to the youth
+  Her tale--how she, her father's only hope
+  And pride, reluctant left their native vale
+  And cottage home; how he died on the way,
+  And she, a lonely creature, wandered in
+  The streets from door to door and begged for food;
+  How she was taken to the famine camp;
+  How he, with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes,
+  Was brought one day and there nursed tenderly;
+  And how in beauty ev'ry day he grew
+  Until like her dead Rama he appeared.
+  The village youth, unable any more
+  Now to suppress him, suddenly exclaimed,
+  "Look here, whose name is on this arm tattooed?"
+  "O Rama, Krishna, Govinda, and all
+  Ye Gods that I adore, ye have blest me;
+  This is the happiest moment in my life,
+  And this the happiest spot in all the earth,
+  For now my long-lost Rama I have found."
+  So saying, she intently gazed on him.
+
+  As a rich mine pours forth its hidden wealth
+  To the delight of those that day and night
+  Court eagerly its treasures them t' enrich;
+  So from this lovely pair's deep mine of feelings,
+  What honeyed words escaped now through their lips
+  To their intense joy, better far than all
+  The treasures any ample mine bestows!
+  With sweet talk they beguiled their tedious way;
+  The verdant hills sublime rose to the view;
+  The broad lake glittered diamond-like again;
+  And wreathing smoke curled from the cottage roofs;
+  The lovely vale became the lovely vale
+  Again, and all the long forgotten scenes
+  In quick succession flowed before them both;
+  And never was a happier marriage seen
+  In all that happy vale of Krishnapore.
+
+
+
+
+_THE STORY OF PRINCE DÉSING_.
+
+
+  It was the month of May, and glorious rose
+  The sun on Jinji, bathing in his light
+  Her lofty hills, her ancient walls and towers,
+  Her battlements, and all the glittering scene
+  That bade the stranger tell--"here lives a prince;"
+  And greeting late, as if too long he slept
+  Upon his ocean bed, the eager crowd
+  That in their best attire at early dawn
+  Fast gathered from their hamlets far and wide,
+  And like a hive swarmed on the castled hills.
+
+  Perhaps some village poet waited there,
+  Who day and night toiled hard in metres rare
+  To sing the deeds and virtues of his prince
+  And trace them on the leaves of that lone palm
+  Which stood close by his humble cottage home.
+  Perhaps with faces that bespoke deep grief
+  A troop of farmers there had come to tell
+  To their sport-loving prince the havoc wrought
+  Upon their toiling cattle by wild beasts
+  That nightly from their hill abodes came down
+  To feast on them. And in that motley crowd
+  Were servants of the state and many more
+  Who long had waited merely for a glimpse
+  Of their just ruler Désing holding court.
+
+  But soon there echoed through the lofty hills
+  The sound of th' Indian bugle and the drum
+  Proclaiming the arrival of the prince;
+  And often, as the new flood rushing down
+  With the still waters of a sleeping stream,
+  Leaves nought behind, and all is vacancy,
+  Or as the dim light of a shallow lamp
+  Suddenly blazes forth and soon is quenched,
+  So louder rose the clamour of the crowd
+  At the sound of the bugle and the drum,
+  Then straightway in deep silence died away,
+  And perfect stillness reigned everywhere.
+
+  Upon his gorgeous throne sat Jinji's prince
+  With servants fanning him on either side;
+  And in a place of honour sate in that
+  Capacious hall his holy Brahmin priest,
+  The master of his well-trained army there,
+  The chief and trusted min'ster of the state,
+  The aged poet that his praises sang,
+  The sage that, versed in all the starry lore,
+  His royal master's fortunes daily told;
+  The painter that adorned those ancient walls,
+  And countless other servants of the prince
+  There gathered each in his accustomed seat.
+
+  Then from the gate approached a trusty page,
+  And said with folded hands and trembling lips--
+  "O royal master, at the gate there waits
+  A man of noble mien from the far north
+  Requesting audience on affairs of state."
+  "Conduct him to our presence," said the prince.
+  The stranger came,--upon the floor he knelt
+  And said--"Thou mighty prince of these fair lands,
+  I come from Arcot, and the Nabob sent
+  His humble servant to demand of thee
+  Thy dues which these five years thou hast not paid.
+  Know, then, if these are not now duly paid,
+  From thee he will these broad dominions wrest,
+  And give them those who will his rule obey."
+  The angry prince made answer--"Go and tell
+  Your master that his vain threats move us not,
+  Say we will gladly meet him on the field."
+  So saying, from his royal seat he rose,
+  And to his palace instantly withdrew.
+
+  As when a stone dropped in the middle of
+  A placid pool its slumb'ring waters wakes,
+  And the calm surface is all ruffled seen,
+  Or at the merest touch of ruthless man
+  Bent on the honeyed treasures of the hive
+  Those myriad ones leave murm'ring to the foe
+  Their hoarded wealth to which they fondly clung,
+  So scattered to their distant native homes
+  The bustling crowd that met on Jinji's hills,
+  When he of Arcot came to mar their joys.
+
+  And days and months rolled on until one day
+  To Désing came his loyal spy and said--
+  "My noble ruler, on the other side
+  Of the fair stream that runs through yonder plain,
+  There waits our foe of Arcot with his men:
+  Prepare to go and meet him on the field."
+  'Twas even time--the warrior prince soon wrote
+  To Mamood Khan, the master of his troops,
+  To hasten to his country's duty first.
+  What though it was that soldier's bridal hour,
+  When he received his royal master's call!
+  "My country's welfare first, then my fair spouse,"
+  He said, and leapt upon his faithful steed
+  And stood, ere morn had streaked the eastern sky,
+  Before his lord his bidding to obey.
+
+  The prince rose early on that fated day
+  And to the temple of his God repaired,
+  There to invoke His blessing on the field.
+  Then to the palace hastened he to meet,
+  Ere he went forth to fight, his youthful wife,
+  Who day by day in beauty grew amidst
+  A score of maidens, like the waxing moon;
+  And, with a screen of silk between, they met.
+  As one lured by the fragrance of the rose
+  Stoops down gently to lift the truant stalk
+  That to the other side of the thick hedge
+  Shoots out alone from its own parent stem,
+  So fondly down stooped Jinji's noble prince
+  To kiss the jewelled arm of his fair spouse
+  Which through the screen she offered to her lord.
+  Prince Désing was the first who silence broke.
+  "My dear wife! on the day when we were wed
+  These eyes of mine had not e'en this arm seen,
+  Although on the same bridal seat we sat.
+  The screen which by the custom of our race
+  Was drawn by cruel hands hid thee from view.
+  So wondrous fair this arm looks that methinks
+  Rare beauties must be seated on thy face.
+  My foe hath come; fear not; I go to fight,
+  And come with honours loaded from the field,
+  A victor to rejoice with thee to-night
+  At the propitious hour which, by the aid
+  Of all his starry lore, our Brahmin sage
+  Hath for our nuptials named,--to gaze and scan
+  In silent joy what charms, what beauties rare
+  The hand divine has showered upon thy face,
+  And to recount to thee, when with thine own
+  My arm in friendship plays, what blood it shed,
+  What havoc in the Moslem camp it wrought.
+  So let me now depart." To which the Queen:
+  "I was the only daughter of my sire,
+  And cradled in his sinewy arms I grew;
+  And when upon his warrior breast I laid
+  My head to sleep, my mother by his side
+  Lulled me with songs of how in days gone by
+  The martial women of our noble race
+  Went with their husbands by their side to fight;
+  And one so nursed fears not the Moslem foe.
+  But now, alas! some evil it forebodes
+  That thou shouldst on this day go forth to fight."
+
+  And as she spoke tears trickled down his eyes,
+  And one, a pearly drop, stole to her palm.
+  She felt it: instantly her hand withdrew,
+  And then began to speak in words like these:
+  "It is not meet that Jinji's valiant prince
+  Should like a child at this last hour shed tears
+  And fear to meet his foe; fear not, my lord,
+  To meet him like a soldier on the field.
+  If thou a victor comest from the fight,
+  We shall in joy spend our first nuptial night,
+  But if thou comest routed from the field,
+  I never more will see thy timid face
+  Or think that thou art born of Kshatriya race.
+  And if thou fallest bravely fighting, then
+  Remember, Prince, thou hast in me a wife
+  Who will not let thee pass from earth alone.
+  Go forth and like a warrior meet the foe.
+  But fear not; Runga will be on our side,
+  So ere thou goest kiss this hand of mine
+  Which from thine eyes that precious tear has sought."
+  So saying, this brave Rajput girl once more
+  To Désing offered through the screen her hand.
+  He lifted it and reverently kissed,
+  Then sallied forth resolved to win or die.
+
+  Fierce raged the battle, but the hapless prince
+  Was weak to meet his foeman's myriad host;
+  And Mamood Khan fell bravely lighting there,
+  And with him many of his valiant men.
+  The faithful steed that through all perils bore
+  The prince was slain, and soon he fought on foot.
+  But ere the foe could capture him alive,
+  He hurled his heavy dagger, bared his breast,
+  And instantly a lifeless corpse he fell.
+  A few brave soldiers bore him from the field.
+  They hastened to the castle and before
+  The widowed Queen their precious burden laid.
+  She, nothing daunted, orders gave at once
+  That her attendants should prepare the pyre;
+  And then to her assembled men thus spake:
+  "My faithful men and my brave soldiers! you
+  Who with my lord fought nobly on the field,
+  I see you all weep at our hapless fate.
+  'Tis God has willed we thus should end our lives.
+  But a worse fate shall surely soon befall
+  Our cruel foe--howe'er exulting now.
+  Weep not--there soon shall dawn another day
+  When from the farthest end of this vast globe
+  A race for valour and for virtue famed
+  Shall wrest his kingdom from his ruthless hands,
+  And everywhere your sons and your sons' sons
+  Shall lasting peace and happiness enjoy.
+  Be witness to the curse pronounced by me,
+  A widowed maiden at the hour of death,
+  Thou setting Sun and thou, O rising Moon!"
+
+  Then as a bride in all her glory decked
+  Approaches with a gladdened heart t' embrace
+  Th' expectant bridegroom on the nuptial bed,
+  E'en so ascended this fair Queen the pyre,
+  And there embracing lay by her dear lord.
+  The fire was lighted and the pyre was closed,
+  And speedily to ashes were reduced
+  The lifeless husband and the living wife.
+  The Moslem came--heard of the death she died
+  Amid the flames, repented of his deed,
+  And, it is said, he built a lordly town[1]
+  In honour of the Queen, who counted it,
+  A sin her noble husband to survive,
+  And in a moment flung her life away.
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[Footnote 1: Ranipett.]
+
+
+
+
+_THE STORY OF RUDRA_.
+
+
+  A deep calm sea; on the blue waters toiled,
+  From morn till eve, the simple fishermen;
+  And, on the beach, there stood a group of huts
+  Before whose gates old men sat mending nets
+  And eyed with secret joy the little boys
+  That gaily gambolled on the sandy beach
+  Regardless of their parents' daily toils.
+  And all the busy women left their homes
+  And their young ones with baskets on their heads
+  Filled with the finny treasures of the deep.
+
+  A thousand yards to landward rose a town
+  With its broad streets, high roofs, and busy marts.
+  An ancient temple in the centre stood,
+  Where to his servant Nandi once appeared
+  Great Siva, it is said, in human frame.
+  E'en learned saints sang of the holy shrine;
+  And to this sacred spot from far-off lands
+  For adoration countless pilgrims came
+  And men to buy all rarest things that poured
+  Into her busy marts from foreign parts.
+
+  Here in this ancient port of Nundipore
+  In royal splendour lived a merchant youth,
+  Who scarce had reached his one-and-twentieth year.
+  His aged father had but lately died
+  And left him the sole heir of all his wealth.
+  And Rudra--for that was the brave youth's name--
+  Had heard from infant days full many tales
+  Of how his grandsire and his sire had braved
+  The perils of the deep in search of gold,
+  And in his bosom fondly nurtured hopes
+  To travel likewise on the dang'rous sea.
+  And oft would he to Rati, his fair wife,
+  Exulting tell how wisely he would trade
+  In foreign shores and with rare gems return;
+  How even princes, by those gems allured,
+  To court his friendship come from distant lands,
+  And he dictate his own high terms to them,
+  And thus add glory to his glorious house.
+  And often would she vainly plead in turn
+  Her desolate position and her youth.
+  And her dear lord implore upon her knees
+  For ever to dismiss his cherished thoughts
+  And turn to her and to their lordly wealth
+  Which God had given them, to live in peace.
+  Thus wrangled for some months the timid wife
+  And he whom woman's charms could not subdue
+  Until at last arrived th' appointed day.
+  The little ship was waiting in the port,
+  And Rudra to his youthful wife repaired
+  His purpose to disclose; and as at times
+  Clouds hover over us and darken all
+  The sky for days, and still no rain descends--
+  But suddenly when least expected comes--
+  So she to whom her husband's parting lay
+  In words saw it burst in reality.
+
+  He said, "Dear Rati! well thou knowest how
+  I fondly wish to trade in distant realms.
+  The time has come for me to part from thee.
+  This morn a little ship was sighted here,
+  And she is riding yonder on the sea.
+  And ere the setting sun sinks down to rest
+  Into the western waves the little bark
+  Now destined to take me will leave the port;
+  And I have therefore one, but one short hour.
+  'Tis willed by Him above that I should soon
+  Bid farewell to the place where I was born,
+  Where all my thoughts for ever centred lie,--
+  Soon part from all that to my heart is dear,
+  But soon come richer, greater to my home,
+  To spend my days in joy and happiness.
+  Dear wife! allow me therefore to depart."
+
+  To which the wife--"Dear husband, sad it is
+  To me to think that thou shouldst part from me;
+  But sadder still the thought that thou shouldst go
+  On seas to roam in lands unknown and strange,
+  And canst not tell when to this spot return.
+  There is our lordly mansion here; there is
+  Our wealth, and here I am thy youthful wife.
+  Why go away and risk thy precious life
+  While we enjoy our days like king and queen?
+  Why leave me here to pine away in grief
+  And loneliness? Without my lord it is
+  Half death to me, and I would rather die
+  Than see him part; hence banish from thy mind
+  All thoughts of going and stay here with me."
+
+  "My wife!" he said, "why cherish idle fears?
+  The holy Brahmin whom thou knowest well,
+  So deeply versed in all the starry lore,
+  Tells me that I am fated to return.
+  It is an evil omen that thou shouldst,
+  Lamenting, hinder me at this last hour
+  And tell me not to go. Send me away
+  With thy good wishes, I will soon return.
+  By Him above that rules man's destinies,
+  By mother earth, by yonder setting sun,
+  The moon that shines up in the starry heav'ns,
+  By all that to his heart is sacred deemed,
+  And lastly by his sire whose picture hangs
+  On the wall there, thy husband Rudra swears
+  That after he returns he'll stay with thee,
+  And nevermore e'en think of leaving thee,
+  And let him therefore go in peace of mind."
+
+  "If it is true," replied the crying maid,
+  "That Sita followed Rama to the woods,
+  And that she of the Pandus also shared
+  With them their toils--if ever woman's charms
+  Had power to move the adamantine heart
+  Of man, then let thy Rati go with thee
+  To share with thee thy joys and woes as well.
+  If thou shouldst go alone, remember then,
+  Dear lord, the sin rests solely on thy head
+  That a young maiden has been left alone
+  To mourn for ever for her husband on
+  The seas--and all for gold and for a name."
+
+  "A _name_ thou sayest--never, never would
+  Thy Rudra die unhonoured and unknown
+  And bear the evil name and the reproach
+  For ever with his sons and his sons' sons,
+  That of his old illustrious family
+  He was the only one that feared to go
+  Upon the sea. The sun is going down,
+  And cruel darkness is invading fast
+  On us; and soon the ship will leave the port.
+  Within a year thou shalt see me again.
+  But if 'tis ruled by God that I should not
+  Return, to one thing listen ere I go.
+  To soothe thy spirits in a few short months
+  An infant will be lying on thy lap,
+  And if a daughter she should be, let her
+  Be married to one worthy of our race.
+  But if a son is born tend him with care;
+  When he grows old, let it be said of him
+  That he is his lost father's worthy son."
+  And when the few last awful words were spoke
+  The frighted wife that stood supported by
+  Her lord at once grew pale and motionless.
+  As one that watched with anxious care the growth
+  Of a young tendril slowly fixes it
+  Upon a new and stronger prop, e'en so
+  Brave Rudra extricated himself from
+  Her grasp and gently placed her on the couch;
+  Then gazed on her for a few moments with
+  His hands upon her throbbing temples, kissed
+  Her brow, and straightway vanished from the room.
+
+  And now the little ship in which he sailed
+  Safe bore the crew along the wat'ry waste,
+  And after twenty days' fast sailing she
+  Encountered on the way a storm, was wrecked,
+  And all save Rudra perished in the waves.
+  The shipwrecked merchant lost all that he had,
+  And wandered through a distant country with
+  No friends, no money but his hands to earn
+  For him his daily bread: the lonely youth
+  Thus dragged for years his miserable life
+  With nothing to make it worth living save
+  The hope, the only hope, to see his wife;
+  Till at the end of twenty years a ship
+  Was sighted that was bound for Nundipore.
+  In it he sailed and safely landed in
+  His native port. It was the midday noon;
+  He saw the selfsame fishing village that
+  Stood years ago upon the sandy beach,
+  And with a joyful heart he hastened to
+  His house which all deserted seemed; inside
+  With falt'ring steps he went, and on the walls
+  Of the big hall were hanging pictures of
+  His sire, of Krishna playing on the flute,
+  Of Rama, Siva, and the other gods
+  Whom in his childhood days his house adored,
+  And seemed as they were drawn but yesterday;
+  A thousand other old familiar scenes
+  In quick succession passed before his eyes,
+  Then quickly passed into a room, where lo!
+  There slept a youth and she for whom for years
+  Life's toils he patient bore. As one born blind
+  Had after years of pray'r the gift of sight
+  Vouchsafed to him by God, his Maker, to
+  Behold the beauties of the universe,
+  His wife, his children, and those dear to him,
+  But straightway feels the precious gift withdrawn;
+  Or as a lonely bird that unawares
+  Has wandered far into the deep blue sea
+  Finds nothing but a wat'ry waste all round,
+  And knows not where to rest its wearied limbs,
+  But at a distance kens at last a ship
+  To which with doubled speed it flies and flies,
+  And there discerns a seaman with his bow
+  Preventing it from sitting on the mast--
+  So Rudra felt. "Is this my wife?" he thought.
+  "Yes, by the mole upon her cheek she is;
+  And beauty, spite of age, still lingers on
+  Her face, and this fair youth, attracted by
+  Her charms, came here. Why hast Thou brought me home,
+  O God! why was I not drowned in the sea?
+  Why did I leave that distant country where
+  These twenty years I toiled for bread and lived?
+  And why was I not spared this ghastly sight?
+  No, Rati! never would thy husband bear
+  To see thee lying with another man.
+  First he will kill you both, then die himself."
+  So saying, from a sheath a blade he drew,
+  When lo! there fell the piece of a palm leaf
+  Whereon were writ--_think well before you do_.
+  "This is," he said, "my father's dying gift;
+  By the advice here giv'n I will abide,"
+  Then woke his wife, and in firm tones thus asked,
+  "Who is this youth that has defiled my bed?
+  Speak ere I strike you both." The wond'ring wife
+  The dagger and the stranger saw and cried--
+  "Kill me alone, but spare my only son."
+  "Thy only son!" he said; "now wake him up,
+  And let us all adore our Maker first,
+  Who saved us from my frenzy, which in one
+  Short moment would have shattered all our bliss."
+
+
+
+
+_THE STORY OF THE ROYAL HUNTRESS_.
+
+
+  It was a land of plenty and of wealth;
+  There God's indulgent hand made for a race
+  Supremely blest a paradise on earth.
+  A land of virtue, truth, and charity,
+  Where nature's choicest treasures man enjoyed
+  With little toil, where youth respected age,
+  Where each his neighbour's wife his sister deemed,
+  Where side by side the tiger and the lamb
+  The water drank, and sported oft in mirth.
+  A land where each man deemed him highly blest
+  When he relieved the miseries of the poor,
+  When to his roof the wearied traveller came
+  To share his proffered bounty with good cheer.
+  Such was the far-famed land of Panchala.
+
+  Here reigned a king who walked in virtue's path,
+  Who ruled his country only for his God.
+  His people's good he deemed his only care,
+  Their sorrows were his sorrows, and their joys
+  He counted as his own; such was the king
+  Whose daily prayers went up to Him on high
+  For wisdom and for strength to rule his men
+  Aright, and guard the land from foreign foes.
+  Such was the far-famed king of Panchala.
+
+  An only son he had--a noble prince,
+  The terror of his foes, the poor man's friend.
+  He mastered all the arts of peace and war,
+  And was a worthy father's worthy son.
+  What gifts and graces men as beauties deem
+  These Nature freely lavished on the youth,
+  And people loved in wonder to behold
+  The face that kindled pleasure in their minds.
+  The courage of a warrior in the field,
+  A woman's tender pity to the weak--
+  All these were centred in the royal youth.
+  His arrows killed full many a beast that wrought
+  Dread havoc on the cattle of the poor.
+  Such was the famous prince of Panchala.
+
+  The people, they were all true men and good,
+  Their ruler they adored, for by their God
+  He was ordained to rule their native land.
+  They freely to their king made known their wants,
+  And he as freely satisfied their needs,
+  And e'en the meanest of the land deemed it
+  The basest act to sin against his king.
+  Such were the people of the ancient land
+  Of Panchala, who stood one day with tears
+  Before their king to pour their plaintive tales
+  Of ruin wrought upon their cattle by
+  The tiger of the forest, that all day
+  Was safe in his impenetrable lair,
+  But every night his dreaded figure showed
+  And feasted on the flesh of toiling beasts.
+
+  The king gave ear to their sad tales of woe,
+  And straightway called his only son, and said--
+  "Dear son! my people's good I value more
+  Than thine own life. Go therefore to the woods
+  With all thine arrows and thy trusty bow,
+  And drag the dreaded tiger from his den,
+  And to their homes their wonted peace restore.
+  His spotted skin and murderous claws must soon
+  Be added to the trophies of the past,
+  Now hanging on our ancient palace walls."
+  The prince obeyed, and to the forest went:
+  Three days and nights he wandered in the woods,
+  But still found not the object of his search.
+  He missed his faithful men and lost his way,
+  Till worn and weary underneath a tree,
+  Whose shady boughs extended far and wide,
+  The lonely straggler stretched his limbs and slept,
+  And for a time forgot his dire distress.
+
+  He woke, and thus addressed himself with tears:
+  "Here I am left deserted and alone,
+  Perchance my faithful people at this hour
+  Are vainly searching for their hapless prince,
+  While I die here of hunger and of thirst.
+  And gladly would I welcome now the brute
+  That has attracted me to this strange spot,
+  To plunge his claws into my body, tear
+  My flesh, and break my bones, and feast on me
+  By gnawing them between his horrid jaws,
+  And so spare me from this slow lingering death."
+
+  So thought the royal youth of his sad doom,
+  When lo! a spotless figure, with a bow,
+  A pouch with arrows dangling on her back,
+  A hatchet in her hand for cutting wood,
+  And with a pitcher on her head, appeared.
+  Here every day she came to gather wood,
+  And, dressed in male attire, her heavy load
+  Took to the nearest town, sold it, then reached,
+  At close of day to cook the ev'ning meal,
+  Her cottage on the outskirts of the wood,
+  Where, with her sire, bent down with years, she lived,
+  And dragged her daily miserable life.
+  Such was the maid that was upon that day,
+  As if by instinct, drawn to the fair youth,
+  And such the huntress Radha he beheld.
+  A fairer woman never breathed the air--
+  No, not in all the land of Panchala.
+
+  The maid in pity saw his wretched plight,
+  Then from the pitcher took her midday meal,
+  And soon relieved his hunger and his thirst.
+  The grateful prince, delighted, told his tale,
+  And she, well pleased, thus spake: "Fair youth! grieve not,
+  Behold the brook that yonder steals along,
+  To this the tiger comes at noon to quench
+  His thirst. Then, safely perched upon a tree,
+  We can for ever check his deadly course,"
+  Both went, and saw at the expected hour
+  The monarch of the forest near the brook.
+  In quick succession, lightning-like from them
+  The arrows flew, and in a moment fell
+  His massive body lifeless on the ground.
+  Then vowing oft to meet his valiant friend,
+  The prince returned, and with the happy news
+  Appeared before the king, who blest his son
+  And said: "My son! well hast thou done the deed;
+  Thy life thou hast endangered for my men;
+  Ask anything and I will give it thee."
+  "I want not wealth nor power," the prince replied,
+  "But, noble father I one request I make.
+  I chanced to meet a huntress in the wood,
+  And Radha is her name; she saved my life.
+  I but for her had died a lingering death,
+  Her valour and her beauty I admire,
+  And therefore grant me leave to marry her."
+
+  The king spake not, but forthwith gave command
+  To banish from his home the reckless youth,
+  Who brought disgrace upon his royal house,
+  And who, he wished, should wed one worthy of
+  The noble race of ancient Panchala.
+  Poor youth! he left his country and his home,
+  He that was dreaded by his foes was gone.
+
+  Vain lust of power impelled the neighbouring king,
+  The traitor who usurped his sovereign's throne,
+  To march on Panchala with all his men.
+  He went, and to the helpless king proclaimed--
+  "Thou knowest well my armies are the best
+  On earth, and folly it will be in thee
+  To stand 'gainst them and shed thy people's blood.
+  Send forth thy greatest archer, and with him
+  My prowess I will try: this will decide
+  If you or I should sit upon the throne,
+  And whether Panchala is thine or mine."
+  The king, bewildered, knew not what to do,
+  But soon two maidens, strangers to the land,
+  Met him, and, of the two, the younger said--
+  "O righteous king! we left our distant homes
+  To visit shrines and bathe in holy streams.
+  We have been wandering in many climes,
+  And yesternight this place we reached, and heard
+  Your loyal people speak of your sad plight.
+  In early youth I learned to use the bow--
+  I pray thee, therefore, send me forth against
+  The wretch that dares to wrest this land from thee."
+
+  And ere the treacherous wretch could string his bow,
+  A pointed arrow carrying death with it,
+  Like lightning flew from forth the maiden's hands,
+  Pierced deep into his head, that plans devised
+  To kill his royal master and once more
+  Thought ill of Panchala and her good king.
+  His body lifeless lay upon the field.
+
+    Then spake the maiden to the grateful king:--
+  "Thou, noble ruler of this ancient land!
+  Before thy sacred presence and before
+  All these assembled in thy royal court,
+  I will reveal my story, sad but true.
+  I am the only child of him that ruled
+  The neighbouring state, whose kings for centuries
+  In peace and friendship lived with Panchala.
+  Alas! the villain, whom my arrow gave
+  To crows and to the eagles of the air,
+  Usurped my father's throne, and sad to tell,
+  He instant orders gave to murder us.
+  The menials sent to do the cruel deed
+  Felt pity for the fallen king and me,
+  His only daughter, in the woods left us
+  And went away, reporting they had done
+  The deed; and there, in that deserted place,
+  Unknown we lived a wretched life for years.
+  And glad I am that death ignoble, which
+  The wretch deserved, has now befallen him.
+
+  "This person standing here--I now remove
+  The veil, and, by the mole upon his breast,
+  Behold in him thine own begotten son--
+  Was by thy orders banished from the land.
+  Grant that I now may plead for him, because
+  A woman's words can sooner soothe the heart.
+  I crave your Majesty to pardon him
+  For loving me, and take him back unto
+  His father's home; grant also, gracious king,
+  That I, a princess, may be worthy deemed
+  Of being wedded to thine only son."
+
+
+
+
+_CHANDRA_.
+
+A TALE OF THE FIELD OF TELLIKÓTA, A.D. 1565.
+
+
+At length the four great Mahometan governments, A'dil Sháh, Nízám Sháh,
+Baríd, and Kútb Sháh, formed a league against Rám Rája, then ruling at
+Bijáyanagar. A great battle took place on the Kishna, near Tálicót,
+which, for the numbers engaged, the fierceness of the conflict, and the
+importance of the stake, resembled those of the early Mahometan
+invaders. The barbarous spirit of those days seemed also to be renewed
+in it; for, on the defeat of the Hindus, their old and brave rája, being
+taken prisoner, was put to death in cold blood, and his head was kept
+till lately at Bijapúr as a trophy.
+
+This battle destroyed the monarchy of Bijáyanagar, which at that time
+comprehended almost all the South of India. But it added little to the
+territories of the victors; their mutual jealousies prevented each from
+much extending his frontier; and the country fell into the hands of
+petty princes, or of those insurgent officers of the old government,
+since so well known as zemíndárs or poligars.
+
+The brother of the late rája removed his residence further east, and
+finally settled at Chandragiri, about seventy miles north-west of
+Madras, at which last place his descendant first granted a settlement to
+the English.--_Elphinstone_.
+
+
+  The setting sun sank slowly in the west,
+  The village labourer from the threshing-floor
+  Hied home full laden with the gathered corn,
+  When soon there came, as from a cage just freed,
+  Two lovely doves intent to peck the grain
+  That scattered lay upon the vacant field.
+  Between these birds, by instinct closely linked,
+  Attachment fond had grown. It seemed, indeed,
+  That God for speech denied to them had given
+  Sense exquisite to know each other's ways.
+  Not all the speech of favoured man in truth
+  Could meaning make more clear or deeply felt
+  Than one soft motion of the slender frame,
+  One gentle murmur from the tiny throat.
+  The wife more bold, yet pausing oft to scan
+  Her lord, adventurous strayed with timid steps,
+  Unconscious all of aught to mar their joys.
+  Just then with steady poise on outstretched wing
+  A hungry falcon hovered over her,
+  Resolved with one fell swoop to seize his prey,
+  His talons bury in her tender flesh,
+  Lift her away to some sequestered spot,
+  There drink her blood in leisure undisturbed,
+  And break her bones and her torn flesh devour.
+    At early morn upon that selfsame day
+  A huntsman sallied forth in search of food,
+  And, wandering luckless all day long, at last
+  Did chance upon this bird. Behind a bush
+  He quickly crept, and straightway strung his bow.
+  A gladsome vision suddenly appeared--
+  He saw his wife and children in their home
+  Enjoy the dove's well spiced and roasted flesh.
+  But lo! a gentle flutter of the leaves
+  By eagerness unconscious caused, to her
+  Revealed the huntsman take his deadly aim.
+  With head uplifted and with wings outstretched
+  She flight essayed, but saw the falcon near.
+  Thus scared and terror-struck she lay resigned
+  To fall by deadly arrow pierced, and give
+  Her lifeless form to feed the hungry bird.
+  The keen-eyed huntsman saw that lifted head
+  And open wings meant flight and sure escape.
+  He therefore quickly aimed his arrow high,
+  Which flying pierced the falcon nearing down.
+  That selfsame moment when the arrow flew,
+  When all his thoughts were centred on the bird,
+  The huntsman pressed his foot upon a snake
+  That in the bush lay coiled. Writhing with pain,
+  The snake poured deadly poison from its fangs.
+  The huntsman and the falcon both fell dead
+  Before the helpless dove; and foes that came
+  To work her woe had worked each other woe.
+  The loving pair together flew away,
+  Their life of joy and freedom to renew.
+
+  Lo such the story of two human lives!
+  To them, as happens oft, abundant share
+  Of Nature's choicest gifts brought many ills.
+  But noble lives are thus more noble made,
+  As shining gold oft-heated shines the more.
+    Over the ancient land of Vijiapore[2]
+  There reigned a king for truth and valour known.
+  The lovely Chandra[3] was his only child,
+  Who like the moon among the stars of heaven
+  Shone fairest 'mong the daughters of the land.
+  The father fondly hoped his child would wed
+  A neighbouring prince, the mighty ruler of
+  An ancient kingdom richer than his own;
+  The mother she would be the worthy spouse
+  Of him who was her brother's only son
+  And trusted minister of Vijiapore.
+  But one there was, a courtier of the land,
+  A youth, yet full of counsel wise and true,
+  And ever ready to obey his master's will.
+  The terror of his foes, a hunter bold,
+  He rode the fleetest horse with ease and grace,
+  The wildest elephant his might could tame,
+  And horned bulls knew well his steady grip.
+  Him Chandra wished to wed, and in her breast
+  With silent hope her love for him kept warm.
+  The years sped on, the father fondly dreamt
+  She soon would be the queen of two proud realms,
+  The mother that her future lord would be
+  Both king and minister of state. Meanwhile
+  Fair Chandra and her noble Timmaraj
+  Longed for the consummation of their love.
+    A flower there is, the fairest flower in Ind,
+  A flower beloved by poets of all time,
+  Whose beauties lovers ever love to tell,
+  And liken oft to woman's thousand charms.
+  This flower, the stately lotus of our Ind,
+  Its petals closes to the moon at eve,
+  And all its beauties hides through silent night,
+  But with the rising of the morning sun
+  Opens and swells, its beauty full displays,
+  And sweetest fragrance breathes when fiercest beat
+  The rays. E'en so fair Chandra, though oft told
+  She womanhood had long ago attained,
+  And soon must wed one worthy of her race,
+  Nought heeded when alternate to her view
+  Were brought the prowess of the neighbouring king,
+  The wisdom of the pilot of the state.
+    To wean her love from noble Timmaraj,
+  He forth was sent against his country's foes,
+  With his small band to fall, and ne'er return.
+  But oft as he was sent, as often he
+  Returned victorious with fresh laurels gained.
+  And when the bards before the king and queen
+  Recited in the ancient palace hall
+  The battles bravely won, the glories of
+  The war, fair Chandra's face with joy, e'en like
+  The lotus, beamed, and as by magic charmed,
+  Disclosed a thousand beauties centred there.
+  Though silent she, her looks to all made known
+  Her love for Timmaraj, the author brave
+  Of all his country's good. Yet still she kept
+  A seal upon her lips, until by chance
+  An incident occurred which sealed her fate.
+    As on the sand near by the water's edge
+  One thoughtless stands to watch with eager eyes
+  The surf that beats continuous on the shore,
+  And suddenly when least expected flows
+  A wave that reaches far beyond the rest,
+  So stood the king and queen of Vijiapore
+  In parents' place, tempting their daughter fair
+  To marry whom she loved not, could not love,
+  When Chandra suddenly her mind declared.
+  Down through the stillness of a narrow vale
+  The lovely Pampa flows, whose course is shaped
+  By hills that lift their summits to the sky.
+  On either side, her course is like the life
+  Inconstant of the daughters of this land,
+  Who lived in times of old in castles set
+  Amidst rich groves and cool, pellucid streams,
+  And woodlands broad and fair to roam at will;
+  But these by moats and battlements enclosed
+  Were made impassable that the eyes impure
+  Of man might not upon their beauty gaze,
+  And so defile their virgin purity.
+  For all that here delighted woman's eyes
+  Was freely lavished by their royal sires;
+  And countless guards to watch all day were there,
+  And maidens numberless to sport with them
+  And while away their tedious hours of life
+  With tales of youth, who, bolder than the rest,
+  Leapt over moats and scaled steep battlements
+  To have a glimpse of those more dear than life,
+  But who, alas! were doomed to endless woe,
+  And sent to pine away in dungeons dark
+  For tainting with their feet forbidden ground.
+  But soon their life was changed--the royal bride,
+  Before the happy bridal hour began,
+  Was first by all her kindred freely seen,
+  And straightway taken to the palace hall
+  To choose and then make known her future lord
+  From anxious suitors there, and thenceforth spend
+  With him her days of freedom and of joy.[4]
+    E'en so, none dared, so fearful is the gorge,
+  To gaze upon the river's loveliness,
+  Except those inmates of the mountain caves,
+  That in the noontide hour, to quench their thirst,
+  Climb down, regardless of the huntsman's bow,
+  Or save the vultures of the air, those birds
+  Which, soaring on majestic wings aloft,
+  Alight, as if by instinct drawn, upon
+  Her shady margins, there to feast upon
+  The carcass of some beast that died of age.
+  But soon the valley widens, and she flows
+  At will, her waters sparkle in the sun,
+  And on her margins for grim hills are seen
+  Green fields, deep shady groves, and peaceful homes.
+  'Tis here those mountains, that kept zealous guard
+  O'er Pampa, fade away from view, as if
+  To make amends for past unkindliness,
+  So leaving her to shoot into the plain
+  And watering Vijiapore and countless lands:
+  'Twas here the village stood of Chengalpore,
+  The scene of many noble deeds of man
+  And woman's high devotion to her lord.
+  'Twas here one crowded hour of Timma's life
+  Was worth his country's brightest annals, rich
+  In spoils of war and deeds of valiant men.
+  In that one hour of all his glorious life
+  He won a kingdom and a bride, for whom
+  He left that kingdom never to return;
+  And this the story of that glorious hour.
+    One day the news to Vijiapore was brought:
+  The elephant whose rich caparisoned back
+  The king, to please his subjects, once a year
+  Rode on, his keeper in a sudden fit
+  Of frenzy killed, and dreadful havoc wrought
+  Amongst the royal steeds in Chengalpore;
+  And now the mandate from the king went forth
+  That Timmaraj should slay his fav'rite beast,
+  For e'en the stoutest warrior of the land
+  Dared not approach him in his frenzied mood.
+  Then 'twas that Chandra suddenly her mind
+  Declared and boldly spake in words like these:
+  "It is not meet, dear father, that thou shouldst
+  So lightly use our only warrior's life,
+  Who won so many battles for his king
+  And added nought but glory and renown
+  Unto his country, and bid him thus fling
+  His life away before a beast insane.
+  Thou knowest well thy foes are ever bent
+  On wresting from thine hands this ancient crown,
+  And he alone it is that often curbs
+  Their pride. Yes, Timmaraj shall slay the beast,
+  But grant my pray'r that he shall marry me,
+  For often hast thou said that womanhood
+  I long ago attained, and soon should wed
+  One, therefore, worthy of our ancient house,
+  And gladly will I wed that warrior bold,
+  That shall, before to-morrow's sun has set,
+  Unto the portals of thy palace here
+  Bring dead the beast, that now at Chengalpore
+  Is working havoc on thy noble steeds."
+  The king to this his consent gladly gave,
+  Assured that Timma by the angry beast
+  Would be destroyed and never would return;
+  And so the second mandate was proclaimed
+  And sent to Chandra's other suitors too,
+  _That he shall win the daughter of the king
+  Who slays the beast before the morrow's close._
+  The morrow came, and, ere the warrior youth
+  Leapt on his faithful steed, at early morn,
+  A maiden stood before his gate and said,
+  "Brave youth! thy Chandra sent me here to say
+  Thou shouldst not fear to boldly face the beast;
+  Shouldst thou come victor back, she will be thine
+  And thine for ever even after death.
+  But shouldst thou flee from him to save thy life,
+  Think then thou art unworthy of her love,
+  And she shall not e'en see thy coward face;
+  But, if perchance thou fallest by the beast,
+  Vouchsafe to her through me with thine own hand
+  One javelin of the eight which now thou hast,
+  For she will not outlive her Timmaraj,
+  But straightway bare her breast and plunge the dart
+  And lifeless fall a corpse." The youth replied,
+  "I gladly send this javelin, but tell her
+  She shall not need its use, for Timmaraj
+  Will surely come victorious with the beast."
+  With javelins seven then he sallied forth
+  Upon his steed to win his bride or die.
+    Meanwhile the news was spread that Timmaraj
+  And that young min'ster, who these many years
+  Was seeking through her mother Chandra's hand,
+  And Bukka, ruler of the neighbouring state,
+  Whom she her father fondly wished should wed,
+  Had started on their steeds to Chengalpore;
+  Each vowed to be the first to drag the beast
+  Unto the royal city for six miles,
+  And there slay him before the palace gate.
+  The city poured her sons the sight to see,
+  For in the annals of their country's past
+  Not e'en the brightest page contained one deed
+  That could this glorious feat of man surpass;
+  And Timma was the people's fav'rite, and
+  They dearly wished that he should slay the beast,
+  Win Chandra, and become their future king.
+    But soon the thought of that mad beast unnerved
+  Both Bukka and the minister of the state.
+  The royal Bukka thus to himself said:
+  "A richer kingdom than this Vijiapore
+  I own, and why should I now madly stake
+  My life in this hard feat; 'tis easier far
+  To gain this Chandra and her father's throne.
+  I will sit hidden in the thickest bush,
+  Near yonder stream, by which the pathway runs--
+  For Timmaraj is sure to pass that way--
+  And with this arrow I will end his life.
+  Thereafter Chandra's love for him will fade
+  And die, and who is there to marry her
+  But I?" So thought this foolish youth, to whom
+  A woman's love was as inconstant as
+  His own resolve to fight a savage beast,
+  And sat within a bush to watch his prey.
+    He too, the pilot of the state, deemed it
+  A mad resolve to try the dang'rous feat,
+  And silent sat unnoticed and unknown
+  Upon the other side of that same path,
+  Within a secret bush by that same stream.
+  The one knew not the other was concealed
+  The fatal blow upon the selfsame prey
+  To deal, but fearless Timma on his horse
+  Approached the beast, which madly rushed on them,
+  To force both horse and rider to the ground
+  With his huge leg, and then to tear them both.
+  The horse was fleeter than the elephant,
+  Which thus the chase gave up, but still the youth
+  Undaunted neared the beast a second time,
+  And hurled with all his might a jav'lin, which
+  Pierced deep the temple. Thus enraged, the beast
+  Began the chase again, but still the steed
+  Was fleeter than the wearied elephant,
+  And once again he stopped, but Timma hurled
+  A second, which went deeper than the first,
+  And roused him all the more--and nevermore
+  He stopped, but towards Vijiapore the chase
+  Continued; for in due succession flew
+  Six jav'lins, lightning-like, with deadly aim.
+  Thus, by the angry beast pursued, he neared
+  At last the little stream that must perforce
+  Be crossed to reach the royal city gate.
+  Then from the pouch that dangled on his back,
+  His only jav'lin, with his utmost might,
+  Discharged, that so enraged the maddened beast,
+  With fury rushing, that his writhing trunk
+  Had all but touched the rider and his horse
+  In one embrace to crush them both; but soon
+  The keen-eyed youth the danger saw, and spurred
+  His horse, which bounded o'er the stream, when lo!
+  Two arrows crossed each other underneath.
+  One pierced the min'ster dead; the other pierced
+  The royal Bukka, who unconscious fell.
+  One moment more, and at the palace gate
+  The wearied rider on his foaming steed
+  Stood, like a warrior coming with his spoils,
+  The beast beside him, which, worn out, fell dead.
+  And as the tall and massive gate of some
+  Old fort with spikes deep driven to withstand
+  The foe, who battered it incessant, falls,
+  And, powerless to stand the shock, at last
+  Falls with a crash that far and wide was heard,
+  So fell the beast, his massive corpse all torn
+  And mangled, and with jav'lins planted deep,
+  And when he fell from his huge throat went forth
+  A wail, his last, like roaring thunder, that
+  Resounded through the hills of Vijiapore.
+    Another moment and brave Timma sat
+  Upon the bridal seat, the veil was drawn,
+  And, through the veil, the sacred knot was tied
+  Round Chandra's neck, and all was merry there.
+    And still another moment when--alas!
+  For that strange fickleness of human life
+  Whose joys and griefs each other follow like
+  The spokes of some fast-going wheel--there came
+  The wounded Bukka with a violent wail
+  That Timma had the king's adviser slain,
+  Whose body lay upon the riverside,
+  Exposed to all the carrion birds of prey,
+  And him too wounded, but the arrow pierced
+  Not deep, but laid him senseless for awhile;
+  But soon, with consciousness restored, his wound
+  He washed, and straightway hastened on his steed,
+  In time to tell the story, sad but true,
+  And stop the marriage of that coward with
+  The fairest and the noblest of the land.
+  As when upon a tree, whose boughs with fruits
+  Are laden, birds innumerable sit,
+  Them to enjoy and to be merry there,
+  The cruel hand of man to mar their joys
+  Hurls suddenly a stone, and all the air
+  Around is thick with jarring sounds of birds
+  That in confusion fly--so fell the words
+  Of Bukka on that scene, where all was joy,
+  Where, like a beehive, swarmed the surging crowd,
+  To see the marriage of their princess dear;
+  And straightway in confusion wild they ran
+  Without a purpose, but in various ways.
+  Unto their homes some ran the news t'acquaint,
+  Some to the wounded Bukka and his horse,
+  But many to the riverside to find
+  Their min'ster lying dead by arrow pierced.
+    The sorrow-stricken king spake not a word,
+  But like a lifeless figure stood awhile.
+  A sudden fit of frenzy overtook
+  The king at last, and Timma's awful doom
+  He thundered forth in accents strong like these:
+  "Be this my decree, forthwith known to all,
+  That Timma henceforth shall be banished from
+  My land for this dishonour brought on me.
+  He paved his way by murder to my throne,
+  And sullied the fair name of my dear house."
+    When these few awful words the monarch spoke,
+  Tears trickled down his eyes, and Timma from
+  The bridal seat received his doom, 'stead of
+  A blessing from the father of his bride.
+  A gentle touch, a whisper through the veil,
+  Then Timma to the royal judgment bowed,
+  And slowly moved from out those scenes of joy
+  And merriment, and reached the palace gate,
+  Where stood his horse by that dead elephant;
+  And soon in that confusion that prevailed
+  Was seen to slowly move a figure veiled,
+  T'approach the gate, and forthwith Timma swung
+  That figure on the saddle of his horse,
+  Then himself leapt and vanished straight from view.
+    The angry monarch saw their sudden flight,
+  And as some agèd lion, when sore vexed,
+  Like thunder roaring, musters all his strength
+  And stands defiant to face the foe, so stood
+  The agèd warrior, whose old strength returned,
+  His breast expanded, and his body raised
+  Erect, and for the time his age shook off.
+  Then spake he forth in angry tones like these:
+  "My only child is gone, and he that brings
+  My daughter back shall have my highest meed--
+  Nay, even half my kingdom I will give."
+  None dared save Bukka to essay the feat,
+  Who forthwith sprang upon his horse, and soon
+  O'ertook the running pair, for Timma's horse,
+  Though deemed the fleetest in the land, now felt
+  His double weight, his wonted speed decreased.
+  Then Timma said, "Our foe is nearing fast,
+  And he is armed, while weapons I have none.
+  In bridal dress I cannot face the foe,
+  And he will sure kill me and take you back
+  Unto your angry sire. Thou art a girl
+  Born of the martial Kshatriya race, and hence
+  Thou knowest well to ride the wildest horse;
+  So let me now dismount for thee t'escape."
+  "'Tis better far I die with thee," she said,
+  "But I have here the javelin thou didst give
+  Before thou went'st to kill the elephant,
+  The eighth and last, concealed within my veil.
+  Take this and stop the coming foe,--but oh!
+  Kill not the wretch who dared to follow us,
+  And sully this our happy bridal hour
+  By murder; only stay, oh, stay the chase!"
+  So said, she gave the jav'lin, which he hurled
+  Upon the chasing charger's breast with all
+  His might, and straightway horse and rider fell;
+  And, like those innocent and helpless doves,
+  The loving pair together fled away,
+  Their life of joy and freedom to renew.
+    Before the fury of an angered king
+  For full three days and nights they ran, and found
+  At last a safe and happy shelter in
+  A shepherd's cot, and in those troublous times
+  'Twas easier for the brave to kingdoms found,
+  Rear palaces, and rulers strong become,
+  Than for the toiling peasants, from sown fields,
+  To reap their crops and safely bear them home.
+  Brave Timma was a stranger 'mongst new men;
+  The many tigers by his arrows killed
+  And neighboring clans and lawless robbers kept
+  In check gave them sure hopes of future peace
+  And future joy, and straightway they made him
+  Their king to guard their women and their homes,
+  While they their avocations of the soil
+  In peace pursued, and soon was raised a fort;
+  A stately palace too was reared within
+  By willing hands, and safe from dang'rous foes,
+  And far away from their dear native vale
+  Of Vijiapore they spent their peaceful days
+  In joy, beloved by all their loyal men.
+    But 'tis a saying often told in Ind,
+  _He hath a foe who hath a lovely wife._
+  Her very loveliness is reason deemed
+  To hate her lord, nay, murder him, and hence
+  Her husband's foe unconscious she becomes.
+  For Chandra's beauty all these evils wrought
+  Upon the youth, who for his country fought
+  So many battles, and the Moslem kept
+  In constant dread, and for his virtue's sake,
+  Though most beloved in his native land,
+  And dreaded most for valour by his foes,
+  He lived a stranger in a foreign land.
+  She, too, that maiden, 'twas her fate to share
+  Her husband's troubles for her beauty rare.
+  Still 'twas a little heav'n their new home where
+  The halcyon days of mutual love were spent.
+  'Tis sweet to love and sweeter to be loved;
+  And thus in their new home their life of joy
+  They spent in undisturbèd solitude;
+  But ah! this even was not long to be.
+    One day the news was brought to their new king,
+  By a small troop of sorrow-stricken men,
+  That ev'ry night a tiger from his den
+  Came down and fearful havoc wrought amongst
+  Their toiling cattle, and the piteous tales
+  Of dreadful woe they poured into his ear
+  Moved Timma's heart, who took his trusty bow
+  And forthwith started with a faithful band
+  To drag the tiger from his mountain cave
+  And then for ever stop his mad career.
+  For days and nights he wandered in the woods,
+  But sad to tell found not the dreaded beast.
+  Still, nothing daunted, continued the search,
+  Until at last his faithful men he missed,
+  And wandered far into the wilds unknown,
+  When lo! the villain Bukka, who, upon
+  The outskirts of the newly-founded state,
+  Was hovering like a falcon o'er his prey,
+  Pounced suddenly upon the lonely youth
+  And safely carried him to his abode;
+  Then tidings sent to Chandra in these words:
+  "Dear maid! thy Timma is a helpless slave,
+  A humble suppliant for his life before
+  The valiant Bukka; let thy pride now cease.
+  The jav'lin which thou sentest me to slay,
+  Which killed my noble steed instead, awaits
+  To pierce his head and forthwith end his life.
+  But hearken ere I strike him dead therewith,
+  Thy matchless beauty, valour, virtue--these
+  Are fit to shine in royal courts like mine,
+  Add splendour to my household, where installed
+  As queen the daughters of my land will pay
+  Homage to thee--discard him, therefore, and
+  Love me, and I will forthwith set him free."
+  The angry maiden made reply, "Vile wretch!
+  Cursed be thy head to hold this evil thought.
+  If in my presence this request were made,
+  Sure I to fragments would have splintered it
+  With my own weapon, and the pieces thrown
+  To carrion birds to feast upon withal.
+  Tell him 'tis better far he should be like
+  A cur tied at my gate, for servants, as
+  They pass, to throw a little morsel from
+  The remnants of our feast; I fear him not,
+  And if my lord he kills, sure I am not
+  His wife, if forthwith I don't leap upon
+  The flames and then to ashes be reduced.
+  Begone! 'twere better far my husband dies
+  Than be the prisoner of a grovelling wretch."
+  Bukka, whose ire was roused, sent word at last--
+  "Beware, you foolish maid! poor Timma's life
+  Endanger not by this refusal stern,
+  Nor lightly treat my prowess, for to me
+  'Tis easier far to take away his life
+  Than for the lordly monarch of the woods
+  To kill the puny, weakly lamb; and nought
+  Prompts me to wait thus far, but pity for
+  The daughter of a friend and neighbour-king,
+  Else Timma's body would have long ere this
+  Been given to the eagles of the air.
+  So listen now, once more, ere I kill him,
+  And, if at all thou carest for his life,
+  Let me but see the beauty of thy face,
+  And for one moment only gaze upon
+  Its loveliness--then Timma shall be free,
+  And I will pass in quietness to my home--
+  Nay, henceforth I will not molest you both.
+  Shouldst thou this last request refuse, I swear,
+  By all I sacred hold, the moment that
+  Refusal comes, the jav'lin from my hand
+  Will fly at Timma and will strike him dead."
+  Meantime brave Chandra in the audience hall
+  Of her own palace, 'midst her faithful men,
+  Received the news, and then in angry tones
+  She spurned the wild request, when there appeared
+  Her priest, who counsel gave in words like these:
+  "It is not meet, O royal lady, that
+  Thou shouldst this attitude defiant assume,
+  When Bukka in a moment may bereave
+  Us all of our dear, noble Timmaraj,
+  And drive thee, too, to fling thy life away;
+  And, if 'tis writ thou shouldst so die with him,
+  Our sad entreaties and our tears will nought
+  Avail, nor alter laws thus preordained.
+  But haply, if it is writ otherwise,
+  Why break the link that binds you both for life?
+  Call it not chance the link that binds men's hearts,
+  But Heaven's sacred gift to sweeten life.
+  It is the hand divine that guides man's life
+  From the inception to the very end;
+  Nay more, sees even after that life's end,
+  Its own appointed destiny is reached,
+  To take fresh shape, its course to run anew,
+  And reap what it had sown before, for take
+  The tree, its fruit but falls to reach its base.
+  The calf his mother easily doth find
+  Amidst a thousand cows, to suck the milk;
+  And all our deeds doth likewise follow us,
+  E'en after death, and they are not our own,
+  But preordainèd laws, that must perforce
+  Be anywise fulfilled, and He alone
+  It is that sees their strict fulfilment here.
+  For ah! why should the noblest maiden and
+  The fairest and the wisest in the land
+  Be mated to the meanest wretch through life?
+  All that is deemed the highest in the world--
+  Beauty and honour, valour, virtue, wealth--
+  All these availeth not, her mind is blank;
+  She herself knows not whom to love and wed;
+  Not e'en dear friendship kindles in her breast
+  The lamp of love, but suddenly
+  A passing stranger's glance, a simple look
+  Instinctive plants that love, which slow takes shape,
+  Despite a thousand counter forces, till
+  At last the final end is reached: a look
+  Is thus enough to bind two hearts for life,
+  And this is but the true fulfilment of
+  A preordainèd law that in the life
+  Before had all but reached perfection full,
+  Or their appointed shape had all but tak'n,
+  And in the new life easily attains
+  The end: such, then, the truth of all such things.
+  Call it what you will, simple tendency
+  Inherited, the least sign gives it life,
+  Which but leads it to its appointed end,
+  Like powder whose combustibleness sleeps,
+  The sudden spark to action rouses it.
+  And thus it was, O Chandra, thou didst share
+  A humble courtier's lot, and didst refuse
+  The premier noble's hand, or better still
+  The queenship of two mighty states, and thus
+  The many counter forces that were set
+  At work but strengthened thy true love for him.
+  And why endanger such a husband's life?
+  One wedded so to thee, and not by chance,
+  But by the preordainèd law of God;
+  For know thou livest only for thy lord.
+  Thy husband is thy lord, and, if perchance
+  It is his will thou shouldst be Bukka's queen,
+  Thou shouldst, so knowing it, obey his will,
+  Else, sure thou shalt be deemed nor pure nor chaste,
+  But counted worse than e'en a faithless wife;
+  'Tis not in man to alter written laws;
+  'Tis hard, nay useless too to fight 'gainst fate,
+  And if 'tis writ that Bukka should now see
+  Thy matchless face, thou canst not alter it,
+  And fate's severities good deeds alone
+  Can soften, and our holy writings say
+  'Tis sin to let another man behold
+  Thy face, admire the beauties that enchant,
+  And thou becomest then impure; but those
+  Same holy books say, 'tis no sin to see
+  The shadow for the true reality.
+  Now, therefore, let a silken veil be drawn,
+  And underneath a bowl of oil be placed,
+  And the reflection of thy face therein
+  Let Bukka see and Timmaraj be saved."
+  To this the queen consent unwilling gave,
+  And Bukka to the palace gladly came,
+  Resolved to freedom give to Timmaraj,
+  If Chandra were like other maidens fair,
+  But sure possess her, if she shone among
+  The daughters of the earth surpassing fair,
+  And like the moon among the stars of heav'n.
+  The veil was drawn, the bowl of oil was placed,
+  And lo! was seen therein a face, whose like
+  The royal Bukka ne'er had seen before
+  In all his life; like lightning it appeared,
+  Bright'ning the surface for an instant, and
+  Like lightning vanished, planting in his breast
+  Impassioned love for Chandra, and a love
+  Too deeply rooted to be rooted out.
+  Then Chandra through the screen impatient said:
+  "Now that this deed is done, delay no more
+  My long lost husband to restore to me."
+  And Bukka made reply--"O maiden fair,
+  O Chandra! I am smitten by thy charms,
+  Thy wondrous face is ever in my mind,
+  And nought can now induce me to restore
+  Thy Timmaraj to thee, to gaze upon
+  Thy wondrous beauty and enjoy those charms.
+  My kingdom broad is at thy feet, and there
+  Enthroned as queen my riches and my all
+  Shall be at thy command, and therefore hear,--
+  If, by to-morrow eve, thou dost not reach
+  My tent pitched yonder, Timmaraj shall die,
+  And to the pyre, if thou dost follow him,
+  Sure I will myself die with thee, and thus
+  A double sin will rest upon thy head."
+  As the fond mother of an only child,
+  When sick, clings closely to it, and for days
+  And nights incessant watches it with care,
+  When he, well versed in all the healing lore,
+  Gives but to please her hopes of cure complete,
+  But suddenly the dang'rous malady
+  New shape assumes, the symptoms serious grow,
+  The healer himself breaks at last the news
+  Unto the anxious mother, who stands mute,
+  And knows not what to do in blank despair--
+  So felt the hapless Chandra when these words
+  The treach'rous Bukka spake and left the scene.
+  Now 'twas her holy Brahmin priest appeared,
+  And counsel gave again in words like these:
+  "Grieve not, but well rejoice that Bukka builds
+  His future hope on base dishonesty.
+  His fall is near, and Timma's safe return
+  Henceforth is sure, for he that hopes to win
+  By treach'ry and deceit, fails sorely in
+  This world of God, and therefore fear him not;
+  It is the foe magnan'mous thou shouldst fear.
+  Our holy ancient writings say it is
+  No sin deceit to conquer by deceit;
+  And hence fail not to send immediate word
+  That Bukka should to-morrow eve expect
+  Thee as befits a woman of thy rank,
+  And with a hundred maidens in his tent.
+  Take twenty litters, and let one appear
+  More gorgeous than the rest, for thee to sit,
+  Take but a hundred of thy faithful men,
+  All armed to fight for their dear king and queen.
+  Thou art a kshatriya girl, thou knowest well
+  To fight, and therefore take thy fav'rite bow
+  And arrows and conceal thy person with
+  A maiden's veil, armed fully as thou art,
+  And likewise let thy men be covered too,
+  To look like thine own maids of honour, let
+  Each litter, with a man inside, be borne
+  By four, go forth equipped likewise, surprise
+  The foe, bring him a prisoner, or upon
+  The field of battle die a noble death.
+  And death need have no horrors unto thee,
+  But unto those to whom this world is bright,
+  Its prospects hopeful and its pleasures keen,
+  And to the healthy and the young death's pangs
+  Are most severe when life is plucked, and from
+  Sere age, when all is ready for the end,
+  Life unperceived goes as from one that sleeps.
+  The gentlest wind brings down the serest leaf.
+  To sever from the parent stem by force
+  The freshest must be plucked, and so with man.
+  And by the righteous and the just, when sore
+  Oppressed with grief, dear death is welcomed most.
+  When the eruptions on the skin pain most,
+  By cutting them relief at once is sought;
+  E'en so, if noble Timmaraj is killed,
+  Court instant death, thy dagger hurl, and bare
+  Thy breast and lifeless by thy husband fall,
+  Like that same bird that, full up to the throat,
+  Swallows the little pebbles of the sand,
+  And, soaring high aloft upon her wings,
+  Suddenly closes them and drops down dead
+  Near her dead lover, where the body bursts.
+  But this, if you find hard, run with thy life
+  To this our safe abode, where willingly
+  The fun'ral pyre we, with our hands, will raise
+  And feed the flames thy body to consume.
+  Hence soon depart and Krishna will help thee."
+  The morrow came, and Chandra sallied forth
+  And, as directed by her Brahmin sage,
+  Went with a hundred of her armèd men,
+  All veiled, surprised the foe, who, flushed with hope,
+  Unguarded waited but to welcome her:
+  Then safely rescued her lost Timmaraj;
+  The fatal jav'lin wrung from Bukka's hands,
+  And himself too a prisoner brought in chains.
+  Then in the spacious palace hall, amidst
+  Her faithful men, the noble queen sat veiled
+  With Timmaraj, long absent from the throne,
+  And spake to Bukka, standing in the front
+  With folded hands, in angry words like these:
+  "By treach'ry thrice thou triedst to win, and thrice
+  Hast failed, and, when my noble Timmaraj
+  Went singly forth to bring the maddened beast,
+  Concealed thou didst aim at his life and failed.
+  The hand of God had otherwise decreed.
+  And when upon the bridal seat we sat,
+  And all were merry in my father's home,
+  Thou camest with a story, false and base,
+  And for our lives we had to flee, and now
+  Are strangers here, and when upon thy steed
+  Unjustly thou pursuedst us both, it was
+  My hand that stayed my husband killing thee,
+  Else long ago the worms had eaten thee;
+  Thy bones the jackals of the earth had tak'n;
+  And nothing left of thee but thine own sins.
+  It was thy charger innocent that paid
+  For them the penalty instead. Once more
+  You came, and, like a lawless thief concealed,
+  Carried my lord, when helpless and alone,
+  And for his freedom vile proposals made,
+  And for so many days these troubles wrought
+  On me and these my faithful loyal men.
+  Know well, 'tis virtue that is sure to win,
+  And truth and justice will prevail at last.
+  This very jav'lin will put thine eyes out;
+  But pity for thy present state prompts me
+  To let thee now alone--go safely home,
+  And henceforth never even sin in thought."
+  And like a criminal who, by pity freed,
+  At once goes forth worse sins to perpetrate,
+  So Bukka, vowing vengeance, left the hall,
+  And henceforth love and hate alternate played
+  In his dark breast--hate for this grave insult,
+  And by a woman offered, and love too,
+  A bestial passion for her wondrous charms;
+  And from that selfsame moment various plans
+  His head devised her pride to humble and
+  Her purity to sully, when alas!
+  The Moslems' greed of power gave him sure hopes
+  At last her Timma's ruin to complete.
+    Unto the agèd king of Vijiapore
+  His only warrior's and his only child's
+  Escape brought many toils and endless woe.
+  That Bukka, with a perjured tale, came on
+  The day of marriage was made known to all,
+  Soon after they had left their native home.
+  The agèd monarch knew not where they lived,
+  But sent his faithful servants far and wide
+  To bring them home; the cruel Moslems, too,
+  Aware that Timma's absence weakened him,
+  Combined a sudden rush to make upon
+  The royal city, kill her ruler, and
+  Divide the spoils and take his vast domains.
+  And now the wily Bukka with those foes
+  Of foreign faith conspired; what though he fought
+  As usual in the ranks of Vijiapore,
+  Under the banner of her Hindu king!
+  To them he would run in the thickest of
+  The fight and sudden turn the tide of war,
+  And, from the conquered spoils, for his own share,
+  He wanted neither lands nor riches, but
+  Demanded Chandra and her lord alive.
+  And news of instant war had travelled far
+  And wide, the princes and the chieftains poured
+  Their loyal forces, ready to avenge
+  Their Moslem foes, who, for no cause, thus dared
+  Their city to invade so suddenly.
+  And Timma hastened with his wife at last,
+  And was with joy received by all, who lost
+  All hopes of ever seeing them alive.
+  And soon a council in the royal hall
+  Was held, to name a leader and decide
+  How best to strike at once th' advancing foes.
+  Many felt proud by Timma to be led
+  To victory in the field or glorious death,
+  And many too in that assembly said
+  That Bukka should not join their Hindu ranks,
+  For he would, in the midst of battle, join
+  The Moslem ranks and surely bring defeat
+  And ruin too upon their agèd king,
+  The noble Ramaraj of Vijiapore,
+  And cause their ancient kingdom's overthrow.
+  But said one counted high for wisdom there:
+  "_Do good, and so chide him that evil does_,
+  Is the oft-quoted saying of our true
+  And ancient faith, and this is but the war
+  For mastery 'tween different creeds and faiths,
+  And hence let Bukka forthwith come to fight
+  Against the common foes, who thus combined
+  To mar our ancient faith and change our lives,
+  And let our Ramaraj himself go forth
+  And lead, and everlasting glory win,
+  And in defence of our old Hindu faith,
+  Or, if he falls, let him to _Swarga_ go
+  To join th' immortals there; and one word more
+  To thee, O Timma,--bury all the past,
+  And Bukka for his sins forgive, and both
+  Go hand in hand to fight the Moslem foes.
+  To pardon is the spirit of our faith."
+  To this consent was gladly giv'n by all,
+  And the propitious day and hour to march
+  Was soon named by the holy Brahmin priest,
+  So deeply versed in all the starry lore.
+  Brave Timma sought his anxious wife ere he
+  Went forth to fight, and thus took leave of her.
+  "Dear wife! the day to march is named at last.
+  Your agèd sire and our dear monarch leads
+  The war, and Bukka, as a Hindu true,
+  Joins us to fight against the Moslem horde,
+  And doubly glad I am that in this war,
+  With Bukka vying in the field with me,
+  And in the very presence of our king,
+  Who well rewards the val'rous and the brave,
+  The place of honour I will there attain
+  For courage true, and prove once more before
+  The world I am a worthy husband of
+  A noble wife; so let me now depart."
+  She made reply--"Some evil it forebodes
+  That Bukkaraj should thus be madly told
+  To join our ranks, for what is truth and God
+  To one so steeped in sin? And sad it is
+  My agèd father goes with him to fight.
+  Trust not in him and keep a steady eye
+  On him, e'en if within the thickest of
+  The fight thou art, for any moment he
+  May turn the tide of war; fight till the last,
+  And, if thou comest back victorious from
+  The field, I'll be the first to welcome thee,
+  But, if thou fallest fighting in the field,
+  Or if, perhaps, it chances otherwise,
+  Thou art left helpless and alone, here is
+  Our ever ready jav'lin to kill thee.
+  Thy body forthwith shall be nobly borne
+  Unto the pyre by thine own faithful men,
+  And I will gladly leap upon the flames.
+  But if thou comest routed and alive,
+  Then Chandra nevermore shall see thy face."
+  At early morn, upon th' appointed day,
+  The king his faithful servants summoned, and
+  Before them all his only brother named
+  To rule the kingdom and confided all
+  His subjects to his care; then, at the head
+  Of his brave troops, out of the city marched,
+  Amidst the royal bards recounting in
+  Sweet tones the glories of his kingdom's past,
+  His holy priests invoking Krishna's help
+  And chanting sacred hymns, and in the midst
+  Of maidens of the martial Kshatrya race,
+  Proceeding to the very city gates,
+  And singing to their fathers, brothers, and
+  Their husbands in shrill notes heard far and wide,
+  That Swarga's gates are ever ready to
+  Receive the faithful if they bravely fall,
+  The flames are ready to take their proud wives,
+  But burning hell gapes wide for to devour
+  The cowards that run routed and alive;
+  Their maidens' sweet embrace awaits them not.
+  At last, upon the plains of Tálicót,
+  The armies met, fierce raged the battle, and
+  Old Ramaraj fought nobly in the field;
+  And Timma too wrought dreadful havoc on
+  The Moslems and their ranks oft shattered, but
+  Alas! the ever treach'rous Bukka pounced
+  Sudden on his own ranks; the king was slain;
+  His ghastly head upon a pole was shown,
+  And helpless and forlorn the Hindus stood;
+  But, ere perfidious Bukka could run with
+  The Moslem foes, to capture him alive,
+  A faithful soldier Timma called, gave him
+  His Chandra's jav'lin, in his steady grip
+  To hold, then boldly ran his body through
+  And instantly fell lifeless to the ground.
+  A faithful few the body bore, and laid
+  Before the orphaned and the widowed maid
+  Their precious charge, and soon the pyre was raised.
+  Then, near the flames that brightened her bright face,
+  Her uncle and her people shedding tears,
+  Her noble husband lying cold and still,
+  The story of her father's cruel death
+  Still ringing in her ears, she took farewell.
+  "Dear uncle and my faithful men! grieve not:
+  I see a cloud, now looming yonder there,
+  No bigger than the hand of man, that shall
+  Expand and rain and water to purge all
+  The land of th' innocent blood shed on it,
+  For mother India's cup of woe is full,
+  And but three decades more,--there will come from
+  The far-off ends of this vast globe of ours,--
+  A little island planted in the sea,--
+  A handful of a noble race to trade,
+  And shall from thee ask for a plot of land,
+  And they shall prosper for their valour and
+  Shall be exalted for their righteousness.
+  They shall befriend the helpless and the poor,
+  And like the streams that seek the ocean broad,
+  The chickens that run to their mothers wings,
+  The maidens helpless and forlorn, that court
+  The succour of the chivalrous and the brave,
+  The orphans poor, the bounty of the kind,
+  All men of Ind, all races and all creeds
+  Shall to their banner flock, to live in peace
+  And amity; the tiger and the lamb
+  Their thirst shall quench both from the selfsame brook.
+  The giant brute before the weakly sage
+  Shall bow, and men shall fear to even gaze
+  Upon the maidens that go forth alone,
+  Adorned with naught but chastity, and from
+  All lands the wisest shall revere our faith.
+  He that desires our homes to plunder and
+  Sully the honour of our women, him
+  Punishment terrible shall sure await.
+  Three hundred years more and the little plot
+  Of land thou gavest shall grow and expand
+  Into an empire huge, unwritten yet
+  On hist'ry's page, and shall surpass the dreams
+  Of warriors bold in times of old, and like
+  The creepers that, entwined around the oak,
+  Luxuriant grow, safe from the storms that blow,
+  And flow'rs give forth to beautify the scene,
+  Her sons shall everlasting peace enjoy,
+  And blessings, hitherto unknown to man--
+  The grandest scene for God to ever cast
+  His loving eyes upon, and for the world
+  Of man to wonder at, and there shall be
+  One sway, the sway of reason and of truth;
+  One creed, the creed of righteousness and love;
+  And mercy for all living things on earth;
+  One brotherhood, the brotherhood of man;
+  One fatherhood, the fatherhood of God.
+  But hark! there comes a shout, and yonder runs
+  Exulting Bukka to seize me alive.
+  But these kind flames are ready to save me.
+  Run, uncle, run at once to far-off lands
+  And continue thy sway in safer climes."
+  So saying, she leapt on the fun'ral pyre,
+  And speedily to ashes were consumed
+  The faithful wife and her departed lord.
+  The monarch, who thus from the Moslem ran,
+  In honour of this noble maiden, reared
+  A princely town,[5] and here the Saxon came,
+  And mother India was for ever blest.
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[Footnote 2: Vijianagar is here called Vijiapore.]
+
+[Footnote 3: Literally, the moon.]
+
+[Footnote 4: The allusion here is to the ancient custom of _Swayamvara_
+(self-choice), which is the election of a husband by a princess or a
+daughter of a kshatriya at a public assembly of suitors for the
+purpose.]
+
+[Footnote 5: Chandragiri.]
+
+
+
+
+_THE KORATHY'S LULLABY._
+
+
+The Korathy is the tattooer of the Indian village, who offers her
+services for a small fee. Hindu females are very fond of having their
+bodies tattooed. The Korathy first makes a sketch of the figure of a
+scorpion or a serpent on the part of the body offered to her for
+tattooing, then takes a number of sharp needles, dips them in some
+liquid preparation which she has ready, and pricks the flesh most
+mercilessly. In a few days the whole appears green. This is considered a
+mark of beauty among the Hindus. While the tattooing takes place the
+Korathy sings a crude song, so as to make the person undergoing the
+process forget the pain. The following is as nearly as possible a
+translation of the song which I myself heard:--
+
+
+  Stay, darling, stay--'tis only for an hour,
+  And you will be the fairest of the fair.
+  Your lotus eyes can soothe the savage beast,
+  Your lips are like the newly blossomed rose,
+  Your teeth--they shine like pearls; but what are they
+  Before the beauties of my handiwork?
+
+  Stay, darling, stay--'tis only for an hour,
+  And you will be the fairest of the fair.
+  I've left my home, and all day hard I toil
+  So to adorn the maidens of the land
+  That erring husbands may return to them;
+  Such are the beauties of my handiwork.
+
+  Stay, darling, stay--'tis only for an hour,
+  And you will be the fairest of the fair;
+  In days of old fair Seeta laid her head
+  Upon the lap of one of our own clan,
+  When with her lord she wandered in the wilds,
+  And like the emerald shone her beauteous arms.
+
+  Stay, darling, stay--'tis only for an hour,
+  And you will be the fairest of the fair.
+  And often in the wilds, so it is said,
+  She also of the Pandus went in quest
+  Of one of us, but found not even one,
+  And sighed she was not like her sisters blest.
+
+  Stay, darling, stay--'tis only for an hour,
+  And you will be the fairest of the fair.
+  My work is done; rejoice, for you will be
+  The fairest of your sisters in the land.
+  Rejoice for evermore, among them you
+  Will shine as doth the moon among the stars.
+
+
+
+
+TALES OF IND,
+
+BY T. RAMAKRISHNA, B.A.
+
+
+With an Introduction by the Hon. the Rev. W. MILLER, M.A., LL.D.,
+C.I.E., and dedicated, by permission, to the late Lord Tennyson, Poet
+Laureate.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+OPINIONS.
+
+
+They are interesting and remarkable.--_Lord Tennyson_.
+
+It is a great pleasure to me to find that a native of South India has so
+distinguished himself.--_The Right Hon. Sir M.E. Grant Duff, G.C.S.I._
+
+It is not often that natives succeed so well as you have done in English
+versification.--_H.H. Kérala Varma, C.S.I._
+
+Krishnapore irresistibly reminds us of Auburn, the fortunes of Seeta are
+in many respects not unlike those of Evangeline, and some forms of
+expression seem to be coined in the mint of Tennyson.... These tales
+possess peculiar interest as first-fruits in poetic literature of that
+amalgamation of Eastern and Western thought that is going on before us
+at the present day in this country. They are tales of India, descriptive
+of Indian scenery, and marked by many traits both of custom and of
+feeling that are characteristic of India.... These tales--tales of
+woman's constancy and woman's heroism--are pleasing in themselves; and
+the language in which they are told is simple, imaginative, and marked
+by a well-sustained melody. The tales are dedicated to Lord Tennyson by
+"His Lordship's ardent admirer in the Far East"; and certainly they move
+in the atmosphere of the Tennysonian idyll.--_Madras Christian College
+Magazine_.
+
+Much of the versification is very pleasing, and where it is best, it
+has a decided ring of Tennyson in it.... The author possesses true
+poetical genius.--_Calcutta Statesman and Friend of India_.
+
+SEETA AND RAMA:--The story is pretty, though simple. In parts, moreover,
+the author, who is anonymous, displays the true spirit of poetry, which
+he (or she) will do well to cultivate.... The tributes of respect for
+the heroism, purity, and constancy of women which are found in Mr.
+Ramakrishna's poems are in accordance with the teaching of the
+Mahabarata, as well as the spirit of the Laureate's verse. Added to this
+very engaging feature of his work, there is a power of description that
+is very remarkable in a man to whom English is not his mother tongue.
+For example, "Seeta and Rama" commences with the following
+vignette:--... "All this is in excellent taste. And the same may be said
+of his delineations of character. He is never wearisome or trite, and
+... he succeeds in enlisting the interest and sympathy of his reader and
+in proving that--as Mrs. Grant Duff lately said--there is 'an indefinite
+amount of beauty and charm in everyday life' in Southern
+India."--_Madras Mail_.
+
+SEETA AND RAMA:--A very pretty and pathetic, though simple little story,
+told in the true poetic vein, and possesses a deep melancholy
+interest.... They are simple tales, told in English verse, which is
+characterised by a purity and a simplicity that are very noteworthy in
+an Indian writer, and which show considerable acquaintance of the
+English language, especially of Tennyson's writings. Indeed, of them all
+is true what was said of the first poem, not only according to the
+_Christian College Magazine_, that some forms of expression seemed
+coined in the mint of Tennyson, but, according to the _Statesman and
+Friend of India_, that where the versification is best it has a ring of
+Tennyson.--_Madras Times_.
+
+The style is simple and natural, and reminds us more often of Tennyson's
+"Idylls of the King" than any other English poem that we can recollect
+now.... Throughout, the book is most finely written in rhyme, and the
+learned author has minted at the forge of Tennyson, to whom the book is
+most dutifully dedicated, the sentiments of Oliver Goldsmith, Parnell,
+and Byron.--_Hindu_.
+
+We must congratulate Mr. Ramakrishna on the success which has attended
+his, no doubt, pleasing labours. He is the first Hindu graduate, so far
+as we know, who has come before the public as a poet, and well does he
+deserve every encouragement.--_Madras Standard_.
+
+This little poem is an exquisitely finished, harmonious, well-written
+story of a pair of Hindu lovers.... Mr. Ramakrishna is extremely
+felicitous in the choice of his words, and his descriptions are so
+picturesque and vivid, and his narrative so stirring, that the reader
+feels as if spell-bound by the author's great skill and power.... There
+can be no manner of doubt that the hand that wrote these poems is both
+strong and skilful, and was directed by a true spirit of poesy of a high
+order.--_People's Friend_.
+
+TENNYSON COMMEMORATION MEETING.--At the meeting held in the Christian
+College, Dr. Miller proposed that the chair should be taken by Mr. T.
+Ramakrishna Pillai, an old student of the College, who, as many of our
+readers know, has himself won no small success in the field of
+poetry.--_Christian College Magazine_.
+
+Mr. T. Ramakrishna Pillai is probably the only one in Madras, and
+certainly the only native of India in Madras, who had come into any kind
+of personal contact with Lord Tennyson.--_Speech of the Hon. the Rev.
+Dr. Miller at the Tennyson Commemoration Meeting_.
+
+
+
+
+LIFE IN AN INDIAN VILLAGE.
+
+BY T. RAMAKRISHNA, B.A.
+
+
+With an Introduction by the Right Hon. Sir M.E. GRANT DUFF, G.C.S.I.
+
+(_London: T. Fisher Unwin_, 1891.)
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+OPINIONS.
+
+The Occidentals led by Macaulay had too complete a victory for the good
+of India. Much that they said and did was wise, but their system has
+failed in many ways, and was, indeed, never intended to breed up men
+interested in the past of their own land. Nearly all that has been
+learned about it has been learned by the labour of Europeans, and yet
+natives trained to European methods of research have facilities of kinds
+for prosecuting research which we have not.... I had a great deal to say
+on that subject, and on many other cognate ones in an address which I
+delivered in my capacity of Chancellor of the University of Madras,
+shortly before I left the country, but I do not know that it has had
+much effect since, though an excellent little book by Mr. Ramakrishna on
+the village life of South India is a step in the right direction. We
+want, however, quite a small library of works of that kind before the
+harvest that is ready for the sickle of intelligent native observers is
+gathered in.--_The Right Hon. Sir M.E. Grant Duff, G.C.S.I., in the
+Contemporary Review_.
+
+The subject is interesting, and I do not doubt from the specimen which I
+saw that you would treat it in a fresh and agreeable way. What we need
+in Europe is to have the reality, the actual working of these Indian
+institutions which we have so often mentioned brought home to us, and
+probably such a writer as yourself may do this better than a European
+could do.--_The Right Hon. James Bryce, D.C.L_.
+
+Ramakrishna,--a literary gentleman belonging to Madras, who has written
+a charming book called "Life in an Indian Village."--_Professor Eric
+Robertson in Macmillan's series of Orient Readers_.
+
+I can name more than a dozen Indian authors whose works can fairly rank
+with some of the best productions of Englishmen. The well-known author
+of "Maxima and Minima," viz., the late Professor Ramachundra, was
+considered by no other than De Morgan, the famous mathematician, as an
+original genius of a remarkable order. A celebrated Cambridge
+Mathematician once told me that he set a problem for the Mathematical
+Tripos, basing it upon Ramachundra's "Maxima and Minima," and with the
+exception of a few that headed the list, none were able to solve the
+problem. In the late Toru Dutt, a young Bengali native Christian lady,
+some of the leading literary men of England found a poet of no mean
+powers. Mr. Edmund Gosse writes as follows in the preface to her poems
+that have been published by an English firm: "It is difficult to
+estimate what we have lost in the premature death of Toru Dutt.
+Literature has no honours which need have been beyond the grasp of a
+girl who, at the age of twenty-one, and in languages separated from her
+own by so deep a chasm, had produced so much of lasting worth.... When
+the history of the literature of our country comes to be written, there
+is sure to be a page in it dedicated to this fragile exotic blossom of
+song." Dr. Bandarkar of Bombay is considered to be one of the best
+Orientalists of the day. A number of Bengali gentlemen have earned a
+lasting fame by literary productions in English, among whom I may
+mention the Rev. Lal Behari Day, late Professor in the Hooghly College,
+and Mr. Dutt of the Bengal Civil Service. In our own Presidency Mr.
+Ramakrishna Pillai has produced a work in English--"Village Life in
+India"--that has won the praise of Sir Grant Duff.--_Professor
+Satthianadhan's Lecture on Intellectual Results in India_.
+
+Mr. Ramakrishna takes a typical village in the Madras Presidency, "the
+most Indian part of India," and shows us in half a dozen lucid chapters
+that the wants of the villagers are all material--wells, roads, better
+breeds of cattle, and so on--and that they do not, and will not for a
+long time, care one cash for anything which happens, or which might be
+made to happen, in the great outer world beyond their palm-groves and
+rice-fields. There is nothing political in this pleasant little book, we
+are pleased to say, although we have drawn this political moral from it.
+It is a truthfully written account of native life in one of those 55,000
+villages which dot the great district--a tract much larger than the
+British Isles--the daily existence of whose peaceful, and not altogether
+unhappy, population it is intended to illustrate; and it can be dipped
+into, or read through, with equal satisfaction and advantage,--_Daily
+Telegraph_ (London).
+
+"Life in an Indian Village" is an amusing and clear portrayal of the
+manners and customs of the inhabitants of a village in the Madras
+Presidency. The author first depicts his little community, and then
+proceeds to describe the avocations of all the leading personages. As
+Kelambakam may be taken as a type of thousands of such villages, the
+book will be found particularly interesting to those who are likely to
+be brought into contact with the natives of India. Sir M.E. Grant Duff
+has written an Introduction, in which he suggests how the simple
+villagers can be benefited by their European neighbours.--_Morning Post_
+(London).
+
+The book itself is excellent, and gives a sketch of Indian village
+society from inside. It is possible, however, that the ordinary English
+reader will prefer to take his view of "the black men" from Mr. Kipling
+rather than from a representative of the natives themselves. If he
+wishes to have a native view of native life he will find it in this
+work.--_Athenaeum_ (London).
+
+India is always fertile in surprises for English readers. We know
+something of those among its peoples which have given us trouble; but
+here is a "dim population" of which many Englishmen will scarcely have
+heard the name--the Dravidians of the Madras Presidency, and we learn
+with something like astonishment that they number more than the
+inhabitants of England. The village which Mr. Ramakrishna describes for
+us is one of more than fifty thousand, averaging about five hundred
+inhabitants apiece. The first thing that strikes us in his account is
+its highly organised condition. It is a self-sufficing little
+commonwealth, in which a quite surprising variety of professions or
+occupations are represented.--_Pall Mall Gazette_ (London).
+
+We welcome this little book as a much truer picture of Indian life than
+many more ambitious works.--_St. James's Gazette_ (London).
+
+The work is written in admirable English--even the blank verse is
+perfect. The story of Harichendra alone is worth the cost of the
+volume.--_Literary World_ (London).
+
+We have read with great pleasure the book, "Life in an Indian Village,"
+as it deals with an interesting and not at all unimportant subject in a
+plain and unpretending way. Simplicity has a powerful charm of its own;
+and we recommend the book to all whose heart can still be touched by
+inartificial descriptions of idyllic, gently flowing, country life. He
+who does not assume the tone of "India, what can it teach us?" but cares
+to profit by teaching, will learn a great deal even from these simple
+village tales.--_Asiatic Quarterly Review_ (London).
+
+What more England can do for India is admirably and tersely set forth in
+the Introduction, which, with Mr. Ramakrishna's pleasant description of
+Indian village life, deserves to be widely read.--_Mr. J.B. Knight,
+C.I.E., in the Indian Magazine_ (London).
+
+Books about India by intelligent travellers have their uses, and books
+by Europeans who have lived for years in the country and studied the
+people are still more valuable, but it is only a native of India who can
+really show us Indian life as it is. There are already several books in
+English, by educated Indians, which give us valuable insight into what
+was once the unknown of Indian domestic and social life. Mr. T.
+Ramakrishna, whose "Life in an Indian Village" is introduced to the
+notice of the British public by Sir M.E. Grant Duff, has produced a
+series of very interesting sketches of the more important features of
+village life in the South of India. They will be found to be very
+readable, sometimes amusing, always interesting and instructive. Any
+one who reads this book with intelligence and care will be able to form
+for himself a very accurate picture of a Madras village, and to
+understand the composition of the village community, which is the basis
+of the whole framework of Indian social life.--_Scotsman_ (Edinburgh).
+
+Mr. Ramakrishna's book is picturesque and sympathetic.--_Manchester
+Guardian_.
+
+A well-written book, and one which gives a realistic description of a
+condition of life which is the outcome of centuries of
+isolation,--_Leeds Mercury_.
+
+It is not an easy thing to acquire a clear conception of a life and a
+civilisation other in every respect to our own, and it may be reasonably
+questioned if one Englishman in a thousand has more than a very vague
+idea of what life in an Indian village is like. Here is a pleasant and
+graphic little volume. He may acquire that knowledge from the sketches
+of an Indian gentleman who knows the subject through and through, and
+has, moreover, so much of European culture that he is able to present
+the facts in a form that will not seem strange or
+incredible.--_Birmingham Post_.
+
+A volume issued by Mr. T. Fisher Unwin, "Life in an Indian Village," is
+a sample of the kind of book relating to our Eastern Empire that we
+should like to see multiplied. It is the production of a scholarly
+native, T. Ramakrishna, B.A., who writes excellent idiomatic English
+without the slightest tendency to Johnsonian eloquence.--_Christian
+Leader_ (Glasgow).
+
+The manners and customs of the people are vividly reflected in these
+pages, and a picturesque account is given of a number of notabilities,
+such as the physician, &c.--_Speaker_ (London).
+
+The book cannot fail to fulfil the author's desire in exciting a deeper
+interest in the people whom he so sympathetically introduces to the
+British public.--_Independent_ (London).
+
+Written with much naïveté.--_British Weekly_ (London).
+
+The author of this book deserves our thanks and congratulations. Himself
+a highly educated native of the Madras Presidency, he has drawn a series
+of pictures of the village life of Southern India.... The occupations,
+the recreations, the religion, the distribution of labour, the
+recurrence of feast and festival, with much more, are all told in
+amusing style and with such graphic power as to leave a vivid impression
+upon the reader's mind.--_Bookseller_ (London).
+
+Madras should indulge some measure of pride in having turned out a
+University graduate who can write the English language better than most
+Englishmen. Ramakrishna's "Life in an Indian Village" is a charming
+account of Dravidian homes and customs. It is the work of a young man
+who has profited by Western enlightenment, and yet feels a kindly glow
+in his heart for all that belongs to the humblest folk in his native
+land. His sympathy is beautiful, because it is devoid of any pretence or
+forced pathos. His language is choice, yet simply constructed. There is
+real literary flavour about this work, which has just been published by
+Fisher Unwin. When will the Punjab give us a young man who can feel and
+think and write like this?--_Civil and Military Gazette_ (Lahore).
+
+Mr. T. Ramakrishna, a graduate of the Madras University, may be
+congratulated on the success which seems likely to attend the
+publication of his well-written little book on "Indian Village Life."
+Judging by the comments that have appeared in the English papers, it is
+just the kind of book the public at home wants, not too statistical to
+be readable, and not too ambitious in design to be trustworthy, but just
+a simple, picturesque account of the particular part of India which the
+author really knows.--_London Correspondent of the Englishman_
+(Calcutta).
+
+The great virtue of Mr. Ramakrishna's writing is the absence of pretence
+and fustian. Space is not wasted on ambitious and worthless descriptions
+of scenery, or on vague disquisitions of a sentimental character.
+Everywhere he is simple, straightforward, and effective.... Writing in
+excellent English, and in unexceptionable style, he tells plainly and
+simply what he has to say, and is the more successful because he is less
+ambitious.... It is to be hoped that Mr. Ramakrishna's interesting
+sketches of Southern Indian village life will obtain a wide circulation
+in England. He is to be congratulated on having produced a work of no
+little merit and originality.--_Madras Mail_.
+
+To doubters of the good results of Western education in this Presidency,
+better proof could hardly be given than is provided.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales of Ind, by T. Ramakrishna
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11096 ***