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diff --git a/13268-0.txt b/13268-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d8276a3 --- /dev/null +++ b/13268-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,18705 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13268 *** + +HINDU LITERATURE + +COMPRISING + +THE BOOK OF GOOD COUNSELS, NALA AND DAMAYANTI, THE RÁMÁYANA AND +ŚAKOONTALÁ + +WITH CRITICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES BY + +EPIPHANIUS WILSON, A.M. + +REVISED EDITION + +NEW YORK + +P.F. COLLIER & SON + +COPYRIGHT, 1900 + +BY THE COLONIAL PRESS + +CONTENTS + +THE BOOK OF GOOD COUNSELS + +Translator's Preface + +Introduction + +THE WINNING OF FRIENDS + The Story of the Jackal, Deer, and Crow + The Story of the Vulture, the Cat, and the Birds + The Story of the Dead Game and the Jackal + The Prince and the Wife of the Merchant's Son + The Story of the Old Jackal and the Elephant + +THE PARTING OF FRIENDS + The Story of the Lion, the Jackals, and the Bull + The Story of the Monkey and the Wedge + The Story of the Washerman's Jackass + The Story of the Cat who Served the Lion + The Story of the Terrible Bell + The Story of the Prince and the Procuress + The Story of the Black Snake and the Golden Chain + The Story of the Lion and the Old Hare + The Story of the Wagtail and the Sea + +WAR + The Battle of the Swans and Peacocks + The Story of the Weaver-Birds and the Monkeys + The Story of the Old Hare and the Elephants + The Story of the Heron and the Crow + The Story of the Appeased Wheelwright + The Story of the Dyed Jackal + The Story of the Faithful Rajpoot + +PEACE + The Treaty Between the Peacocks and the Swans + The Story of the Tortoise and the Geese + The Story of Fate and the Three Fishes + The Story of the Unabashed Wife + The Story of the Herons and the Mongoose + The Story of the Recluse and the Mouse + The Story of the Crane and the Crab + The Story of the Brahman and the Pans + The Duel of the Giants + The Story of the Brahman and the Goat + The Story of the Camel, the Lion, and His Court + The Story of the Frogs and the Old Serpent + +NALA AND DAMAYANTI + +Introduction +NALA AND DAMAYANTI.-- + Part I + Part II + +SELECTIONS FROM THE RÁMÁYANA + +Introduction +Invocation +BOOK I.-- + CANTO + I.--Nárad + [_Cantos II., III., IV., and V. are omitted_] + VI.--The King + VII.--The Ministers + VIII.--Sumantra's Speech + IX.--Rishyaśring + X.--Rishyaśring Invited + XI.--The Sacrifice Decreed + XII.--The Sacrifice Begun + XIII.--The Sacrifice Finished + XIV.--Rávan Doomed + XV.--The Nectar + XVI.--The Vánars + XVII.--Rishyaśring's Return + XVIII.--Rishyaśring's Departure + XIX.--The Birth of the Princes + XX.--Viśvámitra's Visit + XXI.--Viśvámitra's Speech + XXII.--Daśaratha's Speech + XXIII.--Vaśishtha's Speech + XXIV.--The Spells + XXV.--The Hermitage of Love + XXVI.--The Forest of Tádaká + XXVII.--The Birth of Tádaká +XXVIII.--The Death of Tádaká + XXIX.--The Celestial Arms + XXX.--The Mysterious Powers + XXXI.--The Perfect Hermitage + XXXII.--Viśvámitra's Sacrifice +XXXIII.--The Sone + XXXIV.--Brahmadatta + XXXV.--Viśvámitra's Lineage + XXXVI.--The Birth of Gangá + [_Cantos XXXVII. and XXXVIII. are omitted_] + XXXIX.--The Son of Sagar + XL.--The Cleaving of the Earth + XLI.--Kapil + XLII.--Sagar's Sacrifice + XLIII.--Bhagírath + +ŚAKOONTALÁ + +Introduction +Dramatis Personae +Rules for Pronunciation of Proper Names +Prologue +Act First +Act Second +Prelude to Act Third +Act Third +Prelude to Act Fourth +Act Fourth +Act Fifth +Prelude to Act Sixth +Act Sixth +Act Seventh + +POEMS BY TORU DUTT + +Introduction +BALLADS OF HINDOSTAN.-- + Jogadhya Uma + Buttoo + Sindhu.-- + Part I + Part II + Part III +MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.-- + Near Hastings + France + The Tree of Life + Madame Thérèse + Sonnet + Sonnet + Our Casuarina-Tree + + + + +THE BOOK OF GOOD COUNSELS + + * * * * * + +SELECTED FROM + +THE HITOPADEŚA + +[_Translated from the Sanscrit by Sir Edwin Arnold_] + +TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE + +A story-book from the Sanscrit at least possesses the minor merit of +novelty. The "perfect language" has been hitherto regarded as the +province of scholars, and few of these even have found time or taste to +search its treasures. And yet among them is the key to the heart of +modern India--as well as the splendid record of her ancient Gods and +glories. The hope of Hindostan lies in the intelligent interest of +England. Whatever avails to dissipate misconceptions between them, and +to enlarge their intimacy, is a gain to both peoples; and to this end +the present volume aspires, in an humble degree, to contribute. + +The "Hitopadeśa" is a work of high antiquity, and extended popularity. +The prose is doubtless as old as our own era; but the intercalated +verses and proverbs compose a selection from writings of an age +extremely remote. The "Mahabharata" and the textual Veds are of those +quoted; to the first of which Professor M. Williams (in his admirable +edition of the "Nala," 1860) assigns a date of 350 B.C., while he claims +for the "Rig-Veda" an antiquity as high as B.C. 1300. The "Hitopadeśa" +may thus be fairly styled "The Father of all Fables"; for from its +numerous translations have come Æsop and Pilpay, and in later days +Reineke Fuchs. Originally compiled in Sanscrit, it was rendered, by +order of Nushiraván, in the sixth century, A.D., into Persic. From the +Persic it passed, A.D. 850, into the Arabic, and thence into Hebrew and +Greek. In its own land it obtained as wide a circulation. The Emperor +Acbar, impressed with the wisdom of its maxims and the ingenuity of its +apologues, commended the work of translating it to his own Vizir, Abdul +Fazel. That minister accordingly put the book into a familiar style, and +published it with explanations, under the title of the "Criterion of +Wisdom." The Emperor had also suggested the abridgment of the long +series of shlokes which here and there interrupt the narrative, and the +Vizir found this advice sound, and followed it, like the present +Translator. To this day, in India, the "Hitopadeśa," under other names +(as the "Anvári Suhaili"[1]), retains the delighted attention of young +and old, and has some representative in all the Indian vernaculars. A +work so well esteemed in the East cannot be unwelcome to Western +readers, who receive it here, a condensed but faithful transcript of +sense and manner. + +As often as an Oriental allusion, or a name in Hindoo mythology, seemed +to ask some explanation for the English reader, notes have been +appended, bearing reference to the page. In their compilation, and +generally, acknowledgment is due to Professor Johnson's excellent +version and edition of the "Hitopadeśa," and to Mr. Muir's "Sanscrit +Texts." + +A residence in India, and close intercourse with the Hindoos, have given +the author a lively desire to subserve their advancement. No one listens +now to the precipitate ignorance which would set aside as "heathenish" +the high civilization of this great race; but justice is not yet done to +their past development and present capacities. If the wit, the morality, +and the philosophy of these "beasts of India" (so faithfully rendered by +Mr. Harrison Weir) surprise any vigorous mind into further exploration +of her literature, and deeper sense of our responsibility in her +government, the author will be repaid. + +EDWIN ARNOLD. + +[1] "The Lights of Canopus," a Persian paraphrase; as the "Khirad +Afroz," "the lamp of the Understanding," is in Hindustani. + + + + +THE BOOK OF GOOD COUNSELS + +INTRODUCTION + + +HONOR TO GUNESH, GOD OF WISDOM + + This book of Counsel read, and you shall see, + Fair speech and Sanscrit lore, and Policy. + +ON the banks of the holy river Ganges there stood a city named +Pataliputra. The King of it was a good King and a virtuous, and his name +was Sudarsana. It chanced one day that he overheard a certain person +reciting these verses-- + + "Wise men, holding wisdom highest, scorn delights, as false as fair, + Daily live they as Death's fingers twined already in their hair. + + Truly, richer than all riches, better than the best of gain, + Wisdom is, unbought, secure--once won, none loseth her again. + + Bringing dark things into daylight, solving doubts that vex the mind, + Like an open eye is Wisdom--he that hath her not is blind." + +Hearing these the King became disquieted, knowing that his own sons were +gaining no wisdom, nor reading the Sacred Writings,[2] but altogether +going in the wrong way; and he repeated this verse to himself-- + + "Childless art thou? dead thy children? leaving thee to want and dool? + Less thy misery than his is, who is father to a fool." + +And again this-- + + "One wise son makes glad his father, forty fools avail him not:-- + One moon silvers all that darkness which the silly stars did dot." + +"And it has been said," reflected he-- + + "Ease and health, obeisant children, wisdom, and a fair-voiced wife-- + Thus, great King! are counted up the five felicities of life. + For the son the sire is honored; though the bow-cane bendeth true, + Let the strained string crack in using, and what service shall it do?" + +"Nevertheless," mused the King, "I know it is urged that human efforts +are useless: as, for instance-- + + "That which will not be, will not be--and what is to be, will be:-- + Why not drink this easy physic, antidote of misery?" + +"But then that comes from idleness, with people who will not do what +they should do. Rather, + + "Nay! and faint not, idly sighing, 'Destiny is mightiest,' + Sesamum holds oil in plenty, but it yieldeth none unpressed. + Ah! it is the Coward's babble, 'Fortune taketh, Fortune gave;' + Fortune! rate her like a master, and she serves thee like a slave." + +"For indeed, + + "Twofold is the life we live in--Fate and Will together run:-- + Two wheels bear life's chariot onward--will it move on only one?" + +"And + + "Look! the clay dries into iron, but the potter moulds the clay:-- + Destiny to-day is master--Man was master yesterday." + +"So verily, + + "Worthy ends come not by wishing. Wouldst thou? Up, and win it, then! + While the hungry lion slumbers, not a deer comes to his den." + +Having concluded his reflections, the Raja gave orders to assemble a +meeting of learned men. Then said he-- + +"Hear now, O my Pundits! Is there one among you so wise that he will +undertake to give the second birth of Wisdom to these my sons, by +teaching them the Books of Policy; for they have never yet read the +Sacred Writings, and are altogether going in the wrong road; and ye know +that + + "Silly glass, in splendid settings, something of the gold may gain; + And in company of wise ones, fools to wisdom may attain." + +Then uprose a great Sage, by name Vishnu-Sarman, learned in the +principles of Policy as is the angel of the planet Jupiter himself, and +he said-- + +"My Lord King, I will undertake to teach these princes Policy, seeing +they are born of a great house; for-- + + "Labors spent on the unworthy, of reward the laborer balk; + Like the parrot, teach the heron twenty times, he will not talk." + +"But in this royal family the offspring are royal-minded, and in six +moons I will engage to make your Majesty's sons comprehend Policy." + +The Raja replied, with condescension:-- + + "On the eastern mountains lying, common things shine in the sun, + And by learned minds enlightened, lower minds may show as one." + +"And you, worshipful sir, are competent to teach my children the rules +of Policy." + +So saying, with much graciousness, he gave the Princes into the charge +of Vishnu-Sarman; and that sage, by way of introduction, spake to the +Princes, as they sat at ease on the balcony of the palace, in this +wise:-- + +"Hear now, my Princes! for the delectation of your Highnesses, I purpose +to tell the tale of the Crow, the Tortoise, the Deer, and the Mouse." + +"Pray, sir," said the King's sons, "let us hear it." + +Vishnu-Sarman answered-- + +"It begins with the Winning of Friends; and this is the first verse of +it:-- + + "Sans way or wealth, wise friends their purpose gain-- + The Mouse, Crow, Deer, and Tortoise make this plain." + + +[2] The Vedas are the holy books of India. They are four in number: The +Rig-Veda, Yajur-Veda, Sama-Veda, and Atharva-Veda. + + + + +THE WINNING OF FRIENDS + + + Sans way or wealth, wise friends their purpose gain-- + The Mouse, Crow, Deer, and Tortoise make this plain." + +"However was that?" asked the Princes. + +Vishnu-Sarman replied:-- + +"On the banks of the Godavery there stood a large silk-cotton-tree, and +thither at night, from all quarters and regions, the birds came to +roost. Now once, when the night was just spent, and his Radiance the +Moon, Lover of the white lotus, was about to retire behind the western +hills, a Crow who perched there, 'Light o' Leap' by name, upon +awakening, saw to his great wonder a fowler approaching--a second God of +Death. The sight set him reflecting, as he flew off uneasily to follow +up the man's movements, and he began to think what mischief this +ill-omened apparition foretold. + + "For a thousand thoughts of sorrow, and a hundred things of dread, + By the wise unheeded, trouble day by day the foolish head." + +And yet in this life it must be that + + "Of the day's impending dangers, Sickness, Death, and Misery, + One will be; the wise man waking, ponders which that one will be." + +Presently the fowler fixed a net, scattered grains of rice about, and +withdrew to hide. At this moment "Speckle-neck," King of the Pigeons, +chanced to be passing through the sky with his Court, and caught sight +of the rice-grains. Thereupon the King of the Pigeons asked of his +rice-loving followers, 'How can there possibly be rice-grains lying here +in an unfrequented forest? We will see into it, of course, but We like +not the look of it--love of rice may ruin us, as the Traveller was +ruined. + + "All out of longing for a golden bangle, + The Tiger, in the mud, the man did mangle." + +"How did that happen?" asked the Pigeons. + + +THE STORY OF THE TIGER AND THE TRAVELLER + +"Thus," replied Speckle-neck: "I was pecking about one day in the Deccan +forest, and saw an old tiger sitting newly bathed on the bank of a pool, +like a Brahman, and with holy kuskus-grass[3] in his paws. + +'Ho! ho! ye travellers,' he kept calling out, 'take this golden bangle!' + +Presently a covetous fellow passed by and heard him. + +'Ah!' thought he, 'this is a bit of luck--but I must not risk my neck +for it either. + + "Good things come not out of bad things; wisely leave a longed-for ill. + Nectar being mixed with poison serves no purpose but to kill." + +'But all gain is got by risk, so I will see into it at least;' then he +called out, 'Where is thy bangle?' + +The Tiger stretched forth his paw and exhibited it. + +'Hem!' said the Traveller, 'can I trust such a fierce brute as thou +art?' + +'Listen,' replied the Tiger, 'once, in the days of my cub-hood, I know I +was very wicked. I killed cows, Brahmans, and men without number--and I +lost my wife and children for it--and haven't kith or kin left. But +lately I met a virtuous man who counselled me to practise the duty of +almsgiving--and, as thou seest, I am strict at ablutions and alms. +Besides, I am old, and my nails and fangs are gone--so who would +mistrust me? and I have so far conquered selfishness, that I keep the +golden bangle for whoso comes. Thou seemest poor! I will give it thee. +Is it not said, + + 'Give to poor men, son of Kûnti--on the wealthy waste not wealth; + Good are simples for the sick man, good for nought to him in health.' + +'Wade over the pool, therefore, and take the bangle,' + +Thereupon the covetous Traveller determined to trust him, and waded into +the pool, where he soon found himself plunged in mud, and unable to +move. + +'Ho! ho!' says the Tiger, 'art thou stuck in a slough? stay, I will +fetch thee out!' + +So saying he approached the wretched man and seized him--who meanwhile +bitterly reflected-- + + 'Be his Scripture-learning wondrous, yet the cheat will be a cheat; + Be her pasture ne'er so bitter, yet the cow's milk will be sweet.' + +And on that verse, too-- + + 'Trust not water, trust not weapons; trust not clawed nor horned + things; + Neither give thy soul to women, nor thy life to Sons of Kings.' + +And those others-- + + 'Look! the Moon, the silver roamer, from whose splendor darkness flies + With his starry cohorts marching, like a crowned king through the + skies. + All the grandeur, all the glory, vanish in the Dragon's jaw; + What is written on the forehead, that will be, and nothing more,' + +Here his meditations were cut short by the Tiger devouring him. "And +that," said Speckle-neck, "is why we counselled caution." + +"Why, yes!" said a certain pigeon, with some presumption, "but you've +read the verse-- + + 'Counsel in danger; of it + Unwarned, be nothing begun. + But nobody asks a Prophet + Shall the risk of a dinner be run?' + +Hearing that, the Pigeons settled at once; for we know that + + "Avarice begetteth anger; blind desires from her begin; + A right fruitful mother is she of a countless spawn of sin.' + +And again, + + 'Can a golden Deer have being? yet for such the Hero pined:-- + When the cloud of danger hovers, then its shadow dims the mind.' + +Presently they were caught in the net. Thereat, indeed, they all began +to abuse the pigeon by whose suggestion they had been ensnared. It is +the old tale! + + "Be second and not first!--the share's the same + If all go well. If not, the Head's to blame." + +And we should remember that + + "Passion will be Slave or Mistress: follow her, she brings to woe; + Lead her, 'tis the way to Fortune. Choose the path that thou wilt go." + +When King Speckle-neck heard their reproaches, he said, "No, no! it is +no fault of his. + +'When the time of trouble cometh, friends may ofttimes irk us most: For +the calf at milking-hour the mother's leg is tying-post.' + +'And in disaster, dismay is a coward's quality; let us rather rely on +fortitude, and devise some remedy. How saith the sage? + + "In good fortune not elated, in ill-fortune not dismayed, + Ever eloquent in council, never in the fight affrayed-- + Proudly emulous of honor, steadfastly on wisdom set; + Perfect virtues in the nature of a noble soul are met. + Whoso hath them, gem and glory of the three wide worlds[4] is he; + Happy mother she that bore him, she who nursed him on her knee." + +"Let us do this now directly," continued the King: "at one moment and +with one will, rising under the net, let us fly off with it: for indeed + + 'Small things wax exceeding mighty, being cunningly combined:-- + Furious elephants are fastened with a rope of grass-blades twined.' + +"And it is written, you know, + + 'Let the household hold together, though the house be ne'er so small; + Strip the rice-husk from the rice-grain, and it groweth not at all.' + +Having pondered this advice, the Pigeons adopted it; and flew away with +the net. At first the fowler, who was at a distance, hoped to recover +them, but as they passed out of sight with the snare about them he gave +up the pursuit. Perceiving this, the Pigeons said, + +"What is the next thing to be done, O King?" + +"A friend of mine," said Speckle-neck, "lives near in a beautiful forest +on the Gundaki. Golden-skin is his name--the King of the Mice--he is the +one to cut these bonds." + +Resolving to have recourse to him, they directed their flight to the +hole of Golden-skin--a prudent monarch, who dreaded danger so much that +he had made himself a palace with a hundred outlets, and lived always in +it. Sitting there he heard the descent of the pigeons, and remained +silent and alarmed. + +"Friend Golden-skin," cried the King, "have you no welcome for us?" + +"Ah, my friend!" said the Mouse-king, rushing out on recognizing the +voice, "is it thou art come, Speckle-neck! how delightful!--But what is +this?" exclaimed he, regarding the entangled net. + +"That," said King Speckle-neck, "is the effect of some wrong-doing in a +former life-- + + 'Sickness, anguish, bonds, and woe + Spring from wrongs wrought long ago,'[5] + +Golden-skin, without replying, ran at once to the net, and began to gnaw +the strings that held Speckle-neck. + +"Nay! friend, not so," said the King, "cut me first these meshes from my +followers, and afterwards thou shalt sever mine." + +"I am little," answered Golden-skin, "and my teeth are weak--how can I +gnaw so much? No! no! I will nibble your strings as long as my teeth +last, and afterwards do my best for the others. To preserve dependents +by sacrificing oneself is nowhere enjoined by wise moralists; on the +contrary-- + + 'Keep wealth for want, but spend-it for thy wife, + And wife, and wealth, and all to guard thy life,' + +"Friend," replied King Speckle-neck, "that may be the rule of policy, +but I am one that can by no means bear to witness the distress of those +who depend on me, for-- + + 'Death, that must come, comes nobly when we give + Our wealth, and life, and all, to make men live,' + +And you know the verse, + + 'Friend, art thou faithful? guard mine honor so! + And let the earthy rotting body go,'" + +When King Golden-skin heard this answer his heart was charmed, and his +fur bristled up for pure pleasure. "Nobly spoken, friend," said he, +"nobly spoken! with such a tenderness for those that look to thee, the +Sovereignty of the Three Worlds might be fitly thine." So saying he set +himself to cut all their bonds. This done, and the pigeons extricated, +the King of the Mice[6] gave them his formal welcome. "But, your +Majesty," he said, "this capture in the net was a work of destiny; you +must not blame yourself as you did, and suspect a former fault. Is it +not written-- + + 'Floating on his fearless pinions, lost amid the noon-day skies, + Even thence the Eagle's vision kens the carcase where it lies; + But the hour that comes to all things comes unto the Lord of Air, + And he rushes, madly blinded, to his ruin in the snare,'" + +With this correction Golden-skin proceeded to perform the duties of +hospitality, and afterwards, embracing and dismissing them, the pigeons +left for such destination as they fancied, and the King of the Mice +retired again into his hole. + +Now Light o' Leap, the Crow, had been a spectator of the whole +transaction, and wondered at it so much that at last he called out, "Ho! +Golden-skin, thou very laudable Prince, let me too be a friend of thine, +and give me thy friendship." + +"Who art thou?" said Golden-skin, who heard him, but would not come out +of his hole. + +"I am the Crow Light o' Leap," replied the other. + +"How can I possibly be on good terms with thee?" answered Golden-skin +with a laugh; "have you never read-- + + 'When Food is friends with Feeder, look for Woe, + The Jackal ate the Deer, but for the Crow,' + +"No! how was that?" + +"I will tell thee," replied Golden-skin:-- + + +THE STORY OF THE JACKAL, DEER, AND CROW + +"Far away in Behar there is a forest called Champak-Grove,[7] and in it +had long lived in much affection a Deer and a Crow. The Deer, roaming +unrestrained, happy and fat of carcase, was one day descried by a +Jackal. 'Ho! ho!' thought the Jackal on observing him, 'if I could but +get this soft meat for a meal! It might be--if I can only win his +confidence,' Thus reflecting he approached, and saluted him. + +'Health be to thee, friend Deer!' + +'Who art thou?' said the Deer. + +'I'm Small-wit, the Jackal,' replied the other. 'I live in the wood +here, as the dead do, without a friend; but now that I have met with +such a friend as thou, I feel as if I were beginning life again with +plenty of relations. Consider me your faithful servant.' + +'Very well,' said the Deer; and then, as the glorious King of Day, whose +diadem is the light, had withdrawn himself, the two went together to the +residence of the Deer. In that same spot, on a branch of Champak, dwelt +the Crow Sharp-sense, an old friend of the Deer. Seeing them approach +together, the Crow said, + +'Who is this number two, friend Deer?' + +'It is a Jackal,' answered the Deer, 'that desires our acquaintance.' + +'You should not become friendly to a stranger without reason,' said +Sharp-sense. 'Don't you know?' + + "To folks by no one known house-room deny:-- + The Vulture housed the Cat, and thence did die." + +'No! how was that?' said both. + +'In this wise,' answered the Crow. + + +THE STORY OF THE VULTURE, THE CAT, AND THE BIRDS + +"On the banks of the Ganges there is a cliff called Vulture-Crag, and +thereupon grew a great fig-tree. It was hollow, and within its shelter +lived an old Vulture, named Grey-pate, whose hard fortune it was to have +lost both eyes and talons. The birds that roosted in the tree made +subscriptions from their own store, out of sheer pity for the poor +fellow, and by that means he managed to live. One day, when the old +birds were gone, Long-ear, the Cat, came there to get a meal of the +nestlings; and they, alarmed at perceiving him, set up a chirruping that +roused Grey-pate. + +'Who comes there?' croaked Grey-pate. + +"Now Long-ear, on espying the Vulture, thought himself undone; but as +flight was impossible, he resolved to trust his destiny and approach. + +'My lord,' said he, 'I have the honor to salute thee.' + +'Who is it?' said the Vulture. + +'I am a Cat,' + +'Be off, Cat, or I shall slay thee,' said the Vulture. + +'I am ready to die if I deserve death,' answered the Cat; 'but let what +I have to say be heard,' + +'Wherefore, then, comest thou?' said the Vulture. + +'I live,' began Long-ear, 'on the Ganges, bathing, and eating no flesh, +practising the moon-penance,[8] like a Bramacharya. The birds that +resort thither constantly praise your worship to me as one wholly given +to the study of morality, and worthy of all trust; and so I came here to +learn law from thee, Sir, who art so deep gone in learning and in years. +Dost thou, then, so read the law of strangers as to be ready to slay a +guest? What say the books about the householder?-- + + 'Bar thy door not to the stranger, be he friend or be he foe, + For the tree will shade the woodman while his axe doth lay it low,' + +And if means fail, what there is should be given with kind words, as-- + + 'Greeting fair, and room to rest in; fire, and water from the well-- + Simple gifts--are given freely in the house where good men dwell,'-- + +and without respect of person-- + + 'Young, or bent with many winters; rich, or poor, whate'er thy guest, + Honor him for thine own honor--better is he than the best,' + +Else comes the rebuke-- + + 'Pity them that ask thy pity: who art thou to stint thy hoard, + When the holy moon shines equal on the leper and the lord!' + +And that other, too, + + 'When thy gate is roughly fastened, and the asker turns away, + Thence he bears thy good deeds with him, and his sins on thee doth lay + +For verily, + + 'In the house the husband ruleth, men the Brahmans "master" call; + Agni is the Twice-born Master--but the guest is lord of all,' + +"To these weighty words Grey-pate answered, + +'Yes! but cats like meat, and there are young birds here, and therefore +I said, go,' + +'Sir,' said the Cat (and as he spoke he touched the ground, and then his +two ears, and called on Krishna to witness to his words), 'I that have +overcome passion, and practised the moon-penance, know the Scriptures; +and howsoever they contend, in this primal duty of abstaining from +injury they are unanimous. Which of them sayeth not-- + + 'He who does and thinks no wrong-- + He who suffers, being strong-- + He whose harmlessness men know-- + Unto Swerga such doth go.' + +"And so, winning the old Vulture's confidence, Long-ear, the Cat, +entered the hollow tree and lived there. And day after day he stole away +some of the nestlings, and brought them down to the hollow to devour. +Meantime the parent birds, whose little ones were being eaten, made an +inquiry after them in all quarters; and the Cat, discovering this fact, +slipped out from the hollow, and made his escape. Afterwards, when the +birds came to look closely, they found the bones of their young ones in +the hollow of the tree where Grey-pate lived; and the birds at once +concluded that their nestlings had been killed and eaten by the old +Vulture, whom they accordingly executed. That is my story, and why I +warned you against unknown acquaintances." + +"Sir," said the Jackal, with some warmth, "on the first day of your +encountering the Deer you also were of unknown family and character: how +is it, then, that your friendship with him grows daily greater? True, I +am only Small-wit, the Jackal, but what says the saw?-- + + "In the land where no wise men are, men of little wit are lords; + And the castor-oil's a tree, where no tree else its shade affords." + +The Deer is my friend; condescend, sir, to be my friend also." + +'Oh!' broke in the Deer, 'why so much talking? We'll all live together, +and be friendly and happy-- + + 'Foe is friend, and friend is foe, + As our actions make them so,' + +"Very good," said Sharp-sense; "as you will;" and in the morning each +started early for his own feeding-ground (returning at night). One day +the Jackal drew the Deer aside, and whispered, 'Deer, in one corner of +this wood there is a field full of sweet young wheat; come and let me +show you.' The Deer accompanied him, and found the field, and afterwards +went every day there to eat the green corn, till at last the owner of +the ground spied him and set a snare. The Deer came again very shortly, +and was caught in it, and (after vainly struggling) exclaimed, 'I am +fast in the net, and it will be a net of death to me if no friend comes +to rescue me!' Presently Small-wit, the Jackal, who had been lurking +near, made his appearance, and standing still, he said to himself, with +a chuckle, 'O ho! my scheme bears fruit! When he is cut up, his bones, +and gristle, and blood, will fall to my share and make me some beautiful +dinners,' The Deer, here catching sight of him, exclaimed with rapture, +'Ah, friend, this is excellent! Do but gnaw these strings, and I shall +be at liberty. How charming to realize the saying!-- + + 'That friend only is the true friend who is near when trouble comes; + That man only is the brave man who can bear the battle-drums; + Words are wind; deed proveth promise: he who helps at need is kin; + And the leal wife is loving though the husband lose or win,' + +And is it not written-- + + 'Friend and kinsman--more their meaning than the idle-hearted mind. + Many a friend can prove unfriendly, many a kinsman less than kind: + He who shares his comrade's portion, be he beggar, be he lord, + Comes as truly, comes as duly, to the battle as the board-- + Stands before the king to succor, follows to the pile to sigh-- + He is friend, and he is kinsman--less would make the name a lie.' + +"Small-wit answered nothing, but betook himself to examining the snare +very closely. + +'This will certainly hold,' muttered he; then, turning to the Deer, he +said, 'Good friend, these strings, you see, are made of sinew, and +to-day is a fast-day, so that I cannot possibly bite them. To-morrow +morning, if you still desire it, I shall be happy to serve you,' + +When he was gone, the Crow, who had missed the Deer upon returning that +evening, and had sought for him everywhere, discovered him; and seeing +his sad plight, exclaimed-- + +'How came this about, my friend?' + +'This came,' replied the Deer, 'through disregarding a friend's advice,' + +'Where is that rascal Small-wit?' asked the Crow. + +'He is waiting somewhere by,' said the Deer, 'to taste my flesh,' + +'Well,' sighed the Crow, 'I warned you; but it is as in the true verse-- + + 'Stars gleam, lamps flicker, friends foretell of fate; + The fated sees, knows, hears them--all too late.' + +And then, with a deeper sigh, he exclaimed,'Ah, traitor Jackal, what an +ill deed hast thou done! Smooth-tongued knave--alas!--and in the face of +the monition too-- + + 'Absent, flatterers' tongues are daggers--present, softer than the + silk; + Shun them! 'tis a jar of poison hidden under harmless milk; + Shun them when they promise little! Shun them when they promise much! + For, enkindled, charcoal burneth--cold, it doth defile the touch.' + +When the day broke, the Crow (who was still there) saw the master of the +field approaching with his club in his hand. + +'Now, friend Deer,' said Sharp-sense on perceiving him, 'do thou cause +thyself to seem like one dead: puff thy belly up with wind, stiffen thy +legs out, and lie very still. I will make a show of pecking thine eyes +out with my beak; and whensoever I utter a croak, then spring to thy +feet and betake thee to flight.' + +The Deer thereon placed himself exactly as the Crow suggested, and was +very soon espied by the husbandman, whose eyes opened with joy at the +sight. + +'Aha!' said he, 'the fellow has died of himself,' and so speaking, he +released the Deer from the snare, and proceeded to gather and lay aside +his nets. At that instant Sharp-sense uttered a loud croak, and the Deer +sprang up and made off. And the club which the husbandman flung after +him in a rage struck Small-wit, the Jackal (who was close by), and +killed him. Is it not said, indeed?-- + + 'In years, or moons, or half-moons three, + Or in three days--suddenly, + Knaves are shent--true men go free,' + +"Thou seest, then," said Golden-skin, "there can be no friendship +between food and feeder." + +"I should hardly," replied the Crow, "get a large breakfast out of your +worship; but as to that indeed you have nothing to fear from me. I am +not often angry, and if I were, you know-- + + 'Anger comes to noble natures, but leaves there no strife or storm: + Plunge a lighted torch beneath it, and the ocean grows not warm.' + +"Then, also, thou art such a gad-about," objected the King. + +"Maybe," answered Light o' Leap; "but I am bent on winning thy +friendship, and I will die at thy door of fasting if thou grantest it +not. Let us be friends! for + + 'Noble hearts are golden vases--close the bond true metals make; + Easily the smith may weld them, harder far it is to break. + Evil hearts are earthen vessels--at a touch they crack a-twain, + And what craftsman's ready cunning can unite the shards again?' + +And then, too, + + 'Good men's friendships may be broken, yet abide they friends at heart; + Snap the stem of Luxmee's lotus, and its fibres will not part.' + +"Good sir," said the King of the Mice, "your conversation is as pleasing +as pearl necklets or oil of sandal-wood in hot weather. Be it as you +will"--and thereon King Golden-skin made a treaty with the Crow, and +after gratifying him with the best of his store reëntered his hole. The +Crow returned to his accustomed perch:--and thenceforward the time +passed in mutual presents of food, in polite inquiries, and the most +unrestrained talk. One day Light o' Leap thus accosted Golden-skin:-- + +"This is a poor place, your Majesty, for a Crow to get a living in. I +should like to leave it and go elsewhere." + +"Whither wouldst thou go?" replied the King; they say, + + 'One foot goes, and one foot stands, + When the wise man leaves his lands.' + +"And they say, too," answered the Crow, + + 'Over-love of home were weakness; wheresoever the hero come, + Stalwart arm and steadfast spirit find or win for him a home. + + Little recks the awless lion where his hunting jungles lie-- + When he enters it be certain that a royal prey shall die,' + +"I know an excellent jungle now." + +"Which is that?" asked the Mouse-king. + +"In the Nerbudda woods, by Camphor-water," replied the Crow. "There is +an old and valued friend of mine lives there--Slow-toes his name is, a +very virtuous Tortoise; he will regale me with fish and good things." + +"Why should I stay behind," said Golden-skin, "if thou goest? Take me +also." + +Accordingly, the two set forth together, enjoying charming converse upon +the road. Slow-toes perceived Light o' Leap a long way off, and hastened +to do him the guest-rites, extending them to the Mouse upon Light o' +Leap's introduction. + +"Good Slow-toes," said he, "this is Golden-skin, King of the Mice--pay +all honor to him--he is burdened with virtues--a very jewel-mine of +kindnesses. I don't know if the Prince of all the Serpents, with his two +thousand tongues, could rightly repeat them." So speaking, he told the +story of Speckle-neck. Thereupon Slow-toes made a profound obeisance to +Golden-skin, and said, "How came your Majesty, may I ask, to retire to +an unfrequented forest?" + +"I will tell you," said the King. "You must know that in the town of +Champaka there is a college for the devotees. Unto this resorted daily a +beggar-priest, named Chudakarna, whose custom was to place his +begging-dish upon the shelf, with such alms in it as he had not eaten, +and go to sleep by it; and I, so soon as he slept, used to jump up, and +devour the meal. One day a great friend of his, named Vinakarna, also a +mendicant, came to visit him; and observed that while conversing, he +kept striking the ground with a split cane, to frighten me. 'Why don't +you listen?' said Vinakarna. 'I am listening!' replied the other; 'but +this plaguy mouse is always eating the meal out of my begging-dish,' +Vinakarna looked at the shelf and remarked, 'However can a mouse jump as +high as this? There must be a reason, though there seems none. I guess +the cause--the fellow is well off and fat,' With these words Vinakarna +snatched up a shovel, discovered my retreat, and took away all my hoard +of provisions. After that I lost strength daily, had scarcely energy +enough to get my dinner, and, in fact, crept about so wretchedly, that +when Chudakarna saw me he fell to quoting-- + + 'Very feeble folk are poor folk; money lost takes wit away:-- + All their doings fail like runnels, wasting through the summer day.' + +"Yes!" I thought, "he is right, and so are the sayings-- + + 'Wealth is friends, home, father, brother--title to respect and fame; + Yea, and wealth is held for wisdom--that it should be so is shame,' + 'Home is empty to the childless; hearts to them who friends deplore:-- + Earth unto the idle-minded; and the three worlds to the poor.' + +'I can stay here no longer; and to tell my distress to another is out of +the question--altogether out of the question!-- + + 'Say the sages, nine things name not: Age, domestic joys and woes, + Counsel, sickness, shame, alms, penance; neither Poverty disclose. + Better for the proud of spirit, death, than life with losses told; + Fire consents to be extinguished, but submits not to be cold.' + +'Verily he was wise, methought also, who wrote-- + + 'As Age doth banish beauty, + As moonlight dies in gloom, + As Slavery's menial duty + Is Honor's certain tomb; + As Hari's name and Hara's + Spoken, charm sin away, + So Poverty can surely + A hundred virtues slay.' + +'And as to sustaining myself on another man's bread, that,' I mused, +'would be but a second door of death. Say not the books the same?-- + + 'Half-known knowledge, present pleasure purchased with a future woe, + And to taste the salt of service--greater griefs no man can know.' + +'And herein, also-- + + 'All existence is not equal, and all living is not life; + Sick men live; and he who, banished, pines for children, home, and + wife; + And the craven-hearted eater of another's leavings lives, + And the wretched captive waiting for the word of doom survives; + But they bear an anguished body, and they draw a deadly breath, + And life cometh to them only on the happy day of death.' + +Yet, after all these reflections, I was covetous enough to make one +more attempt on Chudakarna's meal, and got a blow from the split cane +for my pains. 'Just so,' I said to myself, 'the soul and organs of the +discontented want keeping in subjection. I must be done with +discontent:-- + +'Golden gift, serene Contentment! have thou that, and all is had; Thrust +thy slipper on, and think thee that the earth is leather-clad.' + +'All is known, digested, tested; nothing new is left to learn When the +soul, serene, reliant, Hope's delusive dreams can spurn.' + +'And the sorry task of seeking favor is numbered in the miseries of +life-- + +'Hast thou never watched, a-waiting till the great man's door unbarred? +Didst thou never linger parting, saying many a last sad word? Spak'st +thou never word of folly, one light thing thou wouldst recall? Rare and +noble hath thy life been! fair thy fortune did befall!' + +'No!' exclaimed I, 'I will do none of these; but, by retiring into the +quiet and untrodden forest, I will show my discernment of real good and +ill. The holy Books counsel it-- + +'True Religion!--'tis not blindly prating what the priest may prate, But +to love, as God hath loved them, all things, be they small or great; And +true bliss is when a sane mind doth a healthy body fill; And true +knowledge is the knowing what is good and what is ill.' + +"So came I to the forest, where, by good fortune and this good friend, I +met much kindness; and by the same good fortune have encountered you, +Sir, whose friendliness is as Heaven to me. Ah! Sir Tortoise, + + 'Poisonous though the tree of life be, two fair blossoms grow thereon: + One, the company of good men; and sweet songs of Poet's, one.' + +"King!" said Slow-toes, "your error was getting too much, without +giving. Give, says the sage-- + + 'Give, and it shall swell thy getting; give, and thou shalt safer keep: + Pierce the tank-wall; or it yieldeth, when the water waxes deep.' + +And he is very hard upon money-grubbing: as thus-- + + 'When the miser hides his treasure in the earth, he doeth well; + For he opens up a passage that his soul may sink to hell,' + + +And thus-- + + 'He whose coins are kept for counting, not to barter nor to give, + Breathe he like a blacksmith's bellows, yet in truth he doth not live.' + +It hath been well written, indeed, + + 'Gifts, bestowed with words of kindness, making giving doubly dear:-- + Wisdom, deep, complete, benignant, of all arrogancy clear; + Valor, never yet forgetful of sweet Mercy's pleading prayer; + Wealth, and scorn of wealth to spend it--oh! but these be virtues + rare!' + +"Frugal one may be," continued Slow-toes; "but not a niggard like the +Jackal-- + + 'The Jackal-knave, that starved his spirit so, + And died of saving, by a broken bow.' + +"Did he, indeed," said Golden-skin; "and how was that?" + +"I will tell you," answered Slow-toes:-- + + +THE STORY OF THE DEAD GAME AND THE JACKAL + +"In a town called 'Well-to-Dwell' there lived a mighty hunter, whose +name was 'Grim-face,' Feeling a desire one day for a little venison, he +took his bow, and went into the woods; where he soon killed a deer. As +he was carrying the deer home, he came upon a wild boar of prodigious +proportions. Laying the deer upon the earth, he fixed and discharged an +arrow and struck the boar, which instantly rushed upon him with a roar +louder than the last thunder, and ripped the hunter up. He fell like a +tree cut by the axe, and lay dead along with the boar, and a snake also, +which had been crushed by the feet of the combatants. Not long +afterwards, there came that way, in his prowl for food, a Jackal, named +'Howl o' Nights,' and cast eyes on the hunter, the deer, the boar, and +the snake lying dead together. 'Aha!' said he, 'what luck! Here's a +grand dinner got ready for me! Good fortune can come, I see, as well as +ill fortune. Let me think:--the man will be fine pickings for a month; +the deer with the boar will last two more; the snake will do for +to-morrow; and, as I am very particularly hungry, I will treat myself +now to this bit of meat on the bow-horn,' So saying, he began to gnaw it +asunder, and the bow-string slipping, the bow sprang back, and resolved +Howl o' Nights into the five elements by death. That is my story," +continued Slow-toes, "and its application is for the wise:-- + + 'Sentences of studied wisdom, nought avail they unapplied; + Though the blind man hold a lantern, yet his footsteps stray aside.' + +The secret of success, indeed, is a free, contented, and yet +enterprising mind. How say the books thereon?-- + + 'Wouldst thou know whose happy dwelling Fortune entereth unknown? + His, who careless of her favor, standeth fearless in his own; + His, who for the vague to-morrow barters not the sure to-day-- + Master of himself, and sternly steadfast to the rightful way: + Very mindful of past service, valiant, faithful, true of heart-- + Unto such comes Lakshmi[9] smiling--comes, and will not lightly part.' + +"What indeed," continued Slow-toes, "is wealth, that we should prize it, +or grieve to lose it?-- + + 'Be not haughty, being wealthy; droop not, having lost thine all; + Fate doth play with mortal fortunes as a girl doth toss her ball.' + +It is unstable by nature. We are told-- + + 'Worldly friendships, fair but fleeting, shadows of the clouds at noon + Women, youth, new corn, and riches--these be pleasures passing soon.' + +And it is idle to be anxious; the Master of Life knows how to sustain +it. Is it not written?-- + + 'For thy bread be not o'er thoughtful--God for all hath taken thought: + When the babe is born, the sweet milk to the mother's breast is + brought. + + He who gave the swan her silver, and the hawk her plumes of pride, + And his purples to the peacock--He will verily provide.' + +"Yes, verily," said Slow-toes, "wealth is bad to handle, and better left +alone; there is no truer saying than this-- + + 'Though for good ends, waste not on wealth a minute; + Mud may be wiped, but wise men plunge not in it.' + +Hearing the wisdom of these monitions, Light o' Leap broke out, 'Good +Slow-toes! thou art a wise protector of those that come to thee; thy +learning comforts my enlightened friend, as elephants drag elephants +from the mire,' And thus, on the best of terms, wandering where they +pleased for food, the three lived there together. + +One day it chanced that a Deer named Dapple-back, who had seen some +cause of alarm in the forest, came suddenly upon the three in his +flight. Thinking the danger imminent, Slow-toes dropped into the water, +King Golden-skin slipped into his hole, and Light o' Leap flew up into +the top of a high tree. Thence he looked all round to a great distance, +but could discover nothing. So they all came back again, and sat down +together. Slow-toes welcomed the Deer. + +'Good Deer,' said he, 'may grass and water never fail thee at thy need. +Gratify us by residing here, and consider this forest thine own.' + +'Indeed,' answered Dapple-back, 'I came hither for your protection, +flying from a hunter; and to live with you in friendship is my greatest +desire.' + +'Then the thing is settled,' observed Golden-skin. + +'Yes! yes!' said Light o' Leap, 'make yourself altogether at home!' + +So the Deer, charmed at his reception, ate grass and drank water, and +laid himself down in the shade of a Banyan-tree to talk. Who does not +know?-- + + 'Brunettes, and the Banyan's shadow, + Well-springs, and a brick-built wall. + Are all alike cool in the summer, + And warm in the winter--all.' + +'What made thee alarmed, friend Deer?' began Slow-toes. 'Do hunters ever +come to this unfrequented forest?' + +'I have heard,' replied Dapple-back, 'that the Prince of the Kalinga +country, Rukmangada, is coming here. He is even now encamped on the +Cheenab River, on his march to subjugate the borders; and the hunters +have been heard to say that he will halt to-morrow by this very lake of +"Camphor-water." Don't you think, as it is dangerous to stay, that we +ought to resolve on something?' + +'I shall certainly go to another pool,' exclaimed Slow-toes. + +'It would be better,' answered the Crow and Deer together. + +'Yes!' remarked the King of the Mice, after a minute's thought; 'but how +is Slow-toes to get across the country in time? Animals like our +amphibious host are best in the water; on land he might suffer from his +own design, like the merchant's son-- + + 'The merchant's son laid plans for gains, + And saw his wife kissed for his pains.' + +'How came that about?' asked all. "I'll tell you," answered Golden-skin. + + +THE PRINCE AND THE WIFE OF THE MERCHANT'S SON + +"In the country of Kanouj there was a King named Virasena, and he made +his son viceroy of a city called Virapoora. The Prince was rich, +handsome, and in the bloom of youth. Passing through the streets of his +city one day, he observed a very lovely woman, whose name was +Lávanyavati--i.e., the Beautiful--the wife of a merchant's son. On +reaching his palace, full of her charms and of passionate admiration for +them, he despatched a message to her, and a letter, by a female +attendant:--who wonders at it?-- + + 'Ah! the gleaming, glancing arrows of a lovely woman's eye! + Feathered with her jetty lashes, perilous they pass us by:-- + Loosed at venture from the black bows of her arching brow they part, + All too penetrant and deadly for an undefended heart.' + +Now Lávanyavati, from the moment she saw the Prince, was hit with the +same weapon of love that wounded him; but upon hearing the message of +the attendant, she refused with dignity to receive his letter. + +'I am my husband's,' she said, 'and that is my honor; for-- + + 'Beautiful the Koíl[10] seemeth for the sweetness of his song, + Beautiful the world esteemeth pious souls for patience strong; + Homely features lack not favor when true wisdom they reveal, + And a wife is fair and honored while her heart is firm and leal.' + +What the lord of my life enjoins, that I do.' + +'Is such my answer?' asked the attendant. + +'It is,' said Lávanyavati. + +Upon the messenger reporting her reply to the Prince, he was in despair. + +'The God of the five shafts has hit me,' he exclaimed, 'and only her +presence will cure my wound.' + +'We must make her husband bring her, then,' said the messenger. + +'That can never be,' replied the Prince. + +'It can,' replied the messenger-- + + 'Fraud may achieve what force would never try:-- + The Jackal killed the Elephant thereby.' + +'How was that?' asked the Prince. The Slave related:-- + + +THE STORY OF THE OLD JACKAL AND THE ELEPHANT + +"In the forest of Brahma[11] lived an Elephant, whose name was +'White-front.' The Jackals knew him, and said among themselves, 'If this +great brute would but die, there would be four months' food for us, and +plenty, out of his carcase.' With that an old Jackal stood up, and +pledged himself to compass the death of the Elephant by his own wit. +Accordingly, he sought for 'White-front,' and, going up to him, he made +the reverential prostration of the eight members, gravely saluting him. + +'Divine creature,' said he, 'vouchsafe me the regard of one look.' + +'Who art thou?' grunted the Elephant,'and whence comest thou?' + +'I am only a Jackal,' said the other; 'but the beasts of the forest are +convinced that it is not expedient to live without a king, and they have +met in full council, and despatched me to acquaint your Royal Highness +that on you, endowed with so many lordly qualities, their choice has +fallen for a sovereign over the forest here; for-- + + 'Who is just, and strong, and wise? + Who is true to social ties? + He is formed for Emperies. + +Let your Majesty, therefore, repair thither at once, that the moment of +fortunate conjunction may not escape us.' So saying he led the way, +followed at a great pace by White-front, who was eager to commence his +reign. + +"Presently the Jackal brought him upon a deep slough, into which he +plunged heavily before he could stop himself. + +'Good master Jackal,' cried the Elephant,'what's to do now? I am up to +my belly in this quagmire.' + +'Perhaps your Majesty,' said the Jackal, with an impudent laugh, 'will +condescend to take hold of the tip of my brush with your trunk, and so +get out.' + +'Then White-front, the Elephant, knew that he had been deceived; and +thus he sank in the slime, and was devoured by the Jackals. Hence,' +continued the attendant, 'is why I suggested stratagem to your +Highness,' + +Shortly afterwards, by the Slave's advice, the Prince sent for the +merchant's son (whose name was Charudatta), and appointed him to be near +his person; and one day, with the same design, when he was just come +from the bath, and had on his jewels, he summoned Charudatta, and said-- + +"I have a vow to keep to Gauri--bring hither to me every evening for a +month some lady of good family, that I may do honor to her, according to +my vow; and begin to-day." + +Charudatta in due course brought a lady of quality, and, having +introduced her, retired to watch the interview. The Prince, without even +approaching his fair visitor, made her the most respectful obeisances, +and dismissed her with gifts of ornaments, sandal-wood, and perfumes, +under the protection of a guard. This made Charudatta confident, and +longing to get some of these princely presents he brought his own wife +next evening. When the Prince recognized the charming Lávanyavati--the +joy of his soul--he sprang to meet her, and kissed and caressed her +without the least restraint. At sight of this the miserable Charudatta +stood transfixed with despair--the very picture of wretchedness'---- + +'And you too, Slow-toes--but where is he gone?' abruptly asked King +Golden-skin. + +Now Slow-toes had not chosen to wait the end of the story, but was gone +before, and Golden-skin and the others followed him up in some anxiety. +The Tortoise had been painfully travelling along, until a hunter, who +was beating the wood for game, had overtaken him. The fellow, who was +very hungry, picked him up, fastened him on his bow-stick, and set off +for home; while the Deer, the Crow, and the Mouse, who had witnessed +the capture, followed them in terrible concern. 'Alas!' cried the +Mouse-king, 'he is gone!--and such a friend! + + 'Friend! gracious word!--the heart to tell is ill able + Whence came to men this jewel of a syllable.' + +'Let us,' continued he to his companions, 'let us make one attempt, at +least, to rescue Slow-toes before the hunter is out of the wood!' + +'Only tell us how to do it,' replied they. + +'Do thus,' said Golden-skin: 'let Dapple-back hasten on to the water, +and lie down there and make himself appear dead; and do you, Light o' +Leap, hover over him and peck about his body. The hunter is sure to put +the Tortoise down to get the venison, and I will gnaw his bonds.' + +'The Deer and the Crow started at once; and the hunter, who was sitting +down to rest under a tree and drinking water, soon caught sight of the +Deer, apparently dead. Drawing his wood-knife, and putting the Tortoise +down by the water, he hastened to secure the Deer, and Golden-skin, in +the meantime, gnawed asunder the string that held Slow-toes, who +instantly dropped into the pool. The Deer, of course, when the hunter +got near, sprang up and made off, and when he returned to the tree the +Tortoise was gone also. "I deserve this," thought he-- + + 'Whoso for greater quits his gain, + Shall have his labor for his pain; + The things unwon unwon remain, + And what was won is lost again.' + +And so lamenting, he went to his village. Slow-toes and his friends, +quit of all fears, repaired together to their new habitations, and there +lived happily. + +Then spake the King Sudarsana's sons, "We have heard every word, and are +delighted; it fell out just as we wished." + +"I rejoice thereat, my Princes," said Vishnu-Sarman; "may it also fall +out according to this my wish-- + + "Lakshmi give you friends like these! + Lakshmi keep your lands in ease! + Set, your sovereign thrones beside, + Policy, a winsome bride! + And He, whose forehead-jewel is the moon + Give peace to us and all--serene and soon." + + +[3] Used in many religious observances by the Hindoos. + +[4] Heaven, earth, and the lower regions. + +[5] The Hindoo accounts for the origin of evil by this theory of a +series of existences continued until the balance is just, and the soul +has purified itself. Every fault must have its expiation and every +higher faculty its development; pain and misery being signs of the +ordeals in the trial, which is to end in the happy re-absorption of the +emancipated spirit. + +[6] The mouse, as vehicle of Gunesh, is an important animal in Hindoo +legend. + +[7] The champak is a bushy tree, bearing a profusion of star-like +blossoms with golden centres, and of the most pleasing perfume. + +[8] A religious observance. The devotee commences the penance at the +full moon with an allowance of fifteen mouthfuls for his food, +diminishing this by one mouthful each day, till on the fifteenth it is +reduced to one. As the new moon increases, his allowance ascends to its +original proportion. + +[9] The wife of Vishnoo, Goddess of beauty and abundance. + +[10] The black or Indian cuckoo. + +[11] A grove where the Vedas are read and expounded. + + + + +THE PARTING OF FRIENDS + +Then spake the Royal Princes to Vishnu-Sarman, + +"Reverend Sir! we have listened to the 'Winning of Friends,' we would +now hear how friends are parted." + +"Attend, then," replied the Sage, "to 'the Parting of Friends,' the +first couplet of which runs in this wise-- + + 'The Jackal set--of knavish cunning full-- + At loggerheads the Lion and the Bull.' + +"How was that?" asked the sons of the Rajah. + +Vishnu-Sarman proceeded to relate:-- + + +THE STORY OF THE LION, THE JACKALS, AND THE BULL + +"In the Deccan there is a city called Golden-town, and a wealthy +merchant lived there named Well-to-do. He had abundant means, but as +many of his relations were even yet richer, his mind was bent: upon +outdoing them by gaining more. Enough is never what we have-- + + 'Looking down on lives below them, men of little store are great; + Looking up to higher fortunes, hard to each man seems his fate.' + +And is not wealth won by courage and enterprise?-- + + 'As a bride, unwisely wedded, shuns the cold caress of eld, + So, from coward souls and slothful, Lakshmi's favors turn repelled.' + + 'Ease, ill-health, home-keeping, sleeping, woman-service, and content-- + In the path that leads to greatness these be six obstructions sent.' + +And wealth that increases not, diminishes--a little gain is so far +good-- + + 'Seeing how the soorma wasteth, seeing how the ant-hill grows, + Little adding unto little--live, give, learn, as life-time goes.' + + 'Drops of water falling, falling, falling, brim the chatty o'er; + Wisdom comes in little lessons--little gains make largest store.' + +Moved by these reflections Well-to-do loaded a cart with wares of all +kinds, yoked two bulls to it, named Lusty-life and Roarer, and started +for Kashmir to trade. He had not gone far upon his journey when in +passing through a great forest called Bramble-wood, Lusty-life slipped +down and broke his foreleg. At sight of this disaster Well-to-do fell +a-thinking, and repeated-- + + 'Men their cunning schemes may spin-- + God knows who shall lose or win.' + +Comforting himself with such philosophy, Well-to-do left Lusty-life +there, and went on his way. The Bull watched him depart, and stood +mournfully on three legs, alone in the forest. 'Well, well,' he thought, +'it is all destiny whether I live or die:-- + + 'Shoot a hundred shafts, the quarry lives and flies--not due to death; + When his hour is come, a grass-blade hath a point to stop his breath.' + +As the days passed by, and Lusty-life picked about in the tender forest +grass, he grew wonderfully well, and fat of carcase, and happy, and +bellowed about the wood as though it were his own. Now, the reigning +monarch of the forest was King Tawny-hide the Lion, who ruled over the +whole country absolutely, by right of having deposed everybody else. Is +not might right?-- + + 'Robes were none, nor oil of unction, when the King of Beasts was + crowned:-- + 'Twas his own fierce roar proclaimed him, rolling all his kingdom + round.' + +One morning, his Majesty, being exceedingly thirsty, had repaired to the +bank of the Jumna to drink water, and just as he was about to lap it, +the bellow of Lusty-life, awful as the thunder of the last day, reached +the imperial ears. Upon catching the sound the King retreated in +trepidation to his own lair, without drinking a drop, and stood there in +silence and alarm revolving what it could mean. In this position he was +observed by the sons of his minister, two jackals named Karataka and +Damanaka, who began to remark upon it. + +'Friend Karataka,' said the last,'what makes our royal master slink away +from the river when he was dying to drink?' + +'Why should we care?' replied Karataka. 'It's bad enough to serve him, +and be neglected for our pains-- + + 'Oh, the bitter salt of service!--toil, frost, fire, are not so keen:-- + Half such heavy penance bearing, tender consciences were clean.' + +'Nay, friend! never think thus,' said Damanaka-- + + 'What but for their vassals, + Elephant and man-- + Swing of golden tassels, + Wave of silken fan-- + But for regal manner + That the "Chattra"[12] brings, + Horse, and foot, and banner-- + What would come of kings?' + +'I care not,' replied Karataka; 'we have nothing to do with it, and +matters that don't concern us are best left alone. You know the story of +the Monkey, don't you?'-- + + 'The Monkey drew the sawyer's wedge, and died:-- + Let meddlers mark it, and be edified.' + +'No!' said Damanaka. 'How was it?' + +'In this way,' answered Karataka:-- + + +THE STORY OF THE MONKEY AND THE WEDGE + +"In South Behar, close by the retreat of Dhurmma, there was an open plot +of ground, upon which a temple was in course of erection, under the +management of a man of the Káyeth caste, named Subhadatta. A carpenter +upon the works had partly sawed through a long beam of wood, and wedged +it open, and was gone away, leaving the wedge fixed. Shortly afterwards +a large herd of monkeys came frolicking that way, and one of their +number, directed doubtless by the Angel of death, got astride the beam, +and grasped the wedge, with his tail and lower parts dangling down +between the pieces of the wood. Not content with this, in the mischief +natural to monkeys, he began to tug at the wedge; till at last it +yielded to a great effort and came out; when the wood closed upon him, +and jammed him all fast. So perished the monkey, miserably crushed; and +I say again-- + + 'Let meddlers mark it, and be edified.' + +'But surely,' argued Damanaka, 'servants are bound to watch the +movements of their masters!' + +'Let the prime minister do it, then,' answered Karataka; 'it is his +business to overlook things, and subordinates shouldn't interfere in the +department of their chief. You might get ass's thanks for it-- + + 'The Ass that hee-hawed, when the dog should do it, + For his lord's welfare, like an ass did rue it.' + +Damanaka asked how that happened, and Karataka related:-- + + +THE STORY OF THE WASHERMAN'S JACKASS + +"There was a certain Washerman at Benares, whose name was Carpúrapataka, +and he had an Ass and a Dog in his courtyard; the first tethered, and +the last roaming loose. Once on a time, when he had been spending his +morning in the society of his wife, whom he had just married, and had +fallen to sleep in her arms, a robber entered the house, and began to +carry off his goods. The Ass observed the occupation of the thief, and +was much concerned. + +'Good Dog,' said he, 'this is thy matter: why dost thou not bark aloud, +and rouse the master?' + +'Gossip Ass,' replied the Dog, 'leave me alone to guard the premises. I +can do it, if I choose; but the truth is, this master of ours thinks +himself so safe lately that he clean forgets me, and I don't find my +allowance of food nearly regular enough. Masters will do so; and a +little fright will put him in mind of his defenders again.' + +'Thou scurvy cur!' exclaimed the Ass-- + +'At the work-time, asking wages--is it like a faithful herd?' + +'Thou extreme Ass!' replied the Dog. + +'When the work's done, grudging wages--is that acting like a lord?' + +'Mean-spirited beast,' retorted the Ass, 'who neglectest thy master's +business! Well, then, I at least will endeavor to arouse him; it is no +less than religion, + + 'Serve the Sun with sweat of body; starve thy maw to feed the flame; + Stead thy lord with all thy service; to thy death go, quit of blame.' + +So saying, he put forth his very best braying. The Washerman sprang up +at the noise, and missing the thief, turned in a rage upon the Ass for +disturbing him, and beat it with a cudgel to such an extent that the +blows resolved the poor animal into the five elements of death. 'So +that,' continued Karataka, 'is why I say, Let the prime minister look to +him. The hunting for prey is our duty--let us stick to it, then. And +this,' he said, with a meditative look, 'need not trouble us to-day; for +we have a capital dish of the royal leavings.' + +'What!' said Damanaka, rough with rage, 'dost thou serve the King for +the sake of thy belly? Why take any such trouble to preserve an +existence like thine?-- + + 'Many prayers for him are uttered whereon many a life relies; + 'Tis but one poor fool the fewer when the gulping Raven dies.' + +For assisting friends, and defeating enemies also, the service of kings +is desirable. To enter upon it for a mere living makes the thing low +indeed. There must be dogs and elephants; but servants need not be like +hungry curs, while their masters are noble. What say the books? + + 'Give thy Dog the merest mouthful, and he crouches at thy feet, + Wags his tail, and fawns, and grovels, in his eagerness to eat; + Bid the Elephant be feeding, and the best of fodder bring; + Gravely--after much entreaty--condescends that mighty king.' + +'Well, well!' said Karataka; 'the books are nothing to us, who are not +councillors.' + +'But we may come to be,' replied Damanaka; 'men rise, not by chance or +nature, but by exertions-- + + 'By their own deeds men go downward, by them men mount upward all, + Like the diggers of a well, and like the builders of a wall.' + +Advancement is slow--but that is in the nature of things-- + + 'Rushes down the hill the crag, which upward 'twas so hard to roll: + So to virtue slowly rises--so to vice quick sinks the soul.' + +'Very good,' observed Karataka; 'but what is all this talk about?' + +'Why! don't you see our Royal Master there, and how he came home without +drinking? I know he has been horribly frightened,' said Damanaka. + +'How do you know it?' asked the other. + +'By my perception--at a glance!' replied Damanaka; 'and I mean to make +out of this occasion that which shall put his Majesty at my disposal,' + +'Now,' exclaimed Karataka, 'it is thou who art ignorant about service-- + + 'Who speaks unasked, or comes unbid, + Or counts on favor--will be chid.' + +'I ignorant about service!' said Damanaka; 'no, no, my friend, I know +the secret of it-- + + 'Wise, modest, constant, ever close at hand, + Not weighing but obeying all command, + Such servant by a Monarch's throne may stand.' + +'In any case, the King often rates thee,' remarked Karataka, 'for coming +to the presence unsummoned.' + +'A dependent,' replied Damanaka, 'should nevertheless present himself; +he must make himself known to the great man, at any risk-- + + 'Pitiful, that fearing failure, therefore no beginning makes, + Who forswears his daily dinner for the chance of stomach-aches?' + +and besides, to be near is at last to be needful;--is it not said-- + + 'Nearest to the King is dearest, be thy merit low or high; + Women, creeping plants, and princes, twine round that which groweth + nigh.' + +'Well,' inquired Karataka, 'what wilt thou say, being come to him?' + +'First,' replied Damanaka, 'I will discover if his Majesty is well +affected to me.' + +'How do you compass that?' asked the other. + +'Oh, easily! by a look, a word,' answered Damanaka; 'and that +ascertained, I will proceed to speak what will put him at my disposal.' + +'I can't see how you can venture to speak,' objected the other, +'without an opportunity-- + + 'If Vrihaspati, the Grave, + Spoke a sentence out of season, + Even Vrihaspati would have + Strong rebuke for such unreason.' + +'Pray don't imagine I shall speak unseasonably,' interrupted Damanaka; +'if that is all you fear, I will start at once.' + +'Go, then,' said Karataka; 'and may you be as lucky as you hope.' + +"Thereupon Damanaka set out for the lair of King Tawny-hide; putting on, +as he approached it, the look of one greatly disconcerted. The Rajah +observed him coming, and gave permission that he should draw near; of +which Damanaka availing himself, made reverential prostration of the +eight members and sat down upon his haunches. + +'You have come at last, then, Sir Jackal!' growled his Majesty. + +'Great Monarch!' humbly replied Damanaka, 'my service is not worthy of +laying at your imperial feet, but a servant should attend when he can +perform a service, and therefore I am come-- + + 'When Kings' ears itch, they use a straw to scratch 'em; + When Kings' foes plot, they get wise men to match 'em.' + +'H'm!' growled the Lion. + +'Your Majesty suspects my intellect, I fear,' continued the +Jackal,'after so long an absence from your Majesty's feet; but, if I may +say so, it is still sound.' + +'H'm!' growled the Lion again. + +'A king, may it please your Majesty, should know how to estimate his +servants, whatever their position-- + + 'Pearls are dull in leaden settings, but the setter is to blame; + Glass will glitter like the ruby, dulled with dust--are they the same? + + 'And a fool may tread on jewels, setting in his crown mere glass; + Yet, at selling, gems are gems, and fardels but for fardels pass.' + +'Servants, gracious liege! are good or bad as they are entertained. Is +it not written?-- + + 'Horse and weapon, lute and volume, man and woman, gift of speech, + Have their uselessness or uses in the One who owneth each.' + +'And if I have been traduced to your Majesty as a dull fellow, that hath +not made me so-- + + 'Not disparagement nor slander kills the spirit of the brave; + Fling a torch down, upward ever burns the brilliant flame it gave.' + +'Accept then, Sire, from the humblest of your slaves his very humble +counsel--for + + 'Wisdom from the mouth of children be it overpast of none; + What man scorns to walk by lamplight in the absence of the sun?' + +'Good Damanaka,' said King Tawny-hide, somewhat appeased, 'how is it +that thou, so wise a son of our first minister, hast been absent all +this while from our Court? But now speak thy mind fearlessly: what +wouldst thou?' + +'Will your Majesty deign to answer one question?' said Damanaka. +'Wherefore came He back from the river without drinking?' + +'Hush!' whispered the King, 'thou hast hit right upon my trouble. I knew +no one unto whom I might confide it; but thou seemest a faithful fellow, +and I will tell thee. Listen, then,' continued his Majesty in an +agitated whisper, 'there is some awful beast that was never seen before +in this wood here; and we shall have to leave it, look you. Did you hear +by chance the inconceivable great roar he gave? What a strong beast it +must be to have such a voice!' + +'May it please your Majesty, I did hear the noise,' said the Jackal, +'and there is doubtless cause for terrible apprehension therein; but +take comfort, my Liege, he is no minister who bids thee prepare for +either war or resignation. All will go well, and your Majesty will learn +by this difficulty which be your best servants,' + +'Good Jackal,' said Tawny-hide, 'I am horribly frightened about it.' + +'I can see that,' thought Damanaka; but he only said, 'Fear nothing, my +liege, while thy servant survives,' + +'What shall I do?' asked the King. + +'It is well to encourage those who can avert disaster. If your Majesty +condescended now to bestow some favor on Karataka and the other----' + +'It shall be done,' said the Rajah; and, summoning the other Jackals, he +gave them and Damanaka a magnificent gift of flesh, and they left the +presence, undertaking to meet the threatened danger. + +'But, brother,' began Karataka,'haven't we eaten the King's dinner +without knowing what the danger is which we are to meet, and whether we +can obviate it?' + +'Hold thy peace,' said Damanaka, laughing; 'I know very well what the +danger is! It was a bull, aha! that bellowed--a bull, my brother--whose +beef you and I could pick, much more the King our master.' + +'And why not tell him so?' asked Karataka. + +'What! and quiet his Majesty's fears! And where would our splendid +dinner have been then? No, no, my friend-- + + 'Set not your lord at ease; for, doing that, + Might starve you as it starved "Curd-ear" the Cat.' + +'Who was Curd-ear, the Cat?' inquired Karataka. Damanaka related:-- + + +THE STORY OF THE CAT WHO SERVED THE LION + +"Far away in the North, on a mountain named 'Thousand-Crags,' there +lived a lion called 'Mighty-heart'; and he was much annoyed by a certain +mouse, who made a custom of nibbling his mane while he lay asleep in his +den. The Lion would wake in a great rage at finding the ends of his +magnificent mane made ragged, but the little mouse ran into his hole, +and he could never catch it. After much consideration he went down to a +village, and got a Cat named Curd-ear to come to his cave with much +persuasion. He kept the Cat royally on all kinds of dainties, and slept +comfortably without having his mane nibbled, as the mouse would now +never venture out. Whenever the Lion heard the mouse scratching about, +that was always a signal for regaling the Cat in a most distinguished +style. But one day, the wretched mouse being nearly starved, he took +courage to creep timidly from his hole, and was directly pounced upon by +Curd-ear and killed. After that the Lion heard no more of the mouse, and +quite left off his regular entertainments of the Cat. No!" concluded +Damanaka, "we will keep our mouse alive for his Majesty." + +So conversing, the Jackals went away to find Lusty-life the Bull, and +upon discovering him, Karataka squatted down with great dignity at the +foot of a tree, while Damanaka approached to accost him. + +'Bull,' said Damanaka, 'I am the warder of this forest under the King +Tawny-hide, and Karataka the Jackal there is his General. The General +bids thee come before him, or else instantly depart from the wood. It +were better for thee to obey, for his anger is terrible,' + +'Thereupon Lusty-life, knowing nothing of the country customs, advanced +at once to Karataka, made the respectful prostration of the eight +members, and said timidly, 'My Lord General! what dost thou bid me do?-- + + 'Strength serves Reason. Saith the Mahout, when he beats the brazen + drum, + "Ho! ye elephants, to this work must your mightinesses come."' + +'Bull,' answered Karataka, 'thou canst remain in the wood no longer +unless thou goest directly to lay thyself at our Royal master's imperial +feet.' + +'My Lord,' replied the Bull, 'give me a guarantee of safety, and I will +go.' + +'Bull,' said Karataka, 'thou art foolish; fear nothing-- + + "When the King of Chedi cursed him, + Krishna scorned to make reply; + Lions roar the thunder quiet, + Jackals'-yells they let go by." + +Our Lord the King will not vouchsafe his anger to thee; knowest thou +not-- + + 'Mighty natures war with mighty: when the raging tempests blow, + O'er the green rice harmless pass they, but they lay the palm-trees + low,' + +'So the Jackals, keeping Lusty-life in the rear, went towards the palace +of King Tawny-hide; where the Rajah received them with much +graciousness, and bade them sit down. + +'Have you seen him?' asked the King. + +'We have seen him, your Majesty,' answered Damanaka; 'it is quite as +your Majesty expected--the creature has enormous strength, and wishes +to see your Majesty. Will you be seated, Sire, and prepare yourself--it +will never do to appear alarmed at a noise.' + +'Oh, if it was only a noise,' began the Rajah. + +'Ah, but the cause, Sire! that was what had to be found out; like the +secret of Swing-ear the Spirit.' + +'And who might Swing-ear be?' asked the King. + + +THE STORY OF THE TERRIBLE BELL + +"A goblin, your Majesty," responded Damanaka, "it seemed so, at least, +to the good people of Brahmapoora. A thief had stolen a bell from the +city, and was making off with that plunder, and more, into the +Sri-parvata hills, when he was killed by a tiger. The bell lay in the +jungle till some monkeys picked it up, and amused themselves by +constantly ringing it. The townspeople found the bones of the man, and +heard the noise of the bell all about the hills; so they gave out that +there was a terrible devil there, whose ears rang like bells as he swung +them about, and whose delight was to devour men. Every one, accordingly, +was leaving the town, when a peasant woman named Karála, who liked +belief the better for a little proof, came to the Rajah. + +'Highness!' she observed, 'for a consideration I could settle this +Swing-ear.' + +'You could!' exclaimed the Rajah. + +'I think so!' repeated the woman. + +'Give her a consideration forthwith,' said the Rajah. + +"Karála, who had her own ideas upon the matter, took the present and set +out. Being come to the hills, she made a circle, and did homage to +Gunputtee,[13] without whom nothing prospers. Then, taking some fruit +she had brought, such as monkeys love extremely, she scattered it up and +down in the wood, and withdrew to watch. Very soon the monkeys finding +the fruit, put down the bell, to do justice to it, and the woman picking +it up, bore it back to the town, where she became an object of uncommon +veneration. We, indeed," concluded Damanaka, "bring you a Bull instead +of a bell--your Majesty shall now see him!" + +"Thereupon Lusty-life was introduced, and, the interview passing off +well, he remained many days in the forest on excellent terms with the +Lion. + +'One day another Lion, named 'Stiff-ears,' the brother of King +Tawny-hide, came to visit him. The King received him with all imaginable +respect, bade him be seated, and rose from his throne to go and kill +some beasts for his refreshment. + +'May it please your Majesty,' interposed the Bull, 'a deer was slain +to-day--where is its flesh?' + +'Damanaka and his brother know best,' said the King. + +'Let us ascertain if there be any,' suggested the Bull. + +'It is useless,' said the King, laughing--'they leave none,' + +'What!' exclaimed the Bull, 'have those Jackals eaten a whole deer?' + +'Eaten it, spoiled it, and given it away,' answered Tawny-hide; 'they +always do so,' + +'And this without your Majesty's sanction?' asked the Bull. + +'Oh! certainly not with my sanction,' said the King. + +'Then,' exclaimed the Bull, 'it is too bad: and in Ministers too!-- + + 'Narrow-necked to let out little, big of belly to keep much, + As a flagon is--the Vizir of a Sultan should be such.' + +'No wealth will stand such waste, your Majesty-- + + 'He who thinks a minute little, like a fool misuses more; + He who counts a cowry nothing, being wealthy, will be poor.' + +'A king's treasury, my liege, is the king's life.' + +'Good brother,' observed Stiff-ears, who had heard what the Bull said, +'these Jackals are your Ministers of Home and Foreign Affairs--they +should not have direction of the Treasury. They are old servants, too, +and you know the saying-- + + 'Brahmans, soldiers, these and kinsmen--of the three set none in + charge: + For the Brahman, tho' you rack him, yields no treasure small or large; + And the soldier, being trusted, writes his quittance with his sword, + And the kinsman cheats his kindred by the charter of the word; + But a servant old in service, worse than any one is thought, + Who, by long-tried license fearless, knows his master's anger nought.' + +Ministers, my royal brother, are often like obstinate swellings that +want squeezing, and yours must be kept in order.' + +'They are not particularly obedient, I confess,' said Tawny-hide. + +'It is very wrong,' replied Stiff-ears; 'and if you will be advised by +me--as we have banqueted enough to-day--you will appoint this +grain-eating and sagacious Bull your Superintendent of Stores.' + +'It shall be so,' exclaimed the King. + +'Lusty-life was accordingly appointed to serve out the provisions, and +for many days Tawny-hide showed him favor beyond all others in the +Court. + +"Now the Jackals soon found that food was no longer so freely provided +by this arrangement as before, and they met to consult about it. + +'It is all our own fault,' said Damanaka, 'and people must suffer for +their own mistakes. You know who said-- + + "I that could not leave alone + 'Streak-o'-Gold,' must therefore moan. + She that took the House-wife's place + Lost the nose from off her face. + Take this lesson to thy heart-- + Fools for folly suffer smart." + +'No!' said Karataka, 'how was it?' Damanaka related:-- + + +THE STORY OF THE PRINCE AND THE PROCURESS + +"In the city of 'Golden-Streets' there reigned a valorous King, named +Vira-vikrama, whose officer of justice was one day taking away to +punishment a certain Barber, when he was stopped by a strolling +mendicant, who held him by the skirts, and cried out, 'Punish not this +man--punish them that do wrong of their own knowledge.' Being asked his +meaning, he recited the foregoing verses, and, being still further +questioned, he told this story-- + +"I am Prince Kandarpa-ketu, son of the King of Ceylon. Walking one day +in my summer-garden, I heard a merchant-captain narrating how that out +at sea, deep under water, on the fourteenth day of the moon, he had seen +what was like nothing but the famous tree of Paradise, and sitting under +it a lady of most lustrous beauty, bedecked with strings of pearls like +Lukshmi herself, reclining, with a lute in her hands, on what appeared +to be a golden couch crusted all over with precious stones. At once I +engaged the captain and his ship, and steered to the spot of which he +told me. On reaching it I beheld the beautiful apparition as he had +described it, and, transported with the exquisite beauty of the lady, I +leapt after her into the sea. In a moment I found myself in a city of +gold; and in an apartment of a golden palace, surrounded by young and +beautiful girls, I found the Sea-queen. She perceived my approach, and +sent an attendant with a courteous message to meet me. In reply to my +questions, I learned that the lady was the Princess Ratnamanjari, +daughter of the King of All the Spirits--and how she had made a vow that +whoever should first come to see her golden city, with his own eyes, +should marry her. So I married her by the form called Gundharva, or +'Union by mutual consent,' and spent many and happy days in her +delightful society. One day she took me aside, and said, 'Dear Prince! +all these delights, and I myself, are thine to enjoy; only that picture +yonder, of the Fairy Streak-o'-Gold, that thou must never touch!' For a +long time I observed this injunction; at last, impelled by resistless +curiosity, I laid my hand on the picture of 'Streak-o'-Gold,' In one +instant her little foot, lovely as the lotus-blossom, advanced from out +of the painting, and launched me through sea and air into my own +country. Since that I have been a miserable wanderer; and passing +through this city, I chanced to lodge at a Cowkeeper's hut, and saw the +truth of this Barber's affair. The herdsman returned at night with his +cattle, and found his wife talking with the wife of the Barber, who is +no better than a bawd. Enraged at this, the man beat his wife, tied her +to the milking-post, and fell asleep. In the dead of the night the +Barber's wife came back, and said to the woman, 'He, whom thou knowest, +is burnt with the cruel fire of thine absence, and lies nigh to death; +go therefore and console him, and I will tie myself to the post until +thou returnest.' This was done, and the Cowkeeper presently awoke. 'Ah! +thou light thing!' he said jeeringly, 'why dost not thou keep promise, +and meet thy gallant?' The Barber's wife could make no reply; whereat +becoming incensed, the man cried out, 'What! dost thou scorn to speak to +me? I will cut thy nose off!' And so he did, and then lay down to sleep +again. Very soon the Cowkeeper's wife came back and asked if 'all was +well.' 'Look at my face!' said the Barber's wife, 'and you will see if +all is well.' The woman could do nothing but take her place again, +while the Barber's wife, picking up the severed nose, and at a sad loss +how to account for it, went to her house. In the morning, before it was +light, the Barber called to her to bring his box of razors, and she +bringing one only, he flung it away in a passion. 'Oh, the knave!' she +cried out, directly, aloud, 'Neighbors, neighbors! he has cut my nose +off!' and so she took him before the officers. The Cowkeeper, meantime, +wondering at his wife's patience, made some inquiry about her nose; +whereto she replied, 'Cruel wretch! thou canst not harm a virtuous +woman. If Yama and the seven guardians of the world know me chaste, then +be my face unmaimed!' The herdsman hastened to fetch a light, and +finding her features unaltered, he flung himself at her feet, and begged +forgiveness. For, + + 'Never tires the fire of burning, never wearies death of slaying, + Nor the sea of drinking rivers, nor the bright-eyed of betraying,' + +Thereupon the King's officer dismissed Kandarpa-ketu, and did justice by +setting the Barber free, shaving the head of the Barber's wife, and +punishing the Cowkeeper's. + +'That is my story,' concluded Damanaka, 'and thence I said that we had +no reason to complain.' + +'Well, but we must do something,' said Karataka. + +'Yes! How shall we break the friendship of the King with the Bull?' +asked the other. + +'It is very strong,' observed Karataka. + +'But we can do it,' replied the other. + + 'What force would fail to win, fraud can attain:-- + The Crow despatched the Serpent by a chain.' + +'How did that occur?' asked Karataka. + +Damanaka related:-- + + +THE STORY OF THE BLACK SNAKE AND THE GOLDEN CHAIN + +"A pair of Crows had their abode in a certain tree, the hollow of which +was occupied by a black snake, who had often devoured their young. The +Hen-bird, finding herself breeding again, thus addressed her mate: +'Husband, we must leave this tree; we shall never rear young ones while +this black snake lives here! You know the saw-- + + 'From false friends that breed thee strife, + From a house with serpents rife, + Saucy slaves and brawling wife-- + Get thee out, to save thy life.' + +'My dear,' replied the Crow, 'you need not fear; I have put up with him +till I am tired. Now I will put an end to him.' + +'How can you fight with a great black snake like that?' said the +Hen-bird. + +'Doubt nothing,' answered the other-- + + 'He that hath sense hath strength; the fool is weak:-- + The Lion proud died by the Hare so meek,' + +'How came that about?' asked the Hen-Crow. + +'Thus,' replied her mate:-- + + +THE STORY OF THE LION AND THE OLD HARE + +"On the Mandara mountain there lived a Lion named Fierce-of-heart, and +he was perpetually making massacre of all the wild animals. The thing +grew so bad that the beasts held a public meeting, and drew up a +respectful remonstrance to the Lion in these words:-- + +"Wherefore should your Majesty thus make carnage of us all? If it may +please you, we ourselves will daily furnish a beast for your Majesty's +meal." The Lion responded, "If that arrangement is more agreeable to +you, be it so."; and from that time a beast was allotted to him daily, +and daily devoured. One day it came to the turn of an old hare to supply +the royal table, who reflected to himself as he walked along, "I can but +die, and I will go to my death leisurely." + +"Now Fierce-of-heart, the lion, was pinched with hunger, and seeing the +Hare so approaching he roared out, "How darest thou thus delay in +coming?" + +'Sire,' replied the Hare, 'I am not to blame. I was detained on the road +by another lion, who exacted an oath from me to return when I should +have informed your Majesty.' + +'Go,' exclaimed King Fierce-of-heart in a rage; 'show me, instantly, +where this insolent villain of a lion lives.' + +"The Hare led the way accordingly till he came to a deep well, whereat +he stopped, and said, 'Let my lord the King come hither and behold him.' +The Lion approached, and beheld his own reflection in the water of the +well, upon which, in his passion, he directly flung himself, and so +perished." + +"I have heard your story," said the Hen-Crow, "but what plan do you +propose?" + +"My dear," replied her mate, "the Rajah's son comes here every day to +bathe in the stream. When he takes off his gold anklet, and lays it on +the stone, do thou bring it in thy beak to the hollow of the tree, and +drop it in there." Shortly after the Prince came, as was his wont, and +taking off his dress and ornaments, the Hen-Crow did as had been +determined; and while the servants of the Prince were searching in the +hollow, there they found the Black Snake, which they at once dispatched. + +'Said I not well,' continued Damanaka, 'that stratagem excels force?' + +'It was well said,' replied Karataka; 'go! and may thy path be +prosperous! + +'With that Damanaka repaired to the King, and having done homage, thus +addressed him:-- + +"Your Majesty, there is a dreadful thing on my mind, and I am come to +disclose it." + +'Speak!' said the King, with much graciousness. + +'Your Majesty,' said the Jackal, 'this Bull has been detected of +treason. To my face he has spoken contemptuously of the three +prerogatives of the throne,[14] unto which he aspires.' + +"At these words King Tawny-hide stood aghast. + +'Your Majesty,' continued Damanaka, 'has placed him above us all in the +Court. Sire! he must be displaced!-- + + 'Teeth grown loose, and wicked-hearted ministers, and poison-trees, + Pluck them by the roots together; 'Tis the thing that giveth ease,' + +'Good Jackal,' said the King, after some silence; 'this is indeed +dreadful; but my regard for the Bull is very great, and it is said-- + + 'Long-tried friends are friends to cleave to--never leave thou these + i' the lurch:-- + What man shuns the fire as sinful for that once it burned a church?' + +'That is written of discarding old servants, may it please your +Majesty,' observed Damanaka; 'and this Bull is quite a stranger,' + +'Wondrous strange!' replied the Lion; 'when I have advanced and +protected him that he should plot against me!' + +'Your Majesty,' said the Jackal, 'knows what has been written-- + + 'Raise an evil soul to honor, and his evil bents remain; + Bind a cur's tail ne'er so straightly, yet it curleth up again.' + + 'How, in sooth, should Trust and Honor change the evil nature's root? + Though one watered them with nectar, poison-trees bear deadly fruit.' + +I have now at least warned your Majesty: if evil comes, the fault is not +mine,' + +'It will not do to condemn the Bull without inquiry,' mused the King; +then he said aloud, 'shall we admonish him, think you, Damanaka?' + +'No, no, Sire!' exclaimed the Jackal, eagerly; 'that would spoil all our +precautions-- + + 'Safe within the husk of silence guard the seed of counsel so + That it break not--being broken, then the seedling will not grow,' + +What is to be done must be done with despatch. After censuring his +treason, would your Majesty still trust the traitor?-- + + 'Whoso unto ancient fondness takes again a faithless friend, + Like she-mules that die conceiving, in his folly finds his end,' + +'But wherein can the Bull injure me?' asked Tawny-hide; 'tell me that!' + +'Sire,' replied the Jackal, how can I tell it?-- + + 'Ask who his friends are, ere you scorn your foe; + The Wagtail foiled the sea, that did not so,' + +'How could that be?' demanded King Tawny-hide. + +'The Jackal related:-- + + +THE STORY OF THE WAGTAIL AND THE SEA + +"On the shore of the Southern Sea there dwelt a pair of Wagtails. The +Hen-bird was about to lay, and thus addressed her mate:-- + +'Husband, we must look about for a fit place to lay my eggs.' + +'My dear,' replied the Cock-bird, 'will not this spot do?' + +'This spot!' exclaimed the Hen; 'why, the tide overflows it.' + +'Good dame,' said the Cock, 'am I so pitiful a fellow that the Sea will +venture to wash the eggs out of my nest?' + +'You are my very good Lord,' replied the Hen, with a laugh; 'but still +there is a great difference between you and the Sea.' + +"Afterwards, however, at the desire of her mate, she consented to lay +her eggs on the sea-beach. Now the Ocean had overheard all this, and, +bent upon displaying its strength, it rose and washed away the nest and +eggs. Overwhelmed with grief, the Hen-bird flew to her mate, and +cried:-- + +'Husband, the terrible disaster has occurred! My eggs arc gone!' + +'Be of good heart! my Life,' answered he. + +"And therewith he called a meeting of fowls, and went with them into the +presence of Gurud, the Lord of the birds. When the Master of the Mighty +Wing had listened to their complaint, he conveyed it to the knowledge of +the God Narayen, who keeps, and kills, and makes alive the world. The +almighty mandate given, Gurud bound it upon his forehead, and bore it to +the Ocean, which, so soon as it heard the will of Narayen, at once gave +back the eggs. + +'How, indeed,' concluded Damanaka, 'should I judge of the Bull's power, +not knowing who supports him?' + +'By what signs, then,' asked the King, 'may I conclude him a traitor?' + +'If he comes into the presence with his horns lowered for goring, as one +that expects the fight. That,' replied the Jackal, 'will convince your +Majesty,' + +'Thereupon Damanaka the Jackal withdrew, and betook himself towards the +Bull, upon perceiving whom he approached slowly, with all the air of one +greatly distressed. + +'Good master Jackal,' said Lusty-life, 'what goes amiss with thee?' + +'All goes amiss with such as serve wicked masters,' replied the Jackal. + +'But what ails thee?' asked the Bull. + +'Alas!' answered the Jackal, 'what can I say in such a strait!-- + + 'Even as one who grasps a serpent, drowning in the bitter sea, + Death to hold and death to loosen--such is life's perplexity.' + +'And therewithal the Jackal heaved a deep sigh, and squatted down. + +'But, good friend,' said the Bull, 'at least tell me what is in thy +mind.' + +'Bull,' began Damanaka, 'it is a King's secret, and should not be +spoken; but thou didst come here upon my safeguard, and as I hope for +the life to come, I will tell thee of what touches thee so nearly. +Listen!--the heart of the King is turned against thee! he hath sworn +secretly that he will kill thee and feast upon thy flesh.' + +'Then Lusty-life the Bull was sorely troubled, and he fell a-musing +thus-- + + "Woman's love rewards the worthless--kings of knaves exalters be; + Wealth attends the selfish niggard, and the cloud rains on the sea." + +'Can this be the Jackal's doing?' he reflected. Going with honest folk +will not make one honest-- + + 'Many a knave wins fair opinions standing in fair company, + As the sooty soorma pleases, lighted by a brilliant eye.' + +Then he said aloud, 'wherein can I have angered the King? Do kings hate +without cause? I can tell nothing, except that there is no happiness +which abides long-- + + 'Where the azure lotus[15] blossoms, there the alligators hide; + In the sandal-tree are serpents. Pain and pleasure live allied.' + +I thought his Majesty noble as the sandal-tree; but that, indeed, is not +wholly noble-- + + 'Rich the sandal--yet no part is but a vile thing habits there; + Snake and wasp haunt root and blossom; on the boughs sit ape and bear.' + +'Bull,' said Damanaka, 'I knew the King of old for one whose tongue was +honey and whose heart was poison.' + +'But how very hard!' said the Bull, 'that he, being a lion, should +attack me, an innocent eater of grass!' + +'It is very hard!' said the Jackal. + +'Who can have set him against me?' asked the Bull. + +'Being so, it cannot be bettered,' replied the Jackal, 'whoever did it-- + + 'As a bracelet of crystal, once broke, is not mended; + So the favor of princes, once altered, is ended.' + +'Yes,' said the Bull, 'and a king incensed is terrible-- + + 'Wrath of kings, and rage of lightning--both be very full of dread; + But one falls on one man only--one strikes many victims dead,' + +Still, I can but die--and I will die fighting! When death is certain, +and no hope left but in battle, that is the time for war,' + +'It is so,' said the Jackal. + +'Having weighed all this, Lusty-life inquired of the Jackal by what +signs he might conclude the King's hostile intentions. + +'If he glowers upon thee,' answered Damanaka, 'and awaits thee with ears +pricked, tail stiffened, paw upraised, and muzzle agape, then thou +mayest get thee to thy weapons like a Bull of spirit, for + + 'All men scorn the soulless coward who his manhood doth forget:-- + On a lifeless heap of ashes fearlessly the foot is set,' + +'Then Damanaka the Jackal returned to the Lion, and said to him:-- + +'If it please your Majesty, the traitor is now coming; let your Majesty +be on your guard, with ears pricked and paw upraised.' + +'The Bull meanwhile approached, and observing the hostile attitude of +King Tawny-hide, he also lowered his horns, and prepared for the combat. +A terrible battle ensued, and at the last King Tawny-hide slew +Lusty-life the Bull. Now when the Bull was dead, the Lion was very +sorrowful, and as he sat on his throne lamenting, he said-- + +'I repent me of this deed!-- + + 'As when an Elephant's life-blood is spilt, + Another hath the spoils--mine is the guilt.' + +'Sire,' replied the Jackal, 'a King over-merciful is like a Brahman +that eats all things equally. May all your Majesty's enemies perish as +did this Bull.' + +"Thus endeth," said the Sage Vishnu-Sarman, "the 'Parting of Friends.'" + +"We are gratified exceedingly thereby," replied the Sons of the King. + +"Let me then close it thus," said their Preceptor-- + + 'So be friendship never parted, + But among the evil-hearted; + Time's sure step drag, soon or later, + To his judgment, such a Traitor; + Lady Lukshmi, of her grace, + Grant good fortune to this place; + And you, Royal boys! and boys of times to be + In this fair fable-garden wander free.' + + +[12] The white umbrella borne above the heads of Indian rajahs. + +[13] The deity of prudence. + +[14] Regal authority derives its rights from three sources: Power, +Prescription or continuance, and Wisdom. + +[15] The lotus resembles the water-lily, but is more varied in form and +color. + + + + +WAR + + +When the next day of instruction was come, the King's sons spake to the +Sage, Vishnu-Sarman. + +"Master," said they, "we are Princes, and the sons of Princes, and we +earnestly desire to hear thee discourse upon War." + +"I am to speak on what shall please you," replied Vishnu-Sarman. "Hear +now, therefore, of 'War,' whose opening is thus:-- + + 'Between the peoples of Peacock and Swan[16] + War raged; and evenly the contest ran, + Until the Swans to trust the Crows began.' + +'And how was all that?' asked the sons of the Rajah. Vishnu-Sarman +proceeded to relate-- + + +THE BATTLE OF THE SWANS AND PEACOCKS + +"In the Isle of Camphor there is a lake called 'Lotus-water,' and +therein a Swan-Royal, named 'Silver-sides,' had his residence. The birds +of the marsh and the mere had elected him King, in full council of all +the fowls--for a people with no ruler is like a ship that is without a +helmsman. One day King Silver-sides, with his courtiers, was quietly +reposing on a couch of well-spread lotus-blossoms, when a Crane, named +'Long-bill,' who had just arrived from foreign parts, entered the +presence with an obeisance, and sat down. + +'What news from abroad, Long-bill?' asked his Majesty. + +'Great news, may it please you,' answered the Crane, 'and therefore have +I hastened hither. Will your Majesty hear me?' + +'Speak!' said King Silver-sides. + +'You must know, my Liege,' began the Crane, 'that over all the birds of +the Vindhya mountains in Jambudwipa a Peacock is King, and his name is +'Jewel-plume,' I was looking for food about a certain burnt jungle +there, when some of his retainers discovered me, and asked my name and +country. 'I am a vassal of King Silver-sides, Lord of the Island of +Camphor,' I replied, 'and I am travelling in foreign lands for my +pleasure.' Upon that the birds asked me which country, my own or theirs, +and which King, appeared to me superior. 'How can you ask?' I replied; +'the island of Camphor is, as it were, Heaven itself, and its King a +heaven-born ruler. To dwellers in a barren land like yours how can I +describe them? Come for yourselves, and see the country where I live.' +Thereupon, your Majesty, the birds were exceedingly offended, as one +might expect-- + + 'Simple milk, when serpents drink it, straightway into venom turns; + And a fool who heareth counsel all the wisdom of it spurns.' + +For, indeed, no reflecting person wastes time in admonishing +blockheads-- + + 'The birds that took the apes to teaching, + Lost eggs and nests in pay for preaching.' + +'How did that befall?' asked the King. + +The Crane related:-- + + +THE STORY OF THE WEAVER-BIRDS AND THE MONKEYS + +"In a nullah that leads down to the Nerbudda river there stood a large +silk-cotton tree, where a colony of weaver-birds had built their hanging +nests, and lived snugly in them, whatever the weather. It was in the +rainy season, when the heavens are overlaid with clouds like +indigo-sheets, and a tremendous storm of water was falling. The birds +looked out from their nests, and saw some monkeys, shivering and starved +with the cold, standing under a tree. 'Twit! twit! you Monkeys,' they +began to chirrup. 'Listen to us!-- + + 'With beaks we built these nests, of fibres scattered; + You that have hands and feet, build, or be spattered.' + +On hearing that the Monkeys were by no means pleased. 'Ho! ho!' said +they, 'the Birds in their snug nests are jeering at us; wait till the +rain is over,' Accordingly, so soon as the weather mended, the Monkeys +climbed into the tree, and broke all the birds' eggs and demolished +every nest. I ought to have known better,' concluded the Crane, 'than to +have wasted my suggestions on King Jewel-plume's creatures.' + +'But what did they say?' asked Silver-sides. + +'They said, Rajah,' answered the Crane, 'who made that Swan of thine a +King?' + +'And what was your reply?' asked Silver-sides. + +'I demanded,' replied the Crane, 'who made a King of that Peacock of +theirs. Thereupon they were ready to kill me for rage; but I displayed +my very best valor. Is it not written-- + + 'A modest manner fits a maid, + And Patience is a man's adorning; + But brides may kiss, nor do amiss, + And men may draw, at scathe and scorning.' + +'Yet a man should measure his own strength first,' said the Rajah, +smiling; 'how did you fare against King Jewel-plume's fellows?' + +'Very scurvily,' replied Long-bill. "Thou rascal Crane," they cried, +"dost thou feed on his soil, and revile our Sovereign? That is past +bearing!" And thereat they all pecked at me. Then they began again: +"Thou thick-skulled Crane! that King of thine is a goose--a web-footed +lord of littleness--and thou art but a frog in a well to bid us serve +him--- him forsooth!-- + + 'Serving narrow-minded masters dwarfs high natures to their size:-- + Seen before a convex mirror, elephants do show as mice.' + +Bad kings are only strong enough to spoil good vassals--as a fiction +once was mightier than a herd of elephants. You know it, don't you?-- + + 'Mighty may prove things insignificant:-- + A tale of moonshine turned an elephant.' + +'No! how was that?' I asked. + +The birds related-- + + +THE STORY OF THE OLD HARE AND THE ELEPHANTS + +"Once on a time, very little rain had fallen in the due season; and the +Elephants being oppressed with thirst, thus accosted their +leader:--'Master, how are we to live? The small creatures find something +to wash in, but we cannot, and we are half dead in consequence; whither +shall we go then, and what shall we do?' Upon that the King of the +Elephants led them away a little space; and showed them a beautiful pool +of crystal water, where they took their ease. Now it chanced that a +company of Hares resided on the banks of the pool, and the going and +coming of the elephants trampled many of them to death, till one of +their number named Hard-head grumbled out, 'This troop will be coming +here to water every day, and every one of our family will be crushed.' +'Do not disquiet yourself,' said an old buck named Good-speed, 'I will +contrive to avert it,' and so saying, he set off, bethinking himself on +his way how he should approach and accost a herd of elephants; for, + + 'Elephants destroy by touching, snakes with point of tooth beguile; + Kings by favor kill, and traitors murder with a fatal smile.' + +'I will get on the top of a hill,' he thought, 'and address the +Elephants thence.' + +"This being done, and the Lord of the herd perceiving him, it was asked +of the Hare, 'Who art thou? and whence comest thou?' + +'I am an ambassador from his Godship the Moon,' replied Good-speed. + +'State your business,' said the Elephant-king. + +'Sire,' began the Hare, 'an ambassador speaks the truth safely by +charter of his name. Thus saith the Moon, then: "These hares were the +guardians of my pool, and thine elephants in coming thither have scared +them away. This is not well. Am I not Sasanka, whose banner bears a +hare, and are not these hares my votaries?"' + +'Please your worship,' said the Elephant-king with much trepidation, 'we +knew nothing of this; we will go there no more.' + +'It were well,' said the sham ambassador, 'that you first made your +apologies to the Divinity, who is quaking with rage in his pool, and +then went about your business.' + +'We will do so,' replied the Elephant with meekness; and being led by +night to the pool, in the ripples of which the image of the Moon was +quivering, the herd made their prostrations; the Hare explaining to the +Moon that their fault was done in ignorance, and thereupon they got +their dismissal.' + +'Nay,' I said, 'my Sovereign is no fiction, but a great King and a +noble, and one that might govern the Three Worlds, much more a kingdom,' + +'Thou shalt talk thy treason in the presence,' they cried; and therewith +I was dragged before King Jewel-plume. + +'Who is this?' asked the Rajah. + +'He is a servant of King Silver-sides, of the Island of Camphor,' they +replied; 'and he slights your Majesty, on your Majesty's own land.' + +'Sirrah Crane!' said the Prime Minister, a Vulture, 'who is chief +officer in that court?' + +'A Brahmany Goose,' I answered, 'named "Know-all"; and he does know +every possible science.' + +'Sire,' broke in a Parrot, 'this Camphor-isle and the rest are poor +places, and belong to Jambudwipa. Your Majesty has but to plant the +royal foot upon them.' + +'Oh! of course,' said the King. + +'Nay,' said I, 'if talking makes your Majesty King of Camphor-island, my +Liege may be lord of Jambudwipa by a better title.' + +'And that?' said the Parrot. + +'Is fighting!' I responded. + +'Good!' said the King, with a smile; 'bid your people prepare for war.' + +'Not so,' I replied; 'but send your own ambassador.' + +'Who will bear the message?' asked the Rajah. 'He should be loyal, +dexterous, and bold.' + +'And virtuous,' said the Vulture, 'and therefore a Brahman:-- + + 'Better Virtue marked a herald than that noble blood should deck; + Shiva reigns forever Shiva while the sea-wave stains his neck.' + +'Then let the Parrot be appointed,' said the Rajah. + +'I am your Majesty's humble servant,' replied the Parrot; 'but this +Crane is a bad character, and with the bad I never like to travel. The +ten-headed Ravana carried off the wife of Ramchundra! It does not do, + + 'With evil people neither stay nor go; + The Heron died for being with the Crow.' + +'How did that befall?' asked the King. The Parrot related:-- + + +THE STORY OF THE HERON AND THE CROW + +'The high-road to Oogein is a very unshaded and sultry one; but there +stands upon it one large Peepul-tree, and therein a Crow and a Heron had +their residence together. It was in the hot weather that a tired +traveller passed that way, and, for the sake of the shade, he laid his +bow and arrows down, and dropped asleep under the tree. Before long the +shadow of the tree shifted, and left his face exposed to the glare; +which the Heron perceiving, like the kindly bird he was, perched on the +Peepul-tree, and spread his wings out so as to cast a shadow on the +traveller's face. There the poor fellow, weary with his travel, +continued to sleep soundly, and snored away comfortably with open mouth. +The sight of his enjoyment was too much for the malevolent Crow, who, +perching over him, dropped an unwelcome morsel into the sleeper's mouth, +and straightway flew off. The traveller, starting from his slumber, +looked about, and, seeing no bird but the Heron, he fitted an arrow and +shot him dead. No!' concluded the Parrot, 'I like the society of honest +folk.' + +'But why these words, my brother?' I said; 'his Majesty's herald is to +me even as his Majesty.' + +'Very fine!' replied the Parrot; 'but-- + + 'Kindly courtesies that issue from a smiling villain's mouth + Serve to startle, like a flower blossoming in time of drouth.' + +Needs must that thou art a bad man; for by thy talk war will have +arisen, which a little conciliation had averted:-- + + 'Conciliation!--weapon of the wise! + Wheedled therewith, by woman's quick device, + The Wheelwright let his ears betray his eyes.' + +'How came that about?' asked the King. The Parrot related:-- + + +THE STORY OF THE APPEASED WHEELWRIGHT + +"There was a Wheelwright in Shri-nuggur, whose name was 'Heavy-head,' He +had good reason to suspect the infidelity of his wife, but he had no +absolute proof of it. One day he gave out that he should go to a +neighboring town, and he started accordingly; but he went a very little +way, and then returning, hid himself in his wife's chamber. She being +quite satisfied that he was really gone away, invited her gallant to +pass the evening with her, and began to spend it with him in +unrestrained freedom. Presently, by chance, she detected the presence of +her husband, and her manner instantly changed. + +'Life of my soul! what ails you?' said her lover; 'you are quite dull +to-night.' + +'I am dull,' she replied, 'because the lord of my life is gone. Without +my husband the town is a wilderness. Who knows what may befall him, and +whether he will have a nice supper?' + +'Trouble thyself no more about the quarrelsome dullard,' said her +gallant. + +'Dullard, quotha!' exclaimed the wife. 'What matter what he is, since he +is my all? Knowest thou not-- + + 'Of the wife the lord is jewel, though no gems upon her beam; + Lacking him, she lacks adornment, howsoe'er her jewels gleam?' + +Thou, and the like of thee, may serve a whim, as we chew a betel-leaf +and trifle with a flower; but my husband is my master, and can do with +me as he will. My life is wrapped up in him--and when he dies, alas! I +will certainly die too. Is it not plainly said-- + + 'Hairs three-crore, and half-a-crore hairs, on a man so many grow-- + And so many years to Swerga shall the true wife surely go?' + +And better still is promised; as herein-- + + 'When the faithful wife,[17] embracing tenderly her husband dead, + Mounts the blazing pile beside him, as it were the bridal-bed; + Though his sins were twenty thousand, twenty thousand times o'er-told, + She shall bring his soul to splendor, for her love so large and bold.' + +All this the Wheelwright heard. 'What a lucky fellow I am,' he thought, +'to have a wife so virtuous,' and rushing from his place of concealment, +he exclaimed in ecstasy to his wife's gallant, 'Sir I saw you ever truer +wife than mine?' + +'When the story was concluded,' said Long-bill, 'the King, with a +gracious gift of food, sent me off before the Parrot; but he is coming +after me, and it is now for your Majesty to determine as it shall please +you.' + +'My Liege,' observed the Brahmany-goose with a sneer, 'the Crane has +done the King's business in foreign parts to the best of his power, +which is that of a fool.' + +"Let the past pass," replied the King, "and take thought for the +present." + +"Be it in secret, then, your Majesty," said the Brahmany-goose-- + + 'Counsel unto six ears spoken, unto all is notified:-- + When a King holds consultation, let it be with one beside,' + +Thereupon all withdrew, but the Rajah and the Minister. + +'What think you?' said Silver-sides. + +'That the Crane has been employed to bring this about,' replied the +other. + +'What shall we do?' asked the King. + +'Despatch two spies--the first to inform and send back the other, and +make us know the enemy's strength or weakness. They must be such as can +travel by land and water, so the Crane will serve for one, and we will +keep his family in pledge at the King's gate. The other must be a very +reserved character; as it is said-- + + 'Sick men are for skilful leeches--prodigals for prisoning-- + Fools for teachers--and the man who keeps a secret, for a King,' + +'I know such a one,' said his Majesty, after a pause. + +'It is half the victory,' responded the Minister. + +At this juncture a chamberlain entered with a profound obeisance, and +announced the arrival from Jambudwipa of the Parrot. + +'Let him be shown to a reception-room,' commanded the Goose, in reply to +a look from the King. 'He shall presently have audience.' + +'War is pronounced, then,' said the King, as the attendant withdrew. + +'It is offered, my Liege; but must not be rashly accepted,' replied the +other-- + + 'With gift, craft, promise, cause thy foe to yield; + When these have failed thee, challenge him a-field.' + +To gain time for expedients is the first point. Expedients are good for +great and little matters equally, like + + 'The subtle wash of waves, that smoothly pass, + But lay the tree as lowly as the grass.' + +Let his Excellency the Parrot, then, be cajoled and detained here, while +we place our fort in condition to be useful. Is it not said-- + + 'Ten true bowmen on a rampart fifty's onset may sustain; + Fortalices keep a country more than armies in the plain?' + +And your Majesty,' continued the Goose, 'will recall the points of a +good fortress-- + + 'Build it strong, and build it spacious, with an entry and retreat; + Store it well with wood and water, fill its garners full with wheat.' + +'Whom, then, shall we entrust with this work?' asked King Silver-sides. + +'The Paddy-bird[18] is a good bird, and a skilful,' replied his +Minister. + +'Let him be summoned!' said the King. And upon the entrance of the +Paddy-bird, the superintendence of the fortress was committed to him, +and accepted with a low prostration. + +'As to the fort, Sire!' remarked the Paddy-bird, 'it exists already in +yonder large pool; the thing is to store the island in the middle of it +with provisions-- + + 'Gems will no man's life sustain; + Best of gold is golden grain.' + +'Good!' said King Silver-sides; 'let it be looked to.' Thereupon, as the +Paddy-bird was retiring, the Usher entered again, and making +prostration, said: 'May it please your Majesty, the King of all the +Crows, Night-cloud by name, has just arrived from Singhala-dwipa, and +desires to lay his homage at your Majesty's feet.' + +'He is a wise bird, and a far-travelled,' said the King; 'I think we +must give him audience.' + +Nevertheless, Sire,' interrupted the Goose, 'we must not forget that he +is a land-bird, and therefore not to be received as a water-fowl. Your +royal memory doubtless retains the story of + + 'The Jackal's fate, who being colored blue, + Leaving his party, left his own life too.' + +'No! How was that?' asked King Silver-sides. The Goose related-- + + +THE STORY OF THE DYED JACKAL + +"A Jackal once on a time, as he was prowling about the suburbs of a +town, slipped into an indigo-tank; and not being able to get out he laid +himself down so as to be taken for dead. The dyer presently coming and +finding what seemed a dead Jackal, carried him into the jungle and then +flung him away. Left to himself, the Jackal found his natural color +changed to a splendid blue. 'Really,' he reflected, 'I am now of a most +magnificent tint; why should I not make it conduce to my elevation?' +With this view, he assembled the other Jackals, and thus harangued +them:-- + +'Good people, the Goddess of the Wood, with her own divine hand, and +with every magical herb of the forest, has anointed me King. Behold the +complexion of royalty!--and henceforward transact nothing without my +imperial permission." + +"The Jackals, overcome by so distinguished a color, could do nothing but +prostrate themselves and promise obedience. His reign, thus begun, +extended in time to the lions and tigers; and with these high-born +attendants he allowed himself to despise the Jackals, keeping his own +kindred at a distance, as though ashamed of them. The Jackals were +indignant, but an old beast of their number thus consoled them:-- + +"Leave the impudent fellow to me. I will contrive his ruin. These tigers +and the rest think him a King, because he is colored blue; we must show +them his true colors. Do this, now!--in the evening-time come close +about him, and set up a great yell together--he is sure to join in, as +he used to do-- + + 'Hard it is to conquer nature: if a dog were made a King, + Mid the coronation trumpets, he would gnaw his sandal-string.' + +And when he yells the Tigers will know him for a Jackal and fall upon +him.' + +'The thing befell exactly so, and the Jackal,' concluded the Minister, +'met the fate of one who leaves his proper party.' + +'Still,' said the King, 'the Crow has come a long way, and we might see +him, I think.' + +'Admit the Parrot first, Sire,' said the Goose; 'the fort has been put +in order and the spy despatched.' + +"Thereupon a Court was called, and the Parrot introduced, followed by +Night-cloud, the Crow. A seat was offered to the parrot, who took it, +and, with his beak in the air, thus delivered his mission:-- + +'King Silver-sides!--My master, the King Jewel-plume, Lord of Lords, +bids thee, if life and lands be dear to thee, to come and make homage at +his august feet; and failing this to get thee gone from Camphor-island.' + +'S'death!' exclaimed the Rajah, 'is there none that will silence this +traitor?' + +'Give the sign, your Majesty,' said the Crow, starting up, 'and I will +despatch this audacious bird.' + +'Sir,' said the Goose, 'be calm! and Sire, deign to listen-- + + ''Tis no Council where no Sage is--'tis no Sage that fears not Law; + 'Tis no Law which Truth confirms not--'tis no Truth which Fear can + awe.' + +An ambassador must speak unthreatened-- + + 'Though base be the Herald, nor hinder nor let, + For the mouth of a king is he; + The sword may be whet, and the battle set, + But the word of his message is free.' + +Thereat the Rajah and Night-cloud resumed their composure; and the +Parrot took his departure, escorted by the Minister, and presented with +complimentary gifts of gold and jewels. On reaching the palace of +Jewel-plume, the King demanded his tidings, and inquired of the country +he had visited. + +'War must be prepared, may it please you,' said the Parrot: 'the +country is a country of Paradise.' + +'Prepare for war, then!' said the King. + +'We must not enter on it in the face of destiny,' interposed the +Vulture-Minister, whose title was 'Far-sight.' + +'Let the Astrologer then discover a favorable conjuncture for the +expedition, and let my forces be reviewed meantime,' said the King. + +'We must not march without great circumspection,' observed Far-sight. + +'Minister!' exclaimed the King, 'you chafe me. Say, however, with what +force we should set out.' + +'It should be well selected, rather than unwieldy,' replied the +Vulture-- + + 'Better few and chosen fighters than of shaven crowns a host, + For in headlong flight confounded, with the base the brave are lost.' + +And its commanders must be judiciously appointed; for it is said-- + + 'Ever absent, harsh, unjustly portioning the captured prey-- + These, and cold or laggard leaders make a host to melt away.' + +'Ah!' interrupted the Rajah, 'what need of so much talk? We will go, +and, if Váchaspati please, we will conquer.' + +Shortly afterwards the Spy returned to Camphor-island. 'King +Silver-sides,' he cried, 'the Rajah, Jewel-plume, is on his way hither, +and has reached the Ghauts. Let the fort be manned, for that Vulture is +a great minister; and I have learned, too, that there is one among us +who is in his pay.' + +'King!' said the Goose, 'that must be the Crow.' + +'But whence, then, did he show such willingness to punish the Parrot?' +objected his Majesty. 'Besides, war was declared long after the Crow +came to Court.' + +'I misdoubt him,' said the Minister, 'because he is a stranger.' + +'But strangers surely may be well-disposed,' replied the King. 'How say +the books?-- + + 'Kind is kin, howe'er a stranger--kin unkind is stranger shown; + Sores hurt, though the body breeds them--drugs relieve, though + desert-grown.' + +Have you never heard of King Sudraka and the unknown Servant, who gave +his son's life for the King? + +'Never,' answered the Goose. + + +THE STORY OF THE FAITHFUL RAJPOOT + +"I will tell you the tale," said the King, "as I heard it from +'Lilyflower,' daughter of the Flamingo 'White-flag,' of whom I was once +very fond:--A soldier presented himself one morning at King Sudraka's +gate, and bade the porter procure an audience for 'Vira-vara, a +Rajpoot,'[19] who sought employment. Being admitted to the presence, he +thus addressed the King:-- + +'If your Highness needs an attendant, behold one!' + +'What pay do you ask?' inquired the King. + +'Five hundred pieces of gold a day,' said Vira-vara. + +'And your accoutrements?' asked the King. + +'Are these two arms, and this sabre, which serve for a third,' said +Vira-vara, rolling up his sleeve. + +'I cannot entertain you,' rejoined his Majesty; and thereupon the +Rajpoot made salaam, and withdrew. Then said the Ministers, 'If it +please your Majesty, the stipend is excessive, but give him pay for four +days, and see wherein he may deserve it.' Accordingly, the Rajpoot was +recalled, and received wages for four days, with the complimentary +betel.--Ah! the rare betel! Truly say the wise of it-- + + 'Betel-nut is bitter, hot, sweet, spicy, binding, alkaline-- + A demulcent--an astringent--foe to evils intestine; + Giving to the breath a fragrance--to the lips a crimson red; + A detergent, and a kindler of Love's flame that lieth dead. + Praise the gods for the good Betel!--these be thirteen virtues given, + Hard to meet in one thing blended, even in their happy heaven.' + +'Now the King narrowly watched the spending of Vira-vara's pay, and +discovered that he bestowed half in the service of the Gods and the +support of Brahmans, a fourth part in relieving the poor, and reserved a +fourth for his sustenance and recreation. This daily division made, he +would take his stand with his sabre at the gate of the palace; retiring +only upon receiving the royal permission. + +'It was on the fourteenth night of the dark half of the month that King +Sudraka heard below a sound of passionate sobbing. 'Ho! there,' he +cried, 'who waits at the gate?' + +'I,' replied Vira-vara, 'may it please you.' + +'Go and learn what means this weeping,' said the King. + +'I go, your Majesty,' answered the Rajpoot, and therewith departed. + +'No sooner was he gone than the King repented him of sending one man +alone into a night so dark that a bodkin might pierce a hole in it, and +girding on his scimitar, he followed his guard beyond the city gates. +When Vira-vara had gone thus far he encountered a beautiful and +splendidly dressed lady who was weeping bitterly; and accosting her, he +requested to know her name, and why she thus lamented. + +'I am the Fortune of the King Sudraka,' answered she; 'a long while I +have lived happily in the shadow of his arm; but on the third day he +will die, and I must depart, and therefore lament I.' + +'Can nothing serve, Divine Lady, to prolong thy stay?' asked the +Rajpoot. + +'It might be,' replied the Spirit, 'if thou shouldst cut off the head of +thy first-born Shaktidhar, that hath on his body the thirty-two +auspicious marks of greatness. Were his head offered to the all-helpful +Durga, the Rajah should live a hundred years, and I might tarry beside +him.' + +'So speaking, she disappeared, and Vira-vara retraced his steps to his +own house and awoke his wife and son. They arose, and listened with +attention until Vira-vara had repeated all the words of the vision. When +he had finished, Shaktidhar exclaimed, 'I am thrice happy to be able to +save the state of the King. Kill me, my father, and linger not; to give +my life in such a cause is good indeed,' 'Yes,' said the Mother, 'it is +good, and worthy of our blood; how else should we deserve the King's +pay?' Being thus agreed, they repaired together at once to the temple of +the Goddess Durga, and having paid their devotions and entreated the +favor of the deity on behalf of the King, Vira-vara struck off his son's +head, and laid it as an offering upon the shrine. That done, Vira-vara +said, 'My service to the King is accomplished, and life without my boy +is but a burden,' and therewith he plunged his sword in his own breast +and fell dead. Overpowered with grief for her husband and child, the +mother also withdrew the twice-blooded weapon, and slew herself with it +on the bodies of Vira-vara and Shaktidhar. + +'All this was heard and seen by King Sudraka, and he stood aghast at the +sad sight. 'Woe is me!' he exclaimed-- + + 'Kings may come, and Kings may go; + What was I, to bring these low? + Souls so noble, slain for me, + Were not, and will never be!' + +What reck I of my realm, having lost these?' and thereat he drew his +scimitar to take his own life also. At that moment there appeared to him +the Goddess, who is Mistress of all men's fortunes. 'Son,' said she, +staying his lifted hand, 'forbear thy rash purpose, and bethink thee of +thy kingdom.' + +"The Rajah fell prostrate before her, and cried--'O Goddess! I am done +with life and wealth and kingdom! If thou hast compassion on me, let my +death restore these faithful ones to life; anywise I follow the path +they have marked,' 'Son,' replied the Goddess, 'thine affection is +pleasing to me: be it as thou wilt! The Rajpoot and his house shall be +rendered alive to thee.' Then the King departed, and presently saw +Vira-vara return, and take up again his station as before at the +palace-gate. + +'Ho! there, Vira-vara!' cried the King, 'what meant the weeping?' + +'Let your Majesty rest well!' answered the Rajpoot, 'it was a woman who +wept, and disappeared on my approach.' This answer completed the Rajah's +astonishment and delight; for we know-- + + 'He is brave whose tongue is silent of the trophies of his sword; + He is great whose quiet bearing marks his greatness well assured.' + +So when the day was come, he called a full council, and, declaring +therein all the events of the night, he invested the faithful guard with +the sovereignty of the Carnatic. + +"Thus, then," concluded King Silver-sides, "in entertaining strangers a +man may add to his friends." + +"It may well be," replied the Goose; "but a Minister should advise what +is expedient, and not what is pleasing in sentiment:-- + + 'When the Priest, the Leech, the Vizir of a King his flatterers be, + Very soon the King will part with health, and wealth, and piety.' + +'Let it pass, then,' said Silver-sides, 'and turn we to the matter in +hand. King Jewel-plume is even now pitched under the Ghauts. What think +you?' + +'That we shall vanquish him,' replied the Goose; 'for he disregards, as +I learn, the counsel of that great statesman, the Vulture Far-sight; and +the wise have said-- + + 'Merciless, or money-loving, deaf to counsel, false of faith, + Thoughtless, spiritless, or careless, changing course with every + breath, + Or the man who scorns his rival--if a prince should choose a foe, + Ripe for meeting and defeating, certes he would choose him so. + +He is marching without due preparation; let us send the Paddy-bird at +the head of a force and attack him on his march." + +Accordingly the Paddy-bird, setting out with a force of water-fowl, fell +upon the host of the Peacock-king, and did immense execution. +Disheartened thereat, King Jewel-plume summoned Far-sight, his Minister, +and acknowledged to him his precipitation. + +'Wherefore do you abandon us, my father?' he said. 'Correct for us what +has been done amiss. + +'My Liege,' replied the Vulture, 'it has been well observed-- + + 'By the valorous and unskilful great achievements are not wrought; + Courage, led by careful Prudence, unto highest ends is brought.' + +You have set Strength in the seat of Counsel, your Majesty, and he hath +clumsily spoiled your plans. How indeed could it fall otherwise? for-- + + 'Grief kills gladness, winter summer, midnight-gloom the light of day, + Kindnesses ingratitude, and pleasant friends drive pain away; + Each ends each, but none of other surer conquerors can be + Than Impolicy of Fortune--of Misfortune Policy.' + +I have said to myself, 'My Prince's understanding is affected--how else +would he obscure the moonlight of policy with the night-vapors of talk;' +in such a mood I cannot help him-- + + 'Wisdom answers all who ask her, but a fool she cannot aid; + Blind men in the faithful mirror see not their reflection made.' + +And therefore I have been absent.' + +'My father!' said the King, joining his palms in respect, 'mine is all +the fault! Pardon it, and instruct me how to withdraw my army without +further loss.' + +Then the Vulture's anger melted, and he reflected-- + + 'Where the Gods are, or thy Guru--in the face of Pain and Age, + Cattle, Brahmans, Kings, and Children--reverently curb thy rage.' + +And with a benignant smile, he answered the King thus, 'Be of good +heart, my Liege; thou shalt not only bring the host back safely, but +thou shalt first destroy the castle of King Silver-sides.' + +'How can that be, with my diminished forces?' asked the Rajah. + +'It will come to pass!' answered the Vulture. 'Break up to-day for the +blockade of the fort.' + +Now, when this was reported by the spies to King Silver-sides, he was +greatly alarmed. 'Good Goose!' said he, 'what is to be done? Here is the +King of the Peacocks at hand, to blockade us--by his Minister's advice, +too.' + +'Sire,' replied the Goose, 'separate the efficient and the inefficient +in your force; and stimulate the loyalty of the first, with a royal +bounty of gold and dresses, as each may seem to merit. Now is the time +for it-- + + 'Oh, my Prince! on eight occasions prodigality is none-- + In the solemn sacrificing, at the wedding of a son, + When the glittering treasure given makes the proud invader bleed, + Or its lustre bringeth comfort to the people in their need, + Or when kinsmen are to succor, or a worthy work to end, + Or to do a mistress honor, or to welcome back a friend.' + +'But is this expenditure needed?' said the King. + +'It is needed, my Liege,' said the Goose, 'and it befits a Monarch; +for-- + + 'Truth, munificence, and valor, are the virtues of a King; + Royalty, devoid of either, sinks to a rejected thing.' + +'Let it be incurred then!' replied the King. + +At this moment Night-cloud, the Crow, made his appearance. 'Deign me one +regard, Sire,' said he, 'the insolent enemy is at our gates; let your +Majesty give the word, and I will go forth and show my valor and +devotion to your Crown.' + +'It were better to keep our cover,' said the Goose. 'Wherefore else +builded we this fortalice? Is it not said?-- + + 'Hold thy vantage!--alligators on the land make none afraid; + And the lion's but a jackal that hath left his forest-shade.' + +But go, your Majesty, and encourage our warriors." Thereupon they +repaired to the Gateway of the Fort, and all day the battle raged there. + +It was the morning after, when King Jewel-plume spake thus to his +Minister the Vulture--'Good sir, shall thy promise be kept to us?' + +'It shall be kept, your Majesty,' replied the Vulture; 'storm the fort!' + +'We will storm it!' said the Peacock-king. The sun was not well-risen +accordingly when the attack was made, and there arose hot fighting at +all the four gates. It was then that the traitorous Crows, headed by +their Monarch, Night-cloud, put fire to every dwelling in the citadel, +and raised a shout of 'The Fort is taken! it is taken!' At this terrible +sound the soldiers of the Swan-king forsook their posts, and plunged +into the pool. + +Not thus King Silver-sides:--retiring coolly before the foe, with his +General the Paddy-bird, he was cut off and encircled by the troopers of +King Jewel-plume, under the command of his Marshal, the Cock. + +'My General,' said the King, 'thou shalt not perish for me. Fly! I can +go no farther. Fly! I bid thee, and take counsel with the Goose that +Crest-jewel, my son, be named King!' + +'Good my Lord,' replied the Paddy-bird, 'speak not thus! Let your +Majesty reign victorious while the sun and moon endure. I am governor of +your Majesty's fortress, and if the enemy enter it he shall but do so +over my body; let me die for thee, my Master!-- + + 'Gentle, generous, and discerning; such a Prince the Gods do give!' + +'That shalt thou not,' replied the Rajah-- + + 'Skilful, honest, and true-hearted; where doth such a Vassal live?' + +'Nay! my royal Lord, escape!' cried the Paddy-bird; a king's life is the +life of his people-- + + 'The people are the lotus-leaves, their monarch is the sun-- + When he doth sink beneath the waves they vanish every one. + + When he doth rise they rise again with bud and blossom rife, + To bask awhile in his warm smile, who is their lord and life.' + +'Think no more of me.' At this instant the Cock rushing forward, +inflicted a wound with his sharp spurs on the person of the King; but +the Paddy-bird sprang in front of him, and receiving on his body the +blows designed for the Rajah, forced him away into the pool. Then +turning upon the Cock, he despatched him with a shower of blows from his +long bill; and finally succumbed, fighting in the midst of his enemies. +Thus the King of the Peacocks captured the fortress; and marched home +with all the treasure in it, amid songs of victory. + +Then spake the Princes: "In that army of the Swans there was no soldier +like the Paddy-bird, who gave his own life for the King's." + +"There be nowhere many such," replied Vishnu-Sarman; "for + + 'All the cows bring forth are cattle--only now and then is born + An authentic lord of pastures, with his shoulder-scratching horn.'[20] + +"It is well spoken," said the Princes. + +"But for him that dares to die so," added the Sage, "may an eternal +heaven be reserved, and may the lustrous Angels of Paradise, the +Apsaras, conduct him thither! Is it not so declared, indeed?-- + + 'When the soldier in the battle lays his life down for his king, + Unto Swerga's perfect glory such a deed his soul shall bring.' + +"It is so declared," said the Rajah's sons. + +"And now, my Princes," concluded Vishnu-Sarman, "you have listened to +'War.'" + +"We have listened, and are gratified," replied the sons of the King. + +"Let me end then," said their Preceptor, "with this-- + + 'If the clouds of Battle lower + When ye come into your power, + Durga grant the foes that dare you + Bring no elephants to scare you; + Nor the thunderous rush of horses, + Nor the footmen's steel-fringed forces: + But overblown by Policy's strong breath, + Hide they in caverns from the avenging death.' + + +[16] The peacock is wild in most Indian jungles. The swan is a species +of flamingo of a white color. The voice and gait of a beautiful woman +are likened by the Hindoo poets to those of the swan. + +[17] By such a death as that alluded to, she earns the title of Sati, +the "excellent." + +[18] The common Indian crane; a graceful white bird, seen everywhere in +the interior of Hindoostan. + +[19] A man of military caste. + +[20] Large branching horns which reach backward and rub upon his +shoulders. + + + + +PEACE + + +When the time came for resuming instruction, the King's sons said to +Vishnu-Sarman, "Master, we have heard of War, we would now learn +somewhat of the treaties which follow war." "It is well asked," replied +the Sage; "listen therefore to 'Peace,' which hath this commencement-- + + 'When those great Kings their weary war did cease, + The Vulture and the Goose concluded Peace.' + +'How came that?' asked the Princes. + +Vishnu-Sarman related:-- + + +THE TREATY BETWEEN THE PEACOCKS AND THE SWANS + +"So soon as King Jewel-plume had retreated, the first care of King +Silver-sides was the discovery of the treason that had cost him the +fort. + +'Goose,' he said to his Minister, 'who put the fire to our citadel, +think you? Was it an enemy or an inmate?' + +'Sire,' replied the Goose, 'Night-cloud and his followers are nowhere to +be seen--it must needs be his work.' + +'It must needs be,' sighed the King, after a pause; 'but what +ill-fortune!' + +'If it please your Majesty, no,' replied the Minister; 'it is written-- + + "'Tis the fool who, meeting trouble, straightway destiny reviles; + Knowing not his own misdoing brought his own mischance the whiles." + +You have forgotten the saying-- + + 'Who listens not, when true friends counsel well, + Must fall, as once the foolish Tortoise fell.' + +'I never heard it,' said the King. 'How was that?' The Goose related-- + + +THE STORY OF THE TORTOISE AND THE GEESE + +"There is a pool in South Behar called the 'Pool of the Blue Lotus,' and +two Geese had for a long time lived there. They had a friend in the pool +who was a Tortoise, and he was known as 'Shelly-neck,' It chanced one +evening that the Tortoise overheard some fishermen talking by the water. +'We will stop here to-night,' they said, 'and in the morning we will +catch the fish, the tortoises, and such like.' Extremely alarmed at +this, the Tortoise repaired to his friends the Geese, and reported the +conversation. + +'What ever am I to do, Gossips?' he asked. + +'The first thing is to be assured of the danger,' said the Geese. + +'I am assured,' exclaimed the Tortoise; 'the first thing is to avoid it: +don't you know?-- + + 'Time-not-come' and 'Quick-at-peril,' these two fishes 'scaped the net; + 'What-will-be-will-be,' he perished, by the fishermen beset.' + +'No,' said the Geese,' how was it?' Shelly-neck related:-- + + +THE STORY OF FATE AND THE THREE FISHES + +"It was just such a pool as this, and on the arrival at it of just such +men as these fishermen, that three fishes, who had heard their designs, +held consultation as to what should be done. + +'I shall go to another water,' said "Time-not-come," and away he went. + +'Why should we leave unless obliged?' asked "Quick-at-peril." 'When the +thing befalls I shall do the best I can-- + + 'Who deals with bad dilemmas well, is wise. + The merchant's wife, with womanly device, + Kissed--and denied the kiss--under his eyes.' + +'How was that?' asked the other fish. Quick-at-peril related:-- + + +THE STORY OF THE UNABASHED WIFE + +"There was a trader in Vikrama-poora, who had a very beautiful wife, and +her name was Jewel-bright. The lady was as unfaithful as she was fair, +and had chosen for her last lover one of the household servants. Ah! +womankind!-- + + 'Sex, that tires of being true, + Base and new is brave to you! + Like the jungle-cows ye range, + Changing food for sake of change.' + +Now it befell one day that as Jewel-bright was bestowing a kiss on the +mouth of the servant, she was surprised by her husband; and seeing him +she ran up hastily and said, 'My lord, here is an impudent varlet! he +eats the camphor which I procured for you; I was actually smelling it on +his lips as you entered.' The servant catching her meaning, affected +offence. 'How can a man stay in a house where the mistress is always +smelling one's lips for a little camphor?' he said; and thereat he was +for going off, and was only constrained by the good man to stay, after +much entreaty. 'Therefore,' said Quick-at-peril, 'I mean to abide here, +and make the best I can of what befalls, as she did.' + +'Yes, yes,' said What-will-be-will-be, 'we all know + + 'That which will not be will not be, and what is to be will be:-- + Why not drink this easy physic, antidote of misery?' + +'When the morning came, the net was thrown, and both the fishes +inclosed. Quick-at-peril, on being drawn up, feigned himself dead; and +upon the fisherman's laying him aside, he leaped off again into the +water. As to What-will-be-will-be, he was seized and forthwith +dispatched.--And that,' concluded the Tortoise, 'is why I wish to devise +some plan of escape.' + +'It might be compassed if you could go elsewhere,' said the Geese, 'but +how can you get across the ground?' + +'Can't you take me through the air?' asked the Tortoise. + +'Impossible!' said the Geese. + +'Not at all!' replied the Tortoise; 'you shall hold a stick across in +your bills, and I will hang on to it by my mouth--and thus you can +readily convey me,' + +'It is feasible,' observed the Geese, 'but remember, + + 'Wise men their plans revolve, lest ill befall; + The Herons gained a friend, and so, lost all.' + +'How came that about?' asked the Tortoise. The Geese related:-- + + +THE STORY OF THE HERONS AND THE MONGOOSE + +"Among the mountains of the north there is one named Eagle-cliff, and +near it, upon a fig-tree, a flock of Herons had their residence. At the +foot of the tree, in a hollow, there lived a serpent; and he was +constantly devouring the nestlings of the Herons. Loud were the +complaints of the parent birds, until an old Heron thus advised +them:--'You should bring some fishes from the pool, and lay them one by +one in a line from the hole of yonder Mongoose to the hollow where the +Serpent lives. The Mongoose will find him when it comes after the fish, +and if it finds him it will kill him.' The advice seemed good, and was +acted upon; but in killing the Snake the Mongoose overheard the cry of +the young Herons; and climbing the tree daily, he devoured all that the +Snake had left. Therefore,' concluded the Geese, 'do we bid you look +well into your plan: if you should open your mouth, for instance, as we +carry you, you will drop and be killed.' + +'Am I a fool,' cried the Tortoise, 'to open my mouth? Not I! Come now, +convey me!' + +'Thereupon the Geese took up the stick; the Tortoise held fast with his +mouth, and away they flew. The country people, observing this strange +sight, ran after. + +'Ho! ho!' cried one, 'look at the flying Tortoise!' + +'When he falls we'll cook and eat him here,' said another. + +'No; let us take him home for dinner!' cried a third. + +'We can light a fire by the pool, and eat him,' said the first. + +'The Tortoise heard these unkind remarks in a towering passion. 'Eat +me!--eat ashes!' he exclaimed, opening his mouth--and down he fell +directly, and was caught by the countrymen.--Said I not well,' concluded +the Goose-Minister, 'that to scorn counsel is to seek destruction?' + +'You have well said,' replied King Silver-sides, disconsolately. + +'Yes, your Majesty,' interposed the Crane, who was just returned, 'if +the Fort had been cleared, Night-cloud could not have fired it, as he +did, by the Vulture's instigation.' + +'We see it all,' sighed the King, 'but too late!' + + 'Whoso trusts, for service rendered, or fair words, an enemy, + Wakes from folly like one falling in his slumber from a tree.' + +'I witnessed Night-cloud's reception,' continued the Crane. 'King +Jewel-plume showed him great favor, and was for anointing him Rajah of +Camphor-island.' + +'Hear you that, my Liege?' asked the Goose. + +'Go on; I hear!' said Silver-sides. + +'To that the Vulture demurred,' continued the Crane:--'"favor to low +persons," he said, "was like writing on the sea-sand. To set the +base-born in the seat of the great was long ago declared impolitic-- + + 'Give mean men power, and give thy throat to the knife; + The Mouse, made Tiger, sought his master's life.' + +'How was that?' asked King Jewel-plume. The Vulture related-- + + +THE STORY OF THE RECLUSE AND THE MOUSE + +"In the forest of the Sage Gautama there dwelt a Recluse named +Mighty-at-Prayer. Once, as he sat at his frugal meal, a young mouse +dropped beside him from the beak of a crow, and he took it up and fed it +tenderly with rice grains. Some time after the Saint observed a cat +pursuing his dependent to devour it, whereupon he changed the mouse into +a stout cat. The cat was a great deal harassed by dogs, upon which the +Saint again transformed it into a dog. The dog was always in danger of +the tigers, and his protector at last gave him the form of a +tiger--considering him all this while, and treating him withal, like +nothing but a mouse. The country-folk passing by would say, 'That a +tiger! not he; it is a mouse the Saint has transformed.' And the mouse +being vexed at this, reflected, 'So long as the Master lives, this +shameful story of my origin will survive!' With this thought he was +about to take the Saint's life, when he, who knew his purpose, turned +the ungrateful beast by a word to his original shape. Besides, your +Majesty," continued the Vulture, "it may not be so easy to take in +Camphor-island-- + + 'Many fine fishes did the old Crane kill, + But the Crab matched him, maugre all his bill.' + +'How came that to pass?' asked Jewel-plume. + +'The Vulture related:-- + + +THE STORY OF THE CRANE AND THE CRAB + +"There was an old Crane at a mere called Lily-water, in Malwa, who stood +one day in the shallows with a most dejected look and drooping bill. A +Crab observed him and called out, 'Friend Crane! have you given up +eating, that you stand there all day?' 'Nay, sir!' replied the old +Crane; 'I love my dish of fish, but I have heard the fishermen say that +they mean to capture every one that swims in this water; and as that +destroys my hope of subsistence, I am resigning myself to death.' All +this the fishes overheard. 'In this matter certainly,' they said, 'his +interest is ours; we ought to consult him; for it is written-- + + 'Fellow be with kindly foemen, rather than with friends unkind; + Friend and foeman are distinguished not by title but by mind.' + +Thereupon they repaired to him: 'Good Crane,' they said, 'what course is +there for safety?' + +'Course of safety there is,' replied the Crane, 'to go elsewhere; and I +will carry you one by one to another pool, if you please.' + +'Do so,' said the trembling fishes. + +"The Crane accordingly took one after another, and having eaten them +returned with the report that he had safely deposited each. Last of all, +the Crab requested to be taken; and the Crane, coveting his tender +flesh, took him up with great apparent respect. On arriving at the spot, +which was covered with fish-bones, the Crab perceived the fate reserved +for him; and turning round he fastened upon the Crane's throat and tore +it so that he perished.' + +'Well, but,' said King Jewel-plume, 'we can make Night-cloud viceroy +here, to send over to Vindhya all the productions of Camphor-isle!' + +'Then the Vulture Far-sight laughed a low laugh and said-- + + 'Who, ere he makes a gain has spent it, + Like the pot-breaker will repent it.' + +'What was that?' asked the King. Far-sight related:-- + + +THE STORY OF THE BRAHMAN AND THE PANS + +"There was a Brahman in the city of Vána, whose name was Deva Sarman. At +the equinoctial feast of the Dussera, he obtained for his duxina-gift a +dish of flour, which he took into a potter's shed; and there lay down in +the shade among the pots, staff in hand. As he thus reclined he began to +meditate, 'I can sell this meal for ten cowrie-shells, and with them I +can purchase some of these pots and sell them at an advance. With all +that money I shall invest in betel-nuts and body-cloths and make a new +profit by their sale; and so go on trafficking till I get a lakh of +rupees--what's to prevent me? Then I shall marry four wives--and one at +least will be beautiful and young, and she shall be my favorite. Of +course the others will be jealous; but if they quarrel, and talk, and +trouble me I will belabor them like this--and this'--and therewith he +flourished his staff to such a purpose as to smash his meal-dish and +break several of the potter's jars. The potter, rushing out, took him by +the throat, and turned him off; and so ended his speculations. I smiled, +my Liege,' concluded the Vulture, 'at your precipitancy, thinking of +that story.' + +'Tell me, then, my Father, what should be done,' said the King. + +'Tell me first, your Majesty, what took the fortress: strength or +stratagem?' + +'It was a device of yours,' said the King. + +'It is well,' replied the Minister, 'and my counsel now is to return +before the rainy season, while we can return; and to make peace. We have +won renown and taken the enemy's stronghold; let it suffice. I speak as +a faithful adviser; and it is written-- + + 'Whoso setting duty highest, speaks at need unwelcome things, + Disregarding fear and favor, such a one may succor kings.' + +Oh, my Liege! war is uncertain! Nay, it may ruin victor and +vanquished-- + + 'Sunda the strong, and giant Upasunda, + Contending, like the lightning and the thunder, + Slew each the other. Learn, the while you wonder.' + +'Tell me that,' said the King of the Peacocks. + +'The Vulture related-- + + +THE DUEL OF THE GIANTS + +"Long ago, my Liege, there were two Daityas named Sunda and Upasunda, +the which with penance and fasting worshipped that God who wears the +moon for his forehead-jewel; desiring to win his favor, and thereby the +lordship of the Three Worlds. At last the God, propitiated by their +devotion, spake thus unto them:-- + +'I grant a boon unto ye--choose what it shall be.' + +'And they, who would have asked dominion, were suddenly minded of +Saraswati--who reigns over the hearts and thoughts of men--to seek a +forbidden thing. + +'If,' said they, 'we have found favor, let the Divinity give us his own +cherished Parvati, the Queen of Heaven!' + +'Terribly incensed was the God, but his word had passed, and the boon +must be granted; and Parvati the Divine was delivered up to them. Then +those two world-breakers, sick at heart, sin-blinded, and afire with the +glorious beauty of the Queen of Life--began to dispute, saying one to +another: 'Mine is she! mine is she!' At the last they called for an +umpire, and the God himself appeared before them as a venerable Brahman. + +'Master,' said they, 'tell us whose she is, for we both won her by our +might.' + +'Then spake that Brahman:-- + + 'Brahmans for their lore have honor; Kshattriyas for their bravery; + Vaisyas for their hard-earned treasure; Sudras for humility,' + +Ye are Kshattriyas--and it is yours to fight; settle, then, this +question by the sword.' + +'Thereupon they agreed that he spoke wisely, and drew and battled; and +being of equal force, they fell at the same moment by an exchange of +blows. Good my Lord,' concluded the Minister, 'peace is a better thing +than war,' + +'But why not say so before?' asked Jewel-plume. + +'I said it at the first,' replied the Minister. 'I knew King +Silver-sides for a just King, upon whom it was ill to wage battle. How +say the Scriptures?-- + + 'Seven foemen of all foemen, very hard to vanquish be: + The Truth-teller, the Just-dweller, and the man from passion free, + Subtle, self-sustained, and counting frequent well-won victories, + And the man of many kinsmen--keep the peace with such as these.' + +The Swan-king has friends and kinsmen, my Liege:-- + + 'And the man with many kinsmen answers with them all attacks; + As the bambu, in the bambus safely sheltered, scorns the axe.' + +'My counsel then is that peace be concluded with him,' said the Vulture. + +'All this King Silver-sides and his Minister the Goose heard attentively +from the Crane. + +'Go again!' said the Goose to Long-bill, 'and bring us news of how the +Vulture's advice is received.' + +'Minister!' began the King, upon the departure of the Crane, 'tell me as +to this peace, who are they with whom it should not be concluded?' + +'They be twenty, namely----' + +'Tarry not to name them,' said the King; 'and what be the qualities of a +good ally?' + +'Such should be learned in Peace and War,' replied the Goose, 'in +marching and pitching, and seasonably placing an army in the field; for +it is said-- + + 'He who sets his battle wisely, conquers the unwary foe; + As the Owl, awaiting night-time, slew the overweening Crow.' + +Counsel, my Liege, is quintuple--Commencing, providing, dividing, +repelling, and completing,' + +'Good!' said the King. + +'Power is triple,' continued the Goose, 'being of Kings, of counsels, +and of constant effort.' + +'It is so!' said the King. + +'And expedients, my Liege,' continued the Goose, 'are quadruple, and +consist of conciliation, of gifts, of strife-stirring, and of force of +arms; for thus it is written-- + + 'Whoso hath the gift of giving wisely, equitably, well; + Whoso, learning all men's secrets, unto none his own will tell; + Whoso, ever cold and courtly, utters nothing that offends, + Such a one may rule his fellows unto Earth's extremest ends.' + +'Then King Jewel-plume would be a good ally,' observed the Swan-king. + +'Doubtless!' said the Goose, 'but elated with victory, he will hardly +listen to the Vulture's counsel; we must make him do it.' + +'How?' asked the King. + +'We will cause our dependent, the King of Ceylon, Strong-bill the Stork, +to raise an insurrection in Jambudwipa.' + +'It is well-conceived,' said the King. And forthwith a Crane, named +Pied-body, was dismissed with a secret message to that Rajah. + +'In course of time the first Crane, who had been sent as a spy, came +back, and made his report. He related that the Vulture had advised his +Sovereign to summon Night-cloud, the Crow, and learn from him regarding +King Silver-sides' intentions. Night-cloud attended accordingly. + +'Crow!' asked King Jewel-plume, 'what sort of a Monarch is the Rajah +Silver-sides?' + +'Truthful, may it please you,' replied the Crow; 'and therewithal noble +as Yudisthira himself.' + +'And his Minister, the Goose?' + +'Is a Minister unrivalled, my Liege,' said the Crow-king. + +'But how then didst thou so easily deceive them?' + +'Ah! your Majesty,' said the Crow, 'there was little credit in that. Is +it not said?-- + + 'Cheating them that truly trust you, 'tis a clumsy villainy! + Any knave may slay the child who climbs and slumbers on his knee.' + +Besides, the Minister detected me immediately. It was the King whose +innate goodness forbade him to suspect evil in another:-- + + 'Believe a knave, thyself scorning a lie, + And rue it, like the Brahman, by and by.' + +'What Brahman was that?' asked the King. Night-cloud replied:-- + + +THE STORY OF THE BRAHMAN AND THE GOAT + +"A Brahman that lived in the forest of Gautama, your Majesty. He had +purveyed a goat to make pooja, and was returning home with it on life +shoulder when he was descried by three knaves. 'If we could but obtain +that goat,' said they, 'it would be a rare trick'; and they ran on, and +seated themselves at the foot of three different trees upon the +Brahman's road. Presently he came up with the first of them, who +addressed him thus: 'Master! why do you carry that dog on your +shoulder?' 'Dog!' said the Brahman, 'it is a goat for sacrifice!' With +that he went on a coss, and came to the second knave; who called +out--'What doest thou with that dog, Master?' The Brahman laid his goat +upon the ground, looked it all over, took it up again upon his back, and +walked on with his mind in a whirl; for-- + + 'The good think evil slowly, and they pay + A price for faith--as witness "Crop-ear" may.' + +'Who was Crop-ear?' asked the King of the Peacocks. + + +THE STORY OF THE CAMEL, THE LION, AND HIS COURT + +"A Camel, may it please you," replied Night-cloud, "who strayed away +from a kafila, and wandered into the forest. A Lion, named +'Fierce-fangs,' lived in that forest; and his three courtiers, a Tiger, +a Jackal, and a Crow, met the Camel, and conducted him to their King. +His account of himself was satisfactory, and the Lion took him into his +service under the name of Crop-ear. Now it happened that the rainy +season was very severe, and the Lion became indisposed, so that there +was much difficulty in obtaining food for the Court. The courtiers +resolved accordingly to prevail on the Lion to kill the Camel; 'for what +interest have we,' they said, 'in this browser of thistles?' + +'What, indeed!' observed the Tiger; 'but will the Rajah kill him after +his promise of protection, think you?' + +'Being famished he will,' said the Crow. 'Know you not?-- + + 'Hunger hears not, cares not, spares not; no boon of the starving beg; + When the snake is pinched with craving, verily she eats her egg.' + +Accordingly they repaired to the Lion. + +'Hast brought me food, fellow?' growled the Rajah. + +'None, may it please you,' said the Crow. + +'Must we starve, then?' asked his Majesty. + +'Not unless you reject the food before you, Sire,' rejoined the Crow. + +'Before me! how mean you?' + +'I mean,' replied the Crow (and he whispered it in the Lion's ear), +'Crop-ear, the Camel!' + +'Now!' said the Lion, and he touched the ground, and afterwards both +ears, as he spoke, 'I have given him my pledge for his safety, and how +should I slay him?' + +'Nay, Sire! I said not slay,' replied the Crow; 'it may be that he will +offer himself for food. To that your Majesty would not object?' + +'I am parlous hungry,' muttered the Lion. + +'Then the Crow went to find the Camel, and, bringing all together before +the King under some pretence or other, he thus addressed him:-- + +'Sire! our pains are come to nothing: we can get no food, and we behold +our Lord falling away, + + 'Of the Tree of State the root + Kings are--feed what brings the fruit.' + +Take me, therefore, your Majesty, and break your fast upon me." + +'Good Crow,' said the Lion, 'I had liefer die than do so.' + +'Will your Majesty deign to make a repast upon me?' asked the Jackal. + +'On no account!' replied the Lion. + +'Condescend, my Lord,' said the Tiger, 'to appease your hunger with my +poor flesh.' + +'Impossible!' responded the Lion. + +'Thereupon Crop-ear, not to be behind in what seemed safe, made offer of +his own carcase, which was accepted before he had finished; the Tiger +instantly tearing his flank open, and all the rest at once devouring +him. + +'The Brahman,' continued Night-cloud, 'suspected nothing more than did +the Camel; and when the third knave had broken his jest upon him for +bearing a dog, he threw it down, washed himself clean of the +contamination, and went home; while the knaves secured and cooked his +goat.' + +'But, Night-cloud,' asked the Rajah, 'how couldst thou abide so long +among enemies, and conciliate them?' + +'It is easy to play the courtier for a purpose,' said Night-cloud-- + + 'Courtesy may cover malice; on their heads the woodmen bring, + Meaning all the while to burn them, logs and fagots--oh, my King! + And the strong and subtle river, rippling at the cedar's foot, + While it seems to lave and kiss it, undermines the hanging root.' + +Indeed, it has been said-- + + 'A wise man for an object's sake + His foe upon his back will take, + As with the Frogs once did the Snake.' + +'How was that?' asked the Peacock-King. The Crow related:-- + + +THE STORY OF THE FROGS AND THE OLD SERPENT + +"In a deserted garden there once lived a Serpent, 'Slow-coil' by name; +who had reached an age when he was no longer able to obtain his own +food. Lying listlessly by the edge of a pond, he was descried by a +certain Frog, and interrogated-- + +'Have you given up caring for food, Serpent?' + +'Leave me, kindly Sir,' replied the subtle reptile; 'the griefs of a +miserable wretch like me cannot interest your lofty mind.' + +'Let me at least hear them,' said the Frog, somewhat flattered. + +'You must know, then, gracious Sir,' began the Serpent, 'that it is now +twenty years since here, in Brahmapoora, I bit the son of Kaundinya, a +holy Brahman; of which cruel bite he died. Seeing his boy dead, +Kaundinya abandoned himself to despair, and grovelled in his distress +upon the ground. Thereat came all his kinsmen, citizens of Brahmapoora, +and sat down with him, as the manner is-- + + 'He who shares his brother's portion, be he beggar, be he lord, + Comes as truly, comes as duly, to the battle as the board; + + Stands before the King to succor, follows to the pile to sigh; + He is friend and he is kinsman--less would make the name a lie.' + +Then spoke a twice-passed Brahman,[21] Kapila by name, 'O Kaundinya! +thou dost forget thyself to lament thus. Hear what is written-- + + 'Weep not! Life the hired nurse is, holding us a little space; + Death, the mother who doth take us back into our proper place.' + + 'Gone, with all their gauds and glories: gone, like peasants, are the + Kings, + Whereunto the world is witness, whereof all her record rings.' + +What, indeed, my friend, is this mortal frame, that we should set store +by it?-- + + 'For the body, daily wasting, is not seen to waste away, + Until wasted, as in water set a jar of unbaked clay.' + + 'And day after day man goeth near and nearer to his fate, + As step after step the victim thither where its slayers wait.' + +Friends and kinsmen--they must all be surrendered! Is it not said-- + + 'Like as a plank of drift-wood + Tossed on the watery main, + Another plank encountered, + Meets--touches--parts again; + So tossed, and drifting ever, + On life's unresting sea, + Men meet, and greet, and sever, + Parting eternally.' + +Thou knowest these things, let thy wisdom chide thy sorrow, saying-- + + 'Halt, traveller! rest i' the shade: then up and leave it! + Stay, Soul! take fill of love; nor losing, grieve it!' + +But in sooth a wise man would better avoid love; for-- + + 'Each beloved object born + Sets within the heart a thorn, + Bleeding, when they be uptorn.' + +And it is well asked-- + + 'When thine own house, this rotting frame, doth wither, + Thinking another's lasting--goest thou thither?' + +What will be, will be; and who knows not-- + + 'Meeting makes a parting sure, + Life is nothing but death's door.' + +For truly-- + + 'As the downward-running rivers never turn and never stay, + So the days and nights stream deathward, bearing human lives away.' + +And though it be objected that-- + + 'Bethinking him of darkness grim, and death's unshunned pain, + A man strong-souled relaxes hold, like leather soaked in rain.' + +Yet is this none the less assured, that-- + + 'From the day, the hour, the minute, + Each life quickens in the womb; + Thence its march, no falter in it, + Goes straight forward to the tomb.' + +Form, good friend, a true idea of mundane matters; and bethink thee that +regret is after all but an illusion, an ignorance-- + + 'An 'twere not so, would sorrow cease with years? + Wisdom sees aright what want of knowledge fears.' + +'Kaundinya listened to all this with the air of a dreamer. Then rising +up he said, 'Enough! the house is hell to me--I will betake me to the +forest.' + +'Will that stead you?' asked Kapila; 'nay-- + + 'Seek not the wild, sad heart! thy passions haunt it; + Play hermit in thine house with heart undaunted; + A governed heart, thinking no thought but good, + Makes crowded houses holy solitude.' + +To be master of one's self--to eat only to prolong life--to yield to +love no more than may suffice to perpetuate a family--and never to speak +but in the cause of truth, this,' said Kapila, 'is armor against grief. +What wouldst thou with a hermit's life--prayer and purification from +sorrow and sin in holy streams? Hear this!-- + + 'Away with those that preach to us the washing off of sin-- + Thine own self is the stream for thee to make ablutions in: + In self-restraint it rises pure--flows clear in tide of truth, + By widening banks of wisdom, in waves of peace and ruth. + Bathe there, thou son of Pandu! with reverence and rite, + For never yet was water wet could wash the spirit white.' + +Resign thyself to loss. Pain exists absolutely. Ease, what is it but a +minute's alleviation?' + +'It is nothing else,' said Kaundinya: 'I will resign myself!' +Thereupon,' the Serpent continued, 'he cursed me with the curse that I +should be a carrier of frogs, and so retired--and here remain I to do +according to the Brahman's malediction.' + +'The Frog, hearing all this, went and reported it to Web-foot the +Frog-King, who shortly came himself for an excursion on the Serpent. He +was carried delightfully, and constantly employed the conveyance. But +one day observing the Serpent to be sluggish, he asked the reason. + +'May it please you,' explained the Serpent, 'your slave has nothing to +eat.' + +'Eat a few of my frogs,' said the King. 'I give you leave.' + +'I thank your Majesty!' answered the Serpent, and forthwith he began to +eat the frogs, until the pond becoming clear, he finished with their +monarch himself. 'I also,' said Night-cloud, 'stooped to conquer, but +King Silver-sides is a good King, and I would your Majesty were at peace +with him.' + +'Peace!' cried King Jewel-plume, 'shall I make peace with my vassal! I +have vanquished him--let him serve me!' + +"At this moment the Parrot came in. 'Sire!' said he, breathlessly,' the +Stork Strong-bill, Rajah of Ceylon, has raised the standard of revolt in +Jambudwipa, and claims the country.' + +'What! what!' cried the King in a fury. + +'Excellent good, Goose!' muttered the Minister. 'This is thy work!' + +'Bid him but await me!' exclaimed the King, 'and I will tear him up like +a tree!' + +'Ah, Sire,' said the Minister-- + + 'Thunder for nothing, like December's cloud, + Passes unmarked: strike hard, but speak not loud.' + +We cannot march without making peace first; our rear will be attacked.' + +'Must it be so?' asked the King. + +'My Liege, it must,' replied the Vulture. + +'Make a peace then,' said the King, 'and make an end.' + +'It is well,' observed the Minister, and set out for the Court of the +King Silver-sides. While he was yet coming, the Crane announced his +approach. + +'Ah!' said the Swan-King, 'this will be another designing spy from the +enemy.' + +'Misdoubt him not!' answered the Goose, smiling, 'it is the Vulture +Far-sight, a spirit beyond suspicion. Would your Majesty be as the Swan +that took the stars reflected in the pool for lily-buds, and being +deceived, would eat no lily-shoots by day, thinking them stars?' + +'Not so! but treachery breeds mistrust,' replied the Rajah; is it not +written-- + + 'Minds deceived by evil natures, from the good their faith withhold; + When hot conjee once has burned them, children blow upon the cold.' + +'It is so written, my Liege,' said the Minister. 'But this one may be +trusted. Let him be received with compliments and a gift.' + +'Accordingly the Vulture was conducted, with the most profound respect, +from the fort to the King's audience-hall, where a throne was placed for +him. + +'Minister,' said the Goose, 'consider us and ours at thy disposal.' + +'So consider us,' assented the Swan-King. + +'I thank you,' said Far-sight; 'but-- + + 'With a gift the miser meet; + Proud men by obeisance greet; + Women's silly fancies soothe; + Give wise men their due--the truth.' + +'I am come to conclude a peace, not to claim your kingdom. By what mode +shall we conclude it?' + +'How many modes be there?' asked King Silver-sides. + +'Sixteen,' replied the Vulture. + +'Are the alliances numbered therein?' asked the King. + +'No! these be four,' answered the Vulture, 'namely--of mutual help--of +friendship--of blood--and of sacrifice.' + +'You are a great diplomatist!' said the King. 'Advise us which to +choose!' + +'There is no Peace like the Golden "Sangata," which is made between good +men, based on friendly feeling, and preceded by the Oath of Truth,' +replied the Vulture. + +'Let us make that Peace!' said the Goose. Far-sight accordingly, with +fresh presents of robes and jewels, accompanied the Goose to the camp of +the Peacock-King. The Rajah, Jewel-plume, gave the Goose a gracious +audience, accepted his terms of Peace, and sent him back to the +Swan-King, loaded with gifts and kind speeches. The revolt in Jambudwipa +was suppressed, and the Peacock-King retired to his own kingdom. + +"And now," said Vishnu-Sarman, "I have told your Royal Highnesses all. +Is there anything remaining to be told?" + +"Reverend Sir!" replied the Princes, "there is nothing. Thanks to you, +we have heard and comprehended the perfect cycle of kingly duty, and are +content." + +"There remains but this, then," said their Preceptor:-- + + 'Peace and Plenty, all fair things, + Grace the realm where ye reign Kings; + Grief and loss come not anigh you, + Glory guide and magnify you; + Wisdom keep your statesmen still + Clinging fast, in good or ill, + Clinging, like a bride new-wed, + Unto lips, and breast, and head: + And day by day, that these fair things befall, + The Lady Lukshmi give her grace to all.' + + +[21] A young Brahman, being invested with the sacred thread, and having +concluded his studies, becomes of the second order: a householder. + + + + +NALA AND DAMAYANTI + +[_Selected from the "Mahâbhârata" Translation by Sir Edwin Arnold_] + + +INTRODUCTION + + +The "Mahâbhârata" is the oldest epic in Sanscrit literature, and is +sevenfold greater in bulk than the "Iliad" and "Odyssey" taken together. +This remarkable poem contains almost all the history of ancient India, +so far as it can be recovered, together with inexhaustible details of +its political, social, and religious life--in fact, the antique Hindoo +world stands epitomized in it. The Old Testament is not more interwoven +with the Jewish race, nor the New Testament with the civilization of +Christendom, nor even the Koran with the records and destinies of Islam, +than is this great Sanscrit poem with the unchanging and teeming +population of Hindostan. The stories, songs, and ballads, the +genealogies, the nursery tales and religious discourses, the art, the +learning, the philosophy, the creeds, the modes of thought, the very +phrases and daily ideas of the Hindoo people are taken from this poem. +Their children are named after its heroes; so are their cities, streets, +and even cattle. It is the spiritual life of the Hindoo people. It is +personified, worshipped, and cited as being something divine. To read, +or even to listen, is to the devout Hindoo sufficiently meritorious to +bring prosperity to the fireside in this world, and happiness in the +world to come. + +The western world has as yet only received the "Mahâbhârata" in +fragments--mere specimens, bearing to those vast treasures of Sanscrit +literature such small proportion as cabinet samples of ore have to the +riches of a mine. Such knowledge as we have of the great Indian epics is +largely due to Sir William Jones, and the host of translators who +followed him. + +In its present shape the "Mahâbhârata" contains some two hundred +thousand verses. The style is forcible, often terse and nervous: the +action is well sustained, and the whole effect produced is that of a +poem written in commemoration of actual conflict between members of +rival clans who lived somewhere southeast of the Punjab. In portrayal of +character the Hindoo poem somewhat resembles its Grecian +counterpart--the "Iliad"; the noble devotion and chivalric character of +its chief hero, Arjuna, reminds us of Hector--and the wily, sinful +Duryodhana, is a second Ulysses. The "Mahâbhârata" was probably begun in +the third or fourth century B.C., and completed soon after the beginning +of the Christian era. + +The "Bhârata" war is a war between rival cousins of the house of +Bhârata, a race of heroes mentioned in the Rig-veda collection. +Duryodhana deprives his cousin Yudhisthira of his throne by inducing him +to squander his fortune, kingdom, family, and self--and then banishes +Yudhisthira and the latter's four brothers for twelve years. The +gambling was conducted in an unfair manner, and the cousins feel that +their banishment was the result of treachery, although pretended to be +mercy in lieu of death. When the twelve years are over they collect +armies of sympathizers, and on the Sacred Plain of the Kurus (the Holy +Land of India) the great war is fought out. The good prevails, +Duryodhana is slain, and Yudhisthira recovers his kingdom. This story is +told so graphically that the "Mahâbhârata" still has the charm that +comes from plot and action, as well as that of poetic beauty. + +A concluding passage of this great poem says: "The reading of this +'Mahâbhârata' destroys all sin and produces virtue, so much so that the +pronunciation of a single shloka is sufficient to wipe away much guilt. +It has bound human beings in a chain, of which one end is life and the +other death. If a man reads the 'Mahâbhârata' and has faith in its +doctrines, he is free from all sin and ascends to heaven after his +death." + +The present selection is the episode of Nala and Damayanti. It is one of +the most charming of the "Mahâbhârata" stories, and its Oriental flavor +and delicacy have been well preserved by the translator, Sir Edwin +Arnold. + +L.F.C. + + + + +THE MAHÂBHÂRATA + + +NALA AND DAMAYANTI + +Part I + + + A prince there was, named Nala, Virasen's noble breed, + Goodly to see, and virtuous; a tamer of the steed; + As Indra 'midst the gods, so he of kings was kingliest one, + Sovereign of men, and splendid as the golden, glittering sun; + Pure, knowing scripture, gallant; ruling nobly Nishadh's lands; + Dice-loving, but a proud, true chief of her embattled bands; + By lovely ladies lauded; free, trained in self-control; + A shield and bow; a Manu on earth; a royal soul! + And in Vidarbha's city the Raja Bhima dwelled; + Save offspring, from his perfect bliss no blessing was withheld; + For offspring, many a pious rite full patiently he wrought, + Till Damana the Brahman unto his house was brought. + Him Bhima, ever reverent, did courteously entreat, + Within the Queen's pavilion led him, to rest and eat; + Whereby that sage, grown grateful, gave her--for joy of joys-- + A girl, the gem of girlhood, and three brave lusty boys-- + Damana, Dama, Dânta, their names:--Damayanti she; + No daughter more delightful, no sons could goodlier be. + Stately and bright and beautiful did Damayanti grow; + No land there was which did not the Slender-waisted know; + A hundred slaves her fair form decked with robe and ornament-- + Like Śachi's self to serve her a hundred virgins bent; + And 'midst them Bhima's daughter, in peerless glory dight, + Gleamed as the lightning glitters against the murk of night; + Having the eyes of Lakshmi, long-lidded, black, and bright-- + Nay--never Gods, nor Yakshas, nor mortal men among + Was one so rare and radiant e'er seen, or sued, or sung + As she, the heart-consuming, in heaven itself desired. + And Nala, too, of princes the Tiger-Prince, admired + Like Kama was; in beauty an embodied lord of love: + And ofttimes Nala praised they all other chiefs above + In Damayanti's hearing; and oftentimes to him, + With worship and with wonder, her beauty they would limn; + So that, unmet, unknowing, unseen, in each for each + A tender thought of longing grew up from seed of speech; + And love (thou son of Kunti!) those gentle hearts did reach. + Thus Nala--hardly bearing in his heart + Such longing--wandered in his palace-woods, + And marked some water-birds, with painted plumes, + Disporting. One, by stealthy steps, he seized; + But the sky-traveller spake to Nala this:-- + "Kill me not, Prince, and I will serve thee well. + For I, in Damayanti's ear, will say + Such good of Nishadh's lord, that nevermore + Shall thought of man possess her, save of thee." + Thereat the Prince gladly gave liberty + To his soft prisoner, and all the swans + Flew, clanging, to Vidarbha--a bright flock-- + Straight to Vidarbha, where the Princess walked; + And there, beneath her eyes, those winged ones + Lighted. She saw them sail to earth, and marked-- + Sitting amid her maids--their graceful forms; + While those for wantonness 'gan chase the swans, + Which fluttered this and that way through the grove: + Each girl with tripping feet her bird pursued, + And Damayanti, laughing, followed hers; + Till--at the point to grasp--the flying prey + Deftly eluding touch, spake as men speak, + Addressing Bhima's daughter:-- + "Lady dear! + Loveliest Damayanti! Nala dwells + In near Nishadha: oh, a noble Prince, + Not to be matched of men; an Aświn he, + For goodliness. Incomparable maid! + Wert thou but wife to that surpassing chief, + Rich would the fruit grow from such lordly birth, + Such peerless beauty. Slender-waisted one, + Gods, men, and Gandharvas have we beheld, + But never none among them like to him. + As thou art pearl of princesses, so he + Is crown of princes; happy would it fall, + One such perfection should another wed." + And when she heard that bird (O King of men!) + The Princess answered: "Go, dear swan, and tell + This same to Nala;" and the egg-born said, + "I go"--and flew; and told the Prince of all. + But Damayanti, having heard the bird, + Lived fancy-free no more; by Nala's side + Her soul dwelt, while she sat at home distraught, + Mournful and wan, sighing the hours away, + With eyes upcast, and passion-laden looks; + So that, eftsoons, her limbs failed, and her mind-- + With love o'erweighted--found no rest in sleep, + No grace in company, no joy at feasts. + Nor night nor day brought peace; always she heaved + Sigh upon sigh, till all her maidens knew-- + By glance and mien and moan--how changed she was, + Her own sweet self no more. Then to the King + They told how Damayanti loved the Prince. + Which thing when Bhima from her maidens heard, + Deep pondering for his child what should be done, + And why the Princess was beside herself, + That lord of lands perceived his daughter grown, + And knew that for her high Swayamvara + The time was come. + So, to the Rajas all + The King sent word: "Ye Lords of Earth, attend + Of Damayanti the Swayamvara." + And when these learned of her Swayamvara, + Obeying Bhima, to his court they thronged-- + Elephants, horses, cars--over the land + In full files wending, bearing flags and wreaths + Of countless hues, with gallant companies + Of fighting men. And those high-hearted chiefs + The strong-armed King welcomed with worship fair, + As fitted each, and led them to their seats. + Now at that hour there passed towards Indra's heaven, + Thither from earth ascending, those twain saints-- + The wise, the pure, the mighty-minded ones, + The self-restrained--Narad and Parvata. + The mansion of the Sovereign of the Gods + In honor entered they; and he, the Lord + Of Clouds, dread Indra, softly them salutes, + Inquiring of their weal, and of the world + Wherethrough their name was famous, how it fares. + Then Narad said: "Well is it, Lord of Gods, + With us, and with our world; and well with those + Who rule the peoples, O thou King in Heaven!" + But He that slew the Demons spake again:-- + "The princes of the earth, just-minded, brave, + Those who, in battle fearing not to fall, + See death on the descending blade, and charge + Full front against it, turning not their face-- + Theirs is this realm eternal, as to me + The cow of plenty, Kâmadhuk, belongs. + Where be my Kshatriya warriors? Wherefore now + See I none coming of those slaughtered lords, + Chiefs of mankind, our always honored guests?" + And unto Indra Narad gave reply:-- + "King of the Air! no wars are waged below; + None fall in fight, to enter here. The Lord + Of high Vidarbha hath a daughter, famed + For loveliness beyond all earthly maids, + The Princess Damayanti, far-renowned. + Of her, dread Sakra! the Swayamvara + Shall soon befall, and thither now repair + The kings and princes of all lands, to woo-- + Each for himself--this pearl of womanhood. + For oh, thou Slayer of the Demons, all + Desire the maid." + Drew round, while Narad spake, + The Masters, th'Immortals, pressing in + With Agni and the Greatest, near the throne, + To listen to the speech of Narada; + Whom having heard, all cried delightedly, + "We, too, will go." Thereupon those high gods, + With chariots, and with heavenly retinues, + Sped to Vidarbha, where the kings were met. + And Nala, knowing of this kingly tryst, + Went thither joyous, heart-full with the thought + Of Damayanti. + Thus it chanced the gods + Beheld the Prince wending along his road, + Goodly of mien, as is the Lord of Love. + The world's Protectors saw him, like a sun + For splendor; and, in very wonder, paused + Some time irresolute, so fair he was; + Then in mid-sky their golden chariots stayed, + And through the clouds descending called to him:-- + "Abo! Nala of Nishadha! Noblest Prince, + Be herald for us; bear our message now." + "Yea!" Nala made reply, "this will I do"-- + And then--palm unto palm in reverence pressed-- + Asked: "Shining Ones, who are ye? Unto whom, + And what words bearing, will ye that I go? + Deign to instruct me what it is ye bid." + Thus the Prince spake, and Indra answered him:-- + "Thou seest th'immortal gods. Indra am I, + And this is Agni, and the other here, + Varuna, Lord of Waters; and beyond, + Yama, the King of Death, who parteth souls + From mortal frames. To Damayanti go; + Tell our approach. Say this: 'The world's dread lords, + Wishful to see thee, come; desiring thee-- + Indra, Varuna, Agni, Yama, all. + Choose of these powers to which thou wilt be given.'" + But Nala, hearing that, joined palms again, + And cried: "Ah, send me not, with one accord + For this, most mighty Gods! How should a man + Sue for another, being suitor too? + How bear such errand? Have compassion, Gods!" + Then spake they: "Yet thou saidst, 'This shall I do,' + Nishadha's Prince! and wilt thou do it not, + Forswearing faith? Nay, but depart, and soon!" + So bid, but lingering yet again, he said:-- + "Well guarded are the gates; how shall I find + Speech with her?" + "Thou shalt find," Indra replied. + And, lo! upon that word Nala was brought + To Damayanti's chamber. There he saw + Vidarbha's glory, sitting 'mid her maids, + In majesty and grace surpassing all; + So exquisite, so delicate of form, + Waist so fine-turned, such limbs, such lighted eyes, + The moon hath meaner radiance than she. + Love at the sight of that soft smiling face + Sprang to full passion, while he stood and gazed. + Yet, faith and duty urging, he restrained + His beating heart; but when those beauteous maids + Spied Nala, from their cushions they uprose, + Startled to see a man, yet startled more + Because he showed so heavenly bright and fair. + In wondering pleasure each saluted him, + Uttering no sound, but murmuring to themselves:-- + "Aho! the grace of him: aho! the brilliance; + Aho! what glorious strength lives in his limbs! + What is he? Is he God, Gandharva, Yaksha?" + But this unspoken, for they dared not breathe + One syllable, all standing shyly there + To see him, and to see his youth so sweet. + Yet, softly glancing back to his soft glance, + The Princess, presently, with fluttering breath, + Accosted Nala, saying: "Fairest Prince, + Who by thy faultless form hath filled my heart + With sudden joy, coming as come the gods, + Unstayed, I crave to know thee, who thou art; + How didst thou enter? how wert thou unseen? + Our palace is close-guarded, and the King + Hath issued mandates stern." + Tenderly spake + The Prince, replying to those tender words:-- + "Most lovely! I am Nala. I am come + A herald of the gods unto thee here. + The gods desire thee, the immortal Four-- + Indra, Varuna, Yama, Agni. Choose, + O Brightest! one from these to be thy lord. + By their help is it I have entered in + Unseen; none could behold me at thy gates, + Nor stay me, passing; and to speak their will + They sent me, fairest one and best. Do thou, + Knowing the message, judge as seemeth well." + She bowed her head, hearing the great gods named, + And then, divinely smiling, said to him:-- + "Pledge thyself faithfully to me, and I + Will seek, O Raja, only how to pay + That debt with all I am, with all I have; + For I and mine are thine--in full trust thine. + Make me that promise, Prince. Thy gentle name-- + Sung by the swan--first set my thoughts afire; + And for thy sake--only for thee--sweet Lord, + The kings were summoned hither. If, alas! + Fair Prince, thou dost reject my sudden love, + So proffered, then must poison, flame, or flood, + Or knitted cord, be my sad remedy." + So spake Vidarbha's Pride; and Nala said:-- + "With gods so waiting--with the world's dread lords + Hastening to woo, canst thou desire a man? + Bethink! I, unto these, that make and mar, + These all-wise ones, almighty, am like dust + Under their feet: lift thy heart to the height + Of what I bring. If mortal man offend + The most high gods, death is what springs of it. + Spare me to live, thou faultless lady! Choose + Which of these excellent great gods thou wilt; + Wear the unstained robes! bear on thy brows + The wreaths which never fade, of heavenly blooms! + Be, as thou mayest, a goddess, and enjoy + Godlike delights! Him who enfolds the earth, + Creating and consuming, Brightest Power, + Hutâsa, Eater of the Sacrifice, + What woman would not take? Or him whose rod + Herds all the generations forward still + On virtue's path, Red Yama, King of Death, + What woman would affront? Or him, the all-good, + All-wise destroyer of the Demons, first + In heaven, Mahendra--who of womankind + Is there that would not wed? Or, if thy mind + Incline, doubt not to choose Varuna; he + Is of these world-protectors. From a heart + Full friendly cometh what I tell thee now." + Unto Nishadha's Prince the maid replied-- + Tears of distress dimming her lustrous eyes--- + "Humbly I reverence these mighty gods; + But thee I choose, and thee I take for lord; + And this I vow!" + With folded palms she stood, + And trembling lips, while his faint answer fell:-- + "Sent on such embassy, how shall I dare + Speak, sweetest Princess, for myself to thee? + Bound by my promise for the gods to sue, + How can I be a suitor for myself? + Silence is here my duty; afterwards, + If I shall come, in mine own name I'll come, + Mine own cause pleading. Ah, might that so be!" + Checking her tears, Damayanti sadly smiled, + And said full soft: "One way of hope I see, + A blameless way, O Lord of men! wherefrom + No fault shall rise, nor any danger fall. + Thou also, Prince, with Indra and these gods, + Must enter in where my Swayamvara + Is held; then I, in presence of those gods, + Will choose thee, dearest, for my lord; and so + Blame shall not light on thee," + With which sweet words + Soft in his ears, Nishadha straight returned + There where the gods were gathered, waiting him; + Whom the world's masters, on his way, perceived, + And, spying, questioned, asking for his news:-- + "Saw'st thou her, Prince? Didst see the sweet-lipped one? + What spake she of us? Tell us true; tell all!" + Quoth Nala: "By your worshipful behest + Sent to her house, the great gates entered I, + Though the gray porters watched; but none might spy + My entering, by your power, O radiant Ones, + Saving the Raja's daughter; her I saw + Amid her maidens, and by them was seen. + On me with much amazement they did gaze + Whilst I your high Divinities extolled. + But she that hath the lovely face, with mind + Set upon me, hath chosen me, ye Gods. + For thus she spake, my Princess: 'Let them come, + And come thou, like a lordly tiger, too, + Unto the place of my Swayamvara; + There will I choose thee in their presence, Prince, + To be my lord; and so there will not fall + Blame, thou strong-armed! to thee,' This she did say + Even as I tell it; and what shall be next, + To will is yours, O ye immortal Ones!" + Soon, when the moon was good, and day and hour + Were found propitious, Bhima, King of men, + Summoned the chiefs to the Swayamvara; + Upon which message all those eager lords + For love of Damayanti hastened there. + Glorious with gilded pillars was the court, + Whereto a gate-house opened, and thereby + Into the square, like lions from the hills, + Paced the proud guests; and there their seats they took, + Each in his rank, the masters of the lands, + With crowns of fragrant blossoms garlanded, + And polished jewels swinging in their ears. + Of some the thews, knitted and rough, stood forth + Like iron maces; some had slender limbs, + Sleek and fine-turned like the five-headed snake; + Lords with long-flowing hair; glittering lords; + High-nosed, and eagle-eyed, and heavy-browed; + The faces of those kings shone in a ring + As shine at night the stars; and that great square + As thronged with Rajas was as Naga-land + Is full of serpents; thick with warlike chiefs + As mountain-caves with panthers. Unto these + Entered, in matchless majesty of form, + The Princess Damayanti. As she came, + The glory of her ravished eyes and hearts, + So that the gaze of all those haughty kings, + Fastening upon her loveliness, grew fixed-- + Not moving save with her--step after step + Onward and always following the maid. + But while the styles and dignities of all + Were cried aloud (O son of Bhârat!), lo! + The Princess marked five of that throng alike + In form and garb and visage. There they stood, + Each from the next undifferenced, but each + Nala's own self;--yet which might Nala be + In nowise could that doubting maid descry. + Who took her eye seemed Nala while she gazed, + Until she looked upon his like; and so + Pondered the lovely lady, sore-perplexed, + Thinking, "How shall I tell which be the gods, + And which is noble Nala?" Deep-distressed + And meditative waxed she, musing hard + What those signs were, delivered us of old, + Whereby gods may be known: "Of all those signs + Taught by our elders, lo! I see not one + Where stand yon five." So murmured she, and turned + Over and over every mark she knew. + At last, resolved to make the gods themselves + Her help at need, with reverent air and voice + Humbly saluted she those heavenly ones, + And with joined palms and trembling accents spake:-- + "As, when I heard the swans, I chose my Prince, + By that sincerity I call ye, Gods, + To show my Love to me and make me know! + As in my heart and soul and speech I stand + True to my choice, by that sincerity + I call the all-knowing gods to make me know! + As the high gods created Nishadha's chief + To be my lord, by their sincerity + I bid them show themselves, and make me know! + As my vow, sealed to him, must be maintained + For his name, and for mine, I call the gods + By such sincerity to make me know! + Let them appear, the masters of the world-- + The high gods--each one in his proper shape, + That I may see Nishadha's chief, my choice, + Whom minstrels praise, and Damayanti loves." + Hearing that earnest speech--so passion-fraught, + So full of truth, of strong resolve, of love, + Of singleness of soul and constancy-- + Even as she spake, the gods disclosed themselves. + By well-seen signs the effulgent Ones she knew. + Shadowless stood they, with unwinking eyes, + And skins which never moist with sweat; their feet + Light-gliding o'er the ground, not touching it; + The unfading blossoms on their brows not soiled + By earthly dust, but ever fair and fresh. + Whilst, by their side, garbed so and visaged so, + But doubled by his shadow, stained with dust, + The flower-cups wiltering in his wreath, his skin + Pearly with sweat, his feet upon the earth, + And eyes a-wink, stood Nala. One by one + Glanced she on those divinities, then bent + Her gaze upon the Prince, and, joyous, said:-- + "I know thee, and I name my rightful lord, + Taking Nishadha's chief." Therewith she drew + Modestly nigh, and held him by the cloth, + With large eyes beaming love, and round his neck + Hung the bright chaplet, love's delicious crown; + So choosing him--him only--whom she named + Before the face of all to be her lord. + Oh, then brake forth from all those suitors proud, + "Ha!" and "Aho!" But from the gods and saints, + "Sadhu! well done! well done!" And all admired + The happy Prince, praising the grace of him; + While Virasena's son, delightedly, + Spake to the slender-waisted these fond words:-- + "Fair Princess! since, before all gods and men, + Thou makest me thy choice, right glad am I + Of this thy mind, and true lord will I be. + For so long, loveliest, as my breath endures, + Thine am I! Thus I plight my troth to thee." + So, with joined palms, unto that beauteous maid + His gentle faith he pledged, rejoicing her; + And, hand in hand, radiant with mutual love, + Before great Agni and the gods they passed, + The world's protectors worshipping. + Then those, + The lords of life, the powerful Ones, bestowed-- + Being well-pleased--on Nala, chosen so, + Eight noble boons. The boon which Indra gave + Was grace, at times of sacrifice, to see + The visible god approach, with step divine; + And Agni's boon was this, that he would come + Whenever Nala called--for everywhere + Hutâsa shineth, and all worlds are his; + Yama gave skill in cookery, steadfastness + In virtue; and Varuna, King of Floods, + Bade all the waters ripple at his call. + These boons the high gods doubled by the gift + Of bright wreaths wove with magic blooms of heaven; + And those bestowed, ascended to their seats. + Also with wonder and with joy returned + The Rajas and the Maharajas all, + Full of the marriage-feast; for Bhima made, + In pride and pleasure, stately nuptials; + So Damayanti and the Prince were wed. + Then, having tarried as is wont, that lord-- + Nishadha's chief--took the King's leave, and went + Unto his city, bringing home with him + His jewel of all womanhood, with whom + Blissful he lived, as lives by Śachi's side + The slayer of the Demons. Like a sun + Shone Nala on his throne, ruling his folk + In strength and virtue, guardian of his state. + Also the Aśwamedha Rite he made + Greatest of rites, the Offering of the Horse, + As did Yayâti; and all other acts + Of worship; and to sages gave rich gifts. + Many dear days of much delicious love, + In pleasant gardens and in shadowy groves, + Passed they together, sojourning like gods. + And Damayanti bore unto her lord + A boy named Indrasen, and next, a girl + Named Indrasena. So in happiness + The good Prince governed, seeing all his lands + Wealthy and well, in piety and peace. + Now at the choosing of Nishadha's chief + By Bhima's daughter, when those lords of life-- + The effulgent gods--departed, Dwapara + They saw with Kali, coming. Indra said-- + The Demon-slayer--spying these approach:-- + "Whither, with Dwapara, goest thou to-day, + O Kali?" And the sombre Shade replied:-- + "To Damayanti's high Swayamvara + I go, to make her mine, since she hath passed + Into my heart." But Indra, laughing, said:-- + "Ended is that Swayamvara; for she + Hath taken Raja Nala for her lord, + Before us all," But Kali, hearing this, + Breaks into wrath--while he stood worshipping + That band divine--and furiously cries:-- + "If she hath set a man above the gods, + To wed with him, for such sin let there fall + Doom, rightful, swift, and terrible, on her!" + "Nay," answered unto him those heavenly ones, + "But Damayanti chose with our good-will; + And what maid but would choose so fair a prince, + Seeing he hath all qualities, and knows + Virtue, and rightly practises the vows, + And reads the four great Vedas, and, what's next, + The Holy Stories, whilst, perpetually, + The gods are honored in his house with gifts? + No hurt he does, kind to all living things; + True of word is he, faithful, liberal, just; + Steadfast and patient, temperate and pure; + A king of men is Nala, like the gods. + He that would curse a prince of such a mould, + Thou foolish Kali, lays upon himself + A sin to crush himself; the curse comes back + And sinks him in the bottomless vast gulf + Of Narak." + Thus the gods to Kali spake, + And mounted heavenward; whereupon that Shade, + Frowning, to Dwapara burst forth: "My rage + Beareth no curb. Henceforth in Nala I + Will dwell; his kingdom I will make to fall; + His bliss with Damayanti I will mar; + And thou within the dice shalt enter straight, + And help me, Dwapara! to drag him down," + Into which compact entering, those repaired-- + Kali and Dwapara--to Nala's house, + And haunted in Nishadha, where he ruled, + Seeking occasion 'gainst the blameless Prince. + Long watched they; twelve years rolled ere Kali saw + The fateful fault arrive; Nishadha's Lord, + Easing himself, and sprinkling hands and lips + With purifying water, passed to prayer, + His feet unwashed, offending. Kali straight + Possessed the heedless Raja, entering him. + That hour there sat with Nala, Pushkara + His brother; and the evil spirit hissed + Into the ear of Pushkara: "Ehi! + Arise, and challenge Nala at the dice. + Throw with the Prince! it may be thou shalt win + (Luck helping thee, and I) Nishadha's throne, + Town, treasures, palace--thou mayest gain them all." + And Pushkara, hearing Kali's evil voice, + Made near to Nala, with the dice in hand + (A great piece for the "Bull," and little ones + For "Cows," and Kali hiding in the Bull). + So Pushkara came to Nala's side and said:-- + "Play with me, brother, at the 'Cows and Bull';" + And, being put off, cried mockingly, "Nay, play!" + Shaming the Prince, whose spirit chafed to leave + A gage unfaced; but when Vidarbha's gem, + The Princess, heard that challenge, Nala rose: + "Yea, Pushkara, I will play!" fiercely he said; + And to the game addressed. + His gems he lost, + Armlets and belt and necklet; next the gold + Of the palace and its vessels; then the cars + Yoked with swift steeds; and last, the royal robes: + For, cast by cast, the dice against him fell, + Bewitched by Kali; and, cast after cast, + The passion of the dice kept hold on him, + Until not one of all his faithfullest + Could stay the madman's hand and gamester's heart + Of who was named "Subduer of his Foes." + The townsmen gathered with the ministers: + Into that palace gate they thronged (my King!) + To see their lord, if so they might abate + This sickness of his soul. The charioteer, + Forth standing from their midst, low worshipping, + Spake thus to Damayanti: "Great Princess, + Before thy door all the grieved city sits. + Say to our lord for us, 'Thy folk are here; + They mourn that evil fortunes hold their liege, + Who was so high and just,'" Then she, deject, + Passed in, and to Nishadha's ruler said, + Her soft voice broken, and her bright eyes dimmed:-- + "Raja, the people of thy town are here; + Before our gates they gather, citizens + And counsellors, desiring speech with thee; + In lealty they come. Wilt thou be pleased + We open to them? Wilt thou?" So she asked + Again and yet again; but not one word + To that sad lady with the lovely brows + Did Nala answer, wholly swallowed up + Of Kali and the gaming; so that those-- + The citizens and counsellors--cried out, + "Our lord is changed! He is not Nala now!" + And home returned, ashamed and sorrowful; + Whilst ceaselessly endured that foolish play + Moon after moon--the Prince the loser still. + Then Damayanti, seeing so estranged + Her lord, the praised in song, the chief of men, + Watching, all self-possessed, his fantasy, + And how the gaming held him; sad, and 'feared, + The heavy fortunes pondering of her Prince; + Hating the fault, but to the offender kind; + And fearing Nala should be stripped of all, + This thing devised: Vrihatsenâ she called-- + Her foster-nurse and faithful ministrant-- + True, skilful at all service, soft of speech, + Kind-hearted; and she said, "Vrihatsenâ, + Go call the ministers to council now, + As though 'twere Nala bade; and make them count + What store is gone of treasure, what abides." + So went Vrihatsenâ, and summoned those; + And when they knew all things, as from the Prince, + "Truly we, too, shall perish!" cried they then; + And all to Nala went, and all the town, + A second time assembling, thronged his gates:-- + Which Bhima's daughter told; but not one word + Answered the Prince. And when she saw her lord + Put by her plea, utterly slighting it, + Back to her chamber, full of shame, she goes, + And there still hears the dice are falling ill; + Still hears of Nala daily losing more; + So that again unto her nurse she spake:-- + "Send to Varshneya, good Vrihatsenâ; + Say to the charioteer--in Nala's name-- + 'A great thing is to do. Come thou!'" And this-- + So soon as Damayanti uttered it-- + Vrihatsenâ, by faithful servants, told + Unto the son of Vrishni, who, being come + In fitting time and place, heard the sweet Queen + In mournful music speak these wistful words:-- + "Thou knowest how thy Raja trusted thee; + Now he hath fall'n on evil; succor him! + The more that Pushkara conquers in the play, + The wilder rage of gaming takes thy lord-- + The more for Pushkara the dice light well, + More contrary they happen to the Prince: + Nor heeds he, as were meet, kindred or friends; + Nay, of myself he putteth by the prayer + Unanswered, being bewitched; for well I deem + This is not noble-minded Nala's sin, + But some ill spell possesseth him to shut + His ears to me. Thou, therefore, charioteer! + Our refuge be; do what I shall command; + My heart is dark with fear. Yea, it may fall + Our lord will perish. Wherefore, harnessing + His chosen steeds, which fly as swift as thought. + Take these our children in the chariot + And drive to Kundina, delivering there + Unto my kin the little ones, and car, + And horses. Afterwards abide thou there, + Or otherwhere depart." + Varshneya heard + The words of Damayanti, and forthwith + In Nala's council-hall recounted them, + The chief men being present; who, thus met, + And long debating, gave him leave to go. + So with that royal pair to Bhima's town + Drove he, and at Vidarbha rendered up, + Together with the swift steeds and the car, + That sweet maid Indrasena, and the Prince + Indrasen, and made reverence to the King, + Saddened for sake of Nala. Afterwards + Taking his leave, unto Ayodhyâ + Varshneya went, exceeding sorrowful, + And with King Rituparna (O my Prince!) + Took service as a charioteer. + These gone-- + The praised-of-poets, Nala, still played on, + Till Pushkara his kingdom's wealth had won, + And whatso was to lose beside. Thereat + With scornful laugh mocked he that beggared Prince, + Saying, "One other throw; once more!--Yet sooth, + What canst thou stake? Nothing is left for thee + Save Damayanti; all the rest is mine. + Play we for Damayanti, if thou wilt." + But hearing this from Pushkara, the Prince + So in his heart by grief and shame was torn, + No word he uttered--only glared in wrath + Upon his mocker, upon Pushkara. + Then, his rich robes and jewels stripping off, + Uncovered, with one cloth, 'mid waiting friends + Sorrowful passed he forth, his great state gone; + The Princess, with one garment, following him, + Piteous to see. And there without the gates + Three nights they lay--Nashadha's King and Queen. + Upon the fourth day Pushkara proclaimed, + Throughout the city, "Whoso yieldeth help + To Nala, dieth! Let my will be known!" + So, for this bitter word of Pushkara's power + (O Yudhisthir!) the townsmen rendered not + Service nor love, but left them outcast there, + Unhelped, whom all the city should have helped. + Yet three nights longer tarried he, his drink + The common pool, his meat such fruits and roots + As miserable hunger plucks from earth: + Then fled they from those walls, the Prince going first, + The Princess following. + After grievous days, + Pinched ever with sharp famine, Nala saw + A flock of gold-winged birds lighting anigh, + And to himself the famished Raja said:-- + "Lo! here is food; this day we shall have store;" + Then lightly cast his cloth and covered them. + But these, fluttering aloft, bore with them there + Nala's one cloth; and, hovering overhead, + Uttered sharp-stinging words, reviling him + Even as he stood, naked to all the airs, + Downcast and desperate: "Thou brain-sick Prince! + We are the dice; we come to ravish hence + Thy last poor cloth; we were not well content + Thou shouldst depart owning a garment still." + And when he saw the dice take wings and fly, + Leaving him bare, to Damayanti spake + This melancholy Prince: "O Blameless One, + They by whose malice I am driven forth, + Finding no sustenance, sad, famine-gaunt-- + They whose decree forbade Nishadha's folk + Should succor me, their Raja--these have come-- + Demon and dice--and like to winged birds + Have borne away my cloth. To such shame fall'n, + Such utmost woe, wretched, demented--I + Thy lord am still, and counsel thee for good. + Attend! Hence be there many roads which go + Southwards: some pass Avanti's walls, and some + Skirt Rikshavan, the forest of the bears; + This wends to Vindhya's lofty peaks, and this + To the green banks where quick Payoshni runs + Seaward, between her hermitages, rich + In fruits and roots; and yon path leadeth thee + Unto Vidarbha; that to Kosala, + And therefrom southward--southward--far away." + So spake he to the Princess wistfully, + Between his words pointing along the paths, + Which she should take (O King!). But Bhima's child + Made answer, bowed with grief, her soft voice choked + With sobs, these piteous accents uttering:-- + "My heart beats quick; my body's force is gone, + Thinking, dear Prince, on this which thou hast said, + Pointing along the paths. What! robbed of realm, + Stripped of thy wealth, bare, famished, parched with thirst, + Thus shall I leave thee in the untrodden wood? + Ah, no! While thou dost muse on dear days fled, + Hungry and weeping, I in this wild waste + Will charm thy griefs away, solacing thee. + The wisest doctors say, 'In every woe + No better physic is than wifely love,' + And, Nala, I will make it true to thee." + "Thou mak'st it true," he said; "thou sayest well, + Sweet Damayanti; neither is there friend + To sad men given better than a wife. + I had not thought to leave thee, foolish Love! + Why didst thou fear? Alas, 't is from myself + That I would fly--not thee, thou Faultless One!" + "Yet, if," the Princess answered, "Maharaja! + Thou hadst no thought to leave me, why by thee + Was the way pointed to Vidarbha's walls? + I know thou wouldst not quit me, noblest Lord, + Being thyself, but only if thy mind + Were sore distraught; and see, thou gazest still + Along the southward road, my dread thereby + Increasing, thou that wert as are the gods! + If it be thy fixed thought, 'Twere best she went + Unto her people'--be it so; I go; + But hand in hand with thee. Thus let us fare + Unto Vidarbha, where the King, my sire, + Will greet thee well, and honor thee; and we + Happy and safe within his gates shall dwell." + "As is thy father's kingdom," Nala said, + "So, once, was mine. Be sure, whatever betide, + Never will I go thither! How, in sooth, + Should I, who came there glorious, gladdening thee, + Creep back, thy shame and scorn, disconsolate?" + So to sweet Damayanti spake the Prince, + Beguiling her, whom now one cloth scarce clad-- + For but one garb they shared; and thus they strayed + Hither and thither, faint for meat and drink, + Until a little hut they spied; and there, + Nishadha's monarch, entering, sat him down + On the bare ground, the Princess by his side-- + Vidarbha's glory, wearing that scant cloth, + Without a mat, soiled by the dust and mire. + At Damayanti's side he sank asleep, + Outworn; and beauteous Damayanti slept, + Spent with strange trials--- she so gently reared, + So soft and holy. But while slumbering thus, + No peaceful rest knew Nala. Trouble-tossed + He woke, forever thinking of his realm + Lost, lieges estranged, and all the griefs + Of that wild wood. These on his heart came back, + And, "What if I shall do it? What, again, + If I shall do it not?" So murmured he. + "Would death be better, or to leave my Love? + For my sake she endures this woe, my fate + Too fondly sharing; freed from me, her steps + Would turn unto her people. At my side, + Sure suffering is her portion; but apart, + It might be she would somewhere comfort find." + Thus with himself debating o'er and o'er, + The Prince resolves abandonment were best. + "For how," saith he, "should any in the wood + Harm her, so radiant in her grace, so good, + So noble, virtuous, faithful, famous, pure?" + Thus mused his miserable mind, seduced + By Kali's cursed mischiefs to betray + His sleeping wife. Then, seeing his loin-cloth gone, + And Damayanti clad, he drew anigh, + Thinking to take of hers, and muttering, + "May I not rend one fold, and she not know?" + So meditating, round the cabin crept + Prince Nala, feeling up and down its walls; + And, presently, within the purlieus found + A naked knife, keen-tempered; therewithal + Shred he away a piece, and bound it on; + Then made with desperate steps to seek the waste, + Leaving the Princess sleeping; but, anon, + Turns back again in changeful mood and glides + Into the hut, and, gazing wistfully + On slumbering Damayanti, moans with tears:-- + "Ah, Sweetheart! whom nor wind nor sun before + Hath ever rudely touched; thou to be couched + In this poor hut, its floor thy bed, and I, + Thy lord, deserting thee, stealing from thee + Thy last robe! O my Love with the bright smile, + My slender-waisted Queen! Will she not wake + To madness? Yea, and when she wanders lone + In the dark wood, haunted with beasts and snakes, + How will it fare with Bhima's tender child, + The bright and peerless? O my life, my wife! + May the great sun, may the Eight Powers of air, + The Rudras, Maruts, and the Aświns twain, + Guard thee, thou true and dear one, on thy way!" + So to his sleeping Queen--on all the earth + Unmatched for beauty--spake he piteously; + Then breaks away once more, by Kali driven. + But yet another and another time + Stole back into the hut, for one last gaze-- + That way by Kali dragged, this way by love. + Two hearts he had--the trouble-stricken Prince-- + One beating "Go," one throbbing "Stay"; and thus + Backwards and forwards swung his mind between, + Till, mastered by the sorrow and the spell, + Frantic flies Nala, leaving there alone + That tender-sleeper, sighing as she slept. + He flies--the soulless prey of Kali flies; + Still, while he hurries through the forest drear, + Thinking upon that sweet face he hath left. + Far distant (King!) was Nala, when, refreshed, + The slender-waisted wakened, shuddering + At the wood's silence; but when, seeking him, + She found no Nala, sudden anguish seized + Her frightened heart, and, lifting high her voice, + Loud cries she: "Maharaja! Nishadha's Prince! + Ha, Lord! ha, Maharaja! ha, Master! why + Hast thou abandoned me? Now am I lost, + Am doomed, undone, left in this lonesome gloom. + Wert thou not named, O Nala, true and just? + Yet art thou such, to quit me while I slept? + And hast thou so forsaken me, thy wife-- + Thine own fond wife--who never wrought thee wrong + When by all others wrong was wrought on thee? + Mak'st thou it good to me, now, Lord of men, + That love which long ago before the gods + Thou didst proclaim? Alas! Death will not come, + Except at his appointed time to men, + And therefore for a little I shall live, + Whom thou hast lived to leave. Nay, 't is a jest! + Ah, Truant, Runaway, enough thou play'st! + Come forth, my Lord!--I am afraid! Come forth! + Linger not, for I see--I spy thee there; + Thou art within yon thicket! Why not speak + One word, Nishadha? Nala, cruel Prince! + Thou know'st me, lone, and comest not to calm + My terrors, and be with me in my need. + Art gone indeed? Then I'll not mourn myself, + For whatso may befall me; I must think + How desolate thou art, and weep for thee. + What wilt thou do, thirsty and hungry, spent + With wandering, when, at nightfall, 'mid the trees + Thou hast me not, sweet Prince, to comfort thee?" + Thereat, distracted by her bitter fears, + Like one whose heart is fire, forward and back + She runs, hither and thither, weeping, wild. + One while she sinks to earth, one while she springs + Quick to her feet; now utterly overcome + By fear and fasting, now by grief driven mad, + Wailing and sobbing; till anon, with moans + And broken sighs and tears, Bhima's fair child, + The ever-faithful wife, speaks thus again:-- + "By whomsoever's spell this harm hath fall'n + On Nishadha's Lord, I pray that evil one + May bear a bitterer plague than Nala doth! + To him, whoever set my guileless Prince + On these ill deeds, I pray some direr might + May bring far darker days, and life to live + More miserable still!" + Thus, woe-begone, + Mourned that great-hearted wife her vanished lord, + Seeking him ever in the gloomy shades, + By wild beasts haunted. Roaming everywhere, + Like one possessed, frantic, disconsolate, + Went Bhima's daughter. "Ha, ha! Maharaja!" + So crying runs she, so in every place + Is heard her ceaseless wail, as when is heard + The fish-hawk's cry, which screams, and circling screams, + And will not stint complaining. + Suddenly, + Straying too near his den, a serpent's coils + Seized Bhima's daughter. A prodigious snake, + Glittering and strong, and furious for food, + Knitted about the Princess. She, o'erwhelmed + With horror, and the cold enfolding death, + Spends her last breaths in pitiful laments + For Nala, not herself. "Ah, Prince!" she cried, + "That would have saved me, who must perish now, + Seized in the lone wood by this hideous snake, + Why art thou not beside me? What will be + Thy thought, Nishadha! me remembering + In days to come, when, from the curse set free, + Thou hast thy noble mind again, thyself, + Thy wealth--all save thy wife? Then thou'lt be sad, + Be weary, wilt need food and drink; but I + Shall minister no longer. Who will tend + My Love, my Lord, my Lion among kings, + My blameless Nala--Damayanti dead?" + That hour a hunter, roving through the brake, + Heard her bewailing, and with quickened steps + Made nigh, and, spying a woman, almond-eyed, + Lovely, forlorn, by that fell monster knit, + He ran, and, as he came, with keen shaft clove, + Through gaping mouth and crown, th'unwitting worm, + Slaying it. Then the woodman from its folds + Freed her, and laved the snake's slime from her limbs + With water of the pool, comforting her + And giving food; and afterwards (my King!) + Inquiry made: "What doest, in this wood, + Thou with the fawn's eyes? And how earnest thou, + My mistress, to such pit of misery?" + And Damayanti, spoken fair by him, + Recounted all which had befallen her. + But, gazing on her graces, scantly clad + With half a cloth, those smooth, full sides, those breasts + Beauteously swelling, form of faultless mould, + Sweet youthful face, fair as the moon at full, + And dark orbs, by long curving lashes swept; + Hearing her tender sighs and honeyed speech, + The hunter fell to hot desire; he dared + Essay to woo, with whispered words at first, + And next by amorous approach, the Queen; + Who, presently perceiving what he would, + And all that baseness of him--being so pure, + So chaste, and faithful--like a blazing torch + Took fire of scorn and anger 'gainst the man, + Her true soul burning at him, till the wretch, + Wicked in heart, but impotent of will, + Glared on her, splendidly invincible + In weakness, loftily defying wrong, + A living flame of lighted chastity. + She then--albeit so desolate, so lone, + Abandoned by her lord, stripped of her state-- + Like a proud princess stormed, flinging away + All terms of supplication, cursing him + With wrath which scorched: "If I am clean in heart + And true in thought unto Nishadha's King, + Then mayest thou, vile pursuer of the beasts, + Sink to the earth, stone dead!" + While she did speak, + The hunter breathless fell to earth, stone dead, + As falls a tree-trunk blasted by the bolt. + That ravisher destroyed, the lotus-eyed + Fared forward, threading still the fearful wood, + Lonely and dim, with trill of jhillikas[22] + Resounding, and fierce noise of many beasts + Laired in its shade, lions and leopards, deer, + Close-hiding tigers, sullen bisons, wolves, + And shaggy bears. Also the glades of it + Were filled with fowl which crept, or flew, and cried. + A home for savage men and murderers, + Thick with a world of trees, whereof was sal, + Sharp-seeded, weeping gum; knotted bambus, + Dhavas with twisted roots; smooth aswatthas, + Large-leaved, and creeping through the cloven rocks; + Tindukas, iron-fibred, dark of grain; + Ingudas, yielding oil; and kinsukas, + With scarlet flowerets flaming. Thronging these + Were arjuns and arishta-clumps, which bear + The scented purple clusters; syandans, + And tall silk-cotton trees, and mango-belts + With silvery spears; and wild rose-apple, blent + 'Mid lodhra-tufts and khadirs, interknit + By clinging rattans, climbing everywhere + From stem to stem. Therewith were intermixed-- + Round pools where rocked the lotus--âmalaks, + Plakshas with fluted leaves, kadambas sweet, + Udumbaras; and, on the jungle-edge, + Tangles of reed and jujube, whence there rose + Bel-trees and nyagrodhas, dropping roots + Down from the air; broad-leaved priyâlas, palms + And date-trees, and the gold myrobalan, + With copper-leaved vibhîtikas. All these + Crowded the wood; and many a crag it held, + With precious ore of metals interveined; + And many a creeper-covered cave wherein + The spoken word rolled round; and many a cleft + Where the thick stems were like a wall to see; + And many a winding stream and reedy jheel, + And glassy lakelet, where the woodland beasts + In free peace gathered. + Wandering onward thus, + The Princess saw far-gliding forms of dread-- + Pisâchas, Rakshasas, ill sprites and fiends + Which haunt, with swinging snakes, the undergrowth. + Dark pools she saw, and drinking-holes, and peaks + Wherefrom break down in tumbling cataracts + The wild white waters, marvellous to hear. + Also she passed--this daughter of a king-- + Where snorted the fierce buffaloes, and where + The gray boars rooted for their food, and where + The black bears growled, and serpents in the grass + Rustled and hissed. But all along that way + Safe paced she in her majesty of grace, + High fortune, courage, constancy, and right-- + Vidarbha's glory--seeking, all alone, + Lost Nala; and less terror at these sights + Came to sad Damayanti for herself-- + Threading this dreadful forest--than for him. + Most was her mind on Nala's fate intent. + Bitterly grieving stood the sweet Princess + Upon a rock, her tender limbs a-thrill + With heavy fears for Nala while she spake:-- + "Broad-chested Chief! my long-armed Lord of men! + Nishadha's King! Ah! whither art thou gone. + Leaving me thus in the unpeopled wood? + The Aśwamedha sacrifice thou mad'st, + And all the rites and royal gifts hast given, + A lion-hearted Prince, holy and true + To all save me! That which thou didst declare, + Hand in hand with me--once so fond and kind-- + Recall it now--thy sacred word, thy vow, + Whithersoever, Raja, thou art fled. + Think how the message of the gold-winged swans + Was spoken, by thine own lips, then to me! + True men keep faith; this is the teaching taught + In Vedas, Angas, and Upangas all, + Hear which we may; wilt thou not, therefore, Prince-- + Wilt thou not, terror of thy foes, keep faith, + Making thy promise good to cleave to me? + Ha, Nala, Lord! Am I not surely still + Thy chosen, thy beloved? Answerest not + Thy wife in this dark, horror-haunted shade? + The tyrant of the jungle, fierce and fell, + With jaws agape to take me, crouches nigh, + And thou not here to rescue me--not thou, + Who saidst none other in the world was dear + But Damayanti! Prove the fond speech true, + Uttered so often! Why repliest not + To me, thy well-beloved; me, distraught, + Longed for and longing; me, my Prince and pride, + That am so weary, weak, and miserable, + Stained with the mire, in this torn cloth half clad, + Alone and weeping, seeing no help near? + Ah, stag of all the herd! leav'st thou thy hind + Astray, regarding not these tears which roll? + My Nala, Maharaja! It is I + Who cry, thy Damayanti, true and pure, + Lost in the wood, and still thou answerest not! + High-born, high-hearted, full of grace and strength + In all thy limbs, shall I not find thee soon + On yonder hill? Shall I not see, at last, + In some track of this grim, beast-peopled wood, + Standing, or seated, or upon the leaves + Lying, or coming, him who is of men + The glory, but for me the grief-maker? + If not, whom shall I question, woe-begone, + Saying, 'In any region of this wood + Hast thou, perchance, seen Nala?' Is there none, + In all the forest, would reply to me + With tidings of my lord, wandered away, + Kingly in mind and form, of hosts of foes + The conqueror? Who will say, with blessed voice, + 'That Raja with the lotus-eyes is near, + Whom thou dost seek'?--Nay, here comes one to ask, + The yellow forest-king, his great jaws armed + With fourfold fangs. A tiger standeth now + Face to face on my path; I'll speak with him + Fearlessly: 'Dreadful chief of all this waste, + Thou art the sovereign of the beasts, and I + Am daughter of Vidarbha's King; my name, + The Princess Damayanti; know thou me, + Wife of Nishadha's Lord--of Nala--styled + "Subduer of his Foes"? Him seek I here-- + Abandoned, sorrow-stricken, miserable. + Comfort me, mighty beast, if so thou canst, + Saying thou hast seen Nala; but if this + Thou canst not do, then, ah, thou savage lord, + Terrible friend, devour me, setting me + Free from all woes!' The tiger answereth not; + He turns, and quits me in my tears, to stalk + Down where the river glitters through the reeds, + Seeking its seaward way. Then will I pray + Unto yon sacred mount of clustered crags, + Broad-shouldered, shining, lifting high to heaven + Its diverse-colored peaks, where the mind climbs + Its hid heart rich with silver veins, and gold, + And stored with many a precious gem unseen. + Clear towers it o'er the forest, broad and bright + Like a green banner; and the sides of it + House many a living thing--lions and boars, + Tigers and elephants, and bears and deer. + Softly around me from its feathered flocks + The songs ring, perched upon the kinsuk trees, + The asokas, vakuls, and punnâga boughs, + Or hidden in the karnikara leaves, + And tendrils of the dhava or the fig; + Full of great glens it soars, where waters leap + And bright birds lave. This king of hills I sue + For tidings of my lord. O Mountain Lord, + Far-seen and celebrated hill! that cleav'st + The blue of the sky, refuge of living things, + Most noble eminence, I worship thee; + Thee I salute, who am a monarch's child, + The daughter and the consort of a prince, + The high-born Damayanti, unto whom + Bhima, Vidarbha's chief--that puissant lord-- + Was sire, renowned o'er earth. Protector he + Of the four castes, performer of the rites + Called Rajasuya and the Aśwamedha-- + A bounteous giver, first of rulers, known + For his large shining eyes; holy and just, + Fast to his word, unenvious, sweet of speech, + Gentle and valiant, dutiful and pure; + The guardian of Vidarbha, of his foes + The slayer. Know me, O Majestic Mount! + For that King's daughter, bending low to thee. + In Nishadha lived the father of my lord, + The Maharaja Virasena named, + Wealthy and great; whose son, of regal blood, + High-fortuned, powerful, and noble-souled, + Ruleth by right the realm paternal: he + Is Nala, terror of all enemies; + Dark Nala, praised-in-song; Nala the just, + The pure; deep-seen in scriptures, sweet of speech, + Drinker of Soma-juice, and worshipper + Of Agni; sacrificing, giving gifts; + First in the wars, a perfect, princely lord. + His wife am I, Great Mountain! and come here + Fortuneless, husbandless, and spiritless, + Everywhere seeking him, my best of men. + O Mount, whose doubled ridge stamps on the sky + Yon line, by fivescore splendid pinnacles + Indented! tell me, in this gloomy wood + Hast thou seen Nala? Nala, wise and bold, + Like a tusked elephant for might; long armed, + Indomitable, gallant, glorious, true; + Nala, Nishadha's chief--hast thou seen him? + O Mountain, why consolest thou me not, + Answering one word to sorrowful, distressed, + Lonely, lost Damayanti?" + Then she cried:-- + "But answer for thyself, Hero and Lord! + If thou art in the forest, show thyself! + Alas! when shall I hear that voice, as low, + As tender as the murmur of the rain + When great clouds gather; sweet as Amrit-drink? + Thy voice, once more, my Nala, calling to me + Full softly, 'Damayanti!'--dearest Prince, + That would be music soothing to these ears + As sound of sacred Veda; that would stay + My pains and comfort me, and bring me peace." + Thereafter, turning from the mount, she went + Northwards, and journeying on three nights and days + Came to a green incomparable grove + By holy men inhabited; a haunt + Placid as Paradise, whose indwellers + Like to Vaśistha, Bhrigu, Atri, were-- + Those ancient saints. Restraining sense they lived, + Heedful in meats, subduing passion, pure, + Breathing within; their food water and herbs; + Ascetics; very holy; seeking still + The heavenward road; clad in the bark of trees + And skins--all gauds of earth being put by. + This hermitage, peopled by gentle ones, + Glad Damayanti spied, circled with herds + Of wild things grazing fearless, and with troops + Of monkey-folk o'erheard; and when she saw, + Her heart was lightened, for its quietness. + So drew she nigh--that lovely wanderer-- + Bright-browed, long-tressed, large-hipped, full-bosomed, fair, + With pearly teeth and honeyed mouth, in gait + Right queenly still, having those long black eyes-- + The wife of Virasena's son, the gem + Of all dear women, glory of her time; + Sad Damayanti entered their abode, + Those holy men saluting reverently, + With modest body bowed. Thus stood she there + And all the saints spake gently, "_Swâgatam_-- + Welcome!" and gave the greetings which are meet; + And afterwards, "Repose thyself," they said; + "What wouldst thou have of us?" Then, with soft words + The slender-waisted spake: "Of all these here, + So worshipful in sacrifice and rite-- + 'Mid gentle beasts and birds--in tasks and toils + And blameless duties--is it well?" And they + Answered: "We thank you, noble lady, well. + Tell us, most beauteous one, thy name, and say + What thou desirest. Seeing thee so fair, + So worthy, yet so sorrowful, our minds + Are lost in wonder. Weep not. Comfort take. + Art thou the goddess of the wood? Art thou + The Mountain-Yakshi, or, belike, some sprite + Which lives under the river? Tell us true, + Gentle and faultless form!" + Whereat reply + Thus made she to the Rishis: "None of these + Am I, good saints. No goddess of the wood, + Nor yet a mountain nor a river sprite; + A woman ye behold, most only ones, + Whose moving story I will tell you true. + The Raja of Vidarbha is my sire, + Bhima his name, and--Best of Twice-born!--know + My husband is Nishadha's Chief, the famed, + The wise and valiant and victorious Prince, + The high and lordly Nala; of the gods + A steadfast worshipper; of Bráhmanas + The friend; his people's shield; honored and strong, + Truth-speaking, skilled in arms, sagacious, just; + Terrible to his foes, fortunate, lord + Of many conquered towns; a godlike man, + Princeliest of princes--Nala--one that hath + A countenance like the full moon's for light, + And eyes of lotus. This true offerer + Of sacrifices, this close votary + Of Vedas and Vedângas, in the war + Deadly to enemies, like sun and moon + For splendor--by some certain evil ones + Being defied to dice, my virtuous Prince + Was, by their wicked acts, of realm despoiled-- + Wealth, jewels, all. I am his woful wife, + The Princess Damayanti. Seeking him + Through thickets have I roamed, over rough hills, + By crag and river and the reedy lake, + By marsh and waterfall and jungle-bush, + In quest of him--my lord, my warrior, + My hero--and still roam, uncomforted. + Worshipful brethren! say if he hath come-- + Nishadha's Chief, my Nala, hitherward + Unto your pleasant homes--he, for whose sake + I wander in the dismal pathless wood + With bears and tigers haunted--terrible! + Ah! if I find him not, ere there be passed + Many more nights and days, peace will I win; + For death shall set my mournful spirit free. + What cause have I to live, lacking my Prince? + Why should I longer breathe, whose heart is dead + With sorrow for my lord?" + To Bhima's child, + So in the wood bewailing, made reply + Those holy, truthful men: "Beautiful One! + The future is for thee; fair will it fall! + Our eyes, by long devotions opened, see-- + Even now--thy lord; thou shalt behold him soon, + Nishadha's chief, the famous Nala, strong + In battle, loving justice. Yea, this Prince + Thou wilt regain, Bhima's sad daughter! freed + From troubles, purged of sin; and witness him-- + With all his gems and glories--governing + Nishadha once again, invincible, + Joy of his friends and terror of his foes. + Yea, Noblest, thou shalt have thy love anew + In days to come." + So speaking, from the sight + Of Damayanti, at that instant, passed + Hermits, with hermitage and holy fires, + Evanishing. In wonderment she stood, + Gazing bewildered. Then the Princess cried:-- + "Was it in dream I saw them? Whence befell + This unto me? Where are the brethren gone, + The ring of huts, the pleasant stream that ran + With birds upon its crystal banks, the grove + Delightful, with its fruits and flowers?" Long while + Pondered and wondered Damayanti there, + Her bright smile fled, pale, strengthless, sorrowful; + Then to another region of the wood, + With sighs, and eyes welling great tears, she passed, + Lamenting; till a beauteous tree she spied-- + The Asoka, best of trees. Fair rose it there + Beside the forest, glowing with the flame + Of golden and crimson blossoms, and its boughs + Full of sweet-singing birds. + "_Ahovat_--Look!" + She cried: "Ah, lovely tree, that wavest here + Thy crown of countless, shining, clustering blooms + As thou wert woodland king--Asoka tree, + Tree called 'the sorrow-ender,' heart's-ease tree! + Be what thy name saith--end my sorrow now, + Saying, ah, bright Asoka! thou hast seen + My Prince, my dauntless Nala; seen that lord + Whom Damayanti loves and his foes fear; + Seen great Nishadha's Chief, so dear to me, + His tender princely skin in rended cloth + Scantily clad. Hath he passed wandering + Under thy branches, grievously forlorn? + Answer, Asoka! 'Sorrow-ender,' speak! + That I go sorrowless, O heart's-ease, be + Truly heart-easing--ease my heart of pain." + Thus, wild with grief, she spake unto the tree, + Round and round walking, as to reverence it; + And then, unanswered, the sweet lady sped + Through wastes more dreadful, passing many a + Many still-gliding rillets, many a peak + Tree-clad, with beasts and birds of wondrous kind, + In dark ravines, and caves, and lonely glooms. + These things saw Damayanti, Bhima's child, + Seeking her lord. + At last, on the long road, + She, whose soft smile was once so beautiful, + A caravan encountered. Merchantmen + With trampling horses, elephants, and wains, + Made passage of a river, running slow + In cool, clear waves. The quiet waters gleamed, + Shining and wide outspread, between the canes + Which bordered it, wherefrom echoed the cries + Of fish-hawks, curlews, and red chakravâks, + With sounds of leaping fish and water-snakes, + And tortoises, amid its shoals and flats + Sporting or feeding. + When she spied that throng-- + Heart-maddened with her anguish, weak and wan, + Half clad, bloodless and thin, her long black locks + Matted with dust--breathlessly breaks she in + Upon them--Nala's wife--so beauteous once, + So honored. Seeing her, some fled in fear; + Some gazed, speechless with wonder; some called out, + Mocking the piteous face by words of scorn; + But some (my King!) had pity of her woe, + And spake her fair, inquiring: "Who art thou? + And whence? And in this grove what seekest thou, + To come so wild? Thy mien astonisheth. + Art of our kind, or art thou something strange, + The spirit of the forest, or the hill, + Or river valley? Tell us true; then we + Will buy thy favor. If, indeed, thou art + Yakshini, Rakshasi, or she-creature + Haunting this region, be propitious! Send + Our caravan in safety on its path, + That we may quickly, by thy fortune, go + Homeward, and all fair chances fall to us." + Hereby accosted, softly gave response + That royal lady--weary for her lord-- + Answering the leader of the caravan, + And those that gathered round, a marvelling throng + Of men and boys and elders: "Oh, believe + I am as you, of mortal birth, but born + A Raja's child, and made a Raja's wife. + Him seek I, Chieftain of Nishadha, named + Prince Nala--famous, glorious, first in war. + If ye know aught of him, my king, my joy, + My tiger of the jungle, my lost lord, + Quick, tell me, comfort me!" + Then one who led + Their line--the merchant Śuchi--answering, + Spake to the peerless Princess: "Hear me now. + I am the captain of this caravan, + But nowhere any named by Nala's name + Have I, or these, beheld. Of evil beasts + The woods were full--cheetahs and bears and cats, + Tigers and elephants, bison and boar; + Those saw we in the brake on every side, + But nowhere nought of human shape, save thee. + May Manibhadra have us in his grace-- + The Lord of Yakshas--as I tell thee truth!" + Then sadly spake she to the trader-chief + And to his band: "Whither wend ye, I pray? + Please ye, acquaint me where this Sârthâ[23] goes." + Replied the captain: "Unto Chedi's realm, + Where rules the just Subâhu, journey we, + To sell our merchandise, daughter of men!" + Thus by the chieftain of the band informed, + The peerless Princess journeyed with them, still + Seeking her lord. And at the first the way + Fared through another forest, dark and deep; + Afterwards came the traders to a pool + Broad, everywhere delightful, odorous + With cups of opened lotus, and its shores + Green with rich grass, and edged with garden trees-- + A place of flowers and fruits and singing birds. + So cool and clear and peacefully it gleamed, + That men and cattle, weary with the march, + Clamored to pitch; and, on their chieftain's sign, + The pleasant hollow entered they, and camped-- + All the long caravan--at sunset's hour. + There, in the quiet of the middle night, + Deep slumbered these; when, sudden on them fell + A herd of elephants, thirsting to drink, + In rut, the mada[24] oozing from their heads. + And when those great beasts spied the caravan, + And smelled the tame cows of their kind, they rushed + Headlong, and, mad with must, overwhelming all, + With onset vast and irresistible. + As when from some tall peak into the plain + Thunder and smoke and crash the rolling rocks, + Through splintered stems and thorns breaking their path, + So swept the herd to where, beside the pool, + Those sleepers lay; and trampled them to earth + Half-risen, helpless, shrieking in the dark, + "Haha! the elephants!" Of those unslain, + Some in the thickets sought a shelter; some, + Yet dazed with sleep, stood panic-stricken, mute; + Till here with tusks, and there with trunks, the beasts + Gored them, and battered them, and trod them flat + Under their monstrous feet. Then might be seen + Camels with camel-drivers, perishing, + And men flying in fear, who struck at men-- + Terror and death and clamor everywhere: + While some, despairing, cast themselves to earth; + And some, in fleeing, fell and died; and some + Climbed to the tree-tops. Thus on every side + Scattered and ruined was that caravan-- + Cattle and merchants--by the herd assailed. + So hideous was the tumult,-all three worlds + Seemed filled with fright; and one was heard to cry:-- + "The fire is in the tents! fly for your lives! + Stay not!" And others cried: "Look where we leave + Our treasures trodden down; gather them! Halt! + Why run ye, losing ours and yours? Nay, stay! + Stand ye, and we will stand!" And then to these + One voice cried, "Stand!" another, "Fly! we die!" + Answered by those again who shouted, "Stand! + Think what we lose, O cowards!" + While this rout + Raged, amid dying groans and sounds of fear, + The Princess, waking startled, terror-struck, + Saw such a sight as might the boldest daunt-- + Such scene as those great lovely lotus-eyes + Ne'er gazed upon before. Sick with new dread-- + Her breath suspended 'twixt her lips--she rose + And heard, of those surviving, some one moan + Amidst his fellows: "From whose evil act + Is this the fruit? Hath worship not been paid + To mighty Manibhadra? Gave we not + The reverence due to Vaishravan, that King + Of all the Yakshas? Was not offering made + At outset to the spirits which impede? + Is this the evil portent of the birds? + Were the stars adverse? or what else hath fall'n?" + And others said, wailing for friends and goods:-- + "Who was that woman, with mad eyes, that came + Into our camp, ill-favored, hardly cast + In mortal mould? By her, be sure, was wrought + This direful sorcery. Demon or witch, + Yakshî or Rakshasî, or gliding ghost, + Or something frightful, was she. Hers this deed + Of midnight murders; doubt there can be none. + Ah, if we could espy that hateful one, + The ruin of our march, the woe-maker, + With stones, clods, canes, or clubs, nay, with clenched fists, + We'd strike her dead, the murderess of our band!" + Trembling the Princess heard those angry words; + And--saddened, maddened, shamed--breathless she fled + Into the thicket, doubtful if such sin + Might not be hers, and with fresh dread distressed. + "Aho!" she weeps, "pitiless grows the wrath + Of Fate against me. Not one gleam of good + Arriveth. Of what fault is this the fruit? + I cannot call to mind a wrong I wrought + To any--even a little thing--in act + Or thought or word; whence then hath come this curse? + Belike from ill deeds done in by-gone lives + It hath befall'n, and what I suffer now + Is payment of old evils undischarged. + Grievous the doom--my palace lost, my lord, + My children, kindred; I am torn away + From home and love and all, to roam accurst + In this plague-haunted waste!" + When broke the day, + Those which escaped alive, with grievous cries + Departed, mourning for their fellows slain. + Each one a kinsman or a friend laments-- + Father or brother, son, or comrade dear. + And Damayanti, hearing, weeps anew, + Saying: "What dreadful sin was that I wrought + Long, long ago, which, when I chance to meet + These wayfarers in the unpeopled wood, + Dooms them to perish by the elephants, + In my dark destiny enwrapped? No doubt + More and more sorrow I shall bear, or bring, + For none dies ere his time; this is the lore + Of ancient sages; this is why--being glad + If I could die--I was not trampled down + Under the elephants. There haps to man + Nothing unless by destiny. Why else, + Seeing that never have I wrought one wrong, + From childhood's hours, in thought or word or deed, + Hath this woe chanced? May be--meseems it may!-- + The mighty gods, at my Swayamvara + Slighted by me for Nala's dearest sake, + Are wroth, and by their dread displeasure thus + To loss and loneliness I am consigned!" + So--woe-begone and wild--this noble wife, + Deserted Damayanti, poured her griefs: + And afterwards, with certain Bráhmanas + Saved from the rout--good men who knew the Veds-- + Sadly her road she finished, like the moon + That goeth clouded in the month of rain. + Thus travelling long, the Princess drew at last + Nigh to a city, at the evening hour. + The dwelling-place it was of Chedi's Chief, + The just Subâhu. Through its lofty gates + Painfully passed she, clad in half a cloth; + And as she entered--sorrow-stricken, wan, + Foot-weary, stained with mire, with unsmoothed hair, + Unbathed, and eyes of madness--those who saw, + Wondered and stared, and watched her as she toiled + Down the long city street. The children break + From play, and--boys with girls--followed her steps, + So that she came--a crowd encompassing-- + Unto the King's door. On the palace roof + The mother of the Maharaja paced, + And marked the throng, and that sad wayfarer. + Then to her nurse spake the queen-mother this:-- + "Go thou, and bring yon woman unto me! + The people trouble her; mournful she walks, + Seeming unfriended, yet bears she a mien + Made for a king's abode, and, all so wild, + Still are her wistful eyes like the great eyes + Of Lakshmi's self." So downwards went the nurse, + Bidding the rude folk back; and to the roof + Of the great palace led that wandering one-- + Desolate Damayanti--whom the Queen + Courteous besought: "Though thou art wan of face, + Thou wear'st a noble air, which through thy griefs + Shineth as lightning doth behind its cloud. + Tell me thy name, and whose thou art, and whence. + No lowborn form is thine, albeit thou com'st + Wearing no ornaments; and all alone + Wanderest--not fearing men--by some spell safe." + Hearing which words, the child of Bhima spake + Gratefully this: "A woful woman I, + And woful wife, but faithful to my vows; + High-born, but like a servant, like a slave, + Lodging where it may hap, and finding food + From the wild roots and fruits wherever night + Brings me my resting-place. Yet is my lord + A prince noble and great, with countless gifts + Endued; and him I followed faithfully + As 't were his shadow, till hard fate decreed + That he should fall into the rage of dice:-- + And, worsted in that play, into the wood + He fled, clad in one cloth, frenzied and lone. + And I his steps attended in the wood, + Comforting him, my husband. But it chanced, + Hungry and desperate, he lost his cloth; + And I--one garment bearing--followed still + My unclad lord, despairing, reasonless, + Through many a weary night not slumbering. + But when, at length, a little while I slept, + My Prince abandoned me, rending away + Half of my garment, leaving there his wife, + Who never wrought him wrong. That lord I seek + By day and night, with heart and soul on fire-- + Seek, but still find not; though he is to me + Brighter than light which gleams from lotus-cups, + Divine as are the immortals, dear as breath, + The master of my life, my pride, my joy!" + Whom, grieving so, her sweet eyes blind with tears, + Gently addressed Subâhu's mother--sad + To hear as she to tell. "Stay with us here, + Thou ill-starred lady. Great the friendliness + I have for thee. The people of our court + Shall thy lost husband seek; or, it may be, + He too will wander hither of himself + By devious paths: yea, mournful one, thy lord + Thou wilt regain, abiding with us here." + And Damayanti, bowing, answered thus + Unto the Queen: "I will abide with thee, + O mother of illustrious sons, if so + They feed me not on orts, nor seek from me + To wash the feet of comers, nor that I + Be set to speak with any stranger-men + Before the curtain; and, if any man + Sue me, that he be punished; and if twice, + Then that he die, guilty of infamy. + This is my earnest prayer; but Bráhmanas + Who seek my husband, or bear news of him, + Such will I speak with. If it may be thus, + Gladly would I abide, great lady, here; + If otherwise, it is not on my mind + To sojourn longer." + Very tenderly + Quoth the queen-mother: "All that thou dost ask + We will ordain. The gods reward thy love, + Which hath such honor!" Comforting her so, + To the king's daughter, young Sunandâ, spake + The Maharajni: "See, Sunandâ, here + Clad as a handmaid, but in form divine, + One of thy years, gentle and true. Be friends; + Take and give pleasure in glad company + Each with the other, keeping happy hearts." + So went Sunandâ joyous to her house, + Leading with loving hand the Princess in, + The maidens of the court accompanying. + + +Part II. + + Not long (O Maharaja!) was Nala fled + From Damayanti, when, in midmost gloom + Of the thick wood a flaming fire he spied, + And from the fire's heart heard proceed a voice + Of one imperilled, crying many times:-- + "Haste hither, Punyashloka, Nala, haste!" + "Fear not," the Prince replied; "I come!" and sprang + Across the burning bushes, where he saw + A snake--a king of serpents--lying curled + In a great ring, which reared its dancing crest + Saluting, and in human accents spoke:-- + "Maharaja, kindly lord, I am the snake + Karkôtaka; by me was once betrayed + The famous Rishi Narada; his wrath + Doomed me, thou Chief of men! to bear this spell-- + 'Coil thy false folds,' said he, 'forever here, + A serpent, motionless upon this spot, + Till it shall chance that Nala passeth by + And bears thee hence; then only from my curse + Canst thou be freed,' And prisoned by that curse + I have no power to stir, though the wood burns; + Nay, not a coil! good fellowship I'll show + If thou wilt succor me. I'll be to thee + A faithful friend, as no snake ever yet. + Lift me, and quickly from the flames bear forth: + For thee I shall grow light." Thereat shrank up + That monstrous reptile to a finger's length; + And grasping this, unto a place secure + From burning, Nala bore it, where the air + Breathed freshly, and the fire's black path was stayed. + Then made the Prince to lay the serpent down, + But yet again it speaks: "Nishadha's Lord, + Grasp me and slowly go, counting thy steps; + For, Raja, thou shalt have good fortune hence." + So Nala slowly went, counting his steps; + And when the tenth pace came, the serpent turned + And bit the Prince. No sooner pierced that tooth + Than all the likeness of Nishadha changed; + And, wonder-struck, he gazed upon himself; + While from the dust he saw the snake arise + A man, and, speaking as Karkôtaka, + Comfort him thus:-- + "Thou art by me transformed + That no man know thee: and that evil one + (Possessing, and undoing thee, with grief) + Shall so within thee by my venom smart, + Shall through thy blood so ache, that--till he quit-- + He shall endure the woe he did impart. + Thus by my potent spell, most noble Prince! + (Who sufferest too long) thou wilt be freed + From him that haunts thee. Fear no more the wood, + Thou tiger of all princes! fear thou not + Horned nor fanged beasts, nor any enemies, + Though they be Bráhmans! safe thou goest now, + Guarded from grief and hurt--Chieftain of men! + By this kind poison. In the fields of war + Henceforth the victory always falls to thee; + Go joyous, therefore, Prince; give thyself forth + For 'Vahûka, the charioteer:' repair + To Rituparna's city, who is skilled + In play, and dwells in fair Ayodhyâ. + Wend thou, Nishadha! thither; he will teach + Great subtlety in numbers unto thee, + Exchanging this for thine own matchless gift + Of taming horses. From the lordly line + Descended of Ikshvaku, glad and kind + The King will be; and thou, learning of him + His deepest act of dice, wilt win back all, + And clasp again thy Princess. Therefore waste + No thought on woes. I tell thee truth! thy realm + Thou shalt regain; and when the time is come + That thou hast need to put thine own form on, + Call me to mind, O Prince, and tie this cloth + Around thy body. Wearing it, thy shape + Thou shalt resume." + Therewith the serpent gave + A magic twofold robe, not wove on earth, + Which (O thou son of Kuru!) Nala took; + And so the snake, transformed, vanished away. + The great snake being gone, Nishadha's Chief + Set forth, and on the tenth day entered in + At Rituparna's town; there he besought + The presence of the Raja, and spake thus:-- + "I am the chariot-driver, Vahûka. + There is not on this earth another man + Hath gifts like mine to tame and guide the steed; + Moreover, thou mayest use me in nice needs + And dangerous, where kings lack faithful hearts. + Specially skilful I am in dressing meats; + And whatso other duties may befall, + Though they be weighty, I shall execute, + If, Rituparna, thou wilt take me in." + "I take thee," quoth the King. "Dwell here with me. + Such service as thou knowest, render us. + 'Tis, Vahûka, forever in my heart + To have my steeds the swiftest; be thy task + To train me horses like the wind for speed; + My charioteer I make thee, and thy wage + Ten thousand gold suvernas. Thou wilt have + For fellows, Varshneya and Jivala; + With those abiding, lodge thou happy here." + So entertained and honored of the King, + In Rituparna's city Nala dwelled, + Lodging with Varshneya and Jivala. + There sojourned he (my Raja!), thinking still + Of sweet Vidarbha's Princess day by day; + And sunset after sunset one sad strain + He sang: "Where resteth she that roamed the wood + Hungry and parched and worn, but always true? + Doth she remember yet her faultful lord? + Ah, who is near her now?" So it befell + Jivala heard him ever sighing thus, + And questioned: "Who is she thou dost lament? + Say, Vahûka! fain would I know her name. + Long life be thine; but tell me who he is, + The faultful man that was the lady's lord." + And Nala answered him: "There lives a man, + Evil and rash, that had a noble wife. + False to his word he was; and thus it fell + That somewhere, for some reason (ask not me!), + He quitted her, this rash one. And--so wrenched + Apart from hers--his spirit, bad and sad, + Muses and moans, with grief's slow fire consumed + Night-time and day-time. Thence it is he sings + At every sunset this unchanging verse, + An outcast on the earth, by hazard led + Hither and thither. Such a man thou seest + Woful, unworthy, holding in his heart + Always that sin. I was that lady's lord, + Whom she did follow through the dreadful wood, + Living by me abandoned, at this hour; + If yet, in truth, she lives--youthful, alone, + Unpractised in the ways, not meriting + Fortunes so hard. Ah, if indeed she lives, + Who roamed the thick and boundless forest, full + Of prowling beasts--roamed it, my Jivala, + Unguarded by her guilty lord--forsook, + Betrayed, good friend!" + Thus did Nishadha grieve, + Calling sweet Damayanti to his mind. + So tarried he within the Raja's house, + And no man knew his place of sojourning. + While, stripped of state, the Prince and Princess thus + Were sunk to servitude, Bhima made quest, + Sending his Bráhmans forth to search for them + With straight commands, and for their road-money + Liberal store. "Seek everywhere," said he + Unto the twice-born, "Nala--everywhere + My daughter Damayanti. Whoso comes + Successful in this quest, discovering her-- + With lost Nishadha's Lord--and bringing them, + A thousand cows to that man will I give, + And village-lands whence shall be revenue + As great as from a city. If so be + Ye cannot bring me Nala and my child, + To him that learns their refuge I will give + The thousand cows." + Thereby rejoiced, they went, + Those Bráhmans, hither and thither, up and down, + Into all regions, rajaships, and towns, + Seeking Nishadha's Chieftain, and his wife. + But Nala nowhere found they; nowhere found + Sweet Damayanti, Bhima's beauteous child-- + Until, straying to pleasant Chedipur, + One day a twice-born came, Sudêva named, + And entered it; and, spying round about + (Upon a feast-day by the King proclaimed), + He saw forth-passing through the palace gate + A woman--Bhima's daughter--side by side + With young Sunandâ. Little praise had now + That beauty which in old days shone so bright; + Marred with much grief it was, like sunlight dimmed + By fold on fold of wreathed and creeping mists. + But when Sudêva marked the great dark eyes-- + Lustreless though they were, and she so worn, + So listless--"Lo, the Princess!" whispered he;-- + "'Tis the King's daughter," quoth he to himself; + And thus mused on:-- + "Yea! as I used to see, + 'Tis she! no other woman hath such grace! + My task is done; I gaze on that one form, + Which is like Lakshmi's, whom all worlds adore. + I see the bosoms, rounded, dark, and smooth, + As they were sister-moons; the soft moon-face + Which with its queenly light makes all things bright + Where it doth gleam; the large deep lotus-eyes, + That, like to Rati's own, the Queen of Love, + Beam, each a lovelit star, filling the worlds + With longing. Ah, fair lotus-flower, plucked up + By Fate's hard grasp from far Vidarbha's pool, + How is thy cup muddied and slimed to-day! + Ah, moon, how is thy night like to the eclipse + When Rahu swallows up the silver round! + Ah, tearless eyes, reddened with weeping him, + How are ye like to gentle streams run dry! + Ah, lake of lilies, where grief's elephant + Hath swung his trunk, and turned the crystal black, + And scattered all the blue and crimson cups, + And frightened off the birds! Ah, lily-cup, + Tender, and delicately leaved, and reared + To blossom in a palace built of gems, + How dost thou wither here, wrenched by the root, + Sun-scorched and faded! Noblest, loveliest, best!-- + Who bear'st no gems, yet so becomest them-- + How like the new moon's silver horn thou art, + When envious black clouds blot it! Lost for thee + Are love, home, children, friends, and kinsmen; lost + All joy of that fair body thou dost wear + Only that it may last to find thy lord. + Truly a woman's ornament is this:-- + The husband is her jewel; lacking him + She hath none, though she shines with priceless pearls; + Piteous must be her state! And, torn from her, + Doth Nala cling to life; or, day by day, + Waste with long yearning? Oh, as I behold + Those black locks, and those eyes--dark and long-shaped + As are the hundred-petalled lotus-leaves-- + And watch her joyless who deserves all joy, + My heart is sore! When will she overpass + The river of this sorrow, and come safe + Unto its farther shore? When will she meet + Her lord, as moon and moon-star in the sky + Mingle? For, as I think, in winning her, + Nala would win his happy days again, + And--albeit banished now--have back his lands. + Alike in years and graces, and alike + In lordly race these were: no bride could seem + Worthy Nishadha, if it were not she; + Nor husband worthy of Vidarbha's Pride, + Save it were Nala. It is meet I bring + Comfort forthwith to yon despairing one, + The consort of the just and noble Prince, + For whom I see her heart-sick. I will go + And speak good tidings to this moon-faced Queen, + Who once knew nought of sorrows, but to-day + Stands yonder, plunged heart-deep in woful thought." + So, all those signs and marks considering + Which stamped her Bhima's child, Sudêva drew + Nearer, and said: "Vidarbhi, Nala's wife, + I am the Bráhmana Sudêva, friend + Unto my lord, thy brother, and I come + By royal Bhima's mandate, seeking thee. + That Maharaja, thy father, dwells in health; + Thy mother and thy house are well; and well-- + With promise of long years--thy little ones, + Sister and brother. Yet, for thy sake, Queen, + Thy kindred sit as men with spirit gone; + In search of thee a hundred twice-born rove + Over all lands." + But (O King Yudhisthir!) + Hardly one word she heard before she broke + With question after question on the man, + Asking of this dear friend and that and this; + All mingled with quick tears, and tender sighs, + And hungry gazing on her brother's friend, + Sudêva--best of Bráhmanas--come there. + Which soon Sunandâ marked, watching them speak + Apart, and Damayanti all in tears. + Then came she to her mother, saying: "See, + The handmaid thou didst give me talks below + With one who is a Bráhman, all her words + Watered with weeping; if thou wilt, demand + What this man knows." + Therewith swept forth amazed + The mother of the Raja, and beheld + How Nala's wife spake with the Bráhmana. + Whom straight she bade them summon; and, being brought, + In this wise questioned: "Knowest thou whose wife, + Whose daughter, this one is; and how she left + Her kin; and wherefore, being heavenly-eyed + And noble-mannered, she hath wandered here? + I am full fain to hear this; tell me all, + No whit withholding; answer faithfully-- + Who is our slave-girl with the goddess gait?" + The Bráhmana Sudêva, so addressed, + Seating himself at ease, unto the Queen + Told Damayanti's story, how all fell. + Sudêva said: "There reigns in majesty + King Bhima at Vidarbha; and of him + The Princess Damayanti here is child; + And Virasena's son, Nala, is Lord + Over Nishadha, praised-in-song and wise; + And of that Prince this lady is the wife. + In play his brother worsted Nala--stripped + Of lands and wealth the Prince; who fled his realm, + Wandering with Damayanti--where, none knew. + In quest of Damayanti we have roamed + The earth's face o'er, until I found her here + In thy son's house, the King's--the very same, + Since like to her for grace no woman lives + Of all fair women. Where her eyebrows meet + A pretty mole, born with her, should be seen + A little lotus-bud--not visible + By reason of the dust of toil which clouds + Her face and veils its moon-like beauty--that + The wondrous Maker on the rare work stamped + To be His Mark. But as the waxing moon + Goes thin and darkling for awhile, then rounds + The crescent's rims with splendors, so this Queen + Hath lost not queenliness. Being now obscured, + Soiled with the grime of chores, unbeautified, + She shows true gold. The fire which trieth gold + Denoteth less itself by instant heat + Than Damayanti by her goodlihood. + As first sight knew I her. She bears that mole." + Whilst yet Sudêva spake (O King of men!), + Sunandâ from the slave's front washed away + The gathered dust, and forth that mark appeared + 'Twixt Damayanti's brows, as when clouds break, + And in the sky the moon, the night-maker, + Glitters to view. Seeing the spot awhile, + Sunandâ and the mother of the King + Gazed voiceless; then they clasped her neck and wept + Rejoicing, till the Queen, staying her tears, + Exclaimed: "My sister's daughter, dear! thou art, + By this same mark. Thy mother and myself + Were sisters by one father--he that rules + Daśarna, King Sudâman. She was given + To Bhima, and to Virabahu I. + Once at Daśarna, in my father's house, + I saw thee, newly born. Thy race and mine, + Princess, are one: henceforward, therefore, here + As I am, Damayanti, shalt thou be." + With gladdened heart did Damayanti bend + Before her mother's sister, answering thus:-- + "Peaceful and thankful dwelled I here with thee, + Being unknown, my every need supplied, + My life and honor by thy succor safe, + Yet, Maharajni, even than this dear home + One would be dearer: 'tis so many days + Since we were parted. Suffer me to go + Where those my tender little ones were led; + So long--poor babes!--of me and of their sire + Bereft. If, lady, thou dost think to show + Kindness to me, this is my wish: to wend + Unto Vidarbha swiftly; wilt thou bid + They bear me thither?" + Was no sooner heard + That fond desire, than the queen-mother gave + Willing command; and soon an ample troop, + The King consenting, gathered for her guard. + So was she sent upon a palanquin, + With soldiers, pole-bearers, and meat and drink, + And garments as befitted--happier--home. + Thus to Vidarbha came its Pride again, + By no long road; and joyously her kin + Brought the sweet Princess in, and welcomed her. + In peace and safety all her house she found; + Her children well;--father and mother, friends. + The gods she worshipped, and to Bráhmanas + Due reverence made, and whatso else was meet + That Damayanti did, regal in all. + To wise Sudêva fell the thousand cows + By Bhima granted, with the village-lands, + And goodly gifts beside. + But when there passed + One night of rest within the palace-walls, + The wistful Princess to her mother said:-- + "If thou wouldst have me live, I tell thee true, + Dear mother, it must be by bringing back + My Nala, my own lord; and only so." + When this she spake, right sorrowful became + The Rani, weeping silently, nor gave + One word of answer; and the palace-girls, + Seeing this grief, sat round them, weeping too, + And crying: "Haha! where is gone her lord?" + And loud the lamentation was of all. + Afterwards to the Maharaja his Queen + Told what was said: "Lord! all uncomforted + Thy daughter Damayanti weeps and grieves, + Lacking her husband. Even to me she spake + Before our damsels, laying shame aside:-- + 'Find Nala; let the people of the court + Strive day and night to learn where Nala is.'" + + Then Bhima, hearing, called his Bráhmanas + Patient and wise, and issued hest to go + Into all regions, seeking for the Prince. + But first, by mandate of the Maharaja, + To Damayanti all those twice-born came, + Saying: "Now we depart!" Then Bhima's child + Gave ordinance: "To whatsoever lands + Ye wend, say this--wherever gather men, + Say this--in every place these verses speak:-- + + Whither art thou departed, cruel lover, + Who stole the half of thy belovèd's cloth, + And left her to awaken, and discover + The wrong thou wroughtest to the love of both? + She, as thou didst command, a sad watch keepeth, + With woful heart wearing the rended dress. + Prince, hear her cry who thus forever weepeth; + Be mindful, hero; comfort her distress! + + And, furthermore," the Princess said, "since fire + Leaps into flame when the wind fans the spark, + Be this too spoken, that his heart may burn:-- + + By every husband nourished and protected + Should every wife be. Think upon the wood! + Why these thy duties hast thou so neglected, + Prince, that was called noble and true and good? + Art then become compassionate no longer, + Shunning, perchance, my fortune's broken way? + Ah, husband, love is most! let love be stronger; + _Ahimsa paro dharma_,[25] thou didst say. + + These verses while ye speak," quoth the Princess, + "Should any man make answer, note him well + In any place; and who he is, and where + He dwells. And if one listens to these words + Intently, and shall so reply to them, + Good Bráhmans, hold ye fast his speech, and bring, + Breath by breath, all of it unto me here; + But so that he shall know not whence ye speak, + If ye go back. Do this unweariedly; + And if one answer--be he high or low, + Wealthy or poor--learn all he was and is, + And what he would." + Hereby enjoined, they went, + Those twice-born, into all the lands to seek + Prince Nala in his loneliness. Through towns, + Cities and villages, hamlets and camps, + By shepherds' huts and hermits' caves, they passed, + Searching for Nala; yet they found him not; + Albeit in every region (O my king!) + The words of Damayanti, as she taught, + Spake they again in hearing of all men. + Suddenly--after many days--there came + A Bráhman back, Parnâda he was called, + Who unto Bhima's child in this wise spake:-- + "O Damayanti, seeking Nala still, + Ayodhyâ's streets I entered, where I saw + The Maharaja; he--noble-minded one!-- + Heard me thy verses say, as thou hadst said; + Great Rituparna heard those very words, + Excellent Princess; but he answered nought; + And no man answered, out of all the throng + Ofttimes addressed. But when I had my leave + And was withdrawn, a man accosted me + Privately--one of Rituparna's train, + Vahûka named, the Raja's charioteer + (Something misshapen, with a shrunken arm, + But skilled in driving, very dexterous + In cookery and sweetmeats). He--with groans, + And tears which rolled and rolled--asked of my health, + And then these verses spake full wistfully:-- + + 'Even when their loss is largest, noble ladies + Keep the true treasure of their hearts unspent, + Attaining heaven through faith, which undismayed is + By wrong, unaltered by abandonment; + Such an one guards with virtue's golden shield + Her name from harm; pious and pure and tender; + And, though her lord forsook her, will not yield + To wrath, even against that vile offender-- + Even against the ruined, rash, ungrateful, + Faithless, fond Prince from whom the birds did steal + His only cloth, whom now a penance fateful + Dooms to sad days, that dark-eyed will not feel + Anger; for if she saw him she should see + A man consumed with grief and loss and shame; + Ill or well lodged, ever in misery, + Her unthroned lord, a slave without a name.' + + Such words I heard him speak," Parnâda said, + "And, hastening thence, I tell them to thee, here; + Thou knowest; thou wilt judge; make the King know." + But Damayanti listened, with great eyes + Welling quick tears, while thus Parnâda spake, + And afterwards crept secretly and said + Unto her mother: "Breathe no word hereof, + Dear mother, to the King, but let me speak + With wise Sudêva in thy presence here; + Nothing should Bhima know of what I plan, + But, if thou lovest me, by thee and me + This shall be wrought. As I was safely led + By good Sudêva home, so let him go-- + With not less happy fortune--to bring back, + Ere many days, my Nala; let him seek + Ayodhyâ, mother dear, and fetch my Prince!" + But first Parnâda, resting from his road-- + That best of twice-borns--did the Princess thank + With honorable words and gifts: "If home + My Nala cometh, Bráhman!" so she spake, + "Great guerdon will I give. Thou hast well done + For me herein--- better than any man; + Helping me find again my wandered lord." + To which fair words made soft reply, and prayers + For "peace and fortune," that high-minded one, + And so passed home, his service being wrought. + Next to Sudêva spake the sad Princess + This (O my King!), her mother standing by:-- + "Good Bráhman, to Ayodhyâ's city go. + Say in the ears of Raja Rituparna, + As though thou cam'st a simple traveller, + 'The daughter of King Bhima once again + Maketh to hold her high Swayamvara. + The kings and princes from all lands repair + Thither; the time draws nigh; to-morrow's dawn + Shall bring the day. If thou wouldst be of it, + Speed quickly, conquering King! at sunsetting + Another lord she chooseth for herself; + Since whether Nala liveth or is dead, + None knoweth.'" + These the words which he should say; + And, learning them, he sped, and thither came-- + That Bráhmana Sudêva--and he spake + To Maharaja Rituparna so. + Now when the Raja Rituparna heard + Sudêva's words, quoth he to Vahûka + Full pleasantly: "Much mind I have to go + Where Damayanti holds Swayamvara, + If to Vidarbha, in a single day, + Thou deemest we might drive, my charioteer!" + Of Nala, by his Raja thus addressed, + Torn was the heart with anguish; for he thought:-- + "Can Damayanti purpose this? Could grief + So change her? Is it not some fine device + For my sake schemed? Or doth my Princess seek, + All holy as she was, this guilty joy, + Being so wronged of me, her rash weak lord? + Frail is a woman's heart, and my fault great! + Thus might she do it, being far from home, + Bereft of friends, desolate with long woes + Of love for me--my slender-waisted one! + Yet no, no, no! she would not--she that is + My children's mother! Be it false or true, + Best shall I know in going; therefore now + The will of Rituparna must I serve." + Thus pondering in his mind, the troubled Prince + With joined palms meekly to his master said:-- + "I shall thy hest accomplish! I can drive + In one day, Raja, to Vidarbha's gates." + Then in the royal stables--steed by steed, + Stallions and mares, Vahûka scanned them all, + By Rituparna prayed quickly to choose. + Slowly he picked four coursers, under-fleshed, + But big of bone and sinew; fetlocked well + For journeying; high-bred, heavy-framed; of blood + To match the best, yet gentle; blemish-free; + Broad in the jaw, with scarlet nostrils spread; + Bearing the _Avarthas_, the ten true marks-- + Reared on the banks of Indus, swift as wind. + Which, when the Raja looked upon, he cried, + Half-wrathful: "What thing thinkest thou to do? + Wilt thou betray me? How should sorry beasts, + Lean-ribbed and ragged, take us all that way, + The long road we must swiftly travel hence?" + Vahûka answered: "See on all these four + The ten sure marks: one curl upon each crest, + Two on the cheeks, two upon either flank, + Two on the breast, and on each crupper one.[26] + These to Vidarbha--doubt it not--will go; + Yet, Raja, if thou wilt have others, speak; + And I shall yoke them." + Rituparna said:-- + "I know thou hast deep skill in stable-craft; + Yoke therefore such four coursers as thou wilt, + But quickly!" + Thus those horses, two by two, + High-mettled, spare, and strong, Prince Nala put + Under the bars; and when the car was hitched, + And eagerly the Raja made to mount, + At sign the coursers bent their knees, and lay + Along the earth. Then Nala (O my King!), + With kindly voice cheering the gaunt bright steeds, + Loosed them, and grasped the reins, and bade ascend + Varshneya: so he started, headlong, forth. + At cry of Vahûka the four steeds sprung + Into the air, as they would fly with him; + And when the Raja felt them, fleet as wind, + Whirling along, mute sat he and amazed; + And much Varshneya mused to hear and see + The thundering of those wheels; the fiery four + So lightly held; Vahûka's matchless art. + "Is Mâtali, who driveth Indra's car, + Our charioteer? for all the marks of him + Are here! or Sâlihotra can this be, + The god of horses, knowing all their ways, + Who here in mortal form his greatness hides? + Or is it--can it be--Nala the Prince, + Nala the steed-tamer?" Thus pondered he:-- + "Whatever Nala knew this one doth know. + Alike the mastery seems of both; alike + I judge their years. If this man be not he, + Two Nalas are there in the world for skill. + They say there wander mighty powers on earth + In strange disguises, who, divinely sprung, + Veil themselves from us under human mould; + Bewilderment it brings me, this his shape + Misshappen--from conclusion that alone + Withholds me; yet I wist not what to think, + In age and manner like--and so unlike + In form! Else Vahûka I must have deemed + Nala, with Nala's gifts." + So in his heart, + Varshneya, watching, wondered--being himself + The second charioteer. But Rituparna + Sat joyous with the speed, delightedly + Marking the driving of the Prince: the eyes + Attent; the hand so firm upon the reins; + The skill so quiet, wise, and masterful; + Great joy the Maharaja had to see. + By stream and mountain, woodland-path and pool, + Swiftly, like birds that skim in air, they sped; + Till, as the chariot plunged, the Raja saw + His shoulder-mantle falling to the ground; + And--loath to lose the robe--albeit so pressed, + To Nala cried he, "Let me take it up; + Check the swift horses, wondrous charioteer; + And bid Varshneya light, and fetch my cloth," + But Nala answered: "Far it lies behind; + A yojana already we have passed; + We cannot turn again to pick it up." + A little onward Riturparna saw + Within the wood a tall Myrobolan + Heavy with fruit; hereat, eager he cried:-- + "Now, Vahûka, my skill thou mayest behold + In the Arithmic. All arts no man knows; + Each hath his wisdom, but in one man's wit + Is perfect gift of one thing, and not more. + From yonder tree how many leaves and fruits, + Think'st thou, lie fall'n there upon the earth? + Just one above a thousand of the leaves, + And one above a hundred of the fruits; + And on those two limbs hang, of dancing leaves, + Five crores exact; and shouldst thou pluck yon boughs + Together with their shoots, on those twain boughs + Swing twice a thousand nuts and ninety-five!" + Vahûka checked the chariot wonderingly, + And answered: "Imperceptible to me + Is what thou boastest, slayer of thy foes! + But I to proof will put it, hewing down + The tree, and, having counted, I shall know. + Before thine eyes the branches twain I'll lop: + How prove thee, Maharaja, otherwise, + Whether this be or be not? I will count + One by one--fruits and leaves--before thee, King; + Varshneya, for a space, can rein the steeds." + To him replied the Raja: "Time is none + Now to delay." + Vahûka answered quick + (His own set purpose serving): "Stay this space, + Or by thyself drive on! The road is good, + The son of Vrishni will be charioteer!" + On that the Raja answered soothingly:-- + "There is not in the earth another man + That hath thy skill; and by thy skill I look + To reach Vidarbha, O thou steed-tamer! + Thou art my trust; make thou not hindrance now! + Yet would I suffer, too, what thou dost ask, + If thou couldst surely reach Vidarbha's gate + Before yon sun hath sunk." + Nala replied:-- + "When I have counted those vibhîtak boughs, + Vidarbha I will reach; now keep thy word." + Ill pleased, the Raja said: "Halt then, and count! + Take one bough from the branch which I shall show, + And tell its fruits, and satisfy thy soul." + So leaping from the car--eager he shore + The boughs, and counted; and all wonder-struck + To Rituparna spake: "Lo, as thou saidst + So many fruits there be upon this bough! + Exceeding marvellous is this thy gift, + I burn to know such learning, how it comes." + Answered the Raja, for his journey fain:-- + "My mind is quick with numbers, skilled to count; + I have the science." + "Give it me, dear Lord!" + Vahûka cried: "teach me, I pray, this lore, + And take from me my skill in horse-taming." + Quoth Rituparna--impatient to proceed-- + Yet of such skill desirous: "Be it so! + As thou hast prayed, receive my secret art, + Exchanging with me here thy mastery + Of horses." + Thereupon did he impart + His rules of numbers, taking Nala's too. + But wonderful! So soon as Nala knew + That hidden gift, the accursed Kali leapt + Forth from his breast, the evil spirit's mouth + Spewing the poison of Karkôtaka + Even as he issued. From the afflicted Prince + That bitter plague of Kali passed away; + And for a space Prince Nala lost himself, + Rent by the agony. But when he saw + The evil one take visible shape again-- + Free from the serpent's poison--Nishadha's Lord + Had thought to curse him then; but Kali stood + With clasped palms trembling, and besought the Prince, + Saying: "Thy wrath restrain, Sovereign of men! + I will repay thee well. Thy virtuous wife, + Indrasen's angered mother, laid her ban + Upon me when thou didst forsake her; since + Within thee have I dwelled in anguish sore, + Tortured and tossed and burning, night and day, + With venom from the great snake's fang, which passed + Into me by thy blood. Be pitiful! + I take my refuge in thy mercy! Hear + My promise, Prince! Wherever men henceforth + Shall name thee before people, praising thee, + This shall protect them from the dread of me; + Nala shall guard from Kali, if so now + Thou spare to curse me, seeking grace of thee." + Thus supplicated, Nala stayed his wrath, + Acceding; and the direful Kali fled + Into the wounded tree, possessing it. + But of no eyes, save Nala's, was he seen, + Nor heard of any other; and the Prince, + His sorrows shaking off, when Kali passed, + After that numbering of the leaves, in joy + Unspeakable, and glowing with new hope, + Mounted the car again, and urged his steeds. + But from that hour the tall Myrobolan, + Possessed by Kali, stood there, sear and dead. + Then onward, onward, speeding like the birds, + Those coursers flew; and fast and faster still + The glad Prince cheered them forward, all elate: + And proudly rode the Raja towards the walls + Of high Vidarbha. Thus did journey down + Exultant Nala, free of trouble now, + Quit of the evil spell, but bearing still + His form misshapen, and the shrunken limb. + At sunset in Vidarbha (O great King!) + The watchers on the walls proclaimed, "There comes + The Raja Rituparna!" Bhima bade + Open the gates; and thus they entered in, + Making all quarters of the city shake + With rattling of the chariot-wheels. But when + The horses of Prince Nala heard that sound, + For joy they neighed, as when of old their lord + Drew nigh. And Damayanti, in her bower, + Far off that rattling of the chariot heard, + As when at time of rains is heard the voice + Of clouds low thundering; and her bosom thrilled + At echo of that ringing sound. It came + Loud and more loud, like Nala's, when of old, + Gripping the reins, he cheered his mares along. + It seemed like Nala to the Princess then-- + That clatter of the trampling of the hoofs; + It seemed like Nala to the stabled steeds: + Upon the palace-roof the peacocks heard + And screamed; the elephants within their stalls + Heard it and trumpeted; the coursers, tied, + Snorted for joy to hear that leaping car; + Peacocks and elephants and cattle stalled + All called and clamored with uplifted heads, + As wild things do at noise of coming rain. + Then to herself the Princess spake: "This car, + The rolling of it, echoing all around, + Gladdens my heart. It must be Nala comes, + My King of men! If I see not, this day, + My Prince that hath the bright and moon-like face, + My hero of unnumbered gifts, my lord, + Ah, I shall die! If this day fall I not + Into his opening arms--at last, at last-- + And feel his close embrace, oh, beyond doubt, + I cannot live! If--ending all--to-day + Nishadha cometh not, with this deep sound + Like far-off thunder, then to-night I'll leap + Into the golden, flickering, fiery flames! + If now, now, now, my lion draws not nigh, + My warrior-love, like the wild elephant, + My Prince of princes--I shall surely die! + Nought call I now to mind he said or did + That was not rightly said and justly done. + No idle word he spake, even in free speech; + Patient and lordly; generous to bestow + Beyond all givers; scorning to be base, + Yea, even in secret--such Nishadha was. + Alas! when, day and night, I think of him, + How is my heart consumed, reft of its joy!" + So meditating, like one torn by thoughts, + She mounted to the palace-roof to see; + And thence, in the mid-court, the car beheld + Arriving. Rituparna and Vahûka + She saw, with Vrishni's son, descend and loose + The panting horses, wheeling back the car. + Then Rituparna, alighting, sought the King, + Bhima the Maharaja, far-renowned-- + Whom Bhima with fair courtesies received; + Since well he deemed such breathless visit made + With deep cause, knowing not the women's plots. + "_Swâgatam!"_ cried he; "what hath brought thee, Prince?" + For nothing wist he that the Raja came + Suitor of Damayanti. Questioned so, + This Raja Rituparna, wise and brave, + Seeing no kings nor princes in the court, + Nor noise of the Swayamvara, nor crowd + Of Bráhmans gathering--weighing all those things, + Answered in this wise: "I am come, great Lord, + To make thee salutations!" But the King + Laughed in his beard at Rituparna's word-- + That this of many weary yojanas + Should be the mark. "_Ahoswid_! Hath he passed + Through twenty towns," thought he, "and hither flown + To bid good-morrow? Nay, it is not that. + Good! I shall know it when he bids me know." + Thereat, with friendly speech his noble guest + The King to rest dismissed. "Repose thyself," + He said; "the road was long; weary thou art." + And Rituparna, with sentences of grace + Replying to this graciousness, was led + By slaves to the allotted sleeping-room; + And after Rituparna, Varshneya went. + Vahûka, left alone, the chariot ran + Into its shed, and from the foamy steeds + Unbuckled all the harness, thong by thong, + Speaking soft words to them; then sat him down, + Alone, forgotten, on the driving-seat. + But Damayanti, seeing Rituparna, + And Vrishni's son, and him called Vahûka, + Spake sorrowful: "Whose was the thunder, then, + Of that fleet car? It seemed like Nala's own; + Yet here I see no Nala! Hath yon man + My lord's art learned, or th'other one, that thus + Their car should thunder as when Nala comes? + Could Rituparna drive as Nala doth, + So that those chariot-wheels should sound like his?" + And, after having pondered (O my King!), + The beauteous Princess sent her handmaiden + To Vahûka, that she might question him. + "Go, Keshinî," the Princess said; "inquire + Who is that man upon the driving-seat, + Misshapen, with the shrunken arm. Approach + Composedly, question him winningly + With greetings kind, and bid him answer thee + According to the truth. I feel at heart + A doubt--a hope--that this, perchance, may be + My Lord and Prince; there is some new-born joy + Fluttering within my breast. Accost him, girl; + And, ere thou partest, what Parnâda said, + Say thou, and hear him answer, blameless one, + And bring it on thy lips!" + Then went the maid + Demurely, and accosted Vahûka, + While Damayanti watched them from the roof. + "_Kushalam tê bravîmi_--health and peace + I wish thee!" said she. "Wilt thou answer true + What Damayanti asks? She sends to ask + Whence set ye forth, and wherefore are ye come + Hither? Vidarbha's Princess fain would know." + "'Twas told my Raja," Vahûka replied, + "That Damayanti for the second turn + Holds her Swayamvara: the Bráhman's word + Was, "This shall be to-morrow." So he sped, + Hearing that news, with steeds which in one day + Fly fifty yojanas, swift as the winds, + Exceeding fleet. His charioteer am I." + "Who, then," Keshinî asked, "is he that rode + The third? whence cometh he, and what his race? + And thou thyself whence sprung? and tell me why + Thou servest thus?" + Then Vahûka replied:-- + "Varshneya is the third who rode with us, + The famous charioteer of Nala he: + When thy Prince fled, he went to Koshala + And took our service. I in horse-taming + And dressing meat have skill; so am I made + King Rituparna's driver and his cook." + "Knoweth Varshneya, then, where Nala fled?" + Inquired the maid; "and did he tell thee this, + Or what spake he?" + "Of that unhappy Prince + He brought the children hither, and then went + Even where he would, of Nala wotting nought; + Nor wotteth any man, fair damsel! more. + Hidden from mortal eyes Nishadha lives, + Wandering the world, his very body changed. + Of Nala only Nala's own heart knows, + And by no sign doth he bewray himself." + Keshinî said: "That Bráhman who did wend + First to Ayodhyâ bore a verse to say + Over and over, everywhere--strange words, + Wove by a woman's wit. Listen to these:-- + + 'Whither art thou departed, cruel lover, + Who stole the half of thy belovèd's cloth, + And left her to awaken and discover + The wrong thou wroughtest to the love of both? + She, as thou didst command, a sad watch keepeth, + With woful heart wearing the rended dress. + Prince, hear her cry who thus forever weepeth; + Be mindful, hero; comfort her distress!' + + What was it thou didst utter, hearing this? + Some gentle speech! Say it again--the Queen, + My peerless mistress, fain would know from me. + Nay, on thy faith, when thou didst hear that man, + What was it thou replied? She would know." + (Descendant of the Kurus!) Nala's heart, + While so the maid spoke, well-nigh burst with grief, + And from his eyes fast flowed the rolling tears; + But, mastering his anguish, holding down + The passion of his pain, with voice which strove + To speak through sobs, the Prince repeated this:-- + + "Even against the ruined, rash, ungrateful, + Faithless, fond Prince, from whom the birds did steal + His only cloth, whom now a penance fateful + Dooms to sad days, that dark-eyed will not feel + Anger; for if she saw him she should see + A man consumed with grief and loss and shame; + Ill or well lodged, ever in misery, + Her unthroned lord, a slave without a name." + + Speaking these verses, woful Nala moaned, + And, overcome by thought, restrained no more + His trickling tears; fast broke they forth (O King!). + But Keshinî, returning, told his words + To Damayanti, and the grief of him. + When Damayanti heard, sore-troubled still, + Yet in her heart supposing him her Prince, + Again she spake: "Go, Kashinî, and watch + Whatever this man doeth; near him stand, + Holding thy peace, and mark the ways of him + And all his acts, going and coming; note + If aught there be of strange in any deed. + Let them not give him fire, my girl--not though + This hindereth sore; nor water, though he ask + Even with beseeching. Afterwards observe, + And bring me what befalls, and every sign + Of earthly or unearthly power he shows; + And whatsoever else Vahûka doth, + See it, and say." + Thereon Keshinî sped, + Obeying Damayanti and--at hand-- + Whatever by that horse-tamer was wrought, + The damsel watched, and all his ways; and came + Back to the Princess, unto whom she told + Each thing Vahûka did, as it befell, + And what the signs were, and the wondrous works + Of earthly and unearthly gifts in him. + "_Subhê_!"[27] quoth she, "the man is magical, + But high and holy mannered; never yet + Saw I another such, nor heard of him. + Passing the low door of the inner court, + Where one must stoop, he did not bow his head, + But as he came the lintel lifted up + And gave him space. Bhima the King had sent + Many and diverse meats for Rituparna, + Of beast and bird and fish--great store of food-- + The which to cleanse some chatties stood hard by, + All empty; yet he did but look on them, + Wishful, and lo! the water brimmed the pots. + Then, having washed the meats, he hastened forth + In quest of fire, and, holding towards the sun + A knot of withered grass, the bright flame blazed + Instant amidst it. Wonderstruck was I + This miracle to see, and hither ran + With other strangest marvels to impart:-- + For, Princess, when he touched the blazing grass + He was not burned, and water flows for him + At will, or ceases flowing; and this, too, + The strangest thing of all, did I behold-- + He took some faded leaves and flowers up, + And idly handled them; but while his hands + Toyed with them, lo! they blossomed forth again + With lovelier life than ever, and fresh scent, + Straight on their stalks. These marvels have I seen, + And fly back now to tell thee, mistress dear!" + But when she knew such wonders of the man, + More certainly she deemed those acts and gifts + Betokened Nala; and so-minded, full + Of trust to find her lord in Vahûka, + With happier tears and softening voice she said + To Keshinî: "Speed yet again, my girl; + And, while he wots not, from the kitchen take + Meat he hath dressed, and bring it here to me." + So went the maid, and, waiting secretly, + Broke from the mess a morsel, hot and spiced, + And, bearing it with faithful swiftness, gave + To Damayanti. She (O Kuru King!)-- + That knew so well the dishes dressed by him-- + Touched, tasted it, and, laughing--weeping--cried, + Beside herself with joy: "Yes, yes; 'tis he! + That charioteer is Nala!" then, a-pant, + Even while she washed her mouth, she bade the maid + Go with the children twain to Vahûka; + Who, when he saw his little Indrasen + And Indrasena, started up, and ran, + And caught, and folded them upon his breast; + Holding them there, his darlings, each as fair + As children of the gods. Then, quite undone + With love and yearning, loudly sobbed the Prince. + Until, perceiving Keshinî, who watched, + Shamed to be known, he set his children down, + And said: "In sooth, good friend, this lovely pair + So like mine own are, that at seeing them + I am surprised into these foolish tears. + Thou comest here too often; men will think + Thee light, or me; remember, we are here, + Strangers and guests, girl! Go thy ways in peace!" + But seeing that great trouble of his soul, + Lightly came Keshinî, and pictured all + To Damayanti. She, burning to know + If truly this were Nala, bade the girl + Seek the Queen's presence, saying thus for her:-- + "Mother! long watching Vahûka, I deem + The charioteer is Nala. One doubt lives-- + His altered form. I must myself have speech + With Vahûka; thou, therefore, bid him come, + Or suffer me to seek him. Be this done + Forthwith, good mother!--whether known or not + Unto the Maharaja." + When she heard, + The Queen told Bhima what the Princess prayed, + Who gave consent; and having this good leave + From father and from mother (O my King!), + Command was sent that Vahûka be brought + Where the court ladies lodged. + So met those twain; + And when Prince Nala's gaze fell on his wife, + He stood with beating heart and tearful eyes. + And when sweet Damayanti looked on him, + She could not speak for anguish of keen joy + To have him close; but sat there, mute and wan, + Wearing a sad-hued cloth, her lustrous hair + Falling unbanded, and the mourning-mark + Stamped in gray ashes on her lovely brow. + And, when she found a voice, these were the words + That came from her: "Didst ever, Vahûka-- + If Vahûka thy name be, as thou say'st-- + Know one of noble nature, honorable, + Who in the wild woods left his wife asleep-- + His innocent, fond wife--weary and worn? + Know'st thou the man. I'll say his name to thee; + 'Twas Nala, Raja Nala! Ah, and when + In any thoughtless hour had I once wrought + The smallest wrong, that he should leave me so, + There in the wood, by slumber overcome? + Before the gods I chose him for my lord, + The gods themselves rejecting; tell me how + This Prince could so abandon, in her need, + His true, his loving wife, she who did bear + His babes--abandon her to whom he swore-- + My hand clasped, in the sight of all the gods, + And Agni's self--'Thy true lord I will be!' + Thou saidst it!--where is now that promise, fled?" + While thus she spake (O Victor of thy foes!), + Fast from her eyes the woe-sprung waters ran. + And Nala, seeing those night-black, loving eyes + Reddened with weeping, seeing her falling tears; + Broke forth: "Ah! that I lost my throne and realm + In dicing, was not done by fault of mine; + 'T was Kali wrought it; Kali, O my wife, + Drove me to leave thee. Therefore, long ago + That evil one was stricken by the curse + Which thou didst utter, wandering in the wood, + Desolate, night and day, grieving for me. + Possessing me he dwelt; but, cursed by thee, + Tortured he dwelt, consuming with thy words + In fierce and fiercer pain, as when is piled + Brand upon burning brand. But he is gone; + Patience and penance have o'ermastered him. + Princess, the end is reached of our long woes. + That evil one being fled, freeing my will, + See, I am here; and wherefore would I come, + Fairest, except for thee? Yet, answer this:-- + How should a wife, right-minded to her lord-- + Her own and lawful lord--compass to choose + Another love, as thou, that tremblest, didst? + Thy messengers over all regions ran, + By the King's name proclaiming: 'Bhima's child + A second husband chooseth for herself, + Whomso she will--as pleaseth--being free,' + Those shameless tidings brought the Raja here + At headlong speed--and me!" + Tenderly smiled + Damayanti through her tears, with quivering lips, + And joined palms, answering her aggrievèd Prince:-- + "Judgest thou me guilty of such a sin? + When for thy sake I put the gods aside-- + Thee did I choose, Nishadha, my one lord. + In quest of thee did all those Bráhmans range + In all ten regions, telling all one tale + Taught them by me; and so Parnâda came + To Koshala, where Rituparna dwells, + And found thee in his house, and spake to thee + Those words, and had thy gentle answer back. + Mine the device was, Prince, to bring thee quick; + For well I wist no man in all this world + Could in one day the fleetest coursers urge + So many yojanas, save thou, dear Prince! + I touch thy feet, and tell thee this in truth; + And true it is that never any wrong + Against thee, even in fancy, have I dreamed. + Witness for me, as I am loyal and pure, + The ever-shifting, all-beholding Air, + Who wanders o'er the earth; let him withdraw + My breath and slay me, if I sinned in aught! + Witness for me, yon golden Sun who goes + With bright eye over us; let him withhold + Warm life and kill me, if I sinned in aught! + Witness for me the white Moon, whose pale spell + Lies on all flesh and spirit; let that orb + Deny me peace and end me, if I sinned! + These be the watchers and the testifiers, + The three chief gods that rule the three wide worlds; + I cry unto them; let them speak for me; + And thou shalt hear them answer for my faith, + Or once again, this day, abandon me." + Then Vayu showed--the all-enfolding Air-- + And spake: "Not one wrong hath she wrought thee, Prince, + I tell thee sooth. The treasure of her truth + Faultless and undefiled she hath kept + By us regarded, and sustained by us, + These many days. Her tender plot it was, + Planned for thy sake, which brought thee; since who else + Could in one day drive threescore yojanas? + Nala, thou hast thy noble wife again; + Thou, Damayanti, hast thy Nala back. + Away with doubting; take her to thy breast, + Thrice happy Prince!" + And while God Vayu spake, + Look! there showered flowers down out of the sky[28] + Upon them; and the drums of heaven beat + Beautiful music, and a gentle wind, + Fragrant, propitious, floated, kissing them. + But Nala, when he saw these things befall-- + Wonderful, gracious--when he heard that voice + Called the great snake to memory:--whereupon + His proper self returned. Bhima's fair child + Divinely sounding (Lord of Bhârat's line!)-- + Yielded all doubt of his delightful Love. + Then cast he round about his neck the cloth-- + Unstained by earth, enchanted--and (O King!) + Saw her dear lord his beauteous form resume. + "Ah, Nala! Nala!" cried she, while her arms + Clasped him and clung; and Nala to his heart + Pressed that bright lady, glowing, as of old, + With princely majesty. Their children twain + Next he caressed; while she--at happy peace-- + Her beautiful glad face laid on his breast, + Sighing with too much joy. And Nala stood + A great space silent, gazing on her face, + Sorrow-stamped yet, her long, deep-lidded eyes, + Her melting smile--himself 'twixt joy and woe. + Afterwards, all that story of the Prince, + And all of Damayanti, Bhima's Queen + Told to the Maharaja joyously. + And Bhima said: "To-morrow will I see-- + When Nala hath his needful offerings made-- + Our daughter and this wandering lord well knit." + But all that night they sat, hand clasped in hand, + Rejoicing, and relating what befell + In the wild wood, and of the woful times. + That night being spent, Prince Nala in his state + Led forth Vidarbha's Pride before the court. + And Bhima--in an hour found fortunate-- + Re-wed those married lovers. Dutifully + Nala paid homage to the Maharaja, + And reverently did Damayanti bow + Before her father. He the Prince received + With grace and gladness, as a son restored, + Making fair welcome, and with words of praise + Exalting Damayanti, tried and true; + Which in all dignity Prince Nala took, + Returning, as was meet, words honorable. + Therewith unto the city spread the noise + Of that rejoicing. All the townspeople, + Learning of Nala joyously returned, + Made all their quarters gay with float of flags, + Flutter of cloths, and garlands; sprinkled free + The King's-ways with fresh water, and the cups + Of fragrant flowers; and hung long wreaths of flowers. + From door to door the white street-fronts before; + And decked each temple-porch, and went about + The altar-gods. + And afterwards, in Bhima's royal house + Serenely dwelled the Princess and the Prince, + Each making for the other peaceful joy. + So in the fourth year Nala was rejoined + To Damayanti, comforted and free, + Restful, attained, tasting delights again. + Also the glad Princess, gaining her lord, + Laid sorrows by, and blossomed forth anew, + As doth the laughing earth when the rain falls, + And brings her unseen, waiting wonders forth + Of blade and flower and fruit. The ache was gone, + The loneliness and load. Heart-full of ease, + Lovelier she grew and brighter, like the moon + Mounting at midnight in the cloudless blue. + When Rituparna heard + How Vahûka is Nala in disguise, + And of the meeting, right rejoiced at heart + That Raja grew. And, being softly prayed + By Nala favorable thought, the King + Made royal and gentle answer, with like grace + By Nala met. To whom spake Rituparna:-- + "Joy go with thee and her, happily joined. + But say, Nishadha, wrought I any jot + Wrongful to thee, whilst sojourning unknown + Within my walls? If any word or deed, + Purposed or purposeless, hath vexed thee, friend, + For one and all thy pardon grant to me!" + And Nala answered: "Never act or word, + The smallest, Raja, lingers to excuse! + If this were otherwise, thy slave was I, + And might not question, but must pardon thee. + Yet good to me thou wert, princely and just, + And kind thou art; and friendly from this time + Deign thou to be. Happily was I lodged, + Well-tended, well-befriended in thy house; + In mine own palace never better stead. + The skill in steeds which pleased thee, that is mine, + And, Raja, I will give it all to thee, + If thou art minded." + So Nishadha gave + All his great gift in horses to the King, + Who learned each rule approved, and ordinance; + And, having all this knowledge, gave in turn + His deepest lore of numbers and the dice + To Nala, afterwards departing home + To his own place, another charioteer + Driving his steeds; and, Rituparna gone, + Not long did Nala dwell in Bhima's town. + When one moon he had tarried, taking leave, + Nishadha to his city started forth + With chosen train. A shining car he drove; + And elephants sixteen, and fifty horse, + And footmen thirty-score came in the rear. + Swiftly did Nala journey, making earth + Quake 'neath his flying car; and wrathfully + With quick steps entered he his palace doors. + The son of Virasena, Nala, stood + Once more before that gamester Pushkara! + Spake he: "Play yet again; much wealth is mine, + And that, and all I have--yea, my Princess-- + Set I for stakes: set thou this realm, and throw! + My mind is fixed a second chance to try, + Where, Pushkara, we will play for all or none. + Who wins his throne and treasures from a prince, + Must stand the hazard of the counter-cast-- + This is the accepted law. If thou dost blench, + The next game we will play is 'life or death,' + In chariot-fight; when, or of thee or me + One shall lie satisfied: 'Descended realms, + By whatsoever means, are to be sought,' + The sages say, 'by whatsoever won.' + Choose, therefore, Pushkara, which way of these + Shall please thee; either meet me with the dice, + Or with thy bow confront me in the field." + When Pushkara this heard, lightly he smiled, + Concluding victory sure; and to the Prince + Answered, exulting: "_Dishtya_! hast thou gained + Stakes for a counter-game, Nishadha, now? + _Dishtya_! shall I have my hard-won prize, + Sweet Damayanti? _Dishtya_! didst thou come + In kissing-reach again of thy fair wife? + Soon, in thy new gold splendid, she shall shine + Before all men beside me, as in heaven + On Sakra waits the loveliest Apsarâ. + See, now, I thought on thee, I looked for thee, + Ever and ever, Prince. There is no joy + Like casting in the game with such as thee. + And when to-day I win thy blameless one-- + The smooth-limbed Damayanti--then shall be + What was to be: and I can rest content, + For always in my heart her beauty burns." + Listening the idle talk that babbler poured, + Angry Prince Nala fain had lopped away + His head with vengeful _khudga;_[29] but, unmoved, + Albeit the wrath blazed in his bloodshot eyes, + He made reply: "Play! mock me not with jests; + Thou wilt not jest when I have cast with thee!" + So was the game set, and the Princes threw + Nala and Pushkara, and--the numbers named-- + By Nala was the hazard gained: he swept + His brother's stake, gems, treasure, kingdom, off; + At one stroke all that mighty venture won. + Then quoth the conquering Prince to Pushkara, + Scornfully smiling: "Mine is now once more + Nishadha's throne; mine is the realm again, + Its curse plucked forth; Vidarbha's glory thou, + Outcast, shalt ne'er so much as look upon! + Fool! who to-day becom'st her bond and slave. + Not by thy gifts that evil stroke was wrought + Wherefrom I fled before; 'twas Kali's spell-- + Albeit thou knew'st nought, fool--overmastered me; + Yet will I visit not in wrathful wise + My wrong on thee; live as thou wilt; I grant + Wherewith to live, and set apart henceforth + Thy proper goods and substance, and fit food. + Nay, doubt not I shall show thee favor, too, + And be in friendship with thee, if thou wilt, + Who art my brother. Peace abide with thee!" + Thus all-victorious Nala comforted + His brother, and embraced him, sending him + In honor to his town; and Pushkara-- + Gently entreated--to Nishadha spake, + With folded palms and humbled face, these words:-- + "Unending be thy glory. May thy bliss + Last and increase for twice five thousand years, + Who grantest me wherewith to live, just Lord! + And where to dwell." Thereafter, well bested, + Pushkara sojourned with the Prince one moon; + So to his town departed--heart-content-- + With slaves and foot-soldiers and followers, + Gay as a rising sun (O Bhârat's glory!). + Thus sent he Pushkara, rich and safe, away. + Then, with flags and drums and jewels, robed and royally arrayed, + Nala into fair Nishadha entry high and dazzling made; + At the gates the Raja, halting, spake his people words of love; + Gathered were they from the city, gathered from the field and grove; + From the mountain and the maidan, all a-thrill with joy to see + Nala come to guard his children. "Happy now our days will be," + Said the townsfolk, said the elders, said the villagers, "O King!" + Standing all with palms upfolded: "Peace and fortune thou wilt bring + To thy city, to thy country! Boundless welcome do we give, + As the gods in heaven to Indra, when with them he comes to live." + After, when the show was ended, and the city, calm and glad, + Rest from tumult of rejoicing and rich flood of feasting had, + Girt with shining squadrons, Nala fetched his pearl of women home. + Like a queen did Damayanti back unto her palace come, + By the Maharaja Bhima, by that mighty monarch sent + Royally, with countless blessings, to her kingdom, in content. + There, beside his peerless Princess, and his children, bore he sway, + Godlike, even as Indra ruling 'mid the bliss of Nandana.[30] + Bore he sway--my noble Nala--princeliest of all lords--who reign + In the lands of Jambudwipa;[31] winning power and fame again; + Ruling well his realm reconquered, like a just and perfect king, + All the appointed gifts bestowing, all the rites remembering. + + +[22] Jhillikas are the large wood-crickets + +[23] A caravan. + +[24] This is a secretion which flows by a small orifice from the +elephant's temples at certain seasons. It is sweet-smelling, and +constantly alluded to in Hindoo poetry. + +[25] "Gentleness is chief of virtues." + +[26] These "curls" are the "Arvathas," or marks of good blood and +high-breeding. + +[27] "O Beautiful One!" + +[28] This raining down of heavenly flowers on auspicious occasions is a +frequent incident in ancient Indian poetry. + +[29] A short; broad-bladed sword. + +[30] Nandana is the Paradise of Indra. + +[31] Ancient name of India: "The Land of the Rose-apple Tree." + + + + +SELECTIONS FROM THE RÁMÁYANA + +BY + +VÁLMÍKI + + +[_Metrical translation by R.T.H. Griffiths_] + + +INTRODUCTION + + +The ideas of the human family are few, as is apparent from the study of +the literature of widely different nations. Thus the "Rámáyana" ranks in +Hindoo with the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey" in Greek literature. The +character of Ráma corresponds with that of Menelaus, for both the +European and the Asiatic heroes have had their wives carried off from +them--although Sítá, the bride of Ráma, is chaste as an icicle from +Diana's temple, while Helen is the infamous type of wanton wives, +ancient and modern. The Hindoo Lanka is Troy, and Ayodhyá is Sparta. The +material civilization of the cities in the Hindoo epic is more luxurious +and gorgeous than that which Homer attributes to Greece in the heroic +age. Such splendor and refinement as invests social life at Lanka and +Ayodhyá never appear amid the severe simplicity of Argos or Troy. The +moral tone seems perhaps higher in India than in Greece during the +periods described in their several epics--at least as far as mutual love +and forbearance go--and the ideas of marriage and conjugal fidelity are +equally exalted. + +As to the literary quality of the Hindoo epic in comparison with Homer's +work, we are at once impressed with the immense superiority of the Greek +poem in artistic proportion, point, and precision. The Hindoo poet +flounders along, amid a maze of prolix description and wearisome simile. +Trifles are amplified and repeated, and the whole poem resembles a wild +forest abounding in rich tropical vegetation, palms and flowers, but +without paths, roads, or limits. Or rather, we are reminded of one of +the highly painted and richly decorated idols of India, with their many +heads and many hands: but when we turn to the Greek epic we stand before +a statue of pure outline, flawless proportions, and more than human +beauty. + +It is difficult to fix the date of the "Rámáyana." Scholars generally +agree that it belongs to the third century before Christ, in its +original form, but that some recent portions were added even during the +Christian era. It is reckoned as one of the sacred books, and the study +of it is supposed to bring forgiveness of sin, and prosperity. Its +author is thought to have been the famous poet Válmíki, but the work has +evidently been rehandled several times, and there are three versions of +the poems still extant. The poem consists of twenty-four thousand +verses, and the story of it--now overlaid as it is with extravagant and +fabulous accretions--is evidently founded on fact. The scene of the poem +is laid in the city of Ayodhyá, the modern Oudh, which is described in +glowing colors as a place of health, beauty, and prosperity-- + + "In by-gone ages built and planned + By sainted Manu's princely hand." + +In the splendid palace of the Rajah, at Oudh, lives Daśaratha, mourning +in childlessness. He is one of the princes descended from the sun, and +his line now threatens to become extinct. He determines to appeal to the +Gods by the Asva-medha, the great sacrifice in which a horse is the +victim. The rites accordingly are performed with unparalleled +magnificence, and, at the close of the ceremony, the high priest +declares to the king-- + + "Four sons, O Monarch, shall be thine, + Upholders of the royal line." + +Among the offspring duly granted to Daśaratha is Ráma, who is a typical +Hindoo of the heroic type. His fair wife, Sítá, is carried off by the +demon Ravana, who had assumed the form of a humble priest, or ascetic, +in order to gain access to her. He carries her in his chariot to Lanka, +the fair city built on an island of the sea. By the assistance of a +large army of monkeys, Ráma marches against Lanka, and when they stand +helpless--for the water separates them from Ceylon--he then invokes the +goddess of the sea, as Achilles did Thetis, and she comes in radiant +beauty, telling them how to bridge the waves. The monkeys bring timber +and stones, the bridge is built, Lanka reached, and the battle begins. +Indra sends his own chariot down from heaven to Ráma, who mounts it, and +vanquishes Ravana in single combat, upon which Sítá is restored to her +husband. E.W. + + + + +THE RÁMÁYANA + +INVOCATION + + + Praise to Válmíki, bird of charming song, + Who mounts on Poesy's sublimest spray, + And sweetly sings with accent clear and strong + Ráma, aye Ráma, in his deathless lay. + + Where breathes the man can listen to the strain + That flows in music from Válmíki's tongue, + Nor feel his feet the path of bliss attain + When Ráma's glory by the saint is sung? + + The stream Rámáyan leaves its sacred fount + The whole wide world from sin and stain to free. + The Prince of Hermits is the parent mount, + The lordly Ráma is the darling sea. + + Glory to him whose fame is ever bright! + Glory to him, Prachet's holy son! + Whose pure lips quaff with ever-new delight + The nectar-sea of deeds by Ráma done. + + Hail, arch-ascetic, pious, good, and kind! + Hail, Saint Válmíki, lord of every lore! + Hail, holy Hermit, calm and pure of mind! + Hail, First of Bards, Válmíki, hail once more! + + + + +BOOK I + +CANTO I + +NARAD + +_Om_. + + To sainted Nárad, prince of those + Whose lore in words of wisdom flows, + Whose constant care and chief delight + Were Scripture and ascetic rite, + The good Válmíki, first and best + Of hermit saints, these words addressed:-- + "In all this world, I pray thee, who + Is virtuous, heroic, true? + Firm in his vows, of grateful mind, + To every creature good and kind? + Bounteous, and holy, just, and wise, + Alone most fair to all men's eyes? + Devoid of envy, firm, and sage, + Whose tranquil soul ne'er yields to rage? + Whom, when his warrior wrath is high, + Do Gods embattled fear and fly? + Whose noble might and gentle skill + The triple world can guard from ill? + Who is the best of princes, he + Who loves his people's good to see? + The store of bliss, the living mine + Where brightest joys and virtues shine? + Queen Fortune's best and dearest friend, + Whose steps her choicest gifts attend? + Who may with Sun and Moon compare, + With Indra, Vishnu, Fire, and Air? + Grant, Saint divine, the boon I ask, + For thee, I ween, an easy task, + To whom the power is given to know + If such a man breathe here below." + + Then Nárad, clear before whose eye + The present, past, and future lie, + Made ready answer: "Hermit, where + Are graces found so high and rare? + Yet listen, and my tongue shall tell + In whom alone these virtues dwell. + From old Ikshváku's line he came, + Known to the world by Ráma's name:-- + With soul subdued, a chief of might, + In Scripture versed, in glory bright. + His steps in virtue's paths are bent, + Obedient, pure, and eloquent. + In each emprise he wins success, + And dying foes his power confess. + Tall and broad-shouldered, strong of limb, + Fortune has set her mark on him. + Graced with a conch-shell's triple line, + His throat displays the auspicious sign. + High destiny is clear impressed + On massive jaw and ample chest. + His mighty shafts he truly aims, + And foemen in the battle tames. + Deep in the muscle, scarcely shown, + Embedded lies his collar-bone. + His lordly steps are firm and free, + His strong arms reach below his knee; + All fairest graces join to deck + His head, his brow, his stately neck, + And limbs in fair proportion set:-- + The manliest form e'er fashioned yet. + Graced with each high imperial mark, + His skin is soft and lustrous dark. + Large are his eyes that sweetly shine + With majesty almost divine. + His plighted word he ne'er forgets; + On erring sense a watch he sets. + By nature wise, his teacher's skill + Has trained him to subdue his will. + Good, resolute and pure, and strong, + He guards mankind from scathe and wrong, + And lends his aid, and ne'er in vain, + The cause of justice to maintain. + Well has he studied o'er and o'er + The Vedas and their kindred lore. + Well skilled is he the bow to draw, + Well trained in arts and versed in law; + High-souled and meet for happy fate, + Most tender and compassionate; + The noblest of all lordly givers, + Whom good men follow, as the rivers + Follow the King of Floods, the sea:-- + So liberal, so just is he. + The joy of Queen Kauśalyá's heart, + In every virtue he has part; + Firm as Himálaya's snowy steep, + Unfathomed like the mighty deep; + The peer of Vishnu's power and might, + And lovely as the Lord of Night; + Patient as Earth, but, roused to ire, + Fierce as the world-destroying fire; + In bounty like the Lord of Gold, + And Justice' self in human mould. + With him, his best and eldest son, + By all his princely virtues won + King Daśaratha willed to share + His kingdom as the Regent Heir. + But when Kaikeyí, youngest queen, + With eyes of envious hate had seen + The solemn pomp and regal state + Prepared the prince to consecrate, + She bade the hapless king bestow + Two gifts he promised long ago, + That Ráma to the woods should flee, + And that her child the heir should be. + + By chains of duty firmly tied, + The wretched King perforce complied. + Ráma, to please Kaikeyí went + Obedient forth, to banishment. + Then Lakshman's truth was nobly shown, + Then were his love and courage known, + When for his brother's sake he dared + All perils, and his exile shared. + And Sítá, Ráma's darling wife, + Loved even as he loved his life, + Whom happy marks combined to bless, + A miracle of loveliness, + Of Janak's royal lineage sprung, + Most excellent of women, clung + To her dear lord, like Rohiní + Rejoicing with the Moon to be. + The King and people, sad of mood, + The hero's car awhile pursued. + But when Prince Ráma lighted down + At Śringavera's pleasant town, + Where Gangá's holy waters flow, + He bade his driver turn and go. + Guha, Nishádas' King, he met, + And on the farther bank was set. + Then on from wood to wood they strayed, + O'er many a stream, through constant shade, + As Bharadvája bade them, till + They came to Chitrakúta's hill. + And Ráma there, with Lakshman's aid, + A pleasant little cottage made, + And spent his days with Sítá, dressed + In coat of bark and deerskin vest. + And Chitrakúta grew to be + As bright with those illustrious three + As Meru's sacred peaks that shine + With glory, when the Gods recline + Beneath them: Śiva's self between + The Lord of Gold and Beauty's Queen. + + The aged King for Ráma pined, + And for the skies the earth resigned. + Bharat, his son, refused to reign, + Though urged by all the twice-born train. + Forth to the woods he fared to meet + His brother, fell before his feet, + And cried "Thy claim all men allow:-- + O come, our lord and King be thou." + But Ráma nobly chose to be + Observant of his sire's decree. + He placed his sandals in his hand, + A pledge that he would rule the land:-- + And bade his brother turn again. + Then Bharat, finding prayer was vain, + The sandals took and went away; + Nor in Ayodhyá would he stay, + But turned to Nandigráma, where + He ruled the realm with watchful care, + Still longing eagerly to learn + Tidings of Ráma's safe return. + + Then lest the people should repeat + Their visit to his calm retreat, + Away from Chitrakúta's hill + Fared Ráma, ever onward till + Beneath the shady trees he stood + Of Dandaká's primeval wood. + Virádha, giant fiend, he slew, + And then Agastya's friendship knew. + Counselled by him he gained the sword + And bow of Indra, heavenly lord:-- + A pair of quivers too, that bore + Of arrows an exhaustless store. + While there he dwelt in greenwood shade, + The trembling hermits sought his aid, + And bade him with his sword and bow + Destroy the fiends who worked them woe:-- + To come like Indra strong and brave, + A guardian God to help and save. + And Ráma's falchion left its trace + Deep cut on Súrpanakhá's face:-- + A hideous giantess who came + Burning for him with lawless flame. + Their sister's cries the giants heard, + And vengeance in each bosom stirred; + The monster of the triple head, + And Dúshan to the contest sped. + But they and myriad fiends beside + Beneath the might of Ráma died. + + When Rávan, dreaded warrior, knew + The slaughter of his giant crew-- + Rávan, the King, whose name of fear + Earth, hell, and heaven all shook to hear-- + He bade the fiend Márícha aid + The vengeful plot his fury laid. + In vain the wise Márícha tried + To turn him from his course aside:-- + Not Rávan's self, he said, might hope + With Ráma and his strength to cope. + Impelled by fate and blind with rage + He came to Ráma's hermitage. + There, by Márícha's magic art, + He wiled the princely youths apart, + The vulture slew, and bore away + The wife of Ráma as his prey. + The son of Raghu came and found + Jatáyu slain upon the ground. + He rushed within his leafy cot; + He sought his wife, but found her not. + Then, then the hero's senses failed; + In mad despair he wept and wailed. + Upon the pile that bird he laid, + And still in quest of Sítá strayed. + A hideous giant then he saw, + Kabandha named, a shape of awe. + + The monstrous fiend he smote and slew, + And in the flame the body threw; + When straight from out the funeral flame + In lovely form Kabandha came, + And bade him seek in his distress + A wise and holy hermitess. + By counsel of this saintly dame + To Pampá's pleasant flood he came, + And there the steadfast friendship won + Of Hanumán the Wind-God's son. + Counselled by him he told his grief + To great Sugríva, Vánar chief, + Who, knowing all the tale, before + The sacred flame alliance swore. + Sugríva to his new-found friend + Told his own story to the end:-- + His hate of Báli for the wrong + And insult he had borne so long. + And Ráma lent a willing ear + And promised to allay his fear. + Sugríva warned him of the might + Of Báli, matchless in the fight, + And, credence for his tale to gain, + Showed the huge fiend by Báli slain. + The prostrate corse of mountain size + Seemed nothing in the hero's eyes; + He lightly kicked it, as it lay, + And cast it twenty leagues away. + To prove his might his arrows through + Seven palms in line, uninjured, flew. + He cleft a mighty hill apart, + And down to hell he hurled his dart. + Then high Sugríva's spirit rose, + Assured of conquest o'er his foes. + With his new champion by his side + To vast Kishkindhá's cave he hied. + Then, summoned by his awful shout, + King Báli came in fury out, + First comforted his trembling wife, + Then sought Sugríva in the strife. + One shaft from Ráma's deadly bow + The monarch in the dust laid low. + Then Ráma bade Sugríva reign + In place of royal Báli slain. + Then speedy envoys hurried forth + Eastward and westward, south and north, + Commanded by the grateful King + Tidings of Ráma's spouse to bring. + Then by Sampáti's counsel led, + Brave Hanumán, who mocked at dread, + Sprang at one wild tremendous leap + Two hundred leagues, across the deep. + To Lanká's[32] town he urged his way, + Where Rávan held his royal sway. + There pensive 'neath Aśoka boughs + He found poor Sítá, Ráma's spouse. + He gave the hapless girl a ring, + A token from her lord and King. + A pledge from her fair hand he bore; + Then battered down the garden door. + Five captains of the host he slew, + Seven sons of councillors o'erthrew; + Crushed youthful Aksha on the field, + Then to his captors chose to yield. + Soon from their bonds his limbs were free, + But honoring the high decree + Which Brahmá had pronounced of yore, + He calmly all their insults bore. + The town he burnt with hostile flame, + And spoke again with Ráma's dame, + Then swiftly back to Ráma flew + With tidings of the interview. + + Then with Sugríva for his guide, + Came Ráma to the ocean side. + He smote the sea with shafts as bright + As sunbeams in their summer height, + And quick appeared the River's King + Obedient to the summoning. + A bridge was thrown by Nala o'er + The narrow sea from shore to shore. + They crossed to Lanká's golden town, + Where Ráma's hand smote Rávan down. + Vibhíshan there was left to reign + Over his brother's wide domain. + To meet her husband Sítá came; + But Ráma, stung with ire and shame, + With bitter words his wife addressed + Before the crowd that round her pressed. + But Sítá, touched with noble ire, + Gave her fair body to the fire. + Then straight the God of Wind appeared, + And words from heaven her honor cleared. + And Ráma clasped his wife again, + Uninjured, pure from spot and stain, + Obedient to the Lord of Fire + And the high mandate of his sire. + Led by the Lord who rules the sky, + The Gods and heavenly saints drew nigh, + And honored him with worthy meed, + Rejoicing in each glorious deed. + His task achieved, his foe removed, + He triumphed, by the Gods approved. + By grace of Heaven he raised to life + The chieftains slain in mortal strife; + Then in the magic chariot through + The clouds to Nandigráma flew. + Met by his faithful brothers there, + He loosed his votive coil of hair; + Thence fair Ayodhyá's town he gained, + And o'er his father's kingdom reigned. + Disease or famine ne'er oppressed + His happy people, richly blest + With all the joys of ample wealth, + Of sweet content and perfect health. + No widow mourned her well-loved mate, + No sire his son's untimely fate. + They feared not storm or robber's hand, + No fire or flood laid waste the land: + The Golden Age seemed come again + To bless the days of Ráma's reign. + From him the great and glorious King, + Shall many a princely scion spring. + And he shall rule, beloved by men, + Ten thousand years and hundreds ten, + And when his life on earth is past + To Brahmá's world shall go at last. + + Whoe'er this noble poem reads + That tells the tale of Ráma's deeds, + Good as the Scriptures, he shall be + From every sin and blemish free. + Whoever reads the saving strain, + With all his kin the heavens shall gain. + Bráhmans who read shall gather hence + The highest praise for eloquence. + The warrior, o'er the land shall reign, + The merchant, luck in trade obtain; + And Súdras, listening, ne'er shall fail + To reap advantage from the tale. + +[_Cantos II., III., IV., and V. are omitted_.] + + +[32] Ceylon. + + + + +CANTO VI + +THE KING + + There reigned a King of name revered, + To country and to town endeared, + Great Daśaratha, good and sage, + Well read in Scripture's holy page: + Upon his kingdom's weal intent, + Mighty and brave and provident; + The pride of old Ikshváku's seed + For lofty thought and righteous deed. + Peer of the saints, for virtues famed, + For foes subdued and passions tamed; + A rival in his wealth untold + Of Indra and the Lord of Gold. + Like Manu first of kings, he reigned, + And worthily his state maintained. + For firm and just and ever true + Love, duty, gain, he kept in view, + And ruled his city rich and free, + Like Indra's Amarávatí. + And worthy of so fair a place + There dwelt a just and happy race + With troops of children blest. + Each man contented sought no more, + Nor longed with envy for the store + By richer friends possessed. + For poverty was there unknown, + And each man counted as his own + Kine, steeds, and gold, and grain. + All dressed in raiment bright and clean, + And every townsman might be seen + With ear-rings, wreath or chain. + None deigned to feed on broken fare, + And none was false or stingy there. + A piece of gold, the smallest pay, + Was earned by labor for a day. + On every arm were bracelets worn, + And none was faithless or forsworn, + A braggart or unkind. + None lived upon another's wealth, + None pined with dread or broken health, + Or dark disease of mind. + High-souled were all. The slanderous word, + The boastful lie, were never heard. + Each man was constant to his vows, + And lived devoted to his spouse. + No other love his fancy knew, + And she was tender, kind, and true. + Her dames were fair of form and face, + With charm of wit and gentle grace, + With modest raiment simply neat, + And winning manners soft and sweet. + The twice-born sages, whose delight + Was Scripture's page and holy rite, + Their calm and settled course pursued, + Nor sought the menial multitude. + In many a Scripture each was versed, + And each the flame of worship nursed, + And gave with lavish hand. + Each paid to Heaven the offerings due, + And none was godless or untrue + In all that holy band. + To Bráhmans, as the laws ordain, + The Warrior caste were ever fain + The reverence due to pay; + And these the Vaiśyas' peaceful crowd, + Who trade and toil for gain, were proud + To honor and obey; + And all were by the Súdras served, + Who never from their duty swerved. + Their proper worship all addressed + To Bráhman, spirits, God, and guest. + Pure and unmixt their rites remained, + Their race's honor ne'er was stained. + Cheered by his grandsons, sons, and wife, + Each passed a long and happy life. + Thus was that famous city held + By one who all his race excelled, + Blest in his gentle reign, + As the whole land aforetime swayed + By Manu, prince of men, obeyed + Her king from main to main. + And heroes kept her, strong and brave, + As lions guard their mountain cave; + Fierce as devouring flame they burned, + And fought till death, but never turned. + Horses had she of noblest breed, + Like Indra's for their form and speed, + From Váhli's hills and Sindhu's sand, + Vanáyu and Kámboja's land. + Her noble elephants had strayed + Through Vindhyan and Himálayan shade, + Gigantic in their bulk and height, + Yet gentle in their matchless might. + They rivalled well the world-spread fame + Of the great stock from which they came, + Of Váman, vast of size, + Of Mahápadma's glorious line, + Thine, Anjan, and, Airávat, thine, + Upholders of the skies. + With those, enrolled in fourfold class, + Who all their mighty kin surpass, + Whom men Matangas name, + And Mrigas spotted black and white, + And Bhadras of unwearied might, + And Mandras hard to tame. + Thus, worthy of the name she bore, + Ayodhyá for a league or more + Cast a bright glory round, + Where Daśaratha wise and great + Governed his fair ancestral state, + With every virtue crowned. + Like Indra in the skies he reigned + In that good town whose wall contained + High domes and turrets proud, + With gates and arcs of triumph decked, + And sturdy barriers to protect + Her gay and countless crowd. + + + + +CANTO VII + +THE MINISTERS + + Two sages, holy saints, had he, + His ministers and priests to be:-- + Vaśishtha, faithful to advise, + And Vámadeva, Scripture-wise. + Eight other lords around him stood, + All skilled to counsel, wise and good:-- + Jayanta, Vijay, Dhrishti bold + In fight, affairs of war controlled; + Siddhárth and Arthasádhak true + Watched o'er expense and revenue, + And Dharmapál and wise Aśok + Of right and law and justice spoke. + With these the sage Sumantra, skilled + To urge the car, high station filled. + All these in knowledge duly trained + Each passion and each sense restrained:-- + With modest manners, nobly bred, + Each plan and nod and look they read, + Upon their neighbors' good intent, + Most active and benevolent; + As sits the Vasus round their King, + They sate around him counselling. + They ne'er in virtue's loftier pride + Another's lowly gifts decried. + In fair and seemly garb arrayed, + No weak uncertain plans they made. + Well skilled in business, fair and just, + They gained the people's love and trust, + And thus without oppression stored + The swelling treasury of their lord. + Bound in sweet friendship each to each, + They spoke kind thoughts in gentle speech. + They looked alike with equal eye + On every caste, on low and high. + Devoted to their King, they sought, + Ere his tongue spoke, to learn his thought, + And knew, as each occasion rose, + To hide their counsel or disclose. + In foreign lands or in their own + Whatever passed, to them was known. + By secret spies they timely knew + What men were doing or would do. + Skilled in the grounds of war and peace + They saw the monarch's state increase, + Watching his weal with conquering eye + That never let occasion by, + While nature lent her aid to bless + Their labors with unbought success. + Never for anger, lust, or gain, + Would they their lips with falsehood stain. + Inclined to mercy they could scan + The weakness and the strength of man. + They fairly judged both high and low, + And ne'er would wrong a guiltless foe; + Yet if a fault were proved, each one + Would punish e'en his own dear son. + But there and in the kingdom's bound + No thief or man impure was found:-- + None of loose life or evil fame, + No tempter of another's dame. + Contented with their lot each caste + Calm days in blissful quiet passed; + And, all in fitting tasks employed, + Country and town deep rest enjoyed. + With these wise lords around his throne + The monarch justly reigned, + And making every heart his own + The love of all men gained. + With trusty agents, as beseems, + Each distant realm he scanned, + As the sun visits with his beams + Each corner of the land. + Ne'er would he on a mightier foe + With hostile troops advance, + Nor at an equal strike a blow + In war's delusive chance. + These lords in council bore their part + With ready brain and faithful heart, + With skill and knowledge, sense and tact, + Good to advise and bold to act. + And high and endless fame he won + With these to guide his schemes-- + As, risen in his might, the sun + Wins glory with his beams. + + + + +CANTO VIII + +SUMANTRA'S SPEECH + + But splendid, just, and great of mind, + The childless King for offspring pined. + No son had he his name to grace, + Transmitter of his royal race. + Long had his anxious bosom wrought, + And as he pondered rose the thought:-- + "A votive steed 'twere good to slay, + So might a son the gift repay." + Before his lords his plans he laid, + And bade them with their wisdom aid; + Then with these words Sumantra, best + Of royal counsellors, addressed:-- + "Hither, Vaśishtha at their head, + Let all my priestly guides be led." + + To him Sumantra made reply:-- + "Hear, sire, a tale of days gone by. + To many a sage in time of old, + Sanatkumár, the saint, foretold + How from thine ancient line, O King, + A son, when years came round, should spring + 'Here dwells,' 'twas thus the seer began, + 'Of Kaśyap's race, a holy man, + Vibhándak named: to him shall spring + A son, the famous Rishyaśring. + Bred with the deer that round him roam, + The wood shall be that hermit's home. + To him no mortal shall be known + Except his holy sire alone. + Still by those laws shall he abide + Which lives of youthful Bráhmans guide, + Obedient to the strictest rule + That forms the young ascetic's school: + And all the wondering world shall hear + Of his stern life and penance drear; + His care to nurse the holy fire + And do the bidding of his sire. + Then, seated on the Angas' throne, + Shall Lomapád to fame be known. + But folly wrought by that great King + A plague upon the land shall bring; + No rain for many a year shall fall + And grievous drought shall ruin all. + The troubled King with many a prayer + Shall bid the priests some cure declare:-- + "The lore of Heaven 'tis yours to know, + Nor are ye blind to things below:-- + Declare, O holy men, the way + This plague to expiate and stay." + Those best of Bráhmans shall reply:-- + "By every art, O Monarch, try, + Hither to bring Vibhándak's child, + Persuaded, captured, or beguiled. + And when the boy is hither led + To him thy daughter duly wed." + + But how to bring that wondrous boy + His troubled thoughts will long employ, + And hopeless to achieve the task + He counsel of his lords will ask, + And bid his priests and servants bring + With honor saintly Rishyaśring. + But when they hear the monarch's speech, + All these their master will beseech, + With trembling hearts and looks of woe, + To spare them, for they fear to go. + And many a plan will they declare + And crafty plots will frame, + And promise fair to show him there, + Unforced, with none to blame. + On every word his lords shall say, + The King will meditate, + And on the third returning day + Recall them to debate. + Then this shall be the plan agreed, + That damsels shall be sent + Attired in holy hermits' weed, + And skilled in blandishment, + That they the hermit may beguile + With every art and amorous wile + Whose use they know so well, + And by their witcheries seduce + The unsuspecting young recluse + To leave his father's cell. + Then when the boy with willing feet + Shall wander from his calm retreat + And in that city stand, + The troubles of the King shall end, + And streams of blessed rain descend + Upon the thirsty land. + Thus shall the holy Rishyaśring + To Lomapád, the mighty King, + By wedlock be allied; + For Śántá, fairest of the fair, + In mind and grace beyond compare, + Shall be his royal bride. + He, at the Offering of the Steed, + The flames with holy oil shall feed, + And for King Daśaratha gain + Sons whom his prayers have begged in vain,' + I have repeated, sire, thus far, + The words of old Sanatkumár, + In order as he spoke them then + Amid the crowd of holy men." + Then Daśaratha cried with joy, + "Say how they brought the hermit boy." + + + + +CANTO IX + +RISHYAŚRING + + The wise Sumantra, thus addressed, + Unfolded at the King's behest + The plan the lords in council laid + To draw the hermit from the shade. + The priest, amid the lordly crowd, + To Lomapád thus spoke aloud:-- + "Hear, King, the plot our thoughts have framed, + A harmless trick by all unblamed. + Far from the world that hermit's child + Lives lonely in the distant wild: + A stranger to the joys of sense, + His bliss is pain and abstinence; + And all unknown are women yet + To him, a holy anchoret. + The gentle passions we will wake + That with resistless influence shake + The hearts of men; and he + Drawn by enchantment strong and sweet + Shall follow from his lone retreat, + And come and visit thee. + Let ships be formed with utmost care + That artificial trees may bear, + And sweet fruit deftly made; + Let goodly raiment, rich and rare, + And flowers, and many a bird be there + Beneath the leafy shade. + Upon the ships thus decked a band + Of young and lovely girls shall stand, + Rich in each charm that wakes desire, + And eyes that burn with amorous fire; + Well skilled to sing, and play, and dance, + And ply their trade with smile and glance. + Let these, attired in hermits' dress, + Betake them to the wilderness, + And bring the boy of life austere + A voluntary captive here," + He ended; and the King agreed, + By the priest's counsel won, + And all the ministers took heed + To see his bidding done. + In ships with wondrous art prepared + Away the lovely women fared, + And soon beneath the shade they stood + Of the wild, lonely, dreary wood. + And there the leafy cot they found + Where dwelt the devotee. + And looked with eager eyes around + The hermit's son to see. + Still, of Vibhándak sore afraid, + They hid behind the creeper's shade. + But when by careful watch they knew + The elder saint was far from view, + With bolder steps they ventured nigh + To catch the youthful hermit's eye. + Then all the damsels blithe and gay, + At various games began to play. + They tossed the flying ball about + With dance and song and merry shout, + And moved, their scented tresses bound + With wreaths, in mazy motions round. + Some girls as if by love possessed, + Sank to the earth in feigned unrest, + Up-starting quickly to pursue + Their intermitted game anew. + It was a lovely sight to see + Those fair ones, as they played, + While fragrant robes were floating free, + And bracelets clashing in their glee + A pleasant tinkling made. + The anklet's chime, the Koïl's cry + With music filled the place, + As 'twere some city in the sky; + Which heavenly minstrels grace. + With each voluptuous art they strove + To win the tenant of the grove, + And with their graceful forms inspire + His modest soul with soft desire. + With arch of brow, with beck and smile, + With every passion-waking wile + Of glance and lotus hand, + With all enticements that excite + The longing for unknown delight + Which boys in vain withstand. + Forth came the hermit's son to view + The wondrous sight to him so new, + And gazed in rapt surprise + For from his natal hour till then + On woman or the sons of men + He ne'er had cast his eyes. + He saw them with their waists so slim, + With fairest shape and faultless limb, + In variegated robes arrayed, + And sweetly singing as they played. + Near and more near the hermit drew, + And watched them at their game, + And stronger still the impulse grew + To question whence they came. + They marked the young ascetic gaze + With curious eye and wild amaze, + And sweet the long-eyed damsels sang, + And shrill their merry laughter rang. + Then came they nearer to his side, + And languishing with passion cried:-- + "Whose son, O youth, and who art thou, + Come suddenly to join us now? + And why dost thou all lonely dwell + In the wild wood? We pray thee, tell. + We wish to know thee, gentle youth; + Come, tell us, if thou wilt, the truth," + He gazed upon that sight he ne'er + Had seen before, of girls so fair, + And out of love a longing rose + His sire and lineage to disclose:-- + "My father," thus he made reply, + "Is Kaśyap's son, a saint most high, + Vibhándak styled; from him I came, + And Rishyaśring he calls my name. + Our hermit cot is near this place:-- + Come thither, O ye fair of face; + There be it mine, with honor due, + Ye gentle youths, to welcome you." + + They heard his speech, and gave consent, + And gladly to his cottage went. + Vibhándak's son received them well + Beneath the shelter of his cell-- + With guest-gift, water for their feet, + And woodland fruit and roots to eat. + They smiled and spoke sweet words like these. + Delighted with his courtesies:-- + "We too have goodly fruit in store, + Grown on the trees that shade our door; + Come, if thou wilt, kind Hermit, haste + The produce of our grove to taste; + And let, O good Ascetic, first + This holy water quench thy thirst." + They spoke, and gave him comfits sweet + Prepared ripe fruits to counterfeit; + And many a dainty cate beside, + And luscious mead their stores supplied. + The seeming fruits, in taste and look, + The unsuspecting hermit took, + For, strange to him, their form beguiled + The dweller in the lonely wild. + Then round his neck fair arms were flung, + And there the laughing damsels clung, + And pressing nearer and more near + With sweet lips whispered at his ear; + While rounded limb and swelling breast + The youthful hermit softly pressed. + The pleasing charm of that strange bowl, + The touch of a tender limb, + Over his yielding spirit stole + And sweetly vanquished him-- + But vows, they said, must now be paid; + They bade the boy farewell, + And of the aged saint afraid, + Prepared to leave the dell. + With ready guile they told him where + Their hermit dwelling lay; + Then, lest the sire should find them there, + Sped by wild paths away. + They fled and left him there alone + By longing love possessed; + And with a heart no more his own + He roamed about distressed. + The aged saint came home, to find + The hermit boy distraught, + Revolving in his troubled mind + One solitary thought. + "Why dost thou not, my son," he cried, + "Thy due obeisance pay? + Why do I see thee in the tide + Of whelming thought to-day? + A devotee should never wear + A mien so sad and strange. + Come, quickly, dearest child, declare + The reason of the change." + And Rishyaśring, when questioned thus, + Made answer in this wise:-- + "O sire, there came to visit us + Some men with lovely eyes. + About my neck soft arms they wound + And kept me tightly held + To tender breasts so soft and round, + That strangely heaved and swelled. + They sing more sweetly as they dance + Than e'er I heard till now, + And play with many a sidelong glance + And arching of the brow." + "My son," said he, "thus giants roam + Where holy hermits are, + And wander round their peaceful home + Their rites austere to mar. + I charge thee, thou must never lay + Thy trust in them, dear boy:-- + They seek thee only to betray, + And woo but to destroy." + Thus having warned him of his foes + That night at home he spent, + And when the morrow's sun arose + Forth to the forest went. + + But Rishyaśring with eager pace + Sped forth and hurried to the place + Where he those visitants had seen + Of dainty waist and charming mien. + When from afar they saw the son + Of Saint Vibhándak toward them run, + To meet the hermit boy they hied, + And hailed him with a smile, and cried:-- + "O come, we pray, dear lord, behold + Our lovely home of which we told:-- + Due honor there to thee we'll pay, + And speed thee on thy homeward way." + Pleased with the gracious words they said + He followed where the damsels led. + As with his guides his steps he bent, + That Bráhman high of worth, + A flood of rain from heaven sent + That gladdened all the earth. + + Vibhándak took his homeward road, + And wearied by the heavy load + Of roots and woodland fruit he bore + Entered at last his cottage door. + Fain for his son he looked around, + But desolate the cell he found. + He stayed not then to bathe his feet, + Though fainting with the toil and heat, + But hurried forth and roamed about + Calling the boy with cry and shout. + He searched the wood, but all in vain; + Nor tidings of his son could gain. + One day beyond the forest's bound + The wandering saint a village found, + And asked the swains and neatherds there + Who owned the land so rich and fair, + With all the hamlets of the plain, + And herds of kine and fields of grain. + They listened to the hermit's words, + And all the guardians of the herds, + With suppliant hands together pressed, + This answer to the saint addressed:-- + "The Angas' lord who bears the name + Of Lomapád, renowned by fame, + Bestowed these hamlets with their kine + And all their riches, as a sign + Of grace, on Rishyaśring; and he + Vibhándak's son is said to be." + The hermit with exulting breast + The mighty will of fate confessed, + By meditation's eye discerned; + And cheerful to his home returned. + + A stately ship, at early morn, + The hermit's son away had borne. + Loud roared the clouds, as on he sped, + The sky grew blacker overhead; + Till, as he reached the royal town, + A mighty flood of rain came down. + By the great rain the monarch's mind + The coming of his guest divined. + To meet the honored youth he went, + And low to earth his head he bent. + With his own priest to lead the train, + He gave the gift high guests obtain, + And sought, with all who dwelt within + The city walls, his grace to win. + He fed him with the daintiest fare, + He served him with unceasing care, + And ministered with anxious eyes + Lest anger in his breast should rise; + And gave to be the Bráhman's bride + His own fair daughter, lotus-eyed. + + Thus loved and honored by the King, + The glorious Bráhman Rishyaśring + Passed in that royal town his life + With Śántá his beloved wife. + + + + +CANTO X + +RISHYAŚRING INVITED + + "Again, O best of Kings, give ear:-- + My saving words attentive hear, + And listen to the tale of old + By that illustrious Bráhman told. + 'Of famed Ikshváku's line shall spring + ('Twas thus he spoke) a pious king, + Named Daśaratha, good and great, + True to his word and fortunate. + He with the Angas' mighty lord + Shall ever live in sweet accord, + And his a daughter fair shall be, + Śántá of happy destiny. + But Lomapád, the Angas' chief, + Still pining in his childless grief, + To Daśaratha thus shall say:-- + "Give me thy daughter, friend, I pray, + Thy Śántá of the tranquil mind, + The noblest one of womankind." + + The father, swift to feel for woe, + Shall on his friend his child bestow; + And he shall take her and depart + To his own town with joyous heart. + The maiden home in triumph led, + To Rishyaśring the King shall wed. + And he with loving joy and pride + Shall take her for his honored bride. + And Daśaratha to a rite + That best of Bráhmans shall invite + With supplicating prayer + To celebrate the sacrifice + To win him sons and Paradise, + That he will fain prepare. + From him the lord of men at length + The boon he seeks shall gain, + And see four sons of boundless strength + His royal line maintain, + Thus did the godlike saint of old + The will of fate declare, + And all that should befall unfold + Amid the sages there. + O Prince, supreme of men, go thou, + Consult thy holy guide, + And win, to aid thee in thy vow, + This Bráhman to thy side." + + Sumantra's counsel, wise and good, + King Daśaratha heard, + Then by Vaśishtha's side he stood + And thus with him conferred:-- + "Sumantra counsels thus:--do thou + My priestly guide, the plan allow." + Vaśishtha gave his glad consent, + And forth the happy monarch went + With lords and servants on the road + That led to Rishyaśring's abode. + Forests and rivers duly past, + He reached the distant town at last-- + Of Lomapád the Angas' King, + And entered it with welcoming. + On through the crowded streets he came, + And, radiant as the kindled flame, + He saw within the monarch's house + The hermit's son, most glorious. + There Lomapád, with joyful breast, + To him all honor paid, + For friendship for his royal guest + His faithful bosom swayed. + Thus entertained with utmost care + Seven days, or eight, he tarried there, + And then that best of men thus broke + His purpose to the King, and spoke:-- + + "O King of men, mine ancient friend, + (Thus Daśaratha prayed), + Thy Śántá with her husband send + My sacrifice to aid." + Said he who ruled the Angas, "Yea," + And his consent was won:-- + And then at once he turned away + To warn the hermit's son. + He told him of their ties beyond + Their old affection's faithful bond:-- + "This King," he said, "from days of old + A well beloved friend I hold. + To me this pearl of dames he gave + From childless woe mine age to save, + The daughter whom he loved so much, + Moved by compassion's gentle touch. + In him thy Śántá's father see:-- + As I am, even so is he. + For sons the childless monarch yearns, + To thee alone for help he turns. + Go thou, the sacred rite ordain + To win the sons he prays to gain:-- + Go, with thy wife thy succor lend, + And give his vows a blissful end." + + The hermit's son with quick accord + Obeyed the Angas' mighty lord, + And with fair Śántá at his side + To Daśaratha's city hied. + Each king, with suppliant hands upheld, + Gazed on the other's face:-- + And then by mutual love impelled + Met in a close embrace. + Then Daśaratha's thoughtful care, + Before he parted thence, + Bade trusty servants homeward bear + The glad intelligence:-- + "Let all the town be bright and gay, + With burning incense sweet; + Let banners wave, and water lay + The dust in every street." + Glad were the citizens to learn + The tidings of their lord's return, + And through the city every man + Obediently his task began. + And fair and bright Ayodhyá showed, + As following his guest he rode + Through the full streets, where shell and drum + Proclaimed aloud the King was come. + And all the people with delight + Kept gazing on their king, + Attended by that youth so bright, + The glorious Rishyaśring. + When to his home the King had brought + The hermit's saintly son, + He deemed that all his task was wrought, + And all he prayed for won. + And lords who saw the stranger dame + So beautiful to view, + Rejoiced within their hearts, and came + And paid her honor, too. + There Rishyaśring passed blissful days, + Graced like the King with love and praise, + And shone in glorious light with her, + Sweet Śántá for his minister, + As Brahmá's son Vaśishtha, he + Who wedded Saint Arundhatí. + + + + +CANTO XI + +THE SACRIFICE DECREED + + The Dewy Season came and went; + The spring returned again-- + Then would the King, with mind intent, + His sacrifice ordain. + He came to Rishyaśring, and bowed + To him of look divine, + And bade him aid his offering vowed + For heirs, to save his line. + Nor would the youth his aid deny, + He spake the monarch fair, + And prayed him for that rite so high + All requisites prepare. + The King to wise Sumantra cried + Who stood aye ready near; + "Go summon quick, each holy guide, + To counsel and to hear," + Obedient to his lord's behest + Away Sumantra sped, + And brought Vaśishtha and the rest, + In Scripture deeply read. + Suyajńa, Vámadeva came, + Jáváli, Kaśyap's son, + And old Vaśishtha, dear to fame, + Obedient, every one. + King Daśaratha met them there + And duly honored each, + And spoke in pleasant words his fair + And salutary speech:-- + "In childless longing doomed to pine, + No happiness, O lords, is mine. + So have I for this cause decreed + To slay the sacrificial steed. + Fain would I pay that offering high + Wherein the horse is doomed to die, + With Rishyaśring his aid to lend, + And with your glory to befriend." + + With loud applause each holy man + Received his speech, approved the plan, + And, by the wise Vaśishtha led, + Gave praises to the King, and said:-- + "The sons thou cravest shalt thou see, + Of fairest glory, born to thee, + Whose holy feelings bid thee take + This righteous course for offspring's sake." + Cheered by the ready praise of those + Whose aid he sought, his spirits rose-- + And thus the King his speech renewed + With looks of joy and gratitude:-- + "Let what the coming rites require + Be ready, as the priests desire, + And let the horse, ordained to bleed, + With fitting guard and priest, be freed. + Yonder on Sarjú's northern side + The sacrificial ground provide; + And let the saving rites, that nought + Ill-omened may occur, be wrought. + The offering I announce to-day + Each lord of earth may claim to pay, + Provided that his care can guard + The holy rite by flaws unmarred. + For wandering fiends, whose watchful spite + Waits eagerly to spoil each rite-- + Hunting with keenest eye detect + The slightest slip, the least neglect; + And when the sacred work is crossed + The workman is that moment lost. + Let preparation due be made, + Your powers the charge can meet, + That so the noble rite be paid + In every point complete." + And all the Bráhmans answered, "Yea," + His mandate honoring, + And gladly promised to obey + The order of the King. + They cried with voices raised aloud:-- + "Success attend thine aim!" + Then bade farewell, and lowly bowed, + And hastened whence they came. + King Daśaratha went within, + His well-loved wives to see-- + And said: "Your lustral rites begin, + For these shall prosper me. + A glorious offering I prepare + That precious fruit of sons may bear." + Their lily faces brightened fast + Those pleasant words to hear, + As lilies, when the winter's past, + In lovelier hues appear. + + + + +CANTO XII + +THE SACRIFICE BEGUN + + Again the spring with genial heat + Returning made the year complete. + To win him sons, without delay + His vow the King resolved to pay-- + And to Vaśishtha, saintly man, + In modest words this speech began:-- + "Prepare the rite with all things fit + As is ordained in Holy Writ, + And keep with utmost care afar + Whate'er its sacred forms might mar. + Thou art, my lord, my trustiest guide, + Kind-hearted, and my friend beside; + So is it meet thou undertake + This heavy task for duty's sake." + + Then he, of twice-born men the best, + His glad assent at once expressed:-- + "Fain will I do whatever may be + Desired, O honored King, by thee." + To ancient priests he spoke, who, trained + In holy rites, deep skill had gained:-- + "Here guards be stationed, good and sage, + Religious men of trusted age. + And various workmen send and call, + Who frame the door and build the wall-- + With men of every art and trade, + Who read the stars and ply the spade, + And mimes and minstrels hither bring, + And damsels trained to dance and sing." + Then to the learned men he said, + In many a page of Scripture read:-- + "Be yours each rite performed to see + According to the King's decree. + And stranger Bráhmans quickly call + To this great rite that welcomes all. + Pavilions for the princes, decked + With art and ornament, erect, + And handsome booths by thousands made + The Bráhman visitors to shade-- + Arranged in order side by side, + With meat and drink and all supplied. + And ample stables we shall need + For many an elephant and steed-- + And chambers where the men may lie, + And vast apartments, broad and high, + Fit to receive the countless bands + Of warriors come from distant lands. + For our own people too provide + Sufficient tents, extended wide, + And stores of meat and drink prepare, + And all that can be needed there. + And food in plenty must be found + For guests from all the country round. + Of various viands presents make, + For honor, not for pity's sake, + That fit regard and worship be + Paid to each caste in due degree. + And let not wish or wrath excite + Your hearts the meanest guest to slight; + But still observe with special grace + Those who obtain the foremost place, + Whether for happier skill in art + Or bearing in the rite their part + Do you, I pray, with friendly mind + Perform the task to you assigned, + And work the rite, as bids the law, + Without omission, slip, or flaw." + + They answered: "As thou seest fit + So will we do and nought omit." + The sage Vaśishtha then addressed + Sumantra, called at his behest:-- + "The princes of the earth invite, + And famous lords who guard the rite, + Priest, Warrior, Merchant, lowly thrall, + In countless thousands summon all. + Where'er their home be, far or near, + Gather the good with honor here. + And Janak, whose imperial sway + The men of Mithilá obey, + The firm of vow, the dread of foes, + Who all the lore of Scripture knows, + Invite him here with honor high, + King Daśaratha's old ally. + And Káśi's lord of gentle speech, + Who finds a pleasant word for each-- + In length of days our monarch's peer, + Illustrious King, invite him here. + The father of our ruler's bride, + Known for his virtues far and wide, + The King whom Kekaya's realms obey, + Him with his son invite, I pray. + And Lomapád, the Angas King, + True to his vows and godlike, bring. + Far be thine invitations sent + To west and south and orient. + Call those who rule Suráshtra's land, + Suvíra's realm and Sindhu's strand, + And all the kings of earth beside + In friendship's bonds with us allied:-- + Invite them all to hasten in + With retinue and kith and kin." + Vaśishtha's speech without delay + Sumantra bent him to obey, + And sent his trusty envoys forth + Eastward and westward, south and north. + Obedient to the saint's request + Himself he hurried forth, and pressed + Each nobler chief and lord and king + To hasten to the gathering. + Before the saint Vaśishtha stood + All those who wrought with stone and wood, + And showed the work which every one + In furtherance of the rite had done. + Rejoiced their ready zeal to see, + Thus to the craftsmen all said he:-- + "I charge ye, masters, see to this, + That there be nothing done amiss. + And this, I pray, in mind be borne, + That not one gift ye give in scorn; + Whenever scorn a gift attends + Great sin is his who thus offends." + + And now some days and nights had passed, + And Kings began to gather fast, + And precious gems in liberal store + As gifts to Daśaratha bore. + Then joy thrilled through Vaśishtha's breast + As thus the monarch he addressed:-- + "Obedient to thy high decree + The Kings, my lord, are come to thee. + And it has been my care to greet + And honor all with reverence meet. + Thy servants' task is ended quite, + And all is ready for the rite. + Come forth then to the sacred ground + Where all in order will be found." + Then Rishyaśring confirmed the tale:-- + Nor did their words to move him fail. + The stars propitious influence lent + When forth the world's great ruler went. + Then by the sage Vaśishtha led, + The priest began to speed + Those glorious rites wherein is shed + The lifeblood of the steed. + + + + +CANTO XIII + +THE SACRIFICE FINISHED + + The circling year had filled its course, + And back was brought the wandering horse:-- + Then upon Sarjú's northern strand + Began the rite the King had planned. + With Rishyaśring the forms to guide, + The Bráhmans to their task applied, + At that great offering of the steed + Their lofty-minded King decreed. + The priests, who all the Scripture knew, + Performed their part in order due, + And circled round in solemn train + As precepts of the law ordain. + Pravargya rites were duly sped:-- + For Upasads the flames were fed. + Then from the plant the juice was squeezed, + And those high saints, with minds well pleased, + Performed the mystic rites begun + With bathing ere the rise of sun. + They gave the portion, Indra's claim, + And hymned the King whom none can blame. + The mid-day bathing followed next, + Observed as bids the holy text. + Then the good priests with utmost care, + In form that Scripture's rules declare, + For the third time pure water shed + On high-souled Daśaratha's head. + Then Rishyaśring and all the rest + To Indra and the Gods addressed + Their sweet-toned hymn of praise and prayer, + And called them in the rite to share. + With sweetest song and hymn intoned + They gave the Gods in heaven enthroned, + As duty bids, the gifts they claim, + The holy oil that feeds the flame. + And many an offering there was paid, + And not one slip in all was made. + For with most careful heed they saw + That all was done by Veda law. + None, all those days, was seen oppressed + By hunger or by toil distressed. + Why speak of human kind? No beast + Was there that lacked an ample feast. + For there was store for all who came, + For orphan child and lonely dame; + The old and young were well supplied, + The poor and hungry satisfied. + Throughout the day ascetics fed, + And those who roam to beg their bread:-- + While all around the cry was still, + "Give forth, give forth," and "Eat your fill." + "Give forth with liberal hand the meal, + And various robes in largess deal." + + Urged by these cries on every side + Unweariedly their task they plied, + And heaps of food like hills in size + In boundless plenty met the eyes:-- + And lakes of sauce, each day renewed, + Refreshed the weary multitude. + And strangers there from distant lands, + And women folk in crowded bands + The best of food and drink obtained + At the great rite the King ordained. + Apart from all, the Bráhmans there, + Thousands on thousands, took their share + Of various dainties sweet to taste, + On plates of gold and silver placed-- + All ready set, as, when they willed, + The twice-born men their places filled. + And servants in fair garments dressed + Waited upon each Bráhman guest. + + Of cheerful mind and mien were they, + With gold and jewelled ear-rings gay. + The best of Bráhmans praised the fare + Of countless sorts, of flavor rare-- + And thus to Raghu's son they cried:-- + "We bless thee, and are satisfied." + Between the rites some Bráhmans spent + The time in learned argument, + With ready flow of speech, sedate, + And keen to vanquish in debate. + There day by day the holy train + Performed all rites as rules ordain. + No priest in all that host was found + But kept the vows that held him bound; + None, but the holy Vedas knew, + And all their sixfold science too. + No Bráhman there was found unfit + To speak with eloquence and wit. + + And now the appointed time came near + The sacrificial posts to rear. + They brought them, and prepared to fix + Of Bel and Khádir six and six; + Six, made of the Paláśa-tree, + Of Fig-wood one, apart to be-- + Of Sleshmát and of Devadár + One column each, the mightiest far:-- + So thick the two the arms of man + Their ample girth would fail to span. + All these with utmost care were wrought + By hand of priests in Scripture taught, + And all with gold were gilded bright + To add new splendor to the rite; + Twenty-and-one those stakes in all, + Each one-and-twenty cubits tall:-- + And one-and-twenty ribbons there + Hung on the pillars bright and fair. + Firm in the earth they stood at last, + Where cunning craftsmen fixed them fast; + And there unshaken each remained, + Octagonal and smoothly planed. + + Then ribbons over all were hung, + And flowers and scent around them flung. + Thus decked they cast a glory forth + Like the great saints who star the north. + The sacrificial altar then + Was raised by skilful twice-born men-- + In shape and figure to behold + An eagle with his wings of gold, + With twice nine pits and formed threefold. + Each for some special God, beside + The pillars were the victims tied; + The birds that roam the wood, the air, + The water, and the land were there, + And snakes and things of reptile birth, + And healing herbs that spring from earth:-- + As texts prescribe, in Scripture found, + Three hundred victims there were bound. + The steed devoted to the host + Of Gods, the gem they honor most, + Was duly sprinkled. Then the Queen + Kauśalyá, with delighted mien, + With reverent steps around him paced, + And with sweet wreaths the victim graced; + Then with three swords in order due + She smote the steed with joy, and slew. + That night the queen, a son to gain, + With calm and steady heart was fain + By the dead charger's side to stay + From evening till the break of day. + Then came three priests, their care to lead + The other queens to touch the steed-- + Upon Kauśalyá to attend, + Their company and aid to lend. + As by the horse she still reclined, + With happy mien and cheerful mind, + With Rishyaśring the twice-born came + And praised and blessed the royal dame. + The priest who well his duty knew, + And every sense could well subdue, + From out the bony chambers freed + And boiled the marrow of the steed. + Above the steam the monarch bent, + And, as he smelt the fragrant scent, + In time and order drove afar + All error, that his hopes could mar. + Then sixteen priests together came, + And cast into the sacred flame + The severed members of the horse, + Made ready all in ordered course. + On piles of holy Fig-tree raised + The meaner victims' bodies blazed:-- + The steed, of all the creatures slain, + Alone required a pile of cane. + Three days, as is by law decreed, + Lasted that Offering of the Steed. + The Chatushtom began the rite, + And when the sun renewed his light, + The Ukthya followed--after came + The Atirátra's holy flame. + These were the rites, and many more, + Arranged by light of holy lore, + The Aptoryám of mighty power, + And, each performed in proper hour, + The Abhijit and Viśvajit + With every form and service fit; + And with the sacrifice at night + The Jyotishtom and Áyus rite. + + The task was done, as laws prescribe:-- + The monarch, glory of his tribe, + Bestowed the land in liberal grants + Upon the sacred ministrants. + He gave the region of the east, + His conquest, to the Hotri priest. + The west the celebrant obtained, + The south the priest presiding gained-- + The northern region was the share + Of him who chanted forth the prayer. + Thus did each priest obtain his meed + At the great Slaughter of the Steed, + Ordained, the best of all to be, + By self-existent deity. + + Ikshváku's son, with joyful mind, + This noble fee to each assigned-- + But all the priests with one accord + Addressed that unpolluted lord:-- + "'Tis thine alone to keep the whole + Of this broad earth in firm control. + No gift of lands from thee we seek, + To guard these realms our hands were weak. + On sacred lore our days are spent, + Let other gifts our wants content." + + The chief of old Ikshváku's line + Gave them ten hundred thousand kine, + A hundred millions of fine gold, + The same in silver four times told. + But every priest in presence there + With one accord resigned his share. + To Saint Vaśishtha, high of soul, + And Rishyaśring they gave the whole. + That largess pleased those Bráhmans well, + Who bade the prince his wishes tell. + Then Daśaratha, mighty King, + Made answer thus to Rishyaśring:-- + "O holy Hermit, of thy grace, + Vouchsafe the increase of my race." + He spoke; nor was his prayer denied-- + The best of Bráhmans thus replied:-- + "Four sons, O Monarch, shall be thine, + Upholders of thy royal line." + + + + +CANTO XIV + +RÁVAN DOOMED + + + The saint, well-read in holy lore, + Pondered awhile his answer o'er, + And thus again addressed the King, + His wandering thoughts regathering:-- + "Another rite will I begin + Which shall the sons thou cravest win, + Where all things shall be duly sped + And first Atharva texts be read." + + Then by Vibhándak's gentle son + Was that high sacrifice begun, + The King's advantage seeking still + And zealous to perform his will. + Now all the Gods had gathered there, + Each one for his allotted share-- + Brahmá, the ruler of the sky, + Sthánu, Náráyan, Lord most high, + And holy Indra men might view + With Maruts for his retinue; + The heavenly chorister, and saint, + And spirit pure from earthly taint, + With one accord had sought the place + The high-souled monarch's rite to grace, + Then to the Gods who came to take + Their proper share, the hermit spake:-- + "For you has Daśaratha slain + The votive steed, a son to gain; + Stern penance-rites the King has tried, + And in firm faith on you relied, + And now with undiminished care + A second rite would fain prepare. + But, O ye Gods, consent to grant + The longing of your supplicant. + For him beseeching hands I lift, + And pray you all to grant the gift, + That four fair sons of high renown + The offerings of the King may crown." + They to the hermit's son replied:-- + "His longing shall be gratified. + For, Bráhman, in most high degree + We love the King and honor thee." + + These words the Gods in answer said, + And vanished thence, by Indra led. + Thus to the Lord, the worlds who made, + The Immortals all assembled prayed:-- + "O Brahmá, mighty by thy grace, + Rávan, who rules the giant race, + Torments us in his senseless pride, + And penance-loving saints beside. + For thou well pleased in days of old + Gavest the boon that makes him bold, + That God nor demon e'er should kill + His charmed life, for so thy will. + We, honoring that high behest, + Bear all his rage though sore distressed. + That lord of giants fierce and fell + Scourges the earth and heaven and hell. + Mad with thy boon, his impious rage + Smites saint and bard and God and sage. + The sun himself withholds his glow, + The wind in fear forbears to blow; + The fire restrains his wonted heat + Where stand the dreaded Rávan's feet, + And, necklaced with the wandering wave, + The sea before him fears to rave. + Kuvera's self in sad defeat + Is driven from his blissful seat. + We see, we feel the giant's might, + And woe comes o'er us and affright. + To thee, O Lord, thy suppliants pray + To find some cure this plague to stay." + + Thus by the gathered Gods addressed + He pondered in his secret breast, + And said: "One only way I find + To slay this fiend of evil mind. + He prayed me once his life to guard + From demon, God, and heavenly bard, + And spirits of the earth and air, + And I consenting heard his prayer. + But the proud giant in his scorn + Recked not of man of woman born. + None else may take his life away, + But only man the fiend may slay." + + The Gods, with Indra at their head, + Rejoiced to hear the words he said. + Then, crowned with glory like a flame, + Lord Vishnu to the council came; + His hands shell, mace, and discus bore, + And saffron were the robes he wore. + Riding his eagle through the crowd, + As the sun rides upon a cloud, + With bracelets of fine gold, he came, + Loud welcomed by the Gods' acclaim. + His praise they sang with one consent, + And cried, in lowly reverence bent:-- + "O Lord whose hand fierce Madhu slew, + Be thou our refuge, firm and true; + Friend of the suffering worlds art thou, + We pray thee help thy suppliants now." + Then Vishnu spake: "Ye Gods, declare, + What may I do to grant your prayer?" + + "King Daśaratha," thus cried they, + "Fervent in penance many a day, + The sacrificial steed has slain, + Longing for sons, but all in vain. + Now, at the cry of us forlorn, + Incarnate as his seed be born. + Three queens has he--each lovely dame + Like Beauty, Modesty, or Fame. + Divide thyself in four, and be + His offspring by these noble three. + Man's nature take, and slay in fight + Rávan who laughs at heavenly might-- + This common scourge, this rankling thorn + Whom the three worlds too long have borne. + For Rávan, in the senseless pride + Of might unequalled, has defied + The host of heaven, and plagues with woe + Angel and bard and saint below, + Crushing each spirit and each maid + Who plays in Nandan's heavenly shade. + O conquering Lord, to thee we bow; + Our surest hope and trust art thou. + Regard the world of men below, + And slay the God's tremendous foe." + + When thus the suppliant Gods had prayed, + His wise reply Náráyan made:-- + "What task demands my presence there, + And when this dread, ye Gods declare." + The Gods replied: "We fear, O Lord, + Fierce Rávan, ravener abhorred. + Be thine the glorious task, we pray, + In human form this fiend to slay. + By thee of all the Blest alone + This sinner may be overthrown. + He gained by penance long and dire + The favor of the mighty Sire. + Then He who every gift bestows + Guarded the fiend from heavenly foes, + And gave a pledge his life that kept + From all things living, man except. + On him thus armed no other foe + Than man may deal the deadly blow. + Assume, O King, a mortal birth, + And strike the demon to the earth." + + Then Vishnu, God of Gods, the Lord + Supreme by all the worlds adored, + To Brahmá and the suppliants spake:-- + "Dismiss your fear: for your dear sake + In battle will I smite him dead, + The cruel fiend, the Immortal's dread. + And lords and ministers and all + His kith and kin with him shall fall. + Then, in the world of mortal men, + Ten thousand years and hundreds ten + I as a human King will reign, + And guard the earth as my domain." + God, saint, and nymph, and minstrel throng + With heavenly voices raised their song + In hymns of triumph to the God + Whose conquering feet on Madhu trod:--- + + "Champion of Gods, as man appear, + This cruel Rávan slay, + The thorn that saints and hermits fear, + The plague that none can stay. + In savage fury uncontrolled + His pride forever grows-- + He dares the Lord of Gods to hold + Among his deadly foes." + + + +CANTO XV + +THE NECTAR + + When wisest Vishnu thus had given + His promise to the Gods of heaven, + He pondered in his secret mind + A suited place of birth to find. + Then he decreed, the lotus-eyed, + In four his being to divide, + And Daśaratha, gracious King, + He chose as sire from whom to spring. + That childless prince, of high renown, + Who smote in war his foemen down, + At that same time with utmost care + Prepared the rite that wins an heir. + Then Vishnu, fain on earth to dwell, + Bade the Almighty Sire farewell, + And vanished while a reverent crowd + Of Gods and saints in worship bowed. + + The monarch watched the sacred rite, + When a vast form of awful might, + Of matchless splendor, strength and size + Was manifest before his eyes. + From forth the sacrificial flame, + Dark, robed in red, the being came. + His voice was drumlike, loud and low, + His face suffused with rosy glow. + Like a huge lion's mane appeared + The long locks of his hair and beard. + He shone with many a lucky sign, + And many an ornament divine; + A towering mountain in his height, + A tiger in his gait and might. + + No precious mine more rich could be, + No burning flame more bright than he. + His arms embraced in loving hold, + Like a dear wife, a vase of gold + Whose silver lining held a draught + Of nectar as in heaven is quaffed-- + A vase so vast, so bright to view, + They scarce could count the vision true. + Upon the King his eyes he bent, + And said: "The Lord of life has sent + His servant down, O Prince, to be + A messenger from heaven to thee." + The King with all his nobles by + Raised reverent hands and made reply:-- + "Welcome, O glorious being! Say + How can my care thy grace repay," + Envoy of Him whom all adore, + Thus to the King he spake once more:-- + "The Gods accept thy worship--they + Give thee the blessed fruit to-day. + Approach and take, O glorious King, + This heavenly nectar which I bring, + For it shall give thee sons and wealth, + And bless thee with a store of health. + Give it to those fair queens of thine, + And bid them quaff the drink divine-- + And they the princely sons shall bear + Long sought by sacrifice and prayer." + + "Yea, O my lord," the monarch said, + And took the vase upon his head, + The gift of Gods, of fine gold wrought, + With store of heavenly liquor fraught. + He honored, filled with transport new, + That wondrous being, fair to view, + As round the envoy of the God + With reverential steps he trod. + His errand done, that form of light + Arose and vanished from the sight. + High rapture filled the monarch's soul, + Possessed of that celestial bowl, + As when a man by want distressed + With unexpected wealth is blest. + And rays of transport seemed to fall + Illuminating bower and hall, + As when the autumn moon rides high, + And floods with lovely light the sky. + Quick to the ladies' bower he sped, + And thus to Queen Kauśalyá said:-- + "This genial nectar take and quaff," + He spoke, and gave the lady half. + Part of the nectar that remained + Sumitrá from his hand obtained. + He gave, to make her fruitful too, + Kaikeyí half the residue. + A portion yet remaining there, + He paused awhile to think, + Then gave Sumitrá, with her share, + The remnant of the drink. + Thus on each queen of those fair three + A part the King bestowed, + And with sweet hope a child to see + Their yearning bosoms glowed. + The heavenly bowl the King supplied + Their longing souls relieved, + And soon, with rapture and with pride, + Each royal dame conceived. + He gazed upon each lady's face, + And triumphed as he gazed. + As Indra in his royal place + By Gods and spirits praised. + + + +CANTO XVI + +THE VANARS + + When Vishnu thus had gone on earth, + From the great King to take his birth, + The self-existent Lord of all + Addressed the Gods who heard his call:-- + "For Vishnu's sake, the strong and true, + Who seeks the good of all of you, + Make helps, in war to lend him aid, + In forms that change at will, arrayed, + Of wizard skill and hero might, + Outstrippers of the wind in flight, + Skilled in the arts of counsel, wise, + And Vishnu's peers in bold emprise; + With heavenly arts and prudence fraught, + By no devices to be caught; + Skilled in all weapons' lore and use + As they who drink the immortal juice. + And let the nymphs supreme in grace, + And maidens of the minstrel race, + Monkeys and snakes, and those who rove + Free spirits of the hill and grove, + And wandering Daughters of the Air, + In monkey form brave children bear. + So erst the lord of bears I shaped, + Born from my mouth as wide I gaped." + + Thus by the mighty Sire addressed + They all obeyed his high behest, + And thus begot in countless swarms + Brave sons disguised in sylvan forms. + Each God, each sage became a sire, + Each minstrel of the heavenly choir. + Each faun, of children strong and good + Whose feet should roam the hill and wood. + Snakes, bards, and spirits, serpents bold + Had sons too numerous to be told. + Báli, the woodland hosts who led, + High as Mahendra's lofty head, + Was Indra's child. That noblest fire, + The Sun, was great Sugríva's sire. + Tára, the mighty monkey, he + Was offspring of Vrihaspati-- + Tára the matchless chieftain, boast + For wisdom of the Vánar host. + Of Gandhamádan brave and bold + The father was the Lord of Gold. + Nala the mighty, dear to fame, + Of skilful Viśvakarmá came. + From Agni, Níla bright as flame, + Who in his splendor, might, and worth, + Surpassed the sire who gave him birth. + The heavenly Aśvins, swift and fair, + Were fathers of a noble pair, + Who, Dwivida and Mainda named, + For beauty like their sires were famed. + Varun was father of Sushen, + Of Śarabh, he who sends the rain. + Hanumán, best of monkey kind, + Was son of him who breathes the wind-- + Like thunderbolt in frame was he, + And swift as Garud's self could flee. + These thousands did the Gods create + Endowed with might that none could mate, + In monkey forms that changed at will-- + So strong their wish the fiend to kill. + In mountain size, like lions thewed, + Up-sprang the wondrous multitude, + Auxiliar hosts in every shape, + Monkey and bear and highland ape. + In each the strength, the might, the mien + Of his own parent God were seen. + Some chiefs of Vánar mothers came, + Some of she-bear and minstrel dame, + Skilled in all arms in battle's shock, + The brandished tree, the loosened rock; + And prompt, should other weapons fail, + To fight and slay with tooth and nail. + Their strength could shake the hills amain. + And rend the rooted trees in twain, + Disturb with their impetuous sweep + The Rivers' Lord, the Ocean deep, + Rend with their feet the seated ground, + And pass wide floods with airy bound-- + Or forcing through the sky their way + The very clouds by force could stay. + Mad elephants that wander through + The forest wilds, could they subdue, + And with their furious shout could scare + Dead upon earth the birds of air. + So were the sylvan chieftains formed; + Thousands on thousands still they swarmed. + These were the leaders honored most, + The captains of the Vánar host, + And to each lord and chief and guide + Was monkey offspring born beside. + Then by the bears' great monarch stood + The other roamers of the wood, + And turned, their pathless homes to seek, + To forest and to mountain peak. + The leaders of the monkey band + By the two brothers took their stand, + Sugríva, offspring of the Sun, + And Báli, Indra's mighty one. + They both endowed with Garud's might, + And skilled in all the arts of fight, + Wandered in arms the forest through, + And lions, snakes, and tigers, slew. + But every monkey, ape, and bear + Ever was Báli's special care; + With his vast strength and mighty arm + He kept them from all scathe and harm. + And so the earth with hill, wood, seas, + Was filled with mighty ones like these-- + Of various shape and race and kind, + With proper homes to each assigned. + With Ráma's champions fierce and strong + The earth was overspread, + High as the hills and clouds, a throng + With bodies vast and dread. + + + +CANTO XVII + +RISHYASRING'S RETURN + + Now when the high-souled monarch's rite, + The Aśvamedh, was finished quite, + Their sacrificial dues obtained, + The Gods their heavenly homes regained. + The lofty-minded saints withdrew, + Each to his place, with honor due, + And kings and chieftains, one and all, + Who came to grace the festival. + And Daśaratha, ere they went, + Addressed them thus benevolent:-- + "Now may you, each with joyful heart, + To your own realms, O Kings, depart. + Peace and good luck attend you there, + And blessing, is my friendly prayer; + Let cares of state each mind engage + To guard his royal heritage. + A monarch from his throne expelled + No better than the dead is held. + So he who cares for power and might + Must guard his realm and royal right. + Such care a meed in heaven will bring + Better than rites and offering. + Such care a king his country owes + As man upon himself bestows, + When for his body he provides + Raiment and every need besides. + For future days should kings foresee, + And keep the present error-free." + Thus did the King the kings exhort-- + They heard, and turned them from the court, + And, each to each in friendship bound, + Went forth to all the realms around. + The rites were o'er, the guests were sped, + The train the best of Bráhmans led-- + In which the King with joyful soul, + With his dear wives, and with the whole + Of his imperial host and train + Of cars and servants turned again, + And, as a monarch dear to fame, + Within his royal city came. + + Next, Rishyaśring, well-honored sage, + And Śántá, sought their hermitage. + The King himself, of prudent mind, + Attended him, with troops behind, + And all her men the town outpoured + With Saint Vaśishtha and their lord. + High mounted on a car of state, + O'ercanopied fair Śántá sate, + Drawn by white oxen, while a band + Of servants marched on either hand. + Great gifts of countless price she bore, + With sheep and goats and gems in store. + Like Beauty's self the lady shone + With all the jewels she had on, + As, happy in her sweet content, + Peerless amid the fair she went. + Not Queen Paulomí's self could be + More loving to her lord than she. + She who had lived in happy ease, + Honored with all her heart could please, + While dames and kinsfolk ever vied + To see her wishes gratified-- + Soon as she knew her husband's will + Again to seek the forest, still + Was ready for the hermit's cot, + Nor murmured at her altered lot. + The King attended to the wild + That hermit and his own dear child, + And in the centre of a throng + Of noble courtiers rode along. + The sage's son had let prepare + A lodge within the wood, and there + Awhile they lingered blithe and gay, + Then, duly honored, went their way. + The glorious hermit Rishyaśring + Drew near and thus besought the King:-- + "Return, my honored lord, I pray, + Return, upon thy homeward way." + The monarch, with the waiting crowd, + Lifted his voice and wept aloud, + And with eyes dripping still to each + Of his good queens he spake this speech:-- + "Kauśalyá and Sumitrá dear, + And thou, my sweet Kaikeyí, hear-- + All upon Śántá feast your gaze, + The last time for a length of days." + To 'Śántá's side the ladies leapt, + And hung about her neck and wept, + And cried, "O, happy be the life + Of this great Bráhman and his wife. + The Wind, the Fire, the Moon on high, + The Earth, the Streams, the circling Sky, + Preserve thee in the wood, true spouse, + Devoted to thy husband's vows. + And O dear Śántá, ne'er neglect + To pay the dues of meek respect + To the great saint, thy husband's sire, + With all observance and with fire. + And, sweet one, pure of spot and blame. + Forget not thou thy husband's claim; + In every change, in good and ill, + Let thy sweet words delight him still, + And let thy worship constant be-- + Her lord is woman's deity. + To learn thy welfare, dearest friend, + The King will many a Bráhman send. + Let happy thoughts thy spirit cheer, + And be not troubled, daughter dear." + + These soothing words the ladies said, + And pressed their lips upon her head, + Each gave with sighs her last adieu, + Then at the King's command withdrew. + The King around the hermit went + With circling footsteps reverent, + And placed at Rishyaśring's command + Some soldiers of his royal band. + The Bráhman bowed in turn and cried, + "May fortune never leave thy side. + O mighty King, with justice reign, + And still thy people's love retain." + He spoke, and turned away his face, + And, as the hermit went, + The monarch, rooted to the place, + Pursued with eyes intent. + But when the sage had passed from view + King Daśaratha turned him too, + Still fixing on his friend each thought, + With such deep love his breast was fraught. + Amid his people's loud acclaim + Home to his royal seat he came, + And lived delighted there-- + Expecting when each queenly dame, + Upholder of his ancient fame, + Her promised son should bear. + The glorious sage his way pursued + Till close before his eyes he viewed + Sweet Champá, Lomapád's fair town, + Wreathed with her Champac's leafy crown. + Soon as the saint's approach he knew, + The King, to yield him honor due, + Went forth to meet him with a band + Of priests and nobles of the land:-- + "Hail, Sage," he cried, "O joy to me! + What bliss it is, my lord, to see + Thee with thy wife and all thy train + Returning to my town again. + Thy father, honored Sage, is well, + Who hither from his woodland cell + Has sent full many a messenger + For tidings both of thee and her." + Then joyfully, for due respect, + The monarch bade the town be decked. + The King and Rishyaśring elate + Entered the royal city's gate-- + In front the chaplain rode. + Then, loved and honored with all care + By monarch and by courtier, there + The glorious saint abode. + + + +CANTO XVIII + +RISHYAŚRING'S DEPARTURE + + The monarch called a Bráhman near + And said, "Now speed away + To Kaśyap's son, the mighty seer, + And with all reverence say-- + The holy child he holds so dear, + The hermit of the noble mind, + Whose equal it were hard to find, + Returned, is dwelling here. + Go, and instead of me do thou + Before that best of hermits bow, + That still he may for his dear son, + Show me the favor I have won." + Soon as the King these words had said, + To Kaśyap's son the Bráhman sped. + Before the hermit low he bent + And did obeisance, reverent; + Then with meek words his grace to crave + The message of his lord he gave:-- + "The high-souled father of his bride + Had called thy son his rites to guide-- + Those rites are o'er, the steed is slain; + Thy noble child is come again." + Soon as the saint that speech had heard + His spirit with desire was stirred + To seek the city of the King + And to his cot his son to bring. + With young disciples at his side + Forth on his way the hermit hied, + While peasants from their hamlets ran + To reverence the holy man. + Each with his little gift of food, + Forth came the village multitude, + And, as they humbly bowed the head, + "What may we do for thee?" they said. + Then he, of Bráhmans first and best, + The gathered people thus addressed:-- + "Now tell me, for I fain would know, + Why is it I am honored so?" + They to the high-souled saint replied:-- + "Our ruler is with thee allied. + Our master's order we fulfil; + O Bráhman, let thy mind be still." + + With joy the saintly hermit heard + Each pleasant and delightful word, + And poured a benediction down + On King and ministers and town. + Glad at the words of that high saint + Some servants hastened to acquaint + Their King, rejoicing to impart + The tidings that would cheer his heart. + Soon as the joyful tale he knew + To meet the saint the monarch flew, + The guest-gift in his hand he brought, + And bowed before him and besought:-- + "This day by seeing thee I gain + Not to have lived my life in vain. + Now be not wroth with me, I pray, + Because I wiled thy son away." + The best of Bráhmans answer made:-- + "Be not, great lord of Kings, afraid. + Thy virtues have not failed to win + My favor, O thou pure of sin." + Then in the front the saint was placed, + The King came next in joyous haste, + And with him entered his abode, + 'Mid glad acclaim as on they rode. + To greet the sage the reverent crowd + Raised suppliant hands and humbly bowed. + Then from the palace many a dame + Following well-dressed Śántá came, + Stood by the mighty saint and cried:-- + "See, honor's source, thy son's dear bride." + The saint, who every virtue knew, + His arms around his daughter threw, + And with a father's rapture pressed + The lady to his wondering breast. + Arising from the saint's embrace + She bowed her low before his face, + And then, with palm to palm applied, + Stood by her hermit father's side. + He for his son, as laws ordain, + Performed the rite that frees from stain, + And, honored by the wise and good, + With him departed to the wood. + + + +CANTO XIX + +THE BIRTH OF THE PRINCES + + The seasons six, in rapid flight, + Had circled since that glorious rite. + Eleven months had passed away-- + 'Twas Chaitra's ninth returning day. + The moon within that mansion shone + Which Aditi looks so kindly on. + Raised to their apex in the sky + Five brilliant planets beamed on high. + Shone with the moon, in Cancer's sign, + Vrihaspati with light divine. + Kauśalyá bore an infant blest + With heavenly marks of grace impressed; + Ráma, the universe's lord, + A prince by all the worlds adored. + New glory Queen Kauśalyá won + Reflected from her splendid son. + So Aditi shone more and more, + The Mother of the Gods, when she + The King of the Immortals bore, + The thunder-wielding deity. + The lotus-eyed, the beauteous boy, + He came fierce Rávan to destroy; + From half of Vishnu's vigor born, + He came to help the worlds forlorn. + And Queen Kaikeyí bore a child + Of truest valor, Bharat styled, + With every princely virtue blest, + One-fourth of Vishnu manifest. + Sumitrá too a noble pair, + Called Lakshman and Śatrughna, bare, + Of high emprise, devoted, true, + Sharers in Vishnu's essence too. + 'Neath Pushya's mansion, Mína's sign, + Was Bharat born, of soul benign. + The sun had reached the Crab at morn + When Queen Sumitrá's babes were born, + What time the moon had gone to make + His nightly dwelling with the Snake. + The high-souled monarch's consorts bore + At different times those glorious four, + Like to himself and virtuous, bright + As Proshthapadá's fourfold light. + + Then danced the nymphs' celestial throng, + The minstrels raised their strain; + The drums of heaven pealed loud and long, + And flowers came down in rain. + Within Ayodhyá, blithe and gay, + All kept the joyous holiday. + The spacious square, the ample road + With mimes and dancers overflowed, + And with the voice of music rang + Where minstrels played and singers sang-- + And shone, a wonder to behold, + With dazzling show of gems and gold. + Nor did the King his largess spare, + For minstrel, driver, bard, to share; + Much wealth the Bráhmans bore away, + And many thousand kine that day. + Soon as each babe was twelve days old + Twas time the naming rite to hold, + When Saint Vaśishtha, rapt with joy, + Assigned a name to every boy. + Ráma, to him the high-souled heir, + Bharat, to him Kaikeyí bare-- + Of Queen Sumitrá one fair son + Was Lakshman, and Śatrughna one. + Ráma, his sire's supreme delight, + Like some proud banner cheered his sight, + And to all creatures seemed to be + The self-existent deity. + All heroes, versed in holy lore, + To all mankind great love they bore. + Fair stores of wisdom all possessed, + With princely graces all were blest. + But mid those youths of high descent, + With lordly light preëminent, + Like the full moon unclouded shone + Ráma, the world's dear paragon. + He best the elephant could guide, + Urge the fleet car, the charger ride-- + A master he of bowman's skill, + Joying to do his father's will. + The world's delight and darling, he + Loved Lakshman best from infancy; + And Lakshman, lord of lofty fate, + Upon his elder joyed to wait, + Striving his second self to please + With friendship's sweet observances. + His limbs the hero ne'er would rest + Unless the couch his brother pressed; + Except beloved Ráma shared + He could not taste the meal prepared. + When Ráma, pride of Raghu's race, + Sprang on his steed to urge the chase, + Behind him Lakshman loved to go + And guard him with his trusty bow. + As Ráma was to Lakshman dear + More than his life and ever near, + So fond Śatrughna prized above + His very life his Bharat's love. + Illustrious heroes, nobly kind + In mutual love they all combined, + And gave their royal sire delight + With modest grace and warrior might; + Supported by the glorious four + Shone Daśaratha more and more, + As though, with every guardian God + Who keeps the land and skies, + The Father of all creatures trod + The earth before men's eyes. + + + +CANTO XX + +VIŚVÁMITRA'S VISIT + + NOW Daśaratha's pious mind + Meet wedlock for his sons designed; + With priests and friends the King began + To counsel and prepare his plan. + Such thoughts engaged his bosom, when, + To see Ayodhyá's lord of men, + A mighty saint of glorious fame, + The hermit Viśvámitra came. + For evil fiends that roam by night + Disturbed him in each holy rite, + And in their strength and frantic rage + Assailed with witcheries the sage. + He came to seek the monarch's aid + To guard the rites the demons stayed, + Unable to a close to bring + One unpolluted offering. + Seeking the King in this dire strait + He said to those who kept the gate:-- + "Haste, warders, to your master run, + And say that here stands Gádhi's son." + Soon as they heard the holy man, + To the King's chamber swift they ran + With minds disordered all, and spurred + To wildest zeal by what they heard. + On to the royal hall they sped, + There stood and lowly bowed the head, + And made the lord of men aware + That the great saint was waiting there. + The King with priest and peer arose + And ran the sage to meet, + As Indra from his palace goes + Lord Brahmá's self to greet. + When glowing with celestial light + The pious hermit was in sight, + The King, whose mien his transport showed, + The honored gift for guests bestowed. + Nor did the saint that gift despise, + Offered as holy texts advise; + He kindly asked the earth's great King + How all with him was prospering. + The son of Kusík bade him tell + If all in town and field were well, + All well with friends, and kith and kin, + And royal treasure stored within:-- + "Do all thy neighbors own thy sway? + Thy foes confess thee yet? + Dost thou continue still to pay + To Gods and men each debt?" + Then he, of hermits first and best, + Vaśishtha with a smile addressed, + And asked him of his welfare too, + Showing him honor as was due. + Then with the sainted hermit all + Went joyous to the monarch's hall, + And sate them down by due degree, + Each one, of rank and dignity. + Joy filled the noble prince's breast + Who thus bespoke the honored guest:-- + "As Amrit by a mortal found, + As rain upon the thirsty ground, + As to an heirless man a son + Born to him of his precious one-- + As gain of what we sorely miss, + As sudden dawn of mighty bliss, + So is thy coming here to me-- + All welcome, mighty Saint, to thee. + What wish within thy heart hast thou! + If I can please thee, tell me how. + Hail, Saint, from whom all honors flow, + Worthy of all I can bestow. + Blest is my birth with fruit to-day, + Nor has my life been thrown away. + I see the best of Bráhman race, + And night to glorious morn gives place. + Thou, holy Sage, in days of old + Among the royal saints enrolled, + Didst, penance-glorified, within + The Bráhman caste high station win. + 'Tis meet and right in many a way + That I to thee should honor pay. + This seems a marvel to mine eyes-- + All sin thy visit purifies; + And I by seeing thee, O Sage, + Have reaped the fruit of pilgrimage. + Then say what thou wouldst have me do. + That thou hast sought this interview. + Favored by thee, my wish is still, + O Hermit, to perform thy will. + Nor needest thou at length explain + The object that thy heart would gain. + Without reserve I grant it now-- + My deity, O Lord, art thou." + The glorious hermit, far renowned. + With highest fame and virtue crowned, + Rejoiced these modest words to hear + Delightful to the mind and ear. + + + +CANTO XXI + +VIŚVÁMITRA'S SPEECH + + The hermit heard with high content + That speech so wondrous eloquent, + And while each hair with joy arose, + He thus made answer at the close:-- + "Good is thy speech, O noble King, + And like thyself in everything. + So should their lips be wisdom-fraught + Whom kings begot, Vaśishtha taught. + The favor which I came to seek + Thou grantest ere my tongue can speak. + But let my tale attention claim, + And hear the need for which I came. + O King, as Scripture texts allow, + A holy rite employs me now. + Two fiends who change their forms at will + Impede that rite with cursed skill. + Oft when the task is nigh complete, + These worst of fiends my toil defeat, + Throw bits of bleeding flesh, and o'er + The altar shed a stream of gore. + When thus the rite is mocked and stayed. + And all my pious hopes delayed, + Cast down in heart the spot I leave, + And spent with fruitless labor grieve. + Nor can I, checked by prudence, dare + Let loose my fury on them there-- + The muttered curse, the threatening word, + In such a rite must ne'er be heard. + Thy grace the rite from check can free, + And yield the fruit I long to see. + Thy duty bids thee, King, defend + The suffering guest, the suppliant friend. + Give me thy son, thine eldest born, + Whom locks like raven's wings adorn. + That hero youth, the truly brave, + Of thee, O glorious King, I crave. + For he can lay those demons low + Who mar my rites and work me woe: + My power shall shield the youth from harm, + And heavenly might shall nerve his arm. + And on my champion will I shower + Unnumbered gifts of varied power-- + Such gifts as shall ensure his fame + And spread through all the worlds his name. + Be sure those fiends can never stand + Before the might of Ráma's hand, + And mid the best and bravest none + Can slay that pair but Raghu's son. + Entangled in the toils of Fate + Those sinners, proud and obstinate, + Are, in their fury overbold, + No match for Ráma, mighty-souled. + Nor let a father's breast give way + Too far to fond affection's sway. + Count thou the fiends already slain: + My word is pledged, nor pledged in vain. + I know the hero Ráma well + In whom high thoughts and valor dwell; + So does Vaśishtha, so do these + Engaged in long austerities. + If thou would do the righteous deed, + And win high fame, thy virtue's meed, + Fame that on earth shall last and live, + To me, great King, thy Ráma give. + If to the words that I have said, + With Saint Vaśishtha at their head + Thy holy men, O King, agree, + Then let thy Ráma go with me. + Ten nights my sacrifice will last, + And ere the stated time be past + Those wicked fiends, those impious twain, + Must fall by wondrous Ráma slain. + Let not the hours, I warn thee, fly, + Fixt for the rite, unheeded by; + Good luck have thou, O royal Chief, + Nor give thy heart to needless grief." + + Thus in fair words with virtue fraught, + The pious glorious saint besought. + But the good speech with poignant sting + Pierced ear and bosom of the King, + Who, stabbed with pangs too sharp to bear, + Fell prostrate and lay fainting there. + + + + +CANTO XXII + +DAŚARATHA'S SPEECH + + His tortured senses all astray, + Awhile the hapless monarch lay, + Then slowly gathering thought and strength + To Viśvámitra spoke at length:-- + "My son is but a child, I ween; + This year he will be just sixteen. + How is he fit for such emprise, + My darling with the lotus eyes? + A mighty army will I bring + That calls me master, lord, and King, + And with its countless squadrons fight + Against these rovers of the night. + My faithful heroes skilled to wield + The arms of war will take the field; + Their skill the demons' might may break: + Ráma, my child, thou must not take. + I, even I, my bow in hand, + Will in the van of battle stand, + And, while my soul is left alive, + With the night-roaming demons strive. + Thy guarded sacrifice shall be + Completed, from all hindrance free. + Thither will I my journey make: + Ráma, my child, thou must not take. + A boy unskilled, he knows not yet + The bounds to strength and weakness set. + No match is he for demon foes + Who magic arts to arms oppose. + O chief of saints, I have no power, + Of Ráma reft, to live one hour-- + Mine aged heart at once would break: + Ráma, my child, thou must not take. + Nine thousand circling years have fled + With all their seasons o'er my head, + And as a hard-won boon, O Sage, + These sons have come to cheer mine age. + My dearest love amid the four + Is he whom first his mother bore, + Still dearer for his virtue's sake; + Ráma, my child, thou must not take. + But if, unmoved by all I say, + Thou needs must bear my son away, + Let me lead with him, I entreat, + A fourfold army all complete. + What is the demons' might, O Sage? + Who are they? What their parentage? + What is their size? What beings lend + Their power to guard them and befriend? + How can my son their arts withstand? + Or I or all my armed band? + Tell me the whole that I may know + To met in war each evil foe + Whom conscious might inspires with pride." + + And Viśvámitra thus replied:-- + "Sprung from Pulastya's race there came + A giant known by Rávan's name. + Once favored by the Eternal Sire + He plagues the worlds in ceaseless ire, + For peerless power and might renowned, + By giant bands encompassed round. + Viśravas for his sire they hold, + His brother is the Lord of Gold. + King of the giant hosts is he, + And worst of all in cruelty. + This Rávan's dread commands impel + Two demons who in might excel, + Márícha and Suváhu Light, + To trouble and impede the rite." + Then thus the King addressed the sage:-- + "No power have I, my lord, to wage + War with this evil-minded foe; + Now pity on my darling show, + And upon me of hapless fate, + For thee as God I venerate. + Gods, spirits, bards of heavenly birth, + The birds of air, the snakes of earth + Before the might of Rávan quail, + Much less can mortal man avail. + He draws, I hear, from out the breast, + The valor of the mightiest. + No, ne'er can I with him contend, + Or with the forces he may send. + How can I then my darling lend, + Godlike, unskilled in battle? No, + I will not let my young child go. + Foes of thy rite, those mighty ones, + Sunda and Upasunda's sons, + Are fierce as Fate to overthrow: + I will not let my young child go. + Márícha and Suváhu fell + Are valiant and instructed well. + One of the twain I might attack + With all my friends their lord to back." + + + + +CANTO XXIII + +VAŚISHTHA'S SPEECH + + While thus the hapless monarch spoke, + Paternal love his utterance broke. + Then words like these the saint returned, + And fury in his bosom burned:-- + "Didst thou, O King, a promise make, + And wishest now thy word to break? + A son of Raghu's line should scorn + To fail in faith, a man forsworn. + But if thy soul can bear the shame + I will return e'en as I came. + Live with thy sons, and joy be thine, + False scion of Kakutstha's line." + As Viśvámitra, mighty sage, + Was moved with this tempestuous rage, + Earth rocked and reeled throughout her frame, + And fear upon the Immortals came. + But Saint Vaśishtha, wisest seer, + Observant of his vows austere, + Saw the whole world convulsed with dread, + And thus unto the monarch said:-- + "Thou, born of old Ikshváku's seed, + Art Justice' self in mortal weed. + Constant and pious, blest by fate, + The right thou must not violate. + Thou, Raghu's son, so famous through + The triple world as just and true, + Perform thy bounden duty still, + Nor stain thy race by deed of ill. + If thou have sworn and now refuse + Thou must thy store of merit lose. + Then, Monarch, let thy Ráma go? + Nor fear for him the demon foe. + The fiends shall have no power to hurt + Him trained to war or inexpert-- + Nor vanquish him in battle field, + For Kuśik's son the youth will shield. + He is incarnate Justice, he + The best of men for bravery-- + Embodied love of penance drear, + Among the wise without a peer. + Full well he knows, great Kuśik's son, + The arms celestial, every one, + Arms from the Gods themselves concealed, + Far less to other men revealed. + These arms to him, when earth he swayed, + Mighty Kriśáśva, pleased, conveyed. + Kriśáśva's sons they are indeed, + Brought forth by Daksha's lovely seed, + Heralds of conquest, strong and bold, + Brilliant, of semblance manifold. + Jayá and Vijayá, most fair, + A hundred splendid weapons bare; + Of Jayá, glorious as the morn, + First fifty noble sons were born, + Boundless in size yet viewless too, + They came the demons to subdue. + And fifty children also came + Of Vijayá the beauteous dame, + Sanháras named, of mighty force, + Hard to assail or check in course; + Of these the hermit knows the use, + And weapons new can he produce. + All these the mighty saint will yield + To Ráma's hand, to own and wield; + And armed with these, beyond a doubt + Shall Ráma put those fiends to rout. + For Ráma and the people's sake, + For thine own good my counsel take, + Nor seek, O King, with fond delay, + The parting of thy son to stay." + + + + +CANTO XXIV + +THE SPELLS + + Vaśishtha thus was speaking still: + The monarch, of his own free will, + Bade with quick zeal and joyful cheer + Ráma and Lakshman hasten near. + Mother and sire in loving care + Sped their dear son with rite and prayer; + Vaśishtha blessed him ere he went, + O'er his loved head the father bent-- + And then to Kuśik's son resigned + Ráma with Lakshman close behind. + Standing by Viśvámitra's side, + The youthful hero, lotus-eyed, + The Wind-God saw, and sent a breeze + Whose sweet pure touch just waved the trees. + There fell from heaven a flowery rain, + And with the song and dance the strain + Of shell and tambour sweetly blent + As forth the son of Raghu went. + The hermit led: behind him came + The bow-armed Ráma, dear to fame, + Whose locks were like the raven's wing:-- + Then Lakshman, closely following. + The Gods and Indra, filled with joy, + Looked down upon the royal boy, + And much they longed the death to see + Of their ten-headed enemy. + Ráma and Lakshman paced behind + That hermit of the lofty mind, + As the young Aśvins, heavenly pair, + Follow Lord Indra through the air. + On arm and hand the guard they wore, + Quiver and bow and sword they bore; + Two fire-born Gods of War seemed they, + He, Śiva's self who led the way. + Upon fair Sarjú's southern shore + They now had walked a league or more, + When thus the sage in accents mild + To Ráma said: "Beloved child, + This lustral water duly touch: + My counsel will avail thee much. + Forget not all the words I say, + Nor let the occasion slip away. + Lo, with two spells I thee invest, + The mighty and the mightiest. + O'er thee fatigue shall ne'er prevail, + Nor age nor change thy limbs assail. + Thee powers of darkness ne'er shall smite + In tranquil sleep or wild delight. + No one is there in all the land + Thine equal for the vigorous hand. + Thou, when thy lips pronounce the spell, + Shalt have no peer in heaven or hell. + None in the world with thee shall vie, + O sinless one, in apt reply-- + In fortune, knowledge, wit, and tact, + Wisdom to plan and skill to act. + This double science take, and gain + Glory that shall for aye remain. + Wisdom and judgment spring from each + Of these fair spells whose use I teach. + Hunger and thirst unknown to thee, + High in the worlds thy rank shall be. + For these two spells with might endued, + Are the Great Father's heavenly brood, + And thee, O Chief, may fitly grace, + Thou glory of Kakutstha's race. + Virtues which none can match are thine, + Lord, from thy birth, of gifts divine-- + And now these spells of might shall cast + Fresh radiance o'er the gifts thou hast." + Then Ráma duly touched the wave, + Raised suppliant hands, bowed low his head, + And took the spells the hermit gave, + Whose soul on contemplation fed. + From him whose might these gifts enhanced + A brighter beam of glory glanced:-- + So shines in all his autumn blaze + The Day-God of the thousand rays. + The hermit's wants those youths supplied, + As pupils used to holy guide. + And then the night in sweet content + On Sarjú's pleasant bank they spent. + + + + +CANTO XXV + +THE HERMITAGE OF LOVE + + + Soon as appeared the morning light + Up rose the mighty anchorite, + And thus to youthful Ráma said, + Who lay upon his leafy bed:-- + "High fate is hers who calls thee son: + Arise, 'tis break of day; + Rise, Chief, and let those rites be done + Due at the morning's ray." + At that great sage's high behest + Up sprang the princely pair, + To bathing rites themselves addressed, + And breathed the holiest prayer. + Their morning task completed, they + To Viśvámitra came, + That store of holy works, to pay + The worship saints may claim. + Then to the hallowed spot they went + Along fair Sarjú's side + Where mix her waters confluent + With three-pathed Gangá's tide. + There was a sacred hermitage + Where saints devout of mind + Their lives through many a lengthened age + To penance had resigned. + That pure abode the princes eyed + With unrestrained delight, + And thus unto the saint they cried, + Rejoicing at the sight:-- + "Whose is that hermitage we see? + Who makes his dwelling there? + Full of desire to hear are we: + O Saint, the truth declare." + The hermit, smiling, made reply + To the two boys' request:-- + "Hear, Ráma, who in days gone by + This calm retreat possessed-- + Kandarpa in apparent form, + (Called Káma by the wise,) + Dared Umá's new-wed lord to storm + And make the God his prize. + 'Gainst Sthánu's self, on rites austere + And vows intent, they say, + His bold rash hand he dared to rear, + Though Sthánu cried, Away! + But the God's eye with scornful glare + Fell terrible on him, + Dissolved the shape that was so fair + And burnt up every limb. + Since the great God's terrific rage + Destroyed his form and frame, + Káma in each succeeding age + Has borne Ananga's name. + So, where his lovely form decayed, + This land is Anga styled:-- + Sacred to him of old this shade, + And hermits undefiled. + Here Scripture-talking elders sway + Each sense with firm control, + And penance-rites have washed away + All sin from every soul. + One night, fair boy, we here will spend, + A pure stream on each hand, + And with to-morrow's light will bend + Our steps to yonder strand. + Here let us bathe, and free from stain + To that pure grove repair, + Sacred to Káma, and remain + One night in comfort there." + With penance' far-discerning eye + The saintly men beheld + Their coming, and with transport high + Each holy bosom swelled. + To Kuśik's son the gift they gave + That honored guest should greet-- + Water they brought his feet to lave, + And showed him honor meet. + Ráma and Lakshman next obtained + In due degree their share-- + Then with sweet talk the guests remained, + And charmed each listener there. + The evening prayers were duly said + With voices calm and low:-- + Then on the ground each laid his head + And slept till morning's glow. + + + + +CANTO XXVI + +THE FOREST OF TÁDAKÁ + + When the fair light of morning rose + The princely tamers of their foes + Followed, his morning worship o'er, + The hermit to the river's shore. + The high-souled men with thoughtful care + A pretty barge had stationed there. + All cried, "O lord, this barge ascend, + And with thy princely followers bend + To yonder side thy prosperous way-- + With nought to check thee or delay." + Nor did the saint their rede reject: + He bade farewell with due respect, + And crossed, attended by the twain, + That river rushing to the main. + When now the bark was half-way o'er, + Ráma and Lakshman heard the roar, + That louder grew and louder yet, + Of waves by dashing waters met. + Then Ráma asked the mighty seer:-- + "What is the tumult that I hear + Of waters cleft in mid-career?" + Soon as the speech of Ráma, stirred + By deep desire to know, he heard, + The pious saint began to tell + What caused the waters' roar and swell:-- + "On high Kailása's distant hill + There lies a noble lake + Whose waters, born from Brahmá's will, + The name of Mánas take. + Thence, hallowing where'er they flow, + The streams of Sarjú fall, + And wandering through the plains below + Embrace Ayodhyá's wall. + Still, still preserved in Sarjú's name + Sarovar's fame we trace, + The flood of Brahmá whence she came + To run her holy race. + To meet great Gangá here she hies + With tributary wave-- + Hence the loud roar ye hear arise, + Of floods that swell and rave. + Here, pride of Raghu's line, do thou + In humble adoration bow." + + He spoke. The princes both obeyed, + And reverence to each river paid. + They reached the southern shore at last, + And gayly on their journey passed. + A little space beyond there stood + A gloomy awe-inspiring wood. + The monarch's noble son began + To question thus the holy man:-- + "Whose gloomy forest meets mine eye, + Like some vast cloud that fills the sky? + Pathless and dark it seems to be, + Where birds in thousands wander free; + Where shrill cicadas' cries resound, + And fowl of dismal note abound. + Lion, rhinoceros, and bear, + Boar, tiger, elephant, are there, + There shrubs and thorns run wild: + Dháo, Sál, Bignonia, Bel, are found, + And every tree that grows on ground: + How is the forest styled?" + The glorious saint this answer made:-- + "Dear child of Raghu, hear + Who dwells within the horrid shade + That looks so dark and drear. + Where now is wood, long ere this day + Two broad and fertile lands, + Malaja and Karúsha lay, + Adorned by heavenly hands. + Here, mourning friendship's broken ties, + Lord Indra of the thousand eyes + Hungered and sorrowed many a day, + His brightness soiled with mud and clay, + When in a storm of passion he + Had slain his dear friend Namuchi. + Then came the Gods and saints who bore + Their golden pitchers brimming o'er + With holy streams that banish stain, + And bathed Lord Indra pure again. + When in this land the God was freed + From spot and stain of impious deed + For that his own dear friend he slew, + High transport thrilled his bosom through. + Then in his joy the lands he blessed, + And gave a boon they long possessed:-- + "Because these fertile lands retain + The washings of the blot and stain, + ('Twas thus Lord Indra sware,) + Malaja and Karúsha's name + Shall celebrate with deathless fame + My malady and care." + "So be it," all the Immortals cried, + When Indra's speech they heard-- + And with acclaim they ratified + The names his lips conferred. + "Long time, O victor of thy foes, + These happy lands had sweet repose, + And higher still in fortune rose. + At length a spirit, loving ill, + Tádaká, wearing shapes at will-- + Whose mighty strength, exceeding vast, + A thousand elephants' surpassed, + Was to fierce Sunda, lord and head + Of all the demon armies, wed. + From her, Lord Indra's peer in might + Giant Márícha sprang to light; + And she, a constant plague and pest, + These two fair realms has long distressed. + Now dwelling in her dark abode + A league away she bars the road: + And we, O Ráma, hence must go + Where lies the forest of the foe. + Now on thine own right arm rely, + And my command obey: + Smite the foul monster that she die, + And take the plague away. + To reach this country none may dare, + Fallen from its old estate, + Which she, whose fury nought can bear, + Has left so desolate. + And now my truthful tale is told-- + How with accursed sway + The spirit plagued this wood of old, + And ceases not to-day." + + + + +CANTO XXVII + +THE BIRTH OF TÁDAKÁ + + When thus the sage without a peer + Had closed that story strange to hear, + Ráma again the saint addressed, + To set one lingering doubt at rest:-- + "O holy man, 'tis said by all + That spirits' strength is weak and small, + How can she match, of power so slight, + A thousand elephants in might?" + And Viśvámitra thus replied + To Raghu's son, the glorified:-- + "Listen, and I will tell thee how + She gained the strength that arms her now. + A mighty spirit lived of yore; + Suketu was the name he bore. + Childless was he, and free from crime + In rites austere he passed his time. + The mighty Sire was pleased to show + His favor, and a child bestow, + Tádaká named, most fair to see, + A pearl among the maids was she-- + And matched, for such was Brahmá's dower, + A thousand elephants in power. + Nor would the Eternal Sire, although + The spirit longed, a son bestow. + That maid in beauty's youthful pride + Was given to Sunda for a bride. + Her son, Márícha was his name, + A giant, through a curse, became. + She, widowed, dared with him molest + Agastya, of all saints the best. + Inflamed with hunger's wildest rage, + Roaring she rushed upon the sage. + When the great hermit saw her near, + On-speeding in her fierce career, + He thus pronounced Márícha's doom:-- + 'A giant's form and shape assume,' + And then, by mighty anger swayed, + On Tádaká this curse he laid:-- + 'Thy present form and semblance quit, + And wear a shape thy mood to fit; + Changed form and feature by my ban, + A fearful thing that feeds on man.' + She, by his awful curse possessed, + And mad with rage that fills her breast, + Has on this land her fury dealt + Where once the saint Agastya dwelt. + Go, Ráma, smite this monster dead, + The wicked plague, of power so dread, + And further by this deed of thine + The good of Bráhmans and of kine. + Thy hand alone can overthrow, + In all the worlds, this impious foe. + Nor let compassion lead thy mind + To shrink from blood of womankind; + A monarch's son must ever count + The people's welfare paramount-- + And whether pain or joy he deal + Dare all things for his subjects' weal; + Yea, if the deed bring praise or guilt, + If life be saved or blood be spilt:-- + Such, through all time, should be the care + Of those a kingdom's weight who bear. + Slay, Ráma, slay this impious fiend, + For by no law her life is screened. + So Manthará, as bards have told, + Virochan's child, was slain of old + By Indra, when in furious hate + She longed the earth to devastate. + So Kávya's mother, Bhrigu's wife, + Who loved her husband as her life, + When Indra's throne she sought to gain, + By Vishnu's hand of yore was slain. + By these and high-souled kings beside, + Struck down, have lawless women died." + + + + +CANTO XXVIII + +THE DEATH OF TÁDAKÁ + + Thus spoke the saint. Each vigorous word + The noble monarch's offspring heard-- + And, reverent hands together laid, + His answer to the hermit made:-- + "My sire and mother bade me aye + Thy word, O mighty Saint, obey. + So will I, O most glorious, kill + This Tádaká who joys in ill-- + For such my sire's, and such thy will. + To aid with mine avenging hand + The Bráhmans, kine, and all the land, + Obedient, heart and soul, I stand." + Thus spoke the tamer of the foe, + And by the middle grasped his bow. + Strongly he drew the sounding string + That made the distant welkin ring. + Scared by the mighty clang the deer + That roamed the forest shook with fear. + And Tádaká the echo heard, + And rose in haste from slumber stirred. + In wild amaze, her soul aflame + With fury towards the spot she came. + When that foul shape of evil mien + And stature vast as e'er was seen + The wrathful son of Raghu eyed, + He thus unto his brother cried:-- + "Her dreadful shape, O Lakshman, see, + A form to shudder at and flee. + The hideous monster's very view + Would cleave a timid heart in two. + Behold the demon hard to smite, + Defended by her magic might. + My hand shall stay her course to-day, + And shear her nose and ears away. + No heart have I her life to take: + I spare it for her sex's sake. + My will is but--with minished force-- + To check her in her evil course." + While thus he spoke, by rage impelled-- + Roaring as she came nigh, + The fiend her course at Ráma held + With huge arms tossed on high. + Her, rushing on, the seer assailed + With a loud cry of hate; + And thus the sons of Raghu hailed:-- + "Fight, and be fortunate." + Then from the earth a horrid cloud + Of dust the demon raised, + And for awhile in darkling shroud + Wrapt Raghu's sons amazed. + Then calling on her magic power + The fearful fight to wage, + She smote him with a stony shower, + Till Ráma burned with rage. + Then pouring forth his arrowy rain + That stony flood to stay, + With wingèd darts, as she charged amain, + He shore her hands away. + As Tádaká still thundered near + Thus maimed by Ráma's blows, + Lakshman in fury severed sheer + The monster's ears and nose. + Assuming by her magic skill + A fresh and fresh disguise, + She tried a thousand shapes at will, + Then vanished from their eyes. + When Gádhi's son of high renown + Still saw the stony rain pour down + Upon each princely warrior's head, + With words of wisdom thus he said:-- + "Enough of mercy, Ráma, lest + This sinful evil-working pest, + Disturber of each holy rite, + Repair by magic arts her might. + Without delay the fiend should die, + For, see, the twilight hour is nigh. + And at the joints of night and day + Such giant foes are hard to slay." + Then Ráma, skilful to direct + His arrow to the sound-- + With shafts the mighty demon checked + Who rained her stones around. + She, sore impeded and beset + By Ráma and his arrowy net-- + Though skilled in guile and magic lore, + Rushed on the brothers with a roar. + Deformed, terrific, murderous, dread, + Swift as the levin on she sped-- + Like cloudy pile in autumn's sky, + Lifting her two vast arms on high: + When Ráma smote her with a dart + Shaped like a crescent, to the heart. + Sore wounded by the shaft that came + With lightning speed and surest aim, + Blood spurting from her mouth and side, + She fell upon the earth and died. + Soon as the Lord who rules the sky + Saw the dread monster lifeless lie, + He called aloud, Well done! well done! + And the Gods honored Raghu's son. + Standing in heaven the Thousand-eyed, + With all the Immortals, joying cried:-- + "Lift up thine eyes, O Saint, and see + The Gods and Indra nigh to thee. + This deed of Ráma's boundless might + Has filled our bosoms with delight. + Now, for our will would have it so, + To Raghu's son some favor show. + Invest him with the power which nought + But penance gains, and holy thought. + Those heavenly arms on him bestow-- + To thee entrusted long ago + By great Kriśáśva best of kings, + Son of the Lord of living things. + More fit recipient none can be + Than he who joys in following thee; + And for our sakes the monarch's seed + Has yet to do a mighty deed." + + He spoke; and all the heavenly train + Rejoicing sought their homes again, + While honor to the saint they paid-- + Then came the evening's twilight shade. + The best of hermits overjoyed + To know the monstrous fiend destroyed, + His lips on Ráma's forehead pressed, + And thus the conquering chief addressed:-- + "O Ráma, gracious to the sight, + Here will we pass the present night, + And with the morrow's earliest ray + Bend to my hermitage our way." + The son of Daśaratha heard, + Delighted, Viśvámitra's word-- + And as he bade, that night he spent + In Tádaká's wild wood, content. + And the grove shone that happy day, + Freed from the curse that on it lay-- + Like Chaitraratha fair and gay. + + + + +CANTO XXIX + +THE CELESTIAL ARMS + + That night they slept and took their rest; + And then the mighty saint addressed, + With pleasant smile and accents mild + These words to Raghu's princely child:-- + "Well pleased am I. High fate be thine, + Thou scion of a royal line. + Now will I, for I love thee so, + All heavenly arms on thee bestow. + Victor with these, whoe'er oppose, + Thy hand shall conquer all thy foes-- + Though Gods and spirits of the air, + Serpents and fiends, the conflict dare. + I'll give thee as a pledge of love + The mystic arms they use above, + For worthy thou to have revealed + The weapons I have learnt to wield. + First, son of Raghu, shall be thine + The arm of Vengeance, strong, divine: + The arm of Fate, the arm of Right, + And Vishnu's arm of awful might:-- + That, before which no foe can stand, + The thunderbolt of Indra's hand; + And Śiva's trident, sharp and dread, + And that dire weapon, Brahmá's Head. + And two fair clubs, O royal child, + One Charmer and one Pointed styled-- + With flame of lambent fire aglow, + On thee, O Chieftain, I bestow. + And Fate's dread net and Justice' noose + That none may conquer, for thy use:-- + And the great cord, renowned of old, + Which Varun ever loves to hold. + Take these two thunderbolts, which I + Have got for thee, the Moist and Dry. + Here Śiva's dart to thee I yield, + And that which Vishnu wont to wield. + I give to thee the arm of Fire, + Desired by all and named the Spire. + To thee I grant the Wind-God's dart, + Named Crusher, O thou pure of heart. + This arm, the Horse's Head, accept, + And this, the Curlew's Bill yclept, + And these two spears, the best e'er flew, + Named the Invincible and True. + And arms of fiends I make thine own, + Skull-wreath and mace that smashes bone. + And Joyous, which the spirits bear, + Great weapon of the sons of air. + Brave offspring of the best of lords, + I give thee now the Gem of swords-- + And offer next, thine hand to arm, + The heavenly bard's beloved charm. + Now with two arms I thee invest + Of never-ending Sleep and Rest-- + With weapons of the Sun and Rain, + And those that dry and burn amain; + And strong Desire with conquering touch, + The dart that Káma prizes much. + I give the arm of shadowy powers + That bleeding flesh of man devours. + I give the arms the God of Gold + And giant fiends exult to hold. + This smites the foe in battle-strife, + And takes his fortune, strength, and life. + I give the arms called False and True, + And great Illusion give I too; + The hero's arm called Strong and Bright + That spoils the foeman's strength in fight. + I give thee as a priceless boon + The Dew, the weapon of the Moon, + And add the weapon, deftly planned, + That strengthens Viśvakarmá's hand. + The Mortal dart whose point is chill, + And Slaughter, ever sure to kill; + All these and other arms, for thou + Art very dear, I give thee now. + Receive these weapons from my hand, + Son of the noblest in the land." + Facing the east, the glorious saint + Pure from all spot of earthly taint, + To Ráma, with delighted mind, + That noble host of spells consigned. + He taught the arms, whose lore is won + Hardly by Gods, to Raghu's son. + He muttered low the spell whose call + Summons those arms and rules them all-- + And each, in visible form and frame, + Before the monarch's son they came. + They stood and spoke in reverent guise + To Ráma with exulting cries:-- + "O noblest child of Raghu, see, + Thy ministers and thralls are we." + With joyful heart and eager hand + Ráma received the wondrous band, + And thus with words of welcome cried:-- + "Aye present to my will abide"-- + Then hasted to the saint to pay + Due reverence, and pursued his way. + + + + +CANTO XXX + +THE MYSTERIOUS POWERS + + + Pure, with glad cheer and joyful breast, + Of those mysterious arms possessed, + Ráma, now passing on his way, + Thus to the saint began to say:-- + "Lord of these mighty weapons, I + Can scarce be harmed by Gods on high; + Now, best of saints, I long to gain + The powers that can these arms restrain." + Thus spoke the prince. The sage austere, + True to his vows, from evil clear, + Called forth the names of those great charms + Whose powers restrain the deadly arms. + "Receive thou True and Truly-famed, + And Bold and Fleet: the weapons named + Warder and Progress, swift of pace, + Averted-head and Drooping-face; + The Seen, and that which Secret flies-- + The weapon of the thousand eyes; + Ten-headed, and the Hundred-faced, + Star-gazer and the Layer-waste; + The Omen-bird, the Pure-from-spot, + The pair that wake and slumber not; + The Fiendish, that which shakes amain, + The Strong-of-Hand, the Rich-in-Gain; + The Guardian, and the Close-allied, + The Gaper, Love, and Golden-side:-- + O Raghu's son receive all these, + Bright ones that wear what forms they please; + Kriśáśva's mystic sons are they, + And worthy thou their might to sway." + With joy the pride of Raghu's race + Received the hermit's proffered grace-- + Mysterious arms, to check and stay, + Or smite the foeman in the fray. + Then, all with heavenly forms endued, + Nigh came the wondrous multitude. + Celestial in their bright attire + Some shone like coals of burning fire-- + Some were like clouds of dusky smoke; + And suppliant thus they sweetly spoke:-- + "Thy thralls, O Ráma, here we stand-- + Command, we pray, thy faithful band." + "Depart," he cried, "where each may list, + But when I call you to assist, + Be present to my mind with speed, + And aid me in the hour of need." + + To Ráma then they lowly bent, + And round him in due reverence went-- + To his command they answered, "Yea," + And as they came so went away. + When thus the arms had homeward flown, + With pleasant words and modest tone, + E'en as he walked, the prince began + To question thus the holy man:-- + "What cloudlike wood is that which near + The mountain's side I see appear? + O tell me, for I long to know: + Its pleasant aspect charms me so. + Its glades are full of deer at play, + And sweet birds sing on every spray. + Passed is the hideous wild--I feel + So sweet a tremor o'er me steal-- + And hail with transport fresh and new + A land that is so fair to view. + Then tell me all, thou holy Sage, + And whose this pleasant hermitage + In which those wicked ones delight + To mar and kill each holy rite-- + And with foul heart and evil deed + Thy sacrifice, great Saint, impede. + To whom, O Sage, belongs this land + In which thine altars ready stand? + 'Tis mine to guard them, and to slay + The giants who the rites would stay. + All this, O best of saints, I burn + From thine own lips, my lord, to learn." + + + + +CANTO XXXI + +THE PERFECT HERMITAGE + + + Thus spoke the prince of boundless might, + And thus replied the anchorite:-- + "Chief of the mighty arm, of yore + Lord Vishnu, whom the Gods adore + For holy thought and rites austere, + Of penance made his dwelling here. + This ancient wood was called of old + Grove of the Dwarf, the mighty-souled-- + And when perfection he attained + The grove the name of Perfect gained. + Bali of yore, Virochan's son, + Dominion over Indra won-- + And when with power his proud heart swelled, + O'er the three worlds his empire held. + When Bali then began a rite, + The Gods and Indra in affright + Sought Vishnu in this place of rest, + And thus with prayers the God addressed:-- + 'Bali, Virochan's mighty son, + His sacrifice has now begun: + Of boundless wealth, that demon king + Is bounteous to each living thing. + Though suppliants flock from every side + The suit of none is e'er denied. + Whate'er, where'er, howe'er the call, + He hears the suit and gives to all. + Now with thine own illusive art + Perform, O Lord, the helper's part: + Assume a dwarfish form, and thus + From fear and danger rescue us.' + Thus in their dread the Immortals sued + The God, a dwarfish shape indued:-- + Before Virochan's son he came, + Three steps of land his only claim. + The boon obtained, in wondrous wise + Lord Vishnu's form increased in size; + Through all the worlds, tremendous, vast, + God of the Triple Step, he passed. + The whole broad earth from side to side + He measured with one mighty stride-- + Spanned with the next the firmament, + And with the third through heaven he went. + Thus was the king of demons hurled + By Vishnu to the nether world-- + And thus the universe restored + To Indra's rule, its ancient lord. + And now because the Immortal God + This spot in dwarflike semblance trod, + The grove has aye been loved by me + For reverence of the devotee. + But demons haunt it, prompt to stay + Each holy offering I would pay. + Be thine, O lion-lord, to kill + These giants that delight in ill. + This day, beloved child, our feet + Shall rest within the calm retreat; + And know, thou chief of Raghu's line, + My hermitage is also thine." + He spoke; and soon the anchorite, + With joyous looks that beamed delight, + With Ráma and his brother stood + Within the consecrated wood. + Soon as they saw the holy man, + With one accord together ran + The dwellers in the sacred shade, + And to the saint their reverence paid-- + And offered water for his feet, + The gift of honor, and a seat; + And next with hospitable care + They entertained the princely pair. + The royal tamers of their foes + Rested awhile in sweet repose-- + Then to the chief of hermits sued + Standing in suppliant attitude:-- + "Begin, O best of saints, we pray, + Initiatory rites to-day. + This Perfect Grove shall be anew + Made perfect, and thy words be true." + + Then, thus addressed, the holy man, + The very glorious sage, began + The high preliminary rite, + Restraining sense and appetite. + Calmly the youths that night reposed, + And rose when morn her light disclosed-- + Their morning worship paid, and took + Of lustral water from the brook. + Thus purified they breathed the prayer, + Then greeted Viśvámitra where + As celebrant he sate beside + The flame with sacred oil supplied. + + + + +CANTO XXXII + +VIŚVÁMITRA'S SACRIFICE + + That conquering pair, of royal race, + Skilled to observe due time and place-- + To Kúśik's hermit son addressed, + In timely words, their meet request:-- + "When must we, lord, we pray thee tell, + Those Rovers of the Night repel? + Speak, lest we let the moment fly, + And pass the due occasion by." + Thus longing for the strife, they prayed, + And thus the hermit's answer made:-- + "Till the fifth day be come and past, + O Raghu's sons, your watch must last. + The saint his Díkshá has begun, + And all that time will speak to none." + Soon as the steadfast devotees + Had made reply in words like these, + The youths began, disdaining sleep, + Six days and nights their watch to keep-- + The warrior pair who tamed the foe, + Unrivalled benders of the bow, + Kept watch and ward unwearied still + To guard the saint from scathe and ill. + Twas now the sixth returning day, + The hour foretold had passed away. + Then Ráma cried: "O Lakshman, now! + Firm, watchful, resolute be thou. + The fiends as yet have kept afar + From the pure grove in which we are; + Yet waits us, ere the day shall close, + Dire battle with the demon foes." + While thus spoke Ráma, borne away + By longing for the deadly fray, + See! bursting from the altar came + The sudden glory of the flame; + Round priest and deacon, and upon + Grass, ladles, flowers, the splendor shone-- + And the high rite, in order due, + With sacred texts began anew. + But then a loud and fearful roar + Re-echoed through the sky; + And like vast clouds that shadow o'er + The heavens in dark July, + Involved in gloom of magic might + Two fiends rushed on amain-- + Márícha, Rover of the Night, + Suváhu, and their train. + As on they came in wild career + Thick blood in rain they shed; + And Ráma saw those things of fear + Impending overhead. Then, soon as those accursed two + Who showered down blood he spied, + Thus to his brother brave and true + Spoke Ráma lotus-eyed:-- + "Now, Lakshman, thou these fiends shalt see, + Man-eaters, foul of mind, + Before my mortal weapon flee + Like clouds before the wind." + He spoke. An arrow, swift as thought, + Upon his bow he pressed, + And smote, to utmost fury wrought, + Márícha on the breast. + Deep in his flesh the weapon lay + Winged by the mystic spell, + And, hurled a hundred leagues away, + In ocean's flood he fell. + Then Ráma, when he saw the foe + Convulsed and mad with pain + 'Neath the chill-pointed weapon's blow, + To Lakshman spoke again:-- + "See, Lakshman, see! this mortal dart + That strikes a numbing chill, + Hath struck him senseless with the smart, + But left him breathing still. + But these who love the evil way + And drink the blood they spill, + Rejoicing holy rites to stay, + Fierce plagues, my hand shall kill." + He seized another shaft, the best, + Aglow with living flame; + It struck Suváhu on the chest, + And dead to earth he came. + Again a dart, the Wind-God's own, + Upon his string he laid, + And all the demons were overthrown-- + The saints no more afraid. + When thus the fiends were slain in fight, + Disturbers of each holy rite, + Due honor by the saints was paid + To Ráma for his wondrous aid:-- + So Indra is adored when he + Has won some glorious victory. + Success at last the rite had crowned, + And Viśvámitra gazed around-- + And seeing every side at rest, + The son of Raghu thus addressed:-- + "My joy, O Prince, is now complete-- + Thou hast obeyed my will: + Perfect before, this calm retreat + Is now more perfect still." + + + + +CANTO XXXIII + +THE SONE + + Their task achieved, the princes spent + That night with joy and full content. + Ere yet the dawn was well displayed + Their morning rites they duly paid-- + And sought, while yet the light was faint, + The hermits and the mighty saint. + They greeted first that holy sire + Resplendent like the burning fire, + And then with noble words began + Their sweet speech to the sainted man:-- + "Here stand, O lord, thy servants true-- + Command what thou wouldst have us do." + The saints, by Viśvámitra led, + To Ráma thus in answer said:-- + "Janak, the king who rules the land + Of fertile Mithilá, has planned + A noble sacrifice, and we + Will thither go the rite to see. + Thou, Prince of men, with us shalt go, + And there behold the wondrous bow-- + Terrific, vast, of matchless might, + Which, splendid at the famous rite, + The Gods assembled gave the King. + No giant, fiend, or God can string + That gem of bows, no heavenly bard; + Then, sure, for man the task were hard. + When lords of earth have longed to know + The virtue of that wondrous bow, + The strongest sons of kings in vain + Have tried the mighty cord to strain. + This famous bow thou there shalt view, + And wondrous rites shalt witness too. + The high-souled king who lords it o'er + The realm of Mithilá, of yore + Gained from the Gods this bow, the price + Of his imperial sacrifice. + Won by the rite the glorious prize + Still in his royal palace lies-- + Laid up in oil of precious scent + With aloes-wood and incense blent." + Then Ráma answering, "Be it so," + Made ready with the rest to go. + The saint himself was now prepared, + But ere beyond the grove he fared, + He turned him and in words like these + Addressed the sylvan deities:-- + "Farewell! each holy rite complete, + I leave the hermits' perfect seat: + To Gangá's northern shore I go + Beneath Himálaya's peaks of snow." + With reverent steps he paced around + The limits of the holy ground-- + And then the mighty saint set forth + And took his journey to the north. + His pupils, deep in Scripture's page, + Followed behind the holy sage, + And servants from the sacred grove + A hundred wains for convoy drove. + The very birds that winged that air, + The very deer that harbored there, + Forsook the glade and leafy brake + And followed for the hermits' sake. + They travelled far, till in the west + The sun was speeding to his rest, + And made, their portioned journey o'er, + Their halt on Śona's distant shore. + The hermits bathed when sank the sun, + And every rite was duly done-- + Oblations paid to Fire, and then + Sate round their chief the holy men. + Ráma and Lakshman lowly bowed + In reverence to the hermit crowd-- + And Ráma, having sate him down + Before the saint of pure renown, + With humble palms together laid + His eager supplication made:-- + "What country, O my lord, is this, + Fair-smiling in her wealth and bliss? + Deign fully, O thou mighty Seer, + To tell me, for I long to hear." + Moved by the prayer of Ráma, he + Told forth the country's history. + + + + +CANTO XXXIV + +BRAHMADATTA + + A king of Brahmá's seed who bore + The name of Kúsa reigned of yore. + Just, faithful to his vows, and true, + He held the good in honor due. + His bride, a queen of noble name, + Of old Vidarbha's monarchs came. + Like their own father, children four, + All valiant boys, the lady bore. + In glorious deeds each nerve they strained, + And well their Warrior part sustained. + To them most just, and true, and brave, + Their father thus his counsel gave:-- + "Beloved children, ne'er forget + Protection is a prince's debt: + The noble work at once begin, + High virtue and her fruits to win." + The youths, to all the people dear, + Received his speech with willing ear; + And each went forth his several way, + Foundations of a town to lay. + Kuśámba, prince of high renown, + Was builder of Kauśámbí's town, + And Kuśanábha, just and wise, + Bade high Mahodaya's towers arise. + Amúrtarajas chose to dwell + In Dharmáranya's citadel, + And Vasu bade his city fair + The name of Girivraja bear. + This fertile spot whereon we stand + Was once the high-souled Vasu's land. + Behold! as round we turn our eyes, + Five lofty mountain peaks arise. + See! bursting from her parent hill, + Sumágadhí, a lovely rill, + Bright gleaming as she flows between + The mountains, like a wreath is seen-- + And then through Magadh's plains and groves + With many a fair meander roves. + And this was Vasu's old domain, + The fertile Magadh's broad champaign, + Which smiling fields of tilth adorn + And diadem with golden corn. + The queen Ghritáchí, nymph most fair, + Married to Kuśanábha, bare + A hundred daughters lovely faced, + With every charm and beauty graced. + It chanced the maidens, bright and gay + As lightning-flashes on a day + Of rain-time, to the garden went + With song and play and merriment-- + And there in gay attire they strayed, + And danced, and laughed, and sang, and played. + The God of Wind who roves at will + All places, as he lists, to fill, + Saw the young maidens dancing there, + Of faultless shape and mien most fair-- + "I love you all, sweet girls," he cried, + "And each shall be my darling bride. + Forsake, forsake your mortal lot, + And gain a life that withers not. + A fickle thing is youth's brief span, + And more than all is mortal man. + Receive unending youth, and be + Immortal, O my loves, with me," + The hundred girls, to wonder stirred, + The wooing of the Wind-God heard, + Laughed, as a jest, his suit aside, + And with one voice they thus replied:-- + "O mighty Wind, free spirit who + All life pervadest, through and through-- + Thy wondrous power we maidens know; + Then wherefore wilt thou mock us so? + Our sire is Kuśanábha, King; + And we, forsooth, have charms to bring + A God to woo us from the skies; + But honor first we maidens prize. + Far may the hour, we pray, be hence, + When we, O thou of little sense, + Our truthful father's choice refuse, + And for ourselves our husbands choose. + Our honored sire our lord we deem, + He is to us a God supreme-- + And they to whom his high decree + May give us shall our husbands be." + + He heard the answer they returned, + And mighty rage within him burned. + On each fair maid a blast he sent-- + Each stately form he bowed and bent. + Bent double by the Wind-God's ire + They sought the palace of their sire, + There fell upon the ground with sighs, + While tears and shame were in their eyes. + The King himself, with, troubled brow, + Saw his dear girls so fair but now, + A mournful sight all bent and bowed-- + And grieving, thus he cried aloud:-- + "What fate is this, and what the cause? + What wretch has scorned all heavenly laws? + Who thus your forms could curve and break? + You struggle, but no answer make." + They heard the speech of that wise king + Of their misfortune questioning. + Again the hundred maidens sighed, + Touched with their heads his feet, and cried:-- + "The God of Wind, pervading space, + Would bring on us a foul disgrace, + And choosing folly's evil way + From virtue's path in scorn would stray. + But we in words like these reproved + The God of Wind whom passion moved:-- + 'Farewell, O Lord! A sire have we, + No women uncontrolled and free. + Go, and our sire's consent obtain + If thou our maiden hands wouldst gain. + No self-dependent life we live: + If we offend, our fault forgive,' + But led by folly as a slave, + He would not hear the rede we gave, + And even as we gently spoke + We felt the Wind-God's crushing stroke." + The pious King, with grief distressed, + The noble hundred thus addressed:-- + "With patience, daughters, bear your fate, + Yours was a deed supremely great + When with one mind you kept from shame + The honor of your father's name. + Patience, when men their anger vent, + Is woman's praise and ornament; + Yet when the Gods inflict the blow + Hard is it to support the woe. + Patience, my girls, exceeds all price-- + 'Tis alms, and truth, and sacrifice. + Patience is virtue, patience fame: + Patience upholds this earthly frame. + And now, I think, is come the time + To wed you in your maiden prime. + Now, daughters, go where'er you will: + Thoughts for your good my mind shall fill." + The maidens went, consoled, away:-- + The best of kings, that very day, + Summoned his ministers of state + About their marriage to debate. + Since then, because the Wind-God bent + The damsels' forms for punishment, + That royal town is known to fame + By Kanyákubja's borrowed name. + + There lived a sage called Chúli then, + Devoutest of the sons of men; + His days in penance rites he spent, + A glorious saint, most continent. + To him absorbed in tasks austere + The child of Urmílá draw near-- + Sweet Somadá, the heavenly maid, + And lent the saint her pious aid. + Long time near him the maiden spent, + And served him meek and reverent, + Till the great hermit, pleased with her, + Thus spoke unto his minister:-- + "Grateful am I for all thy care-- + Blest maiden, speak, thy wish declare." + The sweet-voiced nymph rejoiced to see + The favor of the devotee, + And to that excellent old man, + Most eloquent she thus began:-- + "Thou hast, by heavenly grace sustained, + Close union with the Godhead gained. + I long, O Saint, to see a son + By force of holy penance won. + Unwed, a maiden life I live: + A son to me, thy suppliant, give." + The saint with favor heard her prayer, + And gave a son exceeding fair. + Him, Chúli's spiritual child, + His mother Brahmadatta styled. + King Brahmadatta, rich and great, + In Kámpilí maintained his state-- + Ruling, like Indra in his bliss, + His fortunate metropolis. + King Kuśanábha planned that he + His hundred daughters' lord should be. + To him, obedient to his call, + The happy monarch gave them all. + Like Indra then he took the hand + Of every maiden of the band. + Soon as the hand of each young maid + In Brahmadatta's palm was laid, + Deformity and cares away, + She shone in beauty bright and gay. + Their freedom from the Wind-God's might + Saw Kuśanábha with delight. + Each glance that on their forms he threw + Filled him with raptures ever new. + Then when the rites were all complete, + With highest marks of honor meet + The bridegroom with his brides he sent + To his great seat of government. + The nymph received with pleasant speech + Her daughters; and, embracing each, + Upon their forms she fondly gazed, + And royal Kuśanábha praised. + + + + +CANTO XXXV + +VIŚVÁMITRA'S LINEAGE + + The rites were o'er, the maids were wed, + The bridegroom to his home was sped. + The sonless monarch bade prepare + A sacrifice to gain an heir. + Then Kuśa, Brahmá's son, appeared, + And thus King Kuśanábha cheered:-- + 'Thou shalt, my child, obtain a son + Like thine own self, O holy one. + Through him forever, Gádhi named, + Shalt thou in all the worlds be famed.' + He spoke and vanished from the sight + To Brahmá's world of endless light. + Time fled, and, as the saint foretold, + Gádhi was born, the holy-souled. + My sire was he; through him I trace + My line from royal Kúsa's race. + My sister--elder-born was she-- + The pure and good Satyavatí, + Was to the great Richíka wed. + Still faithful to her husband dead, + She followed him, most noble dame, + And, raised to heaven in human frame, + A pure celestial stream became. + Down from Himálaya's snowy height, + In floods forever fair and bright, + My sister's holy waves are hurled + To purify and glad the world. + Now on Himálaya's side I dwell + Because I love my sister well. + She, for her faith and truth renowned, + Most loving to her husband found, + High-fated, firm in each pure vow, + Is queen of all the rivers now. + Bound by a vow I left her side + And to the Perfect convent hied. + There, by the aid 'twas thine to lend, + Made perfect, all my labors end. + Thus, mighty Prince, I now have told + My race and lineage, high and old, + And local tales of long ago + Which thou, O Ráma, fain wouldst know. + As I have sate rehearsing thus + The midnight hour is come on us. + Now, Ráma, sleep, that nothing may + Our journey of to-morrow stay. + No leaf on any tree is stirred-- + Hushed in repose are beast and bird: + Where'er you turn, on every side, + Dense shades of night the landscape hide. + The light of eve is fled: the skies, + Thick-studded with their host of eyes, + Seem a star-forest overhead, + Where signs and constellations spread. + Now rises, with his pure cold ray, + The moon that drives the shades away, + And with his gentle influence brings + Joy to the hearts of living things. + Now, stealing from their lairs, appear + The beasts to whom the night is dear. + Now spirits walk, and every power + That revels in the midnight hour." + + The mighty hermit's tale was o'er, + He closed his lips and spoke no more. + The holy men on every side, + "Well done! well done," with reverence cried, + "The mighty men of Kuśa's seed + Were ever famed for righteous deed. + Like Brahmá's self in glory shine + The high-souled lords of Kuśa's line. + And thy great name is sounded most, + O Saint, amid the noble host. + And thy dear sister--fairest she + Of streams, the high-born Kauśikí-- + Diffusing virtue where she flows, + New splendor on thy lineage throws." + Thus by the chief of saints addressed + The son of Gádhi turned to rest; + So, when his daily course is done, + Sinks to his rest the beaming sun. + Ráma, with Lakshman, somewhat stirred + To marvel by the tales they heard, + Turned also to his couch, to close + His eyelids in desired repose. + + + + +CANTO XXXVI + +THE BIRTH OF GANGÁ + + The hours of night now waning fast + On Śona's pleasant shore they passed. + Then, when the dawn began to break. + To Ráma thus the hermit spake:-- + "The light of dawn is breaking clear, + The hour of morning rites is near. + Rise, Ráma, rise, dear son, I pray, + And make thee ready for the way." + Then Ráma rose, and finished all + His duties at the hermit's call-- + Prepared with joy the road to take, + And thus again in question spake:-- + "Here fair and deep the Śona flows, + And many an isle its bosom shows: + What way, O Saint, will lead us o'er + And land us on the farther shore?" + The saint replied: "The way I choose + Is that which pious hermits use." + For many a league they journeyed on + Till, when the sun of mid-day shone, + The hermit-haunted flood was seen + Of Jáhnaví, the Rivers' Queen. + Soon as the holy stream they viewed, + Thronged with a white-winged multitude + Of sárases and swans, delight + Possessed them at the lovely sight; + And then prepared the hermit band + To halt upon that holy strand. + They bathed as Scripture bids, and paid + Oblations due to God and shade. + To Fire they burnt the offerings meet, + And sipped the oil, like Amrit sweet. + Then pure and pleased they sate around + Saint Viśvámitra, on the ground. + The holy men of lesser note, + In due degree, sate more remote, + While Raghu's sons took nearer place + By virtue of their rank and race. + Then Ráma said: "O Saint, I yearn + The three-pathed Gangá's tale to learn." + + Thus urged, the sage recounted both + The birth of Gangá and her growth:-- + "The mighty hill with metals stored, + Himálaya, is the mountains' lord, + The father of a lovely pair + Of daughters fairest of the fair-- + Their mother, offspring of the will + Of Meru, everlasting hill, + Mená, Himálaya's darling, graced + With beauty of her dainty waist. + Gangá was elder-born:--then came + The fair one known by Umá's name. + Then all the Gods of heaven, in need + Of Gangá's help their vows to speed, + To great Himálaya came and prayed + The Mountain King to yield the maid. + He, not regardless of the weal + Of the three worlds, with holy zeal + His daughter to the Immortals gave, + Gangá whose waters cleanse and save-- + Who roams at pleasure, fair and free, + Purging all sinners, to the sea. + The three-pathed Gangá thus obtained, + The Gods their heavenly homes regained. + Long time the sister Umá passed + In vows austere and rigid fast, + And the King gave the devotee + Immortal Rudra's bride to be-- + Matching with that unequalled Lord + His Umá through the worlds adored. + So now a glorious station fills + Each daughter of the King of Hills-- + One honored as the noblest stream, + One mid the Goddesses supreme. + Thus Gangá, King Himálaya's child, + The heavenly river, undefiled, + Rose bearing with her to the sky + Her waves that bless and purify." + + +[_Cantos XXXVII and XXXVIII are omitted._] + + +CANTO XXXIX + +THE SONS OF SAGAR + + The saint in accents sweet and clear + Thus told his tale for Ráma's ear-- + And thus anew the holy man + A legend to the prince began:-- + "There reigned a pious monarch o'er + Ayodhyá in the days of yore: + Sagar his name:--no child had he, + And children much he longed to see. + His honored consort, fair of face, + Sprang from Vidarbha's royal race-- + Keśiní, famed from early youth + For piety and love of truth. + Arishtanemi's daughter fair, + With whom no maiden might compare + In beauty, though the earth is wide, + Sumati, was his second bride. + With his two queens afar he went, + And weary days in penance spent, + Fervent, upon Himálaya's hill + Where springs the stream called Bhrigu's rill. + Nor did he fail that saint to please + With his devout austerities, + And, when a hundred years had fled, + Thus the most truthful Bhrigu said:-- + 'From thee, O Sagar, blameless King, + A mighty host of sons shall spring, + And thou shalt win a glorious name + Which none, O Chief, but thou shall claim. + One of thy queens a son shall bear + Maintainer of thy race and heir; + And of the other there shall be + Sons sixty thousand born to thee.' + Thus as he spake, with one accord, + To win the grace of that high lord, + The queens, with palms together laid, + In humble supplication prayed:-- + 'Which queen, O Bráhman, of the pair, + The many, or the one shall bear? + Most eager, Lord, are we to know, + And as thou sayest be it so,' + With his sweet speech the saint replied:-- + 'Yourselves, O Queens, the choice decide. + Your own discretion freely use + Which shall the one or many choose: + One shall the race and name uphold, + The host be famous, strong, and bold. + Which will have which?' Then Keśiní + The mother of one heir would be. + Sumati, sister of the King + Of all the birds that ply the wing, + To that illustrious Bráhman sued + That she might bear the multitude-- + Whose fame throughout the world should sound + For mighty enterprise renowned. + Around the saint the monarch went, + Bowing his head, most reverent. + Then with his wives, with willing feet, + Resought his own imperial seat, + Time passed. The elder consort bare + A son called Asamanj, the heir. + Then Sumati, the younger, gave + Birth to a gourd, O hero brave, + Whose rind, when burst and cleft in two, + Gave sixty thousand babes to view. + All these with care the nurses laid + In jars of oil; and there they stayed, + Till, youthful age and strength complete, + Forth speeding from each dark retreat-- + All peers in valor, years, and might, + The sixty thousand came to light. + Prince Asamanj, brought up with care, + Scourge of his foes, was made the heir. + But liegemen's boys he used to cast + To Sarjú's waves that hurried past-- + Laughing the while in cruel glee + Their dying agonies to see. + This wicked prince who aye withstood + The counsel of the wise and good, + Who plagued the people in his hate, + His father banished from the state. + His son, kind-spoken, brave, and tall, + Was Anśumán, beloved of all. + Long years flew by. The King decreed + To slay a sacrificial steed. + Consulting with his priestly band + He vowed the rite his soul had planned, + And, Veda-skilled, by their advice + Made ready for the sacrifice." + + + + +CANTO XL + +THE CLEAVING OF THE EARTH + + The hermit ceased--the tale was done:-- + Then in a transport Raghu's son + Again addressed the ancient sire + Resplendent as a burning fire:-- + "O holy man, I fain would hear + The tale repeated full and clear + How he from whom my sires descend + Brought the great rite to happy end," + The hermit answered with a smile:-- + "Then listen, son of Raghu, while + My legendary tale proceeds + To tell of high-souled Sagar's deeds. + Within the spacious plain that lies + From where Himálaya's heights arise + To where proud Vindhya's rival chain + Looks down upon the subject plain-- + A land the best for rites declared-- + His sacrifice the king prepared. + And Anśumán the prince--for so + Sagar advised--with ready bow + Was borne upon a mighty car + To watch the steed who roamed afar. + But Indra, monarch of the skies, + Veiling his form in demon guise, + Came down upon the appointed day + And drove the victim horse away. + Reft of the steed the priests, distressed, + The master of the rite addressed:-- + 'Upon the sacred day by force + A robber takes the victim horse. + Haste, King! now let the thief be slain; + Bring thou the charger back again: + The sacred rite prevented thus + Brings scathe and woe to all of us. + Rise, Monarch, and provide with speed + That nought its happy course impede.' + + King Sagar in his crowded court + Gave ear unto the priests' report. + He summoned straightway to his side + His sixty thousand sons, and cried:-- + 'Brave sons of mine, I know not how + These demons are so mighty now-- + The priests began the rite so well + All sanctified with prayer and spell. + If in the depths of earth he hide, + Or lurk beneath the ocean's tide, + Pursue, dear sons, the robber's track; + Slay him and bring the charger back. + The whole of this broad earth explore, + Sea-garlanded, from shore to shore: + Yea, dig her up with might and main + Until you see the horse again. + Deep let your searching labor reach, + A league in depth dug out by each. + The robber of our horse pursue, + And please your sire who orders you. + My grandson, I, this priestly train, + Till the steed comes, will here remain.' + + Their eager hearts with transport burned + As to their task the heroes turned. + Obedient to their father, they + Through earth's recesses forced their way. + With iron arms' unflinching toil + Each dug a league beneath the soil. + Earth, cleft asunder, groaned in pain, + As emulous they plied amain-- + Sharp-pointed coulter, pick, and bar, + Hard as the bolts of Indra are. + Then loud the horrid clamor rose + Of monsters dying 'neath their blows, + Giant and demon, fiend and snake, + That in earth's core their dwelling make. + They dug, in ire that nought could stay, + Through sixty thousand leagues their way-- + Cleaving the earth with matchless strength + Till hell itself they reached at length. + Thus digging searched they Jambudvíp + With all its hills and mountains steep. + Then a great fear began to shake + The heart of God, bard, fiend, and snake-- + And all distressed in spirit went + Before the Sire Omnipotent. + With signs of woe in every face + They sought the mighty Father's grace, + And trembling still and ill at ease + Addressed their Lord in words like these:-- + 'The sons of Sagar, Sire benign, + Pierce the whole earth with mine on mine, + And as their ruthless work they ply + Innumerable creatures die,' + 'This is the thief,' the princes say, + 'Who stole our victim steed away. + This marred the rite, and caused us ill.' + And so their guiltless blood they spill. + + + + +CANTO XLI + +KAPIL + + "The Father lent a gracious ear + And listened to their tale of fear, + And kindly to the Gods replied + Whom woe and death had terrified:-- + 'The wisest Vásudeva, who + The Immortals' foe, fierce Madhu, slew, + Regards broad Earth with love and pride, + And guards, in Kapil's form, his bride. + His kindled wrath will quickly fall + On the King's sons and burn them all. + This cleaving of the earth his eye + Foresaw in ages long gone by: + He knew with prescient soul the fate + That Sagar's children should await.' + The Three-and-thirty, freed from fear, + Sought their bright homes with hopeful cheer. + Still rose the great tempestuous sound + As Sagar's children pierced the ground. + When thus the whole broad earth was cleft, + And not a spot unsearched was left, + Back to their home the princes sped, + And thus unto their father said:-- + 'We searched the earth from side to side, + While countless hosts of creatures died. + Our conquering feet in triumph trod + On snake and demon, fiend and God; + But yet we failed, with all our toil, + To find the robber and the spoil. + What can we more? If more we can, + Devise, O King, and tell thy plan,' + His children's speech King Sagar heard, + And answered thus, to anger stirred:-- + 'Dig on, and ne'er your labor stay + Till through earth's depths you force your way. + Then smite the robber dead, and bring + The charger back with triumphing.' + + The sixty thousand chiefs obeyed-- + Deep through the earth their way they made. + Deep as they dug and deeper yet + The immortal elephant they met-- + Famed Virúpáksha vast of size, + Upon whose head the broad earth lies: + The mighty beast who earth sustains + With shaggy hills and wooded plains. + When, with the changing moon, distressed, + And longing for a moment's rest, + His mighty head the monster shakes, + Earth to the bottom reels and quakes. + Around that warder strong and vast + With reverential steps they passed-- + Nor, when the honor due was paid, + Their downward search through earth delayed. + But turning from the east aside + Southward again their task they plied. + There Mahápadma held his place, + The best of all his mighty race-- + Like some huge hill, of monstrous girth, + Upholding on his head the earth. + When the vast beast the princes saw, + They marvelled and were filled with awe. + The sons of high-souled Sagar round + That elephant in reverence wound. + Then in the western region they + With might unwearied cleft their way. + There saw they with astonished eyes + Saumanas, beast of mountain size. + Round him with circling steps they went + With greetings kind and reverent. + On, on--no thought of rest or stay-- + They reached the seat of Soma's sway. + There saw they Bhadra, white as snow, + With lucky marks that fortune show, + Bearing the earth upon his head. + Round him they paced with solemn tread, + And honored him with greetings kind; + Then downward yet their way they mined. + They gained the tract 'twixt east and north + Whose fame is ever blazoned forth, + And by a storm of rage impelled, + Digging through earth their course they held. + Then all the princes, lofty-souled, + Of wondrous vigor, strong and bold, + Saw Vásudeva standing there + In Kapil's form he loved to wear, + And near the everlasting God + The victim charger cropped the sod. + They saw with joy and eager eyes + The fancied robber and the prize, + And on him rushed the furious band + Crying aloud, 'Stand, villain! stand!' + 'Avaunt! avaunt!' great Kapil cried, + His bosom flushed with passion's tide; + Then by his might that proud array + All scorched to heaps of ashes lay. + + + + +CANTO XLII + +SAGAR'S SACRIFICE + + Then to the prince his grandson, bright + With his own fame's unborrowed light, + King Sagar thus began to say, + Marvelling at his sons' delay:-- + 'Thou art a warrior skilled and bold, + Match for the mighty men of old. + Now follow on thine uncles' course + And track the robber of the horse. + To guard thee take thy sword and bow, + For huge and strong are beasts below. + There to the reverend reverence pay, + And kill the foes who check thy way; + Then turn successful home and see + My sacrifice complete through thee.' + + Obedient to the high-souled lord + Grasped Anśumán his bow and sword, + And hurried forth the way to trace + With youth and valor's eager pace. + On sped he by the path he found + Dug by his uncles underground. + The warder elephant he saw + Whose size and strength pass Nature's law-- + Who bears the world's tremendous weight, + Whom God, fiend, giant, venerate. + Bird, serpent, and each flitting shade, + To him the honor meet he paid-- + With circling steps and greeting due, + And further prayed him, if he knew, + To tell him of his uncles' weal, + And who had dared the horse to steal. + + To him in war and council tried + The warder elephant replied:-- + 'Thou, son of Asamanj, shalt lead + In triumph back the rescued steed,' + + As to each warder beast he came + And questioned all, his words the same, + The honored youth with gentle speech + Drew eloquent reply from each-- + That fortune should his steps attend, + And with the horse he home should wend. + Cheered with the grateful answer, he + Passed on with step more light and free, + And reached with careless heart the place + Where lay in ashes Sagar's race. + Then sank the spirit of the chief + Beneath that shock of sudden grief-- + And with a bitter cry of woe + He mourned his kinsmen fallen so. + He saw, weighed down by woe and care, + The victim charger roaming there. + Yet would the pious chieftain fain + Oblations offer to the slain: + But, needing water for the rite, + He looked and there was none in sight. + His quick eye searching all around + The uncle of his kinsmen found-- + King Garud, best beyond compare + Of birds who wing the fields of air. + Then thus unto the weeping man + The son of Vinatá began:-- + 'Grieve not, O hero, for their fall + Who died a death approved of all. + Of mighty strength, they met their fate + By Kapil's hand whom none can mate. + Pour forth for them no earthly wave, + A holier flood their spirits crave. + If, daughter of the Lord of Snow, + Gangá would turn her stream below, + Her waves that cleanse all mortal stain + Would wash their ashes pure again. + Yea, when her flood whom all revere + Rolls o'er the dust that moulders here, + The sixty thousand, freed from sin, + A home in Indra's heaven shall win. + Go, and with ceaseless labor try + To draw the Goddess from the sky. + Return, and with thee take the steed; + So shall thy grandsire's rite succeed,' + + Prince Anśumán the strong and brave + Followed the rede Suparna gave. + The glorious hero took the horse, + And homeward quickly bent his course. + Straight to the anxious King he hied, + Whom lustral rites had purified-- + The mournful story to unfold + And all the King of birds had told. + The tale of woe the monarch heard, + No longer was the rite deferred: + With care and just observance he + Accomplished all, as texts decree. + The rites performed, with brighter fame, + Mighty in counsel, home he came. + He longed to bring the river down, + But found no plan his wish to crown. + He pondered long with anxious thought, + But saw no way to what he sought. + Thus thirty thousand years he spent, + And then to heaven the monarch went. + + + + +CANTO XLIII + +BHAGÍRATH + + "When Sagar thus had bowed to fate, + The lords and commons of the state + Approved with ready heart and will + Prince Anśumán his throne to fill. + He ruled, a mighty king, unblamed, + Sire of Dilípa justly famed. + To him, his child and worthy heir, + The King resigned his kingdom's care, + And on Himálaya's pleasant side + His task austere of penance plied. + Bright as a God in clear renown + He planned to bring pure Gangá down. + There on his fruitless hope intent + Twice sixteen thousand years he spent, + And in the grove of hermits stayed + Till bliss in heaven his rites repaid. + Dilípa then, the good and great, + Soon as he learnt his kinsmen's fate, + Bowed down by woe, with troubled mind. + Pondering long no cure could find. + 'How can I bring,' the mourner sighed, + 'To cleanse their dust, the heavenly tide? + How can I give them rest, and save + Their spirits with the offered wave?' + Long with this thought his bosom skilled + In holy discipline was filled. + A son was born, Bhagírath named, + Above all men for virtue famed. + Dilípa many a rite ordained, + And thirty thousand seasons reigned. + But when no hope the king could see + His kinsmen from their woe to free, + The lord of men, by sickness tried, + Obeyed the law of fate, and died; + He left the kingdom to his son, + And gained the heaven his deeds had won. + The good Bhagírath, royal sage, + Had no fair son to cheer his age. + He, great in glory, pure in will, + Longing for sons was childless still. + Then on one wish, one thought intent, + Planning the heavenly stream's descent, + Leaving his ministers the care + And burden of his state to bear-- + Dwelling in far Gokarna he + Engaged in long austerity. + With senses checked, with arms upraised, + Five fires around and o'er him blazed. + Each weary month the hermit passed + Breaking but once his awful fast. + In winter's chill the brook his bed, + In rain, the clouds to screen his head. + Thousands of years he thus endured + Till Brahmá's favor was assured-- + And the high Lord of living things + Looked kindly on his sufferings. + With trooping Gods the Sire came near + The King who plied his task austere:-- + 'Blest Monarch, of a glorious race, + Thy fervent rites have won my grace. + Well hast thou wrought thine awful task, + Some boon in turn, O Hermit, ask.' + + Bhagírath, rich in glory's light, + The hero with the arm of might, + Thus to the Lord of earth and sky + Raised suppliant hands and made reply:-- + 'If the great God his favor deigns, + And my long toil its fruit obtains, + Let Sagar's sons receive from me + Libations that they long to see. + Let Gangá with her holy wave + The ashes of the heroes lave-- + That so my kinsmen may ascend + To heavenly bliss that ne'er shall end. + And give, I pray, O God, a son, + Nor let my house be all undone. + Sire of the worlds! be this the grace + Bestowed upon Ikshváku's race,' + The Sire, when thus the King had prayed, + In sweet kind words his answer made:-- + 'High, high thy thought and wishes are, + Bhagírath of the mighty car! + Ikshváku's line is blest in thee, + And as thou prayest it shall be. + Gangá, whose waves in Swarga flow, + Is daughter of the Lord of Snow. + Win Śiva that his aid be lent + To hold her in her mid-descent-- + For earth alone will never bear + Those torrents hurled from upper air; + And none may hold her weight but He, + The Trident-wielding deity,' + Thus having said, the Lord supreme + Addressed him to the heavenly stream; + And then with Gods and Maruts went + To heaven, above the firmament." + + + + +ŚAKOONTALÁ + +BY + +KÁLIDÁSA + + + +[_Translation by Sir Monier Monier-Williams_] + + +INTRODUCTION + + +The drama is always the latest development of a national poetry--for the +origin of poetry is in the religious rite, where the hymn or the ode is +used to celebrate the glories of some divinity, or some hero who has +been received into the circle of the gods. This at least is the case in +Sanscrit as in Greek literature, where the hymn and ballad precede the +epic. The epic poem becomes the stable form of poetry during the middle +period in the history of literature, both in India and Greece. The union +of the lyric and the epic produces the drama. The speeches uttered by +the heroes in such poems as the "Iliad" are put into the mouths of real +personages who appear in sight of the audience and represent with +fitting gestures and costumes the characters of the story. The dialogue +is interspersed with songs or odes, which reach their perfection in the +choruses of Sophocles. + +The drama is undoubtedly the most intellectual, as it is the most +artificial, form of poetry. The construction of the plot, and the +arrangement of the action, give room for the most thoughtful and +deliberate display of genius. In this respect the Greek drama stands +forth as most philosophically perfect. The drama, moreover, has always +been by far the most popular form of poetry; because it aids, as much as +possible, the imagination of the auditor, and for distinctness and +clearness of impression stands preëminent above both the epic narrative +and the emotional description of the lyric. + +The drama in India appears to have been a perfectly indigenous creation, +although it was of very late development, and could not have appeared +even so early as the Alexandrian pastorals which marked the last phase +of Greek poetry. When it did appear, it never took the perfect form of +the drama at Athens. It certainly borrowed as little from Greece as it +did from China or Japan, and the Persians and Arabians do not appear to +have produced any dramatic masterpieces. The greatest of dramatists in +the Sanscrit language is undoubtedly Kálidása, whose date is placed, by +different scholars, anywhere from the first to the fifth century of our +era. His masterpiece, and indeed the masterpiece of the Indian drama, is +the "Śakoontalá," which has all the graces as well as most of the faults +of Oriental poetry. There can be no doubt that to most Europeans the +charm of it lies in the exquisite description of natural scenery and of +that atmosphere of piety and religious calm--almost mediaeval in its +austere beauty and serenity--which invests the hermit life of India. The +abode of the ascetics is depicted with a pathetic grace that we only +find paralleled in the "Admetus" of Euripides. But at the same time the +construction of the drama is more like such a play as Milton's "Comus," +than the closely-knit, symmetrical, and inevitable progress of such a +work of consummate skill as the "King Oedipus" of Sophocles. Emotion, +and generally the emotion of love, is the motive in the "Śakoontalá" of +Kálidása, and different phases of feeling, rather than the struggles of +energetic action, lead on to the _dénouement_ of the play. The +introduction of supernatural agencies controlling the life of the +personages, leaves very little room for the development and description +of human character. As the fate of the hero is dependent altogether upon +the caprice of superhuman powers, the moral elements of a drama are but +faintly discernible. Thus the central action of Śakoontalá hinges on the +fact that the heroine, absorbed in thoughts of love, neglects to welcome +with due respect the great saint Durvasas--certainly a trifling and +venial fault--but he is represented as blighting her with a curse which +results in all the unhappiness of the drama, and which is only ended at +last by the intervention of a more powerful being. By this principle of +construction the characters are reduced to mere shadow creations: +beautiful as arabesques, delicate as a piece of ivory carving, tinted +like the flat profiles of an Oriental fan or the pattern of a porcelain +vase, but deficient in robustness and vigorous coloring. Humanity is +absolutely dwarfed and its powers rendered inoperative by the crowd of +supernatural creatures that control its destiny. Even in the "Tempest" +of Shakespeare, in which the supernatural plays a greater part than in +any other English drama, the strength and nobility of human character +are allowed full play--and man in his fortitude, in his intellect and +will, even more than in his emotions, keeps full possession of the +stage, and imparts a reality to every scene which makes the wildest +flight of fancy bear a real relation to the common experiences of human +life. + +The "Śakoontalá" is divided into seven acts, and is a mixture of prose +and verse;--each character rising in the intensity of emotional +utterance into bursts of lyric poetry. The first act introduces the King +of India, Dushyanta, armed with bow and arrows, in a chariot with his +driver. They are passing through a forest in pursuit of a black +antelope, which they fail to overtake before the voice of some hermit +forbids them to slay the creature as it belongs to the hermitage. The +king piously desists and reaches the hermitage of the great saint Kanwa, +who has left his companions in charge of his foster-daughter, +Śakoontalá, while he is bound on a pilgrimage. Following these hermits +the king finds himself within the precincts of a sacred grove, where +rice is strewn on the ground to feed the parrots that nest in the hollow +trunks, and where the unterrified antelopes do not start at the human +voice. The king stops his chariot and alights, so as not to disturb the +dwellers in the holy wood. He feels a sudden throb in his right arm, +which augurs happy love, and sees hermit maidens approaching to sprinkle +the young shrubs, with watering-pots suited to their strength. The forms +of these hermit maidens eclipse those found in queenly halls, as the +luxuriance of forest vines excels the trim vineyards of cultivation. +Amongst these maidens the king, concealed by the trees, observes +Śakoontalá, dressed in the bark garment of a hermit--like a blooming bud +enclosed within a sheath of yellow leaves. When she stands by the +_keśara_-tree, the king is impressed by her beauty, and regrets that she +is, if of a purely Bráhmanic origin, forbidden to marry one of the +warrior class, even though he be a king. A very pretty description is +given of the pursuit of Śakoontalá by a bee which her sprinkling has +startled from a jasmine flower. From this bee she is rescued by the +king, and is dismayed to find that the sight of the stranger affects her +with an emotion unsuited to the holy grove. She hurries off with her two +companions, but as she goes she declares that a prickly _kusa_-grass has +stung her foot; a _kuruvaka_-bush has caught her garment, and while her +companions disentangle it, she takes a long look at the king, who +confesses that he cannot turn his mind from Śakoontalá. This is the +opening episode of their love. + +The second act introduces the king's jester, a Bráhman on confidential +terms with his master, who, while Dushyanta is thinking of love, is +longing to get back to the city. He is tired of the hot jungle, the +nauseating water of bitter mountain streams, the racket of fowlers at +early dawn, and the eternal galloping, by which his joints are bruised. +The king is equally tired of hunting, and confesses that he cannot bend +his bow against those fawns which dwell near Śakoontalá's abode, and +have taught their tender glance to her. He calls back the beaters sent +out to surround the forest, takes off his hunting-suit, and talks to the +jester about the charms of Śakoontalá--whom the Creator, he says, has +formed by gathering in his mind all lovely shapes, so as to make a +peerless woman-gem. He recalls the glance which she shot at him as she +cried, "a _kusha-grass_ has stung my foot." Meanwhile two hermits +approach him with the news that the demons have taken advantage of +Kanwa's absence to disturb the sacrifices. They request him to take up +his abode in the grove for a few days, in order to vanquish the enemies. +A messenger arrives to tell him that his mother, in four days, will be +offering a solemn sacrifice for her son's welfare, and invites his +presence at the rite. But he cannot leave Śakoontalá, and sends the +jester Máthavya in his stead, telling him to say nothing about his love +for Śakoontalá. + +In the third act the love of the king and the hermit girl reaches its +climax. The king is found walking in the hermitage, invoking the God of +Love, whose shafts are flowers, though the flowery darts are hard as +steel. "Mighty God of Love, hast Thou no pity on me?" What better +relief, he asks, than the sight of my beloved? He traces Śakoontalá, by +the broken tubes which bore the blossoms she had culled, to the arbor, +enclosed by the plantation of canes, and shaded by vines, at whose +entrance he observes in the sand the track of recent footsteps. Peering +through the branches, he perceives her reclining on a stone seat strewn +with flowers. Her two companions are with her, and she is sick unto +death. The king notices that her cheeks are wasted, her breasts less +swelling, her slender waist more slender, her roseate hue has grown +pale, and she seems like some poor _madhave_ creeper touched by winds +that have scorched its leaves. Her companions anxiously inquire the +cause of her sickness, and, after much hesitation, she reveals her love +by inscribing a poem, with her fingernail, on a lotus leaf smooth as a +parrot's breast. The king hears the avowal of her love, rushes in to +her, and declares his passion: adding that daughters of a royal saint +have often been wedded by _Gandharva_ rites, without ceremonies or +parental consent, yet have not forfeited the father's blessing. He thus +overcomes her scruples. Gautamí, the matron of the hermitage, afterwards +enters, and asks, "My child, is your fever allayed?" "Venerable mother," +is the reply, "I feel a grateful change." As the king sits in solitude +that evening in the deserted arbor, he hears a voice outside, uttering +the verses--"The evening rites have begun; but, dark as the clouds of +night, the demons are swarming round the altar fires." With these words +of ill-omen the third act comes to an end. + +The fourth act describes the fulfilment of this evil omen. The king has +now returned to the city, and has given Śakoontalá a signet ring, with +an inscription on it, pronouncing that after there have elapsed as many +days as there are letters in this inscription he will return. As the two +maiden companions of Śakoontalá are culling flowers in the garden of the +hermitage, they hear a voice exclaiming, "It is I! give heed!" This is +the great Durvasas, whom Śakoontalá, lost in thoughts of her absent +husband, has neglected at once to go forth to welcome. The voice from +behind the scenes is soon after heard uttering a curse--"Woe unto her +who is thus neglectful of a guest," and declaring that Dushyanta, of +whom alone she is thinking, regardless of the presence of a pious saint, +shall forget her in spite of all his love, as the wine-bibber forgets +his delirium. The Hindoo saint is here described in all his arrogance +and cruelty. One of the maidens says that he who had uttered the curse +is now retiring with great strides, quivering with rage--for his wrath +is like a consuming fire. A pretty picture is given of Śakoontalá, who +carries on her finger the signet ring, which has the virtue of restoring +the king's love, if ever he should forget her. "There sits our beloved +friend," cries one of the maidens: "motionless as a picture; her cheek +supported by her left hand, so absorbed in thoughts of her absent lover +that she is unconscious of her own self--how much more of a passing +stranger?" + +In the fourth act there is an exquisite description of the return of +Kanwa from his pilgrimage, and the preparations for the start of +Śakoontalá for her husband's palace, in the city. The delicate pathos of +the scene is worthy of Euripides. "Alas! Alas!" exclaim the two maidens, +"Now Śakoontalá has disappeared behind the trees of the forest. Tell us, +master, how shall we enter again the sacred grove made desolate by her +departure?" But the holy calm, broken for a moment by the excitement of +his child's departure, is soon restored to Kanwa's mind. "Now that my +child is dismissed to her husband's home, tranquillity regains my soul." +The closing reflection is worthy of a Greek dramatist: "Our maids we +rear for the happiness of others; and now that I have sent her to her +husband I feel the satisfaction that comes from restoring a trust." + +In the fifth act, the scene is laid in Dushyanta's palace, where the +king is living, under the curse of Durvasas, in complete oblivion of +Śakoontalá. The life of the court is happily suggested, with its +intrigues and its business. The king has yet a vague impression of +restlessness, which, on hearing a song sung behind the scenes, prompts +him to say, "Why has this strain flung over me so deep a melancholy, as +though I was separated from some loved one; can this be the faint +remembrance of affections in some previous existence?" It is here that +the hermits, with Gautamí, arrive, bringing Śakoontalá, soon to be made +a mother, into the presence of the king; but she has been utterly +forgotten by him. He angrily denies his marriage; and when she proposes +to bring forth the ring, she finds she has lost it from her finger. "It +must have slipped off," suggested Gautamí, "when thou wast offering +homage to Śachí's holy lake." The king smiles derisively. Śakoontalá +tries to quicken his memory:--"Do you remember how, in the jasmine +bower, you poured water from the lotus cup into the hollow of my hand? +Do you remember how you said to my little fawn, Drink first, but she +shrunk from you--and drank water from my hand, and you said, with a +smile, 'Like trusts Like,' for you are two sisters in the same grove." +The king calls her words "honeyed falsehoods." Śakoontalá buries her +face in her mantle and bursts into tears. + +The tenderness of this scene, its grace and delicacy, are quite idyllic, +and worthy of the best ages of the pastoral drama. The ring is at +length restored to Dushyanta, having been found by a fisherman in the +belly of a carp. On its being restored to the king's finger, he is +overcome with a flood of recollection: he gives himself over to mourning +and forbids the celebration of the Spring festival. He admits that his +palsied heart had been slumbering, and that, now it is roused by +memories of his fawn-eyed love, he only wakes to agonies of remorse. +Meanwhile Śakoontalá had been carried away like a celestial nymph to the +sacred grove of Kaśyapa, far removed from earth in the upper air. The +king, being summoned by Indra to destroy the brood of giants, +descendants of Kalamemi, the monster of a hundred arms and heads, +reaches in the celestial car Indra, the grove where dwell his wife and +child, an heroic boy whom the hermits call Sarva-damana--the all-tamer. +The recognition and reconciliation of husband and wife are delineated +with the most delicate skill, and the play concludes with a prayer to +Shiva. + +E.W. + +DRAMATIS PERSONÆ + +DUSHYANTA, King of India. + +MÁTHAVYA, the Jester, friend and companion of the King. + +KANWA, chief of the Hermits, foster-father of Śakoontalá. + +SÁRNGARAVA, SÁRADWATA, two Bráhmans, belonging to the hermitage of +Kanwa. + +MITRÁVASU, brother-in-law of the King, and Superintendent of the city +police. + +JÁNUKA, SÚCHAKA, two constables. + +VÁTÁYANA, the Chamberlain or attendant on the women's apartments. + +SOMARÁTA, the domestic Priest. + +KARABHAKA, a messenger of the Queen-mother. + +RAIVATAKA, the warder or door-keeper. + +MÁTALI, charioteer of Indra. + +SARVA-DAMANA, afterwards Bharata, a little boy, son of Dushyanta by +Śakoontalá. + +KAŚYAPA, a divine sage, progenitor of men and gods, son of Maríchi and +grandson of Brahmá. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ, daughter of the sage Viśwámitra and the nymph Menaká, +foster-child of the hermit Kanwa. + +PRIYAMVADÁ and ANASÚYÁ, female attendants, companions of Śakoontalá. + +GAUTAMÍ, a holy matron, Superior of the female inhabitants of the +hermitage. + +VASUMATÍ, the Queen of Dushyanta. + +SÁNUMATÍ, a nymph, friend of Śakoontalá. + +TARALIKÁ, personal attendant of the King. + +CHATURIKÁ, personal attendant of the Queen. + +VETRAVATÍ, female warder, or door-keeper. + +PARABARITIKÁ and MADHUKARIKÁ, maidens in charge of the royal gardens. + +SUVRATÁ, a nurse. + +ADITI, wife of Kaśyapa; grand-daughter of Brahmá, through her father, +Daksha. + +Charioteer, Fisherman, Officers, and Hermits. + + +RULES FOR PRONUNCIATION OF PROPER NAMES + +Observe, that in order to secure the correct pronunciation of the title +of this Drama, "Śakuntalá" has been spelt "Śa-koontalá," the _u_ being +pronounced like the _u_ in the English word _rule_. + +The vowel _a_ must invariably be pronounced with a dull sound, like the +_a_ in _organ_, or the _u_ in _fun, sun. Dushyanta_ must therefore be +pronounced as if written _Dooshyunta_. The long vowel _a_ is pronounced +like the _a_ in _last, cart; i_ like the _i_ in _pin, sin_; _í_ like the +_i_ in _marine; e_ like the _e_ in _prey; o_ like the _o_ in _so; ai_ +like the _ai_ in _aisle; au_ like _au_ in the German word _baum_, or +like the _ou_ in _our_. + +The consonants are generally pronounced as in English, but _g_ has +always the sound of _g_ in _gun, give_, never of _g_ in _gin. S_ with +the accent over it (ś) has the sound of _s_ in _sure_, or of the last +_s_ in _session_. + + + +ŚAKOONTALÁ + +PROLOGUE + +Benediction + + Iśa preserve you! he who is revealed + In these eight forms by man perceptible-- + Water, of all creation's works the first; + The fire that bears on high the sacrifice + Presented with solemnity to heaven; + The Priest, the holy offerer of gifts; + The Sun and Moon, those two majestic orbs, + Eternal marshallers of day and night; + The subtle Ether, vehicle of sound, + Diffused throughout the boundless universe; + The Earth, by sages called "The place of birth + Of all material essences and things"; + And Air, which giveth life to all that breathe. + +STAGE-MANAGER [_after the recitation of the benediction, looking towards +the tiring-room._]--Lady, when you have finished attiring yourself, come +this way. + +ACTRESS [_entering._]--Here I am, Sir; what are your commands? + +STAGE-MANAGER.--We are here before the eyes of an audience of educated +and discerning men; and have to represent in their presence a new drama +composed by Kálidása, called "Śakoontalá, or the Lost Ring." Let the +whole company exert themselves to do justice to their several parts. + +ACTRESS,--You, Sir, have so judiciously managed the cast of the +characters, that nothing will be defective in the acting. + +STAGE-MANAGER.--Lady, I will tell you the exact state of the case. + No skill in acting can I deem complete, + Till from the wise the actor gain applause: + Know that the heart e'en of the truly skilful, + Shrinks from too boastful confidence in self. + +ACTRESS [_modestly_].--You judge correctly. And now, what are your +commands? + +STAGE-MANAGER.--What can you do better than engage the attention of the +audience by some captivating melody? + +ACTRESS.--Which among the seasons shall I select as the subject of my +song? + +STAGE-MANAGER.--You surely ought to give the preference to the present +Summer season that has but recently commenced, a season so rich in +enjoyment. For now + Unceasing are the charms of halcyon days, + When the cool bath exhilarates the frame; + When sylvan gales are laden with the scent + Of fragrant Pátalas; when soothing sleep + Creeps softly on beneath the deepening shade; + And when, at last, the dulcet calm of eve + Entrancing steals o'er every yielding sense. + +ACTRESS.--I will. [_Sings._ + Fond maids, the chosen of their hearts to please, + Entwine their ears with sweet Śirísha flowers, + Whose fragrant lips attract the kiss of bees + That softly murmur through the summer hours. + +STAGE-MANAGER.--Charmingly sung! The audience are motionless as statues, +their souls riveted by the enchanting strain. What subject shall we +select for representation, that we may insure a continuance of their +favor? + +ACTRESS.--Why not the same, Sir, announced by you at first? Let the +drama called "Śakoontalá, or the Lost Ring," be the subject of our +dramatic performance. + +STAGE-MANAGER.--Rightly reminded! For the moment I had forgotten it. + Your song's transporting melody decoyed + My thoughts, and rapt with ecstasy my soul; + As now the bounding antelope allures + The King Dushyanta on the chase intent. [_Exeunt._ + + + + +ACT FIRST + +Scene.--A Forest + + +_Enter King Dushyanta, armed with a bow and arrow, in a chariot, chasing +an antelope, attended by his Charioteer_. + +CHARIOTEER [_looking at the deer, and then at the King_].-- +Great Prince, + When on the antelope I bend my gaze, + And on your Majesty, whose mighty bow + Has its string firmly braced; before my eyes + The god that wields the trident seems revealed, + Chasing the deer that flies from him in vain. + +KING.--Charioteer, this fleet antelope has drawn us far from my +attendants. See! there he runs:-- + Aye and anon his graceful neck he bends + To cast a glance at the pursuing car; + And dreading now the swift-descending shaft, + Contracts into itself his slender frame: + About his path, in scattered fragments strewn, + The half-chewed grass falls from his panting mouth; + See! in his airy bounds he seems to fly, + And leaves no trace upon th'elastic turf. + [_With astonishment_. +How now! swift as is our pursuit, I scarce can see him. + +CHARIOTEER.--Sire, the ground here is full of hollows; I have therefore +drawn in the reins and checked the speed of the chariot. Hence the deer +has somewhat gained upon us. Now that we are passing over level ground, +we shall have no difficulty in overtaking him. + +KING.--Loosen the reins, then. + +CHARIOTEER.--The King is obeyed. [_Drives the chariot at full speed_.] +Great Prince, see! see! + Responsive to the slackened rein, the steeds + Chafing with eager rivalry, career + With emulative fleetness o'er the plain; + Their necks outstretched, their waving plumes, that late + Fluttered above their brows, are motionless; + Their sprightly ears, but now erect, bent low; + Themselves unsullied by the circling dust, + That vainly follows on their rapid course. + +KING [_joyously_].--In good sooth, the horses seem as if they would +outstrip the steeds of Indra and the Sun.[33] + That which but now showed to my view minute + Quickly assumes dimension; that which seemed + A moment since disjoined in diverse parts, + Looks suddenly like one compacted whole; + That which is really crooked in its shape + In the far distance left, grows regular; + Wondrous the chariot's speed, that in a breath, + Makes the near distant and the distant near. + +Now, Charioteer, see me kill the deer. [_Takes aim_. + +A VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Hold, O King! this deer belongs to our +hermitage. Kill it not! kill it not! + +CHARIOTEER [_listening and looking_].--Great King, some hermits have +stationed themselves so as to screen the antelope at the very moment of +its coming within range of your arrow. + +KING [_hastily_].--Then stop the horses. + +CHARIOTEER.--I obey. [_Stops the chariot_. + +_Enter a Hermit, and two others with him_. + +HERMIT [_raising his hand_].--This deer, O King, belongs to our +hermitage. Kill it not! kill it not! + Now heaven forbid this barbèd shaft descend + Upon the fragile body of a fawn, + Like fire upon a heap of tender flowers! + Can thy steel bolts no meeter quarry find + Than the warm life-blood of a harmless deer? + Restore, great Prince, thy weapon to its quiver; + More it becomes thy arms to shield the weak, + Than to bring anguish on the innocent. + +KING.--'Tis done. [_Replaces the arrow in its quiver_. + +HERMIT.--Worthy is this action of a Prince, the light of Puru's race. + Well does this act befit a Prince like thee, + Right worthy is it of thine ancestry. + Thy guerdon be a son of peerless worth, + Whose wide dominion shall embrace the earth. + +BOTH THE OTHER HERMITS [_raising their hands_].--May heaven indeed grant +thee a son, a sovereign of the earth from sea to sea! + +KING [_bowing._]--I accept with gratitude a Bráhman's benediction. + +HERMIT.--We came hither, mighty Prince, to collect sacrificial wood. +Here on the banks of the Máliní you may perceive the hermitage of the +great sage Kanwa. If other duties require not your presence, deign to +enter and accept our hospitality. + When you behold our penitential rites + Performed without impediment by Saints + Rich only in devotion, then with pride + Will you reflect, Such are the holy men + Who call me Guardian; such the men for whom + To wield the bow I bare my nervous arm, + Scarred by the motion of the glancing string. + +KING.--Is the Chief of your Society now at home? + +HERMIT.--No; he has gone to Soma-tírtha to propitiate Destiny, which +threatens his daughter Śakoontalá with some calamity; but he has +commissioned her in his absence to entertain all guests with +hospitality. + +KING.--Good! I will pay her a visit. She will make me acquainted with +the mighty sage's acts of penance and devotion. + +HERMIT.--And we will depart on our errand. + [_Exit with his companions_. + +KING.--Charioteer, urge on the horses. We will at least purify our souls +by a sight of this hallowed retreat. + +CHARIOTEER.--Your Majesty is obeyed. + [_Drives the chariot with great velocity_. + +KING [_looking all about him_].--Charioteer, even without being told, I +should have known that these were the precincts of a grove consecrated +to penitential rites. + +CHARIOTEER.--How so? + +KING.--Do not you observe? + Beneath the trees, whose hollow trunks afford + Secure retreat to many a nestling brood + Of parrots, scattered grains of rice lie strewn. + Lo! here and there are seen the polished slabs + That serve to bruise the fruit of Ingudí. + The gentle roe-deer, taught to trust in man, + Unstartled hear our voices. On the paths + Appear the traces of bark-woven vests + Borne dripping from the limpid fount of waters. + And mark! Laved are the roots of trees by deep canals, + Whose glassy waters tremble in the breeze; + The sprouting verdure of the leaves is dimmed + By dusky wreaths of upward curling smoke + From burnt oblations; and on new-mown lawns + Around our car graze leisurely the fawns. + +CHARIOTEER.--I observe it all. + +KING [_advancing a little further_].--The inhabitants of this sacred +retreat must not be disturbed. Stay the chariot, that I may alight. + +CHARIOTEER.--The reins are held in. Your Majesty may descend. + +KING [_alighting_].--Charioteer, groves devoted to penance must be +entered in humble attire. Take these ornaments. +[_Delivers his ornaments and bow to the Charioteer_.] +Charioteer, see that the horses are watered, and attend to them until I +return from visiting the inhabitants of the hermitage. + +CHARIOTEER.--I will. [_Exit_. + +KING [_walking and looking about_].--Here is the entrance to the +hermitage. I will now go in. + [_Entering he feels a throbbing sensation in his arm_ + Serenest peace is in this calm retreat, + By passion's breath unruffled; what portends + My throbbing arm? Why should it whisper here + Of happy love? Yet everywhere around us + Stand the closed portals of events unknown. + +A VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--This way, my dear companions; this way. + +KING [_listening_].--Hark! I hear voices to the right of yonder grove of +trees. I will walk in that direction. [_Walking and looking about_.] Ah! +here are the maidens of the hermitage coming this way to water the +shrubs, carrying watering-pots proportioned to their strength. [_Gazing +at them_.] How graceful they look! + In palaces such charms are rarely ours; + The woodland plants outshine the garden flowers. +I will conceal myself in this shade and watch them. + [_Stands gazing at them_. + +_Enter Śakoontalá, with her two female companions, employed in the +manner described_. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--This way, my dear companions; this way. + +ANASÚYÁ.--Dear Śakoontalá, one would think that father Kanwa had more +affection for the shrubs of the hermitage even than for you, seeing he +assigns to you who are yourself as delicate as the fresh-blown jasmine, +the task of filling with water the trenches which encircle their roots. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Dear Anasúyá, although I am charged by my good father with +this duty, yet I cannot regard it as a task. I really feel a sisterly +love for these plants. + [_Continues watering the shrubs_. + +KING.--Can this be the daughter of Kanwa? The saintly man, though +descended from the great Kaśyapa, must be very deficient in judgment to +habituate such a maiden to the life of a recluse. + The sage who would this form of artless grace + Inure to penance--thoughtlessly attempts + To cleave in twain the hard acacia's stem + With the soft edge of a blue lotus leaf. +Well! concealed behind this tree, I will watch her without raising her +suspicions. [_Conceals himself_. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Good Anasúyá, Priyamvadá has drawn this bark-dress too +tightly about my chest. I pray thee, loosen it a little. + +ANASÚYÁ.--I will. [_Loosens it_. + +PRIYAMVADÁ [_smiling_].--Why do you lay the blame on me? Blame rather +your own blooming youthfulness which imparts fulness to your bosom. + +KING.--A most just observation! + This youthful form, whose bosom's swelling charms + By the bark's knotted tissue are concealed, + Like some fair bud close folded in its sheath, + Gives not to view the blooming of its beauty. +But what am I saying? In real truth, this bark-dress, though ill-suited +to her figure, sets it off like an ornament. + The lotus with the Saivala entwined + Is not a whit less brilliant: dusky spots + Heighten the lustre of the cold-rayed moon: + This lovely maiden in her dress of bark + Seems all the lovelier. E'en the meanest garb + Gives to true beauty fresh attractiveness. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_looking before her_].--Yon Keśara-tree beckons to me with +its young shoots, which, as the breeze waves them to and fro, appear +like slender fingers. I will go and attend to it. [_Walks towards it_. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--Dear Śakoontalá, prithee, rest in that attitude one moment. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Why so? + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--The Keśara-tree, whilst your graceful form bends about its +stem, appears as if it were wedded to some lovely twining creeper. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Ah! saucy girl, you are most appropriately named Priyamvadá +("Speaker of flattering things"). + +KING.--What Priyamvadá says, though complimentary, is nevertheless true. +Verily, + Her ruddy lip vies with the opening bud; + Her graceful arms are as the twining stalks; + And her whole form is radiant with the glow + Of youthful beauty, as the tree with bloom. + +ANASÚYÁ.--See, dear Śakoontalá, here is the young jasmine, which you +named "the Moonlight of the Grove," the self-elected wife of the +mango-tree. Have you forgotten it? + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Rather will I forget myself. [_Approaching the plant and +looking at it_.] How delightful is the season when the jasmine-creeper +and the mango-tree seem thus to unite in mutual embraces! The fresh +blossoms of the jasmine resemble the bloom of a young bride, and the +newly-formed shoots of the mango appear to make it her natural +protector. [_Continues gazing at it_. + +PRIYAMVADÁ [_smiling_].--Do you know, my Anasúyá, why Śakoontalá gazes +so intently at the jasmine? + +ANASÚYÁ.--No, indeed, I cannot imagine. I pray thee tell me. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--She is wishing that as the jasmine is united to a suitable +tree, so, in like manner, she may obtain a husband worthy of her. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Speak for yourself, girl; this is the thought in your own +mind. [_Continues watering the flowers_. + +KING.--Would that my union with her were permissible! and yet I hardly +dare hope that the maiden is sprung from a caste different from that of +the Head of the hermitage. But away with doubt:-- + That she is free to wed a warrior-king + My heart attests. For, in conflicting doubts, + The secret promptings of the good man's soul + Are an unerring index of the truth. + +However, come what may, I will ascertain the fact. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_in a flurry_].--Ah! a bee, disturbed by the sprinkling of +the water, has left the young jasmine, and is trying to settle on my +face. [_Attempts to drive it away_. + +KING [_gazing at her ardently_].--Beautiful! there is something charming +even in her repulse. + Where'er the bee his eager onset plies, + Now here, now there, she darts her kindling eyes: + What love hath yet to teach, fear teaches now, + The furtive glances and the frowning brow. + [_In a tone of envy_. + Ah happy bee! how boldly dost thou try + To steal the lustre from her sparkling eye; + And in thy circling movements hover near, + To murmur tender secrets in her ear; + Or, as she coyly waves her hand, to sip + Voluptuous nectar from her lower lip! + While rising doubts my heart's fond hopes destroy, + Thou dost the fulness of her charms enjoy. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--This impertinent bee will not rest quiet. I must move +elsewhere. [_Moving a few steps off, and casting a glance around_.] How +now! he is following me here. Help! my dear friends, help! deliver me +from the attacks of this troublesome insect. + +PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--How can we deliver you? Call Dushyanta to your +aid. The sacred groves are under the king's special protection. + +KING.--An excellent opportunity for me to show myself. Fear +not--[_Checks himself when the words are half-uttered._ _Aside_.] But +stay, if I introduce myself in this manner, they will know me to be the +King. Be it so, I will accost them, nevertheless. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_moving a step or two further off_].--What! it still +persists in following me. + +KING [_advancing hastily_].--When mighty Puru's offspring sways the +earth, + And o'er the wayward holds his threatening rod, + Who dares molest the gentle maids that keep + Their holy vigils here in Kanwa's grove? + + [_All look at the King, and are embarrassed_. + +ANASÚYÁ.--Kind Sir, no outrage has been committed; only our dear friend +here was teased by the attacks of a troublesome bee. + [_Points to Śakoontalá_. + +KING [_turning to Śakoontalá_].--I trust all is well with your +devotional rites? + + [_Śakoontalá stands confused and silent_. + +ANASÚYÁ.--All is well, indeed, now that we are honored by the reception +of a distinguished guest. Dear Śakoontalá, go, bring from the hermitage +an offering of flowers, rice, and fruit. This water that we have brought +with us will serve to bathe our guest's feet. + +KING.--The rites of hospitality are already performed; your truly kind +words are the best offering I can receive. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--At least be good enough, gentle Sir, to sit down awhile, +and rest yourself on this seat shaded by the leaves of the Sapta-parna +tree. + +KING.--You, too, must all be fatigued by your employment. + +ANASÚYÁ.--Dear Śakoontalá, there is no impropriety in our sitting by the +side of our guest: come, let us sit down here. + + [_All sit down together_. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside_].--How is it that the sight of this man has made me +sensible of emotions inconsistent with religious vows? + +KING [_gazing at them all by turns_].--How charmingly your friendship is +in keeping with the equality of your ages and appearance! + +PRIYAMVADÁ [_aside to Anasúyá_].--Who can this person be, whose lively +yet dignified manner, and polite conversation, bespeak him a man of high +rank? + +ANASÚYÁ.--I, too, my dear, am very curious to know. I will ask him +myself. [_Aloud_]. Your kind words, noble Sir, fill me with confidence, +and prompt me to inquire of what regal family our noble guest is the +ornament? what country is now mourning his absence? and what induced a +person so delicately nurtured to expose himself to the fatigue of +visiting this grove of penance? + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside_].--Be not troubled, O my heart, Anasúyá is giving +utterance to thy thoughts. + +KING [_aside_].--How now shall I reply? shall I make myself known, or +shall I still disguise my real rank? I have it; I will answer her thus. +[_Aloud_]. I am the person charged by his majesty, the descendant of +Puru, with the administration of justice and religion; and am come to +this sacred grove to satisfy myself that the rites of the hermits are +free from obstruction. + +ANASÚYÁ.--The hermits, then, and all the members of our religious +society have now a guardian. + + [_Śakoontalá gazes bashfully at the King_. + +PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ [_perceiving the state of her feelings, and of +the King's. Aside to Śakoontalá_].--Dear Śakoontalá, if father Kanwa +were but at home to-day------ + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_angrily_].--What if he were? + +PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--He would honor this our distinguished guest +with an offering of the most precious of his possessions. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Go to! you have some silly idea in your minds. I will not +listen to such remarks. + +KING.--May I be allowed, in my turn, to ask you maidens a few +particulars respecting your friend? + +PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--Your request, Sir, is an honor. + +KING.--The sage Kanwa lives in the constant practice of austerities. +How, then, can this friend of yours be called his daughter? + +ANASÚYÁ.--I will explain to you, Sir. You have heard of an illustrious +sage of regal caste, Viśwámitra, whose family name is Kaúsika. + +KING.--I have. + +ANASÚYÁ.--Know that he is the real father of our friend. The venerable +Kanwa is only her reputed father. He it was who brought her up, when she +was deserted by her mother. + +KING.--"Deserted by her mother!" My curiosity is excited; pray let me +hear the story from the beginning. + +ANASÚYÁ.--You shall hear it, Sir. Some time since, this sage of regal +caste, while performing a most severe penance on the banks of the river +Godávarí, excited the jealousy and alarm of the gods; insomuch that they +despatched a lovely nymph named Menaká to interrupt his devotions. + +KING.--The inferior gods, I am aware, are jealous of the power which the +practice of excessive devotion confers on mortals. + +ANASÚYÁ.--Well, then, it happened that Viśwámitra, gazing on the +bewitching beauty of that nymph at a season when, spring being in its +glory------ + [_Stops short, and appears confused_. + +KING.--The rest may be easily divined. Śakoontalá, then, is the +offspring of the nymph. + +ANASÚYÁ.--Just so. + +KING.--It is quite intelligible. + How could a mortal to such charms give birth? + The lightning's radiance flashes not from earth. + + [_Śakoontalá remains modestly seated with downcast eyes. + +[Aside_]. And so my desire has really scope for its indulgence. Yet I am +still distracted by doubts, remembering the pleasantry of her female +companions respecting her wish for a husband. + +PRIYAMVADÁ [_looking with a smile at Śakoontalá, and then turning +towards the King_].--You seem desirous, Sir, of asking something +further. + + [_Śakoontalá makes a chiding gesture with her finger_. + +KING.--You conjecture truly. I am so eager to hear the particulars of +your friend's history, that I have still another question to ask. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--Scruple not to do so. Persons who lead the life of hermits +may be questioned unreservedly. + +KING.--I wish to ascertain one point respecting your friend-- + Will she be bound by solitary vows + Opposed to love, till her espousals only? + Or ever dwell with these her cherished fawns, + Whose eyes, in lustre vieing with her own, + Return her gaze of sisterly affection? + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--Hitherto, Sir, she has been engaged in the practice of +religious duties, and has lived in subjection to her foster-father; but +it is now his fixed intention to give her away in marriage to a husband +worthy of her. + +KING [_aside_].--His intention may be easily carried into effect. + Be hopeful, O my heart, thy harrowing doubts + Are past and gone; that which thou didst believe + To be as unapproachable as fire, + Is found a glittering gem that may be touched. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_pretending anger_].--Anasúyá, I shall leave you. + +ANASÚYÁ.--Why so? + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--That I may go and report this impertinent Priyamvadá to the +venerable matron, Gautamí.[34] + +ANASÚYÁ.--Surely, dear friend, it would not be right to leave a +distinguished guest before he has received the rights of hospitality, +and quit his presence in this wilful manner. + + [_Śakoontalá, without answering a word, moves away_. + +KING [_making a movement to arrest her departure, but checking himself. +Aside_].--Ah! a lover's feelings betray themselves by his gestures. + When I would fain have stayed the maid, a sense + Of due decorum checked my bold design: + Though I have stirred not, yet my mien betrays + My eagerness to follow on her steps. + +PRIYAMVADÁ [_holding Śakoontalá back_].--Dear Śakoontalá, it does not +become you to go away in this manner. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_frowning_].--Why not, pray? + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--You are under a promise to water two more shrubs for me. +When you have paid your debt, you shall go, and not before. + [_Forces her to turn back_. + +KING.--Spare her this trouble, gentle maiden. The exertion of watering +the shrubs has already fatigued her. + The water-jar has overtasked the strength + Of her slim arms; her shoulders droop, her hands + Are ruddy with the glow of quickened pulses; + E'en now her agitated breath imparts + Unwonted tremor to her heaving breast; + The pearly drops that mar the recent bloom + Of the Śirísha pendant in her ear, + Gather in clustering circles on her cheek; + Loosed is the fillet of her hair: her hand + Restrains the locks that struggle to be free. +Suffer me, then, thus to discharge the debt for you. + +[_Offers a ring to Priyamvadá. Both the maidens, reading the name +Dushyanta on the seal, look at each other with surprise._ + +KING.--Nay, think not that I am King Dushyanta. I am only the king's +officer, and this is the ring which I have received from him as my +credentials. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--The greater the reason you ought not to part with the ring +from your finger. I am content to release her from her obligation at +your simple request. [_With a smile_.] Now, Śakoontalá my love, you are +at liberty to retire, thanks to the intercession of this noble stranger, +or rather of this mighty prince. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside_].--My movements are no longer under my own control. +[_Aloud_.] Pray, what authority have you over me, either to send me away +or keep me back? + +KING [_gazing at Śakoontalá. Aside_].--Would I could ascertain whether +she is affected towards me as I am towards her! At any rate, my hopes +are free to indulge themselves. Because, + Although she mingles not her words with mine, + Yet doth her listening ear drink in my speech; + Although her eye shrinks from my ardent gaze, + No form but mine attracts its timid glances. + +A VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--O hermits, be ready to protect the +animals belonging to our hermitage. King Dushyanta, amusing himself with +hunting, is near at hand. + Lo! by the feet of prancing horses raised, + Thick clouds of moving dust, like glittering swarms + Of locusts in the glow of eventide, + Fall on the branches of our sacred trees; + Where hang the dripping vests of woven bark, + Bleached by the waters of the cleansing fountain. +And see! + Scared by the royal chariot in its course, + With headlong haste an elephant invades + The hallowed precincts of our sacred grove; + Himself the terror of the startled deer, + And an embodied hindrance to our rites. + The hedge of creepers clinging to his feet, + Feeble obstruction to his mad career, + Is dragged behind him in a tangled chain; + And with terrific shock one tusk he drives + Into the riven body of a tree, + Sweeping before him all impediments. + +KING [_aside_].--Out upon it! my retinue are looking for me, and are +disturbing this holy retreat. Well! there is no help for it; I must go +and meet them. + +PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--Noble Sir, we are terrified by the accidental +disturbance caused by the wild elephant. Permit us to return into the +cottage. + +KING [_hastily_].--Go, gentle maidens. It shall be our care that no +injury happen to the hermitage. [_All rise up_. + +PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--After such poor hospitality we are ashamed to +request the honor of a second visit from you. + +KING.--Say not so. The mere sight of you, sweet maidens, has been to me +the best entertainment. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Anasúyá, a pointed blade of Kuśa-grass[35] has pricked my +foot; and my bark-mantle is caught in the branch of a Kuruvaka-bush. Be +so good as to wait for me until I have disentangled it. +[_Exit with her two companions, after making pretexts for delay, that +she may steal glances at the King_. + +KING.--I have no longer any desire to return to the city. I will +therefore rejoin my attendants, and make them encamp somewhere in the +vicinity of this sacred grove. In good truth, Śakoontalá has taken such +possession of my thoughts, that I cannot turn myself in any other +direction. + My limbs drawn onward leave my heart behind, + Like silken pennon borne against the wind. + + +[33] The speed of the chariot resembled that of the wind and the sun. +Indra was the god of the firmament or atmosphere. The sun, in Hindoo +mythology, is represented as seated in a chariot drawn by seven green +horses, having before him a lovely youth without legs, who acts as +charioteer, and who is Aruna, or the Dawn personified. + +[34] The Matron or Superior of the female part of the society of +hermits. Their authority resembled that of an abbess in a convent of +nuns. + +[35] A grass held sacred by the Hindoos and freely used at their +religious ceremonies. Its leaves are very long and taper to a +needle-like point. + + + + +ACT SECOND + +Scene.--A Plain on the Skirts of the Forest + + +_Enter the Jester, Máthavya, in a melancholy mood_. + +MÁTHAVYA [_sighing_].--Heigh-ho! what an unlucky fellow I am! worn to a +shadow by my royal friend's sporting propensities. "Here's a deer!" +"There goes a boar!" "Yonder's a tiger!" This is the only burden of our +talk, while in the heat of the meridian sun we toil on from jungle to +jungle, wandering about in the paths of the woods, where the trees +afford us no shelter. Are we thirsty? We have nothing to drink but the +foul water of some mountain stream, filled with dry leaves which give it +a most pungent flavor. Are we hungry? We have nothing to eat but roast +game, which we must swallow down at odd times, as best we can. Even at +night there is no peace to be had. Sleeping is out of the question, with +joints all strained by dancing attendance upon my sporting friend; or if +I do happen to doze, I am awakened at the very earliest dawn by the +horrible din of a lot of rascally beaters and huntsmen, who must needs +surround the wood before sunrise, and deafen me with their clatter. Nor +are these my only troubles. Here's a fresh grievance, like a new boil +rising upon an old one! Yesterday, while we were lagging behind, my +royal friend entered yonder hermitage after a deer; and there, as +ill-luck would have it? caught sight of a beautiful girl, called +Śakoontalá, the hermit's daughter. From that moment, not another thought +about returning to the city! and all last night, not a wink of sleep did +he get for thinking of the damsel. What is to be done? At any rate, I +will be on the watch for him as soon as he has finished his toilet. +[[_Walking and looking about_.] Oh! here he comes, attended by the +Yavana women with bows in their hands, and wearing garlands of wild +flowers. What shall I do? I have it. I will pretend to stand in the +easiest attitude for resting my bruised and crippled limbs. + [_Stands leaning on a staff_. + +_Enter King Dushyanta, followed by a retinue in the manner described_. + +KING.--True, by no easy conquest may I win her, + Yet are my hopes encouraged by her mien. + Love is not yet triumphant; but, methinks, + The hearts of both are ripe for his delights. +[_Smiling_.] Ah! thus does the lover delude himself; judging of the +state of his loved one's feelings by his own desires. But yet, + The stolen glance with half-averted eye, + The hesitating gait, the quick rebuke + Addressed to her companion, who would fain + Have stayed her counterfeit departure; these + Are signs not unpropitious to my suit. + So eagerly the lover feeds his hopes, + Claiming each trivial gesture for his own. + +MÁTHAVYA [_still in the same attitude_].--Ah, friend, my hands cannot +move to greet you with the usual salutation. I can only just command my +lips to wish your majesty victory. + +KING.--Why, what has paralyzed your limbs? + +MÁTHAVYA.--You might as well ask me how my eye comes to water after you +have poked your finger into it. + +KING.--I don't understand you; speak more intelligibly. + +MÁTHAVYA.--Ah, my dear friend, is yonder upright reed transformed into a +crooked plant by its own act, or by the force of the current? + +KING.--The current of the river causes it, I suppose. + +MÁTHAVYA.--Aye; just as you are the cause of my crippled limbs. + +KING.--How so? + +MÁTHAVYA.--Here are you living the life of a wild man of the woods in a +savage, unfrequented region, while your state affairs are left to shift +for themselves; and as for poor me, I am no longer master of my own +limbs, but have to follow you about day after day in your chases after +wild animals, till my bones are all crippled and out of joint. Do, my +dear friend, let me have one day's rest. + +KING [_aside_].--This fellow little knows, while he talks in this +manner, that my mind is wholly engrossed by recollections of the +hermit's daughter, and quite as disinclined to the chase as his own. + No longer can I bend my well-braced bow + Against the timid deer; nor e'er again + With well-aimed arrows can I think to harm + These her beloved associates, who enjoy + The privilege of her companionship; + Teaching her tender glances in return. + +MÁTHAVYA [_looking in the King's face_].--I may as well speak to the +winds, for any attention you pay to my requests. I suppose you have +something on your mind, and are talking it over to yourself. + +KING [_smiling_].--I was only thinking that I ought not to disregard a +friend's request. + +MÁTHAVYA.--Then may the King live forever! [_Moves off_. + +KING.--Stay a moment, my dear friend. I have something else to say to +you. + +MÁTHAVYA.--Say on, then. + +KING.--When you have rested, you must assist me in another business, +which will give you no fatigue. + +MÁTHAVYA.--In eating something nice, I hope. + +KING.--You shall know at some future time. + +MÁTHAVYA.--No time better than the present. + +KING.--What ho! there. + +WARDER [_entering_].--What are your Majesty's commands? + +KING.--O Raivataka! bid the General of the forces attend. + +WARDER.--I will, Sire. [_Exit and reënters with the General_] +Come forward, General; his Majesty is looking towards you, and has some +order to give you. + +GENERAL [_looking at the King_].--Though hunting is known to produce ill +effects, my royal master has derived only benefit from it. For + Like the majestic elephant that roams + O'er mountain wilds, so does the King display + A stalwart frame, instinct with vigorous life. + His brawny arms and manly chest are scored + By frequent passage of the sounding string; + Unharmed he bears the mid-day sun; no toil + His mighty spirit daunts; his sturdy limbs, + Stripped of redundant flesh, relinquish nought + Of their robust proportions, but appear + In muscle, nerve, and sinewy fibre cased. +[_Approaching the King_.] Victory to the King! We have tracked the wild +beasts to their lairs in the forest. Why delay, when everything is +ready? + +KING.--My friend Máthavya here has been disparaging the chase, till he +has taken away all my relish for it. + +GENERAL [_aside to Máthavya_].--Persevere in your opposition, my good +fellow; I will sound the King's real feelings, and humor him +accordingly. [_Aloud_]. The blockhead talks nonsense, and your Majesty, +in your own person, furnishes the best proof of it. Observe, Sire, the +advantage and pleasure the hunter derives from the chase. + Freed from all grosser influences, his frame + Loses its sluggish humors, and becomes + Buoyant, compact, and fit for bold encounter. + 'Tis his to mark with joy the varied passions, + Fierce heats of anger, terror, blank dismay, + Of forest animals that cross his path. + Then what a thrill transports the hunter's soul, + When, with unerring course, his driven shaft + Pierces the moving mark! Oh! 'tis conceit + In moralists to call the chase a vice; + What recreation can compare with this? + +MÁTHAVYA [_angrily_].--Away! tempter, away! The King has recovered his +senses, and is himself again. As for you, you may, if you choose, wander +about from forest to forest, till some old bear seizes you by the nose, +and makes a mouthful of you. + +KING.--My good General, as we are just now in the neighborhood of a +consecrated grove, your panegyric upon hunting is somewhat ill-timed, +and I cannot assent to all you have said. For the present, + All undisturbed the buffaloes shall sport + In yonder pool, and with their ponderous horns + Scatter its tranquil waters, while the deer, + Couched here and there in groups beneath the shade + Of spreading branches, ruminate in peace. + And all securely shall the herd of boars + Feed on the marshy sedge; and thou, my bow, + With slackened string enjoy a long repose. + +GENERAL.--So please your Majesty, it shall be as you desire. + +KING.--Recall, then, the beaters who were sent in advance to surround +the forest. My troops must not be allowed to disturb this sacred +retreat, and irritate its pious inhabitants. + Know that within the calm and cold recluse + Lurks unperceived a germ of smothered flame, + All-potent to destroy; a latent fire + That rashly kindled bursts with fury forth:-- + As in the disc of crystal that remains + Cool to the touch, until the solar ray + Falls on its polished surface, and excites + The burning heat that lies within concealed. + +GENERAL.--Your Majesty's commands shall be obeyed. + +MÁTHAVYA.--Off with you, you son of a slave! Your nonsense won't go down +here, my fine fellow. [_Exit General_. + +KING [_looking at his attendants_].--Here, women, take my hunting-dress; +and you, Raivataka, keep guard carefully outside. + +ATTENDANTS.--We will, sire. [_Exeunt._ + +MÁTHAVYA.--Now that you have got rid of these plagues, who have been +buzzing about us like so many flies, sit down, do, on that stone slab, +with the shade of the tree as your canopy, and I will seat myself by you +quite comfortably. + +KING.--Go you, and sit down first. + +MÁTHAVYA.--Come along, then. + + [_Both walk on a little way, and seat themselves_. + +KING.--Máthavya, it may be said of you that you have never beheld +anything worth seeing: for your eyes have not yet looked upon the +loveliest object in creation. + +MÁTHAVYA.--How can you say so, when I see your Majesty before me at this +moment? + +KING.--It is very natural that everyone should consider his own friend +perfect; but I was alluding to Śakoontalá, the brightest ornament of +these hallowed groves. + +MÁTHAVYA [_aside_].--I understand well enough, but I am not going to +humor him. [_Aloud_.] If, as you intimate, she is a hermit's daughter, +you cannot lawfully ask her in marriage. You may as well, then, dismiss +her from your mind, for any good the mere sight of her can do. + +KING.--Think you that a descendant of the mighty Puru could fix his +affections on an unlawful object? + Though, as men say, the offspring of the sage, + The maiden to a nymph celestial owes + Her being, and by her mother left on earth, + Was found and nurtured by the holy man + As his own daughter, in this hermitage;-- + So, when dissevered from its parent stalk, + Some falling blossom of the jasmine, wafted + Upon the sturdy sunflower, is preserved + By its support from premature decay. + +MÁTHAVYA [_smiling_].--This passion of yours for a rustic maiden, when +you have so many gems of women at home in your palace, seems to me very +like the fancy of a man who is tired of sweet dates, and longs for sour +tamarinds as a variety. + +KING.--You have not seen her, or you would not talk in this fashion. + +MÁTHAVYA.--I can quite understand it must require something surpassingly +attractive to excite the admiration of such a great man as you. + +KING.--I will describe her, my dear friend, in a few words-- + Man's all-wise Maker, wishing to create + A faultless form, whose matchless symmetry + Should far transcend Creation's choicest works, + Did call together by his mighty will, + And garner up in his eternal mind, + A bright assemblage of all lovely things:-- + And then, as in a picture, fashion them + Into one perfect and ideal form. + Such the divine, the wondrous prototype, + Whence her fair shape was moulded into being. + +MÁTHAVYA.--If that's the case, she must indeed throw all other beauties +into the shade. + +KING.--To my mind she really does. + This peerless maid is like a fragrant flower, + Whose perfumed breath has never been diffused; + A tender bud, that no profaning hand + Has dared to sever from its parent stalk; + A gem of priceless water, just released + Pure and unblemished from its glittering bed. + Or may the maiden haply be compared + To sweetest honey, that no mortal lip + Has sipped; or, rather to the mellowed fruit + Of virtuous actions in some former birth, + Now brought to full perfection? Lives the man + Whom bounteous heaven has destined to espouse her? + +MÁTHAVYA.--Make haste, then, to her aid; you have no time to lose, if +you don't wish this fruit of all the virtues to drop into the mouth of +some greasy-headed rustic of devout habits. + +KING.--The lady is not her own mistress, and her foster-father is not at +home. + +MÁTHAVYA.--Well, but tell me, did she look at all kindly upon you? + +KING.--Maidens brought up in a hermitage are naturally shy and reserved; +but for all that, + She did look towards me, though she quick withdrew + Her stealthy glances when she met my gaze; + She smiled upon me sweetly, but disguised + With maiden grace the secret of her smiles. + Coy love was half unveiled; then, sudden checked + By modesty, left half to be divined. + +MÁTHAVYA.--Why, of course, my dear friend, you never could seriously +expect that at the very first sight she would fall over head and ears in +love with you, and without more ado come and sit in your lap. + +KING.--When we parted from each other, she betrayed her liking for me by +clearer indications, but still with the utmost modesty. + Scarce had the fair one from my presence passed, + When, suddenly, without apparent cause, + She stopped, and counterfeiting pain, exclaimed, + "My foot is wounded by this prickly grass." + Then glancing at me tenderly, she feigned + Another charming pretext for delay, + Pretending that a bush had caught her robe, + And turned as if to disentangle it. + +MÁTHAVYA.--I trust you have laid in a good stock of provisions, for I +see you intend making this consecrated grove your game-preserve, and +will be roaming here in quest of sport for some time to come. + +KING.--You must know, my good fellow, that I have been recognized by +some of the inmates of the hermitage. Now I want the assistance of your +fertile invention, in devising some excuse for going there again. + +MÁTHAVYA.--There is but one expedient that I can suggest. You are the +King, are you not? + +KING.--What then? + +MÁTHAVYA.--Say you have come for the sixth part of their grain, which +they owe you for tribute. + +KING.--No, no, foolish man; these hermits pay me a very different kind +of tribute, which I value more than heaps of gold or jewels; observe, + The tribute which my other subjects bring + Must moulder into dust, but holy men + Present me with a portion of the fruits + Of penitential services and prayers-- + A precious and imperishable gift. + +A VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--We are fortunate; here is the object of +our search. + +KING [_listening],_--Surely those must be the voices of hermits, to +judge by their deep tones. + +WARDER [_entering],_--Victory to the King! two young hermits are in +waiting outside, and solicit an audience of your Majesty. + +KING.--Introduce them immediately. + +WARDER.--I will, my liege. [_Goes out, and reënters with two young +Hermits_.] This way, Sirs, this way. + + [_Both the Hermits look at the King_ + +FIRST HERMIT.--How majestic is his mien, and yet what confidence it +inspires! But this might be expected in a king whose character and +habits have earned for him a title only one degree removed from that of +a Saint. + In this secluded grove, whose sacred joys + All may participate, he deigns to dwell + Like one of us; and daily treasures up + A store of purest merit for himself, + By the protection of our holy rites. + In his own person wondrously are joined + Both majesty and saintlike holiness:-- + And often chanted by inspired bards, + His hallowed title of "Imperial Sage" + Ascends in joyous accents to the skies. + +SECOND HERMIT.--Bear in mind, Gautama, that this is the great Dushyanta, +the friend of Indra. + +FIRST HERMIT.--What of that? + +SECOND HERMIT.--Where is the wonder if his nervous arm, + Puissant and massive as the iron bar + That binds a castle-gateway, singly sways + The sceptre of the universal earth, + E'en to its dark-green boundary of waters? + Or if the gods, beholden to his aid + In their fierce warfare with the powers of hell, + Should blend his name with Indra's in their songs + Of victory, and gratefully accord + No lower meed of praise to his braced bow, + Than to the thunders of the god of heaven? + +BOTH THE HERMITS [_approaching_].--Victory to the King! + +KING [_rising from his seat_].--Hail to you both! + +BOTH THE HERMITS.--Heaven bless your Majesty! + + [_They offer fruits_. + +KING [_respectfully receiving the offering_].--Tell me, I pray you, the +object of your visit. + +BOTH THE HERMITS.--The inhabitants of the hermitage having heard of your +Majesty's sojourn in our neighborhood, make this humble petition. + +KING.--What are their commands? + +BOTH THE HERMITS.--In the absence of our Superior, the great Sage Kanwa, +evil demons are disturbing our sacrificial rites.[36] Deign, therefore, +accompanied by your charioteer, to take up your abode in our hermitage +for a few days. + +KING.--I am honored by your invitation. + +MÁTHAVYA [_aside_].--Most opportune and convenient, certainly! + +KING [_smiling_].--Ho! there, Raivataka! Tell the charioteer from me to +bring round the chariot with my bow. + +WARDER.--I will, Sire. [_Exit._ + +BOTH THE HERMITS [_joyfully_].--Well it becomes the King by acts of +grace + To emulate the virtues of his race. + Such acts thy lofty destiny attest; + Thy mission is to succor the distressed. + +KING [_bowing to the Hermits_].--Go first, reverend Sirs, I will follow +you immediately. + +BOTH THE HERMITS.--May victory attend you! [_Exeunt._ + +KING.--My dear Máthavya, are you not full of longing to see Śakoontalá? + +MÁTHAVYA.--To tell you the truth, though I was just now brimful of +desire to see her, I have not a drop left since this piece of news about +the demons. + +KING.--Never fear; you shall keep close to me for protection. + +MÁTHAVYA.--Well, you must be my guardian-angel, and act the part of a +very Vishnu[37] to me. + +WARDER--[_entering_].--Sire, the chariot is ready, and only waits to +conduct you to victory. But here is a messenger named Karabhaka, just +arrived from your capital, with a message from the Queen, your mother. + +KING--[_respectfully_].--How say you? a messenger from the venerable +Queen? + +WARDER.--Even so. + +KING.--Introduce him at once. + +WARDER.--I will, Sire. [_Goes out, and re-ënters with Karabhaka_.] +Behold the King! Approach. + +KARABHAKA.--Victory to the King! The Queen-mother bids me say that in +four days from the present time she intends celebrating a solemn +ceremony for the advancement and preservation of her son. She expects +that your Majesty will honor her with your presence on that occasion. + +KING.--This places me in a dilemma. Here, on the one hand, is the +commission of these holy men to be executed; and, on the other, the +command of my revered parent to be obeyed. Both duties are too sacred to +be neglected. What is to be done? + +MÁTHAVYA.--You will have to take up an intermediate position between the +two, like King Triśanku, who was suspended between heaven and earth, +because the sage Viśwámitra commanded him to mount up to heaven, and the +gods ordered him down again. + +KING.--I am certainly very much perplexed. For here, + Two different duties are required of me + In widely distant places; how can I + In my own person satisfy them both? + Thus is my mind distracted and impelled + In opposite directions, like a stream + That, driven back by rocks, still rushes on, + Forming two currents in its eddying course. +[_Reflecting_.] Friend Máthavya, as you were my playfellow in childhood, +the Queen has always received you like a second son; go you, then, back +to her and tell her of my solemn engagement to assist these holy men. +You can supply my place in the ceremony, and act the part of a son to +the Queen. + +MÁTHAVYA.--With the greatest pleasure in the world; but don't suppose +that I am really coward enough to have the slightest fear of those +trumpery demons. + +KING [_smiling_].--Oh! of course not; a great Bráhman like you could not +possibly give way to such weakness. + +MÁTHAVYA.--You must let me travel in a manner suitable to the King's +younger brother. + +KING.--Yes, I shall send my retinue with you, that there may be no +further disturbance in this sacred forest. + +MÁTHAVYA [_with a strut_].--Already I feel quite like a young prince. + +KING [_aside_].--This is a giddy fellow, and in all probability he will +let out the truth about my present pursuit to the women of the palace. +What is to be done? I must say something to deceive him. [_Aloud to +Máthavya, taking him by the hand_.] Dear friend, I am going to the +hermitage wholly and solely out of respect for its pious inhabitants, +and not because I have really any liking for Śakoontalá, the hermit's +daughter. Observe, + What suitable communion could there be + Between a monarch and a rustic girl? + I did but feign an idle passion, friend, + Take not in earnest what was said in jest. + +MÁTHAVYA.--Don't distress yourself; I quite understand. + + [_Exeunt._ + + +[36] The religious rites of holy men were often disturbed by certain +evil spirits called Rákshasas, who were the determined enemies of piety +and devotion. + +[37] Vishnu, the Preserver, was one of the three principal gods. + + + + +PRELUDE TO ACT THIRD + +Scene.--The Hermitage + + +_Enter a young Bráhman, carrying bundles of Kuśa-grass for the use of +the sacrificing priests_. + +YOUNG BRÁHMAN.--How wonderful is the power of King Dushyanta! No sooner +did he enter our hermitage, than we were able to proceed with our +sacrificial rites, unmolested by the evil demons. + No need to fix the arrow to the bow; + The mighty monarch sounds the quivering string, + And, by the thunder of his arms dismayed, + Our demon foes are scattered to the wind. +I must now, therefore, make haste and deliver to the sacrificing priests +these bundles of Kuśa-grass, to be strewn round the altar. [_Walking and +looking about; then addressing someone off the stage_.] Why, Priyamvadá, +for whose use are you carrying that ointment of Usíra-root and those +lotus leaves with fibres attached to them? [_Listening for her answer_.] +What say you?--that Śakoontalá is suffering from fever produced by +exposure to the sun, and that this ointment is to cool her burning +frame? Nurse her with care, then, Priyamvadá, for she is cherished by +our reverend Superior as the very breath of his nostrils. I, for my +part, will contrive that soothing waters, hallowed in the sacrifice, be +administered to her by the hands of Gautamí. + [_Exit._ + + + + +ACT THIRD + +Scene.--The Sacred Grove + + +_Enter King Dushyanta, with the air of one in love_. + +KING [_sighing thoughtfully_].--The holy sage possesses magic power + In virtue of his penance; she, his ward, + Under the shadow of his tutelage + Rests in security. I know it well; + Yet sooner shall the rushing cataract + In foaming eddies re-ascend the steep, + Than my fond heart turn back from its pursuit. + +God of Love! God of the flowery shafts![38] we are all of us cruelly +deceived by thee, and by the Moon, however deserving of confidence you +may both appear. + + For not to us do these thine arrows seem + Pointed with tender flowerets; not to us + Doth the pale moon irradiate the earth + With beams of silver fraught with cooling dews:-- + But on our fevered frames the moon-beams fall + Like darts of fire, and every flower-tipped shaft + Of Káma, as it probes our throbbing hearts, + Seems to be barbed with hardest adamant. + +Adorable god of love! hast thou no pity for me? [_In a tone of +anguish_.] How can thy arrows be so sharp when they are pointed with +flowers? Ah! I know the reason: + + E'en now in thine unbodied essence lurks + The fire of Siva's anger, like the flame + That ever hidden in the secret depths + Of ocean, smoulders there unseen. How else + Couldst thou, all immaterial as thou art, + Inflame our hearts thus fiercely?--thou, whose form + Was scorched to ashes by a sudden flash + From the offended god's terrific eye. +Yet, methinks, + Welcome this anguish, welcome to my heart + These rankling wounds inflicted by the god, + Who on his scutcheon bears the monster-fish + Slain by his prowess: welcome death itself, + So that, commissioned by the lord of love, + This fair one be my executioner. + +Adorable divinity! Can I by no reproaches excite your commiseration? + + Have I not daily offered at thy shrine + Innumerable vows, the only food + Of thine ethereal essence? Are my prayers + Thus to be slighted? Is it meet that thou + Shouldst aim thy shafts at thy true votary's heart, + Drawing thy bow-string even to thy ear? + +[_Pacing up and down in a melancholy manner_.] Now that the holy men +have completed their rites, and have no more need of my services, how +shall I dispel my melancholy? [_Sighing._ I have but one resource. Oh +for another sight of the idol of my soul! I will seek her. [_Glancing at +the sun._] In all probability, as the sun's heat is now at its height, +Śakoontalá is passing her time under the shade of the bowers on the +banks of the Máliní, attended by her maidens. I will go and look for her +there. [_Walking and looking about._] I suspect the fair one has but +just passed by this avenue of young-trees. + + Here, as she tripped along, her fingers plucked + The opening buds: these lacerated plants, + Shorn of their fairest blossoms by her hand, + Seem like dismembered trunks, whose recent wounds + Are still unclosed; while from the bleeding socket + Of many a severed stalk, the milky juice + Still slowly trickles, and betrays her path. + +[_Feeling a breeze._] What a delicious breeze meets me in this spot! + + Here may the zephyr, fragrant with the scent + Of lotuses, and laden with the spray + Caught from the waters of the rippling stream, + Fold in its close embrace my fevered limbs. + +[_Walking and looking about._] She must be somewhere in the neighborhood +of this arbor of overhanging creepers, enclosed by plantations of cane. + [_Looking down._] + + For at the entrance here I plainly see + A line of footsteps printed in the sand. + Here are the fresh impressions of her feet; + Their well-known outline faintly marked in front, + More deeply towards the heel; betokening + The graceful undulation of her gait. + +I will peep through those branches. [_Walking and looking. With +transport._] Ah! now my eyes are gratified by an entrancing sight. +Yonder is the beloved of my heart reclining on a rock strewn with +flowers, and attended by her two friends. How fortunate! Concealed +behind the leaves, I will listen to their conversation, without raising +their suspicions. [_Stands concealed, and gazes at them._] + +_Śakoontalá and her two attendants, holding fans in their hands are +discovered as described_. + +PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ [_fanning her. In a tone of affection._]--Dearest +Śakoontalá, is the breeze raised by these broad lotus leaves refreshing +to you? + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Dear friends, why should you trouble yourselves to fan me? + + [_Priyamvadá and Anasúyá look sorrowfully at one another._] + +KING.--Śakoontalá seems indeed to be seriously ill. [_Thoughtfully._]Can +it be the intensity of the heat that has affected her? or does my heart +suggest the true cause of her malady? [_Gazing at her passionately._] +Why should I doubt it? + The maiden's spotless bosom is o'erspread + With cooling balsam; on her slender arm + Her only bracelet, twined with lotus stalks, + Hangs loose and withered; her recumbent form + Expresses languor. Ne'er could noon-day sun + Inflict such fair disorder on a maid-- + No, love, and love alone, is hereto blame. + +PRIYAMVADÁ [_aside to Anasúyá._]--I have observed, Anasúyá, that +Śakoontalá has been indisposed ever since her first interview with King +Dushyanta. Depend upon it, her ailment is to be traced to this source. + +ANASÚYÁ.--The same suspicion, dear Priyamvadá, has crossed my mind. But +I will at once ask her and ascertain the truth. [_Aloud._] Dear +Śakoontalá, I am about to put a question to you. Your indisposition is +really very serious. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_half-rising from her couch_].--What were you going to ask? + +ANASÚYÁ.--We know very little about love-matters, dear Śakoontalá; but +for all that, I cannot help suspecting your present state to be +something similar to that of the lovers we have read about in romances. +Tell us frankly what is the cause of your disorder. It is useless to +apply a remedy, until the disease be understood. + +KING.--Anasúyá bears me out in my suspicion. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside_].--I am, indeed, deeply in love; but cannot rashly +disclose my passion to these young girls. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--What Anasúyá says, dear Śakoontalá, is very just. Why give +so little heed to your ailment? Every day you are becoming thinner; +though I must confess your complexion is still as beautiful as ever. + +KING.--Priyamvadá speaks most truly. + Sunk is her velvet cheek; her wasted bosom + Loses its fulness; e'en her slender waist + Grows more attenuate; her face is wan, + Her shoulders droop;--as when the vernal blasts + Sear the young blossoms of the Mádhaví, + Blighting their bloom; so mournful is the change, + Yet in its sadness, fascinating still, + Inflicted by the mighty lord of love + On the fair figure of the hermit's daughter. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Dear friends, to no one would I rather reveal the nature of +my malady than to you; but I should only be troubling you. + +PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--Nay, this is the very point about which we are +so solicitous. Sorrow shared with affectionate friends is relieved of +half its poignancy. + +KING.--Pressed by the partners of her joys and griefs, Her much beloved +companions, to reveal The cherished secret locked within her breast, +She needs must utter it; although her looks Encourage me to hope, my +bosom throbs As anxiously I listen for her answer. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Know then, dear friends, that from the first moment the +illustrious Prince, who is the guardian of our sacred grove, presented +himself to my sight-- + [_Stops short, and appears confused._] + +PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--Say on, dear Śakoontalá, say on. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Ever since that happy moment, my heart's affections have +been fixed upon him, and my energies of mind and body have all deserted +me, as you see. + +KING [_with rapture_].--Her own lips have uttered the words I most +longed to hear. + Love lit the flame, and Love himself allays + My burning fever, as when gathering clouds + Rise o'er the earth in summer's dazzling noon, + And grateful showers dispel the morning heat. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--You must consent, then, dear friends, to contrive some +means by which I may find favor with the King, or you will have ere long +to assist at my funeral. + +KING [_with rapture_].--Enough! These words remove all my doubts. + +PRIYAMVADÁ [_aside to Anasúyá_].--She is far gone in love, dear Anasúyá, +and no time ought to be lost. Since she has fixed her affections on a +monarch who is the ornament of Puru's line, we need not hesitate for a +moment to express our approval. + +ANASÚYÁ.--I quite agree with you. + +PRIYAMVADÁ [_aloud_].--We wish you joy, dear Śakoontalá. Your affections +are fixed on an object in every respect worthy of you. The noblest river +will unite itself to the ocean, and the lovely Mádhaví-creeper clings +naturally to the Mango, the only tree capable of supporting it. + +KING.--Why need we wonder if the beautiful constellation Viśákhá pines +to be united with the Moon. + +ANASÚYÁ.--By what stratagem can we best secure to our friend the +accomplishment of her heart's desire, both speedily and secretly? + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--The latter point is all we have to think about. As to +"speedily," I look upon the whole affair as already settled. + +ANASÚYÁ.--How so? + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--Did you not observe how the King betrayed his liking by the +tender manner in which he gazed upon her, and how thin he has become the +last few days, as if he had been lying awake thinking of her? + +KING [_looking at himself_].--Quite true! I certainly am becoming thin +from want of sleep:-- + As night by night in anxious thought I raise + This wasted arm to rest my sleepless head, + My jewelled bracelet, sullied by the tears + That trickle from my eyes in scalding streams, + Slips towards my elbow from my shrivelled wrist. + Oft I replace the bauble, but in vain; + So easily it spans the fleshless limb + That e'en the rough and corrugated skin, + Scarred by the bow-string, will not check its fall. + +PRIYAMVADÁ [_thoughtfully_].--An idea strikes me, Anasúyá. Let +Śakoontalá write a love-letter; I will conceal it in a flower, and +contrive to drop it in the King's path. He will surely mistake it for +the remains of some sacred offering, and will, in all probability, pick +it up. + +ANASÚYÁ.--A very ingenious device! It has my entire approval; but what +says Śakoontalá? + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--I must consider before I can consent to it. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--Could you not, dear Śakoontalá, think of some pretty +composition in verse, containing a delicate declaration of your love? + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Well, I will do my best; but my heart trembles when I think +of the chances of a refusal. + +KING [_with rapture_].--Too timid maid, here stands the man from whom + Thou fearest a repulse; supremely blessed + To call thee all his own. Well might he doubt + His title to thy love; but how couldst thou + Believe thy beauty powerless to subdue him? + +PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--You undervalue your own merits, dear +Śakoontalá. What man in his senses would intercept with the skirt of his +robe the bright rays of the autumnal moon, which alone can allay the +fever of his body? + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_smiling_].--Then it seems I must do as I am bid. + [_Sits down and appears to be thinking._] + +KING.--How charming she looks! My very eyes forget to wink, jealous of +losing even for an instant a sight so enchanting. + How beautiful the movement of her brow, + As through her mind love's tender fancies flow! + And, as she weighs her thoughts, how sweet to trace + The ardent passion mantling in her face! + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Dear girls, I have thought of a verse, but I have no +writing-materials at hand. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--Write the letters with your nail on this lotus leaf, which +is smooth as a parrot's breast. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_after writing the verse_].--Listen, dear friends, and tell +me whether the ideas are appropriately expressed. + +PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--We are all attention. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_reads_].-- + I know not the secret thy bosom conceals, + Thy form is not near me to gladden my sight; + But sad is the tale that my fever reveals, + Of the love that consumes me by day and by night. + +KING [_advancing hastily towards her_].-- + Nay, Love does but warm thee, fair maiden--thy frame + Only droops like the bud in the glare of the noon; + But me he consumes with a pitiless flame, + As the beams of the day-star destroy the pale moon. + +PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ [_looking at him joyfully, and rising to salute +him_].--Welcome, the desire of our hearts, that so speedily presents +itself! + + [_Śakoontalá makes an effort to rise._] + +KING.--Nay, trouble not thyself, dear maiden, + Move not to do me homage; let thy limbs + Still softly rest upon their flowery couch, + And gather fragrance from the lotus stalks + Bruised by the fevered contact of thy frame. + +ANASÚYÁ.--Deign, gentle Sir, to seat yourself on the rock on which our +friend is reposing. + + [_The King sits down. Śakoontalá is confused._] + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--Anyone may see at a glance that you are deeply attached to +each other. But the affection I have for my friend prompts me to say +something of which you hardly require to be informed. + +KING.--Do not hesitate to speak out, my good girl. If you omit to say +what is in your mind, you may be sorry for it afterwards. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--Is it not your special office as a King to remove the +suffering of your subjects who are in trouble? + +KING.--Such is my duty, most assuredly. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--Know, then, that our dear friend has been brought to her +present state of suffering entirely through love for you. Her life is in +your hands; take pity on her and restore her to health. + +KING.--Excellent maiden, our attachment is mutual. It is I who am the +most honored by it. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_looking at Priyamvadá_].--What do you mean by detaining the +King, who must be anxious to return to his royal consorts after so long +a separation? + +KING.--Sweet maiden, banish from thy mind the thought + That I could love another. Thou dost reign + Supreme, without a rival, in my heart, + And I am thine alone: disown me not, + Else must I die a second deadlier death-- + Killed by thy words, as erst by Káma's shafts. + +ANASÚYÁ.--Kind Sir, we have heard it said that kings have many favorite +consorts. You must not, then, by your behavior towards our dear friend, +give her relations cause to sorrow for her. + +KING.--Listen, gentle maiden, while in a few words I quiet your anxiety. + Though many beauteous forms my palace grace, + Henceforth two things alone will I esteem + The glory of my royal dynasty;-- + My sea-girt realm, and this most lovely maid. + +PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--We are satisfied by your assurances. + +PRIYAMVADÁ [_glancing on one side_],--See, Anasúyá, there is our +favorite little fawn running about in great distress, and turning its +eyes in every direction as if looking for its mother; come, let us help +the little thing to find her. + + [_Both move away._] + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Dear friends, dear friends, leave me not alone and +unprotected. Why need you both go? + +PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--Unprotected! when the Protector of the world is +at your side. [_Exeunt._] + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--What! have they both really left me? + +KING.--Distress not thyself, sweet maiden. Thy adorer is at hand to wait +upon thee. + Oh, let me tend thee, fair one, in the place + Of thy dear friends; and, with broad lotus fans, + Raise cooling breezes to refresh thy frame; + Or shall I rather, with caressing touch, + Allay the fever of thy limbs, and soothe + Thy aching feet, beauteous as blushing lilies? + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Nay, touch me not. I will not incur the censure of those +whom I am bound to respect. + [_Rises and attempts to go._] + +KING.--Fair one, the heat of noon has not yet subsided, and thy body is +still feeble. + How canst thou quit thy fragrant couch of flowers, + And from thy throbbing bosom cast aside + Its covering of lotus leaves, to brave + With weak and fainting limbs the noon-day heat? + +[_Forces her to turn back._] + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Infringe not the rules of decorum, mighty descendant of +Puru. Remember, though I love you, I have no power to dispose of myself. + +KING.--Why this fear of offending your relations, timid maid? When your +venerable foster-father hears of it, he will not find fault with you. He +knows that the law permits us to be united without consulting him. + In Indra's heaven, so at least 'tis said, + No nuptial rites prevail,[39] nor is the bride + Led to the altar by her future spouse; + But all in secret does the bridegroom plight + His troth, and each unto the other vow + Mutual allegiance. Such espousals, too, + Are authorized on earth, and many daughters + Of royal saints thus wedded to their lords, + Have still received their father's benison. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Leave me, leave me; I must take counsel with my female +friends. + +KING.--I will leave thee when------ + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--When? + +KING.--When I have gently stolen from thy lips + Their yet untasted nectar, to allay + The raging of my thirst, e'en as the bee + Sips the fresh honey from the opening bud. + [_Attempts to raise her face. Śakoontalá tries to prevent him_. + +A VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--The loving birds, doomed by fate to +nightly separation, must bid farewell to each other, for evening is at +hand. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_in confusion_].--Great Prince, I hear the voice of the +matron Gautamí. She is coming this way, to inquire after my health. +Hasten and conceal yourself behind the branches. + +KING.--I will. [_Conceals himself_. + +_Enter Gautamí with a vase in her hand, preceded by two attendants_. + +ATTENDANTS.--This way, most venerable Gautamí. + +GAUTAMÍ [_approaching Śakoontalá_].--My child, is the fever of thy limbs +allayed? + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Venerable mother, there is certainly a change for the +better. + +GAUTAMÍ.--Let me sprinkle you with this holy water, and all your +ailments will depart. [_Sprinkling Śakoontalá on the head_.] The day is +closing, my child; come, let us go to the cottage. + [_They all move away_. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside_].--Oh my heart! thou didst fear to taste of +happiness when it was within thy reach. Now that the object of thy +desires is torn from thee, how bitter will be thy remorse, how +distracting thine anguish! [_Moving on a few steps and stopping. +Aloud_.] Farewell! bower of creepers, sweet soother of my sufferings, +farewell! may I soon again be happy under thy shade. + [_Exit reluctantly with the others_. + +KING [_returning to his former seat in the arbor. Sighing_].--Alas! how +many are the obstacles to the accomplishment of our wishes! + Albeit she did coyly turn away + Her glowing cheek, and with her fingers guard + Her pouting lips, that murmured a denial + In faltering accents, she did yield herself + A sweet reluctant captive to my will, + As eagerly I raised her lovely face: + But ere with gentle force I stole the kiss, + Too envious Fate did mar my daring purpose. +Whither now shall I betake myself? I will tarry for a brief space in +this bower of creepers, so endeared to me by the presence of my beloved +Śakoontalá. + [_Looking round_. + Here printed on the flowery couch I see + The fair impression of her slender limbs; + Here is the sweet confession of her love, + Traced with her nail upon the lotus leaf-- + And yonder are the withered lily stalks + That graced her wrist. While all around I view + Things that recall her image, can I quit + This bower, e'en though its living charm be fled? + +A VOICE [_in the air_].--Great King, + Scarce is our evening sacrifice begun, + When evil demons, lurid as the clouds + That gather round the dying orb of day, + Cluster in hideous troops, obscene and dread, + About our altars, casting far and near + Terrific shadows, while the sacred fire + Sheds a pale lustre o'er their ghostly shapes. + +KING.--I come to the rescue, I come. + [_Exit._ + + +[38] Káma, the Hindoo Cupid, or god of love. He has five arrows, each +tipped with the blossom of a flower, which pierce the heart through the +five senses. + +[39] A marriage without the usual ceremonies is called Gándharva. It was +supposed to be the form of marriage prevalent among the nymphs of +Indra's heaven. + + + + +PRELUDE TO ACT FOURTH + +Scene.--The Garden of the Hermitage + + +_Enter Priyamvadá and Anasúyá in the act of gathering flowers_. + +ANASÚYÁ.--Although, dear Priyamvadá, it rejoices my heart to think that +Śakoontalá has been happily united to a husband in every respect worthy +of her, by the form of marriage prevalent among Indra's celestial +musicians, nevertheless, I cannot help feeling somewhat uneasy in my +mind. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--How so? + +ANASÚYÁ.--You know that the pious King was gratefully dismissed by the +hermits on the successful termination of their sacrificial rites. He has +now returned to his capital, leaving Śakoontalá under our care; and it +may be doubted whether, in the society of his royal consorts, he will +not forget all that has taken place in this hermitage of ours. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--On that score be at ease. Persons of his noble nature are +not so destitute of all honorable feeling. I confess, however, that +there is one point about which I am rather anxious. What, think you, +will father Kanwa say when he hears what has occurred? + +ANASÚYÁ.--In my opinion, he will approve the marriage. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--What makes you think so? + +ANASÚYÁ.--From the first, it was always his fixed purpose to bestow the +maiden on a husband worthy of her; and since heaven has given her such a +husband, his wishes have been realized without any trouble to himself. + +PRIYAMVADÁ [_looking at the flower-basket_].--We have gathered flowers +enough for the sacred offering, dear Anasúyá. + +ANASÚYÁ.--Well, then, let us now gather more, that we may have wherewith +to propitiate the guardian-deity of our dear Śakoontalá. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--By all means. [_They continue gathering_. + +A VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Ho there! See you not that I am here? + +ANASÚYÁ [_listening_].--That must be the voice of a guest announcing his +arrival. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--Surely, Śakoontalá is not absent from the cottage. +[_Aside_.] Her heart at least is absent, I fear. + +ANASÚYÁ.--Come along, come along; we have gathered flowers enough. + [_They move away_. + +THE SAME VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Woe to thee, maiden, for daring +to slight a guest like me! + Shall I stand here unwelcomed; even I, + A very mine of penitential merit, + Worthy of all respect? Shalt thou, rash maid, + Thus set at nought the ever sacred ties + Of hospitality? and fix thy thoughts + Upon the cherished object of thy love, + While I am present? Thus I curse thee, then-- + He, even he of whom thou thinkest, he + Shall think no more of thee; nor in his heart + Retain thine image. Vainly shalt thou strive + To waken his remembrance of the past; + He shall disown thee, even as the sot, + Roused from his midnight drunkenness, denies + The words he uttered in his revellings. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--Alas! alas! I fear a terrible misfortune has occurred. +Śakoontalá, from absence of mind, must have offended some guest whom she +was bound to treat with respect. [_Looking behind the scenes_.] Ah! yes; +I see, and no less a person than the great sage Durvasas, who is known +to be most irascible. He it is that has just cursed her, and is now +retiring with hasty strides, trembling with passion, and looking as if +nothing could turn him. His wrath is like a consuming fire. + +ANASÚYÁ.--Go quickly, dear Priyamvadá, throw yourself at his feet, and +persuade him to come back, while I prepare a propitiatory offering for +him, with water and refreshments. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--I will. [_Exit._ + +ANASÚYÁ [_advancing hastily a few steps and stumbling_].--Alas! alas! +this comes of being in a hurry. My foot has slipped and my basket of +flowers has fallen from my hand. + [_Stays to gather them up_. + +PRIYAMVADÁ [_reëntering_].--Well, dear Anasúyá, I have done my best; but +what living being could succeed in pacifying such a cross-grained, +ill-tempered old fellow? However, I managed to mollify him a little. + +ANASÚYÁ [_smiling_].--Even a little was much for him. Say on. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--When he refused to turn back, I implored his forgiveness in +these words: "Most venerable sage, pardon, I beseech you, this first +offence of a young and inexperienced girl, who was ignorant of the +respect due to your saintly character and exalted rank." + +ANASÚYÁ.--And what did he reply? + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--"My word must not be falsified; but at the sight of the +ring of recognition the spell shall cease." So saying, he disappeared. + +ANASÚYÁ.--Oh! then we may breathe again; for now I think of it, the King +himself, at his departure, fastened on Śakoontalá's finger, as a token +of remembrance, a ring on which his own name was engraved. She has, +therefore, a remedy for her misfortune at her own command. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--Come, dear Anasúyá, let us proceed with our religious +duties. [_They walk away_. + +PRIYAMVADÁ [_looking off the stage_].--See, Anasúyá, there sits our dear +friend, motionless as a statue, resting her face on her left hand, her +whole mind absorbed in thinking of her absent husband. She can pay no +attention to herself, much less to a stranger. + +ANASÚYÁ.--Priyamvadá, let this affair never pass our lips. We must spare +our dear friend's feelings. Her constitution is too delicate to bear +much emotion. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--I agree with you. Who would think of watering a tender +jasmine with hot water? + + + + +ACT FOURTH + +Scene.--The Neighborhood of the Hermitage + + +_Enter one of Kanwa's pupils, just arisen from his couch at the dawn of +day_. + +PUPIL.--My master, the venerable Kanwa, who is but lately returned from +his pilgrimage, has ordered me to ascertain how the time goes. I have +therefore come into the open air to see if it be still dark. [_Walking +and looking about_.] Oh! the dawn has already broken. + Lo! in one quarter of the sky, the Moon, + Lord of the herbs and night-expanding flowers, + Sinks towards his bed behind the western hills; + While in the east, preceded by the Dawn, + His blushing charioteer, the glorious Sun + Begins his course, and far into the gloom + Casts the first radiance of his orient beams, + Hail! co-eternal orbs, that rise to set, + And set to rise again; symbols divine + Of man's reverses, life's vicissitudes. +And now, + While the round Moon withdraws his looming disc + Beneath the western sky, the full-blown flower + Of the night-loving lotus sheds her leaves + In sorrow for his loss, bequeathing nought + But the sweet memory of her loveliness + To my bereavèd sight: e'en as the bride + Disconsolately mourns her absent lord, + And yields her heart a prey to anxious grief. + +ANASÚYÁ [_entering abruptly_].--Little as I know of the ways of the +world, I cannot help thinking that King Dushyanta is treating Śakoontalá +very improperly. + +PUPIL.--Well, I must let my revered preceptor know that it is time to +offer the burnt oblation. [_Exit._ + +ANASÚYÁ.--I am broad awake, but what shall I do? I have no energy to go +about my usual occupations. My hands and feet seem to have lost their +power. Well, Love has gained his object; and Love only is to blame for +having induced our dear friend, in the innocence of her heart, to +confide in such a perfidious man. Possibly, however, the imprecation of +Durvasas may be already taking effect. Indeed, I cannot otherwise +account for the King's strange conduct, in allowing so long a time to +elapse without even a letter; and that, too, after so many promises and +protestations. I cannot think what to do, unless we send him the ring +which was to be the token of recognition. But which of these austere +hermits could we ask to be the bearer of it? Then, again, Father Kanwa +has just returned from his pilgrimage: and how am I to inform him of +Śakoontalá's marriage to King Dushyanta, and her expectation of being +soon a mother? I never could bring myself to tell him, even if I felt +that Śakoontalá had been in fault, which she certainly has not. What is +to be done? + +PRIYAMVADÁ [_entering; joyfully_].--Quick! quick! Anasúyá! come and +assist in the joyful preparations for Śakoontalá's departure to her +husband's palace. + +ANASÚYÁ.--My dear girl, what can you mean? + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--Listen, now, and I will tell you all about it. I went just +now to Śakoontalá, to inquire whether she had slept comfortably-- + +ANASÚYÁ.--Well, well; go on. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--She was sitting with her face bowed down to the very ground +with shame, when Father Kanwa entered and, embracing her, of his own +accord offered her his congratulations. "I give thee joy, my child," he +said, "we have had an auspicious omen. The priest who offered the +oblation dropped it into the very centre of the sacred fire, though +thick smoke obstructed his vision. Henceforth thou wilt cease to be an +object of compassion. This very day I purpose sending thee, under the +charge of certain trusty hermits, to the King's palace; and shall +deliver thee into the hands of thy husband, as I would commit knowledge +to the keeping of a wise and faithful student." + +ANASÚYÁ.--Who, then, informed the holy Father of what passed in his +absence? + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--As he was entering the sanctuary of the consecrated fire, +an invisible being chanted a verse in celestial strains. + +ANASÚYÁ [_with astonishment_].--Indeed! pray repeat it. + +PRIYAMVADÁ [_repeats the verse_].-- + Glows in thy daughter King Dushyanta's glory, + As in the sacred tree the mystic fire. + Let worlds rejoice to hear the welcome story; + And may the son immortalize the sire. + +ANASÚYÁ [_embracing Priyamvadá_].--Oh, my dear Priyamvadá, what +delightful news! I am pleased beyond measure; yet when I think that we +are to lose our dear Śakoontalá this very day, a feeling of melancholy +mingles with my joy. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--We shall find means of consoling ourselves after her +departure. Let the dear creature only be made happy, at any cost. + +ANASÚYÁ.--Yes, yes, Priyamvadá, it shall be so; and now to prepare our +bridal array. I have always looked forward to this occasion, and some +time since, I deposited a beautiful garland of Keśara flowers in a +cocoa-nut box, and suspended it on a bough of yonder mango-tree. Be good +enough to stretch out your hand and take it down, while I compound +unguents and perfumes with this consecrated paste and these blades of +sacred grass. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--Very well. + + [_Exit Anasúyá. Priyamvadá takes down the flowers._ + +A VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Gautamí, bid Śárngarava and the others +hold themselves in readiness to escort Śakoontalá. + +PRIYAMVADÁ [_listening_].--Quick, quick, Anasúyá! They are calling the +hermits who are to go with Śakoontalá to Hastinápur. + +ANASÚYÁ [_reëntering, with the perfumed unguents in her hand_].--Come +along then, Priyamvadá; I am ready to go with you. [_They walk away_. + +PRIYAMVADÁ [_looking_].--See! there sits Śakoontalá, her locks arranged +even at this early hour of the morning. The holy women of the hermitage +are congratulating her, and invoking blessings on her head, while they +present her with wedding-gifts and offerings of consecrated wild-rice. +Let us join them. [_They approach_. + +_Śakoontalá is seen seated, with women surrounding her, occupied in the +manner described_. + +FIRST WOMAN [_to Śakoontalá_].--My child, may'st thou receive the title +of "Chief-queen," and may thy husband delight to honor thee above all +others! + +SECOND WOMAN.--My child, may'st thou be the mother of a hero! + +THIRD WOMAN.--My child, may'st thou be highly honored by thy lord! + +[_Exeunt all the women, excepting Gautamí, after blessing Śakoontalá._ + +PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ [_approaching_].--Dear Śakoontalá, we are come to +assist you at your toilet, and may a blessing attend it! + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Welcome, dear friends, welcome. Sit down here. + +PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ [_taking the baskets containing the bridal +decorations, and sitting down_].--Now, then, dearest, prepare to let us +dress you. We must first rub your limbs with these perfumed unguents. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--I ought indeed to be grateful for your kind offices, now +that I am so soon to be deprived of them. Dear, dear friends, perhaps I +shall never be dressed by you again. [_Bursts into tears_. + +PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--Weep not, dearest, tears are out of season on +such a happy occasion. + + [_They wipe away her tears and begin to dress her_. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--Alas! these simple flowers and rude ornaments which our +hermitage offers in abundance, do not set off your beauty as it +deserves. + + _Enter two young Hermits, bearing costly presents_. + +BOTH HERMITS.--Here are ornaments suitable for a queen. + + [_The women look at them in astonishment_. + +GAUTAMÍ.--Why, Nárada, my son, whence came these? + +FIRST HERMIT.--You owe them to the devotion of Father Kanwa. + +GAUTAMÍ.--Did he create them by the power of his own mind? + +SECOND HERMIT.--Certainly not; but you shall hear. The venerable sage +ordered us to collect flowers for Śakoontalá from the forest-trees; and +we went to the wood for that purpose, when + Straightway depending from a neighboring tree + Appeared a robe of linen tissue, pure + And spotless as a moon-beam--mystic pledge + Of bridal happiness; another tree + Distilled a roseate dye wherewith to stain + The lady's feet; and other branches near + Glistened with rare and costly ornaments. + While, 'midst the leaves, the hands of forest-nymphs, + Vying in beauty with the opening buds, + Presented us with sylvan offerings. + +PRIYAMVADÁ [_looking at Śakoontalá_].--The wood-nymphs have done you +honor, indeed. This favor doubtless signifies that you are soon to be +received as a happy wife into your husband's house, and are from this +forward to become the partner of his royal fortunes. + [_Śakoontalá appears confused_. + +FIRST HERMIT.--Come, Gautama; Father Kanwa has finished his ablutions. +Let us go and inform him of the favor we have received from the deities +who preside over our trees. + +SECOND HERMIT.--By all means. [_Exeunt._ + +PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--Alas! what are we to do? We are unused to such +splendid decorations, and are at a loss how to arrange them. Our +knowledge of painting must be our guide. We will dispose the ornaments +as we have seen them in pictures. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Whatever pleases you, dear girls, will please me. I have +perfect confidence in your taste. [_They commence dressing her_. + + _Enter Kanwa, having just finished his ablutions_. + +KANWA.--This day my loved one leaves me, and my heart + Is heavy with its grief: the streams of sorrow + Choked at the source, repress my faltering voice. + I have no words to speak; mine eyes are dimmed + By the dark shadows of the thoughts that rise + Within my soul. If such the force of grief + In an old hermit parted from his nursling, + What anguish must the stricken parent feel-- + Bereft forever of an only daughter? + [_Advances towards Śakoontalá_ + +PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--Now, dearest Śakoontalá, we have finished +decorating you. You have only to put on the two linen mantles. + [_Śakoontalá rises and puts them on_. + +GAUTAMÍ.--Daughter, see, here comes thy foster-father; he is eager to +fold thee in his arms; his eyes swim with tears of joy. Hasten to do him +reverence. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_reverently_].--My father, I salute you. + +KANWA.--My daughter, + May'st thou be highly honored by thy lord, + E'en as Yayáti Śarmishthá adored! + And, as she bore him Puru; so may'st thou + Bring forth a son to whom the world shall bow! + +GAUTAMÍ.--Most venerable father, she accepts your benediction as if she +already possessed the boon it confers. + +KANWA.--Now come this way, my child, and walk reverently round these +sacrificial fires. [_They all walk round_. + +KANWA [_repeats a prayer in the metre of the Rig-veda_].-- + Holy flames, that gleam around + Every altar's hallowed ground; + Holy flames, whose frequent food + Is the consecrated wood, + And for whose encircling bed, + Sacred Kuśa-grass is spread; + Holy flames, that waft to heaven + Sweet oblations daily given, + Mortal guilt to purge away;-- + Hear, oh hear me, when I pray-- + Purify my child this day! +Now then, my daughter, set out on thy journey. [_Looking on one side_.] +Where are thy attendants, Śárngarava and the others? + +YOUNG HERMIT [_entering_].--Here we are, most venerable father. + +KANWA.--Lead the way for thy sister. + +SÁRNGARAVA.--Come, Śakoontalá, let us proceed. + [_All move away_. + +KANWA.--Hear me, ye trees that surround our hermitage! + Śakoontalá ne'er moistened in the stream + Her own parched lips, till she had fondly poured + Its purest water on your thirsty roots; + And oft, when she would fain have decked her hair + With your thick-clustering blossoms, in her love + She robbed you not e'en of a single flower. + Her highest joy was ever to behold + The early glory of your opening buds: + Oh, then, dismiss her with a kind farewell! + This very day she quits her father's home, + To seek the palace of her wedded lord. + [_The note of a Köil is heard_. + Hark! heard'st thou not the answer of the trees, + Our sylvan sisters, warbled in the note + Of the melodious Köil? they dismiss + Their dear Śakoontalá with loving wishes. + +VOICES [_in the air_].-- + Fare thee well, journey pleasantly on amid streams + Where the lotuses bloom, and the sun's glowing beams + Never pierce the deep shade of the wide-spreading trees, + While gently around thee shall sport the cool breeze; + Then light be thy footsteps and easy thy tread, + Beneath thee shall carpets of lilies be spread. + Journey on to thy lord, let thy spirit be gay, + For the smiles of all Nature shall gladden thy way. + [_All listen with astonishment_. + +GAUTAMÍ.--Daughter! the nymphs of the wood, who love thee with the +affection of a sister, dismiss thee with kind wishes for thy happiness. +Take thou leave of them reverentially. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_bowing respectfully and walking on. Aside to her +friend_].--Eager as I am, dear Priyamvadá, to see my husband once more, +yet my feet refuse to move, now that I am quitting forever the home of +my girlhood. + +PRIYAMVADÁ.--You are not the only one, dearest, to feel the bitterness +of parting. As the time of separation approaches, the whole grove seems +to share your anguish. + In sorrow for thy loss, the herd of deer + Forget to browse; the peacock on the lawn + Ceases its dance; the very trees around us + Shed their pale leaves, like tears, upon the ground. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_recollecting herself_].--My father, let me, before I go, +bid adieu to my pet jasmine, the Moonlight of the Grove. I love the +plant almost as a sister. + +KANWA.--Yes, yes, my child, I remember thy sisterly affection for the +creeper. Here it is on the right. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_approaching the jasmine_],--My beloved jasmine, most +brilliant of climbing plants, how sweet it is to see thee cling thus +fondly to thy husband, the mango-tree; yet, prithee, turn thy twining +arms for a moment in this direction to embrace thy sister; she is going +far away, and may never see thee again. + +KANWA.--Daughter, the cherished purpose of my heart + Has ever been to wed thee to a spouse + That should be worthy of thee; such a spouse + Hast thou thyself, by thine own merits, won. + To him thou goest, and about his neck + Soon shalt thou cling confidingly, as now + Thy favorite jasmine twines its loving arms + Around the sturdy mango. Leave thou it + To its protector--e'en as I consign + Thee to thy lord, and henceforth from my mind + Banish all anxious thought on thy behalf. +Proceed on thy journey, my child. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_to Priyamvadá and Anasúyá_].--To you, my sweet companions, +I leave it as a keepsake. Take charge of it when I am gone. + +PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ [_bursting into tears_].--And to whose charge do +you leave us, dearest? Who will care for us when you are gone? + +KANWA.--For shame, Anasúyá! dry your tears. Is this the way to cheer +your friend at a time when she needs your support and consolation? + [_All move on_. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--My father, see you there my pet deer, grazing close to the +hermitage? She expects soon to fawn, and even now the weight of the +little one she carries hinders her movements. Do not forget to send me +word when she becomes a mother. + +KANWA.--I will not forget it. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_feeling herself drawn back_].--What can this be, fastened +to my dress? [_Turns round_. + +KANWA.--My daughter, + It is the little fawn, thy foster-child. + Poor helpless orphan! it remembers well + How with a mother's tenderness and love + Thou didst protect it, and with grains of rice + From thine own hand didst daily nourish it; + And, ever and anon, when some sharp thorn + Had pierced its mouth, how gently thou didst tend + The bleeding wound, and pour in healing balm. + The grateful nursling clings to its protectress, + Mutely imploring leave to follow her. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--My poor little fawn, dost thou ask to follow an unhappy +woman who hesitates not to desert her companions? When thy mother died, +soon after thy birth, I supplied her place, and reared thee with my own +hand; and now that thy second mother is about to leave thee, who will +care for thee? My father, be thou a mother to her. My child, go back, +and be a daughter to my father. [_Moves on, weeping_. + +KANWA.--Weep not, my daughter, check the gathering tear + That lurks beneath thine eyelid, ere it flow + And weaken thy resolve; be firm and true-- + True to thyself and me; the path of life + Will lead o'er hill and plain, o'er rough and smooth, + And all must feel the steepness of the way; + Though rugged be thy course, press boldly on. + +SÁRNGARAVA.--Venerable sire! the sacred precept is--"Accompany thy +friend as far as the margin of the first stream." Here then, we are +arrived at the border of a lake. It is time for you to give us your +final instructions and return. + +KANWA.--Be it so; let us tarry for a moment under the shade of this +fig-tree. [_They do so_. + +KANWA [_aside_].--I must think of some appropriate message to send to +his majesty King Dushyanta. [_Reflects._ + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside to Anasúyá_].--See, see, dear Anasúyá, the poor +female Chakraváka-bird, whom cruel fate dooms to nightly separation +from her mate, calls to him in mournful notes from the other side of the +stream, though he is only hidden from her view by the spreading leaves +of the water-lily. Her cry is so piteous that I could almost fancy she +was lamenting her hard lot in intelligible words. + +ANASÚYÁ.--Say not so, dearest. + Fond bird! though sorrow lengthen out her night + Of widowhood, yet with a cry of joy + She hails the morning light that brings her mate + Back to her side. The agony of parting + Would wound us like a sword, but that its edge + Is blunted by the hope of future meeting. + +KANWA.--Śárngarava, when you have introduced Śakoontalá into the +presence of the King, you must give him this message from me. + +ŚÁRNGARAVA.--Let me hear it, venerable father. + +KANWA.--This is it-- + Most puissant prince! we here present before thee + One thou art bound to cherish and receive + As thine own wife; yea, even to enthrone + As thine own queen--worthy of equal love + With thine imperial consorts. So much, Sire, + We claim of thee as justice due to us, + In virtue of our holy character-- + In virtue of thine honorable rank-- + In virtue of the pure spontaneous love + That secretly grew up 'twixt thee and her, + Without consent or privity of us. + We ask no more--the rest we freely leave + To thy just feeling and to destiny. + +ŚÁRNGARAVA.--A most suitable message. I will take care to deliver it +correctly. + +KANWA.--And now, my child, a few words of advice for thee. We hermits, +though we live secluded from the world, are not ignorant of worldly +matters. + +ŚÁRNGARAVA.--No, indeed. Wise men are conversant with all subjects. + +KANWA.--Listen, then, my daughter. When thou reachest thy husband's +palace, and art admitted into his family, + Honor thy betters; ever be respectful + To those above thee; and, should others share + Thy husband's love, ne'er yield thyself a prey + To jealousy; but ever be a friend, + A loving friend, to those who rival thee + In his affections. Should thy wedded lord + Treat thee with harshness, thou must never be + Harsh in return, but patient and submissive. + Be to thy menials courteous, and to all + Placed under thee, considerate and kind: + Be never self-indulgent, but avoid + Excess in pleasure; and, when fortune smiles, + Be not puffed up. Thus to thy husband's house + Wilt thou a blessing prove, and not a curse. +What thinks Gautamí of this advice? + +GAUTAMÍ.--An excellent compendium, truly, of every wife's duties! Lay it +well to heart, my daughter. + +KANWA.--Come, my beloved child, one parting embrace for me and for thy +companions, and then we leave thee. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--My father, must Priyamvadá and Anasúyá really return with +you? They are very dear to me. + +KANWA.--Yes, my child; they, too, in good time, will be given in +marriage to suitable husbands. It would not be proper for them to +accompany thee to such a public place. But Gautamí shall be thy +companion. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_embracing him_].--Removed from thy bosom, my beloved +father, like a young tendril of the sandal-tree torn from its home in +the western mountains,[40] how shall I be able to support life in a +foreign soil? + +KANWA.--Daughter, thy fears are groundless:-- + Soon shall thy lord prefer thee to the rank + Of his own consort; and unnumbered cares + Befitting his imperial dignity + Shall constantly engross thee. Then the bliss + Of bearing him a son--a noble boy, + Bright as the day-star--shall transport thy soul + With new delights, and little shalt thou reck + Of the light sorrow that afflicts thee now + At parting from thy father and thy friends. + + [_Śakoontalá throws herself at her foster-father's feet_. + +KANWA.--Blessings on thee, my child! May all my hopes of thee be +realized! + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_approaching her friends_].--Come, my two loved companions, +embrace me--both of you together. + +PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ [_embracing her_].--Dear Śakoontalá, remember, if +the King should by any chance be slow in recognizing you, you have only +to show him this ring, on which his own name is engraved. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--The bare thought of it puts me in a tremor. + +PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--There is no real cause for fear, dearest. +Excessive affection is too apt to suspect evil where none exists. + +ŚÁRNGARAVA.--Come, lady, we must hasten on. The sun is rising in the +heavens. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_looking towards the hermitage_].--Dear father, when shall I +ever see this hallowed grove again? + +KANWA.--I will tell thee; listen-- + When thou hast passed a long and blissful life + As King Dushyanta's queen, and jointly shared + With all the earth his ever-watchful care; + And hast beheld thine own heroic son, + Matchless in arms, united to a spouse + In happy wedlock; when his aged sire, + Thy faithful husband, hath to him resigned + The helm of state; then, weary of the world, + Together with Dushyanta thou shalt seek + The calm seclusion of thy former home:-- + There amid holy scenes to be at peace, + Till thy pure spirit gain its last release. + +GAUTAMÍ.--Come, my child, the favorable time for our journey is fast +passing. Let thy father return. Venerable Sire, be thou the first to +move homewards, or these last words will never end. + +KANWA.--Daughter, detain me no longer. My religious duties must not be +interrupted. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_again embracing her foster-father_].--Beloved father, thy +frame is much enfeebled by penitential exercises. Do not, oh! do not, +allow thyself to sorrow too much on my account. + +KANWA [_sighing_].--How, O my child, shall my bereavèd heart + Forget its bitterness, when, day by day, + Full in my sight shall grow the tender plants + Reared by thy care, or sprung from hallowed grain + Which thy loved hands have strewn around the door-- + A frequent offering to our household gods? +Go, my daughter, and may thy journey be prosperous. + + [_Exit Śakoontalá with her escort_. + +PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ [_gazing after Śakoontalá_].--Alas! alas! she is +gone, and now the trees hide our darling from our view. + +KANWA [_sighing_].--Well, Anasúyá, your sister has departed. Moderate +your grief, both of you, and follow me. I go back to the hermitage. + +PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--Holy father, the sacred grove will be a desert +without Śakoontalá. How can we ever return to it? + +KANWA.--It is natural enough that your affection should make you view it +in this light. [_Walking pensively on_.] As for me, I am quite surprised +at myself. Now that I have fairly dismissed her to her husband's house, +my mind is easy: for indeed, + A daughter is a loan--a precious jewel + Lent to a parent till her husband claim her. + And now that to her rightful lord and master + I have delivered her, my burdened soul + Is lightened, and I seem to breathe more freely. + + [_Exeunt._ + + +[40] The sandal-tree is a large kind of myrtle, with pointed leaves. The +wood affords many highly esteemed perfumes and is celebrated for its +delicious scent. It is chiefly found on the slopes of the Malay +mountains or Western Ghants, on the Malabar coast. + + + + +ACT FIFTH + +Scene.--A Room in the Palace + + +_The King Dushyanta and the Jester Máthavya are discovered seated_. + +MÁTHAVYA [_listening_].--Hark! my dear friend, listen a minute, and you +will hear sweet sounds proceeding from the music-room. Someone is +singing a charming air. Who can it be? Oh! I know. The queen Hansapadiká +is practising her notes, that she may greet you with a new song. + +KING.--Hush! Let me listen. + +A VOICE [_sings behind the scenes_].-- + How often hither didst thou rove, + Sweet bee, to kiss the mango's cheek; + Oh! leave not, then, thy early love, + The lily's honeyed lip to seek. + +KING.--A most impassioned strain, truly! + +MÁTHAVYA.--Do you understand the meaning of the words? + +KING [_smiling_].--She means to reprove me, because I once paid her +great attention, and have lately deserted her for the queen Vasumatí. +Go, my dear fellow, and tell Hansapadiká from me that I take her +delicate reproof as it is intended. + +MÁTHAVYA.--Very well. [_Rising from his seat_.] But stay--I don't much +relish being sent to bear the brunt of her jealousy. The chances are +that she will have me seized by the hair of the head and beaten to a +jelly. I would as soon expose myself, after a vow of celibacy, to the +seductions of a lovely nymph, as encounter the fury of a jealous woman. + +KING.--Go, go; you can disarm her wrath by a civil speech; but give her +my message. + +MÁTHAVYA.--What must be must be, I suppose. [_Exit._ + +KING [_aside_].--Strange! that song has filled me with a most peculiar +sensation. A melancholy feeling has come over me, and I seem to yearn +after some long-forgotten object of affection. Singular, indeed! but, + Not seldom in our happy hours of ease, + When thought is still, the sight of some fair form, + Or mournful fall of music breathing low, + Will stir strange fancies, thrilling all the soul + With a mysterious sadness, and a sense + Of vague yet earnest longing. Can it be + That the dim memory of events long past, + Or friendships formed in other states of being, + Flits like a passing shadow o'er the spirit? + [_Remains pensive and sad_. + + _Enter the Chamberlain_. + +CHAMBERLAIN.--Alas! to what an advanced period of life have I attained! + Even this wand betrays the lapse of years; + In youthful days 'twas but a useless badge + And symbol of my office; now it serves + As a support to prop my tottering steps. + +Ah me! I feel very unwilling to announce to the King that a deputation +of young hermits from the sage Kanwa has arrived, and craves an +immediate audience. Certainly, his majesty ought not to neglect a matter +of sacred duty, yet I hardly like to trouble him when he has just risen +from the judgment-seat. Well, well; a monarch's business is to sustain +the world, and he must not expect much repose; because-- + + Onward, forever onward, in his car + The unwearied Sun pursues his daily course, + Nor tarries to unyoke his glittering steeds. + And ever moving speeds the rushing Wind + Through boundless space, filling the universe + With his life-giving breezes. Day and night, + The King of Serpents on his thousand heads + Upholds the incumbent earth; and even so, + Unceasing toil is aye the lot of kings, + Who, in return, draw nurture from their subjects. + +I will therefore deliver my message. [_Walking on and looking about_.] +Ah! here comes the King:-- + + His subjects are his children; through the day, + Like a fond father, to supply their wants, + Incessantly he labors; wearied now, + The monarch seeks seclusion and repose-- + E'en as the prince of elephants defies + The sun's fierce heat, and leads the fainting herd + To verdant pastures, ere his wayworn limbs + He yields to rest beneath the cooling shade. + +[_Approaching_.] Victory to the King! So please your majesty, some +hermits who live in a forest near the Snowy Mountains have arrived here, +bringing certain women with them. They have a message to deliver from +the sage Kanwa, and desire an audience. I await your Majesty's commands. + +KING [_respectfully_].--A message from the sage Kanwa, did you say? + +CHAMBERLAIN.--Even so, my liege. + +KING.--Tell my domestic priest, Somaráta, to receive the hermits with +due honor, according to the prescribed form. He may then himself +introduce them into my presence. I will await them in a place suitable +for the reception of such holy guests. + +CHAMBERLAIN.--Your Majesty's commands shall be obeyed. [_Exit._ + +KING [_rising and addressing the Warder_].--Vetravatí, lead the way to +the chamber of the consecrated fire. + +WARDER.--This way, Sire. + +KING [_walking on, with the air of one oppressed by the cares of +government_].--People are generally contented and happy when they have +gained their desires; but kings have no sooner attained the object of +their aspirations than all their troubles begin. + 'Tis a fond thought that to attain the end + And object of ambition is to rest; + Success doth only mitigate the fever + Of anxious expectation; soon the fear + Of losing what we have, the constant care + Of guarding it doth weary. Ceaseless toil + Must be the lot of him who with his hands + Supports the canopy that shields his subjects. + +Two HERALDS [_behind the scenes_].--May the King be victorious! + +FIRST HERALD.--Honor to him who labors day by day + For the world's weal, forgetful of his own. + Like some tall tree that with its stately head + Endures the solar beam, while underneath + It yields refreshing shelter to the weary. + +SECOND HERALD.--Let but the monarch wield his threatening rod + And e'en the guilty tremble; at his voice + The rebel spirit cowers; his grateful subjects + Acknowledge him their guardian; rich and poor + Hail him a faithful friend, a loving kinsman. + +KING.--Weary as I was before, this complimentary address has refreshed +me. [_Walks on_. + +WARDER.--Here is the terrace of the hallowed fire-chamber, and yonder +stands the cow that yields the milk for the oblations. The sacred +enclosure has been recently purified, and looks clean and beautiful. +Ascend, Sire. + +KING [_leans on the shoulders of his attendants, and ascends_]. +Vetravatí, what can possibly be the message that the venerable Kanwa has +sent me by these hermits?-- + Perchance their sacred rites have been disturbed + By demons, or some evil has befallen + The innocent herds, their favorites, that graze + Within the precincts of the hermitage; + Or haply, through my sins, some withering blight + Has nipped the creeping plants that spread their arms + Around the hallowed grove. Such troubled thoughts + Crowd through my mind, and fill me with misgiving. + +WARDER.--If you ask my opinion, Sire, I think the hermits merely wish to +take an opportunity of testifying their loyalty, and are therefore come +to offer homage to your Majesty. + +_Enter the Hermits, leading Śakoontalá, attended by Gautamí; and, in +advance of them, the Chamberlain and the domestic Priest._ + +CHAMBERLAIN.--This way, reverend sirs, this way. + +ŚÁRNGARAVA.--O Śáradwata, + 'Tis true the monarch lacks no royal grace, + Nor ever swerves from justice; true, his people, + Yea such as in life's humblest walks are found, + Refrain from evil courses; still to me, + A lonely hermit reared in solitude, + This throng appears bewildering, and methinks + I look upon a burning house, whose inmates + Are running to and fro in wild dismay. + +SÁRADWATA.--It is natural that the first sight of the King's capital +should affect you in this manner; my own sensations are very similar. + As one just bathed beholds the man polluted; + As one late purified, the yet impure:-- + As one awake looks on the yet unwakened; + Or as the freeman gazes on the thrall, + So I regard this crowd of pleasure-seekers. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_feeling a quivering sensation in her right eyelid, and +suspecting a bad omen_],--Alas! what means this throbbing of my right +eyelid? + +GAUTAMÍ.--Heaven avert the evil omen, my child! May the guardian deities +of thy husband's family convert it into a sign of good fortune! [_Walks +on_. + +PRIEST [_pointing to the King_].--Most reverend sirs, there stands the +protector of the four classes of the people; the guardian of the four +orders of the priesthood. He has just left the judgment-seat, and is +waiting for you. Behold him! + +ŚÁRNGARAVA.--Great Bráhman, we are happy in thinking that the King's +power is exerted for the protection of all classes of his subjects. We +have not come as petitioners--we have the fullest confidence in the +generosity of his nature. + The loftiest trees bend humbly to the ground + Beneath the teeming burden of their fruit; + High in the vernal sky the pregnant clouds + Suspend their stately course, and hanging low, + Scatter their sparkling treasures o'er the earth:-- + And such is true benevolence; the good + Are never rendered arrogant by riches. + +WARDER.--So please your Majesty, I judge from the placid countenance of +the hermits that they have no alarming message to deliver. + +KING [_looking at Śakoontalá_].--But the lady there-- + Who can she be, whose form of matchless grace + Is half concealed beneath her flowing veil? + Among the sombre hermits she appears + Like a fresh bud 'mid sear and yellow leaves. + +WARDER.--So please your Majesty, my curiosity is also roused, but no +conjecture occurs to my mind. This at least is certain, that she +deserves to be looked at more closely. + +KING.--True; but it is not right to gaze at another man's wife. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_placing her hand on her bosom. Aside_].--O my heart, why +this throbbing? Remember thy lord's affection, and take courage. + +PRIEST [_advancing_].--These holy men have been received with all due +honor. One of them has now a message to deliver from his spiritual +superior. Will your Majesty deign to hear it? + +KING.--I am all attention. + +HERMITS [_extending their hands_].--Victory to the King! + +KING.--Accept my respectful greeting. + +HERMITS.--May the desires of your soul be accomplished! + +KING.--I trust no one is molesting you in the prosecution of your +religious rites. + +HERMITS.--Who dares disturb our penitential rites + When thou art our protector? Can the night + Prevail to cast her shadows o'er the earth + While the sun's beams irradiate the sky? + +KING.--Such, indeed, is the very meaning of my title--"Defender of the +Just." I trust the venerable Kanwa is in good health. The world is +interested in his well-being. + +HERMITS.--Holy men have health and prosperity in their own power. He +bade us greet your Majesty, and, after kind inquiries, deliver this +message. + +KING.--Let me hear his commands. + +ŚÁRNGARAVA.--He bade us say that he feels happy in giving his sanction +to the marriage which your Majesty contracted with this lady, his +daughter, privately and by mutual agreement. Because + By us thou art esteemed the most illustrious + Of noble husbands; and Śakoontalá + Virtue herself in human form revealed. + Great Brahmá hath in equal yoke united + A bride unto a husband worthy of her:-- + Henceforth let none make blasphemous complaint + That he is pleased with ill-assorted unions. + +Since, therefore, she expects soon to be the mother of thy child, +receive her into thy palace, that she may perform, in conjunction with +thee, the ceremonies prescribed by religion on such an occasion. + +GAUTAMÍ.--So please your Majesty, I would add a few words: but why +should I intrude my sentiments when an opportunity of speaking my mind +has never been allowed me? + She took no counsel with her kindred; thou + Didst not confer with thine, but all alone + Didst solemnize thy nuptials with thy wife. + Together, then, hold converse; let us leave you. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside_].--Ah! how I tremble for my lord's reply. + +KING.--What strange proposal is this? + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside_].--His words are fire to me. + +ŚÁRNGARAVA.--What do I hear? Dost thou, then, hesitate? Monarch, thou +art well acquainted with the ways of the world, and knowest that + A wife, however virtuous and discreet, + If she live separate from her wedded lord, + Though under shelter of her parent's roof, + Is mark for vile suspicion. Let her dwell + Beside her husband, though he hold her not + In his affection. So her kinsmen will it. + +KING.--Do you really mean to assert that I ever married this lady? + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_despondingly. Aside_].--O my heart, thy worst misgivings +are confirmed. + +ŚÁRNGARAVA.--Is it becoming in a monarch to depart from the rules of +justice, because he repents of his engagements? + +KING.--I cannot answer a question which is based on a mere fabrication. + + +SÁRNGARAVA.--Such inconstancy is fortunately not common, excepting in +men intoxicated by power. + +KING.--Is that remark aimed at me? + +GAUTAMÍ.--Be not ashamed, my daughter. Let me remove thy veil for a +little space. Thy husband will then recognize thee. [_Removes her veil_. + +KING [_gazing at Śakoontalá. Aside_].--What charms are here revealed +before mine eyes! + Truly no blemish mars the symmetry + Of that fair form; yet can I ne'er believe + She is my wedded wife; and like a bee + That circles round the flower whose nectared cup + Teems with the dew of morning, I must pause + Ere eagerly I taste the proffered sweetness. + [_Remains wrapped in-thought._ + +WARDER.--How admirably does our royal master's behavior prove his regard +for justice! Who else would hesitate for a moment when good fortune +offered for his acceptance a form of such rare beauty? + +SÁRNGARAVA.--Great King, why art thou silent? + +KING.--Holy men, I have revolved the matter in my mind; but the more I +think of it, the less able am I to recollect that I ever contracted an +alliance with this lady. What answer, then, can I possibly give you when +I do not believe myself to be her husband, and I plainly see that she is +soon to become a mother? + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside_].--Woe! woe! Is our very marriage to be called in +question by my own husband? Ah me! is this to be the end of all my +bright visions of wedded happiness? + +ŚÁRNGARAVA.--Beware! + Beware how thou insult the holy Sage! + Remember how he generously allowed + Thy secret union with his foster-child; + And how, when thou didst rob him of his treasure, + He sought to furnish thee excuse, when rather + He should have cursed thee for a ravisher. + +ŚÁRADWATA.--Śárngarava, speak to him no more. Śakoontalá, our part is +performed; we have said all we had to say, and the King has replied in +the manner thou hast heard. It is now thy turn to give him convincing +evidence of thy marriage. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside_].--Since his feeling towards me has undergone a +complete revolution, what will it avail to revive old recollections? One +thing is clear--I shall soon have to mourn my own widowhood. [_Aloud_.] +My revered husband--[_Stops short_.] But no--I dare not address thee by +this title, since thou hast refused to acknowledge our union. Noble +descendant of Puru! It is not worthy of thee to betray an +innocent-minded girl, and disown her in such terms, after having so +lately and so solemnly plighted thy vows to her in the hermitage. + +KING [_stopping his ears_].--I will hear no more. Be such a crime far +from my thoughts! + What evil spirit can possess thee, lady, + That thou dost seek to sully my good name + By base aspersions? like a swollen torrent, + That, leaping from its narrow bed, overthrows + The tree upon its bank, and strives to blend + Its turbid waters with the crystal stream? + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--If, then, thou really believest me to be the wife of +another, and thy present conduct proceeds from some cloud that obscures +thy recollection, I will easily convince thee by this token. + +KING.--An excellent idea! + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_feeling for the ring_].--Alas! alas! woe is me! There is no +ring on my finger! + [_Looks with anguish at Gautamí_. + +GAUTAMÍ.--The ring must have slipped off when thou wast in the act of +offering homage to the holy water of Śachí's sacred pool, near +Śakrávatára. + +KING [_smiling_].--People may well talk of the readiness of woman's +invention! Here is an instance of it. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Say, rather, of the omnipotence of fate. I will mention +another circumstance, which may yet convince thee. + +KING.--By all means let me hear it at once. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--One day, while we were seated in a jasmine bower, thou +didst pour into the hollow of thine hand some water, sprinkled by a +recent shower in the cup of a lotus blossom-- + +KING.--I am listening; proceed. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--At that instant, my adopted child, the little fawn, with +soft, long eyes, came running towards us. Upon which, before tasting the +water thyself, thou didst kindly offer some to the little creature, +saying fondly--"Drink first, gentle fawn." But she could not be induced +to drink from the hand of a stranger; though immediately afterwards, +when I took the water in my own hand, she drank with perfect confidence. +Then, with a smile, thou didst say--"Every creature confides naturally +in its own kind. You are both inhabitants of the same forest, and have +learnt to trust each other." + +KING.--Voluptuaries may allow themselves to be seduced from the path of +duty by falsehoods such as these, expressed in honeyed words. + +GAUTAMÍ.--Speak not thus, illustrious Prince. This lady was brought up +in a hermitage, and has never learnt deceit. + +KING.--Holy matron, + E'en in untutored brutes, the female sex + Is marked by inborn subtlety--much more + In beings gifted with intelligence. + The wily Köil, ere towards the sky + She wings her sportive flight, commits her eggs + To other nests, and artfully consigns + The rearing of her little ones to strangers. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_angrily_].--Dishonorable man, thou judgest of others by +thine own evil heart. Thou, at least, art unrivalled in perfidy, and +standest alone--a base deceiver in the garb of virtue and religion--like +a deep pit whose yawning mouth is concealed by smiling flowers. + +KING [_aside_].--Her anger, at any rate, appears genuine, and makes me +almost doubt whether I am in the right. For, indeed, + When I had vainly searched my memory, + And so with stern severity denied + The fabled story of our secret loves, + Her brows, that met before in graceful curves, + Like the arched weapon of the god of love, + Seemed by her frown dissevered; while the fire + Of sudden anger kindled in her eyes. + +[_Aloud_.] My good lady, Dushyanta's character is well-known to all. I +comprehend not your meaning. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Well do I deserve to be thought a harlot for having, in the +innocence of my heart, and out of the confidence I reposed in a Prince +of Puru's race, intrusted my honor to a man whose mouth distils honey, +while his heart is full of poison. + [_Covers her face with her mantle, and bursts into tears_. + +ŚÁRNGARAVA.--Thus is it that burning remorse must ever follow rash +actions which might have been avoided, and for which one has only one's +self to blame. + Not hastily should marriage be contracted, + And specially in secret. Many a time, + In hearts that know not each the other's fancies, + Fond love is changed into most bitter hate. + +KING.--How now! Do you give credence to this woman rather than to me, +that you heap such accusations on me? + +ŚÁRNGARAVA [_sarcastically_].--That would be too absurd, certainly. You +have heard the proverb-- + Hold in contempt the innocent words of those + Who from their infancy have known no guile:-- + But trust the treacherous counsels of the man + Who makes a very science of deceit. + +KING.--Most veracious Bráhman, grant that you are in the right, what end +would be gained by betraying this lady? + +ŚÁRNGARAVA.--Ruin. + +KING.--No one will believe that a Prince of Puru's race would seek to +ruin others or himself. + +ŚÁRADWATA.--This altercation is idle, Śárngarava. We have executed the +commission of our preceptor; come, let us return. [_To the King_. + Śakoontalá is certainly thy bride; + Receive her or reject her, she is thine. + Do with her, King, according to thy pleasure-- + The husband o'er the wife is absolute. +Go on before us, Gautamí. [_They move away_. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--What! is it not enough to have been betrayed by this +perfidious man? Must you also forsake me, regardless of my tears and +lamentations? + [_Attempts to follow them_. + +GAUTAMÍ [_stopping_].--My son Śárngarava, see, Śakoontalá is following +us, and with tears implores us not to leave her. Alas! poor child, what +will she do here with a cruel husband who casts her from him? + +ŚÁRNGARAVA [_turning angrily towards her_].--Wilful woman, dost thou +seek to be independent of thy lord? + [_Śakoontalá trembles with fear_. + +ŚÁRNGARAVA.--Śakoontalá! + If thou art really what the King proclaims thee, + How can thy father e'er receive thee back + Into his house and home? but, if thy conscience + Be witness to thy purity of soul, + E'en should thy husband to a handmaid's lot + Condemn thee, thou may'st cheerfully endure it, + When ranked among the number of his household. + +Thy duty, therefore, is to stay. As for us, we must return immediately. + +KING.--Deceive not the lady, my good hermit, by any such expectations. + The moon expands the lotus of the night, + The rising sun awakes the lily; each + Is with his own contented. Even so + The virtuous man is master of his passions, + And from another's wife averts his gaze. + +ŚÁRNGARAVA.--Since thy union with another woman has rendered thee +oblivious of thy marriage with Śakoontalá, whence this fear of losing +thy character for constancy and virtue? + +KING [_to the Priest_],--You must counsel me, revered sir, as to my +course of action. Which of the two evils involves the greater or less +sin? + Whether by some dark veil my mind be clouded, + Or this designing woman speak untruly, + I know not. Tell me, must I rather be + The base disowner of my wedded wife, + Or the defiling and defiled adulterer? + +PRIEST [_after deliberation_].--You must take an intermediate course. + +KING.--What course, revered sir? Tell me at once. + +PRIEST.--I will provide an asylum for the lady in my own house until the +birth of her child; and my reason, if you ask me, is this. Soothsayers +have predicted that your first-born will have universal dominion. Now, +if the hermit's daughter bring forth a son with the discus or mark of +empire in the lines of his hand, you must admit her immediately into +your royal apartments with great rejoicings; if not, then determine to +send her back as soon as possible to her father. + +KING.--I bow to the decision of my spiritual adviser. + +PRIEST.--Daughter, follow me. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--O divine earth, open and receive me into thy bosom! + +[_Exit Śakoontalá weeping, with the Priest and the Hermits. The King +remains absorbed in thinking of her, though the curse still clouds his +recollection_. + +A VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--A miracle! a miracle! + +KING [_listening_].--What has happened now? + +PRIEST [_entering with an air of astonishment_].--Great Prince, a +stupendous prodigy has just occurred! + +KING.--What is it? + +PRIEST.--May it please your Majesty, so soon as Kanwa's pupils had +departed, + Śakoontalá, her eyes all bathed in tears, + With outstretched arms bewailed her cruel fate-- + +KING.--Well, well, what happened then? + +PRIEST.--When suddenly a shining apparition, In female shape, descended +from the skies, Near the nymphs' pool, and bore her up to heaven. + + [_All remain motionless with astonishment_. + +KING.--My good priest, from the very first I declined having anything to +do with this matter. It is now all over, and we can never, by our +conjectures, unravel the mystery; let it rest; go, seek repose. + +PRIEST [_looking at the King_].--Be it so. Victory to the King! [_Exit._ + +KING.--Vetravatí, I am tired out; lead the way to the bed-chamber. + +WARDER.--This way, Sire. [_They move away_. + +KING.--Do what I will, I cannot call to mind + That I did e'er espouse the sage's daughter-- + Therefore I have disowned her; yet 'tis strange + How painfully my agitated heart + Bears witness to the truth of her assertion, + And makes me credit her against my judgment. + [_Exeunt._ + + + + +PRELUDE TO ACT SIXTH + +Scene.--A Street + + +_Enter the King's brother-in-law as Superintendent of the city police; +and with him two Constables, dragging a poor fisherman, who has his +hands tied behind his back_. + +BOTH THE CONSTABLES [_striking the prisoner_].--Take that for a rascally +thief that you are; and now tell us, sirrah, where you found this +ring--aye, the King's own signet-ring. See, here is the royal name +engraved on the setting of the jewel. + +FISHERMAN [_with a gesture of alarm_].--Mercy! kind sirs, mercy! I did +not steal it; indeed I did not. + +FIRST CONSTABLE.--Oh! then I suppose the King took you for some fine +Bráhman, and made you a present of it? + +FISHERMAN.--Only hear me. I am but a poor fisherman, living at +Śakrávatára------ + +SECOND CONSTABLE.--Scoundrel, who ever asked you, pray, for a history of +your birth and parentage? + +SUPERINTENDENT [_to one of the Constables_].--Súchaka, let the fellow +tell his own story from the beginning. Don't interrupt him. + +BOTH CONSTABLES.--As you please, master. Go on, then, sirrah, and say +what you've got to say. + +FISHERMAN.--You see in me a poor man, who supports his family by +catching fish with nets, hooks, and the like. + +SUPERINTENDENT [_laughing_].--A most refined occupation, certainly! + +FISHERMAN.--Blame me not for it, master. + The father's occupation, though despised + By others, casts no shame upon the son, + And he should not forsake it. Is the priest + Who kills the animal for sacrifice + Therefore deemed cruel? Sure a lowborn man + May, though a fisherman, be tender-hearted. + +SUPERINTENDENT.--Well, well; go on with your story. + +FISHERMAN.--One day I was cutting open a large carp I had just hooked, +when the sparkle of a jewel caught my eye, and what should I find in the +fish's maw but that ring! Soon afterwards, when I was offering it for +sale, I was seized by your honors. Now you know everything. Whether you +kill me, or whether you let me go, this is the true account of how the +ring came into my possession. + +SUPERINTENDENT [_to one of the Constables_].--Well, Jánuka, the rascal +emits such a fishy odor that I have no doubt of his being a fisherman; +but we must inquire a little more closely into this queer story about +the finding of the ring. Come, we'll take him before the King's +household. + +BOTH CONSTABLES.--Very good, master. Get on with you, you cutpurse. + [_All move on_. + +SUPERINTENDENT.--Now attend, Súchaka; keep you guard here at the gate; +and hark ye, sirrahs, take good care your prisoner does not escape, +while I go in and lay the whole story of the discovery of this ring +before the King in person. I will soon return and let you know his +commands. + +CONSTABLE.--Go in, master, by all means; and may you find favor in the +King's sight! + [_Exit Superintendent_. + +FIRST CONSTABLE [_after an interval_].--I say, Jánuka, the +Superintendent is a long time away. + +SECOND CONSTABLE.--Aye, aye; kings are not to be got at so easily. Folks +must bide the proper opportunity. + +FIRST CONSTABLE.--Jánuka, my fingers itch to strike the first blow at +this royal victim here. We must kill him with all the honors, you know. +I long to begin binding the flowers round his head. + [_Pretends to strike a blow at the fisherman_. + +FISHERMAN.--Your honor surely will not put an innocent man to a cruel +death. + +SECOND CONSTABLE [_looking_].--There's our Superintendent at last, I +declare. See, he is coming towards us with a paper in his hand. We shall +soon know the King's command; so prepare, my fine fellow, either to +become food for the vultures, or to make acquaintance with some hungry +cur. + +SUPERINTENDENT [_entering_].--Ho, there, Súchaka! set the fisherman at +liberty, I tell you. His story about the ring is all correct. + +SÚCHAKA.--Oh! very good, sir; as you please. + +SECOND CONSTABLE.--The fellow had one foot in hell, and now here he is +in the land of the living. [_Releases him_. + +FISHERMAN [_bowing to the Superintendent_].--Now, master, what think you +of my way of getting a livelihood? + +SUPERINTENDENT.--Here, my good man, the King desired me to present you +with this purse. It contains a sum of money equal to the full value of +the ring. + [_Gives him the money_. + +FISHERMAN [_taking it and bowing_].--His Majesty does me too great +honor. + +SÚCHAKA.--You may well say so. He might as well have taken you from the +gallows to seat you on his state elephant. + +JÁNUKA.--Master, the King must value the ring very highly, or he would +never have sent such a sum of money to this ragamuffin. + +SUPERINTENDENT.--I don't think he prizes it as a costly jewel so much as +a memorial of some person he tenderly loves. The moment it was shown to +him he became much agitated, though in general he conceals his feelings. + +SÚCHAKA.--Then you must have done a great service------ + +JÁNUKA.--Yes, to this husband of a fish-wife. + [_Looks enviously at the fisherman_. + +FISHERMAN.--Here's half the money for you, my masters. It will serve to +purchase the flowers you spoke of, if not to buy me your good-will. + +JÁNUKA.--Well, now, that's just as it should be. + +SUPERINTENDENT.--My good fisherman, you are an excellent fellow, and I +begin to feel quite a regard for you. Let us seal our first friendship +over a glass of good liquor. Come along to the next wine-shop and we'll +drink your health. + +ALL.--By all means. + [_Exeunt._ + + + + +ACT SIXTH + +Scene.--The Garden of the Palace + + +_The nymph Sánumatí is seen descending in a celestial car_. + +SÁNUMATÍ.--Behold me just arrived from attending in my proper turn at +the nymphs' pool, where I have left the other nymphs to perform their +ablutions, whilst I seek to ascertain, with my own eyes, how it fares +with King Dushyanta. My connection with the nymph Menaká has made her +daughter Śakoontalá dearer to me than my own flesh and blood; and Menaká +it was who charged me with this errand on her daughter's behalf. +[_Looking round in all directions_.] How is it that I see no +preparations in the King's household for celebrating the great vernal +festival? I could easily discover the reason by my divine faculty of +meditation; but respect must be shown to the wishes of my friend. How +then shall I arrive at the truth? I know what I will do. I will become +invisible, and place myself near those two maidens who are tending the +plants in the garden. [_Descends and takes her station_. + +_Enter a Maiden, who stops in front of a mango-tree and gazes at the +blossom. Another Maiden is seen behind her_. + +FIRST MAIDEN.--Hail to thee, lovely harbinger of spring! The varied +radiance of thy opening flowers Is welcome to my sight. I bid thee hail, +Sweet mango, soul of this enchanting season. + +SECOND MAIDEN.--Parabaitiká, what are you saying there to yourself? + +FIRST MAIDEN.--Dear Madhukariká, am I not named after the Köil?[41] and +does not the Köil sing for joy at the first appearance of the +mango-blossom? + +SECOND MAIDEN [_approaching hastily, with transport_].--What! is spring +really come? + +FIRST MAIDEN.--Yes, indeed, Madhukariká, and with it the season of joy, +love, and song. + +SECOND MAIDEN.--Let me lean upon you, dear, while I stand on tip-toe and +pluck a blossom of the mango, that I may present it as an offering to +the god of love. + +FIRST MAIDEN.--Provided you let me have half the reward which the god +will bestow in return. + +SECOND MAIDEN.--To be sure you shall, and that without asking. Are we +not one in heart and soul, though divided in body? [_Leans on her friend +and plucks a mango-blossom._] Ah! here is a bud just bursting into +flower. It diffuses a delicious perfume, though not yet quite expanded. + [_Joining her hands reverentially_. + + God of the bow, who with spring's choicest flowers + Dost point thy five unerring shafts; to thee + I dedicate this blossom; let it serve + To barb thy truest arrow; be its mark + Some youthful heart that pines to be beloved. + + [_Throws down a mango-blossom._ + +CHAMBERLAIN [_entering in a hurried manner, angrily_].--Hold there, +thoughtless woman. What are you about breaking off those mango-blossoms, +when the King has forbidden the celebration of the spring festival? + +BOTH MAIDENS [_alarmed_].--Pardon us, kind sir, we have heard nothing of +it. + +CHAMBERLAIN.--You have heard nothing of it? Why, all the vernal plants +and shrubs, and the very birds that lodge in their branches, show more +respect to the King's order than you do. + Yon mango-blossoms, though long since expanded, + Gather no down upon their tender crests; + The flower still lingers in the amaranth, + Imprisoned in its bud; the tuneful Köil, + Though winter's chilly dews be overpast, + Suspends the liquid volume of his song + Scarce uttered in his throat; e'en Love, dismayed, + Restores the half-drawn arrow to his quiver. + +BOTH MAIDENS.--The mighty power of King Dushyanta is not to be disputed. + +FIRST MAIDEN.--It is but a few days since Mitrávasu, the king's +brother-in-law, sent us to wait upon his Majesty; and, during the whole +of our sojourn here, we have been intrusted with the charge of the royal +pleasure-grounds. We are therefore strangers in this place, and heard +nothing of the order until you informed us of it. + +CHAMBERLAIN.--Well then, now you know it, take care you don't continue +your preparations. + +BOTH MAIDENS.--But tell us, kind sir, why has the King prohibited the +usual festivities? We are curious to hear, if we may. + +SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--Men are naturally fond of festive entertainments. +There must be some good reason for the prohibition. + +CHAMBERLAIN.--The whole affair is now public; why should I not speak of +it! Has not the gossip about the King's rejection of Śakoontalá reached +your ears yet? + +BOTH MAIDENS.--Oh yes, we heard the story from the King's +brother-in-law, as far, at least, as the discovery of the ring. + +CHAMBERLAIN.--Then there is little more to tell you. As soon as the +King's memory was restored by the sight of his own ring, he exclaimed, +"Yes, it is all true. I remember now my secret marriage with Śakoontalá. +When I repudiated her, I had lost my recollection." Ever since that +moment, he has yielded himself a prey to the bitterest remorse. + He loathes his former pleasures; he rejects + The daily homage of his ministers. + On his lone couch he tosses to and fro, + Courting repose in vain. Whene'er he meets + The ladies of his palace, and would fain + Address them with politeness, he confounds + Their names; or, calling them "Śakoontalá," + Is straightway silent and abashed with shame. + +SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--To me this account is delightful. + +CHAMBERLAIN.--In short, the King is so completely out of his mind that +the festival has been prohibited. + +BOTH MAIDENS.--Perfectly right. + +A VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--The King! the King! This way, Sire, this +way. + +CHAMBERLAIN [_listening_].--Oh! here comes his majesty in this +direction. Pass on, maidens; attend to your duties. + +BOTH MAIDENS.--We will, sir. [_Exeunt._ + +_Enter King Dushyanta, dressed in deep mourning, attended by his Jester, +Máthavya, and preceded by Vetravatí._ + +CHAMBERLAIN [_gazing at the King_].--Well, noble forms are certainly +pleasing, under all varieties of outward circumstances. The King's +person is as charming as ever, notwithstanding his sorrow of mind. + Though but a single golden bracelet spans + His wasted arm; though costly ornaments + Have given place to penitential weeds; + Though oft-repeated sighs have blanched his lips, + And robbed them of their bloom; though sleepless care + And carking thought have dimmed his beaming eye; + Yet does his form, by its inherent lustre, + Dazzle the gaze; and, like a priceless gem + Committed to some cunning polisher, + Grow more effulgent by the loss of substance. + +SÁNUMATÍ [_aside. Looking at the King_].--Now that I have seen him, I +can well understand why Śakoontalá should pine after such a man, in +spite of his disdainful rejection of her. + +KING [_walking slowly up and down, in deep thought_].-- + When fatal lethargy overwhelmed my soul, + My loved one strove to rouse me, but in vain:-- + And now when I would fain in slumber deep + Forget myself, full soon remorse doth wake me. + +SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--My poor Śakoontalá's sufferings are very similar. + +MÁTHAVYA [_aside_].--He is taken with another attack of this odious +Śakoontalá fever. How shall we ever cure him? + +CHAMBERLAIN [_approaching_].--Victory to the King! Great Prince, the +royal pleasure-grounds have been put in order. Your Majesty can resort +to them for exercise and amusement whenever you think proper. + +KING.--Vetravatí, tell the worthy Piśuna, my prime minister, from me, +that I am so exhausted by want of sleep that I cannot sit on the +judgment-seat to-day. If any case of importance be brought before the +tribunal he must give it his best attention, and inform me of the +circumstances by letter. + +VETRAVATÍ.--Your Majesty's commands shall be obeyed. [_Exit._ + +KING [_to the Chamberlain_].--And you, Vátáyana, may go about your own +affairs. + +CHAMBERLAIN.--I will, Sire. [_Exit._ + +MÁTHAVYA.--Now that you have rid yourself of these troublesome fellows, +you can enjoy the delightful coolness of your pleasure-grounds without +interruption. + +KING.--Ah! my dear friend, there is an old adage--"When affliction has a +mind to enter, she will find a crevice somewhere"--and it is verified in +me. + Scarce is my soul delivered from the cloud + That darkened its remembrance of the past, + When lo! the heart-born deity of love + With yonder blossom of the mango barbs + His keenest shaft, and aims it at my breast. + +MÁTHAVYA.--Well, then, wait a moment; I will soon demolish Master Káma's +arrow with a cut of my cane. + + [_Raises his stick and strikes off the mango-blossom._ + +KING [_smiling_].--That will do. I see very well the god of Love is not +a match for a Bráhman. And now, my dear friend, where shall I sit down, +that I may enchant my sight by gazing on the twining plants, which seem +to remind me of the graceful shape of my beloved? + +MÁTHAVYA.--Do you not remember? you told Chaturiká you should pass the +heat of the day in the jasmine bower; and commanded her to bring the +likeness of your queen Śakoontalá, sketched with your own hand. + +KING.--True. The sight of her picture will refresh my soul. Lead the way +to the arbor. + +MÁTHAVYA.--This way, Sire. + + [_Both move on, followed by Sánumatí._ + +MÁTHAVYA.--Here we are at the jasmine bower. Look, it has a marble seat, +and seems to bid us welcome with its offerings of delicious flowers. You +have only to enter and sit down. [_Both enter and seat themselves._ + +SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--I will lean against these young jasmines. I can +easily, from behind them, glance at my friend's picture, and will then +hasten to inform her of her husband's ardent affection. [_Stands leaning +against the creepers_. + +KING.--Oh! my dear friend, how vividly all the circumstances of my union +with Śakoontalá present themselves to my recollection at this moment! +But tell me now how it was that, between the time of my leaving her in +the hermitage and my subsequent rejection of her, you never breathed her +name to me! True, you were not by my side when I disowned her; but I had +confided to you the story of my love and you were acquainted with every +particular. Did it pass out of your mind as it did out of mine? + +MÁTHAVYA.--No, no; trust me for that. But, if you remember, when you had +finished telling me about it, you added that I was not to take the story +in earnest, for that you were not really in love with a country girl, +but were only jesting; and I was dull and thick-headed enough to believe +you. But so fate decreed, and there is no help for it. + +SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--Exactly. + +KING [_after deep thought_].--My dear friend, suggest some relief for my +misery. + +MÁTHAVYA.--Come, come, cheer up; why do you give way? Such weakness is +unworthy of you. Great men never surrender themselves to uncontrolled +grief. Do not mountains remain unshaken even in a gale of wind? + +KING.--How can I be otherwise than inconsolable, when I call to mind the +agonized demeanor of the dear one on the occasion of my disowning her? + When cruelly I spurned her from my presence, + She fain had left me; but the young recluse, + Stern as the Sage, and with authority + As from his saintly master, in a voice + That brooked not contradiction, bade her stay. + Then through her pleading eyes, bedimmed with tears, + She cast on me one long reproachful look, + Which like a poisoned shaft torments me still. + +SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--Alas! such is the force of self-reproach following +a rash action. But his anguish only rejoices me. + +MÁTHAVYA.--An idea has just struck me. I should not wonder if some +celestial being had carried her off to heaven. + +KING.--Very likely. Who else would have dared to lay a +finger on a wife, the idol of her husband? It is said that Menaká, the +nymph of heaven, gave her birth. The suspicion has certainly crossed my +mind that some of her celestial companions may have taken her to their +own abode. + +SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--His present recollection of every circumstance of +her history does not surprise me so much as his former forgetfulness. + +MÁTHAVYA.--If that's the case, you will be certain to meet her before +long. + +KING.--Why? + +MÁTHAVYA.--No father and mother can endure to see a daughter suffering +the pain of separation from her husband. + +KING.--Oh! my dear Máthavya, + Was it a dream? or did some magic dire, + Dulling my senses with a strange delusion, + Overcome my spirit? or did destiny, + Jealous of my good actions, mar their fruit, + And rob me of their guerdon? It is past, + Whatever the spell that bound me. Once again + Am I awake, but only to behold + The precipice o'er which my hopes have fallen. + +MÁTHAVYA.--Do not despair in this manner. Is not this very ring a proof +that what has been lost may be unexpectedly found? + +KING [_gazing at the ring_].--Ah! this ring, too, has fallen from a +station which it will not easily regain, and deserves all my sympathy. + O gem, deserved the punishment we suffer, + And equal is the merit of our works, + When such our common doom. Thou didst enjoy + The thrilling contact of those slender fingers, + Bright as the dawn; and now how changed thy lot! + +SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--Had it found its way to the hand of any other +person, then indeed its fate would have been deplorable. + +MÁTHAVYA.--Pray, how did the ring ever come upon her hand at all? + +SÁNUMATÍ.--I myself am curious to know. + +KING.--You shall hear. When I was leaving my beloved Śakoontalá that I +might return to my own capital, she said to me, with tears in her eyes, +"How long will it be ere my lord send for me to his palace and make me +his queen?" + +MÁTHAVYA.--Well, what was your reply? + +KING.--Then I placed the ring on her finger, and thus addressed her-- + Repeat each day one letter of the name + Engraven on this gem; ere thou hast reckoned + The tale of syllables, my minister + Shall come to lead thee to thy husband's palace. +But, hard-hearted man that I was, I forgot to fulfil my promise, owing +to the infatuation that took possession of me. + +SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--A pleasant arrangement! Fate, however, ordained +that the appointment should not be kept. + +MÁTHAVYA.--But how did the ring contrive to pass into the stomach of +that carp which the fisherman caught and was cutting up? + +KING.--It must have slipped from my Śakoontalá's hand, and fallen into +the stream of the Ganges, while she was offering homage to the water of +Sachí's holy pool. + +MÁTHAVYA.--Very likely. + +SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--Hence it happened, I suppose, that the King, always +fearful of committing the least injustice, came to doubt his marriage +with my poor Śakoontalá. But why should affection so strong as his stand +in need of any token of recognition? + +KING.--Let me now address a few words of reproof to this ring. + +MÁTHAVYA [_aside_].--He is going stark mad, I verily believe. + +KING.--Hear me, thou dull and undiscerning bauble! + For so it argues thee, that thou couldst leave + The slender fingers of her hand, to sink + Beneath the waters. Yet what marvel is it + That thou shouldst lack discernment? let me rather + Heap curses on myself, who, though endowed + With reason, yet rejected her I loved. + +MÁTHAVYA [_aside_].--And so, I suppose, I must stand here to be devoured +by hunger, whilst he goes on in this sentimental strain. + +KING.--O forsaken one, unjustly banished from my presence, take pity on +thy slave, whose heart is consumed by the fire of remorse, and return to +my sight. + +_Enter Chaturiká hurriedly, with a picture in her hand_. + +CHATURIKÁ.--Here is the Queen's portrait. [_Shows the picture_. + +MÁTHAVYA.--Excellent, my dear friend, excellent! The imitation of nature +is perfect, and the attitude of the figures is really charming. They +stand out in such bold relief that the eye is quite deceived. + +SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--A most artistic performance! I admire the King's +skill, and could almost believe that Śakoontalá herself was before me. + +KING.--I own 'tis not amiss, though it portrays + But feebly her angelic loveliness. + Aught less than perfect is depicted falsely, + And fancy must supply the imperfection. + +SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--A very just remark from a modest man, whose +affection is exaggerated by the keenness of his remorse. + +MÁTHAVYA.--Tell me--I see three female figures drawn on the canvas, and +all of them beautiful; which of the three is her Majesty, Śakoontalá? + +SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--If he cannot distinguish her from the others, the +simpleton might as well have no eyes in his head. + +KING.--Which should you imagine to be intended for her? + +MÁTHAVYA.--She who is leaning, apparently a little tired, against the +stem of that mango-tree, the tender leaves of which glitter with the +water she has poured upon them. Her arms are gracefully extended; her +face is somewhat flushed with the heat; and a few flowers have escaped +from her hair, which has become unfastened, and hangs in loose tresses +about her neck. That must be the queen Śakoontalá, and the others, I +presume, are her two attendants. + +KING.--I congratulate you on your discernment. Behold the proof of my +passion; + My finger, burning with the glow of love, + Has left its impress on the painted tablet; + While here and there, alas! a scalding tear + Has fallen on the cheek and dimmed its brightness. + Chaturiká, the garden in the background of the picture is + only half-painted. Go, fetch the brush that I may finish it. + +CHATURIKÁ.--Worthy Máthavya, have the kindness to hold the picture until +I return. + +KING.--Nay, I will hold it myself. + [_Takes the picture. Exit Chaturiká_. + +KING.--My loved one came but lately to my presence + And offered me herself, but in my folly + I spurned the gift, and now I fondly cling + To her mere image; even as a madman + Would pass the waters of the gushing stream, + And thirst for airy vapors of the desert. + +MÁTHAVYA [_aside_].--He has been fool enough to forego the reality for +the semblance, the substance for the shadow. [_Aloud._] Tell us, I pray, +what else remains to be painted. + +SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--He longs, no doubt, to delineate some favorite spot +where my dear Śakoontalá delighted to ramble. + +KING.--You shall hear------ + I wish to see the Máliní portrayed, + Its tranquil course by banks of sand impeded-- + Upon the brink a pair of swans: beyond, + The hills adjacent to Himálaya, + Studded with deer; and, near the spreading shade + Of some large tree, where 'mid the branches hang + The hermits' vests of bark, a tender doe, + Rubbing its downy forehead on the horn + Of a black antelope, should be depicted. + +MÁTHAVYA [_aside_].--Pooh! if I were he, I would fill up the vacant +spaces with a lot of grizzly-bearded old hermits. + +KING.--My dear Máthavya, there is still a part of Śakoontalá's dress +which I purposed to draw, but find I have omitted. + +MÁTHAVYA.--What is that? + +SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--Something suitable, I suppose, to the simple attire +of a young and beautiful girl dwelling in a forest. + +KING.--A sweet Śirísha blossom should be twined + Behind her ear, its perfumed crest depending + Towards her cheek; and, resting on her bosom, + A lotus-fibre necklace, soft and bright + As an autumnal moon-beam, should be traced. + +MÁTHAVYA.--Pray, why does the Queen cover her lips with the tips of her +fingers, bright as the blossom of a lily, as if she were afraid of +something? [_Looking more closely_.] Oh! I see; a vagabond bee, intent +on thieving the honey of flowers, has mistaken her mouth for a rose-bud, +and is trying to settle upon it. + +KING.--A bee! drive off the impudent insect, will you? + +MÁTHAVYA.--That's your business. Your royal prerogative gives you power +over all offenders. + +KING.--Very true. Listen to me, thou favorite guest of flowering plants; +why give thyself the trouble of hovering here? See where thy partner +sits on yonder flower, And waits for thee ere she will sip its dew. + +SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--A most polite way of warning him off! + +MÁTHAVYA.--You'll find the obstinate creature is not to be sent about +his business so easily as you think. + +KING.--Dost thou presume to disobey? Now hear me-- + An thou but touch the lips of my beloved, + Sweet as the opening blossom, whence I quaffed + In happier days love's nectar, I will place thee + Within the hollow of yon lotus cup, + And there imprison thee for thy presumption. + +MÁTHAVYA.--He must be bold indeed not to show any fear when you threaten +him with such an awful punishment. [_Smiling, aside_.] He is stark mad, +that's clear; and I believe, by keeping him company, I am beginning to +talk almost as wildly. [_Aloud_.] Look, it is only a painted bee. + +KING.--Painted? impossible! + +SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--Even I did not perceive it; how much less should +he? + +KING.--Oh! my dear friend, why were you so ill-natured as to tell me the +truth? + While, all entranced, I gazed upon her picture, + My loved one seemed to live before my eyes, + Till every fibre of my being thrilled + With rapturous emotion. Oh! 'twas cruel + To dissipate the day-dream, and transform + The blissful vision to a lifeless image. + [_Sheds tears_. + +SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--Separated lovers are very difficult to please; but +he seems more difficult than usual. + +KING.--Alas! my dear Máthavya, why am I doomed to be the victim of +perpetual disappointment? + Vain is the hope of meeting her in dreams, + For slumber night by night forsakes my couch: + And now that I would fain assuage my grief + By gazing on her portrait here before me, + Tears of despairing love obscure my sight. + +SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_],--You have made ample amends for the wrong you did +Śakoontalá in disowning her. + +CHATURIKÁ [_entering_].--Victory to the King! I was coming along with +the box of colors in my hand------ + +KING.--What now? + +CHATURIKÁ.--When I met the Queen Vasumatí, attended by Taraliká. She +insisted on taking it from me, and declared she would herself deliver it +into your Majesty's hands. + +MÁTHAVYA.--By what luck did you contrive to escape her? + +CHATURIKÁ.--While her maid was disengaging her mantle, which had caught +in the branch of a shrub, I ran away. + +KING.--Here, my good friend, take the picture and conceal it. My +attentions to the Queen have made her presumptuous. She will be here in +a minute. + +MÁTHAVYA.--Conceal the picture! conceal myself, you mean. [_Getting up +and taking the picture_.] The Queen has a bitter draught in store for +you, which you will have to swallow as Siva did the poison at the +Deluge. When you are well quit of her, you may send and call me from the +Palace of Clouds,[42] where I shall take refuge. + [_Exit, running_. + +SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--Although the King's affections are transferred to +another object, yet he respects his previous attachments. I fear his +love must be somewhat fickle. + +VETRAVATÍ [_entering with a despatch in her hand_].--Victory to the +King! + +KING.---Vetravatí, did you observe the Queen Vasumatí coming in this +direction? + +VETRAVATÍ.--I did; but when she saw that I had a despatch in my hand for +your Majesty, she turned back. + +KING.--The Queen has too much regard for propriety to interrupt me when +I am engaged with state-affairs. + +VETRAVATÍ.--So please your Majesty, your Prime Minister begs +respectfully to inform you that he has devoted much time to the +settlement of financial calculations, and only one case of importance +has been submitted by the citizens for his consideration. He has made a +written report of the facts, and requests your Majesty to cast your eyes +over it. + +KING.--Hand me the paper. + [_Vetravatí delivers it_. + +KING [_reading_].--What have we here? "A merchant named Dhanamitra, +trading by sea, was lost in a late shipwreck. Though a wealthy trader, +he was childless; and the whole of his immense property becomes by law +forfeited to the King." So writes the minister. Alas! alas! for his +childlessness. But surely, if he was wealthy, he must have had many +wives. Let an inquiry be made whether any one of them is expecting to +give birth to a child. + +VETRAVATÍ.--They say that his wife, the daughter of the foreman of a +guild belonging to Ayodhyá, has just completed the ceremonies usual upon +such expectations. + +KING.--The unborn child has a title to his father's property. Such is my +decree. Go, bid my minister proclaim it so. + +VETRAVATÍ.--I will, my liege. [_Going_. + +KING.--Stay a moment. + +VETRAVATÍ.--I am at your Majesty's service. + +KING.--Let there be no question whether he may or may not have left +offspring; + Rather be it proclaimed that whosoe'er + Of King Dushyanta's subjects be bereaved + Of any loved relation, an it be not + That his estates are forfeited for crimes, + Dushyanta will himself to them supply + That kinsman's place in tenderest affection. + +VETRAVATÍ.--It shall be so proclaimed. + + [_Exit Vetravatí, and reënter after an interval_. + +VETRAVATÍ.--Your Majesty's proclamation was received with acclamations +of joy, like grateful rain at the right season. + +KING [_drawing a deep sigh_].--So then, the property of rich men, who +have no lineal descendants, passes over to a stranger at their decease. +And such, alas! must be the fate of the fortunes of the race of Puru at +my death; even as when fertile soil is sown with seed at the wrong +season. + +VETRAVATÍ.--Heaven forbid! + +KING.--Fool that I was to reject such happiness when it offered itself +for my acceptance! + +SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--He may well blame his own folly when he calls to +mind his treatment of my beloved Śakoontalá. + +KING.--Ah! woe is me? when I forsook my wife-- + My lawful wife--concealed within her breast + There lay my second self, a child unborn, + Hope of my race, e'en as the choicest fruit + Lies hidden in the bosom of the earth. + +SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--There is no fear of your race being cut off for +want of a son. + +CHATURIKÁ [_aside to Vetravatí_].--The affair of the merchant's death +has quite upset our royal master, and caused him sad distress. Had you +not better fetch the worthy Máthavya from the Palace of Clouds to +comfort him? + +VETRAVATÍ.--A very good idea. [_Exit_. + +KING.--Alas! the shades of my forefathers are even now beginning to be +alarmed, lest at my death they may be deprived of their funeral +libations. + No son remains in King Dushyanta's place + To offer sacred homage to the dead + Of Puru's noble line: my ancestors + Must drink these glistening tears, the last libation + A childless man can ever hope to make them. + [_Falls down in an agony of grief_. + +CHATURIKÁ [_looking at him in consternation_].--Great King, compose +yourself. + +SÁNUMATÍ [_aside_].--Alas! alas! though a bright light is shining near +him, he is involved in the blackest darkness, by reason of the veil that +obscures his sight. I will now reveal all, and put an end to his misery. +But no; I heard the mother of the great Indra, when she was consoling +Śakoontalá, say, that the gods will soon bring about a joyful union +between husband and wife, being eager for the sacrifice which will be +celebrated in their honor on the occasion. I must not anticipate the +happy moment, but will return at once to my dear friend and cheer her +with an account of what I have seen and heard. + [_Rises aloft and disappears_. + +A VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Help! help! to the rescue! + +KING [_recovering himself. Listening_].--Ha! I heard a cry of distress, +and in Máthavya's voice. What ho there! + +VETRAVATÍ [_entering_].--Your friend is in danger; save him, great King. + +KING.--Who dares insult the worthy Máthavya? + +VETRAVATÍ.--Some evil demon, invisible to human eyes, has seized him, +and carried him to one of the turrets of the Palace of Clouds. + +KING [_rising_].--Impossible! Have evil spirits power over my subjects, +even in my private apartments? Well, well-- + Daily I seem less able to avert + Misfortune from myself, and o'er my actions + Less competent to exercise control; + How can I then direct my subjects' ways, + Or shelter them from tyranny and wrong? + +A VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Halloo there! my dear friend; help! +help! + +KING [_advancing with rapid strides_].--Fear nothing-- + +THE SAME VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Fear nothing, indeed! How can I +help fearing when some monster is twisting back my neck, and is about to +snap it as he would a sugarcane? + +KING [_looking round_].--What ho there! my bow. + +SLAVE [_entering with a bow_].--Behold your bow, Sire, and your +arm-guard. + + [_The king snatches up the bow and arrows_. + +ANOTHER VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Here, thirsting for thy +life-blood, will I slay thee, As a fierce tiger rends his struggling +prey. Call now thy friend Dushyanta to thy aid; His bow is mighty to +defend the weak; Yet all its vaunted power shall be as nought. + +KING [_with fury_].--What! dares he defy me to my face? Hold there, +monster! Prepare to die, for your time is come. [_Stringing his bow_.] +Vetravatí, lead the way to the terrace. + +VETRAVATÍ.--This way, Sire. [_They advance in haste_. + +KING [_looking on every side_].--How's this? there is nothing to be +seen. + +A VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Help! Save me! I can see you, though you +cannot see me. I am like a mouse in the claws of a cat; my life is not +worth a moment's purchase. + +KING.--Avaunt, monster! You may pride yourself on the magic that renders +you invisible, but my arrow shall find you out. Thus do I fix a shaft + That shall discern between an impious demon + And a good Bráhman; bearing death to thee, + To him deliverance--even as the swan + Distinguishes the milk from worthless water. + [_Takes aim_. + + _Enter Mátali, holding Máthavya, whom he releases_. + +MÁTALI.--Turn thou thy deadly arrows on the demons; + Such is the will of Indra; let thy bow + Be drawn against the enemies of the gods; + But on thy friends cast only looks of favor. + +KING [_putting back his arrow_].--What, Mátali! Welcome, most noble +charioteer of the mighty Indra. + +MÁTHAVYA.--So, here is a monster who thought as little about +slaughtering me as if I had been a bullock for sacrifice, and you must +e'en greet him with a welcome. + +MÁTALI [_smiling_].--Great Prince, hear on what errand Indra sent me +into your presence. + +KING.--I am all attention. + +MÁTALI.--There is a race of giants, the descendants of Kálanemi, whom +the gods find difficult to subdue. + +KING.--So I have already heard from Nárada. + +MÁTALI.--Heaven's mighty lord, who deigns to call thee "friend," + Appoints thee to the post of highest honor, + As leader of his armies; and commits + The subjugation of this giant brood + To thy resistless arms, e'en as the sun + Leaves the pale moon to dissipate the darkness. + +Let your Majesty, therefore, ascend at once the celestial car of Indra; +and, grasping your arms, advance to victory. + +KING.--The mighty Indra honors me too highly by such a mark of +distinction. But tell me, what made you act thus towards my poor friend +Máthavya? + +MÁTALI.--I will tell you. Perceiving that your Majesty's spirit was +completely broken by some distress of mind under which you were +laboring, I determined to rouse your energies by moving you to anger. +Because + To light a flame, we need but stir the embers; + The cobra, when incensed, extends his head + And springs upon his foe; the bravest men + Display their courage only when provoked. + +KING [_aside to Máthavya_].--My dear Máthavya, the commands of the great +Indra must not be left unfulfilled. Go you and acquaint my minister, +Piśuna, with what has happened, and say to him from me, Dushyanta to thy +care confides his realm-- + Protect with all the vigor of thy mind + The interests of my people; while my bow + Is braced against the enemies of heaven. + +MÁTHAVYA.--I obey. [_Exit._ + +MÁTALI.--Ascend, illustrious Prince. + [_The King ascends the car. Exeunt_. + + +[41] The Köil is the Indian cuckoo. It is sometimes called Parabhrita +(nourished by another) because the female is known to leave her eggs in +the nest of the crow to be hatched. The bird is a great favorite with +the Indian poets, as the nightingale with Europeans. + +[42] Palace of King Dushyanta, so-called because it was as lofty as the +clouds. + + + + +ACT SEVENTH + +Scene.--The Sky + + +_Enter King Dushyanta and Mátali in the car of Indra, moving in the +air_. + +KING.--My good Mátali, it appears to me incredible that I can merit such +a mark of distinction for having simply fulfilled the behests of the +great Indra. + +MÁTALI [_smiling_].--Great Prince, it seems to me that neither of you is +satisfied with himself-- + You underrate the service you have rendered, + And think too highly of the god's reward: + He deems it scarce sufficient recompense + For your heroic deeds on his behalf. + +KING.--Nay, Mátali, say not so. My most ambitious expectations were more +than realized by the honor conferred on me at the moment when I took my +leave. For, + Tinged with celestial sandal, from the breast + Of the great Indra, where before it hung, + A garland of the ever-blooming tree + Of Nandana was cast about my neck + By his own hand: while, in the very presence + Of the assembled gods, I was enthroned + Beside their mighty lord, who smiled to see + His son Jayanta envious of the honor. + +MÁTALI.--There is no mark of distinction which your Majesty does not +deserve at the hands of the immortals. See, + Heaven's hosts acknowledge thee their second saviour; + For now thy bow's unerring shafts (as erst + The lion-man's terrific claws) have purged + The empyreal sphere from taint of demons foul. + +KING.--The praise of my victory must be ascribed to the majesty of +Indra. + When mighty gods make men their delegates + In martial enterprise, to them belongs + The palm of victory; and not to mortals. + Could the pale Dawn dispel the shades of night, + Did not the god of day, whose diadem + Is jewelled with a thousand beams of light, + Place him in front of his effulgent car? + +MÁTALI.--A very just comparison. [_Driving on._] Great King, behold! the +glory of thy fame has reached even to the vault of heaven. + Hark! yonder inmates of the starry sphere + Sing anthems worthy of thy martial deeds, + While with celestial colors they depict + The story of thy victories on scrolls + Formed of the leaves of heaven's immortal trees. + +KING.--My good Mátali, yesterday, when I ascended the sky, I was so +eager to do battle with the demons, that the road by which we were +travelling towards Indra's heaven escaped my observation. Tell me, in +which path of the seven winds are we now moving? + +MÁTALI.--We journey in the path of Parivaha; + The wind that bears along the triple Ganges, + And causes Ursa's seven stars to roll + In their appointed orbits, scattering + Their several rays with equal distribution. + 'Tis the same path that once was sanctified + By the divine impression of the foot + Of Vishnu, when, to conquer haughty Bali, + He spanned the heavens in his second stride. + +KING.--This is the reason, I suppose, that a sensation of calm repose +pervades all my senses. [_Looking down at the wheels._] Ah! Mátali, we +are descending towards the earth's atmosphere. + +MÁTALI.--What makes you think so? + +KING.--The car itself instructs me; we are moving + O'er pregnant clouds, surcharged with rain; below us + I see the moisture-loving Chátakas + In sportive flight dart through the spokes; the steeds + Of Indra glisten with the lightning's flash; + And a thick mist bedews the circling wheels. + +MÁTALI.--You are right; in a little while the chariot will touch the +ground, and you will be in your own dominions. + +KING [_looking down_],--How wonderful is the appearance of the earth as +we rapidly descend! + Stupendous prospect! yonder lofty hills + Do suddenly uprear their towering heads + Amid the plain, while from beneath their crests + The ground receding sinks; the trees, whose stems + Seemed lately hid within their leafy tresses, + Rise into elevation, and display + Their branching shoulders; yonder streams, whose waters, + Like silver threads, but now were scarcely seen, + Grow into mighty rivers; lo! the earth + Seems upward hurled by some gigantic power. + +MÁTALI.--Well described! [_Looking with awe._] Grand, indeed, and lovely +is the spectacle presented by the earth. + +KING.--Tell me, Mátali, what is that range of mountains which, like a +bank of clouds illumined by the setting sun, pours down a stream of +gold? On one side its base dips into the eastern ocean, and on the other +side into the western. + +MÁTALI.--Great Prince, it is called "Golden-peak,"[43] and is the abode +of the attendants of the god of Wealth. In this spot the highest forms +of penance are wrought out. + There Kaśyapa, the great progenitor + Of demons and of gods, himself the offspring + Of the divine Maríchi, Brahmá's son, + With Aditi, his wife, in calm seclusion, + Does holy penance for the good of mortals. + +KING.--Then I must not neglect so good an opportunity of obtaining his +blessing. I should much like to visit this venerable personage and offer +him my homage. + +MÁTALI.--By all means! An excellent idea. [_Guides the car to the +earth._] + +KING [_in a tone of wonder_].--How's this? + Our chariot wheels move noiselessly. Around + No clouds of dust arise; no shock betokened + Our contact with the earth; we seem to glide + Above the ground, so lightly do we touch it. + +MÁTALI.--Such is the difference between the car of Indra and that of +your Majesty. + +KING.--In which direction, Mátali, is Kaśyapa's sacred retreat? + +MÁTALI [_pointing_].--Where stands yon anchorite, towards the orb + Of the meridian sun, immovable + As a tree's stem, his body half-concealed + By a huge ant-hill. Round about his breast + No sacred cord is twined, but in its stead + A hideous serpent's skin. In place of necklace, + The tendrils of a withered creeper chafe + His wasted neck. His matted hair depends + In thick entanglement about his shoulders, + And birds construct their nests within its folds. + +KING.--I salute thee, thou man of austere devotion. + +MÁTALI [_holding in the reins of the car_].--Great Prince, we are now in +the sacred grove of the holy Kaśyapa--the grove that boasts as its +ornament one of the five trees of Indra's heaven, reared by Aditi. + +KING.--This sacred retreat is more delightful than heaven itself. I +could almost fancy myself bathing in a pool of nectar. + +MÁTALI [_stopping the chariot_].--Descend, mighty Prince. + +KING [_descending_].--And what will you do, Mátali? + +MÁTALI.--The chariot will remain where I have stopped it. We may both +descend. [_Doing so._] This way, great King, [_Walking on._] You see +around you the celebrated region where the holiest sages devote +themselves to penitential rites. + +KING.--I am filled with awe and wonder as I gaze. + In such a place as this do saints of earth + Long to complete their acts of penance; here, + Beneath the shade of everlasting trees, + Transplanted from the groves of Paradise, + May they inhale the balmy air, and need + No other nourishment; here may they bathe + In fountains sparkling with the golden dust + Of lilies; here, on jewelled slabs of marble, + In meditation rapt, may they recline; + Here, in the presence of celestial nymphs, + E'en passion's voice is powerless to move them. + +MÁTALI.--So true is it that the aspirations of the good and great are +ever soaring upwards. [_Turning round and speaking off the stage_.] Tell +me, Vriddha-śákalya, how is the divine son of Maríchi now engaged? What +sayest thou? that he is conversing with Aditi and some of the wives of +the great sages, and that they are questioning him respecting the duties +of a faithful wife? + +KING [_listening_].--Then we must await the holy father's leisure. + +MÁTALI [_looking at the King_].--If your Majesty will rest under the +shade, at the foot of this Aśoka-tree, I will seek an opportunity of +announcing your arrival to Indra's reputed father. + +KING.--As you think proper. [_Remains under the tree_. + +MÁTALI.--Great King, I go. [_Exit._ + +KING [_feeling his arm throb_].--Wherefore this causeless throbbing, O +mine arm? + All hope has fled forever; mock me not + With presages of good, when happiness + Is lost, and nought but misery remains. + +A VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Be not so naughty. Do you begin already +to show a refractory spirit? + +KING [_listening_].--This is no place for petulance. Who can it be whose +behavior calls for such a rebuke? [_Looking in the direction of the +sound and smiling_.] A child, is it? closely attended by two holy women. +His disposition seems anything but childlike. See, + He braves the fury of yon lioness + Suckling its savage offspring, and compels + The angry whelp to leave the half-sucked dug, + Tearing its tender mane in boisterous sport. + +_Enter a child, attended by two women of the hermitage, In the manner +described_. + +CHILD.--Open your mouth, my young lion, I want to count your teeth. + +FIRST ATTENDANT.--You naughty child, why do you tease the animals? Know +you not that we cherish them in this hermitage as if they were our own +children? In good sooth, you have a high spirit of your own, and are +beginning already to do justice to the name Sarva-damana (All-taming), +given you by the hermits. + +KING.--Strange! My heart inclines towards the boy with almost as much +affection as if he were my own child. What can be the reason? I suppose +my own childlessness makes me yearn towards the sons of others. + +SECOND ATTENDANT.--This lioness will certainly attack you if you do not +release her whelp. + +CHILD [_laughing_].--Oh! indeed! let her come. Much I fear her, to be +sure. [_Pouts his under-lip in defiance_. + +KING.--The germ of mighty courage lies concealed + Within this noble infant, like a spark + Beneath the fuel, waiting but a breath + To fan the flame and raise a conflagration. + +FIRST ATTENDANT.--Let the young lion go, like a dear child, and I will +give you something else to play with. + +CHILD.--Where is it? Give it me first. + [_Stretches out his hand._ + +KING [_looking at his hand_].--How's this? His hand exhibits one of +those mystic marks which are the sure prognostic of universal empire. +See! + His fingers stretched in eager expectation + To grasp the wished-for toy, and knit together + By a close-woven web, in shape resemble + A lotus-blossom, whose expanding petals + The early dawn has only half unfolded. + +SECOND ATTENDANT.--We shall never pacify him by mere words, dear +Suvratá. Be kind enough to go to my cottage, and you will find there a +plaything belonging to Márkándeya, one of the hermit's children. It is a +peacock made of China-ware, painted in many colors. Bring it here for +the child. + +FIRST ATTENDANT.--Very well. [_Exit._ + +CHILD.--No, no; I shall go on playing with the young lion. + + [_Looks at the female attendant and laughs_. + +KING.--I feel an unaccountable affection for this wayward child. + How blessed the virtuous parents whose attire + Is soiled with dust, by raising from the ground + The child that asks a refuge in their arms! + And happy are they while with lisping prattle, + In accents sweetly inarticulate, + He charms their ears; and with his artless smiles + Gladdens their hearts, revealing to their gaze + His tiny teeth, just budding into view. + +ATTENDANT.--I see how it is. He pays me no manner of attention. +[_Looking off the stage._] I wonder whether any of the hermits are about +here. [_Seeing the King._] Kind Sir, could you come hither a moment and +help me to release the young lion from the clutch of this child, who is +teasing him in boyish play? + +KING [_approaching and smiling_].--Listen to me, thou child of a mighty +saint. + Dost thou dare show a wayward spirit here? + Here, in this hallowed region? Take thou heed + Lest, as the serpent's young defiles the sandal, + Thou bring dishonor on the holy sage, + Thy tender-hearted parent, who delights + To shield from harm the tenants of the wood. + +ATTENDANT.--Gentle Sir, I thank you; but he is not the saint's son. + +KING.--His behavior and whole bearing would have led me to doubt it, had +not the place of his abode encouraged the idea. + +[_Follows the child, and takes him by the hand, according to the request +of the attendant. Speaking aside._ + I marvel that the touch of this strange child + Should thrill me with delight; if so it be, + How must the fond caresses of a son + Transport the father's soul who gave him being! + +ATTENDANT [_looking at them both_].--Wonderful! Prodigious! + +KING.--What excites your surprise, my good woman? + +ATTENDANT.--I am astonished at the striking resemblance between the +child and yourself; and, what is still more extraordinary, he seems to +have taken to you kindly and submissively, though you are a stranger to +him. + +KING [_fondling the child_].--If he be not the son of the great sage, of +what family does he come, may I ask? + +ATTENDANT.--Of the race of Puru. + +KING [_aside_].--What! are we, then, descended from the same ancestry? +This, no doubt, accounts for the resemblance she traces between the +child and me. Certainly it has always been an established usage among +the princes of Puru's race, + To dedicate the morning of their days + To the world's weal, in palaces and halls, + 'Mid luxury and regal pomp abiding; + Then, in the wane of life, to seek release + From kingly cares, and make the hallowed shade + Of sacred trees their last asylum, where + As hermits they may practise self-abasement, + And bind themselves by rigid vows of penance. +[_Aloud._] But how could mortals by their own power gain admission to +this sacred region? + +ATTENDANT.--Your remark is just; but your wonder will cease when I tell +you that his mother is the offspring of a celestial nymph, and gave him +birth in the hallowed grove of Kaśyapa. + +KING [_aside_].--Strange that my hopes should be again excited! +[_Aloud._] But what, let me ask, was the name of the prince whom she +deigned to honor with her hand? + +ATTENDANT.--How could I think of polluting my lips by the mention of a +wretch who had the cruelty to desert his lawful wife? + +KING [_aside_].--Ha! the description suits me exactly. Would I could +bring myself to inquire the name of the child's mother! [_Reflecting._] +But it is against propriety to make too minute inquiries about the wife +of another man. + +FIRST ATTENDANT [_entering with the china peacock in her +hand_].--Sarva-damana, Sarva-damana, see, see, what a beautiful Śakoonta +(bird). + +CHILD [_looking round_].--My mother! Where? Let me go to her. + +BOTH ATTENDANTS.--He mistook the word Śakoonta for Śakoontalá. The boy +dotes upon his mother, and she is ever uppermost in his thoughts. + +SECOND ATTENDANT.--Nay, my dear child, I said, Look at the beauty of +this Śakoonta. + +KING [_aside_].--What! is his mother's name Śakoontalá? But the name is +not uncommon among women. Alas! I fear the mere similarity of a name, +like the deceitful vapor of the desert, has once more raised my hopes +only to dash them to the ground. + +CHILD [_takes the toy_].--Dear nurse, what a beautiful peacock! + +FIRST ATTENDANT [_looking at the child. In great distress_].--Alas! +alas! I do not see the amulet on his wrist. + +KING.--Don't distress yourself. Here it is. It fell off while he was +struggling with the young lion. + + [_Stoops to pick it up_. + +BOTH ATTENDANTS.--Hold! hold! Touch it not, for your life. How +marvellous! He has actually taken it up without the slightest +hesitation. + +[_Both raise their hands to their breasts and look at each other in +astonishment._ + +KING.--Why did you try to prevent my touching it? + +FIRST ATTENDANT.--Listen, great Monarch. This amulet, known as "The +Invincible," was given to the boy by the divine son of Maríchi, soon +after his birth, when the natal ceremony was performed. Its peculiar +virtue is, that when it falls on the ground, no one excepting the father +or mother of the child can touch it unhurt. + +KING.--And suppose another person touches it? + +FIRST ATTENDANT.--Then it instantly becomes a serpent, and bites him. + +KING.--Have you ever witnessed the transformation with your own eyes? + +BOTH ATTENDANTS.--Over and over again. + +KING [_with rapture. Aside_].--Joy! joy! Are then my dearest hopes to be +fulfilled? + [_Embraces the child_. + +SECOND ATTENDANT.--Come, my dear Suvratá, we must inform Śakoontalá +immediately of this wonderful event, though we have to interrupt her in +the performance of her religious vows. + [_Exeunt._ + +CHILD [_to the King_].--Do not hold me. I want to go to my mother. + +KING.--We will go to her together, and give her joy, my son. + +CHILD.--Dushyanta is my father, not you. + +KING [_smiling_].--His contradiction convinces me only the more. + +_Enter Śakoontalá, in widow's apparel, with her long hair twisted into a +single braid_. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside_].--I have just heard that Sarva-damana's amulet has +retained its form, though a stranger raised it from the ground. I can +hardly believe in my good fortune. Yet why should not Sánumatí's +prediction be verified? + +KING [_gazing at Śakoontalá_].--Alas! can this indeed be my Śakoontalá? + Clad in the weeds of widowhood, her face + Emaciate with fasting, her long hair + Twined in a single braid, her whole demeanor + Expressive of her purity of soul: + With patient constancy she thus prolongs + The vow to which my cruelty condemned her. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_gazing at the King, who is pale with remorse_]. Surely this +is not like my husband; yet who can it be that dares pollute by the +pressure of his hand my child, whose amulet should protect him from a +stranger's touch? + +CHILD [_going to his mother_].--Mother, who is this man that has been +kissing me and calling me his son? + +KING.--My best beloved, I have indeed treated thee most cruelly, but am +now once more thy fond and affectionate lover. Refuse not to acknowledge +me as thy husband. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside_].--Be of good cheer, my heart. The anger of Destiny +is at last appeased. Heaven regards thee with compassion. But is he in +very truth my husband? + +KING.--Behold me, best and loveliest of women, + Delivered from the cloud of fatal darkness + That erst oppressed my memory. Again + Behold us brought together by the grace + Of the great lord of Heaven. So the moon + Shines forth from dim eclipse, to blend his rays + With the soft lustre of his Rohiní. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--May my husband be victorious------ + [_She stops short, her voice choked with tears._ + +KING.--O fair one, though the utterance of thy prayer + Be lost amid the torrent of thy tears, + Yet does the sight of thy fair countenance, + And of thy pallid lips, all unadorned + And colorless in sorrow for my absence, + Make me already more than conqueror. + +CHILD.--Mother, who is this man? + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--My child, ask the deity that presides over thy destiny. + +KING [_falling at Śakoontalá's feet_].--Fairest of women, banish from +thy mind + The memory of my cruelty; reproach + The fell delusion that overpowered my soul, + And blame not me, thy husband; 'tis the curse + Of him in whom the power of darkness reigns, + That he mistakes the gifts of those he loves + For deadly evils. Even though a friend + Should wreathe a garland on a blind man's brow, + Will he not cast it from him as a serpent? + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Rise, my own husband, rise. Thou wast not to blame. My own +evil deeds, committed in a former state of being, brought down this +judgment upon me. How else could my husband, who was ever of a +compassionate disposition, have acted so unfeelingly? [_The King +rises_.] But tell me, my husband, how did the remembrance of thine +unfortunate wife return to thy mind? + +KING.--As soon as my heart's anguish is removed, and its wounds are +healed, I will tell thee all. + Oh! let me, fair one, chase away the drop + That still bedews the fringes of thine eye; + And let me thus efface the memory + Of every tear that stained thy velvet cheek, + Unnoticed and unheeded by thy lord, + When in his madness he rejected thee. + [_Wipes away the tear_. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_seeing the signet-ring on his finger_].--Ah! my dear +husband, is that the Lost Ring? + +KING.--Yes; the moment I recovered it, my memory was restored. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--The ring was to blame in allowing itself to be lost at the +very time when I was anxious to convince my noble husband of the reality +of my marriage. + +KING.--Receive it back, as the beautiful twining plant receives again +its blossom in token of its reunion with the spring. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Nay; I can never more place confidence in it. Let my +husband retain it. + + _Enter Mátali_. + +MÁTALI.--I congratulate your Majesty. Happy are you in your reunion with +your wife: happy are you in beholding the face of your son. + +KING.--Yes, indeed. My heart's dearest wish has borne sweet fruit. But +tell me, Mátali, is this joyful event known to the great Indra? + +MÁTALI [_smiling_].--What is unknown to the gods? But come with me, +noble Prince, the divine Kaśyapa graciously permits thee to be presented +to him. + +KING.--Śakoontalá, take our child and lead the way. We will together go +into the presence of the holy Sage. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--I shrink from entering the august presence of the great +Saint, even with my husband at my side. + +KING.--Nay; on such a joyous occasion it is highly proper. Come, come; I +entreat thee. [_All advance_. + + _Kaśyapa is discovered seated on a throne with his wife Aditi_. + +KAŚYAPA [_gazing at Dushyanta. To his wife_].--O Aditi, This is the +mighty hero, King Dushyanta, Protector of the earth; who, at the head Of +the celestial armies of thy son, Does battle with the enemies of heaven. +Thanks to his bow, the thunderbolt of Indra Rests from its work, no more +the minister Of death and desolation to the world, But a mere symbol of +divinity. + +ADITI.--He bears in his noble form all the marks of dignity. + +MÁTALI [_to Dushyanta_].--Sire, the venerable progenitors of the +celestials are gazing at your Majesty with as much affection as if you +were their son. You may advance towards them. + +KING.--Are these, O Mátali, the holy pair, + Offspring of Daksha and divine Maríchi, + Children of Brahmá's sons, by sages deemed + Sole fountain of celestial light, diffused + Through twelve effulgent orbs? Are these the pair + From whom the ruler of the triple world, + Sovereign of gods and lord of sacrifice, + Sprang into being? That immortal pair + Whom Vishnu, greater than the self-existent, + Chose for his parents, when, to save mankind, + He took upon himself the shape of mortals? + +MÁTALI.--Even so. + +KING [_prostrating himself_].--Most august of beings, Dushyanta, content +to have fulfilled the commands of your son Indra, offers you his +adoration. + +KAŚYAPA.--My son, long may'st thou live, and happily may'st thou reign +over the earth! + +ADITI.--My son, may'st thou ever be invincible in the field of battle! + +ŚAKOONTALÁ.--I also prostrate myself before you, most adorable beings, +and my child with me. + +KAŚYAPA.--My daughter, + Thy lord resembles Indra, and thy child + Is noble as Jayanta, Indra's son; + I have no worthier blessing left for thee, + May'st thou be faithful as the god's own wife! + +ADITI.--My daughter, may'st thou be always the object of thy husband's +fondest love; and may thy son live long to be the joy of both his +parents! Be seated. + + [_All sit down in the presence of Kaśyapa_. + +KAŚYAPA [_regarding each of them by turns_].--Hail to the beautiful +Śakoontalá! + Hail to her noble son! and hail to thee, + Illustrious Prince! Rare triple combination + Of virtue, wealth, and energy united! + +KING.--Most venerable Kaśyapa, by your favor all my desires were +accomplished even before I was admitted to your presence. Never was +mortal so honored that his boon should be granted ere it was solicited. +Because, + Bloom before fruit, the clouds before the rain-- + Cause first and then effect, in endless sequence, + Is the unchanging law of constant nature: + But, ere the blessing issued from thy lips, + The wishes of my heart were all fulfilled. + +MÁTALI.--It is thus that the great progenitors of the world confer +favors. + +KING.--Most reverend Sage, this thy handmaid was married to me by the +Gandharva ceremony, and after a time was conducted to my palace by her +relations. Meanwhile a fatal delusion seized me; I lost my memory and +rejected her, thus committing a grievous offence against the venerable +Kanwa, who is of thy divine race. Afterwards the sight of this ring +restored my faculties, and brought back to my mind all the circumstances +of my union with his daughter. But my conduct still seems to me +incomprehensible; + As foolish as the fancies of a man + Who, when he sees an elephant, denies + That 'tis an elephant, yet afterwards, + When its huge bulk moves onward, hesitates, + Yet will not be convinced till it has passed + Forever from his sight, and left behind + No vestige of its presence save its footsteps. + +KASYAPA.--My son, cease to think thyself in fault. Even the delusion +that possessed thy mind was not brought about by any act of thine. +Listen to me. + +KING.--I am attentive. + +KASYAPA.--Know that when the nymph Menaká, the mother of Śakoontalá, +became aware of her daughter's anguish in consequence of the loss of the +ring at the nymphs' pool, and of thy subsequent rejection of her, she +brought her and confided her to the care of Aditi. And I no sooner saw +her than I ascertained by my divine power of meditation, that thy +repudiation of thy poor faithful wife had been caused entirely by the +curse of Durvásas--not by thine own fault--and that the spell would +terminate on the discovery of the ring. + +KING [_drawing a deep breath_].--Oh! what a weight is taken off my mind, +now that my character is cleared of reproach. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside_].--Joy! joy! My revered husband did not, then, +reject me without good reason, though I have no recollection of the +curse pronounced upon me. But, in all probability, I unconsciously +brought it upon myself, when I was so distracted on being separated from +my husband soon after our marriage. For I now remember that my two +friends advised me not to fail to show the ring in case he should have +forgotten me. + +KAŚYAPA.--At last, my daughter, thou art happy, and hast gained thy +heart's desire. Indulge, then, no feeling of resentment against thy +partner. See, now, + Though he repulsed thee, 'twas the sage's curse + That clouded his remembrance; 'twas the curse + That made thy tender husband harsh towards thee. + Soon as the spell was broken, and his soul + Delivered from its darkness, in a moment + Thou didst gain thine empire o'er his heart. + So on the tarnished surface of a mirror + No image is reflected, till the dust + That dimmed its wonted lustre is removed. + +KING.--Holy father, see here the hope of my royal race. + [_Takes his child by the hand_. + +KAŚYAPA.--Know that he, too, will become the monarch of the whole earth. +Observe, + Soon, a resistless hero, shall he cross + The trackless ocean, borne above the waves + In an aerial car; and shall subdue + The earth's seven sea-girt isles.[44] Now has he gained, + As the brave tamer of the forest-beasts, + The title Sarva-damana; but then + Mankind shall hail him as King Bharata, + And call him the supporter of the world. + +KING.--We cannot but entertain the highest hopes of a child for whom +your highness performed the natal rites. + +ADITI.--My revered husband, should not the intelligence be conveyed to +Kanwa, that his daughter's wishes are fulfilled, and her happiness +complete? He is Śakoontalá's foster-father. Menaká, who is one of my +attendants, is her mother, and dearly does she love her daughter. + +ŚAKOONTALÁ [_aside_].--The venerable matron has given utterance to the +very wish that was in my mind. + +KAŚYAPA.--His penances have gained for him the faculty of omniscience, +and the whole scene is already present to his mind's eye. + +KING.--Then most assuredly he cannot be very angry with me. + +KAŚYAPA.--Nevertheless it becomes us to send him intelligence of this +happy event, and hear his reply. What, ho there! + +PUPIL [_entering_].--Holy father, what are your commands? + +KAŚYAPA.--My good Gálava, delay not an instant, but hasten through the +air and convey to the venerable Kanwa, from me, the happy news that the +fatal spell has ceased, that Dushyanta's memory is restored, that his +daughter Śakoontalá has a son, and that she is once more tenderly +acknowledged by her husband. + +PUPIL.--Your highness's commands shall be obeyed. [_Exit._ + +KAŚYAPA.--And now, my dear son, take thy consort and thy child, +re-ascend the car of Indra, and return to thy imperial capital. + +KING.--Most holy father, I obey. + +KAŚYAPA.--And accept this blessing-- + For countless ages may the god of gods, + Lord of the atmosphere, by copious showers + Secure abundant harvest to thy subjects; + And thou by frequent offerings preserve + The Thunderer's friendship! Thus, by interchange + Of kindly actions, may you both confer + Unnumbered benefits on earth and heaven! + +KING.--Holy father, I will strive, as far as I am able, to attain this +happiness. + +KAŚYAPA.--What other favor can I bestow on thee, my son? + +KING.--What other can I desire? If, however, you permit me to form +another wish, I would humbly beg that the saying of the sage Bharata be +fulfilled:-- + May kings reign only for their subjects' weal! + May the divine Saraswati, the source + Of speech, and goddess of dramatic art, + Be ever honored by the great and wise! + And may the purple self-existent god, + Whose vital Energy pervades all space, + From future transmigrations save my soul! + + [_Exeunt omnes_. + + +[43] A sacred range of mountains lying along the Himálaya chain +immediately adjacent to Kailása, the paradise of Kuvera, the god of +wealth. + +[44] According to the mythical geography of the Hindoos the earth +consisted of seven islands surrounded by seven seas. + + + + +BALLADS OF HINDOSTAN + + +MISCELLANEOUS POEMS + +BY + +TORU DUTT + + +INTRODUCTION + + +If Toru Dutt were alive, she would still be younger than any recognized +European writer, and yet her fame, which is already considerable, has +been entirely posthumous. Within the brief space of four years which now +divides us from the date of her decease, her genius has been revealed to +the world under many phases, and has been recognized throughout France +and England. Her name, at least, is no longer unfamiliar in the ear of +any well-read man or woman. But at the hour of her death she had +published but one book, and that book had found but two reviewers in +Europe. One of these, M. André Theuriet, the well-known poet and +novelist, gave the "Sheaf gleaned in French Fields" adequate praise in +the "Revue des Deux Mondes"; but the other, the writer of the present +notice, has a melancholy satisfaction in having been a little earlier +still in sounding the only note of welcome which reached the dying +poetess from England. It was while Professor W. Minto was editor of the +"Examiner," that one day in August, 1876, in the very heart of the dead +season for books, I happened to be in the office of that newspaper, and +was upbraiding the whole body of publishers for issuing no books worth +reviewing. At that moment the postman brought in a thin and sallow +packet with a wonderful Indian postmark on it, and containing a most +unattractive orange pamphlet of verse, printed at Bhowanipore, and +entitled "A Sheaf gleaned in French Fields, by Toru Dutt." This shabby +little book of some two hundred pages, without preface or introduction, +seemed specially destined by its particular providence to find its way +hastily into the waste-paper basket. I remember that Mr. Minto thrust it +into my unwilling hands, and said "There! see whether you can't make +something of that." A hopeless volume it seemed, with its queer type, +published at Bhowanipore, printed at the Saptahiksambad Press! But when +at last I took it out of my pocket, what was my surprise and almost +rapture to open at such verse as this:-- + + "Still barred thy doors! The far East glows, + The morning wind blows fresh and free. + Should not the hour that wakes the rose + Awaken also thee? + + "All look for thee, Love, Light, and Song, + Light in the sky deep red above, + Song, in the lark of pinions strong, + And in my heart, true Love. + + "Apart we miss our nature's goal, + Why strive to cheat our destinies? + Was not my love made for thy soul? + Thy beauty for mine eyes? + No longer sleep, + Oh, listen now! + I wait and weep, + But where art thou?" + +When poetry is as good as this it does not much matter whether Rouveyre +prints it upon Whatman paper, or whether it steals to light in blurred +type from some press in Bhowanipore. + +Toru Dutt was the youngest of the three children of a high-caste Hindoo +couple in Bengal. Her father, who survives them all, the Baboo Govin +Chunder Dutt, is himself distinguished among his countrymen for the +width of his views and the vigor of his intelligence. His only son, +Abju, died in 1865, at the age of fourteen, and left his two younger +sisters to console their parents. Aru, the elder daughter, born in 1854, +was eighteen months senior to Toru, the subject of this memoir, who was +born in Calcutta on March 4, 1856. With the exception of one year's +visit to Bombay, the childhood of these girls was spent in Calcutta, at +their father's garden-house. In a poem now printed for the first time, +Toru refers to the scene of her earliest memories, the circling +wilderness of foliage, the shining tank with the round leaves of the +lilies, the murmuring dusk under the vast branches of the central +casuarina-tree. Here, in a mystical retirement more irksome to a +European in fancy than to an Oriental in reality, the brain of this +wonderful child was moulded. She was pure Hindoo, full of the typical +qualities of her race and blood, and, as the present volume shows us for +the first time, preserving to the last her appreciation of the poetic +side of her ancient religion, though faith itself in Vishnu and Siva had +been cast aside with childish things and been replaced by a purer faith. +Her mother fed her imagination with the old songs and legends of their +people, stories which it was the last labor of her life to weave into +English verse; but it would seem that the marvellous faculties of Toru's +mind still slumbered, when, in her thirteenth year, her father decided +to take his daughters to Europe to learn English and French. To the end +of her days Toru was a better French than English scholar. She loved +France best, she knew its literature best, she wrote its language with +more perfect elegance. The Dutts arrived in Europe at the close of 1869, +and the girls went to school, for the first and last time, at a French +pension. They did not remain there very many months; their father took +them to Italy and England with him, and finally they attended for a +short time, but with great zeal and application, the lectures for women +at Cambridge. In November, 1873, they went back to Bengal, and the four +remaining years of Toru's life were spent in the old garden-house at +Calcutta, in a feverish dream of intellectual effort and imaginative +production. When we consider what she achieved in these forty-five +months of seclusion, it is impossible to wonder that the frail and +hectic body succumbed under so excessive a strain. + +She brought with her from Europe a store of knowledge that would have +sufficed to make an English or French girl seem learned, but which in +her case was simply miraculous. Immediately on her return she began to +study Sanscrit with the same intense application which she gave to all +her work, and mastering the language with extraordinary swiftness, she +plunged into its mysterious literature. But she was born to write, and +despairing of an audience in her own language, she began to adopt ours +as a medium for her thought. Her first essay, published when she was +eighteen, was a monograph, in the "Bengal Magazine," on Leconte de +Lisle, a writer with whom she had a sympathy which is very easy to +comprehend. The austere poet of "La Mort de Valmiki" was, obviously, a +figure to whom the poet of "Sindhu" must needs be attracted on +approaching European literature. This study, which was illustrated by +translations into English verse, was followed by another on Joséphin +Soulary, in whom she saw more than her maturer judgment might have +justified. There is something very interesting and now, alas! still more +pathetic in these sturdy and workmanlike essays in unaided criticism. +Still more solitary her work became, in July, 1874, when her only +sister, Aru, died, at the age of twenty. She seems to have been no less +amiable than her sister, and if gifted with less originality and a less +forcible ambition, to have been finely accomplished. Both sisters were +well-trained musicians, with full contralto voices, and Aru had a +faculty for design which promised well. The romance of "Mlle. D'Arvers" +was originally projected for Aru to illustrate, but no page of this book +did Aru ever see. + +In 1876, as we have said, appeared that obscure first volume at +Bhowanipore. The "Sheaf gleaned in French Fields" is certainly the most +imperfect of Toru's writings, but it is not the least interesting. It is +a wonderful mixture of strength and weakness, of genius overriding great +obstacles, and of talent succumbing to ignorance and inexperience. That +it should have been performed at all is so extraordinary that we forget +to be surprised at its inequality. The English verse is sometimes +exquisite; at other times the rules of our prosody are absolutely +ignored, and it is obvious that the Hindoo poetess was chanting to +herself a music that is discord in an English ear. The notes are no less +curious, and to a stranger no less bewildering. Nothing could be more +naive than the writer's ignorance at some points, or more startling than +her learning at others. On the whole, the attainment of the book was +simply astounding. It consisted of a selection of translations from +nearly one hundred French poets, chosen by the poetess herself on a +principle of her own which gradually dawned upon the careful reader. She +eschewed the Classicist writers as though they had never existed. For +her André Chenier was the next name in chronological order after Du +Bartas. Occasionally she showed a profundity of research that would have +done no discredit to Mr. Saintsbury or "le doux Assellineau." She was +ready to pronounce an opinion on Napol le Pyrénéan or detect a +plagiarism in Baudelaire. But she thought that Alexander Smith was still +alive, and she was curiously vague about the career of Sainte-Beuve. +This inequality of equipment was a thing inevitable to her isolation, +and hardly worthy recording, except to show how laborious her mind was, +and how quick to make the best of small resources. + +We have already seen that the "Sheaf gleaned in French Fields" attracted +the very minimum of attention in England. In France it was talked about +a little more. M. Garcin de Tassy, the famous Orientalist, who scarcely +survived Toru by twelve months, spoke of it to Mlle. Clarisse Bader, +author of a somewhat remarkable book on the position of women in ancient +Indian society. Almost simultaneously this volume fell into the hands of +Toru, and she was moved to translate it into English, for the use of +Hindoos less instructed than herself. In January, 1877, she accordingly +wrote to Mlle. Bader requesting her authorization, and received a prompt +and kind reply. On the 18th of March Toru wrote again to this, her +solitary correspondent in the world of European literature, and her +letter, which has been preserved, shows that she had already descended +into the valley of the shadow of death:-- + + "Ma constitution n'est pas forte; j'ai contracté une toux + opiniâtre, il y a plus de deux ans, qui ne me quitte point. + Cependant j'espère mettre la main à l'oeuvre bientôt. Je ne peux + dire, mademoiselle, combien votre affection--car vous les aimez, + votre livre et votre lettre en témoignent assez--pour mes + compatriotes et mon pays me touche; et je suis fière de pouvoir le + dire que les héroïnes de nos grandes épopées sont dignes de tout + honneur et de tout amour. Y a-t-il d'héroïne plus touchante, plus + aimable que Sîta? Je ne le crois pas. _Quand j'entends ma mére + chanter, le soir, les vieux chants de notre pays, je pleure presque + toujours_. La plainte de Sîta, quand, bannie pour la séconde fois, + elle erre dans la vaste forêt, seule, le désespoir et l'effroi dans + l'âme, est si pathétique qu'il n'y a personne, je crois, qui puisse + l'entendre sans verser des larmes. Je vous envois sous ce pli deux + petites traductions du Sanscrit, cette belle langue antique. + Malheureusement j'ai été obligée de faire cesser mes traductions de + Sanscrit, il y a six mois. Ma santé ne me permet pas de les + continuer." + +These simple and pathetic words, in which the dying poetess pours out +her heart to the one friend she had, and that one gained too late, seem +as touching and as beautiful as any strain of Marceline Valmore's +immortal verse. In English poetry I do not remember anything that +exactly parallels their resigned melancholy. Before the month of March +was over, Toru had taken to her bed. Unable to write, she continued to +read, strewing her sick-room with the latest European books, and +entering with interest into the questions raised by the Société +Asiatique of Paris, in its printed Transactions. On the 30th of July she +wrote her last letter to Mlle. Clarisse Bader, and a month later, on +August 30, 1877, at the age of twenty-one years six months and +twenty-six days, she breathed her last in her father's house in +Maniktollah street, Calcutta. + +In the first distraction of grief it seemed as though her unequalled +promise had been entirely blighted, and as though she would be +remembered only by her single book. But as her father examined her +papers, one completed work after another revealed itself. First a +selection from the sonnets of the Comte de Grammont, translated into +English, turned up, and was printed in a Calcutta magazine; then some +fragments of an English story, which were printed in another Calcutta +magazine. Much more important, however, than any of these was a complete +romance, written in French, being the identical story for which her +sister Aru had proposed to make the illustrations. In the meantime Toru +was no sooner dead than she began to be famous. In May, 1878, there +appeared a second edition of the "Sheaf gleaned in French Fields," with +a touching sketch of her death, by her father; and in 1879 was +published, under the editorial care of Mlle. Clarisse Bader, the romance +of "Le Journal de Mlle. D'Arvers," forming a handsome volume of 259 +pages. This book, begun, as it appears, before the family returned from +Europe, and finished nobody knows when, is an attempt to describe scenes +from modern French society, but it is less interesting as an experiment +of the fancy, than as a revelation of the mind of a young Hindoo woman +of genius. The story is simple, clearly told, and interesting; the +studies of character have nothing French about them, but they are full +of vigor and originality. The description of the hero is most +characteristically Indian:-- + + "Il est beau en effet. Sa taille est haute, mais quelques-uns la + trouveraient mince; sa chevelure noire est bouclée et tombe jusqu'á + la nuque; ses yeux noirs sont profonds et bien fendus; le front est + noble; la lèvre supérieure, couverte par une moustache naissante et + noire, est parfaitement modelée; son menton a quelque chose de + sévère; son teint est d'un blanc presque féminin, ce qui dénote sa + haute naissance." + +In this description we seem to recognize some Surya or Soma of Hindoo +mythology, and the final touch, meaningless as applied to a European, +reminds us that in India whiteness of skin has always been a sign of +aristocratic birth, from the days when it originally distinguished the +conquering Aryas from the indigenous race of the Dasyous. + +As a literary composition "Mlle. D'Arvers" deserves high commendation. +It deals with the ungovernable passion of two brothers for one placid +and beautiful girl, a passion which leads to fratricide and madness. +That it is a very melancholy and tragical story is obvious from this +brief sketch of its contents, but it is remarkable for coherence and +self-restraint no less than for vigor of treatment. Toru Dutt never +sinks to melodrama in the course of her extraordinary tale, and the +wonder is that she is not more often fantastic and unreal. + +But we believe that the original English poems will be ultimately found +to constitute Toru's chief legacy to posterity. These ballads form the +last and most matured of her writings, and were left so far fragmentary +at her death that the fourth and fifth in her projected series of nine +were not to be discovered in any form among her papers. It is probable +that she had not even commenced them. Her father, therefore, to give a +certain continuity to the series, has filled up these blanks with two +stories from the "Vishnupurana," which originally appeared respectively +in the "Calcutta Review" and in the "Bengal Magazine." These are +interesting, but a little rude in form, and they have not the same +peculiar value as the rhymed octo-syllabic ballads. In these last we see +Toru no longer attempting vainly, though heroically, to compete with +European literature on its own ground, but turning to the legends of her +own race and country for inspiration. No modern Oriental has given us so +strange an insight into the conscience of the Asiatic as is presented in +the story of "Prehíad," or so quaint a piece of religious fancy as the +ballad of "Jogadhya Uma." The poetess seems in these verses to be +chanting to herself those songs of her mother's race to which she always +turned with tears of pleasure. They breathe a Vedic solemnity and +simplicity of temper, and are singularly devoid of that littleness and +frivolity which seem, if we may judge by a slight experience, to be the +bane of modern India. + +As to the merely technical character of these poems, it may be suggested +that in spite of much in them that is rough and inchoate, they show that +Toru was advancing in her mastery of English verse. Such a stanza as +this, selected out of many no less skilful, could hardly be recognized +as the work of one by whom the language was a late acquirement:-- + + "What glorious trees! The sombre saul, + On which the eye delights to rest-- + The betel-nut, a pillar tall, + With feathery branches for a crest-- + The light-leaved tamarind spreading wide-- + The pale faint-scented bitter neem, + The seemul, gorgeous as a bride, + With flowers that have the ruby's gleam." + +In other passages, of course, the text reads like a translation from +some stirring ballad, and we feel that it gives but a faint and +discordant echo of the music welling in Toru's brain. For it must +frankly be confessed that in the brief May-day of her existence she had +not time to master our language as Blanco White did, or as Chamisso +mastered German. To the end of her days, fluent and graceful as she was, +she was not entirely conversant with English, especially with the +colloquial turns of modern speech. Often a very fine thought is spoiled +for hypercritical ears by the queer turn of expression which she has +innocently given to it. These faults are found to a much smaller degree +in her miscellaneous poems. Her sonnets seem to me to be of great +beauty, and her longer piece, entitled "Our Casuarina Tree," needs no +apology for its rich and mellifluous numbers. + +It is difficult to exaggerate when we try to estimate what we have lost +in the premature death of Toru Dutt. Literature has no honors 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. And her courage and fortitude were worthy of her +intelligence. Among "last words" of celebrated people, that which her +father has recorded, "It is only the physical pain that makes me cry," +is not the least remarkable, or the least significant of strong +character. It was to a native of our island, and to one ten years senior +to Toru, to whom it was said, in words more appropriate, surely, to her +than to Oldham, + + "Thy generous fruits, though gathered ere their prime, + Still showed a quickness, and maturing time + But mellows what we write to the dull sweets of Rime." + +That mellow sweetness was all that Toru lacked to perfect her as an +English poet, and of no other Oriental who has ever lived can the same +be said. 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. + +EDMUND W. GOSSE. + +_London, 1881_. + + + + +BALLADS OF HINDOSTAN + +JOGADHYA UMA + + + "Shell-bracelets ho! Shell-bracelets ho! + Fair maids and matrons come and buy!" + Along the road, in morning's glow, + The pedler raised his wonted cry. + The road ran straight, a red, red line, + To Khirogram, for cream renowned, + Through pasture-meadows where the kine, + In knee-deep grass, stood magic bound + And half awake, involved in mist, + That floated in dun coils profound, + Till by the sudden sunbeams kissed + Rich rainbow hues broke all around. + + "Shell-bracelets ho! Shell-bracelets ho!" + The roadside trees still dripped with dew, + And hung their blossoms like a show. + Who heard the cry? 'Twas but a few, + A ragged herd-boy, here and there, + With his long stick and naked feet; + A ploughman wending to his care, + The field from which he hopes the wheat; + An early traveller, hurrying fast + To the next town; an urchin slow + Bound for the school; these heard and passed, + Unheeding all--"Shell-bracelets ho!" + + Pellucid spread a lake-like tank + Beside the road now lonelier still, + High on three sides arose the bank + Which fruit-trees shadowed at their will; + Upon the fourth side was the Ghat, + With its broad stairs of marble white, + And at the entrance-arch there sat, + Full face against the morning light, + A fair young woman with large eyes, + And dark hair falling to her zone, + She heard the pedler's cry arise, + And eager seemed his ware to own. + + "Shell-bracelets ho! See, maiden see! + The rich enamel sunbeam kissed! + Happy, oh happy, shalt thou be, + Let them but clasp that slender wrist; + These bracelets are a mighty charm, + They keep a lover ever true, + And widowhood avert, and harm, + Buy them, and thou shalt never rue. + Just try them on!"--She stretched her hand, + "Oh what a nice and lovely fit! + No fairer hand, in all the land, + And lo! the bracelet matches it." + + Dazzled the pedler on her gazed + Till came the shadow of a fear, + While she the bracelet arm upraised + Against the sun to view more clear. + Oh she was lovely, but her look + Had something of a high command + That filled with awe. Aside she shook + Intruding curls by breezes fanned + And blown across her brows and face, + And asked the price, which when she heard + She nodded, and with quiet grace + For payment to her home referred. + + "And where, O maiden, is thy house? + But no, that wrist-ring has a tongue, + No maiden art thou, but a spouse, + Happy, and rich, and fair, and young." + "Far otherwise, my lord is poor, + And him at home thou shalt not find; + Ask for my father; at the door + Knock loudly; he is deaf, but kind. + Seest thou that lofty gilded spire + Above these tufts of foliage green? + That is our place; its point of fire + Will guide thee o'er the tract between." + + "That is the temple spire."--"Yes, there + We live; my father is the priest, + The manse is near, a building fair + But lowly, to the temple's east. + When thou hast knocked, and seen him, say, + His daughter, at Dhamaser Ghat, + Shell-bracelets bought from thee to-day, + And he must pay so much for that. + Be sure, he will not let thee pass + Without the value, and a meal. + If he demur, or cry alas! + No money hath he--then reveal, + + Within the small box, marked with streaks + Of bright vermilion, by the shrine, + The key whereof has lain for weeks + Untouched, he'll find some coin--'tis mine. + That will enable him to pay + The bracelet's price, now fare thee well!" + She spoke, the pedler went away, + Charmed with her voice, as by some spell; + While she left lonely there, prepared + To plunge into the water pure, + And like a rose her beauty bared, + From all observance quite secure. + + Not weak she seemed, nor delicate, + Strong was each limb of flexile grace, + And full the bust; the mien elate, + Like hers, the goddess of the chase + On Latmos hill--and oh, the face + Framed in its cloud of floating hair, + No painter's hand might hope to trace + The beauty and the glory there! + Well might the pedler look with awe, + For though her eyes were soft, a ray + Lit them at times, which kings who saw + Would never dare to disobey. + + Onwards through groves the pedler sped + Till full in front the sunlit spire + Arose before him. Paths which led + To gardens trim in gay attire + Lay all around. And lo! the manse, + Humble but neat with open door! + He paused, and blest the lucky chance + That brought his bark to such a shore. + Huge straw ricks, log huts full of grain, + Sleek cattle, flowers, a tinkling bell, + Spoke in a language sweet and plain, + "Here smiling Peace and Plenty dwell." + + Unconsciously he raised his cry, + "Shell-bracelets ho!" And at his voice + Looked out the priest, with eager eye, + And made his heart at once rejoice. + "Ho, _Sankha_ pedler! Pass not by, + But step thou in, and share the food + Just offered on our altar high, + If thou art in a hungry mood. + Welcome are all to this repast! + The rich and poor, the high and low! + Come, wash thy feet, and break thy fast, + Then on thy journey strengthened go." + + "Oh thanks, good priest! Observance due + And greetings! May thy name be blest! + I came on business, but I knew, + Here might be had both food and rest + Without a charge; for all the poor + Ten miles around thy sacred shrine + Know that thou keepest open door, + And praise that generous hand of thine: + But let my errand first be told, + For bracelets sold to thine this day, + So much thou owest me in gold, + Hast thou the ready cash to pay? + + The bracelets were enamelled--so + The price is high."--"How! Sold to mine? + Who bought them, I should like to know." + "Thy daughter, with the large black eyne, + Now bathing at the marble ghat." + Loud laughed the priest at this reply, + "I shall not put up, friend, with that; + No daughter in the world have I, + An only son is all my stay; + Some minx has played a trick, no doubt, + But cheer up, let thy heart be gay. + Be sure that I shall find her out." + + "Nay, nay, good father, such a face + Could not deceive, I must aver; + At all events, she knows thy place, + 'And if my father should demur + To pay thee'--thus she said--'or cry + He has no money, tell him straight + The box vermilion-streaked to try, + That's near the shrine,'" "Well, wait, friend, wait!" + The priest said thoughtful, and he ran + And with the open box came back, + "Here is the price exact, my man, + No surplus over, and no lack. + + How strange! how strange! Oh blest art thou + To have beheld her, touched her hand, + Before whom Vishnu's self must bow, + And Brahma and his heavenly band! + Here have I worshipped her for years + And never seen the vision bright; + Vigils and fasts and secret tears + Have almost quenched my outward sight; + And yet that dazzling form and face + I have not seen, and thou, dear friend, + To thee, unsought for, comes the grace, + What may its purport be, and end? + + How strange! How strange! Oh happy thou! + And couldst thou ask no other boon + Than thy poor bracelet's price? That brow + Resplendent as the autumn moon + Must have bewildered thee, I trow, + And made thee lose thy senses all." + A dim light on the pedler now + Began to dawn; and he let fall + His bracelet basket in his haste, + And backward ran the way he came; + What meant the vision fair and chaste, + Whose eyes were they--those eyes of flame? + + Swift ran the pedler as a hind, + The old priest followed on his trace, + They reached the Ghat but could not find + The lady of the noble face. + The birds were silent in the wood, + The lotus flowers exhaled a smell + Faint, over all the solitude, + A heron as a sentinel + Stood by the bank. They called--in vain, + No answer came from hill or fell, + The landscape lay in slumber's chain, + E'en Echo slept within her cell. + + Broad sunshine, yet a hush profound! + They turned with saddened hearts to go; + Then from afar there came a sound + Of silver bells;--the priest said low, + "O Mother, Mother, deign to hear, + The worship-hour has rung; we wait + In meek humility and fear. + Must we return home desolate? + Oh come, as late thou cam'st unsought, + Or was it but an idle dream? + Give us some sign if it was not, + A word, a breath, or passing gleam." + + Sudden from out the water sprung + A rounded arm, on which they saw + As high the lotus buds among + It rose, the bracelet white, with awe. + Then a wide ripple tost and swung + The blossoms on that liquid plain, + And lo! the arm so fair and young + Sank in the waters down again. + They bowed before the mystic Power, + And as they home returned in thought, + Each took from thence a lotus flower + In memory of the day and spot. + + Years, centuries, have passed away, + And still before the temple shrine + Descendants of the pedler pay + Shell-bracelets of the old design + As annual tribute. Much they own + In lands and gold--but they confess + From that eventful day alone + Dawned on their industry--success. + Absurd may be the tale I tell, + Ill-suited to the marching times, + I loved the lips from which it fell, + So let it stand among my rhymes. + + + + +BUTTOO + + + "Ho! Master of the wondrous art! + Instruct me in fair archery, + And buy for aye--a grateful heart + That will not grudge to give thy fee." + Thus spoke a lad with kindling eyes, + A hunter's lowborn son was he-- + To Dronacharjya, great and wise, + Who sat with princes round his knee. + + Up Time's fair stream far back--oh far, + The great wise teacher must be sought! + The Kurus had not yet in war + With the Pandava brethren fought. + In peace, at Dronacharjya's feet, + Magic and archery they learned, + A complex science, which we meet + No more, with ages past inurned. + + "And who art thou," the teacher said, + "My science brave to learn so fain? + Which many kings who wear the thread + Have asked to learn of me in vain." + "My name is Buttoo," said the youth, + "A hunter's son, I know not Fear;" + The teacher answered, smiling smooth, + "Then know him from this time, my dear." + + Unseen the magic arrow came, + Amidst the laughter and the scorn + Of royal youths--like lightning flame + Sudden and sharp. They blew the horn, + As down upon the ground he fell, + Not hurt, but made a jest and game;-- + He rose--and waved a proud farewell, + But cheek and brow grew red with shame. + + And lo--a single, single tear + Dropped from his eyelash as he past, + "My place I gather is not here; + No matter--what is rank or caste? + In us is honor, or disgrace, + Not out of us," 'twas thus he mused, + "The question is--not wealth or place, + But gifts well used, or gifts abused." + + "And I shall do my best to gain + The science that man will not teach, + For life is as a shadow vain, + Until the utmost goal we reach + To which the soul points. I shall try + To realize my waking dream, + And what if I should chance to die? + None miss one bubble from a stream." + + So thinking, on and on he went, + Till he attained the forest's verge, + The garish day was well-nigh spent, + Birds had already raised its dirge. + Oh what a scene! How sweet and calm! + It soothed at once his wounded pride, + And on his spirit shed a balm + That all its yearnings purified. + + What glorious trees! The sombre saul + On which the eye delights to rest, + The betel-nut--a pillar tall, + With feathery branches for a crest, + The light-leaved tamarind spreading wide, + The pale faint-scented bitter neem, + The seemul, gorgeous as a bride, + With flowers that have the ruby's gleam, + + The Indian fig's pavilion tent + In which whole armies might repose, + With here and there a little rent, + The sunset's beauty to disclose, + The bamboo boughs that sway and swing + 'Neath bulbuls as the south wind blows, + The mango-tope, a close dark ring, + Home of the rooks and clamorous crows, + + The champac, bok, and South-sea pine, + The nagessur with pendant flowers + Like ear-rings--and the forest vine + That clinging over all, embowers, + The sirish famed in Sanscrit song + Which rural maidens love to wear, + The peepul giant-like and strong, + The bramble with its matted hair, + + All these, and thousands, thousands more, + With helmet red, or golden crown, + Or green tiara, rose before + The youth in evening's shadows brown. + He passed into the forest--there + New sights of wonder met his view, + A waving Pampas green and fair + All glistening with the evening dew. + + How vivid was the breast-high grass! + Here waved in patches, forest corn-- + Here intervened a deep morass-- + Here arid spots of verdure shorn + Lay open--rock or barren sand-- + And here again the trees arose + Thick clustering--a glorious band + Their tops still bright with sunset glows.-- + + Stirred in the breeze the crowding boughs, + And seemed to welcome him with signs, + Onwards and on--till Buttoo's brows + Are gemmed with pearls, and day declines. + Then in a grassy open space + He sits and leans against a tree, + To let the wind blow on his face + And look around him leisurely. + + Herds, and still herds, of timid deer + Were feeding in the solitude, + They knew not man, and felt no fear, + And heeded not his neighborhood, + Some young ones with large eyes and sweet + Came close, and rubbed their foreheads smooth + Against his arms, and licked his feet, + As if they wished his cares to soothe. + + "They touch me," he exclaimed with joy, + "They have no pride of caste like men, + They shrink not from the hunter-boy, + Should not my home be with them then? + Here in this forest let me dwell, + With these companions innocent, + And learn each science and each spell + All by myself in banishment. + + A calm, calm life, and it shall be + Its own exceeding great reward! + No thoughts to vex in all I see, + No jeers to bear or disregard;-- + All creatures and inanimate things + Shall be my tutors; I shall learn + From beast, and fish, and bird with wings, + And rock, and stream, and tree, and fern. + + With this resolve, he soon began + To build a hut, of reeds and leaves, + And when that needful work was done + He gathered in his store, the sheaves + Of forest corn, and all the fruit, + Date, plum, guava, he could find, + And every pleasant nut and root + By Providence for man designed, + + A statue next of earth he made, + An image of the teacher wise, + So deft he laid, the light and shade, + On figure, forehead, face and eyes, + That any one who chanced to view + That image tall might soothly swear, + If he great Dronacharjya knew, + The teacher in his flesh was there. + + Then at the statue's feet he placed + A bow, and arrows tipped with steel, + With wild-flower garlands interlaced, + And hailed the figure in his zeal + As Master, and his head he bowed, + A pupil reverent from that hour + Of one who late had disallowed + The claim, in pride of place and power. + + By strained sense, by constant prayer, + By steadfastness of heart and will, + By courage to confront and dare, + All obstacles he conquered still; + A conscience clear--a ready hand, + Joined to a meek humility, + Success must everywhere command, + How could he fail who had all three! + + And now, by tests assured, he knows + His own God-gifted wondrous might, + Nothing to any man he owes, + Unaided he has won the fight; + Equal to gods themselves--above + Wishmo and Drona--for his worth + His name, he feels, shall be with love + Reckoned with great names of the earth. + + Yet lacks he not, in reverence + To Dronacharjya, who declined + To teach him--nay, with e'en offence + That well might wound a noble mind, + Drove him away;--for in his heart + Meek, placable, and ever kind, + Resentment had not any part, + And Malice never was enshrined. + + One evening, on his work intent, + Alone he practised Archery, + When lo! the bow proved false and sent + The arrow from its mark awry; + Again he tried--and failed again; + Why was it? Hark!--A wild dog's bark! + An evil omen:--it was plain + Some evil on his path hung dark! + + Thus many times he tried and failed, + And still that lean, persistent dog + At distance, like some spirit wailed, + Safe in the cover of a fog. + His nerves unstrung, with many a shout + He strove to frighten it away, + It would not go--but roamed about, + Howling, as wolves howl for their prey. + + Worried and almost in a rage, + One magic shaft at last he sent, + A sample of his science sage, + To quiet but the noises meant. + Unerring to its goal it flew, + No death ensued, no blood was dropped; + But by the hush the young man knew + At last that howling noise had stopped. + + It happened on this very day + That the Pandava princes came + With all the Kuru princes gay + To beat the woods and hunt the game. + Parted from others in the chase, + Arjuna brave the wild dog found-- + Stuck still the shaft--but not a trace + Of hurt, though tongue and lip were bound. + + "Wonder of wonders! Didst not thou + O Dronacharjya, promise me + Thy crown in time should deck my brow + And I be first in archery? + Lo! here, some other thou hast taught + A magic spell--to all unknown; + Who has in secret from thee bought + The knowledge, in this arrow shown!" + + Indignant thus Arjuna spake + To his great Master when they met-- + "My word, my honor, is at stake, + Judge not, Arjuna, judge not yet. + Come, let us see the dog "--and straight + They followed up the creature's trace. + They found it, in the self-same state, + Dumb, yet unhurt--near Buttoo's place. + + A hut--_a_ statue--and a youth + In the dim forest--what mean these? + They gazed in wonder, for in sooth + The thing seemed full of mysteries. + "Now who art thou that dar'st to raise + Mine image in the wilderness? + Is it for worship and for praise? + What is thine object? speak, confess," + + "Oh Master, unto thee I came + To learn thy science. Name or pelf + I had not, so was driven with shame, + And here I learn all by myself. + But still as Master thee revere, + For who so great in archery! + Lo, all my inspiration here, + And all my knowledge is from thee." + + "If I am Master, now thou hast + Finished thy course, give me my due. + Let all the past, be dead and past, + Henceforth be ties between us new." + "All that I have, O Master mine, + All I shall conquer by my skill, + Gladly shall I to thee resign, + Let me but know thy gracious will," + + "Is it a promise?" "Yea, I swear + So long as I have breath and life + To give thee all thou wilt," "Beware! + Rash promise ever ends in strife." + "Thou art my Master--ask! oh ask! + From thee my inspiration came, + Thou canst not set too hard a task, + Nor aught refuse I, free from blame." + + "If it be so--Arjuna hear!" + Arjuna and the youth were dumb, + "For thy sake, loud I ask and clear, + Give me, O youth, thy right-hand thumb. + I promised in my faithfulness + No equal ever shall there be + To thee, Arjuna--and I press + For this sad recompense--for thee." + + Glanced the sharp knife one moment high, + The severed thumb was on the sod, + There was no tear in Buttoo's eye, + He left the matter with his God. + "For this"--said Dronacharjya--"Fame + Shall sound thy praise from sea to sea, + And men shall ever link thy name + With Self-help, Truth, and Modesty." + + + + +SINDHU + +PART I + + + Deep in the forest shades there dwelt + A _Muni_ and his wife, + Blind, gray-haired, weak, they hourly felt + Their slender hold on life. + + No friends had they, no help or stay, + Except an only boy, + A bright-eyed child, his laughter gay, + Their leaf-hut filled with joy. + + Attentive, duteous, loving, kind, + Thoughtful, sedate, and calm, + He waited on his parents blind, + Whose days were like a psalm. + + He roamed the woods for luscious fruits, + He brought them water pure, + He cooked their simple mess of roots, + Content to live obscure. + + To fretful questions, answers mild + He meekly ever gave, + If they reproved, he only smiled, + He loved to be their slave. + + Not that to him they were austere, + But age is peevish still, + Dear to their hearts he was--so dear, + That none his place might fill. + They called him Sindhu, and his name + Was ever on their tongue, + And he, nor cared for wealth nor fame, + Who dwelt his own among. + + A belt of _Bela_-trees hemmed round + The cottage small and rude, + If peace on earth was ever found + 'Twas in that solitude. + + + + +PART II + + + Great Dasarath, the King of Oudh, + Whom all men love and fear, + With elephants and horses proud + Went forth to hunt the deer. + + O gallant was the long array! + Pennons and plumes were seen, + And swords that mirrored back the day, + And spears and axes keen. + + Rang trump, and conch, and piercing fife, + Woke Echo from her bed! + The solemn woods with sounds were rife + As on the pageant sped. + + Hundreds, nay thousands, on they went! + The wild beasts fled away! + Deer ran in herds, and wild boars spent + Became an easy prey. + + Whirring the peacocks from the brake + With Argus wings arose, + Wild swans abandoned pool and lake + For climes beyond the snows. + + From tree to tree the monkeys sprung, + Unharmed and unpursued, + As louder still the trumpets rung + And startled all the wood. + + The porcupines and such small game + Unnoted fled at will, + The weasel only caught to tame + From fissures in the hill. + + Slunk light the tiger from the bank, + But sudden turned to bay! + When he beheld the serried rank + That barred his tangled way. + Uprooting fig-trees on their path, + And trampling shrubs and flowers, + Wild elephants, in fear and wrath, + Burst through, like moving towers. + + Lowering their horns in crescents grim + Whene'er they turned about, + Retreated into coverts dim + The bisons' fiercer rout. + + And in this mimic game of war + In bands dispersed and passed + The royal train--some near, some far, + As day closed in at last. + + Where was the king? He left his friends + At mid-day, it was known, + And now that evening fast descends + Where was he? All alone. + + Curving, the river formed a lake, + Upon whose bank he stood, I + No noise the silence there to break, + Or mar the solitude. + + Upon the glassy surface fell + The last beams of the day, + Like fiery darts, that lengthening swell, + As breezes wake and play. + + Osiers and willows on the edge + And purple buds and red, + Leant down--and 'mid the pale green sedge + The lotus raised its head. + + And softly, softly, hour by hour + Light faded, and a veil + Fell over tree, and wave, and flower, + On came the twilight pale. + + Deeper and deeper grew the shades, + Stars glimmered in the sky, + The nightingale along the glades + Raised her preluding cry. + What is that momentary flash? + A gleam of silver scales + Reveals the _Mahseer_;--then a splash, + And calm again prevails. + + As darkness settled like a pall + The eye would pierce in vain, + The fireflies gemmed the bushes all, + Like fiery drops of rain. + + Pleased with the scene--and knowing not + Which way, alas! to go, + The monarch lingered on the spot-- + The lake spread bright below. + + He lingered, when--oh hark! oh hark + What sound salutes his ear! + A roebuck drinking in the dark, + Not hunted, nor in fear. + + Straight to the stretch his bow he drew, + That bow ne'er missed its aim, + Whizzing the deadly arrow flew, + Ear-guided, on the game! + + Ah me! What means this?--Hark, a cry, + A feeble human wail, + "Oh God!" it said--"I die--I die, + Who'll carry home the pail?" + + Startled, the monarch forward ran, + And then there met his view + A sight to freeze in any man + The warm blood coursing true. + + A child lay dying on the grass, + A pitcher by his side, + Poor Sindhu was the child, alas! + His parents' stay and pride. + + His bow and quiver down to fling, + And lift the wounded boy, + A moment's work was with the king. + Not dead--that was a joy! + He placed the child's head on his lap, + And 'ranged the blinding hair, + The blood welled fearful from the gap + On neck and bosom fair. + + He dashed cold water on the face, + He chafed the hands, with sighs, + Till sense revived, and he could trace + Expression in the eyes. + + Then mingled with his pity, fear-- + In all this universe + What is so dreadful as to hear + A Brahman's dying curse! + + So thought the king, and on his brow + The beads of anguish spread, + And Sindhu, fully conscious now, + The anguish plainly read. + + "What dost thou fear, O mighty king? + For sure a king thou art! + Why should thy bosom anguish wring? + No crime was in thine heart! + + Unwittingly the deed was done; + It is my destiny, + O fear not thou, but pity one + Whose fate is thus to die. + + No curses, no!--I bear no grudge, + Not thou my blood hast spilt, + Lo! here before the unseen Judge, + Thee I absolve from guilt. + + The iron, red-hot as it burns, + Burns those that touch it too, + Not such my nature--for it spurns, + Thank God, the like to do. + + Because I suffer, should I give + Thee, king, a needless pain? + Ah, no! I die, but may'st thou live, + And cleansed from every stain!" + Struck with these words, and doubly grieved + At what his hands had done, + The monarch wept, as weeps bereaved + A man his only son. + + "Nay, weep not so," resumed the child, + "But rather let me say + My own sad story, sin-defiled, + And why I die to-day! + + Picking a living in our sheaves, + And happy in their loves, + Near, 'mid a peepul's quivering leaves, + There lived a pair of doves. + + Never were they two separate, + And lo, in idle mood, + I took a sling and ball, elate + In wicked sport and rude-- + + And killed one bird--it was the male, + Oh cruel deed and base! + The female gave a plaintive wail + And looked me in the face! + + The wail and sad reproachful look + In plain words seemed to say, + A widowed life I cannot brook, + The forfeit thou must pay. + + What was my darling's crime that thou + Him wantonly shouldst kill? + The curse of blood is on thee now, + Blood calls for red blood still. + + And so I die--a bloody death-- + But not for this I mourn, + To feel the world pass with my breath + I gladly could have borne, + + But for my parents, who are blind, + And have no other stay-- + This, this, weighs sore upon my mind, + And fills me with dismay. + + Upon the eleventh day of the moon + They keep a rigorous fast, + All yesterday they fasted; soon + For water and repast + + They shall upon me feebly call! + Ah, must they call in vain? + Bear thou the pitcher, friend--'tis all + I ask--down that steep lane." + + He pointed--ceased--then sudden died! + The king took up the corpse, + And with the pitcher slowly hied, + Attended by Remorse, + + Down the steep lane--unto the hut + Girt round with _Bela_-trees; + Gleamed far a light--the door not shut + Was open to the breeze. + + + + +PART III + + + "Oh why does not our child return? + Too long he surely stays."-- + Thus to the _Muni_, blind and stern, + His partner gently says. + + "For fruits and water when he goes + He never stays so long, + Oh can it be, beset by foes, + He suffers cruel wrong? + + Some distance he has gone, I fear, + A more circuitous round-- + Yet why should he? The fruits are near, + The river near our bound. + + I die of thirst--it matters not + If Sindhu be but safe, + What if he leave us, and this spot, + Poor birds in cages chafe. + + Peevish and fretful oft we are-- + Ah, no--that cannot be: + Of our blind eyes he is the star, + Without him, what were we? + + Too much he loves us to forsake, + But something ominous, + Here in my heart, a dreadful ache, + Says, he is gone from us. + + Why do my bowels for him yearn, + What ill has crossed his path? + Blind, helpless, whither shall we turn, + Or how avert the wrath? + + Lord of my soul--what means my pain? + This horrid terror--like + Some cloud that hides a hurricane; + Hang not, O lightning--strike!" + + Thus while she spake, the king drew near + With haggard look and wild, + Weighed down with grief, and pale with fear, + Bearing the lifeless child. + + Rustled the dry leaves 'neath his foot, + And made an eerie sound, + A neighboring owl began to hoot, + All else was still around. + + At the first rustle of the leaves + The _Muni_ answered clear, + "Lo, here he is--oh wherefore grieves + Thy soul, my partner dear?" + + The words distinct, the monarch heard, + He could no further go, + His nature to its depths was stirred, + He stopped in speechless woe. + + No steps advanced--the sudden pause + Attention quickly drew, + Rolled sightless orbs to learn the cause, + But, hark!--the steps renew. + + "Where art thou, darling--why so long + Hast thou delayed to-night? + We die of thirst--we are not strong, + This fasting kills outright. + + Speak to us, dear one--only speak, + And calm our idle fears, + Where hast thou been, and what to seek? + Have pity on these tears." + + With head bent low the monarch heard, + Then came a cruel throb + That tore his heart--still not a word, + Only a stifled sob! + + "It is not Sindhu--who art thou? + And where is Sindhu gone? + There's blood upon thy hands--avow!" + "There is."--"Speak on, speak on," + + The dead child in their arms he placed, + And briefly told his tale, + The parents their dead child embraced, + And kissed his forehead pale. + + "Our hearts are broken. Come, dear wife, + On earth no more we dwell; + Now welcome Death, and farewell Life, + And thou, O king, farewell! + + We do not curse thee, God forbid + But to my inner eye + The future is no longer hid, + Thou too shalt like us die. + + Die--for a son's untimely loss! + Die--with a broken heart! + Now help us to our bed of moss, + And let us both depart." + + Upon the moss he laid them down, + And watched beside the bed; + Death gently came and placed a crown + Upon each reverend head. + + Where the Sarayu's waves dash free + Against a rocky bank, + The monarch had the corpses three + Conveyed by men of rank; + + There honored he with royal pomp + Their funeral obsequies-- + Incense and sandal, drum and tromp. + And solemn sacrifice. + + What is the sequel of the tale? + How died the king?--Oh man, + A prophet's words can never fail-- + Go, read the Ramayan. + + + + +MISCELLANEOUS POEMS + + +NEAR HASTINGS + + + Near Hastings, on the shingle-beach, + We loitered at the time + When ripens on the wall the peach, + The autumn's lovely prime. + Far off--the sea and sky seemed blent, + The day was wholly done, + The distant town its murmurs sent, + Strangers--we were alone. + + We wandered slow; sick, weary, faint, + Then one of us sat down, + No nature hers, to make complaint;-- + The shadows deepened brown. + A lady past--she was not young, + But oh! her gentle face + No painter-poet ever sung, + Or saw such saintlike grace. + + She passed us--then she came again, + Observing at a glance + That we were strangers; one, in pain-- + Then asked--Were we from France? + We talked awhile--some roses red + That seemed as wet with tears, + She gave my sister, and she said, + God bless you both, my dears!" + + Sweet were the roses--sweet and full, + And large as lotus flowers + That in our own wide tanks we cull + To deck our Indian bowers. + But sweeter was the love that gave + Those flowers to one unknown, + I think that He who came to save + The gift a debt will own. + + The lady's name I do not know, + Her face no more may see, + But yet, oh yet I love her so! + Blest, happy, may she be! + Her memory will not depart, + Though grief my years should shade, + Still bloom her roses in my heart! + And they shall never fade! + + +FRANCE + +_1870_ + + Not dead--oh no--she cannot die! + Only a swoon, from loss of blood! + Levite England passes her by, + Help, Samaritan! None is nigh; + Who shall staunch me this sanguine flood? + + 'Range the brown hair, it blinds her eyne, + Dash cold water over her face! + Drowned in her blood, she makes no sign, + Give her a draught of generous wine. + None heed, none hear, to do this grace. + + Head of the human column, thus + Ever in swoon wilt thou remain? + Thought, Freedom, Truth, quenched ominous + Whence then shall Hope arise for us, + Plunged in the darkness all again. + + No, she stirs!--There's a fire in her glance, + Ware, oh ware of that broken sword! + What, dare ye for an hour's mischance, + Gather around her, jeering France, + Attila's own exultant horde? + + Lo, she stands up--stands up e'en now, + Strong once more for the battle-fray, + Gleams bright the star, that from her brow + Lightens the world. Bow, nations, bow, + Let her again lead on the way! + + +THE TREE OF LIFE + + Broad daylight, with a sense of weariness! + Mine eyes were closed, but I was not asleep, + My hand was in my father's, and I felt + His presence near me. Thus we often passed + In silence, hour by hour. What was the need + Of interchanging words when every thought + That in our hearts arose, was known to each, + And every pulse kept time? Suddenly there shone + A strange light, and the scene as sudden changed. + I was awake:--It was an open plain + Illimitable--stretching, stretching--oh, so far! + And o'er it that strange light--a glorious light + Like that the stars shed over fields of snow + In a clear, cloudless, frosty winter night, + Only intenser in its brilliance calm. + And in the midst of that vast plain, I saw, + For I was wide awake--it was no dream, + A tree with spreading branches and with leaves + Of divers kinds--dead silver and live gold, + Shimmering in radiance that no words may tell! + Beside the tree an Angel stood; he plucked + A few small sprays, and bound them round my head. + Oh, the delicious touch of those strange leaves! + No longer throbbed my brows, no more I felt + The fever in my limbs--"And oh," I cried, + "Bind too my father's forehead with these leaves." + One leaf the Angel took and therewith touched + His forehead, and then gently whispered "Nay!" + Never, oh never had I seen a face + More beautiful than that Angel's, or more full + Of holy pity and of love divine. + Wondering I looked awhile--then, all at once + Opened my tear-dimmed eyes--When lo! the light + Was gone--the light as of the stars when snow + Lies deep upon the ground. No more, no more, + Was seen the Angel's face. I only found + My father watching patient by my bed, + And holding in his own, close-prest, my hand. + + +MADAME THÉRÈSE + +_Written on the fly-leaf of Erckmann-Chatrian's novel, entitled, "Madame +Thérèse_." + + Wavered the foremost soldiers--then fell back. + Fallen was their leader, and loomed right before + The sullen Prussian cannon, grim and black, + With lighted matches waving. Now, once more, + Patriots and veterans!--Ah! Tis in vain! + Back they recoil, though bravest of the brave; + No human troops may stand that murderous rain; + But who is this--that rushes to a grave? + + It is a woman--slender, tall, and brown! + She snatches up the standard as it falls-- + In her hot haste tumbles her dark hair down, + And to the drummer-boy aloud she calls + To beat the charge; then forwards on the _pont_ + They dash together;--who could bear to see + A woman and a child, thus Death confront, + Nor burn to follow them to victory? + + I read the story and my heart beats fast! + Well might all Europe quail before thee, France, + Battling against oppression! Years have passed, + Yet of that time men speak with moistened glance. + _Va-nu-pieds!_ When rose high your Marseillaise + Man knew his rights to earth's remotest bound, + And tyrants trembled. Yours alone the praise! + Ah, had a Washington but then been found! + + + + +SONNET + + + A sea of foliage girds our garden round, + But not a sea of dull unvaried green, + Sharp contrasts of all colors here are seen; + The light-green graceful tamarinds abound + Amid the mango clumps of green profound, + And palms arise, like pillars gray, between; + And o'er the quiet pools the seemuls lean, + Red--red, and startling like a trumpet's sound. + But nothing can be lovelier than the ranges + Of bamboos to the eastward, when the moon + Looks through their gaps, and the white lotus changes + Into a cup of silver. One might swoon + Drunken with beauty then, or gaze and gaze + On a primeval Eden, in amaze. + + + + +SONNET + + + Love came to Flora asking for a flower + That would of flowers be undisputed queen, + The lily and the rose, long, long had been + Rivals for that high honor. Bards of power + Had sung their claims. "The rose can never tower + Like the pale lily with her Juno mien"-- + "But is the lily lovelier?" Thus between + Flower-factions rang the strife in Psyche's bower. + "Give me a flower delicious as the rose + And stately as the lily in her pride"-- + "But of what color?"--"Rose-red," Love first chose, + Then prayed--"No, lily-white--or, both provide;" + And Flora gave the lotus, "rose-red" dyed, + And "lily-white"--the queenliest flower that blows. + + + + +OUR CASUARINA-TREE + + Like a huge Python, winding round and round + The rugged trunk, indented deep with scars + Up to its very summit near the stars, + A creeper climbs, in whose embraces bound + No other tree could live. But gallantly + The giant wears the scarf, and flowers are hung + In crimson clusters all the boughs among, + Whereon all day are gathered bird and bee; + And oft at nights the garden overflows + With one sweet song that seems to have no close, + Sung darkling from our tree, while men repose, + + When first my casement is wide open thrown + At dawn, my eyes delighted on it rest; + Sometimes, and most in winter--on its crest + A gray baboon sits statue-like alone + Watching the sunrise; while on lower boughs + His puny offspring leap about and play; + And far and near kokilas hail the day; + And to their pastures wend our sleepy cows; + And in the shadow, on the broad tank cast + By that hoar tree, so beautiful and vast, + The water-lilies spring, like snow enmassed. + + But not because of its magnificence + Dear is the Casuarina to my soul: + Beneath it we have played; though years may roll, + O sweet companions, loved with love intense, + For your sakes, shall the tree be ever dear! + Blent with your images, it shall arise + In memory, till the hot tears blind mine eyes! + What is that dirge-like murmur that I hear + Like the sea breaking on a shingle-beach? + It is the tree's lament, an eerie speech, + That haply to the unknown land may reach. + + Unknown, yet well-known to the eye of faith! + Ah, I have heard that wail far, far away + In distant lands, by many a sheltered bay, + When slumbered in his cave the water-wraith + And the waves gently kissed the classic shore + Of France or Italy, beneath the moon, + When earth lay tranced in a dreamless swoon: + And every time the music rose--before + Mine inner vision rose a form sublime, + Thy form, O Tree, as in my happy prime + I saw thee, in my own loved native clime. + + Therefore I fain would consecrate a lay + Unto thy honor, Tree, beloved of those + Who now in blessed sleep, for aye, repose, + Dearer than life to me, alas! were they! + May'st thou be numbered when my days are done + With deathless trees--like those in Borrowdale, + Under whose awful branches lingered pale + "Fear, trembling Hope, and Death, the skeleton, + And Time, the shadow;" and though weak the verse + That would thy beauty fain, oh fain rehearse, + May Love defend thee from Oblivion's curse. + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Hindu Literature, by Epiphanius Wilson + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13268 *** |