Indian Idylls

by Edwin Arnold

First published in 1883

This book can be found on the site here:

globalgreyebooks.com/indian-idylls-ebook.html

GlobalGrey 2025

globalgreyebooks.com

Contents

Preface

Sâvitrî; Or, Love And Death

Nala And Damayanti

The Enchanted Lake

The Saint’s Temptation

The Birth Of Death

The Night Of Slaughter

The Great Journey

The Entry Into Heaven

Preface

Some time ago I wrote and published, in a paper entitled “The Iliad and Odyssey of India,” the following passages:-

“There exist two colossal, two unparalleled, epic poems in the sacred language of India, -the Mahâbhârata and the Râmâyana, -which were not known to Europe, even by name, until Sir William Jones announced their existence; and one of which, the larger, since his time, has been made public only by fragments, by mere specimens, hearing to those vast treasures of Sanskrit literature such small proportion as cabinet samples of ore have to the riches of a mine. Yet these most remarkable poems contain almost all the history of ancient India, so far as it can be recovered; together with such inexhaustible details of its political, social, and religious life, that the antique Hindu world really stands epitomized in them.

The Old Testament is not more interwoven with the Jewish race, nor the New Testament with the civilization of Christendom, nor the Koran with the records and destinies of Islam, than are these two Sanskrit poems with that unchanging and teeming Population which Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, rules as Empress of Hindustan. The stories, songs, and ballads; the histories and genealogies; the nursery tales and religious discourses; the art; the learning, the philosophy, the creeds, the moralities, the modes of thought, the very phrases, saying, turns of expression, and daily ideas of the Hindu people are taken from these poems. Their children and their wives are named out of them; so are their cities, temples, streets, and cattle.

They have constituted the library, the newspaper, and the Bible-generation after generation-for all the succeeding and countless millions of Indian people; and it replaces patriotism with that race, and, stands in stead of nationality, to possess these two precious and inexhaustible books, and to drink from them as from mighty and overflowing rivers. The value ascribed in Hindustan to these too little known epics has transcended all literary standards established in the West. They are personified, worshipped, and cited as being something divine.

To read or even listen to them is thought by the devout Hindu sufficiently meritorious to bring prosperity to his household here, and happiness in the next world; they are held also to give wealth to the poor, health to the sick, wisdom to the ignorant; and the recitation of certain parvas and shlokas in them can fill the household of the barren, it is believed, with children. A concluding passage of the 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. This Mahâbhârata contains the history of the gods, of the Rishis in heaven and those on earth, of the Gandharvas and the Rákshasas. It also contains the life and actions of the one God, holy, immutable, and true,-who is Krishna, who is the creator and the ruler of this universe; who is seeking the welfare of his creation by means of his incomparable and indestructible power; whose actions are celebrated by all sages; who has bound human beings in a chain, of which one end is life and the other death; on whom the Rishis meditate, and a knowledge of whom imparts unalloyed happiness to their hearts, and for whose gratification and favor all the daily devotions are performed by all worshippers. 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 volume contains such translation, as have from time to time made out of this prodigious epic, which is seven-fold greater in bulk than the Illiad and Odyssey taken together. All the stories here extracted are new to English literature, with the exception of a few passages of the Sâvitrî and the “Nala and Damayanti,” which was long ago most faithfully rendered by Dean Milman, the version being published side by side with a clear and excellent Sanskrit text edited by Professor Monier Williams, C. I. E. But that presentation of the beautiful and brilliant legend - with all its conspicuous merits - seems better adapted to aid the student than adequately to reproduce the swift march of narrative, and old-world charm of the Indian tale, which I, also, have therefore ventured to transcribe; with all deference and gratitude to my predecessors.

I believe certain portions of the mighty poem which here appear, and many other episodes, to be of far greater antiquity than has been ascribed to the Mahâbhârata generally. Doubtless the “two hundred and twenty thousand lines” of the entire compilation contain in many places little and large additions and corrections, interpolated in Brahmanic or post- Buddhistic times; and he who ever so slightly explores this poetical ocean will, indeed, perceive defects, excrescences, differences, and breaks of artistic style or structure. But in the simpler and nobler sections the Sanskrit verse (ofttimes as musical and highly wrought as Homer’s own Greek) bears, as I think, testimony-by evidence too long and recondite for citation here-to an origin anterior to writing, anterior to Purânic theology, anterior to Homer, perhaps even to Moses.

EDWIN ARNOLD.

LONDON, August, 1883.

Sâvitrî; Or, Love And Death

(FROM THE VANA PARVA OF THE MAHÂBHÂRATA-

PAGE 803, LINE 16616. CALCUTTA QUARTO EDITION)

“I mourn not for myself’,” quoth Yudhisthir,

“Nor for my hero-brothers; but because

Draupadi hath been taken from us now.

Never was seen or known another such,

As queenly, true, and faithful to her vows,

As Draupadi.”

Then said Markandya:

Wilt thou hear, Prince, of such another soul,

Wherein the nobleness of Draupadi

Dwell, of old days,- the Princess Sâvitrî?

THERE was a Raja, pious-minded, just,

King of the Mâdras,-valiant, wise, and true;

Victorious over sense, a worshipper;

Liberal in giving, prudent., dear alike

To peasant and to townsman; one whose joy

Lived in the weal of all men-Aswapati -

Patient, and free of any woe, he reigned,

Save that his manhood passing, left him ]one,

A childless lord; for this he grieved; for this

Heavy observances he underwent,

Subduing needs of flesh, and oftentimes

Making high sacrifice to Sâvitrî;

While, for all food, at each sixth watch he took

A little measured dole; and thus he did

Through sixteen years, most excellent of Kings

Till at the last, divinest Sâvitrî

Grew well-content, and, taking shining shape,

Rose through the flames of sacrifice and showed

Unto that prince her heavenly countenance.

“Raja,” the Goddess said - the Gift-bringer -

Thy piety, thy purity, thy fasts,

The largesse of thy hands, thy heart’s wide love,

Thy strength of faith, have pleased me. Choose some boon.

Thy dearest wish, Monarch of Mâdra, ask;

It is not meet such merit go in vain.”

The Raja answered: “Goddess, for the sake

Of children I did bear these heavy vows:

If thou art well-content, grant me, I pray,

Fair babes, continuers of my royal line;

This is the boon I choose, obeying law:

For - say the holy seers - the first great law

Is that a man leave seed.”

The Goddess said:

I knew thine answer, Raja, ere it came;

And He, the Maker of all, hath heard my word

That this might be. The self-existent One

Consenteth. Born there shall be unto thee

A girl more sweet than any eyes have seen;

There is not found on earth so fair a maid

I that rejoice in the Great Father’s will

Know this and tell thee.”

“Oh, so may it be

The Raja cried, once and again; and she,

The Goddess, smiled anew, and vanished so.-

While Aswapati to his palace went.

‘there dwelled he, doing justice to all folk;

Till, when the hour was good, the wise King lay

With her that was his first and fairest wife,

And she conceived a girl (a girl, my liege

Better than many boys), which wonder grew

In darkness, - as the Moon among the stars

Grows from a ring of silver to a round

In the month’s waxing days, - and when time came

The Queen a daughter bore, with lotus-eyes,

Lovely of mould. joyous that Raja made

The birth-feast; and because the fair gift fell

From Sâvitrî the Goddess, and because

It was her day of sacrifice, they gave

The name of “Sâvitrî” unto the child.

In grace and beauty grew the maid, as if

Lakshmi’s own self had taken woman’s form.

And when swift years her gracious youth made ripe,

Like to an image of dark gold she seemed

Gleaming, with waist so fine, and breasts so deep,

And limbs so rounded. When she moved, all eyes

Gazed after her, as though an Apsara

Had lighted out of Swarga. Not one dared,

Of all the noblest lords, to ask for wife

That miracle, with eyes purple and soft

As lotus-petals, that pure perfect maid,

Whose face shed heavenly light where she did go.

Once she had fasted, laved her head, and bowed

Before the shrine of Agni, - as is meet,

And sacrificed, and spoken what is set

Unto the Brahmans - taking at their hands

The unconsumed offerings, and so passed

Into her father’s presence - bright as ‘Sri,

If ‘Sri were woman! - Meekly at his feet

She laid the blossoms; meekly bent her head,

Folded her palms, and stood, radiant with grace,

Beside the Raja. He, beholding her

Come to her growth, and thus divinely fair,

Yet sued of none, was grieved at heart and spake

“Daughter, ‘tis time we wed thee, but none comes

Asking thee; therefore, thou thyself some youth

Choose for thy lord, a virtuous prince: whoso

Is dear to thee, he shall be dear to me

For this the rule is- by the sages taught

Hear the commandment, noble maid - ‘That sire

Who giveth not his child in marriage

Is blamable; and blamable that king

Who weddeth not; and blamable that son

Who, when his father dieth, guardeth not

His mother.’ Heeding this,” the Raja said,

Haste thee to choose, and so choose that I bear

No guilt, dear child, before the all-seeing Gods.”

Thus spake he - from the royal presence then

Elders and ministers dismissing. She,

Sweet Sâvitrî, -low lying at his feet,

With soft shame heard her father, and obeyed.

Then, on a bright car mounting, companied

By ministers and sages, Sâvitrî

Journeyed through groves and pleasant woodland-towns

Where pious princes dwelled, in every spot

Paying meet homage at the Brahmans’ feet;

And so from forest unto forest passed,

In all the Tirthas making offerings:

Thus did the Princess visit place by place.

THE King of Mâdra sat among his lords

With Narada beside him, counselling:

When - (son of Bhârat!) entered Sâvitrî

From passing through each haunt and hermitage,

Returning with those sages. At the sight

Of Narad seated by the Raja’s side,

Humbly she touched the earth before their feet

With bended forehead.

Then spake Narada:

“Whence cometh thy fair child? and wherefore, King,

Being so ripe in beauty, giv’st thou not

The Princess to a husband?”

“Even for that

She journeyed,” quoth the Raja; “being come,

Hear for thyself, great Rishi, what high lord

My daughter chooseth.” Then, being bid to speak

Of Narad and the Raja, Sâvitrî

Softly said this: “ In Chalva reigned a prince,

Lordly and just, Dyumutsena named,

Blind, and his only son not come to age;

And this sad king an enemy betrayed

Abusing his infirmity, whereby

Of throne and kingdom was that king bereft;

And with his queen and son, a banished man,

He fled into the wood; and, ‘neath its shades,

A life of holiness cloth daily lead.

This Raja’s son, born in the court, but bred

‘Midst forest peace, - royal of blood, and named

Prince Satyavan, - to him my choice is given.”

“Aho!” cried Narad, “evil is this choice

Which Sâvitrî hath made, who, knowing not,

Doth name the noble Satyavan her lord:

For, noble is the Prince, sprung of a pair

So just and faithful found in word and deed

The Brahmans styled him ‘Truth-born ‘ at his birth.

Horses he loved, and ofttimes would he mould

Coursers of clay, or paint them on the wall;

Therefore ‘Chitraswa’ was he also called.”

Then spake the King: “By this he shall have grown

Being of so fair birth - either a prince

Of valor, or a wise and patient saint.”

Quoth Narad: “Like the sun is Satyavan

For grace and glory; like Vrihaspati

For counsel; like Mahendra’s self for might;

And hath the patience of th’ all-bearing earth.”

“Is he a liberal giver? “ asked the King;

Loveth he virtue? wears he noble airs?

Goeth he like a prince, with sweet proud looks?”

“He is as glad to give, if he hath store,

As Rantideva,” Narada replied.

Pious he is; and true as Shivi was,

The son of Usinara; fair of form

(Yayâti was not fairer); sweet of looks

(The Aswins not more gracious); gallant, kind,

Reverent, self-governed, gentle, equitable,

Modest, and constant. justice lives in him,

And Honor guides. Those who do love a man

Praise him for manhood; they that seek a saint

Laud him for purity, and passions tamed.”

“A prince thou showest us,” the Raja said,

“All virtues owning. Tell me of some faults,

If fault he hath.”

“None lives,” quoth Narada.

But some fault mingles with his qualities

And Satyavan bears that he cannot mend.

The blot which spoils his brightness, the defect

Forbidding yonder Prince, Raja, is this,

‘Tis fated he shall die after a year;

Count from to-day one year, he perisheth!”

“My Sâvitrî,” the King cried; “go, dear child,

Some other husband choose. This hath one fault;

But huge it is, and mars all nobleness:

At the year’s end he dies ‘tis Narad’s word,

Whom the gods teach.”

But Sâvitrî replied:

Once falls a heritage; once a maid yields

Her maidenhood; once doth a father say,

Choose, I abide thy choice.’ These three things done,

Are done forever. Be my Prince to live

A year, or many years; be he so great

As Narada hath said, or less than this;

Once have I chosen him, and choose not twice

My heart resolved, my mouth hath spoken it,

My hand shall execute; -this is my mind!”

Quoth Narad: “Yea, her mind is fixed, O King,

And none will turn her from the path of truth!

Also the virtues of Prince Satyavan

Shall in no other man be found. Give thou

Thy child to him. I gainsay not.”

Therewith

The Raja sighed: “Nay, what must be, must be.

She speaketh sooth: and I will give my child,

For thou our Guru art.”

Narada said:

Free be the gift of thy fair daughter, then;

May happiness yet light! -Raja, I go.”

So went that sage, returning to his place

And the King bade the nuptials be prepared.

HE bade that all things be prepared, - the robes,

The golden cups; and summoned priest and sage,

Brahman and Rity-yaj and Purôhit;

And, on a day named fortunate, set forth

With Sâvitrî. In the mid-wood they found

Dyumutsena’s sylvan court: the King,

Alighting, paced with slow steps to the spot

Where sat the blind lord underneath a sâl,

On mats woven of kusa grass. Then passed

Due salutations; worship, as is meet: -

All courteously the Raja spake his name,

All courteously the blind King gave to him

Earth, and a seat, and water in a jar;

Then asked, “ What, Maharaja, bringeth thee?”

And Aswapati, answering, told him all.

With eyes fixed full upon Prince Satyavan

He spake: “This is my daughter, Sâvitrî

Take her from me to be wife to thy son,

According to the law; thou know’st the law.

Dyumutsena said: “ Forced from our throne,

Wood-dwellers, hermits, keeping state no more,

We follow right, and how would right be done

If this most lovely lady we should house

Here, in our woods, unfitting home for her?

Answered the Raja: “ Grief and joy we know,

And what is real and seeming, - she and I

Nor fits this fear with our unshaken minds.

Deny thou not the prayer of him who bows

In friendliness before thee; put not by

His wish who comes well-minded unto thee;

Thy stateless state shows noble; thou and I

Are of one rank; take then this maid of mine

To be thy daughter, since she chooseth me

Thy Satyavan for son.”

The blind lord spake:

It was of old my wish to grow akin,

Raja, with thee, by marriage of our blood;

But ever have I answered to myself,

‘Nay, for thy realm is lost , - forego this hope

Yet now, so let it be, since so thou wilt;

My welcome guest thou art. Thy will is mine.”

Then gathered in the forest all those priests,

And with due rites the royal houses bound

By nuptial tie. And when the Raja saw

His daughter, as befits a princess, wed,

Home went he, glad. And glad was Satyavan,

Winning that beauteous spouse, with all gifts rich

And she rejoiced to be the wife of him,

So chosen of her soul. But when her sire

Departed, from her neck and arms she stripped

jewels and gold, and o’er her radiant form

Folded the robe of bark and yellow cloth

Which hermits use; and all hearts did she gain

By gentle actions, soft self-government,

Patience, and peace. The Queen had joy of her

For tender services and mindful cares;

The blind King took delight to know her days

So holy, and her wise words so restrained;

And with her lord in sweet converse she lived

Gracious and loving, dutiful and dear.

But while in the deep forest softly flowed

This quiet life of love and holiness,

The swift moons sped - and always in the heart

Of Sâvitrî, by day and night, there dwelt

The words of Narada, - those dreadful words!

Now, when the pleasant days were passed, which brought

The day of Doom, and Satyavan must die

(For hour by hour the Princess counted them,

Keeping the words of Narada in heart),

Bethinking on the fourth noon he should die,

She set herself to make the “ Threefold Fast,”

Three days and nights foregoing food and sleep;

Which, when the King Dyumutsena heard,

Sorrowful he arose, and spake her thus:

“Daughter, a heavy task thou takest on

Hardly the saintliest soul might such abide.”

But Sâvitrî gave answer: “Have no heed:

What I do set myself I will perform;

The vow is made, and I shall keep the vow.”

“If it be made,” quoth he, “ it must be kept;

We cannot bid thee break thy word, once given.”

With that the King forbade not, and she sat

Still, as though carved of wood, three days and nights.

But when the third night passed, and brought the day

Whereon her lord must die, she rose betimes,

Made offering on the altar flames, and sang

Softly the morning prayers; then, with clasped palms

Laid on her bosom, meekly came to greet

The King and Queen, and lowlily salute

“The gray-haired Brahmans. Thereupon those saints -

Resident in the woods - made answer mild

Unto the Princess: “ Be it well with thee,

And with thy lord, for these good deeds of thine.”

“May it be well! “ she answered; in her heart

Full mournfully that hour of fate awaiting

Foretold of Narad.

Then they said to her:

Daughter, thy vow is kept. Come, now, and eat.”

But Sâvitrî replied: “ When the sun sinks

This evening, I will eat, - that is my vow.”

So when they could not change her, afterward

Came Satyavan, the Prince, bound for the woods,

An axe upon his shoulder; unto whom

Wistfully spake the Princess: “Dearest Lord,

Go not alone to-day; let me come too

I cannot be apart from thee to-day.”

“Why not ‘to-day’?” quoth Satynvm. “The wood

Is strange to thee, Belovèd, and its paths

Rough for thy tender feet; besides, with fast

Thy soft limbs faint; how wilt thou walk with me?”

I am not weak nor weary,” she replied,

And I can walk. Say me not nay, sweet Lord,

I have so great a heart to go with thee.”

“If thou hast such good heart,” answered the Prince,

I shall say yea; but first entreat the leave

Of those we reverence, lest a wrong be done.”

So, pure and dutiful, she sought that place’

Where sat the King and Queen, and, bending low,

Murmured request: “My husband goeth straight

To the great forest, gathering fruits and flowers;

I pray your leave that I may be with him.

To make the Agnihôtra sacrifice

Fetcheth he those, and will not be gainsaid,

But surely goeth. Let me go. A year

Hath rolled since I did fare from th’ hermitage

To see our groves in bloom. I have much will

To see them now.”

The old King gently said:

In sooth it is a year since she was given

To be our son’s wife, and I mind me not

Of any boon the loving heart hath asked,

Nor any one untimely word she spake;

Let it be as she prayeth. Go, my child;

Have care of Satyavan, and take thy way.”

So, being permitted of them both, she went, -

That beauteous lady, - at her husband’s side,

With aching heart, albeit her face was bright.

Flower-laden trees her large eyes lighted on,

Green glades where pea-fowl sported, crystal streams,

And soaring hills whose green sides burned with bloom,

Which oft the Prince would bid her gaze upon;

But she as oft turned those great eyes from them

To look on him, her husband, who must die,

(For always in her mind were Narad’s words).

And so she walked behind him, guarding him,

Bethinking at what hour her lord must die,

Her true heart torn in twain, one half to him

Close-cleaving, one half watching if Death come.

THEN, having reached where woodland fruits did grow,

They gathered those, and filled a basket full;

And afterwards the Prince plied hard his axe,

Cutting the sacred fuel. Presently

There crept a pang upon him; a fierce throe

Burned through his brows, and, all a-sweat, he came

Feebly to Sâvitrî, and moaned: “O wife,

I am thus suddenly too weak for work;

My veins throb, Sâvitrî; my blood runs fire;

It is as if a threefold fork were plunged

Into my brain. Let me lie down, fair Love!

Indeed, I cannot stand upon my feet.”

Thereon that noble lady, hastening near,

Stayed him, that would have fallen, with quick arms;

And, sitting on the earth, laid her lord’s head

Tenderly in her lap. So bent she, mute,

Fanning his face, and thinking ‘twas the day

The hour - which Narad named - the sure fixed date

Of dreadful end - when, lo! before her rose

A shade majestic. Red his garments were,

His body vast and dark; like fiery suns

The eyes which burned beneath his forehead-cloth

Armed was he with a noose, awful of mien.

This Form tremendous stood by Satyavan,

Fixing its gaze upon him. At the sight

The fearful Princess started to her feet.

Heedfully laying on the grass his head,

Up started she, with beating heart, and joined

Her palms for supplication, and spake thus

In accents tremulous: “Thou seem’st some god

Thy mien is more than mortal; make me know

What god thou art, and what thy purpose here.”

And Yama said (the dreadful God of death)

Thou art a faithful wife, O Sâvitrî,

True to thy vows, pious, and dutiful;

Therefore I answer thee. Yama I am!

This Prince, thy lord, lieth at point to die

Him will I straightway bind and bear from life;

This is my office, and for this I come.”

Then Sâvitrî spake sadly: “It is taught,

Thy messengers are sent to fetch the dying;

Why is it, Mightiest, thou art come thyself?

In pity of her love, the Pitiless

Answered, - the King of all the Dead replied:

“This was a Prince unparalleled, thy lord

Virtuous as fair, a sea of goodly gifts,

Not to be summoned by a meaner voice

Than Yama’s own: therefore is Yama come.”

With that the gloomy God fitted his noose,

And forced forth from the Prince the soul of him

Subtile, a thumb in length - which being reft,

Breath stayed, blood stopped, the body’s grace was gone,

And all life’s warmth to stony coldness turned.

Then, binding it, the Silent Presence bore

Satyavan’s soul away toward the South.

But Sâvitrî the Princess followed him;

Being so bold in wifely purity,

So holy by her love: and so upheld,

She followed him.

Presently Yama turned.

“Go back,” quoth he; “pay him the funeral dues.

Enough, O Sâvitrî! is wrought for love;

Go back! too far already hast thou come.”

Then Sâvitrî made answer: “ I must go

Where my lord goes, or where my lord is borne;

Nought other is my duty. Nay, I think,

By reason of my vows, my services

Done to the Gurus, and my faultless love,

Grant but thy grace, I shall unhindered go.

The sages teach that to walk seven steps,

One with another, maketh good men friends;

Beseech thee, let me say a verse to thee:-

Be master of thyself, if thou wilt be

Servant of Duty. Such as thou shalt see

Not self-subduing, do no deeds of good

In youth or age, in household or in wood.

But wise men know that virtue is best bliss,

And all by some one way may reach to this.

It needs not men should pass through orders four

To come to knowledge: doing right is more

Than any learning; therefore sages say

Best and most excellent is Virtue’s way.

Spake Yama then: “Return! yet I am moved

By those soft words; justly their accents fell,

And sweet and reasonable was their sense.

See, now, thou faultless one. Except this life

I bear away, ask any boon from me;

It shall not be denied.”

Sâvitrî said

Let, then, the King, my husband’s father, have

His eyesight back, and be his strength restored,

And let him live anew, strong as the sun.”

“I give this gift,” Yama replied: “thy wish,

Blameless, shall be fulfilled. But now go back;

Already art thou wearied, and our road

Is hard and long. Turn back, lest thou, too, die.”

The Princess answered: “Weary am I not,

So I walk nigh my lord. Where he is borne,

Thither wend I. Most mighty of the gods,

I follow whereso’er thou takest him.

A verse in writ on this, if thou wouldst hear: -

There is nought better than to be

With noble souls in company:

There is nought dearer than to wend

With good friends faithful to the end.

This is the love whose fruit is sweet;

Therefore to bide therein is meet.”

Spake Yama, smiling: “Beautiful! thy words

Delight me; they are excellent, and teach

Wisdom unto the wise, singing soft truth.

Look, now! except the life of Satyavan,

Ask yet another - any - boon from me.”

Sâvitrî said: “Let, then, the pious King,

My husband’s father, who hath lost his throne,

Have back the Râj; and let him rule his realm

In happy righteousness. This boon I ask.”

“He shall have back the throne,” Yama replied,

And he shall reign in righteousness: these things

Will surely fall. But thou, gaining thy wish,

Return anon; so shalt thou ‘scape sore ill.”

“Ah, awful God! who hold’st the world in leash,”

The Princess said, “restraining evil men,

And leading good men, - even unconscious, - there

Where they attain, hear yet these famous words: -

The constant virtues of the good are tenderness and love

To all that lives - in earth, air, sea -great, small - below, above;

Compassionate of heart, they keep a gentle thought for each,

Kind in their actions, mild in will, and pitiful of speech

Who pitieth not he hath not faith; full many an one so

But when an enemy seeks help the good man gladly gives.

“As water to the thirsting,” Yama said,

Princess, thy words melodious are to me.

Except the life of Satyavan thy lord,

Ask one boon yet again, for I will grant.”

Answer made Sâvitrî: “The King, my sire,

Hath no male child. Let him see many sons

Begotten of his body, who may keep

The royal line long regnant. This I ask.”

So it shall be the Lord of death replied;

A hundred fair preservers of his race

Thy sire shall boast. But this wish being won,

Return, dear Princess; thou hast come too far.”

“It is not far for me,” quoth Sâvitrî,

“Since I am near my husband; nay, my heart

Is set to go as far as to the end;

But hear these other verses, if thou wilt:-

By that sunlit name thou bearest,

Thou, Vaivaswata! art dearest;

Those that as their Lord proclaim thee,

King of Righteousness do name thee:

Better than themselves the wise

Trust the righteous. Each relies

Most upon the good, and makes

Friendship with them. Friendship takes

Fear from hearts; yet friends betray,

In good men we may trust alway.”

Sweet lady,” Yama said, “never were words

Spoke better; never truer heard by ear;

Lo! I am pleased with thee. Except this soul,

Ask one gift yet again, and get thee home.”

“I ask thee, then,” quickly the Princess cried,

Sons, many sons, born of my body: boys;

Satyavan’s children; lovely, valiant, strong;

Continuers of their line. Grant this, kind God.”

“I grant it,” Yama answered; “thou shalt bear

Those sons; thy heart desireth, valiant, strong.

Therefore go back, that years be given thee.

Too long a path thou treadest, dark and rough.”

But, sweeter than before, the Princess sang:-

In paths of peace and virtue

Always the good remain;

And sorrow shall not stay with them,

For long access of pain;

At meeting or at parting

Joys to their bosom strike;

For good to good is friendly,

And virtue loves her like.

The great sun goes his journey

By their strong truth impelled;

By their pure lives and penances

Is earth itself upheld;

Of all which live or shall live

Upon its hills and fields,

Pure hearts are the ‘protectors,’

For virtue saves and shields.

“Never are noble spirits

Poor while their like survive;

True love has gems to render,

And virtue wealth to give.

Never is lost or wasted

The goodness of the good;

Never against a mercy,

Against a right, it stood;

And seeing this, that virtue

Is always friend to all,

The virtuous and true-hearted,

Men their ‘protectors’ call.”

Line for line, Princess! as thou sangest so,”

Quoth Yarna, “ all that lovely praise of good,

Grateful to hallowed minds, lofty in sound,

And couched in dulcet numbers - word by word

Dearer thou grew’st to me. O thou great heart,

Perfect and firm! ask any boon from me, -

Ask an incomparable boon!”

She cried

Swiftly, no longer stayed: “Not heaven I crave,

Nor heavenly joys, nor bliss incomparable,

Hard to be granted even by thee; but him,

My sweet lord’s life, without which I am dead;

Give me that gift of gifts! I will not take

Aught less without him, - not one boon, - no praise,

No splendors, no rewards, - not even those sons

Whom thou didst promise. Ah, thou wilt not, now,

Bear hence the father of them, and my hope

Make thy free word good; give me Satyavan

Alive once more.”

And thereupon the God

The Lord of justice, high Vaivaswata

Loosened the noose and freed the Prince’s soul,

And gave it to the lady, saying this,

With eyes grown tender: “See, thou sweetest queen

Of women, brightest jewel of thy kind!

Here is thy husband. He shall live and reign

Side by side with thee, - saved by thee, - in peace,

And fame, and wealth, and health, many long years;

For pious sacrifices world-renowned.

Boys shalt thou bear to him, as I did grant, -

Kshatriya kings, fathers of kings to be,

Sustainers of thy line. Also, thy sire

Shall see his name upheld by sons of sons,

Like the immortals, valiant, Mâlavas.”

These gifts the awful Yama gave, and went

Unto his place; but Sâvitrî -made glad,

Having her husband’s soul - sped to the glade

Where his corse lay. She saw it there, and ran,

And, sitting on the earth, lifted its head,

And lulled it on her lap full tenderly.

Thereat warm life returned: the white lips moved;

The fixed eyes brightened, gazed, and gazed again;

As when one starts from sleep and sees a face -

The well-beloved’s -grow clear, and, smiling, wakes,

So Satyavan. “Long have I slumbered, Dear,”

He sighed, “why didst thou not arouse me? Where

Is gone that gloomy man that haled at me?”

Answered the Princess: “Long, indeed, thy sleep,

Dear Lord, and deep; for he that haled at thee

Was Yama, God of Death: but he is gone;

And thou, being rested and awake, rise now,

If thou canst rise; for, look, the night is near!”

Thus, newly living, newly waked, the Prince

Glanced all around upon the blackening groves,

And whispered: “I came forth to pluck the fruits,

O slender-waisted, with thee: then, some pang

Shot through my temples while I hewed the wood,

And I lay down upon thy lap, dear wife,

And slept. This do I well remember. Next

Was it a dream, -that vast, dark, mighty One

Whom I beheld? Oh, if thou saw’st and know’st,

Was it in fancy, or in truth, he came?”

Softly she answered: “Night is falling fast;

To-morrow I will tell thee all, dear Lord.

Get to thy feet, and let us seek our home.

Guide us, ye Gods! the gloom spreads fast around

The creatures of the forest are abroad,

Which roam and cry by night. I hear the leaves

Rustle with beasts that creep. I hear this way

The yells of prowling jackals; beasts do haunt

In the southern wood; their noises make me fear.”

“The wood is black with shadows,” quoth the Prince

You would not know the path; you could not see it;

We cannot go.”

She said: “There was to-day

A fire within this forest, and it burned

A withered tree; yonder the branches flame.

I’ll fetch a lighted brand and kindle wood:

See! there is fuel here. Art thou so vexed

Because we cannot go? Grieve not. The path

Is hidden, and thy limbs are not yet knit.

To-morrow, when the way grows clear, depart;

But, if thou wilt, let us abide to-night.”

And Satyavan replied: “ The pains are gone

Which racked my brow; my limbs seem strong again;

Fain would I reach our home, if thou wilt aid.

Ever betimes I have been wont to come

At evening to the place where those we love

Await us. Ah, what trouble they will know,

Father and mother, searching now for us!

They prayed me hasten back. How they will weep,

Not seeing me; for there is none save me

To guard them. ‘Quick return,’ they said; ‘our lives

Live upon thine; thou art our eyes, our breath,

Our hope of lineage; unto thee we look

For funeral cakes, for mourning feasts, for all.’

What will these do alone, not seeing me,

Who am their stay? Shame on the idle sleep

And foolish dreams which cost them all this pain

I cannot tarry here. My sire belike,

Having no eyes, asks at this very hour

News of me from each one that walks the wood.

Let us depart. Not, Sâvitrî, for us

Think I, but for those reverend ones at home,

Mourning me now. If they fare well, ‘tis well

With me; if ill, nought’s well; what would please them

Is wise and good to do.”

Thereat he beat

Faint hands, eager to go; and Sâvitrî,

Seeing him weeping, wiped his tears away,

And gently spake: “If I have kept the fast,

Made sacrifices, given gifts, and wrought

Service to holy men, may this black night

Be bright to those and thee; for we will go.

I think I never spoke a false word once

In all my life, not even in jest; I pray

My truth may help to-night them, thee, and me!”

“Let us set forth,” he cried - “if any harm

Hath fallen on those so dear, I could not live

I swear it by my soul! As thou art sweet,

Helpful, and virtuous, aid me to depart.”

Then Sâvitrî arose, and tied her hair,

And lifted up her lord upon his feet;

Who, as he swept the dry leaves from his cloth,

Looked on the basket full of fruit. “But thou,”

The Princess said, “to-morrow shalt bring these

Give me thine axe, the axe is good to take.”

So saying, she hung the basket on a branch,

And in her left hand carrying the axe,

Came back, and laid his arm across her neck,

Her right arm winding round him. So they went.

[The story concludes happily. Whilst the Prince and Princess find a path through the shades of the forest, the King, Dyumutsena, much afflicted at their absence, is suddenly restored to sight, and becomes consoled by his Rishis, who are convinced that Satyavan and Sâvitrî will return safe and well. Before dawn the absent pair do, indeed, come back; and, being eagerly questioned, the Prince is unable to explain what has befallen, but Sâvitrî relates it all, telling how Narada had foreseen that her husband must die, and how she had kept the “Threefold Fast,” and gone with him to the wood, in order to avert his doom. Whilst the Rishis are praising the virtuous Princess, and loudly declaring that her piety and courage have conquered Death himself, messengers arrive from Dyumutsena’s city, announcing, that the usurper has been overthrown there, and Satyavan’s father re-proclaimed as King. Dyumutsena accordingly returns in triumph to his capital, with his Queen. with Sâvitrî, and with her husband, and all the good fortunes promised them by Yama duly arrive. Markandya finishes the narration by saying-]

So did fair Sâvitrî from Yama save

Her lord, and all his house to glory lead.

And Dratipadi - as wise and beautiful -

Shall, like that Princess, (O great Yudhisthir!)

Bring you past bitter seas to blessed shores.

Then was the Prince of Pandavas consoled.

He, also, who shall read with heart intent

Sâvitrî ‘s holy story, will wax glad,

And know that all fares well, and suffer nought.

Nala And Damayanti

(FROM THE VANA FARVA OF THE MAHABHÂRATA.-

LINE 2073- CALCUTTA QUARTO EDITION.)

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 l3rahman 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, gown 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 Sachi’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 sonic 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 Dainayanti’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 wingèd 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 Aswin he,

For godliness. 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 the might

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:

“Bho! 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 stem.”

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, Varna, 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 unstainèd robes! bear on thy brows

The wreaths which never fade, of heavenly blooms

Be, as thou mayst, 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-lippcd 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 no wise 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 Nishadh’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-gIiding 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 Sachi’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 Agwamedha 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 Damayand bore unto her lord

A boy named Indrasen, and next, a girl

Named Indrasena. So in happiness

The good Prince governed, seeing all his land

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,

Brake into wrath -while he stood worshipping

That band divine - and furiously cried

“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 mayst 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 Vidharbha’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 gat 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 fealty 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 tip

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. Afterward

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 tom,

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, - Nishadha’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 wingèd 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, heir 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 I 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 no thought to leave thee, foolish Love

Why didst thou fear? Alas, ‘tis from myself

That I would fly -not thee, thou Faultless One!”

“Yet, if,” the Princess answered, “Maharaj!

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 sure 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;

Put 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, whate’er 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 cursèd 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 Aswins 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 brake 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 cried she: “ Maharaja! Nishadh’s Prince

Ha, Lord! ha, Maharaj! 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, ‘tis 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.

Aft 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 th, 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 o’ercome

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 Nishadh’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! Maharaj!”

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 camest 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 mayst 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[1]

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,[2]

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,

Pisachas, Rakshasas, ill sprites and fiends

Which haunt, with swinging snakes, the undergrowth,

Dark pools she saw, and drinking-holes, and peaks

Wherefrom brake 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 Aswamedha 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; will 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 belovèd? 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-belovèd; 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 I 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 Aswamedh, -

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 Nishadh 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; sacrificin 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 be’st 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 Vasistha, 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’erhead; 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-Vakshi, 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 holy 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 Brahmanas

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 whilc

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’s-easing, - ease my heart of pain.”[3]

Thus, wild with grief, she spake unto the tree,

Round and round walking, as to reverence it;

And then, unanswered, the sweet lady sped

Though wastes more dreadful, passing many a ran,

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 brake 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 be’st

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 Suchi, - 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 Sarthâ[4] 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[5] 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,[6] o’erwhelming 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 sterns and thorns breaking their path,

So swept the herd to where, beside the pool,

Those sleepers lay; and tram pled 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

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,

Yakshi or Rakshasi, 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 bygone lives

It hath befall’n, and what I suffer now

Is payment of old evils undischarged.[7]

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 brake 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 - meseerns 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 Brahmanas

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 Iong, 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 brake

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-mothcr 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 whencc.

No low-born 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 ‘twere 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 chanccd,

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 Brahmanas

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 Two.

NOT long (O Maharaj!) 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,[8] 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:

“Maharaj, 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,

‘Fill 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 Brahmans! 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,[9] 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 tarne and guide the steed

Moreover, thou mayst use me in nice needs

And dangerous, where kings lack faithful hearts.

Specially seen I am in dressing meats;[10]

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 Jîvala;

With those abiding, lodge thou happy here.”

So entertained and honored of the King,

In Rituparna’s city Nala dwelled,

Lodging with Varshneya and Jîvala.

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 this,

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 or 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 Brahmans forth to search for them

With strait 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 Brahmans, 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 in; 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[11] 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 Brahmana Sudêva, friend

Unto my lord, thy brother, and I come

By royal Bhima’s mandate seeking thee.

That Maharaj, 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 Brahmanas - 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 Brahman, 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 Brahmana.

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 Brahmana 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 fives

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 moonlike beauty - that

The wondrous Maker[12] on the rare work stamped

To be His mark. But as the waxing moon

Goes thin and darkling for a while, 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.

At 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,[13]

Glittcrs to view. Seeing the spot awhile,

Sunandâ and the mother of the King

Gazed voiceless; then they clasped her neck and wcpt

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

Dasarna, King Sudâman. She was given

To Bhima, and to Virabahu I.

Once at Dasarna, 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 Brahmanas

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 Maharaj his Queen

Told what was said: “Lord! all uncomforted

Thy daughter Damayanti weeps and grieves,

Lacking her husband. E’ven to me she spake

Before our damsels, laying shame aside

‘Find Nala - let the people of the cotirt

Strive day and night to learn where Nala is.’

Then Bhima, hearing, called his Brahmanas

Patient and wise, and issued hest to go

Into all regions, seeking for the Prince.

But first, by mandate of the Maharaj,

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 wast callèd 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,[14] 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 Brahmans, 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 Brahman 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 Maharaj; 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,

Vâhuka 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, Brahman!” 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 Brahman, to Ayodhyâ’s city go.

Say in the ears of Raja Rituparn,

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’, 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 Brahmana. Sudêva, - and he spake

To Maharaja Rituparna so.

Now when the Raja Rituparna heard

Sudêva’s words, quoth he to Vâhuka

Full pleasantly: “Much mind I have to go

Where Damayanti holds Swayamvara,

If to Vidarbha, in a single day,

Thou deenicst we might drive, my charioteer!”

Of Nala, by his Raja thus addressed,

Tom 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, Vâhuka 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,[15] 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?”

Vâhuka 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.

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 Vâhuka 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; Vâhuka’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

Misshapen, - from conclusion that alone

Withholds me; yet I wist not what to think,

In age and manner like, - and so unlike

In form! Else Vâhuka I must have deemed

Nala, with Nala’s gifts.”

So in his heart

Varshneya, watching, wondered, -being himself

The second charioteer. But Rituparn

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 Rituparna saw

Within the wood a tall Myrobolan

Heavy with fruit; hereat, eager he cried

“Now, Vâhuka, my skill thou mayst behold

In the Arithmic. All arts no man knows;

Each hath his wisdom, but in one man’s wit

Is perfect gift of one thin-, 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 bough,

Together with their shoots, on those twain boughs

Swing twice a thousand nuts and ninety-five!”

Vâhuka 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.”

Vâhuka 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!

Vâhuka cried: “teach me, I pray, this lore,

And take from me my skill in horse-tarning.”

Quoth Rituparn - 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, - Nishadh’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 henceforta

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 toward 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 moonlike 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 dames!

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. Rituparn and Vâhuka

She saw, with Vrishni’s son, descend and loose

The panting horses, wheeling back the car.

Then Rituparn, 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 Brahmans gathering, - weighing all those things,

Answered in this wise: “I am come, great Lord,

To make thee salutations!” But the King

Laughed in his heard 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 Rituparn, with sentences of grace

Replying to this graciousness, was led

by slaves to the allotted sleeping-room

And after Rituparn, Varshneya went.

Vâhuka, 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 Rituparn,

And Vrishni’s son, and him called Vâhuka,

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 Vâhuka, 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 Vâhuka,

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,” Vâhuka replied,

That Damayanti for the second turn

Holds her Swayamvara: the Brahman’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 Vâhuka 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 Brahman 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 keepth

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 repliedst? 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;

Put, 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, Keshinî, 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. Afterward observe,

And bring me what befalls, and every sign

Of earthly or unearthly power he shows;

And whatsoever else Vâhuka 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 Ms ways; and came

Back to the Princess, unto whom she told

Each thing Vâhuka did, as it befell,

And what the signs were, and the wondrous works

Of earthly and unearthly gifts in him.

“Subhê!”[16] 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 Rituparn,

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;[17] 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 Vâhuka,

With happier tears and softening voice she said

To Keshinî: “Speed yet again, my girl -

And, while he wets not, from the kitchen take

Meat he hath dressed, and bring it here to me.”

So went the maid, and, waiting secretly,

Brake 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,[18] she bade the maid

Go with the children twain to Vâhuka;

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 Vâhuka, I deem

The charioteer is Nala. One doubt lives, -

His altered form. I must myself have speech

With Vâhuka; 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 Vâhuka 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 gay ashes on her lovely brow.[19]

And, when she found a voice, these were the words

That came from her: “Didst ever, Vâhuka,-

If Vâhuka 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,[20] loving eyes

Reddened with weeping, seeing her falling tears;

Brake forth: “Ah! that I lost my throne and realm

In dicing, was not done by fault of mine;

‘Twas Kali wrought it; Kali, O my wife,

Drave 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 Brahmans 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 shall 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 undefilèd 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 vojanas?

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

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.

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.

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 Maharaj,

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[21] 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.

When Rituparna heard

How Vâhuka 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 Rituparn:

“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 kin 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 be’st 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![22] 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.[23]

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;[24] 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 - o’ermastered me

Yet will I visit not in wrathful wise

My wrong on thee; Eve 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 kindom, in content.

There, beside his peerless Princess, and his children, bore he sway,

Godlike, even as Indra ruling ‘mid the bliss of Nandana.[25]

Bore he sway, - my noble Nala, - princeliest of all lords who reign

In the lands of Jambudwipa;[26] 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.

The Enchanted Lake

(FROM THE VANA PARVA OF THE MAHÂBHÂRATA-

PAGE 825, LINE 17305, OF THE CALCUTTA QUARTO TEXT.)

[In the preceding section the five Panda Princes have been wandering in the forest, greatly distressed for want of water. The concluding portion of this translation illustrates a passage in the “Swargarohana,” where the god Dharma praises King Vudhisthira for his equity and self-denial. The riddles propounded by the Yaksha, some of which are here omitted, may be considered probably the oldest known to literature]

THEN Yudhisthira spake to Nakula:

“Thou son of Madri, climb upon a tree,

And look to all ten quarters, if by chance

Water be nigh, or plants which love the pool;

Thy brothers faint with thirst.”

So Nakula

Clomb a tall tree; and looking, called aloud:

“Green leaves and water plants I see, which love

The marish and the pool; also I hear

The cry of cranes; yonder will water lie,”

“Go,” said the King, “and fetch for us to drink,

Filling thy quiver.”

Then sped Nakula,

Obeying Yudhisthira, with swift feet,

And found a crystal pool brimmed to the bank:

The great red-crested cranes stalked on its marge.

And down he flung to drink; but a voice cried:

“Beware to drink, rash youth, ere thou hast made

Answers to such things as I ask of thee

The law of this fair water standeth thus

Arise, and hear, and speak; afterwards drink,

And fill thy quiver!”

But the eager Prince,

Being so parched, quaffed deep, not heeding him,

The Vaksha[27] of the place, and thereupon

Fell lifeless in the reeds.

So, when they looked

To see him coming, and he tarried long,

Again spake Yudhisthira: “Nakula

Lingers too much, my brothers. Sahadev,

Go thou, and bring him back, and bring to drink.”

“I go,” quoth Sahadev; and sought the pool,

And saw the water, and saw Nakula

Prone on the earth. Then mightily he grieved,

Spying the Prince outstretched , yet, all so fierce

His drouth was, that he ran and flung him down,

Making to quaff; when, once again, the voice

Sounded: “Beware to drink, ere thou dost give

Answer to what things I will ask of thee

This is the law of me, who am the Lord

Of the fair water; rise, and hear, and speak;

Then thou shalt drink and draw.”

Yet so the stress

Of thirst o’ercame him, that he heeded not,

But drank, and rose, and - reeled among the reeds

Lifeless.

Then, once again, great Kunti’s son

Spake, saying: “O Arjuna, Fear of foes,

These, our twain brethren, tarry; go thyself,

And speed, and bring them back, and bring to drink.

Our trust thou art, for we are sore distressed.”

Which hearing, Gudikesá[28] seized his bow

And arrows, and, with drawn sword, sought the pool,

But coming thither, saw those heroes stretched

His brethren, best of men, -in deadly swoon,

Or dead indeed; and deep distraught he stood,

Seeing them thus. All round the wood he gazed,

With lifted bow, and arrow on the string,

Seeking some foe; but when none carne in sight,

So wild his thirst was, and the pool so clear,

He bent his knee to drink, but, bending, heard

That voice cry: “Dost thou this without my leave?

Despite me, Kunti’s son, thou canst not drink;

And shalt not, till thou makest answer good

Unto my asking; then mayst thou be free,

O born of Bhârata, to drink and draw!”

Thus sternly stayed, the Prince exclaimed in wrath:

Come forth and show thyself, and fight with me

Pierced by my arrows thou shalt yield the pool.”

Then shot he shafts this way and that; and spoke

Those spells which make a feathered barb fly straight;

And darts he flung, of magic might, which find

Th’ escaping foe, tracking his winding feet;

Karnis, nârâchas, nâlikas[29] he threw, -

That angry Prince, - covering the sky and wood

With searching barbs. Thereat the voice anew

Mocked him, low laughing: “Son of Pritha, vain

Thine anger is; answer me fair, and drink;

But if thou drinkest ere thou answerest,

Thou shalt not live.” Yet was his throat so parched

The Prince regarded not, and stooped, and drank,

And fell down dead.

Then Yudhisthira spake:

Bhima, thou Terror of thy foes, see now

Arjuna, Nakula, Sahadev, are gone

To fetch us water, but they come not back.

Seek them, and bring to drink.”

And Bhima said,

So be it.”And he went unto the place

Where those, his mighty-hearted brethren, lay.

But when he saw them -all three - dead and stark,

Sore mourned that long-armed lord, and gazed around,

Deeming some Yaksha or some Râkshasa

Had wrought their doom, and chafing for the fight.

“Put first,” quoth he, “t’were good to drink,” - so sore

The drouth oppressed; and to the pool he sped,

Thinking to quaff, when yet again that voice

Echoed Dare not to drink! So stands the law

Of this fair water; answer first, then drink!”

But Bhima, parched and haughty, answered nought,

Lapping the sweet wave; and in lapping, fell.

Then, long time left alone, Kunti’s wise son

Uprose, - great Yudhisthira, - sorrowful,

Perplexed in thought, and strode into the wood:

A leafy depth, where never foot was heard

Of man, but shy deer roamed, and shaggy bears

Rustled, and jungle-hens clucked in the shade;

With tall trees crowded, in whose crown wild bees

Swarmed buzzing, and strange birds builded their nests.

Through this green darkness wending, Yudhisthir

passed to the pool, and marked its silver face

Shine in the light, rimmed round with purple cups

Of lotus- blossoms, all as if ‘twere made

By Viswakarnia, architect divine;

And all its gleaming shallows and bright bays

With water-plants were broken, - lilies, reeds;

And framed about with ketuk-groves,[30] and clumps

Of sweet rose-laurel and the sacred fig;

Insomuch that the King stood wondering there,

Albeit heart- sorrowful.

For there he saw,

Stretched dead together, - as the world’s lords die,

Indra and all, at every yuga’s end, -

His-warrior brethren. Prone Arjuna lay,

Beside his bow and arrow; Bhima prone,

With Nakula and Sahadev; each void

Of life and motion; and, beholding these,

His soul sank, and he fetched a grievous sigh.

Bitterly at that sight lamented he,

Saying: “Ah, Bhima![31] O my brother, named

From the grim wolf, I vain is the vow thou mad’st

To break the thigh of fell Duryodhana,

In battle with thy mace. Dead art thou now,

And those words wind. Brother and faithful friend, -

Who wast so princely hearted, and upheld’st

The fortune of the Kurus, - vows of men

Fail ofttimes, being blind, but this of thine

Was noble; wherefore hath it borne not fruit?

O Dhananjaya, conqueror of wealth,

My joy, my brave Arjuna! At thy birth

The glad gods spake to Kunti: ‘This thy son

Shall be like Indra with the thousand eyes.’

And northwards of the Paripatra hills

All people cried: ‘Here is the chief shall bring

The glory back to us, having such strength

That in the battle none will make him fly,

And none shall stand when he pursueth.’ How,

Ah, Jishnu! - how is this betided here,

Killing those hopes with thee, with thee, whose love

Made all our dangers sweet? And Sahadev,

And Nakula, so valiant in the fight,

So high and gallant, gifted like the gods, -

How have ye fallen? Who could conquer you?

Is my heart stone, that now it breaketh not,

Seeing these great twins gone, the first of men,

Heroes, the half of whose renownèd work

Was yet to do? Ye knew the Shastras, -knew

The times and places and observances,

And kept the rites; how lie ye on the earth,

Unconquered ones, thus slain, thus overcome,

And not a wound to show - Day! but the strings

Not slipped into the notches of your bows?”

So broke the sorrow forth from Yudhisthir,

Beholding all four brethren lying still,

Stark, like four corpses set asleep by Death;

Much grieved he, and the marvel chilled his blood:

Nor wist he, though so wise, whither to look

For that which slew them. Yet, close-pondering,

Unto himself he spake: “No hurts they bear

Made by a mortal weapon, nor is print

Of footmark nigh, save theirs; this is some Bhût,

Some spirit of the waste! But let me drink,

And afterward consider; it may be

The vile Duryodhana hath drugged the pool,

By counsel of Gandhâra’s King; the wise

Trust never him with senses unsubdued,

To whom things lawful and unlawful count

One and the same; yea, but this thing might be

Wrought by hid hatred of Duryodhana!”

Thus mused the King, but murmured presently:

Pure and unsullied seems the water,- fresh

My brothers’ faces are; no poison-stain

Mars limb or lip! ‘Tis Yama’s self hath come,

The conqueror of all, and slain them here,

Whom none but he dared strike, being so strong.”

So saying, to the brink he drew, athirst,

And stooped to drink, when, close at hand, he heard

A bird’s cry; and the Yaksha, taking shape,

Spake: “A gray crane I am, feeding on fish

And water-weeds; ‘tis I have sent yon four

Into the regions of the dead, and thou

Shalt go, the fifth, great Raja, following them,

Except thou makest answers fair and good

To all which I shall ask. Dare not to drink,

Thou son of Kunti! for my law is strong;

Answer, and afterwards drink thou, and draw.”

Spake Yudhisthir: “Who art thou? Art thou chief

Of Rudras, or of Vasus, or Marûts?[32]

Tell me! No bird wrought thus, unless a bird

Might overthrow Himavân, and the peaks

Of Paripatra, or the Vindhya crags,

Or Malabar’s black ghâts. Ah! terrible

And mighty one, this is a dread deed wrought

This is a marvel, if thou slewedst those

Whom Gods, and Gandharvas, and Asuras,

And Demons dared not face in fight. I know

Nought of thy mind, nor if thou didst this thing

Desiring aught; wonder and fear possess

My burdened heart. I pray thee, show thyself;

Reveal what god thou art who hauntest here.”

“Yea, King,” came answer, “I am not a bird

Wading the shallows, but a Yaksha dread;

And I, as now thou seest me, killed these four.”

Raja (so Vaisampayana, went on),

When Yudhisthira heard those scornful words,

And saw that form, backward he drew a space,

Gazing upon the Shape so fiery-eyed,

Bulked like a crag, with towering head which topped

The fan-palms waving near; shining as shines

The glory of the sun, not to be borne

For splendor; colored like an evening cloud,

And, like a cloud, still shifting. Then it spake,

That monstrous Shade: “These four, though I forbade,

Drank of the pool, despite me, and were slain.

Drink not, O King, if thou desirest life!

O son of Pritha, drink not! Kunti’s child,

Answer my questionings; then drink and live!”

“I would not break thy rule,” quoth Yudhisthir;

The wise have said, I Keep everywhere the law.’

And, Yaksha, wherein thou wilt question me,

None can speak better than he understands;

So what I know that will I answer. Ask!”

Then thus he questioned, and the King replied.

YAKSHA. What teacheth division ‘twixt spirit and frame?

And which is the practice assisteth the same?

What finally freeth the spirit? and how

Doth it find a new being? Resolve me these now.

KING. The Veds division plainly show;

By worship rightly man doth go;

Dharma the soul will surely free;

In truth its final rest shall be.

YAKSHA. How cometh a man in the Veds to be wise?

What bringeth the knowledge of God to his eyes?

What learning shall teach. him the uttermost lore?

And whence will he win it? Reply to these four.

KING. By hearing Scripture man acquires;

By doing it his soul aspires;

The utmost lore is conquiering sense,

Which cometh of obedience.

YAKSHA. How wendeth a Brahman to heavenly rest?

And what is the work which befitteth him best?

And which are the sins that disgrace him? and why

Doth he know himself humble and mortal? Reply!

KING. Reading the Vedas leads to rest;

Pure meditation fits him best;

Slander and cruelty defame;

And Death stamps him and all the same.

YAKSHA. Who is it that, gifted with senses to see,

To hear, taste, smell, handle, and seeming to be

Sagacious, strong, fortunate, able, and fair,

Hath never once lived, though he breatheth the air?

KING. The man who, having, doth not give

Out of his treasure to these five, -

Gods, guests, and Pitris, kin, and friend,

Breathes breath, but lives not to life’s end.

YAKSHA. What thing in the world weigheth more than the world?

What thing goeth higher than white clouds are curled?

What thing fleeth quicker than winds o’er the main?

And what groweth thicker than grass on the plain?

KING. A mother’s heart outweighs the earth;

A father’s fondness goeth forth

Beyond the sky; thought can outpass

The winds; and woes grow more than grass.

YAKSHA. Whose eyes are unclosed, though he slumbers all day?

And what’s born alive without motion? and, say,

What moveth, yet lives not? and what, as it goes,

Wastes not, but still waxes? Resolve me now those.

KING. With unclosed eyes a fish doth sleep;

And new-laid eggs their place will keep;

Stones roll - and streams, that seek the sea,

The more they flow the wider be.

VAKSHA. What help is the best help to virtue? and then,

What way is the best way to fame among men?

What road is the best road to heaven? and how

Shall a man live most happy? Resolve me these now.

KING. Capacity doth virtue gain;

Gift-giving, will renown obtain;

Truth is to heaven the best of ways

And a kind heart wins happy days.

VAKSHA. What soul hath a man’s which is his, yet another’s?

What friend do the gods grant, the best of all others?

What joy in existence is greatest? and how

May poor men be rich and abundant? say thou!

KING. Sons are the second souls of man;

And wives the heaven-sent friends; nor can

Among all joys health be surpassed

Contentment answereth thy last.

YAKSHA. Which virtue of virtues is first? and which bears

Most fruit? and which causeth the ceasing of tears?

KING. To bear no malice is the best;

And reverence is fruitfullest;

Subduing self sets grief at rest.

YAKSHA. Still tell me what foeman is worst to subdue?

And what is the sickness lasts lifetime all through?

Of men that are upright say which is the best?

And of those that are wicked, who passeth the rest?

KING. Anger is man’s unconquered foe;

The ache of greed doth never go

Who loveth most of saints is first

Of bad men cruel men are worst.

YAKSHA. Good Prince, tell me true, is a Brahmana made

By birthright? or shall it be rightfully said,

If he reads all the Veds, and the Srutis doth know,

He is this? or doth conduct of life make him so?

KING. O Yaksha, listen to the truth:

Not if a man do dwell from youth

Beneath a Brahman’s roof, nor when

The Srutis known to holy men

Are learned, and read the Vedas through,

Doth this make any Brahman true.

Conduct alone that name can give

A Brahmana must steadfast live,

Devoid of sin, and free from wrong;

For he who walks low paths along,

Still keeping to the way, shall come

Sooner and safer to his home

Than the proud wanderer on the hill;

And reading, learning, praying, still

Are outward deeds which ofttimes leave

Barren of fruit minds that believe.

Who practises what good he knows,

Himself a Brahmana he shows;

And if an evil nature knew

The sacred Vedas through and through,

With all the Srutis, still must he,

Lower than honest Sudra[33] be.

To know and do the right, and pay

The sacrifice, in peace alway:

This maketh one a Brahmana.

YAKSHA. Right skilfully hast thou my questionings mut

Most pious of princes, and learned but yet

Resolve me, who liveth though death him befall?

And what man is richest and greatest of all?

KING. Dead though he be, that mortal lives

Whose virtuous memory survives;

And richest, greatest, that one is

Whose soul -indifferent to bliss

Or misery, to joy or pain,

To past or future, loss or gain

Sees with calm eyes all fates befall,

And, needing nought, possesseth all.

Then spake the Yaksha: “Wondrously, O King,

Hast thou replied, and wisely hast fulfilled

The law of this fair water: therefore, drink,

And choose which one of these thy brethren dead

Shall live again.”

So Yudhisthira said:

Let Nakula, O Yaksha, have his life,

My dark-browed brother with the fiery eyes,

Straight like a sâla-tree , broad-chested, tall,

That long-armed lord.”

“But see where Bhima lies

Dead,” spake the spirit, “dearest unto thee;

And where Arjuna sleeps, thy guard and guide.

Why dost thou crave the life of Nakula -

Not thine own mother’s son - in Bhima’s stead,

Who had the might of countless elephants,

Whom all the people called thy ‘Well-Beloved’?

Or wouldst thou see Nakula alive again

In place of great Arjuna, thine own blood.,

Whose valor was the tower of Pandavas?”

But Yudhisthira answered: “Faith and Right,

Being preserved, save all, and, being lost,

Leave nought to save: these therefore I will set

First in my heart. Faithful and right it is

To choose by justice, putting self aside.

Let Nakula live, O Yaksha, for men call

King Yudhisthira “just”; nor will he lose,

Even for love, that name; make Nakula live

Kund and Madri were my father’s wives;

Shall one be childless, and the other see

Her sons returning? Madri is to me

As Kunti, as my mother, at this hour;

As she who bore me she that bore the twins;

And justice shall she have, since I am judge.

Let Nakula live, thou Yaksha!”

Then the voice

Sighed sweet, evanishing Ah, noblest Prince,

Ah, Best of Bhârat’s Ene I as thou art just,

Lo! all thy brethren here shall. live again.”

The Saint’s Temptation

A curious interest attaches to this legend, now for the first time extracted from the Mahâbhârata. It is familiar in Ceylon as the Nâlini Jâtaka, Buddha being made the sage Vibbandika, and the princess Nâlini-daughter of the Raja of Benares-the temptress of the youthful saint.

(FROM THE VANA FARVA OF THE MAHÂBHÂRATA.-

PAGE 565, LINE 10007- CALCUTTA QUARTO EDITION.)

BORN of the White Doe, in the woods he dwelt,

That sinless saint, pious and mild and pure,

Sad-minded, solitary; for his eyes

Had never lighted on a human face,

Except his sire, Vibhandika’s; and thus

Always young Rishyasringa’s heart was set

On sanctities (O King!).

At which far time

Lômapâd, friend of Dasarath, was Lord

In Anga. He, ‘tis told, spake falsely once

Unto a Brahmana; and thereupon

The Brahmans fled from that dishonored court.

So, when no priest was left, no purôhit,

He, of the thousand eyes, Indra, withheld

His rains, whereby sore suffered all the folk:

And (O my King!) Lômapâd sent in grief,

Praying his wisest if they knew the cause

Of Indra’s wrath, and what should make him rain.

Thus questioned, these took counsel; and one spake,

A chief of sages, - “O superior Lord,

The Brahmanas are angered for thy word

Forsworn: thou therefore make them fit amends;

And hither bring Rishyasring, who dwells

Alone, amid the groves, holy and mild;

Whose eyes have never seen a woman’s face;

Whose heart is pure. If the fair boy shall come,

The clouds of Indra will let fall their drops

That very day; of this thing doubt ye not!”

Hearing their words, the Raja purged his guilt

With princely gifts, soothing the Brahmanas;

And when their hearts were good, he came again

Unto his kingdom, making all folks glad.

And, next, the Lord of Anga called his best

Among the ministers to compass means

How Rishyasringa. might be brought; and those,

Deep read in Shastra, Artha, Niti, all, -

Counselled the wiles of woman; whereupon

A band of comely, winsome girls were bid

Unto the palace, skilled in arts to please.

And the King, said: “Beautiful damsels, bring

Rishyasringa hither, that saint’s son;

Entice, allure, persuade, - ye know men’s hearts.”

But they, fearing the King, yet fearing more

The saint’s curse, if they vexed him, one by one

Answered: “Yea, Raja, hearts of men we know;

But in this thing how shall we serve thy will?”

Then one arose, white-haired and wrinkled deep,

An ancient dame, who spake unto the King:

“See, Maharaja! I will fetch this boy,

Albeit an ocean of austerities.

Do thou command that there be granted me

Means for my need, that so I may prevail,

And bring the Rishi’s son, this pearl of saints.”

“What needest thou?” quoth he. And when he knew,

Much store of silver and of gold and gems

He gave the dame; who from the ring of girls,

Laughing, drew forth the fairest, wilfullest;

And muttering, “He will come!” passed to the woods.

And there she built - (so Lomarsha went on)

Not by the King’s word, but her own device,

A floating bower to swim upon the stream.

Full sweet she fashioned it, from woven boughs

Of verdure, interlaced with palms and vines,

And clasped by climbing stems, and hung with fruit

Golden and rosy, and with bright blooms decked;

Afterwards, on the river launched her boat, --

The damsel seated ‘neath its leafy screen, -

So that it came, with paddle, stream, and breeze,

Through the trees stealing, down the silvery road

Softly and silent to the Rishi’s haunt;

When lightly tripped the lovely girl ashore,

And, looking in his eyes, demurely spake: -

“O Muni![34] is it peace with you? are all the Rishis well?

And have you roots and fruits enough? and take you joy to dwell

All lonely in this hermitage, which I am come to see?

And add you, day by day, dear saint, unto your sanctity?

And, Brahman, doth your sire rejoice to watch you fast and pray?

And do you read, O Rishyasring! the Vedas every day?”

Answered that blushing boy delightedly:

O unknown one, who shinest like the splendor of a star,

Peace and good will! for due to thee my salutations are

Accept, I pray thee, at my hands, the Padya[35] and this thrift

Of roots and fruits, as duty bids, a hermit’s humble gift;

And be thou pleased upon this mat of kusa grass to sit,

Or, better, let the black deer’s skin be smoothly spread on it.

Fair is the day which bringeth thee; O sweet saint, where may be

Thy hermitage, and what vow fills the holy hours of thee?

Right archly answered him the laughing girl: -

“O son of pious Kasyapa, my charming bower lies

Under a mountain far removed from these austerities,

Three yojanas away, - away, - nor is it meet for me

Thus to be reverenced, nor to touch this water, nor to see

A Rishi kneeling at my feet; far otherwise my state!

Love is the vow which fills my life, and makes my heart elate.”

Perplexed, yet radiant, the boy replied:

What should I do to pleasure thee? I ‘ll bring thee fruits we find

Within our groves, bhallatakas, ingudas with gold rind;

Karushakas, amâlakas, dhanwanas honey-sweet,

Or pippalas; see, these are here; wilt thou not take and eat?”

But smilingly she put them by, and reached

Rare cakes to him, spiced as no hermit knows,

Pleasant of taste, which the boy ate with joy.

And on his neck and wrists lightly she strung

Garlands of subtle-scented flowers; and crowned

Her own bright brows; and drew a light robe on,

Laughing; and so, with murmuring song, unbound

Her body-cloth, and, waving, weaving it,

Paced the soft Kanduka,[36] with beating feet

And bosoms lithely swayed, as flower-cups sway

When the wind shakes their clusters; - at the last

Danced to his side, and for a moment set

Palm to his palm and limb to limb, and lip

To trembling lip, and breast to beating breast:

Then turned aside, and drew the branches down

Of sarja, tilah, and asoka trees,

Plucking their buds, shameless and well-content

Because she saw love lighted in his heart.

For, knowing well her triumph, and the saint

Obtained, once more she clasped her soft brown arms

About him, and with eyes fixed on his eyes

Withdrew; having enkindled passion’s flame

Where only fires of sacrifice had burned.

WHEN she was gone, young Rishyasringa stood

As one some dream of heaven hath left distraught,

Spiritless - then within his lonely cell

Sit, with lace fixed through many silent hours,

Her beauties meditating.

Presently

Vibhandaka, of Kasyapa the son,

Returned. Much insight of the Veds had bleared

His ancient orbs; a thick pile covered him,

Body and legs and arms, to the finger-ends;

A holy man; purified, dedicate

To contemplation. He, arriving, saw

The lad in deep thought plunged, sitting apart

Dejected, fetching sigh on sigh, with glance

Upturned. Whereat inquired Vibhandaka:

My child, why hast thou gathered not the wood?

Didst thou perform the sacrifice to-day?

And didst thou lead the calf to suck the cow?[37]

Why art thou sad? I pray thee tell me true, -

Hath one been with thee here to-day? “

The boy

Gave answer: “Yea, a Brahmacharya came.

His[38] locks were braided, and his comely form

Seemed nor too tall nor short; fair-voiced he was,

Colored as is new gold, with broad bright eyes

Which were like lotus-blossoms. As gods shine,

So - of his own divine grace - glittered he

A glory had he like the sacred sun;

And, ah! his dark, deep glance; and oh, his hair

Tied tip with blue; sweet-smelling, lustrous, long!

A necklace curled and clung about his neck,

Sparkling like lightning on a dusky sky;

And underneath his throat swelled forth to sight

Two globes, flower-soft and smooth, fair-fashioned, large.

His waist so tapered back and front came close;[39]

Below, his hips outrounded wondrously;

A jewelled girdle hung above his thighs,

And some strange tinkling ornaments adorned

His feet. Also, upon his arms were gems

Which chattered like the breast-beads of my string,

(Ah, but so musically!) when he moved, -

‘Twas as the songs of wild swans on our lake.

The cloths he wore showed goodly, -not like mine.

And when he spoke, those honeyed words which fell

Gladdened my heart and passed into my soul,

Deep -deep, till dearer seemed it than the notes

Of Koils piping! Also, as the woods-

When in the Madhva month the breezes blow -

Shake fragrance forth, so there did waft from him

Sweet breaths on every air. Over his brows

The locks sat smooth, drawn forward from his braids;

And in his ears swung little painted stones

Brighter than chakravâka birds. Sometimes

With skilful hand he tossed a ball aloft,

Which fell to earth, and, bounding to his palm,

Was beaten back again, and yet again,

Wondrous to see; while this and that way waved

His body like a tree which the wind bends.

Ah, while I saw him so, like a young god,

My heart grew full. I worshipped that fair saint.

Full oft, too, he embraced me ‘ holding me

Close, by the hair, and, drawing down my cheek,

And covering up my mouth with his soft mouth,

Upon my lips made tender sounds,- and this

Gave me strange joy! He would not willingly

Accept ‘foot-water,’ nor the fruits I brought.

He had a vow was otherwise, he said;

But showed me unknown fruits, more delicate

Than aught we ever taste of here; no rind

They had, nor flesh like ours. Also he gave

Sweet juices to me, which I drank, and felt

A quickening glow, lifting my eyebrows up.

Those wreaths of scented blossoms, strung with silk,

Are from his hand; he left them here, dear saint

(Who by his fasts, no doubt, so splendid shows,)

When he withdrew to seek his hermitage.

Now he is gone, I am become as nought;

My senses fail, my body burns. I ask

Only to go to him, or else that he

Should always come to us. Father, demand

His presence; learn his Brahmacharya’s name.

I wish to exercise with that wise man

The penance they perform; I long to do it;

My heart will break, if I see him no more!”

Vibhandaka spake sternly: “Son, there walk

Wonderful Rakshasîs in this our wood,

Dreadful for strength and cunning comeliness;

Ofttimes to interrupt our rites they seek;

Ofttimes, with winsome wiles, and beauteous shapes,

Tempt saints to abandon Swarga’s heavenly rest.

He who will rule his mind and reach toward bliss,

With such makes no society, nor looks

The way of those, th’ abominable, who snare

The pious. Yea, my son, the foods she gave

Are evil and forbidden, and conduce

To sin. Yon wreaths, moreover, must not lie

Within a hermitage, where Munis live;

For soul- corrupting is their subtle scent.

Nay, ‘twas a Rakshasî!”

So did the sage

Counsel that youthful saint, admonishing him,

And afterwards set forth to seek the witch;

But nowhere finding her, came home again.

Yet it befell, upon another day

Vibliandaka went forth to pluck those fruits

Which are most meet to make the sacrifice

Of Sravan; and she came again, the girl,

Silently shining through the trees; and he

Saw her, and seeing, utterly forgot

Rishis and Rakshasîs, so joyed he was,

So with strong love transported; for she sighed,

“Rishyasring!” And with one word he took

Her palm, and led her to the lonely hut,

Whose porch they entered.

Afterwards (O King!)

Langhingly did she win him to the bank

With honeyed arts, and lightly him entranced,

Floating and fondling down the silvery stream,

Until they came to Anga. There she drew

The green boat in, and moored it ‘neath the shade

Love’s ark, - plain to be seen, and by all folk

Named Navyasrama, “The Floating Shrine.”

So Lômapâd brought in the Rishi’s son:

And lo! great Indra’s wrath was gone; the rain

Burst o’er the land, and drenched the thirsty fields

But Rishyasringa to his forest-cell

Came back no more!

The Birth Of Death

(FROM THE DRONA PARVA OF THE MAHÂBHÂRATA.-

LINE 2022. CALCUTTA QUARTO EDITION.)

[The brave and virtuous son of Arjuna, the young Abhimanyu, has been slain in battle, after splendid exploits, and Prince Yudhisthira is bitterly bewailing his loss. “What is Death? Whence is this Death?” he exclaims. The sage Vyâsa thus replies to him:]

I.

I will relate

An ancient story for thy comfort, Prince,

By Narad told to King Akampana:

For that great lord had lost his only son,

Which is of earthly woes hardest to bear.

Tliou, too, shalt learn how Death began, and this

Shall free thee from the ache of love bereaved.

Hear the old story; it is sweet to hear, -

Excellent, holy, purging sins away,

Prolonging life because it stayeth grief,

Good for the heart and soul, strengthening the will

Best of auspicious scriptures. Nay, I say,

To tell or hear this rede is all as if

The blessed Veds were chanted; it should be

Said with the morning prayer for kings to con,

If they will keep their children, realms, and wealth

With minds at ease.

My son, in ages past,

In the far Krita Yuga, lived this King

Akampana. His foes beset him sore,

And slew in fight Hari, his son, a prince,

God Narayen’s match for might, youthful and fair,

Skilful in arms, wise, pleasant, in the war

Fearless as Sákra. But they hemmed him round,

Striking such blows amidst his enemies,

That when he fell there lay about his corpse

A bloody belt of chiefs and elephants.

Long mourned the King, his sire, by night and day

Weeping, knowing no joys, uncomforted;

Whom that most holy saint, great Narada,

Hearing his grief, in pity visited.

But when the King saw Narad entering,

Uprose he from the dust, and clasped those feet,

And poured his sorrows into those wise ears;

Recounting all the battle, how ‘twas lost,

And how the Prince fell! “Ah, my brave, fair son

So brake he forth, - “Oh, my most gallant boy!

That wast upon our side like Indra’s self

For help; like Vishnu, in thy shining mail, -

Slain art thou ‘midst thy foes. Ah, Bhagavan!

Ah, Rishi! he is gone; my pride is dead!

What is this Death? Whence cometh it? What curse

Hath given it means and might and power to kill,

Blasting the bloom of life? Thou, who art wise,

Tell me the truth of this; I crave to know.”

Then Narad, hearing his most piteous cry,

That teacher of the truth, spake tenderly

The ancient tale I tell, which whoso hears

Ile shall not weep though his one son be dead.

Narada said; “Listen, thou long-armed King,

And grieve no more when thou hast heard. At first,

Far back, in the beginning, He who rules,

Almighty shining Bhrahma, made what lives

To live unchanged; so was there length of days

Illimitable, but not growth in days,

Which comes of change; and Brahma, seeing His worlds

Fixed in fair changelessness, waxed ill content,

Bethinking to unmake what He had made,

That good should pass to better and there went,

O Monarch! from the discontent of Him

Bethinking how He should destroy to save

A flame, the spirit of His brooding thought,

Which, filling all the regions, had consumed

The heavens and earth and worlds from west to east

From north to south, the heavens and earth and worlds,

With all their creatures,- those which live and move,

And those which live unmoving, plants and trees.

So was that thought of Brahma terrible.

“But, thereupon, he of the matted locks,

Hara,-whom men do also Sthánu call,

King of night-wandering ghosts, Shiva the god, -

Unto dread Brahma’s presence straight repaired.

Awful in sunlike majesty sat He;

And, seeing Hara at His feet, come there

For love of living beings: ‘Son!’ He said,

‘What need hath brought thee? Let the wish be known;

That which thou dost desire, it shall be wrought;

For thou art Sthánu, and thy will is mine.’

“Spake Hara: ‘O Thou Light of all the worlds!

Thine are the worlds, and Thou hast peopled them;

And all things in their orders are by Thee,

And in Thee live. Wilt Thou not save Thine own?

But now they fear to perish everywhere,

Slain by this fire which flameth from Thy mood;

And I, who see it, and who love them, come,

Moved with compassion. Have Thou mercy, Lord!’

“Brahma replied: ‘I did not think to slay.

Lo! I am favorable. Life shall live;

For love, not hate, this mood did move in Me;

Because the angel of the earth hath come,

Constantly praying, “Father, lighten me;

Make and unmake this burden sore to bear,

My children, lest we multiply to harm.”

Yet, having made them, how should I unmake,

Seeing I gave gifts indestructible,

Giving their lives? I cannot slay, yet these

Must change; therefore that mood did move in Me.’

“Spake Hara: ‘O Protector of the worlds

Be favorable still, be wroth no morc;

Let not these lives, moving and motionless,

Perish, O Bhagavan! Let there be henceforth

Three states of time for children of the earth, -

The past, the present, and the future - these

Let them possess, Thou Lord of all! Thy mind

Burneth in moving, and therewith a flame

Proceeded, scorching mountains, rivers, lakes,

Forests, and beasts that dwell there, and the beings,

Moving and motionless, of all the earth.

Ah, Bhagavan, be Thou then propitious; yield

Thine ill-content which slayeth. This I crave.

Also the flame, which hath proceeded forth

By reason of it, draw it back, dread Lord,

Into Thyself - from Thee it sprang. Thou art

Master, to bless or ban. Make Thine acts bless

These that are Thine, to sweep away or save

These that must perish if Thou pity not.

O Maker who unmakest! I am here-

The messenger of ill the guardian gods

Which keep Thy worlds - beseeching Thee, Supreme,

Destroy not that which Thou hast wrought so fair

For this, at Thy great feet I bend and plead.’

“Hearing Maliddev’s prayer,” quoth Narada,

The awful Brahma gave consent, and drew

Back to Himself that earth-devouring flame.

Then He who maketh and unmaketh worlds

Spake of the making and unmaking, -how

The purpose groweth so. And when the fire

Was wholly quenched, and all His spirit still,

Lo! Brahma meditated; and there rose,

Live from His thought, a presence feminine,

Delicate, tender, splendid, with great eyes.

Dark the sweet face was, dark the stately limbs

But beauty blossomed red on lip and breasts,

And in her ears swung ear-rings of soft gold.

She, being so born, drew backward from the throne,

Awe-struck to gaze upon those gods. But He

Who maketh and unmaketh, spake to her,

Saying: ‘Thou Death, thou Mrityu, go, destroy

Those that must die. I have created thee

Unto this work; bring to appointed end

The moving and unmoving; kill and slay

All creatures at their time. This is My will:

Obey and fear not.’

“Thus commanded, Death-

Fair Mrityu, with those eyes like lotuses-

Spake not, but bowed her head and sobbed; her tears

Fast welling; so that on dread Brahma’s hand

Fell the bright tears, - for Brahma drew her close,

Saying: ‘I bid thee for the good of all.’”

II.

Bur Narada went on. “Then she assuaged

Her sorrow, and replied: ‘Father and Lord!’-

Clasping her palms across her beauteous breast,

And trembling like a tendril in the wind, -

‘Father and Lord!’ sighed Mrityu, ‘wherefore, then,

Mad’st Thou me woman? How shall I fulfil

This drcadful duty, this injurious task?

I shall be guilty, I shall be defiled.

Be gracious; let this work light not on me

Why must they die? The friend, the citizen,

The son, the mother, father, brother, bride,

And bridegroom, - all so happy, all so fair, -

Why should these be destroyed? I am afraid

To kill them; I shall sadden at their tears,

Grieve with their groans. Master of all! dear God

Bid me not dwell with Yama, slaying men.

I pray Thee rather give me leave to live

In holy silences and pains and prayers.

This boon I crave, great Father! grant the boon;

And I, Thy child, will go to Dhenuka,

Where I will dwell in sacred solitudes,

Religious, worshipping Thee. But, God of gods,

I shall not have the heart to take away

The dear lives of the dying creatures. Save,

Save me from such a sin!’

“Brahma replied:

Mrityu, thou art created unto this,

To make an end of all that lives. Go, child;

Make them to end, each at his time; spare none:

Such is My will, and never otherwise;

Thou shalt be blameless doing Brahma’s will.’

“But she,” thus Narada went on, “stood there,

To slay reluctant, clasping pitying palms

Across her breast, and lifting eyes of ruth

To Brahma’s eyes. Thereat there spread in heaven

Silence a space, whilst Death, for love of men,

Gazed on the face of God, and that dread face

Waxed well contented - and great Brahma smiled,

Looking upon His creatures, who therewith

Fared well throughout the three wide worlds, because

The countenance of Him was glad again.

“So passed she from the Almighty Presence, mute,

This tender angel, sent to slay mankind,

Refusing still to slay; and forthwith went

To Dhenuka, where, countless ages through,

In meditation and rapt vows she stood

Fixed like a rock:[40] - all for the love of men,

For sixteen padmas -[41] stood she, seeking grace,

Withholding heart and soul from peace and joy;

And afterward, for padmas twenty-five,

Praying for men; and then through many, more

She sojourned with the creatures of the field,

Praying for them. Next, upon Nanda’s banks,-

Nanda which flows cool, holy, crystal-pure,-

Seven thousand years and one kept she firm fast

And afterward went east to Kausikî,

Where dews and airs of heaven were all her food

Until, accomplishing the pilgrimage,

By Panchaganga, and at Ganga’s wave

Under the feet of sacred Himalay,

And so to topmost Himalay, where gods

Have offered sacrifice, she, too, a god, -

Lay prostrate, praying, still as is a stone.

And yet again at Naimish, Pushkara,

Gokarna, and Malaya - wheresoe’er

The holiest places are - there sojourned she,

Fasting and meditating, making vows

For men to Brahma, suing Him for them.

“Whereby the Eternal Father of the worlds,

Being well pleased,” quoth Narad, “called to her

With kindly mind, saying: ‘My Mrityu!

Why dost thou exercise such heavy vows?’

“And gentle Death answered the Lord of life

‘That I may never have, O Lord! to kill

Thy creatures, and that they may dwell in peace

This thing I ever wish, this boon I crave.

Master and Father! I did fear the guilt

Of slaying, and I feared to disobey;

Therefore I make these penances, Supreme

Comfort me, who am Thine, and terrified;

Forgive me, for I would be innocent;

Have pity, Lord of lords! on me and these.’

“Then He that knows what was, is, and will be,

Made mild reply: ‘Blood-guilty art thou not,

O Mrityu! if thou slayest these which live.

What I have uttered, I have uttered. Vain

Can never be My words. These are to die.

Go, gentle spirit! therefore, slay Me these

Slay all four orders of the things which live

Thee shall the Eternal Virtue purify;

Thee shall the mighty ones who guard My worlds

Succor and aid. Yama shall help thee; plagues,

Pestilence, death, shall be thy ministers;

And I, the Almighty God, before all gods,

Give thee this sign, that, being free from sin,

Thou shalt be called “Passionless” Nirajis,

She that doth slay for love, and, slaying, saves.’

“So once again, commanded past reply,

Mrityu her meek palms folded o’er her breast,

And bowed her brow, and answered: ‘If, dread Lord!

This must be done, and I must be the means,

Upon my head be put Thy dread behest

Yet let it be Thy will I strike them not:

Let their sins slay them, and die so with them.

Avarice, ambitions, envies, calumnies,

Wars, wraths, hates, conquests, follies, passions, plots

Of mutual mischiefs, - let those work Thy word,

And bring to end the beings suffering them.’

“‘Thus it shall be,’ spake Brahma. ‘Go, fair child!

Fulfil My purpose, make death enter so;

Thou shalt be blameless now and evermore.

See! the bright tears that fell upon My hand

From forth thine eyes I turn to woes of flesh,

Which shall consume them, -aches, diseases, griefs,

Born of thy sorrow these will smite; but, born

Of thy compassion, these shall heal with peace

When the day cometh that each one must die.

Fear not! thou shalt be innocent; thou art

The solace, as the terror, of all flesh,

Righteous and rightful, doing Brahma’s will.

Therefore fare forth and slay, making these end

With pangs of passion, sting’s of wild desires,

Vain sins which kill. This shall thy virtue be

And thou shalt purify thee by thyself,

Making the good wax and the evil wane

By nature of the evil’s self, - by wrongs,

By wrath, by lust, self-love, and sinfulness.’

“So, ever since that time,” quoth Naxada,

Mrityu, no longer thinking to resist,

Works the great will of God, and slays what lives,

Taking the breath of creatures at life’s close;

Not with her own kind hand; she doth not kill!

By ills and pests and hurts which evil breeds-

As many as those tender tears that rolled

From forth her eyes -they perish; so men call

Their plagues Vyâdhi, that which ‘hunts’[42] to death,

“Wherefore, my King said Narad, “it is vain

To mourn the dead. The elements divine,

Which enter in at birth, come forth at death.

All changes; and the gods are mortal, too.

But thou lament no more thy princely son;

He hath attained that excellent abode,

Airy, invisible, which knows not time,

Nor chance, nor any change. Weep not for him!

He sits with kings and heroes who are passed

Into the everlasting, happy home,

Where no wars are, nor wounds, and good men dwell.

“King! this is death! this is that Mrityu!

Thus, when the hour is come, the creatures end,

Obeying the vast purposes of Him

Who maketh and unmaketh. Mrityu takes

Their breath. She slays not; of themselves they die

The gentle spirit with the staff in hand[43]

Strikes none, but pities all. Therefore the wise,

Knowing that such is Brahma’s will and good,

Never lament their dead; grieve thou no more.”

AND when the holy Narada made end

(Vyâsa said), this King Akampana

Shed no more tears, but spake unto the saint:

“Lo! now my woe is gone, my heart is healed!

O wisest of all Rishis, I have peace;

I thank thee for the blessing of such lore

I clasp thy feet.” Therewith Narada went

To Nandana, leaving him comforted.

Son of the Pandavas, be patient, too!

Thy Prince, thy gallant Abhimanyu,

Fell like a lord of men, and hath his meed

In Swarga with the blessed. Rise thou up,

Quit grief, and take thy weapons, and renew

The battle with thy brothers on the plain.

Whoso reads and whoso hears

This fair story of old years,

Well and wisely gives his pains;

Since thereby his spirit gains

Piety and peace and bliss;

Nay, and heavenward leadeth this;

And, on earth, its wisdom brings

Wealth and health and happy things

The Night Of Slaughter

(FROM THE OPENING OF THE SAUPTIKA PARVA OF THE MAHÂBHÂRATA.

VOL II. OF THE CALCUTTA QUARTO EDITION.)

To Narayen, Best of lords, be glory given,

To great Saraswati, the Queen in heaven;

Unto Vyâsa, too, be paid his meed,

So shall this story worthily proceed.

“THOSE vanquished warriors then,” Sanjaya said,

Fled southwards and, near sunset, past the tents

Unyoked; abiding close, in fear and rage.

There was a wood beyond the camp, untrod,

Quiet; and in its leafy harbor lay

The Princes, some among them bleeding still

From spear and arrow gashes; all sore spent,

Fetching faint breath, and fighting o’er again

In thought that battle. But there came a noise

Of Pandavas pursuing, -fierce and loud

Outcries of victory; whereat these chiefs

Sullenly rose, and yoked their steeds again,

Driving due east; and eastward still they drave

Under the dusk, till drouth and desperate toil

Stayed horse and man; then took they lair again

The panting horses, and the Princes, wroth

With chilled wounds, and the death-stroke of their King.

Now were they come, my Prince! Sanjaya said,

Unto a jungle thick with stems, whereon

The tangled creepers coiled; here entered they,

Watering the horses at a stream, and pushed

Deep in the thicket. Many a beast and bird

Sprang startled at their feet; the long grass stirred

With serpents creeping off - the woodland flowers

Shook, where the pea-fowls hid; and, where frogs plungèd,

The swarm rocked all its reeds and lotus-buds.

A banian-tree, with countless dropping boughs

Earth-rooted, spied they, and beneath its aisles

A pool; hereby they stayed, tethering their steeds,

And, dipping water, made the evening prayer.

“But when the ‘Daymaker’ sank in the west,

And Night descended,- gentle, soothing Night,

Who comforts all, with silver splendor decked

Of stars and constellations, and soft folds

Of tender darkness drawn,- then the wild things

Which roam in darkness woke, wandering afoot

Under the gloom. Horrid the forest grew

With roar and yelp and yell, around that place

Where Kripa, Kritavarman, and the son

Of Drona lay beneath the banian-tree,

Full many a piteous passage instancing

In their lost battle-day of dreadful blood;

Till sleep fell heavy on the wearied lids

Of Bhoja’s child and Kripa. Then these lords,

To princely life and silken couches used,

Sought on the bare earth slumber, spent and sad,

As homeless outcasts lodge.

“But, O my King!

There came no sleep to Drona’s angry son,

Great Aswatthâman. As a snake lies coiled

And hisses breathing, so his panting breath

Hissed rage and hatred round him, where he lay,

Chin uppermost, arm-pillowed, with fierce eyes

Roving the wood, and seeing sightlessly.

Thus chanced it that his wandering glances turned

Into the fig-tree’s shadows, where there perched

A thousand crows, thick roosting, on its limbs, -

Some nested, some on branchlets, - deep asleep,

Heads under wings, all fearless; nor, O Prince!

Had Aswatthâman more than marked the birds,

When fierce there fell out of the velvet night,

Silent and terrible, an eagle-owl,

With wide, soft, deadly, dusky wings, and eyes

Flame-colored, and long claws, and dreadful beak,

Like a winged sprite, or great Garood himself.

Offspring of Bhârata! it lighted there

Upon the banian bough; hooted - but low -

The fury smothering in its throat, then fell

With murderous beak and claws upon those crows;

Rending the wings from this, the legs from that,

From some the heads, of some ripping the crops;

Till, tens and scores, the fowl rained down to earth

Bloody and plucked, and all the ground waxed black

With piled crow-carcasses; whilst that great owl

Hooted for joy of vengeance, and again

Spread the wide, deadly, dusky wings.

“Up sprang

The son of Drona: ‘Lo! this owl,’ quoth he,

‘Teacheth me wisdom - lo! one slayeth so

Insolent foes asleep. The Kuru Lords

Are all too strong in arms by day to kill;

They triumph, being many. Yet I swore

Before the King, my father, I would kill

And kill, -even as a foolish fly should swear

To quench a flame. It scorched; and I shall die

If I dare open battle - but by art

Men vanquish fortune and the mightiest odds.

If there be two ways to a wise man’s wish,

But only one way sure, he taketh that

And if it be an evil way, condemned

For Brahmans, yet the Kshattriya may do that

Which vengeance bids against his foes. Our foes

The Pandavas, are furious, treacherous, base,

Halting at nothing; and how say the wise

In holy Shasters? - “Wounded, wearied, fed,

Or fasting - sleeping, waking, setting forth,

Or new arriving; slay thine enemies!”

And so again: “At midnight, when they sleep;

Dawn, when they watch noon, if their leaders fall

Eve, should they scatter all the times and hours

Are times and hours good for killing foes.”‘

So did the son of Drona steel his soul

To break upon the sleeping Pandu chiefs

And slay them in the darkness. Being set

On this unlordly deed, and clear in scheme,

He from their slumbers roused the warriors twain,

Kripa and Kritavarman.”

The Great Journey

(FROM THE MAHAPRASTHÁNIKA PARVA OF THE MAHÂBHÂRATA.-

VOL. IV. OF THE CALCUTTA QUARTO EDITION.)

To Narayen, Iord of lords, be glory given,

To sweet Saraswati, the Queen in heaven

To great Vyâsa, eke, pay reverence due,

That this high story may its course pursue.

THEN Janmejaya prayed: “O Singer, say,

What wrought the princes of the Pandavas

On tidings of the battle so ensued,

And Krishna, gone on high?”

Answered the Sage:

“On tidings of the wreck of Vrishni’s race,

King Yudhisthira of the Pandavas

Was minded to be done with earthly things,

And to Arjuna spake: ‘O noble Prince,

Time endeth all; we linger, noose on neck,

Till the last day tightens the line, and kills.

Let us go forth to die, being yet alive.’

And Kunti’s son, the great Arjuna, said:

‘Let us go forth to die! - Time slayeth all.

We will find Death, who seeketh other men.’

And Bhimaseria, hearing, answered: ‘Yea,

We will find Death!’ and Sahadev cried: ‘Yea!’

And his twin brother Nakula; whereat

The princes set their faces for the Mount.

“But Yudhisthira -ere he left his realm

To seek high ending -summoned Yuyutsu,

Surnamed of fights, and set him over all,

Regent, to rule in Parikshita’s name

Nearest the throne; and Parikshita, King

He crowned, and unto old Subhadra said:

‘This, thy son’s son, shall wear the Kuru crown,

And Yadu’s offspring, Vajra, shall be first

In Yadu’s house. Bring up the little prince

Here in our Hastinpur, but Vajra keep

At Indraprasth; and let it be thy last

Of virtuous works to guard the lads,’ and guide.’

“So ordering ere he went, the righteous King

Made offering of white water, heedfully,

To Vasudev, to Rama, and the rest, -

All funeral rites performing; next he spread

A funeral feast, whereat there sat as guests

Narada, Dwaipayana, Bharadwaj,

And Markandeya, rich in saintly years,

And Yajnavalkya, Hari, and the priests

Those holy ones he fed with dainty meats

In kingliest wise, naming the name of Him

‘Who bears the bow; and -that it should be well

For him and his -gave to the Brahmanas

Jewels of gold and silver, lakhs on lakhs,

Fair broidered cloths, gardens and villages,

Chariots and steeds and slaves.

“Which being done,

O Best of Bhârat’s line he bowed him low

Before his Guru’s feet, -at Kripa’s feet,

That sage all honored, - saying, ‘Take my Prince;

Teach Parikshita as thou taughtest me.

For hearken, ministers and men of war!

Fixed is my mind to quit all earthly state.’

Full sore of heart were they, and sore the folk,

To hear such speech, and bitter went the word

Through town and country, that the King would go;

And all the people cried, ‘Stay with us, Lord!’

But Vudhisthira knew his time was come,

Knew that life passes and that virtue lasts,

And put aside their love.

“So, with farewells

Tenderly took of lieges and of lords,

Girt he for travel, with his princely kin,

Great Yudhisthira, Dharma’s royal son.

Crest-gem and belt and ornaments he stripped

From off his body, and for broidered robe

A rough dress donned, woven of jungle-bark;

And what he did - O Lord of men!- so did

Arjuna, Bhima, and the twin-bom pair,

Nakula with Sahadev, and she, -in grace

The peerless, - Draupadí. Lastly these six, -

Thou son of Bhârata! - in solemn form

Made the high sacrifice of Naishtiki,

Quenching their flames in water at the close;

And so set forth, midst wailing of all folk

And tears of women, weeping most to see

The Princess Draupadí - that lovely prize

Of the great gaming, Draupadí the Bright -

Journeying afoot; but she and all the five

Rejoiced, because their way lay heavenwards.

“Seven were they, setting forth, - Princess and King,

The King’s four brothers, and a faithful dog.

Those left Hastinapur; but many a man,

And all the palace household, followed them

The first sad stage: and, ofttimes prayed to part,

Put parting off for love and pity, still

Sighing, ‘A little farther!’ - till day waned;

Then one by one they turned, and Kripa said:

‘Let all turn back, Yuyutsu! These must go.’

So came they homewards, but the Snake-King’s child,

Ulupi, leapt in Gunga, losing them;

And Chitrangâda with his people went

Mournful to Munipoor, whilst those three queens

Brought Parikshita, in.

“Thus wended they,

Pandu’s five sons and loveliest Draupadí,

Tasting no meat, and journeying due east,

On righteousness their high hearts fed, to heaven

Their souls assigned; and steadfast trod their feet

By faith upborne - past nullah, ran, and wood,

River and jheel and plain. King Yudhisthir

Walked foremost, Bhima followed, after him

Arjuna, and the twin-born brethren next,

Nakula with Sahadev: in whose still steps-

O Best of Bhârat’s offspring! - Draupadí,

That gem of women, paced, with soft, dark face, -

Beautiful, wonderful! -and lustrous eyes,

Clear-edged like lotus-petals; last the dog

Following the Pandavas.

“At length they reach

The far Lauchityan Sea, which foameth white

Under Udayachala’s ridge. - Know ye,

That all this while Nakula had not ceased

Bearing the holy bow, named Gandiva,

And jewelled quiver, ever filled with shafts,

Though one should shoot a thousand thousand times.

Here - broad across their path - the heroes see

Agni, the god. As though a mighty hill

Took form of front and breast and limb, he spake.

Seven streams of shining splendor rayed his brow,

While the dread voice said: ‘I am Agni, chiefs!

O sons of Pandu, I am Agni! Hail!

O long-armed Yudhisthira, blameless king, -

O warlike Bhima, - O Arjuna, wise, -

O brothers twin-born from a womb divine, -

Hear! I am Agni, who consumed the wood

By will of Narayan for Arjuna’s sake.

Let this your brother give Gandiva back,

The matchless bow: the use for it is o’er.

That gem-ringed battle-discus which he hurled

Cometh again to Krishna in his hand

For avatars to be; but need is none

Henceforth of this most excellent bright bow,

Gandiva, which I brought for Partha’s aid

From high Varuna. Let it be returned.

Cast it herein!’

“And all the princes said,

“Cast it, dear brother!’ So Arjuna threw

Into that sea the quiver ever-filled,

And glittering bow; then, led by Agni’s light,

Unto the south they tumed, and so southwest,

And afterwards right west, until they saw

Dwaraka, washed and bounded by a main

Loud -thundering on its shores; and here - O Best

Vanished the god; while yet those heroes walked,

Now to the northwest bending, where long coasts

Shut in the sea of salt, now to the north,

Accomplishing all quarters, journeyed they;

The earth their altar of high sacrifice,

Which these most patient feet did pace around

Till Meru rose.

“At last it rose! These Six,

Their senses subjugate, their spirits pure,

Wending along, came into sight - far off

In the eastern. sky -of awful Himavat;

And, midway in the peaks of Himavat,

Meru, the mountain of all mountains, rose,

Whose head is heaven; and under Himavat

Glared a wide waste of sand, dreadful as death.

“Then, as they hastened o’er the deathly waste,

Aiming for Meru, having thoughts at soul

Infinite, eager, - lo! Draupadí reeled,

With faltering heart and feet - and Bhima turned,

Gazing upon her; aad that hero spake

To Yudhisthira: ‘Master, Brother, King!

Why doth she fail? For never all her life

Wrought our sweet lady one thing wrong, I think.

Thou knowest; make us know, why hath she failed?’

“Then Yudhisthira, answered: ‘Yea, one thing.

She loved our brothers better than all else, -

Better than heaven: that was her tender sin,

Fault of a faultless soul; she pays for that.’

“So spake the monarch, turning not his eyes,

Though Draupadí lay dead, - striding straight on

For Meru, heart-fall of the things of heaven,

Perfect and firm. But yet a little space

And Sahadev fell down; which Bhima seeing,

Cried once again: ‘O King, great Madri’s son

Stumbles and sinks. Why hath he sunk? - so true,

So brave and steadfast, and so free from pride!’

“‘He was not free,’ with countenance still fixed,

Quoth Yudhisthira; ‘he was true and fast

And wise; yet wisdom made him proud; he hid

One little hurt of soul, but now it kills.’

“So saying, he strode on, Kunti’s strong son,

And Bhima; and Arjuna followed him,

And Nakula, and the hound; leaving behind

Sahadev in the sands. But Nakula,

Weakened and grieved to see Sahadev fall-

His dear-loved brother -lagged and stayed; and then

Prone on his face he fell, that noble face

Which had no match for beauty in the land,

Glorious and godlike Nakula! Then sighed

Bhima anew: ‘Brother and Lord! the man

Who never erred from virtue, never broke

Our fellowship, and never in the world

Was matched for goodly perfectness of form

Or gracious feature, - Nakula has fallen!’

“But Yudhisthira, holding fixed his eyes.

That changeless, faithful, king, -replied

‘Yea, but he erred! The Godlike form he wore

Beguiled him to believe none like to him,

And he alone desirable, and things

Unlovely, to be slighted. Self-love slays

Our noble brother. Bhima, follow! Each

Pays what his debt was.’

“Which Arjuna heard,

Weeping to see them fall; and that stout son

Of Pandu, that destroyer of his foes,

That Prince, who drove through crimson waves of war,

In old days, with his milk-white chariot-steeds,

He, the arch-hero, sank! Beholding this, -

The yielding of that soul unconquerable,

Fearless, divine, from Sakra’s self derived,

Arjuna’s, - Bhima cried aloud: ‘O King!

This man was surely perfect. Never once,

Not even in slumber, when the lips are loosed,

Spake he one word that was not true as truth.

Ah, heart of gold! why art thou broke? O King!

Whence falleth he?’

“And Yudhisthira said,

Not pausing: ‘Once he lied, a lordly lie!

He bragged - our brother - that a single day

Should see him utterly consume, alone,

All those his enemies, -which could not be.

Yet from a great heart sprang the unmeasured speech,

Howbeit a finished hero should not shame

Himself in such wise, nor his enemy,

If he will faultless fight and blameless die

This was Arjuna’s sin. Follow thou me!’

“So the King still went on. Put Bhima next

Fainted, and stayed upon the way, and sank ,

But, sinking, cried behind the steadfast Prince:

‘Ah, brother, see I die! Look upon me,

Thy well-beloved! Wherefore falter I,

Who strove to stand?’

“And Yudhisthira said:

More than was well the goodly things of earth

Pleased thee, my pleasant brother! Light the offence,

And large thy spirit - but the o’erfed soul

Plumed itself over others. Pritha’s son,

For this thou failest, who so near didst gain.’

“Thenceforth alone the long-armed monarch strode,

Not looking back, - nay, not for Bhima’s sake,

But walking with his face set for the Mount;

And the hound followed him, - only the hound.

“After the deathly sands, the Mount! and, lo

Sákra shone forth, - the God, - filling the earth

And heavens with thunder of his chariot-wheels.

‘Ascend,’ he said, I with me, Pritha’s great son!

But Yudhisthira answered, sore at heart

For those his kinsfolk, fallen on the way:

O Thousand-eyed, O Lord of all the gods,

Give that my brothers come with me, who fell!

Not without them is Swarga sweet to me.

She too, the dear and kind and queenly, - she

Whose perfect virtue Paradise must crown, -

Grant her to come with us! Dost thou grant this?’

“The God replied: ‘In heaven thou shalt see

Thy kinsmen and the Queen - these will attain

And Krishna. Grieve no longer for thy dead,

Thou chief of men I their mortal covering stripped,

These have their places; but to thee the gods

Allot an unknown grace: thou shalt go up,

Living and in thy form, to the immortal homes.’

“But the King answered: ‘O thou Wisest One,

Who know’st what was, and is, and is to be,

Still one more grace! This hound hath ate with me,

Followed me, loved me; must I leave him now?’

“‘Monarch,’ spake Indra, I thou art now as we,

Deathless, divine; thou art become a god;

Glory and power and gifts celestial,

And all the joys of heaven are thine for aye

What hath a beast with these? Leave here thy hound.’

“Yet Yudhisthira answered: ‘O Most High,

O Thousand-eyed and wisest! can it be

That one exalted should seem pitiless?

Nay, let me lose such glory: for its sake

I cannot leave one living thing I loved.’

“Then sternly Indra spake: ‘He is unclean,

And into Swarga such shall enter not.

The Krodhavasha’s wrath destroys the fruits

Of sacrifice, if dogs defile the fire.

Bethink thee, Dharmaraj; quit now this beast

That which is seemly is not hard of heart.’

“Still he replied: ‘ ‘Tis written that to spurn

A suppliant equals in offence to slay

A twice-born; wherefore, not for Swarga’s bliss

Quit I, Mahendra, this poor clinging dog,

So without any hope or friend save me,

So wistful, fawning for my faithfulness

So agonized to die, unless I help

Who among men was called steadfast and just.’

“Quoth Indra: ‘Nay, the altar-flame is foul

Where a dog passeth; angry angels sweep

The ascending smoke aside, and all the fruits

Of offering, and the merit of the prayer

Of him whom a hound toucheth. Leave it here!

He that will enter heaven must enter pure.

Why didst thou quit thy brethren on the way,

And Krishna, and the dear-loved Draupadî,

Attaining, firm and glorious, to this Mount

Through perfect deeds, to linger for a brute?

Hath Yudhisthira vanquished self, to melt

With one poor passion at the door of bliss?

Stay’st thou for this, who didst not stay for them, -

Draupadí, Bhima?’

“But the King yet spake:

‘‘Tis known that none can hurt or help the dead.

They, the delightful ones, who sank and died,

Following my footsteps, could not live again

Though I had turned, - therefore I did not turn

But could help profit, I had stayed to help.

There be four sins, O Sákra, grievous sins

The first is making suppliants despair,

The second is to slay a nursing wife,

The third is spoiling Brahmans’ goods by force,

The fourth is injuring an ancient friend.

These four I deem not direr than the crime,

If one, in coming forth from woe to weal,

Abandon any meanest comrade then.’

“Straight as he spake, brightly great Indra smiled

Vanished the hound, and in its stead stood there

The Lord of Death and justice, Dharma’s self!

Sweet were the words which fell from those dread lips,

Precious the lovely praise: ‘O thou true King,

Thou that dost bring to harvest the good seed

Of Pandu’s righteousness; thou that hast ruth

As he before, on all which lives! - O Son!

I tried thee in the Dwaita wood, what time

They smote thy brothers, bringing water; then

Thou prayed’st for Nakula’s life - tender and just -

Nor Bhima’s nor Arjuna’s, true to both,

To Madri as to Kunti, to both queens,[44]

Hear thou my word! Because thou didst not mount

This car divine, lest the poor hound be shent

Who looked to thee, lo! there is none in heaven

Shall sit above thee, King! - Bhârata’s son

Enter thou now to the eternal joys,

Living and in thy form. justice and Love

Welcome thee, Monarch! thou shalt throne with us!’

“Thereat those mightiest gods, in glorious train,

Mahendra, Dharma, - with bright retinue

Of Maruts, Saints, Aswin-Kumâras, Nats

Spirits, and angels bore the King aloft,

The thundering chariot first, and after it

Those airy-moving Presences. Serene,

Clad in great glory, potent, wonderful,

They glide at will, - at will they know and see,

At wish their wills are wrought; for these are pure

Passionless, hallowed, perfect, free of earth.

In such celestial midst the Kuru king

Soared upward, and a sweet light filled the sky.

And fell on earth, cast by his face and form,

Transfigured as he rose and there was heard

The voice of Narad, - it is he who sings,

Sitting in heaven, the deeds that good men do

In all the quarters, - Narad, chief of bards,

Narad the wise, who laudeth purity, -

So cried he: ‘Thou art risen, Kuru king!

Whose greatness is above all royal saints.

Hail, son of Pandu! like to thee is none

Now or before among the sons of men,

Whose fame hath filled the three wide worlds, who corn’s

Bearing thy mortal body, which doth shine

With radiance as a god’s.’

“The glad King heard

Narad’s loud praise; he saw the immortal gods, -

Dharina, Mahendra and dead chiefs and saints,

Known upon earth, in blessèd heaven he saw,

But only those. ‘I do desire,’ he said,

‘That region, be it of the Blest as this,

Or of the Sorrowful some otherwhere,

Where my dcar brothers are, and Draupadí.

I cannot stay elsewhere! I see them not!’

“Then answer made Purandará, the God:

O thou compassionate and noblest one,

Rest in the pleasures which thy deeds have gained.

How, being as are the gods, canst thou live bound

By mortal chains? Thou art become of us,

Who live above hatred and love, in bliss

Pinnacled, safe, supreme. Sun of thy race,

Thy brothers cannot reach where thou hast climbed

Most glorious lord of men, let not thy peace

Be touched by stir of earth! Look! this is heaven.

See where the saints sit, and the happy souls,

Siddhas and angels, and the gods who live

Forever and forever.’

“‘King of gods,’

Spake Vudhisthira, I but I will not live

A little space without those souls I loved.

O Slayer of the demons! let me go

Where Bhima and my brothers are, and she,

My Draupadí, the Princess with the face

Softer and darker than the Vrihat-leaf,

And soul as sweet as are its odors. Lo!

Where they have gone, there will I surely go.’”[45]

The Entry Into Heaven

II.

(FROM THE SANSKRIT OF THE SWARGÂROHANA PARVA

OF THE MAHÂBHÂRATA.-VOL. IV. OF THF CALCUTTA QUARTO

EDITION.)

To Narayen, Lord of lords, be glory given,

To Queen Saraswati be praise in heaven;

Unto Vyâsa pay the reverence due,

So may this story its high course pursue.

THEN Janmejaya said: “I am fain to learn

How it befell with my great forefathers,

The Pandu chiefs and Dhritirashtra’s sons,

Being to heaven ascended. If thou know’st,-

And thou know’st all, whom wise Vyâsa taught,

‘Fell me, how fared with those mighty souls?”

Answercd the Sage: “Hear of thy forefathers

Great Yudhisthira and the Pandu lords -

How it befell. When thus the blameless King

Was as entered into heaven, there he beheld

Duryodhana, his foe, throned as a god

Amid the gods; splendidly sat that Prince,

Peaceful and proud, the radiance of his brows

Far-shining like the sun’s; and round him thronged

Spirits of light, with Sâdhyas, - companies

Goodly to see. But when the King beheld

Duryodhana in bliss, and not his own, -

Not Draupadí, nor Bhima, nor the rest, -

With quick-averted face and angry eyes

The monarch spake: ‘Keep heaven for such as these,

If these come here! I do not wish to dwell

Where he is, whom I hated rightfully,

Being a covetous and witless Prince .-

Whose deed it was that in wild fields of war

Brothers and friends by mutual slaughter fell,

While our swords smote, sharpened so wrathfully

By all those wrongs borne wandering in the woods

But Draupadí’s the deepest wrong, for he -

He who sits there - haled her before the court,

Seizing that sweet and virtuous lady - he! -

With grievous hand wound in her tresses. Gods,

I cannot look upon him! Sith ‘tis so,

Where are my brothers? Thither will I go!’

“Smiling, bright Narada the Saint replied:

‘Speak thou not rashly! Say not this, O King!

Those who come here lay enmities aside.

O Yudhisthira, long-armed monarch, hear

Duryodhana is cleansed of sin; he sits

Worshipful as the saints, worshipped by saints

And kings who lived and died in virtue’s path,

Attaining to the joys which heroes gain

Who yield their breath in battle. Even so

He that did wrong thee, knowing not thy worth,

Hath won before thee hither, raised to bliss

For lordliness, and valor free of fear.

Ah, well-beloved son! ponder thou not

The memory of that gaming, nor the griefs

Of Draupadí, nor any vanished hurt

Wrought in the passing shows of life by craft

Or wasteful war. Throne happy at the side

Of this thy happy foeman, -wiser now;

For here is Paradise, thou Chief of men

And in its holy air hatreds are dead.’

“Thus by the Saint addressed, the Kuru King

Answered uncomforted: ‘Duryodhana,

If he attains, attains; yet not the less

Evil he lived and ill he died, - a heart

Impious and harmful, bringing woes to all,

To friends and foes. His was the crime which cost

Our land its warriors, horses, elephants;

His the black sin that set us in the field,

Burning for rightful vengeance. Ye are gods,

And just; and ye have granted heaven to him.

Show me the regions, therefore, where they dwell,

My brothers, those, the noble-souled, the loyal,

Who kept the sacred laws, who swerved no step

From virtue’s path, who spake the truth, and lived

Foremost of warriors. Where is Kunti’s son,

The hero-hearted Karna? Where are gone

Sátyaki, Dhrishtadyumna, with their sons?

And where those famous chiefs who fought for me,

Dying a splendid death? I see them not.

O Narada, I see them not! No King

Draupada! no Viráta! no glad face

Of Dhrishtaketu! no Shikandina,

Prince of Panchála, nor his princely boys

Nor Abhimanyu the unconquerable!

President Gods of heaven! I see not here

Radha’s bright son, nor Yudhamanyu,

Nor Uttamanjaso, his brother dear!

Where are those noble Maharashtra lords,

Rajas and rajpoots, slain for love of us?

Dwell they in glory elsewhere, not yet seen?

If they be here, high Gods, and those with them

For whose sweet sakes I lived, here will I live,

Meek-hearted; but if such be not adjudged

Worthy, I am not worthy, nor my soul

Willing to rest without them. Ah, I burn,

Now, in glad heaven, with grief, bethinking me

Of those my mother’s words, what time I poured

Death-water for my dead at Kurkshetra, -

“Pour for Prince Karna, Son!” but I wist not

His feet were as my mother’s feet, his blood

Her blood, my blood. O Gods! I did not know,

Albeit Sákra’s self had failed to break

The battle, where he stood. I crave to see

Surya’s child, that glorious chief who fell

By Saryasáchi’s hand, unknown of me;

And Bhima! ah, my Bhima! dearer far

Than life to me; Arjuna, like a god,

Nakula and Sahadev, twin lords of war,

With tenderest Draupadí! Show me those souls

I cannot tarry where I have them not.

Bliss is not blissful, just and mighty Ones!

Save if I rest beside them. Heaven is there

Where Love and Faith make heaven. Let me go!’

“And answer made the hearkening heavenly Ones:

‘Go, if it seemeth good to thee, dear son!

The King of gods commands we do thy will.’

“So saying,” the Sage went on, “Dharma’s own voice

Gave ordinance, and from the shining bands

A golden Deva glided, taking hest

To guide the King there where his kinsmen were.

So wended these, the holy angel first,

And in his steps the King, close following.

Together passed they through the gates of pearl,

Together heard them close; then to the left

Descending, by a path evil and dark,

Hard to be traversed, rugged,- entered they

The ‘SINNERS’ ROAD.’ The tread of sinful feet

Matted the thick thorns carpeting its slope!

The smell of sin hung foul on them; the mire

About their roots was trampled filth of flesh

Horrid with rottenness, and splashed with gore

Curdling in crimson puddles - where there buzzed

And sucked, and settled, creatures of the swamp,

Hideous in wing and sting, gnat-clouds and flies,

With moths, toads, newts, and snakes red-gulleted

And livid, loathsome worms, writhing in slime

Forth from skull-holes and scalps and tumbled bones.

A burning forest shut the roadside in

On either hand, and ‘mid its crackling boughs

Perched ghastly birds, or flapped amidst the flames,-

Vultures and kites and crows, - with brazen plumes

And beaks of iron; and these grisly fowl

Screamed to the shrieks of Prets, - lean, famished ghosts,

Featureless, eyeless, having pin-point mouths,

Hungering, but hard to fill, - all swooping down

To gorge upon the meat of wicked ones;

Whereof the limbs disparted, trunks and heads,

Offal and marrow, littered all the way.

By such a path the King passed, sore afeared

If he had known of fear, for the air stank

With carrion stench, sickly to breathe - and lo

Presently ‘thwart the pathway foamed a flood

Of boiling waves, rolling down corpses. This

They passed, and then the Asipatra wood

Spread black in sight, whereof the undergrowth

Was sword-blades, every blade spitting some wretch;

All around poison-trees; and next to this,

Strewn deep with fiery sands, an awful waste,

Wherethrough the wicked toiled with blistering feet,

‘Midst rocks of brass, red hot, which scorched, and pools

Of bubbling pitch that gulfed them. Last the gorge

Of Kutashála Mali, - frightful gate

Of utmost Hell, with utmost horrors filled.

Deadly and nameless were the plagues seen there

Which when the monarch reached, nigh overborne

By terrors and the reek of tortured flesh,

Unto the angel spake he: ‘Whither goes

This hateful road, and where be they I seek,

Yet find not?’ Answer made the heavenly One

‘Hither, great King, it was commanded me

To bring thy steps. If ‘thou be’st overborne,

It is commanded that I lead thee back

To where the gods wait. Wilt thou turn and mount?’

Then (O thou Son of Bhârat!) Yudhisthir

Turned heavenward his face, so was he moved

With horror and the hanging stench, and spent

By toil of that black travel. Put his feet

Scarce one stride measured, when about the place

Pitiful accents rang: ‘Alas, sweet King! -

Ah, saintly Lord! - Ah, thou that hast attained

Place with the Blessed, Pandu’s offspring! -pause

A little while for love of us who cry!

Nought can harm thee in all this baneful place

But at thy coming there ‘gan blow a breeze

Balmy and soothing, bringing us relief.

O Pritha’s son, mightiest of men! we breathe

Glad breath again to see thee; we have peace

One moment in our agonies. Stay here

One moment more, Bhârata’s child! Go not,

Thou glory of the Kurus! Being here,

Hell softens and our bitter pains relax.’

“These pleadings, wailing all around the place,

Heard the King Yudhisthira, - words of woe

Humble and eager! and compassion seized

His lordly mind. ‘Poor souls unknown!’ he sighed,

And hellwards turned anew - for what those were,

Whence such beseeching voices, and of whom,

That son of Pandu wist not, - only wist

That all the noxious murk was filled with forms,

Shadowy, in anguish, crying grace of him.

Wherefore he called aloud: ‘Who speaks with me?

What do ye here, and what things suffer ye?’

Then from the black depth piteously there came

Answers of whispered suffering: ‘Karna I,

O King!’ and yet another: ‘O my liege,

Thy Bhima speaks!’ and then a voice again:

I am Arjuna, Brother!’ and again:

Nakula is here, and Sahadev!’ and last,

A moan of music from the darkness sighed:

‘Draupadí cries to thee!’ Thereat broke forth

The monarch’s spirit, knowing so the sound

Of each familiar voice: ‘What doom is this?

What have my well-belovèd wrought to earn

Death with the damned, or life loathlier than death

In Narak’s midst? Hath Karna erred so deep,

Bhima, Arjuna, or the glorious twins,

Or she, the slender-waisted, sweetest, best,

My Princess, - that Duryodhana should sit

Peaceful in Paradise with all his crew,

Throned by Mahendra and the shining gods?

How should these fail of bliss, and he attain?

What were their sins to his, their splendid faults?

For if they slipped, it was in virtue’s way

Serving good laws, performing holy rites,

Boundless in gifts and faithful to the death.

These be their well-known voices! Are ye here,

Souls I loved best? Dream I, belike, asleep,

Or rave I, maddened with accursèd sights,

And death-reeks of this hellish air?

“Thereat

For pity and for pain the King waxed wroth.

That soul fear could not shake, nor trials tire,

Burned terrible with tenderness, the while

His eyes searched all the gloom, his planted feet

Stood fast in the mid horrors. Well-nigh, then,

He cursed the gods; well-nigh that steadfast mind

Broke from its faith in virtue. But he stayed

Th’ indignant passion, softly speaking this

Unto the angel: ‘Go to those thou serv’st;

Tell them I come not thither. Say I stand

Here in the throat of hell, and here will bide-

Nay, if I perish - while my well-belov’d

Win ease and peace by any pains of mine.’

“Whereupon, nought replied the shining One,

But straight repaired into the upper light,

Where Sákra sat above the gods, and spake

Before the gods the message of the King.”

“AFTERWARDS, What befell? the Prince inquired.

“Afterwards, Princely One replied the Sage,

“At hearing and at knowing that high deed

(Great Yudhisthira braving hell for love),

The Presences of Paradise uprose,

Each Splendor in his place, - God Sákra chief:

Together rose they and together stepped

Down from their thrones, treading the nether road

Where Yudhisthira tarried. Sákra led

The shining van, and Dharma, Lord of laws,

Paced glorious next. O Son of Bhárata,

While that celestial company came down-

Pure as the white stars sweeping through the sky,

And brighter than their brilliance - look! hell’s shades

Melted before them; warm gleams drowned the gloom

Soft, lovely scenes rolled over the ill sights;

Peace calmed the cries of torment; in its bed

The boiling river shrank, quiet and clear;

The Asipatra Vana - awful wood -

Blossomed with colors; all those cruel blades,

And dreadful rocks, and piteous scattered wreck

Of writhing bodies, where the King had passed,

Vanished as dreams fade. Cool and fragrant went

A wind before their faces, as these gods

Drew radiant to the presence of the King,

Maruts; and Vasus eight, who shine and serve

Round lndra; Rudras; Aswins; and those Six

Immortal Lords of light beyond our light.

Th’ Adityas; Saddhyas - Siddhas, -these were there,

With angels, saints, and habitants of heaven,

Smiling resplendent round the steadfast Prince.

“Then spake the God of gods these gracious words

To Yudhisthira, standing in that place:-

“‘King Yudhisthira! O thou long-armed Lord,

This is enough! All Heaven is glad of thee.

It is enough! Come, thou most blessed one,

Unto thy peace, well-gained. Lay here aside

Thy loving wrath, and hear the speech of Heaven.

It is appointed that all kings see hell.

The reckonings for the life of men are twain:

Of each man’s righteous deeds a tally true,

A tally true of each man’s evil deeds.

Who hath wrought little right, to him is paid

A little bliss in Swarga, then the woe

Which purges; who much right hath wrought, from him

The little ill by lighter pains is cleansed,

And then the joys. Sweet is peace after pain,

And bitter pain which follows peace: yet they

Who sorely sin taste of the heaven they miss,

And they that suffer quit their debt at last.

Lo! We have loved thee, laying hard on thee

Grievous assaults of soul, and this black road.

Bethink thee: by a semblance once, dear Son!

Drona thou didst beguile; and once, dear Son!

Semblance of hell hath so thy sin assoiled,

Which passeth with these shadows. Even thus

Thy Bhima came a little space t’ account,

Draupadí, Krishna, - all whom thou didst love,

Never again to lose! Come, First of men!

These be delivered and their quittance made.

Also the Princes, son of Bhárata!

Who fell beside thee fighting, have attained.

Come thou to see! Karna, whom thou didst mourn,-

That mightiest archer, master in all wars, -

He hath attained, shining as doth the sun;

Come thou and see! Grieve no more, King of men!

Whose love holped them and thee, and hath its meed.

Rajas and maharajas, warriors, aids, -

All thine are thine forever. Krishna waits

To greet thee coming, ‘companied by gods,

Seated in heaven, from toils and sorrows saved.

Son! there is golden fruit of noble deeds,

Of prayer, alms, sacrifice. The most just gods

Keep thee thy place above the highest saints,

Where thou shalt sit, divine, compassed about

With royal souls in bliss, as Hari sits;

Seeing Mándháta crowned, and Bhagirath,

Daushyanti, Bhârata, with all thy line.

Now therefore wash thee in this holy stream,

Gunga’s pure fount, whereof the bright waves bless

All the Three Worlds. It will so change thy flesh

To likeness of th’ immortal, thou shalt leave

Passions and aches and tears behind thee there.’

“And when the awful Sákra thus had said,

Lo Dharma spake, - th’ embodied Lord of Right:-

“Bho! bho! I am well pleased! Hail to thee, Chief

Worthy, and wise, and firm. Thy faith is full,

Thy virtue, and thy patience, and thy truth,

And thy self mastery. Thrice I put thee, King!

Unto the trial, In the Dwaita wood,

The day of tempting, -then thou stoodest fast

Next on thy brethren’s death and Draupadí’s,

When, as a dog, I followed thee, and found

Thy sprit constant to the meanest friend.

Here was the third and sorest touchstone, Son!

That thou shouldst hear thy brothers cry in hell,

And yet abide to help them. Pritha’s child,

We love thee! Thou art fortunate and pure,

Past trials now. Thou art approved, and they

Thou lov’st have tasted hell only a space,

Not meriting to suffer more than when

An evil dream doth come, and Indra’s beam

Ends it with radiance, - as this vision ends.

It is appointed that all flesh see death,

And therefore thou hast borne the passing pangs,

Briefest for thee, and brief for those of thine,

Bhima the faithful, and the valiant twins

Nakula and Sahadev, and those great hearts

Karna, Arjuna, with thy princess dear,

Draupadí. Come, thou best-belovèd Son,

Blessed of all thy line! Bathe in this stream,

It is great Gunga, flowing through Three Worlds.’

“Thus high-accosted, the rejoicing King

(Thy ancestor, O Liege!) proceeded straight

Unto that river’s brink, which floweth pure

Through the Three Worlds, mighty, and sweet, and praised,

There, being bathed, the body of the King

Put off its mortal, coming up arrayed

In grace celestial, washed from soils of sin,

From passion, pain, and change. So, hand in hand

With brother-gods, glorious went Yudhisthir,

Lauded by lovely minstrelsy, and songs

Of unknown music, where those heroes stood -

The princes of the Pandavas, his kin

And lotus-eyed and loveliest Draupadí,

Waiting to greet him, gladdening and glad.”

THE END

****************

I'm Julie, and I run Global Grey - the website where this ebook was published. These are my own formatted editions, and I hope you enjoyed reading this particular one.

If you have this book because you bought it as part of a collection – thank you so much for your support.

If you downloaded it for free – please consider (if you haven’t already) making a small donation to help keep the site running.

If you bought this from Amazon or anywhere else, you have been ripped off by someone taking free ebooks from my site and selling them. You should definitely get a refund :/

Thanks for reading this and I hope you visit the site again - new books are added regularly so you'll always find something of interest :)

Notes

[←1]

Jhillikas are the large wood-crickets.

[←2]

I have somewhat expanded this passage, which in the original Sanskrit is a bare enumeration of the different trees, in long compound words, each word filling a whole line.

[←3]

The translation here repeats the play of words in the original: Satyanâmâ bhawâsoka, asoka sokanâshana.

[←4]

A caravan.

[←5]

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.

[←6]

The Indian word for the condition described.

[←7]

This anticipation of the Buddhist doctrine of Karma is very curious.

[←8]

“Praised-in-song.”

[←9]

The first monarch of the Solar Dynasty.

[←10]

This, it will be remembered, was one of the divine gifts bestowed upon Nala after the Swayamvara.

[←11]

Rohini, the fourth lunar asterism.

[←12]

The Sanskrit word is Dhâtri.

[←13]

The Sanskrit epithet is Nisâkara.

[←14]

“Gentleness is chief of virtues.”

[←15]

These are spots where the hair curls round, as upon the crown of the human head.

[←16]

“O Beautiful One!”

[←17]

These were some among the special gifts, it will be recalled, given by the gods, after the Swayamvara, to Nala.

[←18]

Like a well-bred and pious lady, the utmost emotion does not make Damayanti forget her religious duties. The Law of Manu enjoins (v. 145): “After sleep, after sneezing, eating, drinking, spitting, telling untruths, and before reading the sacred books, let every one, though pure, wash out the mouth.”

[←19]

I thus understand the Sanskrit word mulapankinî, which Milman unreasonably reads “mire-defiled.”

[←20]

The word is Krishnasar, “essence of blackness.”

[←21]

This is the exact Sanskrit word, Râjamârgâ

[←22]

An exclamation of joy and surprise.

[←23]

The Apsarâsas are the celestial nyrnphs of Indra’s heaven, produced at the churning of the ocean.

[←24]

A short, broad-bladed sword.

[←25]

Nandana is the Paradise of Indra.

[←26]

Ancient name of India: “The Land of the Rose-apple Tree.”

[←27]

“Yakshas” are supernatural beings of Hindu poetry, resembling our fairies, and called, indeed, punya janas, or “good people.” They are very powerful, and generally beautiful in form and benignant.

[←28]

“He of the knotted locks,”

[←29]

These are names for different kinds of darts and arrows.

[←30]

The Pandanus odoratissimus.

[←31]

Bhima’s other name was Vrikôdara, that is, “Wolf’s belly,” from his prodigious force and appetite.

[←32]

The Rudras, or “Howlers,” eleven in number, and the Marûts, are storm-gods; the eight Vâsus, personifications of natural phenomena, such as water, wind, fire, light, &c.

[←33]

The name of the lowest caste.

[←34]

This word signifies “saint,” as also Rishi.

[←35]

It was the graceful and wholesome custom of Indian hospitality to offer water for washing the feet (padya) to a stranger or guest arriving from a journey.

[←36]

A kind of dance in which the performer plays with a ball as she dances.

[←37]

This was the sacred cow, kept at the hermitage for religious uses.

[←38]

Rishyasringa takes his visitant for a man, knowing no better.

[←39]

This is a literal transcript from the Sanskrit, which means that the waist was so small (a great charm with Indian poets) as to be almost imperceptible.

[←40]

The Sanskrit phrase signifies “standing on one leg.”

[←41]

A padma is a thousand billion years.

[←42]

There is a play here upon the two Sanskrit words, vâdhi, “sickness,” and vyâdha, “a hunter.”

[←43]

The Sanskrit epithet is Dandapani.

[←44]

A reference to the concluding part of “The Enchanted Lake will explain this. See P. 234.

[←45]

Contrast this magnificent unselfishness with Dante or St. Thomas Aquinas! The Sanskrit text has a noble simplicity, - Gantum ichchami tatra aham yatra mê bhrataro gata.

Table of Contents

Preface

Sâvitrî; Or, Love And Death

Nala And Damayanti

The Enchanted Lake

The Saint’s Temptation

The Birth Of Death

The Night Of Slaughter

The Great Journey

The Entry Into Heaven