Hindu literature Part 43

He heard the answer they returned, And mighty rage within him burned.

On each fair maid a blast he sent-- Each stately form he bowed and bent.

Bent double by the Wind-G.o.d's ire They sought the palace of their sire, There fell upon the ground with sighs, While tears and shame were in their eyes.

The King himself, with, troubled brow, Saw his dear girls so fair but now, A mournful sight all bent and bowed-- And grieving, thus he cried aloud:-- "What fate is this, and what the cause?

What wretch has scorned all heavenly laws?

Who thus your forms could curve and break?

You struggle, but no answer make."

They heard the speech of that wise king Of their misfortune questioning.

Again the hundred maidens sighed, Touched with their heads his feet, and cried:-- "The G.o.d of Wind, pervading s.p.a.ce, Would bring on us a foul disgrace, And choosing folly's evil way From virtue's path in scorn would stray.

But we in words like these reproved The G.o.d of Wind whom pa.s.sion moved:-- 'Farewell, O Lord! A sire have we, No women uncontrolled and free.

Go, and our sire's consent obtain If thou our maiden hands wouldst gain.

No self-dependent life we live: If we offend, our fault forgive,'

But led by folly as a slave, He would not hear the rede we gave, And even as we gently spoke We felt the Wind-G.o.d's crushing stroke."

The pious King, with grief distressed, The n.o.ble hundred thus addressed:-- "With patience, daughters, bear your fate, Yours was a deed supremely great When with one mind you kept from shame The honor of your father's name.

Patience, when men their anger vent, Is woman's praise and ornament; Yet when the G.o.ds inflict the blow Hard is it to support the woe.

Patience, my girls, exceeds all price-- 'Tis alms, and truth, and sacrifice.

Patience is virtue, patience fame: Patience upholds this earthly frame.

And now, I think, is come the time To wed you in your maiden prime.

Now, daughters, go where'er you will: Thoughts for your good my mind shall fill."

The maidens went, consoled, away:-- The best of kings, that very day, Summoned his ministers of state About their marriage to debate.

Since then, because the Wind-G.o.d bent The damsels' forms for punishment, That royal town is known to fame By Kanyakubja's borrowed name.

There lived a sage called Chuli then, Devoutest of the sons of men; His days in penance rites he spent, A glorious saint, most continent.

To him absorbed in tasks austere The child of Urmila draw near-- Sweet Somada, the heavenly maid, And lent the saint her pious aid.

Long time near him the maiden spent, And served him meek and reverent, Till the great hermit, pleased with her, Thus spoke unto his minister:-- "Grateful am I for all thy care-- Blest maiden, speak, thy wish declare."

The sweet-voiced nymph rejoiced to see The favor of the devotee, And to that excellent old man, Most eloquent she thus began:-- "Thou hast, by heavenly grace sustained, Close union with the G.o.dhead gained.

I long, O Saint, to see a son By force of holy penance won.

Unwed, a maiden life I live: A son to me, thy suppliant, give."

The saint with favor heard her prayer, And gave a son exceeding fair.

Him, Chuli's spiritual child, His mother Brahmadatta styled.

King Brahmadatta, rich and great, In Kampili maintained his state-- Ruling, like Indra in his bliss, His fortunate metropolis.

King Kusanabha planned that he His hundred daughters' lord should be.

To him, obedient to his call, The happy monarch gave them all.

Like Indra then he took the hand Of every maiden of the band.

Soon as the hand of each young maid In Brahmadatta's palm was laid, Deformity and cares away, She shone in beauty bright and gay.

Their freedom from the Wind-G.o.d's might Saw Kusanabha with delight.

Each glance that on their forms he threw Filled him with raptures ever new.

Then when the rites were all complete, With highest marks of honor meet The bridegroom with his brides he sent To his great seat of government.

The nymph received with pleasant speech Her daughters; and, embracing each, Upon their forms she fondly gazed, And royal Kusanabha praised.

CANTO x.x.xV

VISVaMITRA'S LINEAGE

The rites were o'er, the maids were wed, The bridegroom to his home was sped.

The sonless monarch bade prepare A sacrifice to gain an heir.

Then Kusa, Brahma's son, appeared, And thus King Kusanabha cheered:-- 'Thou shalt, my child, obtain a son Like thine own self, O holy one.

Through him forever, Gadhi named, Shalt thou in all the worlds be famed.'

He spoke and vanished from the sight To Brahma's world of endless light.

Time fled, and, as the saint foretold, Gadhi was born, the holy-souled.

My sire was he; through him I trace My line from royal Kusa's race.

My sister--elder-born was she-- The pure and good Satyavati, Was to the great Richika wed.

Still faithful to her husband dead, She followed him, most n.o.ble dame, And, raised to heaven in human frame, A pure celestial stream became.

Down from Himalaya's snowy height, In floods forever fair and bright, My sister's holy waves are hurled To purify and glad the world.

Now on Himalaya's side I dwell Because I love my sister well.

She, for her faith and truth renowned, Most loving to her husband found, High-fated, firm in each pure vow, Is queen of all the rivers now.

Bound by a vow I left her side And to the Perfect convent hied.

There, by the aid 'twas thine to lend, Made perfect, all my labors end.

Thus, mighty Prince, I now have told My race and lineage, high and old, And local tales of long ago Which thou, O Rama, fain wouldst know.

As I have sate rehearsing thus The midnight hour is come on us.

Now, Rama, sleep, that nothing may Our journey of to-morrow stay.

No leaf on any tree is stirred-- Hushed in repose are beast and bird: Where'er you turn, on every side, Dense shades of night the landscape hide.

The light of eve is fled: the skies, Thick-studded with their host of eyes, Seem a star-forest overhead, Where signs and constellations spread.

Now rises, with his pure cold ray, The moon that drives the shades away, And with his gentle influence brings Joy to the hearts of living things.

Now, stealing from their lairs, appear The beasts to whom the night is dear.

Now spirits walk, and every power That revels in the midnight hour."

The mighty hermit's tale was o'er, He closed his lips and spoke no more.

The holy men on every side, "Well done! well done," with reverence cried, "The mighty men of Kusa's seed Were ever famed for righteous deed.

Like Brahma's self in glory shine The high-souled lords of Kusa's line.

And thy great name is sounded most, O Saint, amid the n.o.ble host.

And thy dear sister--fairest she Of streams, the high-born Kausiki-- Diffusing virtue where she flows, New splendor on thy lineage throws."

Thus by the chief of saints addressed The son of Gadhi turned to rest; So, when his daily course is done, Sinks to his rest the beaming sun.

Rama, with Lakshman, somewhat stirred To marvel by the tales they heard, Turned also to his couch, to close His eyelids in desired repose.

CANTO x.x.xVI

THE BIRTH OF GANGa

The hours of night now waning fast On Sona's pleasant sh.o.r.e they pa.s.sed.

Then, when the dawn began to break.

To Rama thus the hermit spake:-- "The light of dawn is breaking clear, The hour of morning rites is near.

Rise, Rama, rise, dear son, I pray, And make thee ready for the way."

Then Rama rose, and finished all His duties at the hermit's call-- Prepared with joy the road to take, And thus again in question spake:-- "Here fair and deep the Sona flows, And many an isle its bosom shows: What way, O Saint, will lead us o'er And land us on the farther sh.o.r.e?"

The saint replied: "The way I choose Is that which pious hermits use."

For many a league they journeyed on Till, when the sun of mid-day shone, The hermit-haunted flood was seen Of Jahnavi, the Rivers' Queen.

Soon as the holy stream they viewed, Thronged with a white-winged mult.i.tude Of sarases and swans, delight Possessed them at the lovely sight; And then prepared the hermit band To halt upon that holy strand.

They bathed as Scripture bids, and paid Oblations due to G.o.d and shade.

To Fire they burnt the offerings meet, And sipped the oil, like Amrit sweet.

Then pure and pleased they sate around Saint Visvamitra, on the ground.

The holy men of lesser note, In due degree, sate more remote, While Raghu's sons took nearer place By virtue of their rank and race.

Then Rama said: "O Saint, I yearn The three-pathed Ganga's tale to learn."

Thus urged, the sage recounted both The birth of Ganga and her growth:-- "The mighty hill with metals stored, Himalaya, is the mountains' lord, The father of a lovely pair Of daughters fairest of the fair-- Their mother, offspring of the will Of Meru, everlasting hill, Mena, Himalaya's darling, graced With beauty of her dainty waist.