Nala And Damayanti And Other Poems Part 13

And who the herb, the wholesome root--or wild fruit from the wood shall bring?

To us the blind, the dest.i.tute--with helpless hunger perishing?

Thy blind old mother, heaven-resigned--within our hermit-dwelling lone, How shall I tend, myself as blind--now all my strength of life is gone!

Oh stay, my child, Oh part not yet--to Yama's dwelling go not now, To-morrow forth we all will set--thy mother, and myself, and thou: For both, in grief for thee, and both--so helpless, ere another day, From this dark world, but little loath--shall we depart, death's easy prey!

And I myself, by Yama's seat--companion of thy darksome way, The guerdon to thy virtues meet--from that great Judge of men will pray.

Because, my boy, in innocence--by wicked deed thou hast been slain, Rise, where the heroes dwell, who thence--ne'er stoop to this dark world again.

Those that to earth return no more--the sense-subdued, the hermits wise, Priests their sage masters that adore--to their eternal seats arise.

Those that have studied to the last--the Veda's, the Vedanga's page, Where saintly kings of earth have pa.s.sed--Nahusa and Yayati sage; The sires of holy families--the true to wedlock's sacred vow; And those that cattle, gold, or rice--or lands with liberal hands bestow; That ope th' asylum to th' oppressed--that ever love, and speak the truth, Up to the dwellings of the blest--th' eternal, soar thou, best loved youth.

For none of such a holy race--within the lowest seat may dwell; But that will be his fatal place--by whom my only offspring fell.'

So groaning deep, that wretched pair--the hermit and his wife, essayed The meet ablution to prepare--their hands their last faint effort made.

Divine, with glorious body bright--in splendid car of heaven elate, Before them stood their son in light--and thus consoled their helpless state: 'Meed of my duteous filial care--I've reached the wished for realms of joy;[152]

And ye, in those glad realms, prepare--to meet full soon your dear-loved boy.

My parents, weep no more for me--yon warrior monarch slew me not, My death was thus ordained to be;--predestined was the shaft he shot."

Thus, as he spoke, the anchorite's son--soared up the glowing heaven afar, In air his heavenly body shone--while stood he in his gorgeous car.

But they, of that lost boy so dear--the last ablution meetly made, Thus spoke to me that holy seer--with folded hands above his head.

'Albeit by thy unknowing dart--my blameless boy untimely fell, A curse I lay upon thy heart--whose fearful pain I know too well.

As sorrowing for my son I bow--and yield up my unwilling breath, So, sorrowing for thy son shalt thou--at life's last close repose in death.'

That curse, dread sounding in mine ear--to mine own city forth I set, Nor long survived that hermit seer--to mourn his child in lone regret.

This day that Brahmin curse fulfilled--hath fallen on my devoted head, In anguish for any parted child--have all my sinking spirits fled.

No more my darkened eyes can see--my clouded memory is o'ercast, Dark Yama's heralds summon me--to his deep, dreary, realm to haste.

Mine eye no more my Rama sees--and grief o'erburns, my spirits sink, As the swollen stream sweeps down the trees--that grow upon the crumbling brink.

Oh, felt I Rama's touch, or spake--one word his home-returning voice, Again to life should I awake--as quaffing nectar draughts rejoice, But what so sad could e'er have been--celestial partner of my heart, Than, Rama's beauteous face unseen,--from life untimely to depart.

His exile in the forest o'er--him home returned to Oudes high town, Oh happy those, that see once more--like Indra from the sky come down.

No mortal men, but G.o.ds I deem--moonlike, before whose wondering sight, My Rama's glorious face shall beam--from the dark forest bursting bright.

Happy that gaze on Rama's face--with beauteous teeth and smile of love, Like the blue lotus in its grace--and like the starry king above.

Like to the full autumnal moon--and like the lotus in its bloom, That youth who sees returning soon--how blest shall be that mortal's doom.

Dwelling on that sweet memory--on his last bed the monarch lay, And slowly, softly, seemed to die--as fades the moon at dawn away.

"Ah, Rama! ah, my son!" thus said--or scarcely said, the king of men, His gentle hapless spirit fled--in sorrow for his Rama then, The shepherd of his people old--at midnight on his bed of death, The tale of his son's exile told--and breathed away his dying breath.

EXTRACTS FROM THE MAHABHARATA.

THE BRAHMIN'S LAMENT.

The hostility of the kindred races of Pandu and Kuru forms one of the great circles of Indian fable. It fills great part of the immense poem, the Mahabharata. At this period the five sons of Pandu and their mother Kunti have been driven into the wilderness from the court of their uncle Dritarashtra at Nagapur. The brothers, during their residence in the forest, have an encounter with a terrible giant, Hidimba, the prototype of the Cyclops of Homer, and of the whole race of giants of northern origin, who, after amusing our ancestors, children of larger growth, descended to our nurseries, from whence they are now well-nigh exploded. After this adventure the brothers take up their residence in the city of Ekachara, where they are hospitably received in the house of a Brahmin.

The neighbourhood of this city is haunted by another terrible giant, Baka, whose cannibal appet.i.te has been glutted by a succession of meaner victims. It is now come to the Brahmin's turn to furnish the fatal banquet; they overhear the following complaint of their host, whose family, consisting of himself, his wife, a grown up daughter, and a son a little child, must surrender one to become the horrible repast of the monster. In turn, the father, the mother, in what may be fairly called three singularly pathetic Indian elegies, enforce each their claim to the privilege of suffering for the rest.

THE BRAHMIN'S LAMENT.

Alas for life, so vain, so weary--in this changing world below, Ever-teeming root of sorrow--still dependent, full of woe!

Still to life clings strong affliction--life that's one long suffering all, Whoso lives must bear his sorrow--soon or late that must befall.

Oh to find a place of refuge--in this dire extremity, For my wife, my son, my daughter--and myself what hope may be?

Oft I've said to thee, my dearest--Priestess, that thou knowest well, But my word thou never heededst--let us go where peace may dwell.

"Here I had my birth, my nurture--still my sire is living here; Oh unwise!" 'twas thus thou answeredst--to my oft-repeated prayer.

Thine old father went to heaven--slept thy mother by his side, Then thy near and dear relations--why delight'st thou here t' abide?

Fondly loving still thy kindred--thine old home thou would'st not leave, Of thy kindred death deprived thee--in thy griefs I could but grieve.

Now to me is death approaching--never victim will I give, From mine house, like some base craven--and myself consent to live.

Thee with righteous soul, the gentle--ever like a mother deemed, A sweet friend the G.o.ds have given me--aye my choicest wealth esteem'd.

From thy parents thee, consenting--mistress of my house I took, Thee I chose, and thee I honoured--as enjoins the holy book.

Thou the high-born, thou the virtuous!--my dear children's mother thou, Only to prolong my being--thee the good, the blameless, now, Can to thy death surrender--mine own true, my faithful wife?

Yet my son can I abandon--in his early bloom of life, Offer him in his sweet childhood--with no down his cheek to shade?

Her, whom Brahma, the all-bounteous--for a lovely bride hath made, Mother of a race of heroes--a heaven-winning race may make;[153]

Of myself begot, the virgin--could I ever her forsake?

Towards a son the hearts of fathers--some have thought, are deepest moved, Others deem the daughter dearer--both alike I've ever loved: She that sons, that heaven hath in her--sons whose offerings heaven may win, Can I render up my daughter--blameless, undefiled by sin?

If myself I offer, sorrow--in the next world my lot must be, Hardly then could live my children--and my wife bereft of me.

One of these so dear to offer--to the wise, were sin, were shame, Yet without me they must perish--how to 'scape the sin, the blame!

Woe! Oh woe! where find I refuge--for myself, for mine, oh where!

Better 'twere to die together--for to live I cannot bear.

_The_ BRAHMIN'S WIFE _speaks_.

As of lowly caste, my husband--yield not thus thy soul to woe, This is not a time for wailing--who the Vedas knows must know: Fate inevitable orders--all must yield to death in turn, Hence the doom, th' irrevocable--it beseems not thee to mourn.

Man hath wife, and son, and daughter--for the joy of his own heart.

Wherefore wisely check thy sorrow--it is I must hence depart.

Tis the wife's most holy duty--law on earth without repeal, That her life she offer freely--when demands her husband's weal.

And e'en now, a deed so n.o.ble--hath its meed of pride and bliss, In the next world life eternal--and unending fame in this.

'Tis a high, yet certain duty--that my life I thus resign, 'Tis thy right, as thy advantage--both the willing deed enjoin-- All for which a wife is wedded--long erenow through me thou'st won, Blooming son and gentle daughter--that my debt is paid and done.

Thou may'st well support our children--gently guard, when I am gone, I shall have no power to guard them--nor support them, left alone.

Oh, despoiled of thy a.s.sistance--lord of me, and all I have, How these little ones from ruin--how my hapless self to save: Widow'd, reft of thee, and helpless--with two children in their youth, How maintain my son, and daughter--in the path of right and truth.

From the l.u.s.tful, from the haughty--how shall I our child protect, When they seek thy blameless daughter--by a father's awe unchecked.

As the birds in numbers swarming--gather o'er the earth-strewn corn, Thus the men round some sad widow--of her n.o.ble lord forlorn.

Thus by all the rude and reckless--with profane desires pursued,[154]

How shall I the path still follow--loved and honoured by the good.

This thy dear, thy only daughter--this pure maiden innocent, How to teach the way of goodness--where her sire, her fathers went.

How can I instil the virtues--in the bosom of our child, Helpless and beset on all sides--as thou would'st in duty skilled.

Round thy unprotected daughter--Sudras like[155] to holy lore, Scorning me in their wild pa.s.sion--will unworthy suitors pour.

And if I refuse to give her--mindful of thy virtuous course, As the storks the rice of offering[156]--they will bear her off by force.

Should I see my son degenerate--like his n.o.ble sire no more, In the power of the unworthy--the sweet daughter that I bore; And myself, the world's scorn, wandering--so as scarce myself to know, Of proud men the scoff, the outcast--I should die of shame and woe.

And bereft of me, my children--and without thy aid to cherish, As the fish when water fails them--both would miserably perish.

Thus of all the three is ruin--the inevitable lot, Desolate of thee, their guardian--wherefore, Oh, forsake us not!

The dark way before her husband--'tis a wife's first bliss to go, 'Tis a wife's that hath borne children--this the wise, the holy know.

For thee forsaken be my daughter--let my son forsaken be, I for thee forsook my kindred--and forsake my life for thee.

More than offering 'tis, than penance--liberal gift or sacrifice, When a wife, thus clearly summoned--for her husband's welfare dies.

That which now to do I hasten--all the highest duty feel, For thy bliss, for thy well-doing--thine and all thy race's weal.

Men, they say, but pray for children--riches, or a generous friend, To a.s.sist them in misfortune--and a wife for the same end.

The whole race (the wise declare it)--thou the increaser of thy race, Than the single self less precious--ever holds a second place.

Let me then discharge the duty--and preserve thyself by me, Give me thine a.s.sent, all-honoured--and my children's guardian be.

Women must be spared from slaughter--this the learn'd in duty say, Even the giant knows that duty--me he will not dare to slay.

Of the man the death is certain--of the woman yet in doubt, Wherefore, n.o.blest, on the instant--as the victim send me out.

I have lived with many blessings--I have well fulfilled my part, I have given thee beauteous offspring--death hath nought t' appal mine heart.