{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_13268/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_13268","id":"gutenberg_13268","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13268","summary":null,"tags":["Best Books Ever Listings","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","Hinduism","Sanskrit literature -- Translations into English"],"text":"HINDU LITERATURE\n\nCOMPRISING\n\nTHE BOOK OF GOOD COUNSELS, NALA AND DAMAYANTI, THE R\u00c1M\u00c1YANA AND\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1\n\nWITH CRITICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES BY\n\nEPIPHANIUS WILSON, A.M.\n\nREVISED EDITION\n\nNEW YORK\n\nP.F. COLLIER & SON\n\nCOPYRIGHT, 1900\n\nBY THE COLONIAL PRESS\n\nCONTENTS\n\nTHE BOOK OF GOOD COUNSELS\n\nTranslator's Preface\n\nIntroduction\n\nTHE WINNING OF FRIENDS\n  The Story of the Jackal, Deer, and Crow\n  The Story of the Vulture, the Cat, and the Birds\n  The Story of the Dead Game and the Jackal\n  The Prince and the Wife of the Merchant's Son\n  The Story of the Old Jackal and the Elephant\n\nTHE PARTING OF FRIENDS\n  The Story of the Lion, the Jackals, and the Bull\n  The Story of the Monkey and the Wedge\n  The Story of the Washerman's Jackass\n  The Story of the Cat who Served the Lion\n  The Story of the Terrible Bell\n  The Story of the Prince and the Procuress\n  The Story of the Black Snake and the Golden Chain\n  The Story of the Lion and the Old Hare\n  The Story of the Wagtail and the Sea\n\nWAR\n  The Battle of the Swans and Peacocks\n  The Story of the Weaver-Birds and the Monkeys\n  The Story of the Old Hare and the Elephants\n  The Story of the Heron and the Crow\n  The Story of the Appeased Wheelwright\n  The Story of the Dyed Jackal\n  The Story of the Faithful Rajpoot\n\nPEACE\n  The Treaty Between the Peacocks and the Swans\n  The Story of the Tortoise and the Geese\n  The Story of Fate and the Three Fishes\n  The Story of the Unabashed Wife\n  The Story of the Herons and the Mongoose\n  The Story of the Recluse and the Mouse\n  The Story of the Crane and the Crab\n  The Story of the Brahman and the Pans\n  The Duel of the Giants\n  The Story of the Brahman and the Goat\n  The Story of the Camel, the Lion, and His Court\n  The Story of the Frogs and the Old Serpent\n\nNALA AND DAMAYANTI\n\nIntroduction\nNALA AND DAMAYANTI.--\n  Part I\n  Part II\n\nSELECTIONS FROM THE R\u00c1M\u00c1YANA\n\nIntroduction\nInvocation\nBOOK I.--\n    CANTO\n     I.--N\u00e1rad\n         [_Cantos II., III., IV., and V. are omitted_]\n    VI.--The King\n   VII.--The Ministers\n  VIII.--Sumantra's Speech\n    IX.--Rishya\u015bring\n     X.--Rishya\u015bring Invited\n    XI.--The Sacrifice Decreed\n   XII.--The Sacrifice Begun\n  XIII.--The Sacrifice Finished\n   XIV.--R\u00e1van Doomed\n    XV.--The Nectar\n   XVI.--The V\u00e1nars\n  XVII.--Rishya\u015bring's Return\n XVIII.--Rishya\u015bring's Departure\n   XIX.--The Birth of the Princes\n    XX.--Vi\u015bv\u00e1mitra's Visit\n   XXI.--Vi\u015bv\u00e1mitra's Speech\n  XXII.--Da\u015baratha's Speech\n XXIII.--Va\u015bishtha's Speech\n  XXIV.--The Spells\n   XXV.--The Hermitage of Love\n  XXVI.--The Forest of T\u00e1dak\u00e1\n XXVII.--The Birth of T\u00e1dak\u00e1\nXXVIII.--The Death of T\u00e1dak\u00e1\n  XXIX.--The Celestial Arms\n   XXX.--The Mysterious Powers\n  XXXI.--The Perfect Hermitage\n XXXII.--Vi\u015bv\u00e1mitra's Sacrifice\nXXXIII.--The Sone\n XXXIV.--Brahmadatta\n  XXXV.--Vi\u015bv\u00e1mitra's Lineage\n XXXVI.--The Birth of Gang\u00e1\n      [_Cantos XXXVII. and XXXVIII. are omitted_]\n XXXIX.--The Son of Sagar\n    XL.--The Cleaving of the Earth\n   XLI.--Kapil\n  XLII.--Sagar's Sacrifice\n XLIII.--Bhag\u00edrath\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1\n\nIntroduction\nDramatis Personae\nRules for Pronunciation of Proper Names\nPrologue\nAct First\nAct Second\nPrelude to Act Third\nAct Third\nPrelude to Act Fourth\nAct Fourth\nAct Fifth\nPrelude to Act Sixth\nAct Sixth\nAct Seventh\n\nPOEMS BY TORU DUTT\n\nIntroduction\nBALLADS OF HINDOSTAN.--\n  Jogadhya Uma\n  Buttoo\n  Sindhu.--\n    Part I\n    Part II\n    Part III\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS.--\n  Near Hastings\n  France\n  The Tree of Life\n  Madame Th\u00e9r\u00e8se\n  Sonnet\n  Sonnet\n  Our Casuarina-Tree\n\n\n\n\nTHE BOOK OF GOOD COUNSELS\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSELECTED FROM\n\nTHE HITOPADE\u015aA\n\n[_Translated from the Sanscrit by Sir Edwin Arnold_]\n\nTRANSLATOR'S PREFACE\n\nA story-book from the Sanscrit at least possesses the minor merit of\nnovelty. The \"perfect language\" has been hitherto regarded as the\nprovince of scholars, and few of these even have found time or taste to\nsearch its treasures. And yet among them is the key to the heart of\nmodern India--as well as the splendid record of her ancient Gods and\nglories. The hope of Hindostan lies in the intelligent interest of\nEngland. Whatever avails to dissipate misconceptions between them, and\nto enlarge their intimacy, is a gain to both peoples; and to this end\nthe present volume aspires, in an humble degree, to contribute.\n\nThe \"Hitopade\u015ba\" is a work of high antiquity, and extended popularity.\nThe prose is doubtless as old as our own era; but the intercalated\nverses and proverbs compose a selection from writings of an age\nextremely remote. The \"Mahabharata\" and the textual Veds are of those\nquoted; to the first of which Professor M. Williams (in his admirable\nedition of the \"Nala,\" 1860) assigns a date of 350 B.C., while he claims\nfor the \"Rig-Veda\" an antiquity as high as B.C. 1300. The \"Hitopade\u015ba\"\nmay thus be fairly styled \"The Father of all Fables\"; for from its\nnumerous translations have come \u00c6sop and Pilpay, and in later days\nReineke Fuchs. Originally compiled in Sanscrit, it was rendered, by\norder of Nushirav\u00e1n, in the sixth century, A.D., into Persic. From the\nPersic it passed, A.D. 850, into the Arabic, and thence into Hebrew and\nGreek. In its own land it obtained as wide a circulation. The Emperor\nAcbar, impressed with the wisdom of its maxims and the ingenuity of its\napologues, commended the work of translating it to his own Vizir, Abdul\nFazel. That minister accordingly put the book into a familiar style, and\npublished it with explanations, under the title of the \"Criterion of\nWisdom.\" The Emperor had also suggested the abridgment of the long\nseries of shlokes which here and there interrupt the narrative, and the\nVizir found this advice sound, and followed it, like the present\nTranslator. To this day, in India, the \"Hitopade\u015ba,\" under other names\n(as the \"Anv\u00e1ri Suhaili\"[1]), retains the delighted attention of young\nand old, and has some representative in all the Indian vernaculars. A\nwork so well esteemed in the East cannot be unwelcome to Western\nreaders, who receive it here, a condensed but faithful transcript of\nsense and manner.\n\nAs often as an Oriental allusion, or a name in Hindoo mythology, seemed\nto ask some explanation for the English reader, notes have been\nappended, bearing reference to the page. In their compilation, and\ngenerally, acknowledgment is due to Professor Johnson's excellent\nversion and edition of the \"Hitopade\u015ba,\" and to Mr. Muir's \"Sanscrit\nTexts.\"\n\nA residence in India, and close intercourse with the Hindoos, have given\nthe author a lively desire to subserve their advancement. No one listens\nnow to the precipitate ignorance which would set aside as \"heathenish\"\nthe high civilization of this great race; but justice is not yet done to\ntheir past development and present capacities. If the wit, the morality,\nand the philosophy of these \"beasts of India\" (so faithfully rendered by\nMr. Harrison Weir) surprise any vigorous mind into further exploration\nof her literature, and deeper sense of our responsibility in her\ngovernment, the author will be repaid.\n\nEDWIN ARNOLD.\n\n[1] \"The Lights of Canopus,\" a Persian paraphrase; as the \"Khirad\nAfroz,\" \"the lamp of the Understanding,\" is in Hindustani.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BOOK OF GOOD COUNSELS\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nHONOR TO GUNESH, GOD OF WISDOM\n\n    This book of Counsel read, and you shall see,\n    Fair speech and Sanscrit lore, and Policy.\n\nON the banks of the holy river Ganges there stood a city named\nPataliputra. The King of it was a good King and a virtuous, and his name\nwas Sudarsana. It chanced one day that he overheard a certain person\nreciting these verses--\n\n    \"Wise men, holding wisdom highest, scorn delights, as false as fair,\n    Daily live they as Death's fingers twined already in their hair.\n\n    Truly, richer than all riches, better than the best of gain,\n    Wisdom is, unbought, secure--once won, none loseth her again.\n\n    Bringing dark things into daylight, solving doubts that vex the mind,\n    Like an open eye is Wisdom--he that hath her not is blind.\"\n\nHearing these the King became disquieted, knowing that his own sons were\ngaining no wisdom, nor reading the Sacred Writings,[2] but altogether\ngoing in the wrong way; and he repeated this verse to himself--\n\n    \"Childless art thou? dead thy children? leaving thee to want and dool?\n    Less thy misery than his is, who is father to a fool.\"\n\nAnd again this--\n\n    \"One wise son makes glad his father, forty fools avail him not:--\n    One moon silvers all that darkness which the silly stars did dot.\"\n\n\"And it has been said,\" reflected he--\n\n    \"Ease and health, obeisant children, wisdom, and a fair-voiced wife--\n    Thus, great King! are counted up the five felicities of life.\n    For the son the sire is honored; though the bow-cane bendeth true,\n    Let the strained string crack in using, and what service shall it do?\"\n\n\"Nevertheless,\" mused the King, \"I know it is urged that human efforts\nare useless: as, for instance--\n\n    \"That which will not be, will not be--and what is to be, will be:--\n    Why not drink this easy physic, antidote of misery?\"\n\n\"But then that comes from idleness, with people who will not do what\nthey should do. Rather,\n\n    \"Nay! and faint not, idly sighing, 'Destiny is mightiest,'\n    Sesamum holds oil in plenty, but it yieldeth none unpressed.\n    Ah! it is the Coward's babble, 'Fortune taketh, Fortune gave;'\n    Fortune! rate her like a master, and she serves thee like a slave.\"\n\n\"For indeed,\n\n    \"Twofold is the life we live in--Fate and Will together run:--\n    Two wheels bear life's chariot onward--will it move on only one?\"\n\n\"And\n\n    \"Look! the clay dries into iron, but the potter moulds the clay:--\n    Destiny to-day is master--Man was master yesterday.\"\n\n\"So verily,\n\n    \"Worthy ends come not by wishing. Wouldst thou? Up, and win it, then!\n    While the hungry lion slumbers, not a deer comes to his den.\"\n\nHaving concluded his reflections, the Raja gave orders to assemble a\nmeeting of learned men. Then said he--\n\n\"Hear now, O my Pundits! Is there one among you so wise that he will\nundertake to give the second birth of Wisdom to these my sons, by\nteaching them the Books of Policy; for they have never yet read the\nSacred Writings, and are altogether going in the wrong road; and ye know\nthat\n\n    \"Silly glass, in splendid settings, something of the gold may gain;\n    And in company of wise ones, fools to wisdom may attain.\"\n\nThen uprose a great Sage, by name Vishnu-Sarman, learned in the\nprinciples of Policy as is the angel of the planet Jupiter himself, and\nhe said--\n\n\"My Lord King, I will undertake to teach these princes Policy, seeing\nthey are born of a great house; for--\n\n    \"Labors spent on the unworthy, of reward the laborer balk;\n    Like the parrot, teach the heron twenty times, he will not talk.\"\n\n\"But in this royal family the offspring are royal-minded, and in six\nmoons I will engage to make your Majesty's sons comprehend Policy.\"\n\nThe Raja replied, with condescension:--\n\n    \"On the eastern mountains lying, common things shine in the sun,\n    And by learned minds enlightened, lower minds may show as one.\"\n\n\"And you, worshipful sir, are competent to teach my children the rules\nof Policy.\"\n\nSo saying, with much graciousness, he gave the Princes into the charge\nof Vishnu-Sarman; and that sage, by way of introduction, spake to the\nPrinces, as they sat at ease on the balcony of the palace, in this\nwise:--\n\n\"Hear now, my Princes! for the delectation of your Highnesses, I purpose\nto tell the tale of the Crow, the Tortoise, the Deer, and the Mouse.\"\n\n\"Pray, sir,\" said the King's sons, \"let us hear it.\"\n\nVishnu-Sarman answered--\n\n\"It begins with the Winning of Friends; and this is the first verse of\nit:--\n\n    \"Sans way or wealth, wise friends their purpose gain--\n    The Mouse, Crow, Deer, and Tortoise make this plain.\"\n\n\n[2] The Vedas are the holy books of India. They are four in number: The\nRig-Veda, Yajur-Veda, Sama-Veda, and Atharva-Veda.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WINNING OF FRIENDS\n\n\n    Sans way or wealth, wise friends their purpose gain--\n    The Mouse, Crow, Deer, and Tortoise make this plain.\"\n\n\"However was that?\" asked the Princes.\n\nVishnu-Sarman replied:--\n\n\"On the banks of the Godavery there stood a large silk-cotton-tree, and\nthither at night, from all quarters and regions, the birds came to\nroost. Now once, when the night was just spent, and his Radiance the\nMoon, Lover of the white lotus, was about to retire behind the western\nhills, a Crow who perched there, 'Light o' Leap' by name, upon\nawakening, saw to his great wonder a fowler approaching--a second God of\nDeath. The sight set him reflecting, as he flew off uneasily to follow\nup the man's movements, and he began to think what mischief this\nill-omened apparition foretold.\n\n    \"For a thousand thoughts of sorrow, and a hundred things of dread,\n    By the wise unheeded, trouble day by day the foolish head.\"\n\nAnd yet in this life it must be that\n\n    \"Of the day's impending dangers, Sickness, Death, and Misery,\n    One will be; the wise man waking, ponders which that one will be.\"\n\nPresently the fowler fixed a net, scattered grains of rice about, and\nwithdrew to hide. At this moment \"Speckle-neck,\" King of the Pigeons,\nchanced to be passing through the sky with his Court, and caught sight\nof the rice-grains. Thereupon the King of the Pigeons asked of his\nrice-loving followers, 'How can there possibly be rice-grains lying here\nin an unfrequented forest? We will see into it, of course, but We like\nnot the look of it--love of rice may ruin us, as the Traveller was\nruined.\n\n    \"All out of longing for a golden bangle,\n    The Tiger, in the mud, the man did mangle.\"\n\n\"How did that happen?\" asked the Pigeons.\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE TIGER AND THE TRAVELLER\n\n\"Thus,\" replied Speckle-neck: \"I was pecking about one day in the Deccan\nforest, and saw an old tiger sitting newly bathed on the bank of a pool,\nlike a Brahman, and with holy kuskus-grass[3] in his paws.\n\n'Ho! ho! ye travellers,' he kept calling out, 'take this golden bangle!'\n\nPresently a covetous fellow passed by and heard him.\n\n'Ah!' thought he, 'this is a bit of luck--but I must not risk my neck\nfor it either.\n\n    \"Good things come not out of bad things; wisely leave a longed-for ill.\n    Nectar being mixed with poison serves no purpose but to kill.\"\n\n'But all gain is got by risk, so I will see into it at least;' then he\ncalled out, 'Where is thy bangle?'\n\nThe Tiger stretched forth his paw and exhibited it.\n\n'Hem!' said the Traveller, 'can I trust such a fierce brute as thou\nart?'\n\n'Listen,' replied the Tiger, 'once, in the days of my cub-hood, I know I\nwas very wicked. I killed cows, Brahmans, and men without number--and I\nlost my wife and children for it--and haven't kith or kin left. But\nlately I met a virtuous man who counselled me to practise the duty of\nalmsgiving--and, as thou seest, I am strict at ablutions and alms.\nBesides, I am old, and my nails and fangs are gone--so who would\nmistrust me? and I have so far conquered selfishness, that I keep the\ngolden bangle for whoso comes. Thou seemest poor! I will give it thee.\nIs it not said,\n\n    'Give to poor men, son of K\u00fbnti--on the wealthy waste not wealth;\n    Good are simples for the sick man, good for nought to him in health.'\n\n'Wade over the pool, therefore, and take the bangle,'\n\nThereupon the covetous Traveller determined to trust him, and waded into\nthe pool, where he soon found himself plunged in mud, and unable to\nmove.\n\n'Ho! ho!' says the Tiger, 'art thou stuck in a slough? stay, I will\nfetch thee out!'\n\nSo saying he approached the wretched man and seized him--who meanwhile\nbitterly reflected--\n\n    'Be his Scripture-learning wondrous, yet the cheat will be a cheat;\n    Be her pasture ne'er so bitter, yet the cow's milk will be sweet.'\n\nAnd on that verse, too--\n\n    'Trust not water, trust not weapons; trust not clawed nor horned\n    things;\n    Neither give thy soul to women, nor thy life to Sons of Kings.'\n\nAnd those others--\n\n    'Look! the Moon, the silver roamer, from whose splendor darkness flies\n    With his starry cohorts marching, like a crowned king through the\n            skies.\n    All the grandeur, all the glory, vanish in the Dragon's jaw;\n    What is written on the forehead, that will be, and nothing more,'\n\nHere his meditations were cut short by the Tiger devouring him. \"And\nthat,\" said Speckle-neck, \"is why we counselled caution.\"\n\n\"Why, yes!\" said a certain pigeon, with some presumption, \"but you've\nread the verse--\n\n    'Counsel in danger; of it\n      Unwarned, be nothing begun.\n    But nobody asks a Prophet\n      Shall the risk of a dinner be run?'\n\nHearing that, the Pigeons settled at once; for we know that\n\n    \"Avarice begetteth anger; blind desires from her begin;\n    A right fruitful mother is she of a countless spawn of sin.'\n\nAnd again,\n\n    'Can a golden Deer have being? yet for such the Hero pined:--\n    When the cloud of danger hovers, then its shadow dims the mind.'\n\nPresently they were caught in the net. Thereat, indeed, they all began\nto abuse the pigeon by whose suggestion they had been ensnared. It is\nthe old tale!\n\n    \"Be second and not first!--the share's the same\n    If all go well. If not, the Head's to blame.\"\n\nAnd we should remember that\n\n    \"Passion will be Slave or Mistress: follow her, she brings to woe;\n    Lead her, 'tis the way to Fortune. Choose the path that thou wilt go.\"\n\nWhen King Speckle-neck heard their reproaches, he said, \"No, no! it is\nno fault of his.\n\n'When the time of trouble cometh, friends may ofttimes irk us most: For\nthe calf at milking-hour the mother's leg is tying-post.'\n\n'And in disaster, dismay is a coward's quality; let us rather rely on\nfortitude, and devise some remedy. How saith the sage?\n\n    \"In good fortune not elated, in ill-fortune not dismayed,\n    Ever eloquent in council, never in the fight affrayed--\n    Proudly emulous of honor, steadfastly on wisdom set;\n    Perfect virtues in the nature of a noble soul are met.\n    Whoso hath them, gem and glory of the three wide worlds[4] is he;\n    Happy mother she that bore him, she who nursed him on her knee.\"\n\n\"Let us do this now directly,\" continued the King: \"at one moment and\nwith one will, rising under the net, let us fly off with it: for indeed\n\n    'Small things wax exceeding mighty, being cunningly combined:--\n    Furious elephants are fastened with a rope of grass-blades twined.'\n\n\"And it is written, you know,\n\n    'Let the household hold together, though the house be ne'er so small;\n    Strip the rice-husk from the rice-grain, and it groweth not at all.'\n\nHaving pondered this advice, the Pigeons adopted it; and flew away with\nthe net. At first the fowler, who was at a distance, hoped to recover\nthem, but as they passed out of sight with the snare about them he gave\nup the pursuit. Perceiving this, the Pigeons said,\n\n\"What is the next thing to be done, O King?\"\n\n\"A friend of mine,\" said Speckle-neck, \"lives near in a beautiful forest\non the Gundaki. Golden-skin is his name--the King of the Mice--he is the\none to cut these bonds.\"\n\nResolving to have recourse to him, they directed their flight to the\nhole of Golden-skin--a prudent monarch, who dreaded danger so much that\nhe had made himself a palace with a hundred outlets, and lived always in\nit. Sitting there he heard the descent of the pigeons, and remained\nsilent and alarmed.\n\n\"Friend Golden-skin,\" cried the King, \"have you no welcome for us?\"\n\n\"Ah, my friend!\" said the Mouse-king, rushing out on recognizing the\nvoice, \"is it thou art come, Speckle-neck! how delightful!--But what is\nthis?\" exclaimed he, regarding the entangled net.\n\n\"That,\" said King Speckle-neck, \"is the effect of some wrong-doing in a\nformer life--\n\n    'Sickness, anguish, bonds, and woe\n    Spring from wrongs wrought long ago,'[5]\n\nGolden-skin, without replying, ran at once to the net, and began to gnaw\nthe strings that held Speckle-neck.\n\n\"Nay! friend, not so,\" said the King, \"cut me first these meshes from my\nfollowers, and afterwards thou shalt sever mine.\"\n\n\"I am little,\" answered Golden-skin, \"and my teeth are weak--how can I\ngnaw so much? No! no! I will nibble your strings as long as my teeth\nlast, and afterwards do my best for the others. To preserve dependents\nby sacrificing oneself is nowhere enjoined by wise moralists; on the\ncontrary--\n\n    'Keep wealth for want, but spend-it for thy wife,\n    And wife, and wealth, and all to guard thy life,'\n\n\"Friend,\" replied King Speckle-neck, \"that may be the rule of policy,\nbut I am one that can by no means bear to witness the distress of those\nwho depend on me, for--\n\n    'Death, that must come, comes nobly when we give\n    Our wealth, and life, and all, to make men live,'\n\nAnd you know the verse,\n\n    'Friend, art thou faithful? guard mine honor so!\n    And let the earthy rotting body go,'\"\n\nWhen King Golden-skin heard this answer his heart was charmed, and his\nfur bristled up for pure pleasure. \"Nobly spoken, friend,\" said he,\n\"nobly spoken! with such a tenderness for those that look to thee, the\nSovereignty of the Three Worlds might be fitly thine.\" So saying he set\nhimself to cut all their bonds. This done, and the pigeons extricated,\nthe King of the Mice[6] gave them his formal welcome. \"But, your\nMajesty,\" he said, \"this capture in the net was a work of destiny; you\nmust not blame yourself as you did, and suspect a former fault. Is it\nnot written--\n\n    'Floating on his fearless pinions, lost amid the noon-day skies,\n    Even thence the Eagle's vision kens the carcase where it lies;\n    But the hour that comes to all things comes unto the Lord of Air,\n    And he rushes, madly blinded, to his ruin in the snare,'\"\n\nWith this correction Golden-skin proceeded to perform the duties of\nhospitality, and afterwards, embracing and dismissing them, the pigeons\nleft for such destination as they fancied, and the King of the Mice\nretired again into his hole.\n\nNow Light o' Leap, the Crow, had been a spectator of the whole\ntransaction, and wondered at it so much that at last he called out, \"Ho!\nGolden-skin, thou very laudable Prince, let me too be a friend of thine,\nand give me thy friendship.\"\n\n\"Who art thou?\" said Golden-skin, who heard him, but would not come out\nof his hole.\n\n\"I am the Crow Light o' Leap,\" replied the other.\n\n\"How can I possibly be on good terms with thee?\" answered Golden-skin\nwith a laugh; \"have you never read--\n\n    'When Food is friends with Feeder, look for Woe,\n    The Jackal ate the Deer, but for the Crow,'\n\n\"No! how was that?\"\n\n\"I will tell thee,\" replied Golden-skin:--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE JACKAL, DEER, AND CROW\n\n\"Far away in Behar there is a forest called Champak-Grove,[7] and in it\nhad long lived in much affection a Deer and a Crow. The Deer, roaming\nunrestrained, happy and fat of carcase, was one day descried by a\nJackal. 'Ho! ho!' thought the Jackal on observing him, 'if I could but\nget this soft meat for a meal! It might be--if I can only win his\nconfidence,' Thus reflecting he approached, and saluted him.\n\n'Health be to thee, friend Deer!'\n\n'Who art thou?' said the Deer.\n\n'I'm Small-wit, the Jackal,' replied the other. 'I live in the wood\nhere, as the dead do, without a friend; but now that I have met with\nsuch a friend as thou, I feel as if I were beginning life again with\nplenty of relations. Consider me your faithful servant.'\n\n'Very well,' said the Deer; and then, as the glorious King of Day, whose\ndiadem is the light, had withdrawn himself, the two went together to the\nresidence of the Deer. In that same spot, on a branch of Champak, dwelt\nthe Crow Sharp-sense, an old friend of the Deer. Seeing them approach\ntogether, the Crow said,\n\n'Who is this number two, friend Deer?'\n\n'It is a Jackal,' answered the Deer, 'that desires our acquaintance.'\n\n'You should not become friendly to a stranger without reason,' said\nSharp-sense. 'Don't you know?'\n\n    \"To folks by no one known house-room deny:--\n    The Vulture housed the Cat, and thence did die.\"\n\n'No! how was that?' said both.\n\n'In this wise,' answered the Crow.\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE VULTURE, THE CAT, AND THE BIRDS\n\n\"On the banks of the Ganges there is a cliff called Vulture-Crag, and\nthereupon grew a great fig-tree. It was hollow, and within its shelter\nlived an old Vulture, named Grey-pate, whose hard fortune it was to have\nlost both eyes and talons. The birds that roosted in the tree made\nsubscriptions from their own store, out of sheer pity for the poor\nfellow, and by that means he managed to live. One day, when the old\nbirds were gone, Long-ear, the Cat, came there to get a meal of the\nnestlings; and they, alarmed at perceiving him, set up a chirruping that\nroused Grey-pate.\n\n'Who comes there?' croaked Grey-pate.\n\n\"Now Long-ear, on espying the Vulture, thought himself undone; but as\nflight was impossible, he resolved to trust his destiny and approach.\n\n'My lord,' said he, 'I have the honor to salute thee.'\n\n'Who is it?' said the Vulture.\n\n'I am a Cat,'\n\n'Be off, Cat, or I shall slay thee,' said the Vulture.\n\n'I am ready to die if I deserve death,' answered the Cat; 'but let what\nI have to say be heard,'\n\n'Wherefore, then, comest thou?' said the Vulture.\n\n'I live,' began Long-ear, 'on the Ganges, bathing, and eating no flesh,\npractising the moon-penance,[8] like a Bramacharya. The birds that\nresort thither constantly praise your worship to me as one wholly given\nto the study of morality, and worthy of all trust; and so I came here to\nlearn law from thee, Sir, who art so deep gone in learning and in years.\nDost thou, then, so read the law of strangers as to be ready to slay a\nguest? What say the books about the householder?--\n\n    'Bar thy door not to the stranger, be he friend or be he foe,\n    For the tree will shade the woodman while his axe doth lay it low,'\n\nAnd if means fail, what there is should be given with kind words, as--\n\n    'Greeting fair, and room to rest in; fire, and water from the well--\n    Simple gifts--are given freely in the house where good men dwell,'--\n\nand without respect of person--\n\n    'Young, or bent with many winters; rich, or poor, whate'er thy guest,\n    Honor him for thine own honor--better is he than the best,'\n\nElse comes the rebuke--\n\n    'Pity them that ask thy pity: who art thou to stint thy hoard,\n    When the holy moon shines equal on the leper and the lord!'\n\nAnd that other, too,\n\n    'When thy gate is roughly fastened, and the asker turns away,\n    Thence he bears thy good deeds with him, and his sins on thee doth lay\n\nFor verily,\n\n    'In the house the husband ruleth, men the Brahmans \"master\" call;\n    Agni is the Twice-born Master--but the guest is lord of all,'\n\n\"To these weighty words Grey-pate answered,\n\n'Yes! but cats like meat, and there are young birds here, and therefore\nI said, go,'\n\n'Sir,' said the Cat (and as he spoke he touched the ground, and then his\ntwo ears, and called on Krishna to witness to his words), 'I that have\novercome passion, and practised the moon-penance, know the Scriptures;\nand howsoever they contend, in this primal duty of abstaining from\ninjury they are unanimous. Which of them sayeth not--\n\n    'He who does and thinks no wrong--\n    He who suffers, being strong--\n    He whose harmlessness men know--\n    Unto Swerga such doth go.'\n\n\"And so, winning the old Vulture's confidence, Long-ear, the Cat,\nentered the hollow tree and lived there. And day after day he stole away\nsome of the nestlings, and brought them down to the hollow to devour.\nMeantime the parent birds, whose little ones were being eaten, made an\ninquiry after them in all quarters; and the Cat, discovering this fact,\nslipped out from the hollow, and made his escape. Afterwards, when the\nbirds came to look closely, they found the bones of their young ones in\nthe hollow of the tree where Grey-pate lived; and the birds at once\nconcluded that their nestlings had been killed and eaten by the old\nVulture, whom they accordingly executed. That is my story, and why I\nwarned you against unknown acquaintances.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said the Jackal, with some warmth, \"on the first day of your\nencountering the Deer you also were of unknown family and character: how\nis it, then, that your friendship with him grows daily greater? True, I\nam only Small-wit, the Jackal, but what says the saw?--\n\n    \"In the land where no wise men are, men of little wit are lords;\n    And the castor-oil's a tree, where no tree else its shade affords.\"\n\nThe Deer is my friend; condescend, sir, to be my friend also.\"\n\n'Oh!' broke in the Deer, 'why so much talking? We'll all live together,\nand be friendly and happy--\n\n    'Foe is friend, and friend is foe,\n    As our actions make them so,'\n\n\"Very good,\" said Sharp-sense; \"as you will;\" and in the morning each\nstarted early for his own feeding-ground (returning at night). One day\nthe Jackal drew the Deer aside, and whispered, 'Deer, in one corner of\nthis wood there is a field full of sweet young wheat; come and let me\nshow you.' The Deer accompanied him, and found the field, and afterwards\nwent every day there to eat the green corn, till at last the owner of\nthe ground spied him and set a snare. The Deer came again very shortly,\nand was caught in it, and (after vainly struggling) exclaimed, 'I am\nfast in the net, and it will be a net of death to me if no friend comes\nto rescue me!' Presently Small-wit, the Jackal, who had been lurking\nnear, made his appearance, and standing still, he said to himself, with\na chuckle, 'O ho! my scheme bears fruit! When he is cut up, his bones,\nand gristle, and blood, will fall to my share and make me some beautiful\ndinners,' The Deer, here catching sight of him, exclaimed with rapture,\n'Ah, friend, this is excellent! Do but gnaw these strings, and I shall\nbe at liberty. How charming to realize the saying!--\n\n    'That friend only is the true friend who is near when trouble comes;\n    That man only is the brave man who can bear the battle-drums;\n    Words are wind; deed proveth promise: he who helps at need is kin;\n    And the leal wife is loving though the husband lose or win,'\n\nAnd is it not written--\n\n    'Friend and kinsman--more their meaning than the idle-hearted mind.\n    Many a friend can prove unfriendly, many a kinsman less than kind:\n    He who shares his comrade's portion, be he beggar, be he lord,\n    Comes as truly, comes as duly, to the battle as the board--\n    Stands before the king to succor, follows to the pile to sigh--\n    He is friend, and he is kinsman--less would make the name a lie.'\n\n\"Small-wit answered nothing, but betook himself to examining the snare\nvery closely.\n\n'This will certainly hold,' muttered he; then, turning to the Deer, he\nsaid, 'Good friend, these strings, you see, are made of sinew, and\nto-day is a fast-day, so that I cannot possibly bite them. To-morrow\nmorning, if you still desire it, I shall be happy to serve you,'\n\nWhen he was gone, the Crow, who had missed the Deer upon returning that\nevening, and had sought for him everywhere, discovered him; and seeing\nhis sad plight, exclaimed--\n\n'How came this about, my friend?'\n\n'This came,' replied the Deer, 'through disregarding a friend's advice,'\n\n'Where is that rascal Small-wit?' asked the Crow.\n\n'He is waiting somewhere by,' said the Deer, 'to taste my flesh,'\n\n'Well,' sighed the Crow, 'I warned you; but it is as in the true verse--\n\n    'Stars gleam, lamps flicker, friends foretell of fate;\n    The fated sees, knows, hears them--all too late.'\n\nAnd then, with a deeper sigh, he exclaimed,'Ah, traitor Jackal, what an\nill deed hast thou done! Smooth-tongued knave--alas!--and in the face of\nthe monition too--\n\n    'Absent, flatterers' tongues are daggers--present, softer than the\n            silk;\n    Shun them! 'tis a jar of poison hidden under harmless milk;\n    Shun them when they promise little! Shun them when they promise much!\n    For, enkindled, charcoal burneth--cold, it doth defile the touch.'\n\nWhen the day broke, the Crow (who was still there) saw the master of the\nfield approaching with his club in his hand.\n\n'Now, friend Deer,' said Sharp-sense on perceiving him, 'do thou cause\nthyself to seem like one dead: puff thy belly up with wind, stiffen thy\nlegs out, and lie very still. I will make a show of pecking thine eyes\nout with my beak; and whensoever I utter a croak, then spring to thy\nfeet and betake thee to flight.'\n\nThe Deer thereon placed himself exactly as the Crow suggested, and was\nvery soon espied by the husbandman, whose eyes opened with joy at the\nsight.\n\n'Aha!' said he, 'the fellow has died of himself,' and so speaking, he\nreleased the Deer from the snare, and proceeded to gather and lay aside\nhis nets. At that instant Sharp-sense uttered a loud croak, and the Deer\nsprang up and made off. And the club which the husbandman flung after\nhim in a rage struck Small-wit, the Jackal (who was close by), and\nkilled him. Is it not said, indeed?--\n\n    'In years, or moons, or half-moons three,\n    Or in three days--suddenly,\n    Knaves are shent--true men go free,'\n\n\"Thou seest, then,\" said Golden-skin, \"there can be no friendship\nbetween food and feeder.\"\n\n\"I should hardly,\" replied the Crow, \"get a large breakfast out of your\nworship; but as to that indeed you have nothing to fear from me. I am\nnot often angry, and if I were, you know--\n\n    'Anger comes to noble natures, but leaves there no strife or storm:\n    Plunge a lighted torch beneath it, and the ocean grows not warm.'\n\n\"Then, also, thou art such a gad-about,\" objected the King.\n\n\"Maybe,\" answered Light o' Leap; \"but I am bent on winning thy\nfriendship, and I will die at thy door of fasting if thou grantest it\nnot. Let us be friends! for\n\n    'Noble hearts are golden vases--close the bond true metals make;\n    Easily the smith may weld them, harder far it is to break.\n    Evil hearts are earthen vessels--at a touch they crack a-twain,\n    And what craftsman's ready cunning can unite the shards again?'\n\nAnd then, too,\n\n    'Good men's friendships may be broken, yet abide they friends at heart;\n    Snap the stem of Luxmee's lotus, and its fibres will not part.'\n\n\"Good sir,\" said the King of the Mice, \"your conversation is as pleasing\nas pearl necklets or oil of sandal-wood in hot weather. Be it as you\nwill\"--and thereon King Golden-skin made a treaty with the Crow, and\nafter gratifying him with the best of his store re\u00ebntered his hole. The\nCrow returned to his accustomed perch:--and thenceforward the time\npassed in mutual presents of food, in polite inquiries, and the most\nunrestrained talk. One day Light o' Leap thus accosted Golden-skin:--\n\n\"This is a poor place, your Majesty, for a Crow to get a living in. I\nshould like to leave it and go elsewhere.\"\n\n\"Whither wouldst thou go?\" replied the King; they say,\n\n    'One foot goes, and one foot stands,\n    When the wise man leaves his lands.'\n\n\"And they say, too,\" answered the Crow,\n\n    'Over-love of home were weakness; wheresoever the hero come,\n    Stalwart arm and steadfast spirit find or win for him a home.\n\n    Little recks the awless lion where his hunting jungles lie--\n    When he enters it be certain that a royal prey shall die,'\n\n\"I know an excellent jungle now.\"\n\n\"Which is that?\" asked the Mouse-king.\n\n\"In the Nerbudda woods, by Camphor-water,\" replied the Crow. \"There is\nan old and valued friend of mine lives there--Slow-toes his name is, a\nvery virtuous Tortoise; he will regale me with fish and good things.\"\n\n\"Why should I stay behind,\" said Golden-skin, \"if thou goest? Take me\nalso.\"\n\nAccordingly, the two set forth together, enjoying charming converse upon\nthe road. Slow-toes perceived Light o' Leap a long way off, and hastened\nto do him the guest-rites, extending them to the Mouse upon Light o'\nLeap's introduction.\n\n\"Good Slow-toes,\" said he, \"this is Golden-skin, King of the Mice--pay\nall honor to him--he is burdened with virtues--a very jewel-mine of\nkindnesses. I don't know if the Prince of all the Serpents, with his two\nthousand tongues, could rightly repeat them.\" So speaking, he told the\nstory of Speckle-neck. Thereupon Slow-toes made a profound obeisance to\nGolden-skin, and said, \"How came your Majesty, may I ask, to retire to\nan unfrequented forest?\"\n\n\"I will tell you,\" said the King. \"You must know that in the town of\nChampaka there is a college for the devotees. Unto this resorted daily a\nbeggar-priest, named Chudakarna, whose custom was to place his\nbegging-dish upon the shelf, with such alms in it as he had not eaten,\nand go to sleep by it; and I, so soon as he slept, used to jump up, and\ndevour the meal. One day a great friend of his, named Vinakarna, also a\nmendicant, came to visit him; and observed that while conversing, he\nkept striking the ground with a split cane, to frighten me. 'Why don't\nyou listen?' said Vinakarna. 'I am listening!' replied the other; 'but\nthis plaguy mouse is always eating the meal out of my begging-dish,'\nVinakarna looked at the shelf and remarked, 'However can a mouse jump as\nhigh as this? There must be a reason, though there seems none. I guess\nthe cause--the fellow is well off and fat,' With these words Vinakarna\nsnatched up a shovel, discovered my retreat, and took away all my hoard\nof provisions. After that I lost strength daily, had scarcely energy\nenough to get my dinner, and, in fact, crept about so wretchedly, that\nwhen Chudakarna saw me he fell to quoting--\n\n    'Very feeble folk are poor folk; money lost takes wit away:--\n    All their doings fail like runnels, wasting through the summer day.'\n\n\"Yes!\" I thought, \"he is right, and so are the sayings--\n\n    'Wealth is friends, home, father, brother--title to respect and fame;\n     Yea, and wealth is held for wisdom--that it should be so is shame,'\n    'Home is empty to the childless; hearts to them who friends deplore:--\n     Earth unto the idle-minded; and the three worlds to the poor.'\n\n'I can stay here no longer; and to tell my distress to another is out of\nthe question--altogether out of the question!--\n\n    'Say the sages, nine things name not: Age, domestic joys and woes,\n    Counsel, sickness, shame, alms, penance; neither Poverty disclose.\n    Better for the proud of spirit, death, than life with losses told;\n    Fire consents to be extinguished, but submits not to be cold.'\n\n'Verily he was wise, methought also, who wrote--\n\n    'As Age doth banish beauty,\n      As moonlight dies in gloom,\n    As Slavery's menial duty\n      Is Honor's certain tomb;\n    As Hari's name and Hara's\n      Spoken, charm sin away,\n    So Poverty can surely\n      A hundred virtues slay.'\n\n'And as to sustaining myself on another man's bread, that,' I mused,\n'would be but a second door of death. Say not the books the same?--\n\n    'Half-known knowledge, present pleasure purchased with a future woe,\n    And to taste the salt of service--greater griefs no man can know.'\n\n'And herein, also--\n\n    'All existence is not equal, and all living is not life;\n    Sick men live; and he who, banished, pines for children, home, and\n            wife;\n    And the craven-hearted eater of another's leavings lives,\n    And the wretched captive waiting for the word of doom survives;\n    But they bear an anguished body, and they draw a deadly breath,\n    And life cometh to them only on the happy day of death.'\n\nYet, after all these reflections, I was covetous enough to make one\nmore attempt on Chudakarna's meal, and got a blow from the split cane\nfor my pains. 'Just so,' I said to myself, 'the soul and organs of the\ndiscontented want keeping in subjection. I must be done with\ndiscontent:--\n\n'Golden gift, serene Contentment! have thou that, and all is had; Thrust\nthy slipper on, and think thee that the earth is leather-clad.'\n\n'All is known, digested, tested; nothing new is left to learn When the\nsoul, serene, reliant, Hope's delusive dreams can spurn.'\n\n'And the sorry task of seeking favor is numbered in the miseries of\nlife--\n\n'Hast thou never watched, a-waiting till the great man's door unbarred?\nDidst thou never linger parting, saying many a last sad word? Spak'st\nthou never word of folly, one light thing thou wouldst recall? Rare and\nnoble hath thy life been! fair thy fortune did befall!'\n\n'No!' exclaimed I, 'I will do none of these; but, by retiring into the\nquiet and untrodden forest, I will show my discernment of real good and\nill. The holy Books counsel it--\n\n'True Religion!--'tis not blindly prating what the priest may prate, But\nto love, as God hath loved them, all things, be they small or great; And\ntrue bliss is when a sane mind doth a healthy body fill; And true\nknowledge is the knowing what is good and what is ill.'\n\n\"So came I to the forest, where, by good fortune and this good friend, I\nmet much kindness; and by the same good fortune have encountered you,\nSir, whose friendliness is as Heaven to me. Ah! Sir Tortoise,\n\n    'Poisonous though the tree of life be, two fair blossoms grow thereon:\n    One, the company of good men; and sweet songs of Poet's, one.'\n\n\"King!\" said Slow-toes, \"your error was getting too much, without\ngiving. Give, says the sage--\n\n    'Give, and it shall swell thy getting; give, and thou shalt safer keep:\n    Pierce the tank-wall; or it yieldeth, when the water waxes deep.'\n\nAnd he is very hard upon money-grubbing: as thus--\n\n    'When the miser hides his treasure in the earth, he doeth well;\n    For he opens up a passage that his soul may sink to hell,'\n\n\nAnd thus--\n\n    'He whose coins are kept for counting, not to barter nor to give,\n    Breathe he like a blacksmith's bellows, yet in truth he doth not live.'\n\nIt hath been well written, indeed,\n\n    'Gifts, bestowed with words of kindness, making giving doubly dear:--\n    Wisdom, deep, complete, benignant, of all arrogancy clear;\n    Valor, never yet forgetful of sweet Mercy's pleading prayer;\n    Wealth, and scorn of wealth to spend it--oh! but these be virtues\n            rare!'\n\n\"Frugal one may be,\" continued Slow-toes; \"but not a niggard like the\nJackal--\n\n    'The Jackal-knave, that starved his spirit so,\n    And died of saving, by a broken bow.'\n\n\"Did he, indeed,\" said Golden-skin; \"and how was that?\"\n\n\"I will tell you,\" answered Slow-toes:--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE DEAD GAME AND THE JACKAL\n\n\"In a town called 'Well-to-Dwell' there lived a mighty hunter, whose\nname was 'Grim-face,' Feeling a desire one day for a little venison, he\ntook his bow, and went into the woods; where he soon killed a deer. As\nhe was carrying the deer home, he came upon a wild boar of prodigious\nproportions. Laying the deer upon the earth, he fixed and discharged an\narrow and struck the boar, which instantly rushed upon him with a roar\nlouder than the last thunder, and ripped the hunter up. He fell like a\ntree cut by the axe, and lay dead along with the boar, and a snake also,\nwhich had been crushed by the feet of the combatants. Not long\nafterwards, there came that way, in his prowl for food, a Jackal, named\n'Howl o' Nights,' and cast eyes on the hunter, the deer, the boar, and\nthe snake lying dead together. 'Aha!' said he, 'what luck! Here's a\ngrand dinner got ready for me! Good fortune can come, I see, as well as\nill fortune. Let me think:--the man will be fine pickings for a month;\nthe deer with the boar will last two more; the snake will do for\nto-morrow; and, as I am very particularly hungry, I will treat myself\nnow to this bit of meat on the bow-horn,' So saying, he began to gnaw it\nasunder, and the bow-string slipping, the bow sprang back, and resolved\nHowl o' Nights into the five elements by death. That is my story,\"\ncontinued Slow-toes, \"and its application is for the wise:--\n\n    'Sentences of studied wisdom, nought avail they unapplied;\n    Though the blind man hold a lantern, yet his footsteps stray aside.'\n\nThe secret of success, indeed, is a free, contented, and yet\nenterprising mind. How say the books thereon?--\n\n    'Wouldst thou know whose happy dwelling Fortune entereth unknown?\n    His, who careless of her favor, standeth fearless in his own;\n    His, who for the vague to-morrow barters not the sure to-day--\n    Master of himself, and sternly steadfast to the rightful way:\n    Very mindful of past service, valiant, faithful, true of heart--\n    Unto such comes Lakshmi[9] smiling--comes, and will not lightly part.'\n\n\"What indeed,\" continued Slow-toes, \"is wealth, that we should prize it,\nor grieve to lose it?--\n\n    'Be not haughty, being wealthy; droop not, having lost thine all;\n    Fate doth play with mortal fortunes as a girl doth toss her ball.'\n\nIt is unstable by nature. We are told--\n\n    'Worldly friendships, fair but fleeting, shadows of the clouds at noon\n    Women, youth, new corn, and riches--these be pleasures passing soon.'\n\nAnd it is idle to be anxious; the Master of Life knows how to sustain\nit. Is it not written?--\n\n    'For thy bread be not o'er thoughtful--God for all hath taken thought:\n    When the babe is born, the sweet milk to the mother's breast is\n            brought.\n\n    He who gave the swan her silver, and the hawk her plumes of pride,\n    And his purples to the peacock--He will verily provide.'\n\n\"Yes, verily,\" said Slow-toes, \"wealth is bad to handle, and better left\nalone; there is no truer saying than this--\n\n    'Though for good ends, waste not on wealth a minute;\n    Mud may be wiped, but wise men plunge not in it.'\n\nHearing the wisdom of these monitions, Light o' Leap broke out, 'Good\nSlow-toes! thou art a wise protector of those that come to thee; thy\nlearning comforts my enlightened friend, as elephants drag elephants\nfrom the mire,' And thus, on the best of terms, wandering where they\npleased for food, the three lived there together.\n\nOne day it chanced that a Deer named Dapple-back, who had seen some\ncause of alarm in the forest, came suddenly upon the three in his\nflight. Thinking the danger imminent, Slow-toes dropped into the water,\nKing Golden-skin slipped into his hole, and Light o' Leap flew up into\nthe top of a high tree. Thence he looked all round to a great distance,\nbut could discover nothing. So they all came back again, and sat down\ntogether. Slow-toes welcomed the Deer.\n\n'Good Deer,' said he, 'may grass and water never fail thee at thy need.\nGratify us by residing here, and consider this forest thine own.'\n\n'Indeed,' answered Dapple-back, 'I came hither for your protection,\nflying from a hunter; and to live with you in friendship is my greatest\ndesire.'\n\n'Then the thing is settled,' observed Golden-skin.\n\n'Yes! yes!' said Light o' Leap, 'make yourself altogether at home!'\n\nSo the Deer, charmed at his reception, ate grass and drank water, and\nlaid himself down in the shade of a Banyan-tree to talk. Who does not\nknow?--\n\n    'Brunettes, and the Banyan's shadow,\n      Well-springs, and a brick-built wall.\n    Are all alike cool in the summer,\n      And warm in the winter--all.'\n\n'What made thee alarmed, friend Deer?' began Slow-toes. 'Do hunters ever\ncome to this unfrequented forest?'\n\n'I have heard,' replied Dapple-back, 'that the Prince of the Kalinga\ncountry, Rukmangada, is coming here. He is even now encamped on the\nCheenab River, on his march to subjugate the borders; and the hunters\nhave been heard to say that he will halt to-morrow by this very lake of\n\"Camphor-water.\" Don't you think, as it is dangerous to stay, that we\nought to resolve on something?'\n\n'I shall certainly go to another pool,' exclaimed Slow-toes.\n\n'It would be better,' answered the Crow and Deer together.\n\n'Yes!' remarked the King of the Mice, after a minute's thought; 'but how\nis Slow-toes to get across the country in time? Animals like our\namphibious host are best in the water; on land he might suffer from his\nown design, like the merchant's son--\n\n    'The merchant's son laid plans for gains,\n    And saw his wife kissed for his pains.'\n\n'How came that about?' asked all. \"I'll tell you,\" answered Golden-skin.\n\n\nTHE PRINCE AND THE WIFE OF THE MERCHANT'S SON\n\n\"In the country of Kanouj there was a King named Virasena, and he made\nhis son viceroy of a city called Virapoora. The Prince was rich,\nhandsome, and in the bloom of youth. Passing through the streets of his\ncity one day, he observed a very lovely woman, whose name was\nL\u00e1vanyavati--i.e., the Beautiful--the wife of a merchant's son. On\nreaching his palace, full of her charms and of passionate admiration for\nthem, he despatched a message to her, and a letter, by a female\nattendant:--who wonders at it?--\n\n    'Ah! the gleaming, glancing arrows of a lovely woman's eye!\n    Feathered with her jetty lashes, perilous they pass us by:--\n    Loosed at venture from the black bows of her arching brow they part,\n    All too penetrant and deadly for an undefended heart.'\n\nNow L\u00e1vanyavati, from the moment she saw the Prince, was hit with the\nsame weapon of love that wounded him; but upon hearing the message of\nthe attendant, she refused with dignity to receive his letter.\n\n'I am my husband's,' she said, 'and that is my honor; for--\n\n    'Beautiful the Ko\u00edl[10] seemeth for the sweetness of his song,\n    Beautiful the world esteemeth pious souls for patience strong;\n    Homely features lack not favor when true wisdom they reveal,\n    And a wife is fair and honored while her heart is firm and leal.'\n\nWhat the lord of my life enjoins, that I do.'\n\n'Is such my answer?' asked the attendant.\n\n'It is,' said L\u00e1vanyavati.\n\nUpon the messenger reporting her reply to the Prince, he was in despair.\n\n'The God of the five shafts has hit me,' he exclaimed, 'and only her\npresence will cure my wound.'\n\n'We must make her husband bring her, then,' said the messenger.\n\n'That can never be,' replied the Prince.\n\n'It can,' replied the messenger--\n\n    'Fraud may achieve what force would never try:--\n    The Jackal killed the Elephant thereby.'\n\n'How was that?' asked the Prince. The Slave related:--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE OLD JACKAL AND THE ELEPHANT\n\n\"In the forest of Brahma[11] lived an Elephant, whose name was\n'White-front.' The Jackals knew him, and said among themselves, 'If this\ngreat brute would but die, there would be four months' food for us, and\nplenty, out of his carcase.' With that an old Jackal stood up, and\npledged himself to compass the death of the Elephant by his own wit.\nAccordingly, he sought for 'White-front,' and, going up to him, he made\nthe reverential prostration of the eight members, gravely saluting him.\n\n'Divine creature,' said he, 'vouchsafe me the regard of one look.'\n\n'Who art thou?' grunted the Elephant,'and whence comest thou?'\n\n'I am only a Jackal,' said the other; 'but the beasts of the forest are\nconvinced that it is not expedient to live without a king, and they have\nmet in full council, and despatched me to acquaint your Royal Highness\nthat on you, endowed with so many lordly qualities, their choice has\nfallen for a sovereign over the forest here; for--\n\n    'Who is just, and strong, and wise?\n    Who is true to social ties?\n    He is formed for Emperies.\n\nLet your Majesty, therefore, repair thither at once, that the moment of\nfortunate conjunction may not escape us.' So saying he led the way,\nfollowed at a great pace by White-front, who was eager to commence his\nreign.\n\n\"Presently the Jackal brought him upon a deep slough, into which he\nplunged heavily before he could stop himself.\n\n'Good master Jackal,' cried the Elephant,'what's to do now? I am up to\nmy belly in this quagmire.'\n\n'Perhaps your Majesty,' said the Jackal, with an impudent laugh, 'will\ncondescend to take hold of the tip of my brush with your trunk, and so\nget out.'\n\n'Then White-front, the Elephant, knew that he had been deceived; and\nthus he sank in the slime, and was devoured by the Jackals. Hence,'\ncontinued the attendant, 'is why I suggested stratagem to your\nHighness,'\n\nShortly afterwards, by the Slave's advice, the Prince sent for the\nmerchant's son (whose name was Charudatta), and appointed him to be near\nhis person; and one day, with the same design, when he was just come\nfrom the bath, and had on his jewels, he summoned Charudatta, and said--\n\n\"I have a vow to keep to Gauri--bring hither to me every evening for a\nmonth some lady of good family, that I may do honor to her, according to\nmy vow; and begin to-day.\"\n\nCharudatta in due course brought a lady of quality, and, having\nintroduced her, retired to watch the interview. The Prince, without even\napproaching his fair visitor, made her the most respectful obeisances,\nand dismissed her with gifts of ornaments, sandal-wood, and perfumes,\nunder the protection of a guard. This made Charudatta confident, and\nlonging to get some of these princely presents he brought his own wife\nnext evening. When the Prince recognized the charming L\u00e1vanyavati--the\njoy of his soul--he sprang to meet her, and kissed and caressed her\nwithout the least restraint. At sight of this the miserable Charudatta\nstood transfixed with despair--the very picture of wretchedness'----\n\n'And you too, Slow-toes--but where is he gone?' abruptly asked King\nGolden-skin.\n\nNow Slow-toes had not chosen to wait the end of the story, but was gone\nbefore, and Golden-skin and the others followed him up in some anxiety.\nThe Tortoise had been painfully travelling along, until a hunter, who\nwas beating the wood for game, had overtaken him. The fellow, who was\nvery hungry, picked him up, fastened him on his bow-stick, and set off\nfor home; while the Deer, the Crow, and the Mouse, who had witnessed\nthe capture, followed them in terrible concern. 'Alas!' cried the\nMouse-king, 'he is gone!--and such a friend!\n\n    'Friend! gracious word!--the heart to tell is ill able\n    Whence came to men this jewel of a syllable.'\n\n'Let us,' continued he to his companions, 'let us make one attempt, at\nleast, to rescue Slow-toes before the hunter is out of the wood!'\n\n'Only tell us how to do it,' replied they.\n\n'Do thus,' said Golden-skin: 'let Dapple-back hasten on to the water,\nand lie down there and make himself appear dead; and do you, Light o'\nLeap, hover over him and peck about his body. The hunter is sure to put\nthe Tortoise down to get the venison, and I will gnaw his bonds.'\n\n'The Deer and the Crow started at once; and the hunter, who was sitting\ndown to rest under a tree and drinking water, soon caught sight of the\nDeer, apparently dead. Drawing his wood-knife, and putting the Tortoise\ndown by the water, he hastened to secure the Deer, and Golden-skin, in\nthe meantime, gnawed asunder the string that held Slow-toes, who\ninstantly dropped into the pool. The Deer, of course, when the hunter\ngot near, sprang up and made off, and when he returned to the tree the\nTortoise was gone also. \"I deserve this,\" thought he--\n\n    'Whoso for greater quits his gain,\n    Shall have his labor for his pain;\n    The things unwon unwon remain,\n    And what was won is lost again.'\n\nAnd so lamenting, he went to his village. Slow-toes and his friends,\nquit of all fears, repaired together to their new habitations, and there\nlived happily.\n\nThen spake the King Sudarsana's sons, \"We have heard every word, and are\ndelighted; it fell out just as we wished.\"\n\n\"I rejoice thereat, my Princes,\" said Vishnu-Sarman; \"may it also fall\nout according to this my wish--\n\n    \"Lakshmi give you friends like these!\n    Lakshmi keep your lands in ease!\n    Set, your sovereign thrones beside,\n    Policy, a winsome bride!\n    And He, whose forehead-jewel is the moon\n    Give peace to us and all--serene and soon.\"\n\n\n[3] Used in many religious observances by the Hindoos.\n\n[4] Heaven, earth, and the lower regions.\n\n[5] The Hindoo accounts for the origin of evil by this theory of a\nseries of existences continued until the balance is just, and the soul\nhas purified itself. Every fault must have its expiation and every\nhigher faculty its development; pain and misery being signs of the\nordeals in the trial, which is to end in the happy re-absorption of the\nemancipated spirit.\n\n[6] The mouse, as vehicle of Gunesh, is an important animal in Hindoo\nlegend.\n\n[7] The champak is a bushy tree, bearing a profusion of star-like\nblossoms with golden centres, and of the most pleasing perfume.\n\n[8] A religious observance. The devotee commences the penance at the\nfull moon with an allowance of fifteen mouthfuls for his food,\ndiminishing this by one mouthful each day, till on the fifteenth it is\nreduced to one. As the new moon increases, his allowance ascends to its\noriginal proportion.\n\n[9] The wife of Vishnoo, Goddess of beauty and abundance.\n\n[10] The black or Indian cuckoo.\n\n[11] A grove where the Vedas are read and expounded.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PARTING OF FRIENDS\n\nThen spake the Royal Princes to Vishnu-Sarman,\n\n\"Reverend Sir! we have listened to the 'Winning of Friends,' we would\nnow hear how friends are parted.\"\n\n\"Attend, then,\" replied the Sage, \"to 'the Parting of Friends,' the\nfirst couplet of which runs in this wise--\n\n    'The Jackal set--of knavish cunning full--\n    At loggerheads the Lion and the Bull.'\n\n\"How was that?\" asked the sons of the Rajah.\n\nVishnu-Sarman proceeded to relate:--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE LION, THE JACKALS, AND THE BULL\n\n\"In the Deccan there is a city called Golden-town, and a wealthy\nmerchant lived there named Well-to-do. He had abundant means, but as\nmany of his relations were even yet richer, his mind was bent: upon\noutdoing them by gaining more. Enough is never what we have--\n\n    'Looking down on lives below them, men of little store are great;\n    Looking up to higher fortunes, hard to each man seems his fate.'\n\nAnd is not wealth won by courage and enterprise?--\n\n    'As a bride, unwisely wedded, shuns the cold caress of eld,\n    So, from coward souls and slothful, Lakshmi's favors turn repelled.'\n\n    'Ease, ill-health, home-keeping, sleeping, woman-service, and content--\n    In the path that leads to greatness these be six obstructions sent.'\n\nAnd wealth that increases not, diminishes--a little gain is so far\ngood--\n\n    'Seeing how the soorma wasteth, seeing how the ant-hill grows,\n    Little adding unto little--live, give, learn, as life-time goes.'\n\n    'Drops of water falling, falling, falling, brim the chatty o'er;\n    Wisdom comes in little lessons--little gains make largest store.'\n\nMoved by these reflections Well-to-do loaded a cart with wares of all\nkinds, yoked two bulls to it, named Lusty-life and Roarer, and started\nfor Kashmir to trade. He had not gone far upon his journey when in\npassing through a great forest called Bramble-wood, Lusty-life slipped\ndown and broke his foreleg. At sight of this disaster Well-to-do fell\na-thinking, and repeated--\n\n    'Men their cunning schemes may spin--\n    God knows who shall lose or win.'\n\nComforting himself with such philosophy, Well-to-do left Lusty-life\nthere, and went on his way. The Bull watched him depart, and stood\nmournfully on three legs, alone in the forest. 'Well, well,' he thought,\n'it is all destiny whether I live or die:--\n\n    'Shoot a hundred shafts, the quarry lives and flies--not due to death;\n    When his hour is come, a grass-blade hath a point to stop his breath.'\n\nAs the days passed by, and Lusty-life picked about in the tender forest\ngrass, he grew wonderfully well, and fat of carcase, and happy, and\nbellowed about the wood as though it were his own. Now, the reigning\nmonarch of the forest was King Tawny-hide the Lion, who ruled over the\nwhole country absolutely, by right of having deposed everybody else. Is\nnot might right?--\n\n    'Robes were none, nor oil of unction, when the King of Beasts was\n            crowned:--\n    'Twas his own fierce roar proclaimed him, rolling all his kingdom\n            round.'\n\nOne morning, his Majesty, being exceedingly thirsty, had repaired to the\nbank of the Jumna to drink water, and just as he was about to lap it,\nthe bellow of Lusty-life, awful as the thunder of the last day, reached\nthe imperial ears. Upon catching the sound the King retreated in\ntrepidation to his own lair, without drinking a drop, and stood there in\nsilence and alarm revolving what it could mean. In this position he was\nobserved by the sons of his minister, two jackals named Karataka and\nDamanaka, who began to remark upon it.\n\n'Friend Karataka,' said the last,'what makes our royal master slink away\nfrom the river when he was dying to drink?'\n\n'Why should we care?' replied Karataka. 'It's bad enough to serve him,\nand be neglected for our pains--\n\n    'Oh, the bitter salt of service!--toil, frost, fire, are not so keen:--\n    Half such heavy penance bearing, tender consciences were clean.'\n\n'Nay, friend! never think thus,' said Damanaka--\n\n    'What but for their vassals,\n    Elephant and man--\n    Swing of golden tassels,\n    Wave of silken fan--\n    But for regal manner\n    That the \"Chattra\"[12] brings,\n    Horse, and foot, and banner--\n    What would come of kings?'\n\n'I care not,' replied Karataka; 'we have nothing to do with it, and\nmatters that don't concern us are best left alone. You know the story of\nthe Monkey, don't you?'--\n\n    'The Monkey drew the sawyer's wedge, and died:--\n    Let meddlers mark it, and be edified.'\n\n'No!' said Damanaka. 'How was it?'\n\n'In this way,' answered Karataka:--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE MONKEY AND THE WEDGE\n\n\"In South Behar, close by the retreat of Dhurmma, there was an open plot\nof ground, upon which a temple was in course of erection, under the\nmanagement of a man of the K\u00e1yeth caste, named Subhadatta. A carpenter\nupon the works had partly sawed through a long beam of wood, and wedged\nit open, and was gone away, leaving the wedge fixed. Shortly afterwards\na large herd of monkeys came frolicking that way, and one of their\nnumber, directed doubtless by the Angel of death, got astride the beam,\nand grasped the wedge, with his tail and lower parts dangling down\nbetween the pieces of the wood. Not content with this, in the mischief\nnatural to monkeys, he began to tug at the wedge; till at last it\nyielded to a great effort and came out; when the wood closed upon him,\nand jammed him all fast. So perished the monkey, miserably crushed; and\nI say again--\n\n    'Let meddlers mark it, and be edified.'\n\n'But surely,' argued Damanaka, 'servants are bound to watch the\nmovements of their masters!'\n\n'Let the prime minister do it, then,' answered Karataka; 'it is his\nbusiness to overlook things, and subordinates shouldn't interfere in the\ndepartment of their chief. You might get ass's thanks for it--\n\n    'The Ass that hee-hawed, when the dog should do it,\n    For his lord's welfare, like an ass did rue it.'\n\nDamanaka asked how that happened, and Karataka related:--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE WASHERMAN'S JACKASS\n\n\"There was a certain Washerman at Benares, whose name was Carp\u00farapataka,\nand he had an Ass and a Dog in his courtyard; the first tethered, and\nthe last roaming loose. Once on a time, when he had been spending his\nmorning in the society of his wife, whom he had just married, and had\nfallen to sleep in her arms, a robber entered the house, and began to\ncarry off his goods. The Ass observed the occupation of the thief, and\nwas much concerned.\n\n'Good Dog,' said he, 'this is thy matter: why dost thou not bark aloud,\nand rouse the master?'\n\n'Gossip Ass,' replied the Dog, 'leave me alone to guard the premises. I\ncan do it, if I choose; but the truth is, this master of ours thinks\nhimself so safe lately that he clean forgets me, and I don't find my\nallowance of food nearly regular enough. Masters will do so; and a\nlittle fright will put him in mind of his defenders again.'\n\n'Thou scurvy cur!' exclaimed the Ass--\n\n'At the work-time, asking wages--is it like a faithful herd?'\n\n'Thou extreme Ass!' replied the Dog.\n\n'When the work's done, grudging wages--is that acting like a lord?'\n\n'Mean-spirited beast,' retorted the Ass, 'who neglectest thy master's\nbusiness! Well, then, I at least will endeavor to arouse him; it is no\nless than religion,\n\n    'Serve the Sun with sweat of body; starve thy maw to feed the flame;\n    Stead thy lord with all thy service; to thy death go, quit of blame.'\n\nSo saying, he put forth his very best braying. The Washerman sprang up\nat the noise, and missing the thief, turned in a rage upon the Ass for\ndisturbing him, and beat it with a cudgel to such an extent that the\nblows resolved the poor animal into the five elements of death. 'So\nthat,' continued Karataka, 'is why I say, Let the prime minister look to\nhim. The hunting for prey is our duty--let us stick to it, then. And\nthis,' he said, with a meditative look, 'need not trouble us to-day; for\nwe have a capital dish of the royal leavings.'\n\n'What!' said Damanaka, rough with rage, 'dost thou serve the King for\nthe sake of thy belly? Why take any such trouble to preserve an\nexistence like thine?--\n\n    'Many prayers for him are uttered whereon many a life relies;\n    'Tis but one poor fool the fewer when the gulping Raven dies.'\n\nFor assisting friends, and defeating enemies also, the service of kings\nis desirable. To enter upon it for a mere living makes the thing low\nindeed. There must be dogs and elephants; but servants need not be like\nhungry curs, while their masters are noble. What say the books?\n\n    'Give thy Dog the merest mouthful, and he crouches at thy feet,\n    Wags his tail, and fawns, and grovels, in his eagerness to eat;\n    Bid the Elephant be feeding, and the best of fodder bring;\n    Gravely--after much entreaty--condescends that mighty king.'\n\n'Well, well!' said Karataka; 'the books are nothing to us, who are not\ncouncillors.'\n\n'But we may come to be,' replied Damanaka; 'men rise, not by chance or\nnature, but by exertions--\n\n    'By their own deeds men go downward, by them men mount upward all,\n    Like the diggers of a well, and like the builders of a wall.'\n\nAdvancement is slow--but that is in the nature of things--\n\n    'Rushes down the hill the crag, which upward 'twas so hard to roll:\n    So to virtue slowly rises--so to vice quick sinks the soul.'\n\n'Very good,' observed Karataka; 'but what is all this talk about?'\n\n'Why! don't you see our Royal Master there, and how he came home without\ndrinking? I know he has been horribly frightened,' said Damanaka.\n\n'How do you know it?' asked the other.\n\n'By my perception--at a glance!' replied Damanaka; 'and I mean to make\nout of this occasion that which shall put his Majesty at my disposal,'\n\n'Now,' exclaimed Karataka, 'it is thou who art ignorant about service--\n\n    'Who speaks unasked, or comes unbid,\n    Or counts on favor--will be chid.'\n\n'I ignorant about service!' said Damanaka; 'no, no, my friend, I know\nthe secret of it--\n\n    'Wise, modest, constant, ever close at hand,\n    Not weighing but obeying all command,\n    Such servant by a Monarch's throne may stand.'\n\n'In any case, the King often rates thee,' remarked Karataka, 'for coming\nto the presence unsummoned.'\n\n'A dependent,' replied Damanaka, 'should nevertheless present himself;\nhe must make himself known to the great man, at any risk--\n\n    'Pitiful, that fearing failure, therefore no beginning makes,\n    Who forswears his daily dinner for the chance of stomach-aches?'\n\nand besides, to be near is at last to be needful;--is it not said--\n\n    'Nearest to the King is dearest, be thy merit low or high;\n    Women, creeping plants, and princes, twine round that which groweth\n            nigh.'\n\n'Well,' inquired Karataka, 'what wilt thou say, being come to him?'\n\n'First,' replied Damanaka, 'I will discover if his Majesty is well\naffected to me.'\n\n'How do you compass that?' asked the other.\n\n'Oh, easily! by a look, a word,' answered Damanaka; 'and that\nascertained, I will proceed to speak what will put him at my disposal.'\n\n'I can't see how you can venture to speak,' objected the other,\n'without an opportunity--\n\n    'If Vrihaspati, the Grave,\n      Spoke a sentence out of season,\n    Even Vrihaspati would have\n      Strong rebuke for such unreason.'\n\n'Pray don't imagine I shall speak unseasonably,' interrupted Damanaka;\n'if that is all you fear, I will start at once.'\n\n'Go, then,' said Karataka; 'and may you be as lucky as you hope.'\n\n\"Thereupon Damanaka set out for the lair of King Tawny-hide; putting on,\nas he approached it, the look of one greatly disconcerted. The Rajah\nobserved him coming, and gave permission that he should draw near; of\nwhich Damanaka availing himself, made reverential prostration of the\neight members and sat down upon his haunches.\n\n'You have come at last, then, Sir Jackal!' growled his Majesty.\n\n'Great Monarch!' humbly replied Damanaka, 'my service is not worthy of\nlaying at your imperial feet, but a servant should attend when he can\nperform a service, and therefore I am come--\n\n    'When Kings' ears itch, they use a straw to scratch 'em;\n    When Kings' foes plot, they get wise men to match 'em.'\n\n'H'm!' growled the Lion.\n\n'Your Majesty suspects my intellect, I fear,' continued the\nJackal,'after so long an absence from your Majesty's feet; but, if I may\nsay so, it is still sound.'\n\n'H'm!' growled the Lion again.\n\n'A king, may it please your Majesty, should know how to estimate his\nservants, whatever their position--\n\n    'Pearls are dull in leaden settings, but the setter is to blame;\n    Glass will glitter like the ruby, dulled with dust--are they the same?\n\n    'And a fool may tread on jewels, setting in his crown mere glass;\n    Yet, at selling, gems are gems, and fardels but for fardels pass.'\n\n'Servants, gracious liege! are good or bad as they are entertained. Is\nit not written?--\n\n    'Horse and weapon, lute and volume, man and woman, gift of speech,\n    Have their uselessness or uses in the One who owneth each.'\n\n'And if I have been traduced to your Majesty as a dull fellow, that hath\nnot made me so--\n\n    'Not disparagement nor slander kills the spirit of the brave;\n    Fling a torch down, upward ever burns the brilliant flame it gave.'\n\n'Accept then, Sire, from the humblest of your slaves his very humble\ncounsel--for\n\n    'Wisdom from the mouth of children be it overpast of none;\n    What man scorns to walk by lamplight in the absence of the sun?'\n\n'Good Damanaka,' said King Tawny-hide, somewhat appeased, 'how is it\nthat thou, so wise a son of our first minister, hast been absent all\nthis while from our Court? But now speak thy mind fearlessly: what\nwouldst thou?'\n\n'Will your Majesty deign to answer one question?' said Damanaka.\n'Wherefore came He back from the river without drinking?'\n\n'Hush!' whispered the King, 'thou hast hit right upon my trouble. I knew\nno one unto whom I might confide it; but thou seemest a faithful fellow,\nand I will tell thee. Listen, then,' continued his Majesty in an\nagitated whisper, 'there is some awful beast that was never seen before\nin this wood here; and we shall have to leave it, look you. Did you hear\nby chance the inconceivable great roar he gave? What a strong beast it\nmust be to have such a voice!'\n\n'May it please your Majesty, I did hear the noise,' said the Jackal,\n'and there is doubtless cause for terrible apprehension therein; but\ntake comfort, my Liege, he is no minister who bids thee prepare for\neither war or resignation. All will go well, and your Majesty will learn\nby this difficulty which be your best servants,'\n\n'Good Jackal,' said Tawny-hide, 'I am horribly frightened about it.'\n\n'I can see that,' thought Damanaka; but he only said, 'Fear nothing, my\nliege, while thy servant survives,'\n\n'What shall I do?' asked the King.\n\n'It is well to encourage those who can avert disaster. If your Majesty\ncondescended now to bestow some favor on Karataka and the other----'\n\n'It shall be done,' said the Rajah; and, summoning the other Jackals, he\ngave them and Damanaka a magnificent gift of flesh, and they left the\npresence, undertaking to meet the threatened danger.\n\n'But, brother,' began Karataka,'haven't we eaten the King's dinner\nwithout knowing what the danger is which we are to meet, and whether we\ncan obviate it?'\n\n'Hold thy peace,' said Damanaka, laughing; 'I know very well what the\ndanger is! It was a bull, aha! that bellowed--a bull, my brother--whose\nbeef you and I could pick, much more the King our master.'\n\n'And why not tell him so?' asked Karataka.\n\n'What! and quiet his Majesty's fears! And where would our splendid\ndinner have been then? No, no, my friend--\n\n    'Set not your lord at ease; for, doing that,\n    Might starve you as it starved \"Curd-ear\" the Cat.'\n\n'Who was Curd-ear, the Cat?' inquired Karataka. Damanaka related:--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE CAT WHO SERVED THE LION\n\n\"Far away in the North, on a mountain named 'Thousand-Crags,' there\nlived a lion called 'Mighty-heart'; and he was much annoyed by a certain\nmouse, who made a custom of nibbling his mane while he lay asleep in his\nden. The Lion would wake in a great rage at finding the ends of his\nmagnificent mane made ragged, but the little mouse ran into his hole,\nand he could never catch it. After much consideration he went down to a\nvillage, and got a Cat named Curd-ear to come to his cave with much\npersuasion. He kept the Cat royally on all kinds of dainties, and slept\ncomfortably without having his mane nibbled, as the mouse would now\nnever venture out. Whenever the Lion heard the mouse scratching about,\nthat was always a signal for regaling the Cat in a most distinguished\nstyle. But one day, the wretched mouse being nearly starved, he took\ncourage to creep timidly from his hole, and was directly pounced upon by\nCurd-ear and killed. After that the Lion heard no more of the mouse, and\nquite left off his regular entertainments of the Cat. No!\" concluded\nDamanaka, \"we will keep our mouse alive for his Majesty.\"\n\nSo conversing, the Jackals went away to find Lusty-life the Bull, and\nupon discovering him, Karataka squatted down with great dignity at the\nfoot of a tree, while Damanaka approached to accost him.\n\n'Bull,' said Damanaka, 'I am the warder of this forest under the King\nTawny-hide, and Karataka the Jackal there is his General. The General\nbids thee come before him, or else instantly depart from the wood. It\nwere better for thee to obey, for his anger is terrible,'\n\n'Thereupon Lusty-life, knowing nothing of the country customs, advanced\nat once to Karataka, made the respectful prostration of the eight\nmembers, and said timidly, 'My Lord General! what dost thou bid me do?--\n\n    'Strength serves Reason. Saith the Mahout, when he beats the brazen\n            drum,\n    \"Ho! ye elephants, to this work must your mightinesses come.\"'\n\n'Bull,' answered Karataka, 'thou canst remain in the wood no longer\nunless thou goest directly to lay thyself at our Royal master's imperial\nfeet.'\n\n'My Lord,' replied the Bull, 'give me a guarantee of safety, and I will\ngo.'\n\n'Bull,' said Karataka, 'thou art foolish; fear nothing--\n\n    \"When the King of Chedi cursed him,\n      Krishna scorned to make reply;\n    Lions roar the thunder quiet,\n      Jackals'-yells they let go by.\"\n\nOur Lord the King will not vouchsafe his anger to thee; knowest thou\nnot--\n\n    'Mighty natures war with mighty: when the raging tempests blow,\n    O'er the green rice harmless pass they, but they lay the palm-trees\n            low,'\n\n'So the Jackals, keeping Lusty-life in the rear, went towards the palace\nof King Tawny-hide; where the Rajah received them with much\ngraciousness, and bade them sit down.\n\n'Have you seen him?' asked the King.\n\n'We have seen him, your Majesty,' answered Damanaka; 'it is quite as\nyour Majesty expected--the creature has enormous strength, and wishes\nto see your Majesty. Will you be seated, Sire, and prepare yourself--it\nwill never do to appear alarmed at a noise.'\n\n'Oh, if it was only a noise,' began the Rajah.\n\n'Ah, but the cause, Sire! that was what had to be found out; like the\nsecret of Swing-ear the Spirit.'\n\n'And who might Swing-ear be?' asked the King.\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE TERRIBLE BELL\n\n\"A goblin, your Majesty,\" responded Damanaka, \"it seemed so, at least,\nto the good people of Brahmapoora. A thief had stolen a bell from the\ncity, and was making off with that plunder, and more, into the\nSri-parvata hills, when he was killed by a tiger. The bell lay in the\njungle till some monkeys picked it up, and amused themselves by\nconstantly ringing it. The townspeople found the bones of the man, and\nheard the noise of the bell all about the hills; so they gave out that\nthere was a terrible devil there, whose ears rang like bells as he swung\nthem about, and whose delight was to devour men. Every one, accordingly,\nwas leaving the town, when a peasant woman named Kar\u00e1la, who liked\nbelief the better for a little proof, came to the Rajah.\n\n'Highness!' she observed, 'for a consideration I could settle this\nSwing-ear.'\n\n'You could!' exclaimed the Rajah.\n\n'I think so!' repeated the woman.\n\n'Give her a consideration forthwith,' said the Rajah.\n\n\"Kar\u00e1la, who had her own ideas upon the matter, took the present and set\nout. Being come to the hills, she made a circle, and did homage to\nGunputtee,[13] without whom nothing prospers. Then, taking some fruit\nshe had brought, such as monkeys love extremely, she scattered it up and\ndown in the wood, and withdrew to watch. Very soon the monkeys finding\nthe fruit, put down the bell, to do justice to it, and the woman picking\nit up, bore it back to the town, where she became an object of uncommon\nveneration. We, indeed,\" concluded Damanaka, \"bring you a Bull instead\nof a bell--your Majesty shall now see him!\"\n\n\"Thereupon Lusty-life was introduced, and, the interview passing off\nwell, he remained many days in the forest on excellent terms with the\nLion.\n\n'One day another Lion, named 'Stiff-ears,' the brother of King\nTawny-hide, came to visit him. The King received him with all imaginable\nrespect, bade him be seated, and rose from his throne to go and kill\nsome beasts for his refreshment.\n\n'May it please your Majesty,' interposed the Bull, 'a deer was slain\nto-day--where is its flesh?'\n\n'Damanaka and his brother know best,' said the King.\n\n'Let us ascertain if there be any,' suggested the Bull.\n\n'It is useless,' said the King, laughing--'they leave none,'\n\n'What!' exclaimed the Bull, 'have those Jackals eaten a whole deer?'\n\n'Eaten it, spoiled it, and given it away,' answered Tawny-hide; 'they\nalways do so,'\n\n'And this without your Majesty's sanction?' asked the Bull.\n\n'Oh! certainly not with my sanction,' said the King.\n\n'Then,' exclaimed the Bull, 'it is too bad: and in Ministers too!--\n\n    'Narrow-necked to let out little, big of belly to keep much,\n    As a flagon is--the Vizir of a Sultan should be such.'\n\n'No wealth will stand such waste, your Majesty--\n\n    'He who thinks a minute little, like a fool misuses more;\n    He who counts a cowry nothing, being wealthy, will be poor.'\n\n'A king's treasury, my liege, is the king's life.'\n\n'Good brother,' observed Stiff-ears, who had heard what the Bull said,\n'these Jackals are your Ministers of Home and Foreign Affairs--they\nshould not have direction of the Treasury. They are old servants, too,\nand you know the saying--\n\n    'Brahmans, soldiers, these and kinsmen--of the three set none in\n            charge:\n    For the Brahman, tho' you rack him, yields no treasure small or large;\n    And the soldier, being trusted, writes his quittance with his sword,\n    And the kinsman cheats his kindred by the charter of the word;\n    But a servant old in service, worse than any one is thought,\n    Who, by long-tried license fearless, knows his master's anger nought.'\n\nMinisters, my royal brother, are often like obstinate swellings that\nwant squeezing, and yours must be kept in order.'\n\n'They are not particularly obedient, I confess,' said Tawny-hide.\n\n'It is very wrong,' replied Stiff-ears; 'and if you will be advised by\nme--as we have banqueted enough to-day--you will appoint this\ngrain-eating and sagacious Bull your Superintendent of Stores.'\n\n'It shall be so,' exclaimed the King.\n\n'Lusty-life was accordingly appointed to serve out the provisions, and\nfor many days Tawny-hide showed him favor beyond all others in the\nCourt.\n\n\"Now the Jackals soon found that food was no longer so freely provided\nby this arrangement as before, and they met to consult about it.\n\n'It is all our own fault,' said Damanaka, 'and people must suffer for\ntheir own mistakes. You know who said--\n\n    \"I that could not leave alone\n    'Streak-o'-Gold,' must therefore moan.\n    She that took the House-wife's place\n    Lost the nose from off her face.\n    Take this lesson to thy heart--\n    Fools for folly suffer smart.\"\n\n'No!' said Karataka, 'how was it?' Damanaka related:--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE PRINCE AND THE PROCURESS\n\n\"In the city of 'Golden-Streets' there reigned a valorous King, named\nVira-vikrama, whose officer of justice was one day taking away to\npunishment a certain Barber, when he was stopped by a strolling\nmendicant, who held him by the skirts, and cried out, 'Punish not this\nman--punish them that do wrong of their own knowledge.' Being asked his\nmeaning, he recited the foregoing verses, and, being still further\nquestioned, he told this story--\n\n\"I am Prince Kandarpa-ketu, son of the King of Ceylon. Walking one day\nin my summer-garden, I heard a merchant-captain narrating how that out\nat sea, deep under water, on the fourteenth day of the moon, he had seen\nwhat was like nothing but the famous tree of Paradise, and sitting under\nit a lady of most lustrous beauty, bedecked with strings of pearls like\nLukshmi herself, reclining, with a lute in her hands, on what appeared\nto be a golden couch crusted all over with precious stones. At once I\nengaged the captain and his ship, and steered to the spot of which he\ntold me. On reaching it I beheld the beautiful apparition as he had\ndescribed it, and, transported with the exquisite beauty of the lady, I\nleapt after her into the sea. In a moment I found myself in a city of\ngold; and in an apartment of a golden palace, surrounded by young and\nbeautiful girls, I found the Sea-queen. She perceived my approach, and\nsent an attendant with a courteous message to meet me. In reply to my\nquestions, I learned that the lady was the Princess Ratnamanjari,\ndaughter of the King of All the Spirits--and how she had made a vow that\nwhoever should first come to see her golden city, with his own eyes,\nshould marry her. So I married her by the form called Gundharva, or\n'Union by mutual consent,' and spent many and happy days in her\ndelightful society. One day she took me aside, and said, 'Dear Prince!\nall these delights, and I myself, are thine to enjoy; only that picture\nyonder, of the Fairy Streak-o'-Gold, that thou must never touch!' For a\nlong time I observed this injunction; at last, impelled by resistless\ncuriosity, I laid my hand on the picture of 'Streak-o'-Gold,' In one\ninstant her little foot, lovely as the lotus-blossom, advanced from out\nof the painting, and launched me through sea and air into my own\ncountry. Since that I have been a miserable wanderer; and passing\nthrough this city, I chanced to lodge at a Cowkeeper's hut, and saw the\ntruth of this Barber's affair. The herdsman returned at night with his\ncattle, and found his wife talking with the wife of the Barber, who is\nno better than a bawd. Enraged at this, the man beat his wife, tied her\nto the milking-post, and fell asleep. In the dead of the night the\nBarber's wife came back, and said to the woman, 'He, whom thou knowest,\nis burnt with the cruel fire of thine absence, and lies nigh to death;\ngo therefore and console him, and I will tie myself to the post until\nthou returnest.' This was done, and the Cowkeeper presently awoke. 'Ah!\nthou light thing!' he said jeeringly, 'why dost not thou keep promise,\nand meet thy gallant?' The Barber's wife could make no reply; whereat\nbecoming incensed, the man cried out, 'What! dost thou scorn to speak to\nme? I will cut thy nose off!' And so he did, and then lay down to sleep\nagain. Very soon the Cowkeeper's wife came back and asked if 'all was\nwell.' 'Look at my face!' said the Barber's wife, 'and you will see if\nall is well.' The woman could do nothing but take her place again,\nwhile the Barber's wife, picking up the severed nose, and at a sad loss\nhow to account for it, went to her house. In the morning, before it was\nlight, the Barber called to her to bring his box of razors, and she\nbringing one only, he flung it away in a passion. 'Oh, the knave!' she\ncried out, directly, aloud, 'Neighbors, neighbors! he has cut my nose\noff!' and so she took him before the officers. The Cowkeeper, meantime,\nwondering at his wife's patience, made some inquiry about her nose;\nwhereto she replied, 'Cruel wretch! thou canst not harm a virtuous\nwoman. If Yama and the seven guardians of the world know me chaste, then\nbe my face unmaimed!' The herdsman hastened to fetch a light, and\nfinding her features unaltered, he flung himself at her feet, and begged\nforgiveness. For,\n\n    'Never tires the fire of burning, never wearies death of slaying,\n    Nor the sea of drinking rivers, nor the bright-eyed of betraying,'\n\nThereupon the King's officer dismissed Kandarpa-ketu, and did justice by\nsetting the Barber free, shaving the head of the Barber's wife, and\npunishing the Cowkeeper's.\n\n'That is my story,' concluded Damanaka, 'and thence I said that we had\nno reason to complain.'\n\n'Well, but we must do something,' said Karataka.\n\n'Yes! How shall we break the friendship of the King with the Bull?'\nasked the other.\n\n'It is very strong,' observed Karataka.\n\n'But we can do it,' replied the other.\n\n    'What force would fail to win, fraud can attain:--\n    The Crow despatched the Serpent by a chain.'\n\n'How did that occur?' asked Karataka.\n\nDamanaka related:--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE BLACK SNAKE AND THE GOLDEN CHAIN\n\n\"A pair of Crows had their abode in a certain tree, the hollow of which\nwas occupied by a black snake, who had often devoured their young. The\nHen-bird, finding herself breeding again, thus addressed her mate:\n'Husband, we must leave this tree; we shall never rear young ones while\nthis black snake lives here! You know the saw--\n\n    'From false friends that breed thee strife,\n    From a house with serpents rife,\n    Saucy slaves and brawling wife--\n    Get thee out, to save thy life.'\n\n'My dear,' replied the Crow, 'you need not fear; I have put up with him\ntill I am tired. Now I will put an end to him.'\n\n'How can you fight with a great black snake like that?' said the\nHen-bird.\n\n'Doubt nothing,' answered the other--\n\n    'He that hath sense hath strength; the fool is weak:--\n    The Lion proud died by the Hare so meek,'\n\n'How came that about?' asked the Hen-Crow.\n\n'Thus,' replied her mate:--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE LION AND THE OLD HARE\n\n\"On the Mandara mountain there lived a Lion named Fierce-of-heart, and\nhe was perpetually making massacre of all the wild animals. The thing\ngrew so bad that the beasts held a public meeting, and drew up a\nrespectful remonstrance to the Lion in these words:--\n\n\"Wherefore should your Majesty thus make carnage of us all? If it may\nplease you, we ourselves will daily furnish a beast for your Majesty's\nmeal.\" The Lion responded, \"If that arrangement is more agreeable to\nyou, be it so.\"; and from that time a beast was allotted to him daily,\nand daily devoured. One day it came to the turn of an old hare to supply\nthe royal table, who reflected to himself as he walked along, \"I can but\ndie, and I will go to my death leisurely.\"\n\n\"Now Fierce-of-heart, the lion, was pinched with hunger, and seeing the\nHare so approaching he roared out, \"How darest thou thus delay in\ncoming?\"\n\n'Sire,' replied the Hare, 'I am not to blame. I was detained on the road\nby another lion, who exacted an oath from me to return when I should\nhave informed your Majesty.'\n\n'Go,' exclaimed King Fierce-of-heart in a rage; 'show me, instantly,\nwhere this insolent villain of a lion lives.'\n\n\"The Hare led the way accordingly till he came to a deep well, whereat\nhe stopped, and said, 'Let my lord the King come hither and behold him.'\nThe Lion approached, and beheld his own reflection in the water of the\nwell, upon which, in his passion, he directly flung himself, and so\nperished.\"\n\n\"I have heard your story,\" said the Hen-Crow, \"but what plan do you\npropose?\"\n\n\"My dear,\" replied her mate, \"the Rajah's son comes here every day to\nbathe in the stream. When he takes off his gold anklet, and lays it on\nthe stone, do thou bring it in thy beak to the hollow of the tree, and\ndrop it in there.\" Shortly after the Prince came, as was his wont, and\ntaking off his dress and ornaments, the Hen-Crow did as had been\ndetermined; and while the servants of the Prince were searching in the\nhollow, there they found the Black Snake, which they at once dispatched.\n\n'Said I not well,' continued Damanaka, 'that stratagem excels force?'\n\n'It was well said,' replied Karataka; 'go! and may thy path be\nprosperous!\n\n'With that Damanaka repaired to the King, and having done homage, thus\naddressed him:--\n\n\"Your Majesty, there is a dreadful thing on my mind, and I am come to\ndisclose it.\"\n\n'Speak!' said the King, with much graciousness.\n\n'Your Majesty,' said the Jackal, 'this Bull has been detected of\ntreason. To my face he has spoken contemptuously of the three\nprerogatives of the throne,[14] unto which he aspires.'\n\n\"At these words King Tawny-hide stood aghast.\n\n'Your Majesty,' continued Damanaka, 'has placed him above us all in the\nCourt. Sire! he must be displaced!--\n\n    'Teeth grown loose, and wicked-hearted ministers, and poison-trees,\n    Pluck them by the roots together; 'Tis the thing that giveth ease,'\n\n'Good Jackal,' said the King, after some silence; 'this is indeed\ndreadful; but my regard for the Bull is very great, and it is said--\n\n    'Long-tried friends are friends to cleave to--never leave thou these\n            i' the lurch:--\n    What man shuns the fire as sinful for that once it burned a church?'\n\n'That is written of discarding old servants, may it please your\nMajesty,' observed Damanaka; 'and this Bull is quite a stranger,'\n\n'Wondrous strange!' replied the Lion; 'when I have advanced and\nprotected him that he should plot against me!'\n\n'Your Majesty,' said the Jackal, 'knows what has been written--\n\n    'Raise an evil soul to honor, and his evil bents remain;\n    Bind a cur's tail ne'er so straightly, yet it curleth up again.'\n\n    'How, in sooth, should Trust and Honor change the evil nature's root?\n    Though one watered them with nectar, poison-trees bear deadly fruit.'\n\nI have now at least warned your Majesty: if evil comes, the fault is not\nmine,'\n\n'It will not do to condemn the Bull without inquiry,' mused the King;\nthen he said aloud, 'shall we admonish him, think you, Damanaka?'\n\n'No, no, Sire!' exclaimed the Jackal, eagerly; 'that would spoil all our\nprecautions--\n\n    'Safe within the husk of silence guard the seed of counsel so\n    That it break not--being broken, then the seedling will not grow,'\n\nWhat is to be done must be done with despatch. After censuring his\ntreason, would your Majesty still trust the traitor?--\n\n    'Whoso unto ancient fondness takes again a faithless friend,\n    Like she-mules that die conceiving, in his folly finds his end,'\n\n'But wherein can the Bull injure me?' asked Tawny-hide; 'tell me that!'\n\n'Sire,' replied the Jackal, how can I tell it?--\n\n    'Ask who his friends are, ere you scorn your foe;\n    The Wagtail foiled the sea, that did not so,'\n\n'How could that be?' demanded King Tawny-hide.\n\n'The Jackal related:--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE WAGTAIL AND THE SEA\n\n\"On the shore of the Southern Sea there dwelt a pair of Wagtails. The\nHen-bird was about to lay, and thus addressed her mate:--\n\n'Husband, we must look about for a fit place to lay my eggs.'\n\n'My dear,' replied the Cock-bird, 'will not this spot do?'\n\n'This spot!' exclaimed the Hen; 'why, the tide overflows it.'\n\n'Good dame,' said the Cock, 'am I so pitiful a fellow that the Sea will\nventure to wash the eggs out of my nest?'\n\n'You are my very good Lord,' replied the Hen, with a laugh; 'but still\nthere is a great difference between you and the Sea.'\n\n\"Afterwards, however, at the desire of her mate, she consented to lay\nher eggs on the sea-beach. Now the Ocean had overheard all this, and,\nbent upon displaying its strength, it rose and washed away the nest and\neggs. Overwhelmed with grief, the Hen-bird flew to her mate, and\ncried:--\n\n'Husband, the terrible disaster has occurred! My eggs arc gone!'\n\n'Be of good heart! my Life,' answered he.\n\n\"And therewith he called a meeting of fowls, and went with them into the\npresence of Gurud, the Lord of the birds. When the Master of the Mighty\nWing had listened to their complaint, he conveyed it to the knowledge of\nthe God Narayen, who keeps, and kills, and makes alive the world. The\nalmighty mandate given, Gurud bound it upon his forehead, and bore it to\nthe Ocean, which, so soon as it heard the will of Narayen, at once gave\nback the eggs.\n\n'How, indeed,' concluded Damanaka, 'should I judge of the Bull's power,\nnot knowing who supports him?'\n\n'By what signs, then,' asked the King, 'may I conclude him a traitor?'\n\n'If he comes into the presence with his horns lowered for goring, as one\nthat expects the fight. That,' replied the Jackal, 'will convince your\nMajesty,'\n\n'Thereupon Damanaka the Jackal withdrew, and betook himself towards the\nBull, upon perceiving whom he approached slowly, with all the air of one\ngreatly distressed.\n\n'Good master Jackal,' said Lusty-life, 'what goes amiss with thee?'\n\n'All goes amiss with such as serve wicked masters,' replied the Jackal.\n\n'But what ails thee?' asked the Bull.\n\n'Alas!' answered the Jackal, 'what can I say in such a strait!--\n\n    'Even as one who grasps a serpent, drowning in the bitter sea,\n    Death to hold and death to loosen--such is life's perplexity.'\n\n'And therewithal the Jackal heaved a deep sigh, and squatted down.\n\n'But, good friend,' said the Bull, 'at least tell me what is in thy\nmind.'\n\n'Bull,' began Damanaka, 'it is a King's secret, and should not be\nspoken; but thou didst come here upon my safeguard, and as I hope for\nthe life to come, I will tell thee of what touches thee so nearly.\nListen!--the heart of the King is turned against thee! he hath sworn\nsecretly that he will kill thee and feast upon thy flesh.'\n\n'Then Lusty-life the Bull was sorely troubled, and he fell a-musing\nthus--\n\n    \"Woman's love rewards the worthless--kings of knaves exalters be;\n    Wealth attends the selfish niggard, and the cloud rains on the sea.\"\n\n'Can this be the Jackal's doing?' he reflected. Going with honest folk\nwill not make one honest--\n\n    'Many a knave wins fair opinions standing in fair company,\n    As the sooty soorma pleases, lighted by a brilliant eye.'\n\nThen he said aloud, 'wherein can I have angered the King? Do kings hate\nwithout cause? I can tell nothing, except that there is no happiness\nwhich abides long--\n\n    'Where the azure lotus[15] blossoms, there the alligators hide;\n    In the sandal-tree are serpents. Pain and pleasure live allied.'\n\nI thought his Majesty noble as the sandal-tree; but that, indeed, is not\nwholly noble--\n\n    'Rich the sandal--yet no part is but a vile thing habits there;\n    Snake and wasp haunt root and blossom; on the boughs sit ape and bear.'\n\n'Bull,' said Damanaka, 'I knew the King of old for one whose tongue was\nhoney and whose heart was poison.'\n\n'But how very hard!' said the Bull, 'that he, being a lion, should\nattack me, an innocent eater of grass!'\n\n'It is very hard!' said the Jackal.\n\n'Who can have set him against me?' asked the Bull.\n\n'Being so, it cannot be bettered,' replied the Jackal, 'whoever did it--\n\n    'As a bracelet of crystal, once broke, is not mended;\n    So the favor of princes, once altered, is ended.'\n\n'Yes,' said the Bull, 'and a king incensed is terrible--\n\n    'Wrath of kings, and rage of lightning--both be very full of dread;\n    But one falls on one man only--one strikes many victims dead,'\n\nStill, I can but die--and I will die fighting! When death is certain,\nand no hope left but in battle, that is the time for war,'\n\n'It is so,' said the Jackal.\n\n'Having weighed all this, Lusty-life inquired of the Jackal by what\nsigns he might conclude the King's hostile intentions.\n\n'If he glowers upon thee,' answered Damanaka, 'and awaits thee with ears\npricked, tail stiffened, paw upraised, and muzzle agape, then thou\nmayest get thee to thy weapons like a Bull of spirit, for\n\n    'All men scorn the soulless coward who his manhood doth forget:--\n    On a lifeless heap of ashes fearlessly the foot is set,'\n\n'Then Damanaka the Jackal returned to the Lion, and said to him:--\n\n'If it please your Majesty, the traitor is now coming; let your Majesty\nbe on your guard, with ears pricked and paw upraised.'\n\n'The Bull meanwhile approached, and observing the hostile attitude of\nKing Tawny-hide, he also lowered his horns, and prepared for the combat.\nA terrible battle ensued, and at the last King Tawny-hide slew\nLusty-life the Bull. Now when the Bull was dead, the Lion was very\nsorrowful, and as he sat on his throne lamenting, he said--\n\n'I repent me of this deed!--\n\n    'As when an Elephant's life-blood is spilt,\n    Another hath the spoils--mine is the guilt.'\n\n'Sire,' replied the Jackal, 'a King over-merciful is like a Brahman\nthat eats all things equally. May all your Majesty's enemies perish as\ndid this Bull.'\n\n\"Thus endeth,\" said the Sage Vishnu-Sarman, \"the 'Parting of Friends.'\"\n\n\"We are gratified exceedingly thereby,\" replied the Sons of the King.\n\n\"Let me then close it thus,\" said their Preceptor--\n\n      'So be friendship never parted,\n      But among the evil-hearted;\n      Time's sure step drag, soon or later,\n      To his judgment, such a Traitor;\n      Lady Lukshmi, of her grace,\n      Grant good fortune to this place;\n    And you, Royal boys! and boys of times to be\n    In this fair fable-garden wander free.'\n\n\n[12] The white umbrella borne above the heads of Indian rajahs.\n\n[13] The deity of prudence.\n\n[14] Regal authority derives its rights from three sources: Power,\nPrescription or continuance, and Wisdom.\n\n[15] The lotus resembles the water-lily, but is more varied in form and\ncolor.\n\n\n\n\nWAR\n\n\nWhen the next day of instruction was come, the King's sons spake to the\nSage, Vishnu-Sarman.\n\n\"Master,\" said they, \"we are Princes, and the sons of Princes, and we\nearnestly desire to hear thee discourse upon War.\"\n\n\"I am to speak on what shall please you,\" replied Vishnu-Sarman. \"Hear\nnow, therefore, of 'War,' whose opening is thus:--\n\n    'Between the peoples of Peacock and Swan[16]\n    War raged; and evenly the contest ran,\n    Until the Swans to trust the Crows began.'\n\n'And how was all that?' asked the sons of the Rajah. Vishnu-Sarman\nproceeded to relate--\n\n\nTHE BATTLE OF THE SWANS AND PEACOCKS\n\n\"In the Isle of Camphor there is a lake called 'Lotus-water,' and\ntherein a Swan-Royal, named 'Silver-sides,' had his residence. The birds\nof the marsh and the mere had elected him King, in full council of all\nthe fowls--for a people with no ruler is like a ship that is without a\nhelmsman. One day King Silver-sides, with his courtiers, was quietly\nreposing on a couch of well-spread lotus-blossoms, when a Crane, named\n'Long-bill,' who had just arrived from foreign parts, entered the\npresence with an obeisance, and sat down.\n\n'What news from abroad, Long-bill?' asked his Majesty.\n\n'Great news, may it please you,' answered the Crane, 'and therefore have\nI hastened hither. Will your Majesty hear me?'\n\n'Speak!' said King Silver-sides.\n\n'You must know, my Liege,' began the Crane, 'that over all the birds of\nthe Vindhya mountains in Jambudwipa a Peacock is King, and his name is\n'Jewel-plume,' I was looking for food about a certain burnt jungle\nthere, when some of his retainers discovered me, and asked my name and\ncountry. 'I am a vassal of King Silver-sides, Lord of the Island of\nCamphor,' I replied, 'and I am travelling in foreign lands for my\npleasure.' Upon that the birds asked me which country, my own or theirs,\nand which King, appeared to me superior. 'How can you ask?' I replied;\n'the island of Camphor is, as it were, Heaven itself, and its King a\nheaven-born ruler. To dwellers in a barren land like yours how can I\ndescribe them? Come for yourselves, and see the country where I live.'\nThereupon, your Majesty, the birds were exceedingly offended, as one\nmight expect--\n\n    'Simple milk, when serpents drink it, straightway into venom turns;\n    And a fool who heareth counsel all the wisdom of it spurns.'\n\nFor, indeed, no reflecting person wastes time in admonishing\nblockheads--\n\n    'The birds that took the apes to teaching,\n    Lost eggs and nests in pay for preaching.'\n\n'How did that befall?' asked the King.\n\nThe Crane related:--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE WEAVER-BIRDS AND THE MONKEYS\n\n\"In a nullah that leads down to the Nerbudda river there stood a large\nsilk-cotton tree, where a colony of weaver-birds had built their hanging\nnests, and lived snugly in them, whatever the weather. It was in the\nrainy season, when the heavens are overlaid with clouds like\nindigo-sheets, and a tremendous storm of water was falling. The birds\nlooked out from their nests, and saw some monkeys, shivering and starved\nwith the cold, standing under a tree. 'Twit! twit! you Monkeys,' they\nbegan to chirrup. 'Listen to us!--\n\n    'With beaks we built these nests, of fibres scattered;\n    You that have hands and feet, build, or be spattered.'\n\nOn hearing that the Monkeys were by no means pleased. 'Ho! ho!' said\nthey, 'the Birds in their snug nests are jeering at us; wait till the\nrain is over,' Accordingly, so soon as the weather mended, the Monkeys\nclimbed into the tree, and broke all the birds' eggs and demolished\nevery nest. I ought to have known better,' concluded the Crane, 'than to\nhave wasted my suggestions on King Jewel-plume's creatures.'\n\n'But what did they say?' asked Silver-sides.\n\n'They said, Rajah,' answered the Crane, 'who made that Swan of thine a\nKing?'\n\n'And what was your reply?' asked Silver-sides.\n\n'I demanded,' replied the Crane, 'who made a King of that Peacock of\ntheirs. Thereupon they were ready to kill me for rage; but I displayed\nmy very best valor. Is it not written--\n\n    'A modest manner fits a maid,\n      And Patience is a man's adorning;\n    But brides may kiss, nor do amiss,\n      And men may draw, at scathe and scorning.'\n\n'Yet a man should measure his own strength first,' said the Rajah,\nsmiling; 'how did you fare against King Jewel-plume's fellows?'\n\n'Very scurvily,' replied Long-bill. \"Thou rascal Crane,\" they cried,\n\"dost thou feed on his soil, and revile our Sovereign? That is past\nbearing!\" And thereat they all pecked at me. Then they began again:\n\"Thou thick-skulled Crane! that King of thine is a goose--a web-footed\nlord of littleness--and thou art but a frog in a well to bid us serve\nhim--- him forsooth!--\n\n    'Serving narrow-minded masters dwarfs high natures to their size:--\n    Seen before a convex mirror, elephants do show as mice.'\n\nBad kings are only strong enough to spoil good vassals--as a fiction\nonce was mightier than a herd of elephants. You know it, don't you?--\n\n    'Mighty may prove things insignificant:--\n    A tale of moonshine turned an elephant.'\n\n'No! how was that?' I asked.\n\nThe birds related--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE OLD HARE AND THE ELEPHANTS\n\n\"Once on a time, very little rain had fallen in the due season; and the\nElephants being oppressed with thirst, thus accosted their\nleader:--'Master, how are we to live? The small creatures find something\nto wash in, but we cannot, and we are half dead in consequence; whither\nshall we go then, and what shall we do?' Upon that the King of the\nElephants led them away a little space; and showed them a beautiful pool\nof crystal water, where they took their ease. Now it chanced that a\ncompany of Hares resided on the banks of the pool, and the going and\ncoming of the elephants trampled many of them to death, till one of\ntheir number named Hard-head grumbled out, 'This troop will be coming\nhere to water every day, and every one of our family will be crushed.'\n'Do not disquiet yourself,' said an old buck named Good-speed, 'I will\ncontrive to avert it,' and so saying, he set off, bethinking himself on\nhis way how he should approach and accost a herd of elephants; for,\n\n    'Elephants destroy by touching, snakes with point of tooth beguile;\n    Kings by favor kill, and traitors murder with a fatal smile.'\n\n'I will get on the top of a hill,' he thought, 'and address the\nElephants thence.'\n\n\"This being done, and the Lord of the herd perceiving him, it was asked\nof the Hare, 'Who art thou? and whence comest thou?'\n\n'I am an ambassador from his Godship the Moon,' replied Good-speed.\n\n'State your business,' said the Elephant-king.\n\n'Sire,' began the Hare, 'an ambassador speaks the truth safely by\ncharter of his name. Thus saith the Moon, then: \"These hares were the\nguardians of my pool, and thine elephants in coming thither have scared\nthem away. This is not well. Am I not Sasanka, whose banner bears a\nhare, and are not these hares my votaries?\"'\n\n'Please your worship,' said the Elephant-king with much trepidation, 'we\nknew nothing of this; we will go there no more.'\n\n'It were well,' said the sham ambassador, 'that you first made your\napologies to the Divinity, who is quaking with rage in his pool, and\nthen went about your business.'\n\n'We will do so,' replied the Elephant with meekness; and being led by\nnight to the pool, in the ripples of which the image of the Moon was\nquivering, the herd made their prostrations; the Hare explaining to the\nMoon that their fault was done in ignorance, and thereupon they got\ntheir dismissal.'\n\n'Nay,' I said, 'my Sovereign is no fiction, but a great King and a\nnoble, and one that might govern the Three Worlds, much more a kingdom,'\n\n'Thou shalt talk thy treason in the presence,' they cried; and therewith\nI was dragged before King Jewel-plume.\n\n'Who is this?' asked the Rajah.\n\n'He is a servant of King Silver-sides, of the Island of Camphor,' they\nreplied; 'and he slights your Majesty, on your Majesty's own land.'\n\n'Sirrah Crane!' said the Prime Minister, a Vulture, 'who is chief\nofficer in that court?'\n\n'A Brahmany Goose,' I answered, 'named \"Know-all\"; and he does know\nevery possible science.'\n\n'Sire,' broke in a Parrot, 'this Camphor-isle and the rest are poor\nplaces, and belong to Jambudwipa. Your Majesty has but to plant the\nroyal foot upon them.'\n\n'Oh! of course,' said the King.\n\n'Nay,' said I, 'if talking makes your Majesty King of Camphor-island, my\nLiege may be lord of Jambudwipa by a better title.'\n\n'And that?' said the Parrot.\n\n'Is fighting!' I responded.\n\n'Good!' said the King, with a smile; 'bid your people prepare for war.'\n\n'Not so,' I replied; 'but send your own ambassador.'\n\n'Who will bear the message?' asked the Rajah. 'He should be loyal,\ndexterous, and bold.'\n\n'And virtuous,' said the Vulture, 'and therefore a Brahman:--\n\n    'Better Virtue marked a herald than that noble blood should deck;\n    Shiva reigns forever Shiva while the sea-wave stains his neck.'\n\n'Then let the Parrot be appointed,' said the Rajah.\n\n'I am your Majesty's humble servant,' replied the Parrot; 'but this\nCrane is a bad character, and with the bad I never like to travel. The\nten-headed Ravana carried off the wife of Ramchundra! It does not do,\n\n    'With evil people neither stay nor go;\n    The Heron died for being with the Crow.'\n\n'How did that befall?' asked the King. The Parrot related:--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE HERON AND THE CROW\n\n'The high-road to Oogein is a very unshaded and sultry one; but there\nstands upon it one large Peepul-tree, and therein a Crow and a Heron had\ntheir residence together. It was in the hot weather that a tired\ntraveller passed that way, and, for the sake of the shade, he laid his\nbow and arrows down, and dropped asleep under the tree. Before long the\nshadow of the tree shifted, and left his face exposed to the glare;\nwhich the Heron perceiving, like the kindly bird he was, perched on the\nPeepul-tree, and spread his wings out so as to cast a shadow on the\ntraveller's face. There the poor fellow, weary with his travel,\ncontinued to sleep soundly, and snored away comfortably with open mouth.\nThe sight of his enjoyment was too much for the malevolent Crow, who,\nperching over him, dropped an unwelcome morsel into the sleeper's mouth,\nand straightway flew off. The traveller, starting from his slumber,\nlooked about, and, seeing no bird but the Heron, he fitted an arrow and\nshot him dead. No!' concluded the Parrot, 'I like the society of honest\nfolk.'\n\n'But why these words, my brother?' I said; 'his Majesty's herald is to\nme even as his Majesty.'\n\n'Very fine!' replied the Parrot; 'but--\n\n    'Kindly courtesies that issue from a smiling villain's mouth\n    Serve to startle, like a flower blossoming in time of drouth.'\n\nNeeds must that thou art a bad man; for by thy talk war will have\narisen, which a little conciliation had averted:--\n\n    'Conciliation!--weapon of the wise!\n    Wheedled therewith, by woman's quick device,\n    The Wheelwright let his ears betray his eyes.'\n\n'How came that about?' asked the King. The Parrot related:--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE APPEASED WHEELWRIGHT\n\n\"There was a Wheelwright in Shri-nuggur, whose name was 'Heavy-head,' He\nhad good reason to suspect the infidelity of his wife, but he had no\nabsolute proof of it. One day he gave out that he should go to a\nneighboring town, and he started accordingly; but he went a very little\nway, and then returning, hid himself in his wife's chamber. She being\nquite satisfied that he was really gone away, invited her gallant to\npass the evening with her, and began to spend it with him in\nunrestrained freedom. Presently, by chance, she detected the presence of\nher husband, and her manner instantly changed.\n\n'Life of my soul! what ails you?' said her lover; 'you are quite dull\nto-night.'\n\n'I am dull,' she replied, 'because the lord of my life is gone. Without\nmy husband the town is a wilderness. Who knows what may befall him, and\nwhether he will have a nice supper?'\n\n'Trouble thyself no more about the quarrelsome dullard,' said her\ngallant.\n\n'Dullard, quotha!' exclaimed the wife. 'What matter what he is, since he\nis my all? Knowest thou not--\n\n    'Of the wife the lord is jewel, though no gems upon her beam;\n    Lacking him, she lacks adornment, howsoe'er her jewels gleam?'\n\nThou, and the like of thee, may serve a whim, as we chew a betel-leaf\nand trifle with a flower; but my husband is my master, and can do with\nme as he will. My life is wrapped up in him--and when he dies, alas! I\nwill certainly die too. Is it not plainly said--\n\n    'Hairs three-crore, and half-a-crore hairs, on a man so many grow--\n    And so many years to Swerga shall the true wife surely go?'\n\nAnd better still is promised; as herein--\n\n    'When the faithful wife,[17] embracing tenderly her husband dead,\n    Mounts the blazing pile beside him, as it were the bridal-bed;\n    Though his sins were twenty thousand, twenty thousand times o'er-told,\n    She shall bring his soul to splendor, for her love so large and bold.'\n\nAll this the Wheelwright heard. 'What a lucky fellow I am,' he thought,\n'to have a wife so virtuous,' and rushing from his place of concealment,\nhe exclaimed in ecstasy to his wife's gallant, 'Sir I saw you ever truer\nwife than mine?'\n\n'When the story was concluded,' said Long-bill, 'the King, with a\ngracious gift of food, sent me off before the Parrot; but he is coming\nafter me, and it is now for your Majesty to determine as it shall please\nyou.'\n\n'My Liege,' observed the Brahmany-goose with a sneer, 'the Crane has\ndone the King's business in foreign parts to the best of his power,\nwhich is that of a fool.'\n\n\"Let the past pass,\" replied the King, \"and take thought for the\npresent.\"\n\n\"Be it in secret, then, your Majesty,\" said the Brahmany-goose--\n\n    'Counsel unto six ears spoken, unto all is notified:--\n    When a King holds consultation, let it be with one beside,'\n\nThereupon all withdrew, but the Rajah and the Minister.\n\n'What think you?' said Silver-sides.\n\n'That the Crane has been employed to bring this about,' replied the\nother.\n\n'What shall we do?' asked the King.\n\n'Despatch two spies--the first to inform and send back the other, and\nmake us know the enemy's strength or weakness. They must be such as can\ntravel by land and water, so the Crane will serve for one, and we will\nkeep his family in pledge at the King's gate. The other must be a very\nreserved character; as it is said--\n\n    'Sick men are for skilful leeches--prodigals for prisoning--\n    Fools for teachers--and the man who keeps a secret, for a King,'\n\n'I know such a one,' said his Majesty, after a pause.\n\n'It is half the victory,' responded the Minister.\n\nAt this juncture a chamberlain entered with a profound obeisance, and\nannounced the arrival from Jambudwipa of the Parrot.\n\n'Let him be shown to a reception-room,' commanded the Goose, in reply to\na look from the King. 'He shall presently have audience.'\n\n'War is pronounced, then,' said the King, as the attendant withdrew.\n\n'It is offered, my Liege; but must not be rashly accepted,' replied the\nother--\n\n    'With gift, craft, promise, cause thy foe to yield;\n    When these have failed thee, challenge him a-field.'\n\nTo gain time for expedients is the first point. Expedients are good for\ngreat and little matters equally, like\n\n    'The subtle wash of waves, that smoothly pass,\n    But lay the tree as lowly as the grass.'\n\nLet his Excellency the Parrot, then, be cajoled and detained here, while\nwe place our fort in condition to be useful. Is it not said--\n\n    'Ten true bowmen on a rampart fifty's onset may sustain;\n    Fortalices keep a country more than armies in the plain?'\n\nAnd your Majesty,' continued the Goose, 'will recall the points of a\ngood fortress--\n\n    'Build it strong, and build it spacious, with an entry and retreat;\n    Store it well with wood and water, fill its garners full with wheat.'\n\n'Whom, then, shall we entrust with this work?' asked King Silver-sides.\n\n'The Paddy-bird[18] is a good bird, and a skilful,' replied his\nMinister.\n\n'Let him be summoned!' said the King. And upon the entrance of the\nPaddy-bird, the superintendence of the fortress was committed to him,\nand accepted with a low prostration.\n\n'As to the fort, Sire!' remarked the Paddy-bird, 'it exists already in\nyonder large pool; the thing is to store the island in the middle of it\nwith provisions--\n\n    'Gems will no man's life sustain;\n    Best of gold is golden grain.'\n\n'Good!' said King Silver-sides; 'let it be looked to.' Thereupon, as the\nPaddy-bird was retiring, the Usher entered again, and making\nprostration, said: 'May it please your Majesty, the King of all the\nCrows, Night-cloud by name, has just arrived from Singhala-dwipa, and\ndesires to lay his homage at your Majesty's feet.'\n\n'He is a wise bird, and a far-travelled,' said the King; 'I think we\nmust give him audience.'\n\nNevertheless, Sire,' interrupted the Goose, 'we must not forget that he\nis a land-bird, and therefore not to be received as a water-fowl. Your\nroyal memory doubtless retains the story of\n\n    'The Jackal's fate, who being colored blue,\n    Leaving his party, left his own life too.'\n\n'No! How was that?' asked King Silver-sides. The Goose related--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE DYED JACKAL\n\n\"A Jackal once on a time, as he was prowling about the suburbs of a\ntown, slipped into an indigo-tank; and not being able to get out he laid\nhimself down so as to be taken for dead. The dyer presently coming and\nfinding what seemed a dead Jackal, carried him into the jungle and then\nflung him away. Left to himself, the Jackal found his natural color\nchanged to a splendid blue. 'Really,' he reflected, 'I am now of a most\nmagnificent tint; why should I not make it conduce to my elevation?'\nWith this view, he assembled the other Jackals, and thus harangued\nthem:--\n\n'Good people, the Goddess of the Wood, with her own divine hand, and\nwith every magical herb of the forest, has anointed me King. Behold the\ncomplexion of royalty!--and henceforward transact nothing without my\nimperial permission.\"\n\n\"The Jackals, overcome by so distinguished a color, could do nothing but\nprostrate themselves and promise obedience. His reign, thus begun,\nextended in time to the lions and tigers; and with these high-born\nattendants he allowed himself to despise the Jackals, keeping his own\nkindred at a distance, as though ashamed of them. The Jackals were\nindignant, but an old beast of their number thus consoled them:--\n\n\"Leave the impudent fellow to me. I will contrive his ruin. These tigers\nand the rest think him a King, because he is colored blue; we must show\nthem his true colors. Do this, now!--in the evening-time come close\nabout him, and set up a great yell together--he is sure to join in, as\nhe used to do--\n\n    'Hard it is to conquer nature: if a dog were made a King,\n    Mid the coronation trumpets, he would gnaw his sandal-string.'\n\nAnd when he yells the Tigers will know him for a Jackal and fall upon\nhim.'\n\n'The thing befell exactly so, and the Jackal,' concluded the Minister,\n'met the fate of one who leaves his proper party.'\n\n'Still,' said the King, 'the Crow has come a long way, and we might see\nhim, I think.'\n\n'Admit the Parrot first, Sire,' said the Goose; 'the fort has been put\nin order and the spy despatched.'\n\n\"Thereupon a Court was called, and the Parrot introduced, followed by\nNight-cloud, the Crow. A seat was offered to the parrot, who took it,\nand, with his beak in the air, thus delivered his mission:--\n\n'King Silver-sides!--My master, the King Jewel-plume, Lord of Lords,\nbids thee, if life and lands be dear to thee, to come and make homage at\nhis august feet; and failing this to get thee gone from Camphor-island.'\n\n'S'death!' exclaimed the Rajah, 'is there none that will silence this\ntraitor?'\n\n'Give the sign, your Majesty,' said the Crow, starting up, 'and I will\ndespatch this audacious bird.'\n\n'Sir,' said the Goose, 'be calm! and Sire, deign to listen--\n\n    ''Tis no Council where no Sage is--'tis no Sage that fears not Law;\n    'Tis no Law which Truth confirms not--'tis no Truth which Fear can\n            awe.'\n\nAn ambassador must speak unthreatened--\n\n    'Though base be the Herald, nor hinder nor let,\n      For the mouth of a king is he;\n    The sword may be whet, and the battle set,\n      But the word of his message is free.'\n\nThereat the Rajah and Night-cloud resumed their composure; and the\nParrot took his departure, escorted by the Minister, and presented with\ncomplimentary gifts of gold and jewels. On reaching the palace of\nJewel-plume, the King demanded his tidings, and inquired of the country\nhe had visited.\n\n'War must be prepared, may it please you,' said the Parrot: 'the\ncountry is a country of Paradise.'\n\n'Prepare for war, then!' said the King.\n\n'We must not enter on it in the face of destiny,' interposed the\nVulture-Minister, whose title was 'Far-sight.'\n\n'Let the Astrologer then discover a favorable conjuncture for the\nexpedition, and let my forces be reviewed meantime,' said the King.\n\n'We must not march without great circumspection,' observed Far-sight.\n\n'Minister!' exclaimed the King, 'you chafe me. Say, however, with what\nforce we should set out.'\n\n'It should be well selected, rather than unwieldy,' replied the\nVulture--\n\n    'Better few and chosen fighters than of shaven crowns a host,\n    For in headlong flight confounded, with the base the brave are lost.'\n\nAnd its commanders must be judiciously appointed; for it is said--\n\n    'Ever absent, harsh, unjustly portioning the captured prey--\n    These, and cold or laggard leaders make a host to melt away.'\n\n'Ah!' interrupted the Rajah, 'what need of so much talk? We will go,\nand, if V\u00e1chaspati please, we will conquer.'\n\nShortly afterwards the Spy returned to Camphor-island. 'King\nSilver-sides,' he cried, 'the Rajah, Jewel-plume, is on his way hither,\nand has reached the Ghauts. Let the fort be manned, for that Vulture is\na great minister; and I have learned, too, that there is one among us\nwho is in his pay.'\n\n'King!' said the Goose, 'that must be the Crow.'\n\n'But whence, then, did he show such willingness to punish the Parrot?'\nobjected his Majesty. 'Besides, war was declared long after the Crow\ncame to Court.'\n\n'I misdoubt him,' said the Minister, 'because he is a stranger.'\n\n'But strangers surely may be well-disposed,' replied the King. 'How say\nthe books?--\n\n    'Kind is kin, howe'er a stranger--kin unkind is stranger shown;\n    Sores hurt, though the body breeds them--drugs relieve, though\n            desert-grown.'\n\nHave you never heard of King Sudraka and the unknown Servant, who gave\nhis son's life for the King?\n\n'Never,' answered the Goose.\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE FAITHFUL RAJPOOT\n\n\"I will tell you the tale,\" said the King, \"as I heard it from\n'Lilyflower,' daughter of the Flamingo 'White-flag,' of whom I was once\nvery fond:--A soldier presented himself one morning at King Sudraka's\ngate, and bade the porter procure an audience for 'Vira-vara, a\nRajpoot,'[19] who sought employment. Being admitted to the presence, he\nthus addressed the King:--\n\n'If your Highness needs an attendant, behold one!'\n\n'What pay do you ask?' inquired the King.\n\n'Five hundred pieces of gold a day,' said Vira-vara.\n\n'And your accoutrements?' asked the King.\n\n'Are these two arms, and this sabre, which serve for a third,' said\nVira-vara, rolling up his sleeve.\n\n'I cannot entertain you,' rejoined his Majesty; and thereupon the\nRajpoot made salaam, and withdrew. Then said the Ministers, 'If it\nplease your Majesty, the stipend is excessive, but give him pay for four\ndays, and see wherein he may deserve it.' Accordingly, the Rajpoot was\nrecalled, and received wages for four days, with the complimentary\nbetel.--Ah! the rare betel! Truly say the wise of it--\n\n    'Betel-nut is bitter, hot, sweet, spicy, binding, alkaline--\n    A demulcent--an astringent--foe to evils intestine;\n    Giving to the breath a fragrance--to the lips a crimson red;\n    A detergent, and a kindler of Love's flame that lieth dead.\n    Praise the gods for the good Betel!--these be thirteen virtues given,\n    Hard to meet in one thing blended, even in their happy heaven.'\n\n'Now the King narrowly watched the spending of Vira-vara's pay, and\ndiscovered that he bestowed half in the service of the Gods and the\nsupport of Brahmans, a fourth part in relieving the poor, and reserved a\nfourth for his sustenance and recreation. This daily division made, he\nwould take his stand with his sabre at the gate of the palace; retiring\nonly upon receiving the royal permission.\n\n'It was on the fourteenth night of the dark half of the month that King\nSudraka heard below a sound of passionate sobbing. 'Ho! there,' he\ncried, 'who waits at the gate?'\n\n'I,' replied Vira-vara, 'may it please you.'\n\n'Go and learn what means this weeping,' said the King.\n\n'I go, your Majesty,' answered the Rajpoot, and therewith departed.\n\n'No sooner was he gone than the King repented him of sending one man\nalone into a night so dark that a bodkin might pierce a hole in it, and\ngirding on his scimitar, he followed his guard beyond the city gates.\nWhen Vira-vara had gone thus far he encountered a beautiful and\nsplendidly dressed lady who was weeping bitterly; and accosting her, he\nrequested to know her name, and why she thus lamented.\n\n'I am the Fortune of the King Sudraka,' answered she; 'a long while I\nhave lived happily in the shadow of his arm; but on the third day he\nwill die, and I must depart, and therefore lament I.'\n\n'Can nothing serve, Divine Lady, to prolong thy stay?' asked the\nRajpoot.\n\n'It might be,' replied the Spirit, 'if thou shouldst cut off the head of\nthy first-born Shaktidhar, that hath on his body the thirty-two\nauspicious marks of greatness. Were his head offered to the all-helpful\nDurga, the Rajah should live a hundred years, and I might tarry beside\nhim.'\n\n'So speaking, she disappeared, and Vira-vara retraced his steps to his\nown house and awoke his wife and son. They arose, and listened with\nattention until Vira-vara had repeated all the words of the vision. When\nhe had finished, Shaktidhar exclaimed, 'I am thrice happy to be able to\nsave the state of the King. Kill me, my father, and linger not; to give\nmy life in such a cause is good indeed,' 'Yes,' said the Mother, 'it is\ngood, and worthy of our blood; how else should we deserve the King's\npay?' Being thus agreed, they repaired together at once to the temple of\nthe Goddess Durga, and having paid their devotions and entreated the\nfavor of the deity on behalf of the King, Vira-vara struck off his son's\nhead, and laid it as an offering upon the shrine. That done, Vira-vara\nsaid, 'My service to the King is accomplished, and life without my boy\nis but a burden,' and therewith he plunged his sword in his own breast\nand fell dead. Overpowered with grief for her husband and child, the\nmother also withdrew the twice-blooded weapon, and slew herself with it\non the bodies of Vira-vara and Shaktidhar.\n\n'All this was heard and seen by King Sudraka, and he stood aghast at the\nsad sight. 'Woe is me!' he exclaimed--\n\n    'Kings may come, and Kings may go;\n    What was I, to bring these low?\n    Souls so noble, slain for me,\n    Were not, and will never be!'\n\nWhat reck I of my realm, having lost these?' and thereat he drew his\nscimitar to take his own life also. At that moment there appeared to him\nthe Goddess, who is Mistress of all men's fortunes. 'Son,' said she,\nstaying his lifted hand, 'forbear thy rash purpose, and bethink thee of\nthy kingdom.'\n\n\"The Rajah fell prostrate before her, and cried--'O Goddess! I am done\nwith life and wealth and kingdom! If thou hast compassion on me, let my\ndeath restore these faithful ones to life; anywise I follow the path\nthey have marked,' 'Son,' replied the Goddess, 'thine affection is\npleasing to me: be it as thou wilt! The Rajpoot and his house shall be\nrendered alive to thee.' Then the King departed, and presently saw\nVira-vara return, and take up again his station as before at the\npalace-gate.\n\n'Ho! there, Vira-vara!' cried the King, 'what meant the weeping?'\n\n'Let your Majesty rest well!' answered the Rajpoot, 'it was a woman who\nwept, and disappeared on my approach.' This answer completed the Rajah's\nastonishment and delight; for we know--\n\n    'He is brave whose tongue is silent of the trophies of his sword;\n    He is great whose quiet bearing marks his greatness well assured.'\n\nSo when the day was come, he called a full council, and, declaring\ntherein all the events of the night, he invested the faithful guard with\nthe sovereignty of the Carnatic.\n\n\"Thus, then,\" concluded King Silver-sides, \"in entertaining strangers a\nman may add to his friends.\"\n\n\"It may well be,\" replied the Goose; \"but a Minister should advise what\nis expedient, and not what is pleasing in sentiment:--\n\n    'When the Priest, the Leech, the Vizir of a King his flatterers be,\n    Very soon the King will part with health, and wealth, and piety.'\n\n'Let it pass, then,' said Silver-sides, 'and turn we to the matter in\nhand. King Jewel-plume is even now pitched under the Ghauts. What think\nyou?'\n\n'That we shall vanquish him,' replied the Goose; 'for he disregards, as\nI learn, the counsel of that great statesman, the Vulture Far-sight; and\nthe wise have said--\n\n    'Merciless, or money-loving, deaf to counsel, false of faith,\n    Thoughtless, spiritless, or careless, changing course with every\n            breath,\n    Or the man who scorns his rival--if a prince should choose a foe,\n    Ripe for meeting and defeating, certes he would choose him so.\n\nHe is marching without due preparation; let us send the Paddy-bird at\nthe head of a force and attack him on his march.\"\n\nAccordingly the Paddy-bird, setting out with a force of water-fowl, fell\nupon the host of the Peacock-king, and did immense execution.\nDisheartened thereat, King Jewel-plume summoned Far-sight, his Minister,\nand acknowledged to him his precipitation.\n\n'Wherefore do you abandon us, my father?' he said. 'Correct for us what\nhas been done amiss.\n\n'My Liege,' replied the Vulture, 'it has been well observed--\n\n    'By the valorous and unskilful great achievements are not wrought;\n    Courage, led by careful Prudence, unto highest ends is brought.'\n\nYou have set Strength in the seat of Counsel, your Majesty, and he hath\nclumsily spoiled your plans. How indeed could it fall otherwise? for--\n\n    'Grief kills gladness, winter summer, midnight-gloom the light of day,\n    Kindnesses ingratitude, and pleasant friends drive pain away;\n    Each ends each, but none of other surer conquerors can be\n    Than Impolicy of Fortune--of Misfortune Policy.'\n\nI have said to myself, 'My Prince's understanding is affected--how else\nwould he obscure the moonlight of policy with the night-vapors of talk;'\nin such a mood I cannot help him--\n\n    'Wisdom answers all who ask her, but a fool she cannot aid;\n    Blind men in the faithful mirror see not their reflection made.'\n\nAnd therefore I have been absent.'\n\n'My father!' said the King, joining his palms in respect, 'mine is all\nthe fault! Pardon it, and instruct me how to withdraw my army without\nfurther loss.'\n\nThen the Vulture's anger melted, and he reflected--\n\n    'Where the Gods are, or thy Guru--in the face of Pain and Age,\n    Cattle, Brahmans, Kings, and Children--reverently curb thy rage.'\n\nAnd with a benignant smile, he answered the King thus, 'Be of good\nheart, my Liege; thou shalt not only bring the host back safely, but\nthou shalt first destroy the castle of King Silver-sides.'\n\n'How can that be, with my diminished forces?' asked the Rajah.\n\n'It will come to pass!' answered the Vulture. 'Break up to-day for the\nblockade of the fort.'\n\nNow, when this was reported by the spies to King Silver-sides, he was\ngreatly alarmed. 'Good Goose!' said he, 'what is to be done? Here is the\nKing of the Peacocks at hand, to blockade us--by his Minister's advice,\ntoo.'\n\n'Sire,' replied the Goose, 'separate the efficient and the inefficient\nin your force; and stimulate the loyalty of the first, with a royal\nbounty of gold and dresses, as each may seem to merit. Now is the time\nfor it--\n\n    'Oh, my Prince! on eight occasions prodigality is none--\n    In the solemn sacrificing, at the wedding of a son,\n    When the glittering treasure given makes the proud invader bleed,\n    Or its lustre bringeth comfort to the people in their need,\n    Or when kinsmen are to succor, or a worthy work to end,\n    Or to do a mistress honor, or to welcome back a friend.'\n\n'But is this expenditure needed?' said the King.\n\n'It is needed, my Liege,' said the Goose, 'and it befits a Monarch;\nfor--\n\n    'Truth, munificence, and valor, are the virtues of a King;\n    Royalty, devoid of either, sinks to a rejected thing.'\n\n'Let it be incurred then!' replied the King.\n\nAt this moment Night-cloud, the Crow, made his appearance. 'Deign me one\nregard, Sire,' said he, 'the insolent enemy is at our gates; let your\nMajesty give the word, and I will go forth and show my valor and\ndevotion to your Crown.'\n\n'It were better to keep our cover,' said the Goose. 'Wherefore else\nbuilded we this fortalice? Is it not said?--\n\n    'Hold thy vantage!--alligators on the land make none afraid;\n    And the lion's but a jackal that hath left his forest-shade.'\n\nBut go, your Majesty, and encourage our warriors.\" Thereupon they\nrepaired to the Gateway of the Fort, and all day the battle raged there.\n\nIt was the morning after, when King Jewel-plume spake thus to his\nMinister the Vulture--'Good sir, shall thy promise be kept to us?'\n\n'It shall be kept, your Majesty,' replied the Vulture; 'storm the fort!'\n\n'We will storm it!' said the Peacock-king. The sun was not well-risen\naccordingly when the attack was made, and there arose hot fighting at\nall the four gates. It was then that the traitorous Crows, headed by\ntheir Monarch, Night-cloud, put fire to every dwelling in the citadel,\nand raised a shout of 'The Fort is taken! it is taken!' At this terrible\nsound the soldiers of the Swan-king forsook their posts, and plunged\ninto the pool.\n\nNot thus King Silver-sides:--retiring coolly before the foe, with his\nGeneral the Paddy-bird, he was cut off and encircled by the troopers of\nKing Jewel-plume, under the command of his Marshal, the Cock.\n\n'My General,' said the King, 'thou shalt not perish for me. Fly! I can\ngo no farther. Fly! I bid thee, and take counsel with the Goose that\nCrest-jewel, my son, be named King!'\n\n'Good my Lord,' replied the Paddy-bird, 'speak not thus! Let your\nMajesty reign victorious while the sun and moon endure. I am governor of\nyour Majesty's fortress, and if the enemy enter it he shall but do so\nover my body; let me die for thee, my Master!--\n\n    'Gentle, generous, and discerning; such a Prince the Gods do give!'\n\n'That shalt thou not,' replied the Rajah--\n\n    'Skilful, honest, and true-hearted; where doth such a Vassal live?'\n\n'Nay! my royal Lord, escape!' cried the Paddy-bird; a king's life is the\nlife of his people--\n\n    'The people are the lotus-leaves, their monarch is the sun--\n    When he doth sink beneath the waves they vanish every one.\n\n    When he doth rise they rise again with bud and blossom rife,\n    To bask awhile in his warm smile, who is their lord and life.'\n\n'Think no more of me.' At this instant the Cock rushing forward,\ninflicted a wound with his sharp spurs on the person of the King; but\nthe Paddy-bird sprang in front of him, and receiving on his body the\nblows designed for the Rajah, forced him away into the pool. Then\nturning upon the Cock, he despatched him with a shower of blows from his\nlong bill; and finally succumbed, fighting in the midst of his enemies.\nThus the King of the Peacocks captured the fortress; and marched home\nwith all the treasure in it, amid songs of victory.\n\nThen spake the Princes: \"In that army of the Swans there was no soldier\nlike the Paddy-bird, who gave his own life for the King's.\"\n\n\"There be nowhere many such,\" replied Vishnu-Sarman; \"for\n\n    'All the cows bring forth are cattle--only now and then is born\n    An authentic lord of pastures, with his shoulder-scratching horn.'[20]\n\n\"It is well spoken,\" said the Princes.\n\n\"But for him that dares to die so,\" added the Sage, \"may an eternal\nheaven be reserved, and may the lustrous Angels of Paradise, the\nApsaras, conduct him thither! Is it not so declared, indeed?--\n\n    'When the soldier in the battle lays his life down for his king,\n    Unto Swerga's perfect glory such a deed his soul shall bring.'\n\n\"It is so declared,\" said the Rajah's sons.\n\n\"And now, my Princes,\" concluded Vishnu-Sarman, \"you have listened to\n'War.'\"\n\n\"We have listened, and are gratified,\" replied the sons of the King.\n\n\"Let me end then,\" said their Preceptor, \"with this--\n\n      'If the clouds of Battle lower\n      When ye come into your power,\n      Durga grant the foes that dare you\n      Bring no elephants to scare you;\n      Nor the thunderous rush of horses,\n      Nor the footmen's steel-fringed forces:\n    But overblown by Policy's strong breath,\n    Hide they in caverns from the avenging death.'\n\n\n[16] The peacock is wild in most Indian jungles. The swan is a species\nof flamingo of a white color. The voice and gait of a beautiful woman\nare likened by the Hindoo poets to those of the swan.\n\n[17] By such a death as that alluded to, she earns the title of Sati,\nthe \"excellent.\"\n\n[18] The common Indian crane; a graceful white bird, seen everywhere in\nthe interior of Hindoostan.\n\n[19] A man of military caste.\n\n[20] Large branching horns which reach backward and rub upon his\nshoulders.\n\n\n\n\nPEACE\n\n\nWhen the time came for resuming instruction, the King's sons said to\nVishnu-Sarman, \"Master, we have heard of War, we would now learn\nsomewhat of the treaties which follow war.\" \"It is well asked,\" replied\nthe Sage; \"listen therefore to 'Peace,' which hath this commencement--\n\n    'When those great Kings their weary war did cease,\n    The Vulture and the Goose concluded Peace.'\n\n'How came that?' asked the Princes.\n\nVishnu-Sarman related:--\n\n\nTHE TREATY BETWEEN THE PEACOCKS AND THE SWANS\n\n\"So soon as King Jewel-plume had retreated, the first care of King\nSilver-sides was the discovery of the treason that had cost him the\nfort.\n\n'Goose,' he said to his Minister, 'who put the fire to our citadel,\nthink you? Was it an enemy or an inmate?'\n\n'Sire,' replied the Goose, 'Night-cloud and his followers are nowhere to\nbe seen--it must needs be his work.'\n\n'It must needs be,' sighed the King, after a pause; 'but what\nill-fortune!'\n\n'If it please your Majesty, no,' replied the Minister; 'it is written--\n\n    \"'Tis the fool who, meeting trouble, straightway destiny reviles;\n    Knowing not his own misdoing brought his own mischance the whiles.\"\n\nYou have forgotten the saying--\n\n    'Who listens not, when true friends counsel well,\n    Must fall, as once the foolish Tortoise fell.'\n\n'I never heard it,' said the King. 'How was that?' The Goose related--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE TORTOISE AND THE GEESE\n\n\"There is a pool in South Behar called the 'Pool of the Blue Lotus,' and\ntwo Geese had for a long time lived there. They had a friend in the pool\nwho was a Tortoise, and he was known as 'Shelly-neck,' It chanced one\nevening that the Tortoise overheard some fishermen talking by the water.\n'We will stop here to-night,' they said, 'and in the morning we will\ncatch the fish, the tortoises, and such like.' Extremely alarmed at\nthis, the Tortoise repaired to his friends the Geese, and reported the\nconversation.\n\n'What ever am I to do, Gossips?' he asked.\n\n'The first thing is to be assured of the danger,' said the Geese.\n\n'I am assured,' exclaimed the Tortoise; 'the first thing is to avoid it:\ndon't you know?--\n\n    'Time-not-come' and 'Quick-at-peril,' these two fishes 'scaped the net;\n    'What-will-be-will-be,' he perished, by the fishermen beset.'\n\n'No,' said the Geese,' how was it?' Shelly-neck related:--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF FATE AND THE THREE FISHES\n\n\"It was just such a pool as this, and on the arrival at it of just such\nmen as these fishermen, that three fishes, who had heard their designs,\nheld consultation as to what should be done.\n\n'I shall go to another water,' said \"Time-not-come,\" and away he went.\n\n'Why should we leave unless obliged?' asked \"Quick-at-peril.\" 'When the\nthing befalls I shall do the best I can--\n\n    'Who deals with bad dilemmas well, is wise.\n    The merchant's wife, with womanly device,\n    Kissed--and denied the kiss--under his eyes.'\n\n'How was that?' asked the other fish. Quick-at-peril related:--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE UNABASHED WIFE\n\n\"There was a trader in Vikrama-poora, who had a very beautiful wife, and\nher name was Jewel-bright. The lady was as unfaithful as she was fair,\nand had chosen for her last lover one of the household servants. Ah!\nwomankind!--\n\n    'Sex, that tires of being true,\n    Base and new is brave to you!\n    Like the jungle-cows ye range,\n    Changing food for sake of change.'\n\nNow it befell one day that as Jewel-bright was bestowing a kiss on the\nmouth of the servant, she was surprised by her husband; and seeing him\nshe ran up hastily and said, 'My lord, here is an impudent varlet! he\neats the camphor which I procured for you; I was actually smelling it on\nhis lips as you entered.' The servant catching her meaning, affected\noffence. 'How can a man stay in a house where the mistress is always\nsmelling one's lips for a little camphor?' he said; and thereat he was\nfor going off, and was only constrained by the good man to stay, after\nmuch entreaty. 'Therefore,' said Quick-at-peril, 'I mean to abide here,\nand make the best I can of what befalls, as she did.'\n\n'Yes, yes,' said What-will-be-will-be, 'we all know\n\n    'That which will not be will not be, and what is to be will be:--\n    Why not drink this easy physic, antidote of misery?'\n\n'When the morning came, the net was thrown, and both the fishes\ninclosed. Quick-at-peril, on being drawn up, feigned himself dead; and\nupon the fisherman's laying him aside, he leaped off again into the\nwater. As to What-will-be-will-be, he was seized and forthwith\ndispatched.--And that,' concluded the Tortoise, 'is why I wish to devise\nsome plan of escape.'\n\n'It might be compassed if you could go elsewhere,' said the Geese, 'but\nhow can you get across the ground?'\n\n'Can't you take me through the air?' asked the Tortoise.\n\n'Impossible!' said the Geese.\n\n'Not at all!' replied the Tortoise; 'you shall hold a stick across in\nyour bills, and I will hang on to it by my mouth--and thus you can\nreadily convey me,'\n\n'It is feasible,' observed the Geese, 'but remember,\n\n    'Wise men their plans revolve, lest ill befall;\n    The Herons gained a friend, and so, lost all.'\n\n'How came that about?' asked the Tortoise. The Geese related:--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE HERONS AND THE MONGOOSE\n\n\"Among the mountains of the north there is one named Eagle-cliff, and\nnear it, upon a fig-tree, a flock of Herons had their residence. At the\nfoot of the tree, in a hollow, there lived a serpent; and he was\nconstantly devouring the nestlings of the Herons. Loud were the\ncomplaints of the parent birds, until an old Heron thus advised\nthem:--'You should bring some fishes from the pool, and lay them one by\none in a line from the hole of yonder Mongoose to the hollow where the\nSerpent lives. The Mongoose will find him when it comes after the fish,\nand if it finds him it will kill him.' The advice seemed good, and was\nacted upon; but in killing the Snake the Mongoose overheard the cry of\nthe young Herons; and climbing the tree daily, he devoured all that the\nSnake had left. Therefore,' concluded the Geese, 'do we bid you look\nwell into your plan: if you should open your mouth, for instance, as we\ncarry you, you will drop and be killed.'\n\n'Am I a fool,' cried the Tortoise, 'to open my mouth? Not I! Come now,\nconvey me!'\n\n'Thereupon the Geese took up the stick; the Tortoise held fast with his\nmouth, and away they flew. The country people, observing this strange\nsight, ran after.\n\n'Ho! ho!' cried one, 'look at the flying Tortoise!'\n\n'When he falls we'll cook and eat him here,' said another.\n\n'No; let us take him home for dinner!' cried a third.\n\n'We can light a fire by the pool, and eat him,' said the first.\n\n'The Tortoise heard these unkind remarks in a towering passion. 'Eat\nme!--eat ashes!' he exclaimed, opening his mouth--and down he fell\ndirectly, and was caught by the countrymen.--Said I not well,' concluded\nthe Goose-Minister, 'that to scorn counsel is to seek destruction?'\n\n'You have well said,' replied King Silver-sides, disconsolately.\n\n'Yes, your Majesty,' interposed the Crane, who was just returned, 'if\nthe Fort had been cleared, Night-cloud could not have fired it, as he\ndid, by the Vulture's instigation.'\n\n'We see it all,' sighed the King, 'but too late!'\n\n    'Whoso trusts, for service rendered, or fair words, an enemy,\n    Wakes from folly like one falling in his slumber from a tree.'\n\n'I witnessed Night-cloud's reception,' continued the Crane. 'King\nJewel-plume showed him great favor, and was for anointing him Rajah of\nCamphor-island.'\n\n'Hear you that, my Liege?' asked the Goose.\n\n'Go on; I hear!' said Silver-sides.\n\n'To that the Vulture demurred,' continued the Crane:--'\"favor to low\npersons,\" he said, \"was like writing on the sea-sand. To set the\nbase-born in the seat of the great was long ago declared impolitic--\n\n    'Give mean men power, and give thy throat to the knife;\n    The Mouse, made Tiger, sought his master's life.'\n\n'How was that?' asked King Jewel-plume. The Vulture related--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE RECLUSE AND THE MOUSE\n\n\"In the forest of the Sage Gautama there dwelt a Recluse named\nMighty-at-Prayer. Once, as he sat at his frugal meal, a young mouse\ndropped beside him from the beak of a crow, and he took it up and fed it\ntenderly with rice grains. Some time after the Saint observed a cat\npursuing his dependent to devour it, whereupon he changed the mouse into\na stout cat. The cat was a great deal harassed by dogs, upon which the\nSaint again transformed it into a dog. The dog was always in danger of\nthe tigers, and his protector at last gave him the form of a\ntiger--considering him all this while, and treating him withal, like\nnothing but a mouse. The country-folk passing by would say, 'That a\ntiger! not he; it is a mouse the Saint has transformed.' And the mouse\nbeing vexed at this, reflected, 'So long as the Master lives, this\nshameful story of my origin will survive!' With this thought he was\nabout to take the Saint's life, when he, who knew his purpose, turned\nthe ungrateful beast by a word to his original shape. Besides, your\nMajesty,\" continued the Vulture, \"it may not be so easy to take in\nCamphor-island--\n\n    'Many fine fishes did the old Crane kill,\n    But the Crab matched him, maugre all his bill.'\n\n'How came that to pass?' asked Jewel-plume.\n\n'The Vulture related:--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE CRANE AND THE CRAB\n\n\"There was an old Crane at a mere called Lily-water, in Malwa, who stood\none day in the shallows with a most dejected look and drooping bill. A\nCrab observed him and called out, 'Friend Crane! have you given up\neating, that you stand there all day?' 'Nay, sir!' replied the old\nCrane; 'I love my dish of fish, but I have heard the fishermen say that\nthey mean to capture every one that swims in this water; and as that\ndestroys my hope of subsistence, I am resigning myself to death.' All\nthis the fishes overheard. 'In this matter certainly,' they said, 'his\ninterest is ours; we ought to consult him; for it is written--\n\n    'Fellow be with kindly foemen, rather than with friends unkind;\n    Friend and foeman are distinguished not by title but by mind.'\n\nThereupon they repaired to him: 'Good Crane,' they said, 'what course is\nthere for safety?'\n\n'Course of safety there is,' replied the Crane, 'to go elsewhere; and I\nwill carry you one by one to another pool, if you please.'\n\n'Do so,' said the trembling fishes.\n\n\"The Crane accordingly took one after another, and having eaten them\nreturned with the report that he had safely deposited each. Last of all,\nthe Crab requested to be taken; and the Crane, coveting his tender\nflesh, took him up with great apparent respect. On arriving at the spot,\nwhich was covered with fish-bones, the Crab perceived the fate reserved\nfor him; and turning round he fastened upon the Crane's throat and tore\nit so that he perished.'\n\n'Well, but,' said King Jewel-plume, 'we can make Night-cloud viceroy\nhere, to send over to Vindhya all the productions of Camphor-isle!'\n\n'Then the Vulture Far-sight laughed a low laugh and said--\n\n    'Who, ere he makes a gain has spent it,\n    Like the pot-breaker will repent it.'\n\n'What was that?' asked the King. Far-sight related:--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE BRAHMAN AND THE PANS\n\n\"There was a Brahman in the city of V\u00e1na, whose name was Deva Sarman. At\nthe equinoctial feast of the Dussera, he obtained for his duxina-gift a\ndish of flour, which he took into a potter's shed; and there lay down in\nthe shade among the pots, staff in hand. As he thus reclined he began to\nmeditate, 'I can sell this meal for ten cowrie-shells, and with them I\ncan purchase some of these pots and sell them at an advance. With all\nthat money I shall invest in betel-nuts and body-cloths and make a new\nprofit by their sale; and so go on trafficking till I get a lakh of\nrupees--what's to prevent me? Then I shall marry four wives--and one at\nleast will be beautiful and young, and she shall be my favorite. Of\ncourse the others will be jealous; but if they quarrel, and talk, and\ntrouble me I will belabor them like this--and this'--and therewith he\nflourished his staff to such a purpose as to smash his meal-dish and\nbreak several of the potter's jars. The potter, rushing out, took him by\nthe throat, and turned him off; and so ended his speculations. I smiled,\nmy Liege,' concluded the Vulture, 'at your precipitancy, thinking of\nthat story.'\n\n'Tell me, then, my Father, what should be done,' said the King.\n\n'Tell me first, your Majesty, what took the fortress: strength or\nstratagem?'\n\n'It was a device of yours,' said the King.\n\n'It is well,' replied the Minister, 'and my counsel now is to return\nbefore the rainy season, while we can return; and to make peace. We have\nwon renown and taken the enemy's stronghold; let it suffice. I speak as\na faithful adviser; and it is written--\n\n    'Whoso setting duty highest, speaks at need unwelcome things,\n    Disregarding fear and favor, such a one may succor kings.'\n\nOh, my Liege! war is uncertain! Nay, it may ruin victor and\nvanquished--\n\n    'Sunda the strong, and giant Upasunda,\n    Contending, like the lightning and the thunder,\n    Slew each the other. Learn, the while you wonder.'\n\n'Tell me that,' said the King of the Peacocks.\n\n'The Vulture related--\n\n\nTHE DUEL OF THE GIANTS\n\n\"Long ago, my Liege, there were two Daityas named Sunda and Upasunda,\nthe which with penance and fasting worshipped that God who wears the\nmoon for his forehead-jewel; desiring to win his favor, and thereby the\nlordship of the Three Worlds. At last the God, propitiated by their\ndevotion, spake thus unto them:--\n\n'I grant a boon unto ye--choose what it shall be.'\n\n'And they, who would have asked dominion, were suddenly minded of\nSaraswati--who reigns over the hearts and thoughts of men--to seek a\nforbidden thing.\n\n'If,' said they, 'we have found favor, let the Divinity give us his own\ncherished Parvati, the Queen of Heaven!'\n\n'Terribly incensed was the God, but his word had passed, and the boon\nmust be granted; and Parvati the Divine was delivered up to them. Then\nthose two world-breakers, sick at heart, sin-blinded, and afire with the\nglorious beauty of the Queen of Life--began to dispute, saying one to\nanother: 'Mine is she! mine is she!' At the last they called for an\numpire, and the God himself appeared before them as a venerable Brahman.\n\n'Master,' said they, 'tell us whose she is, for we both won her by our\nmight.'\n\n'Then spake that Brahman:--\n\n    'Brahmans for their lore have honor; Kshattriyas for their bravery;\n    Vaisyas for their hard-earned treasure; Sudras for humility,'\n\nYe are Kshattriyas--and it is yours to fight; settle, then, this\nquestion by the sword.'\n\n'Thereupon they agreed that he spoke wisely, and drew and battled; and\nbeing of equal force, they fell at the same moment by an exchange of\nblows. Good my Lord,' concluded the Minister, 'peace is a better thing\nthan war,'\n\n'But why not say so before?' asked Jewel-plume.\n\n'I said it at the first,' replied the Minister. 'I knew King\nSilver-sides for a just King, upon whom it was ill to wage battle. How\nsay the Scriptures?--\n\n    'Seven foemen of all foemen, very hard to vanquish be:\n    The Truth-teller, the Just-dweller, and the man from passion free,\n    Subtle, self-sustained, and counting frequent well-won victories,\n    And the man of many kinsmen--keep the peace with such as these.'\n\nThe Swan-king has friends and kinsmen, my Liege:--\n\n    'And the man with many kinsmen answers with them all attacks;\n    As the bambu, in the bambus safely sheltered, scorns the axe.'\n\n'My counsel then is that peace be concluded with him,' said the Vulture.\n\n'All this King Silver-sides and his Minister the Goose heard attentively\nfrom the Crane.\n\n'Go again!' said the Goose to Long-bill, 'and bring us news of how the\nVulture's advice is received.'\n\n'Minister!' began the King, upon the departure of the Crane, 'tell me as\nto this peace, who are they with whom it should not be concluded?'\n\n'They be twenty, namely----'\n\n'Tarry not to name them,' said the King; 'and what be the qualities of a\ngood ally?'\n\n'Such should be learned in Peace and War,' replied the Goose, 'in\nmarching and pitching, and seasonably placing an army in the field; for\nit is said--\n\n    'He who sets his battle wisely, conquers the unwary foe;\n    As the Owl, awaiting night-time, slew the overweening Crow.'\n\nCounsel, my Liege, is quintuple--Commencing, providing, dividing,\nrepelling, and completing,'\n\n'Good!' said the King.\n\n'Power is triple,' continued the Goose, 'being of Kings, of counsels,\nand of constant effort.'\n\n'It is so!' said the King.\n\n'And expedients, my Liege,' continued the Goose, 'are quadruple, and\nconsist of conciliation, of gifts, of strife-stirring, and of force of\narms; for thus it is written--\n\n    'Whoso hath the gift of giving wisely, equitably, well;\n    Whoso, learning all men's secrets, unto none his own will tell;\n    Whoso, ever cold and courtly, utters nothing that offends,\n    Such a one may rule his fellows unto Earth's extremest ends.'\n\n'Then King Jewel-plume would be a good ally,' observed the Swan-king.\n\n'Doubtless!' said the Goose, 'but elated with victory, he will hardly\nlisten to the Vulture's counsel; we must make him do it.'\n\n'How?' asked the King.\n\n'We will cause our dependent, the King of Ceylon, Strong-bill the Stork,\nto raise an insurrection in Jambudwipa.'\n\n'It is well-conceived,' said the King. And forthwith a Crane, named\nPied-body, was dismissed with a secret message to that Rajah.\n\n'In course of time the first Crane, who had been sent as a spy, came\nback, and made his report. He related that the Vulture had advised his\nSovereign to summon Night-cloud, the Crow, and learn from him regarding\nKing Silver-sides' intentions. Night-cloud attended accordingly.\n\n'Crow!' asked King Jewel-plume, 'what sort of a Monarch is the Rajah\nSilver-sides?'\n\n'Truthful, may it please you,' replied the Crow; 'and therewithal noble\nas Yudisthira himself.'\n\n'And his Minister, the Goose?'\n\n'Is a Minister unrivalled, my Liege,' said the Crow-king.\n\n'But how then didst thou so easily deceive them?'\n\n'Ah! your Majesty,' said the Crow, 'there was little credit in that. Is\nit not said?--\n\n    'Cheating them that truly trust you, 'tis a clumsy villainy!\n    Any knave may slay the child who climbs and slumbers on his knee.'\n\nBesides, the Minister detected me immediately. It was the King whose\ninnate goodness forbade him to suspect evil in another:--\n\n    'Believe a knave, thyself scorning a lie,\n    And rue it, like the Brahman, by and by.'\n\n'What Brahman was that?' asked the King. Night-cloud replied:--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE BRAHMAN AND THE GOAT\n\n\"A Brahman that lived in the forest of Gautama, your Majesty. He had\npurveyed a goat to make pooja, and was returning home with it on life\nshoulder when he was descried by three knaves. 'If we could but obtain\nthat goat,' said they, 'it would be a rare trick'; and they ran on, and\nseated themselves at the foot of three different trees upon the\nBrahman's road. Presently he came up with the first of them, who\naddressed him thus: 'Master! why do you carry that dog on your\nshoulder?' 'Dog!' said the Brahman, 'it is a goat for sacrifice!' With\nthat he went on a coss, and came to the second knave; who called\nout--'What doest thou with that dog, Master?' The Brahman laid his goat\nupon the ground, looked it all over, took it up again upon his back, and\nwalked on with his mind in a whirl; for--\n\n    'The good think evil slowly, and they pay\n    A price for faith--as witness \"Crop-ear\" may.'\n\n'Who was Crop-ear?' asked the King of the Peacocks.\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE CAMEL, THE LION, AND HIS COURT\n\n\"A Camel, may it please you,\" replied Night-cloud, \"who strayed away\nfrom a kafila, and wandered into the forest. A Lion, named\n'Fierce-fangs,' lived in that forest; and his three courtiers, a Tiger,\na Jackal, and a Crow, met the Camel, and conducted him to their King.\nHis account of himself was satisfactory, and the Lion took him into his\nservice under the name of Crop-ear. Now it happened that the rainy\nseason was very severe, and the Lion became indisposed, so that there\nwas much difficulty in obtaining food for the Court. The courtiers\nresolved accordingly to prevail on the Lion to kill the Camel; 'for what\ninterest have we,' they said, 'in this browser of thistles?'\n\n'What, indeed!' observed the Tiger; 'but will the Rajah kill him after\nhis promise of protection, think you?'\n\n'Being famished he will,' said the Crow. 'Know you not?--\n\n    'Hunger hears not, cares not, spares not; no boon of the starving beg;\n    When the snake is pinched with craving, verily she eats her egg.'\n\nAccordingly they repaired to the Lion.\n\n'Hast brought me food, fellow?' growled the Rajah.\n\n'None, may it please you,' said the Crow.\n\n'Must we starve, then?' asked his Majesty.\n\n'Not unless you reject the food before you, Sire,' rejoined the Crow.\n\n'Before me! how mean you?'\n\n'I mean,' replied the Crow (and he whispered it in the Lion's ear),\n'Crop-ear, the Camel!'\n\n'Now!' said the Lion, and he touched the ground, and afterwards both\nears, as he spoke, 'I have given him my pledge for his safety, and how\nshould I slay him?'\n\n'Nay, Sire! I said not slay,' replied the Crow; 'it may be that he will\noffer himself for food. To that your Majesty would not object?'\n\n'I am parlous hungry,' muttered the Lion.\n\n'Then the Crow went to find the Camel, and, bringing all together before\nthe King under some pretence or other, he thus addressed him:--\n\n'Sire! our pains are come to nothing: we can get no food, and we behold\nour Lord falling away,\n\n    'Of the Tree of State the root\n    Kings are--feed what brings the fruit.'\n\nTake me, therefore, your Majesty, and break your fast upon me.\"\n\n'Good Crow,' said the Lion, 'I had liefer die than do so.'\n\n'Will your Majesty deign to make a repast upon me?' asked the Jackal.\n\n'On no account!' replied the Lion.\n\n'Condescend, my Lord,' said the Tiger, 'to appease your hunger with my\npoor flesh.'\n\n'Impossible!' responded the Lion.\n\n'Thereupon Crop-ear, not to be behind in what seemed safe, made offer of\nhis own carcase, which was accepted before he had finished; the Tiger\ninstantly tearing his flank open, and all the rest at once devouring\nhim.\n\n'The Brahman,' continued Night-cloud, 'suspected nothing more than did\nthe Camel; and when the third knave had broken his jest upon him for\nbearing a dog, he threw it down, washed himself clean of the\ncontamination, and went home; while the knaves secured and cooked his\ngoat.'\n\n'But, Night-cloud,' asked the Rajah, 'how couldst thou abide so long\namong enemies, and conciliate them?'\n\n'It is easy to play the courtier for a purpose,' said Night-cloud--\n\n    'Courtesy may cover malice; on their heads the woodmen bring,\n    Meaning all the while to burn them, logs and fagots--oh, my King!\n    And the strong and subtle river, rippling at the cedar's foot,\n    While it seems to lave and kiss it, undermines the hanging root.'\n\nIndeed, it has been said--\n\n    'A wise man for an object's sake\n    His foe upon his back will take,\n    As with the Frogs once did the Snake.'\n\n'How was that?' asked the Peacock-King. The Crow related:--\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE FROGS AND THE OLD SERPENT\n\n\"In a deserted garden there once lived a Serpent, 'Slow-coil' by name;\nwho had reached an age when he was no longer able to obtain his own\nfood. Lying listlessly by the edge of a pond, he was descried by a\ncertain Frog, and interrogated--\n\n'Have you given up caring for food, Serpent?'\n\n'Leave me, kindly Sir,' replied the subtle reptile; 'the griefs of a\nmiserable wretch like me cannot interest your lofty mind.'\n\n'Let me at least hear them,' said the Frog, somewhat flattered.\n\n'You must know, then, gracious Sir,' began the Serpent, 'that it is now\ntwenty years since here, in Brahmapoora, I bit the son of Kaundinya, a\nholy Brahman; of which cruel bite he died. Seeing his boy dead,\nKaundinya abandoned himself to despair, and grovelled in his distress\nupon the ground. Thereat came all his kinsmen, citizens of Brahmapoora,\nand sat down with him, as the manner is--\n\n    'He who shares his brother's portion, be he beggar, be he lord,\n    Comes as truly, comes as duly, to the battle as the board;\n\n    Stands before the King to succor, follows to the pile to sigh;\n    He is friend and he is kinsman--less would make the name a lie.'\n\nThen spoke a twice-passed Brahman,[21] Kapila by name, 'O Kaundinya!\nthou dost forget thyself to lament thus. Hear what is written--\n\n    'Weep not! Life the hired nurse is, holding us a little space;\n    Death, the mother who doth take us back into our proper place.'\n\n    'Gone, with all their gauds and glories: gone, like peasants, are the\n            Kings,\n    Whereunto the world is witness, whereof all her record rings.'\n\nWhat, indeed, my friend, is this mortal frame, that we should set store\nby it?--\n\n    'For the body, daily wasting, is not seen to waste away,\n    Until wasted, as in water set a jar of unbaked clay.'\n\n    'And day after day man goeth near and nearer to his fate,\n    As step after step the victim thither where its slayers wait.'\n\nFriends and kinsmen--they must all be surrendered! Is it not said--\n\n    'Like as a plank of drift-wood\n      Tossed on the watery main,\n    Another plank encountered,\n      Meets--touches--parts again;\n    So tossed, and drifting ever,\n      On life's unresting sea,\n    Men meet, and greet, and sever,\n      Parting eternally.'\n\nThou knowest these things, let thy wisdom chide thy sorrow, saying--\n\n    'Halt, traveller! rest i' the shade: then up and leave it!\n    Stay, Soul! take fill of love; nor losing, grieve it!'\n\nBut in sooth a wise man would better avoid love; for--\n\n    'Each beloved object born\n    Sets within the heart a thorn,\n    Bleeding, when they be uptorn.'\n\nAnd it is well asked--\n\n    'When thine own house, this rotting frame, doth wither,\n    Thinking another's lasting--goest thou thither?'\n\nWhat will be, will be; and who knows not--\n\n    'Meeting makes a parting sure,\n    Life is nothing but death's door.'\n\nFor truly--\n\n    'As the downward-running rivers never turn and never stay,\n    So the days and nights stream deathward, bearing human lives away.'\n\nAnd though it be objected that--\n\n    'Bethinking him of darkness grim, and death's unshunned pain,\n    A man strong-souled relaxes hold, like leather soaked in rain.'\n\nYet is this none the less assured, that--\n\n    'From the day, the hour, the minute,\n      Each life quickens in the womb;\n    Thence its march, no falter in it,\n      Goes straight forward to the tomb.'\n\nForm, good friend, a true idea of mundane matters; and bethink thee that\nregret is after all but an illusion, an ignorance--\n\n    'An 'twere not so, would sorrow cease with years?\n    Wisdom sees aright what want of knowledge fears.'\n\n'Kaundinya listened to all this with the air of a dreamer. Then rising\nup he said, 'Enough! the house is hell to me--I will betake me to the\nforest.'\n\n'Will that stead you?' asked Kapila; 'nay--\n\n    'Seek not the wild, sad heart! thy passions haunt it;\n    Play hermit in thine house with heart undaunted;\n    A governed heart, thinking no thought but good,\n    Makes crowded houses holy solitude.'\n\nTo be master of one's self--to eat only to prolong life--to yield to\nlove no more than may suffice to perpetuate a family--and never to speak\nbut in the cause of truth, this,' said Kapila, 'is armor against grief.\nWhat wouldst thou with a hermit's life--prayer and purification from\nsorrow and sin in holy streams? Hear this!--\n\n    'Away with those that preach to us the washing off of sin--\n    Thine own self is the stream for thee to make ablutions in:\n    In self-restraint it rises pure--flows clear in tide of truth,\n    By widening banks of wisdom, in waves of peace and ruth.\n    Bathe there, thou son of Pandu! with reverence and rite,\n    For never yet was water wet could wash the spirit white.'\n\nResign thyself to loss. Pain exists absolutely. Ease, what is it but a\nminute's alleviation?'\n\n'It is nothing else,' said Kaundinya: 'I will resign myself!'\nThereupon,' the Serpent continued, 'he cursed me with the curse that I\nshould be a carrier of frogs, and so retired--and here remain I to do\naccording to the Brahman's malediction.'\n\n'The Frog, hearing all this, went and reported it to Web-foot the\nFrog-King, who shortly came himself for an excursion on the Serpent. He\nwas carried delightfully, and constantly employed the conveyance. But\none day observing the Serpent to be sluggish, he asked the reason.\n\n'May it please you,' explained the Serpent, 'your slave has nothing to\neat.'\n\n'Eat a few of my frogs,' said the King. 'I give you leave.'\n\n'I thank your Majesty!' answered the Serpent, and forthwith he began to\neat the frogs, until the pond becoming clear, he finished with their\nmonarch himself. 'I also,' said Night-cloud, 'stooped to conquer, but\nKing Silver-sides is a good King, and I would your Majesty were at peace\nwith him.'\n\n'Peace!' cried King Jewel-plume, 'shall I make peace with my vassal! I\nhave vanquished him--let him serve me!'\n\n\"At this moment the Parrot came in. 'Sire!' said he, breathlessly,' the\nStork Strong-bill, Rajah of Ceylon, has raised the standard of revolt in\nJambudwipa, and claims the country.'\n\n'What! what!' cried the King in a fury.\n\n'Excellent good, Goose!' muttered the Minister. 'This is thy work!'\n\n'Bid him but await me!' exclaimed the King, 'and I will tear him up like\na tree!'\n\n'Ah, Sire,' said the Minister--\n\n    'Thunder for nothing, like December's cloud,\n    Passes unmarked: strike hard, but speak not loud.'\n\nWe cannot march without making peace first; our rear will be attacked.'\n\n'Must it be so?' asked the King.\n\n'My Liege, it must,' replied the Vulture.\n\n'Make a peace then,' said the King, 'and make an end.'\n\n'It is well,' observed the Minister, and set out for the Court of the\nKing Silver-sides. While he was yet coming, the Crane announced his\napproach.\n\n'Ah!' said the Swan-King, 'this will be another designing spy from the\nenemy.'\n\n'Misdoubt him not!' answered the Goose, smiling, 'it is the Vulture\nFar-sight, a spirit beyond suspicion. Would your Majesty be as the Swan\nthat took the stars reflected in the pool for lily-buds, and being\ndeceived, would eat no lily-shoots by day, thinking them stars?'\n\n'Not so! but treachery breeds mistrust,' replied the Rajah; is it not\nwritten--\n\n    'Minds deceived by evil natures, from the good their faith withhold;\n    When hot conjee once has burned them, children blow upon the cold.'\n\n'It is so written, my Liege,' said the Minister. 'But this one may be\ntrusted. Let him be received with compliments and a gift.'\n\n'Accordingly the Vulture was conducted, with the most profound respect,\nfrom the fort to the King's audience-hall, where a throne was placed for\nhim.\n\n'Minister,' said the Goose, 'consider us and ours at thy disposal.'\n\n'So consider us,' assented the Swan-King.\n\n'I thank you,' said Far-sight; 'but--\n\n    'With a gift the miser meet;\n    Proud men by obeisance greet;\n    Women's silly fancies soothe;\n    Give wise men their due--the truth.'\n\n'I am come to conclude a peace, not to claim your kingdom. By what mode\nshall we conclude it?'\n\n'How many modes be there?' asked King Silver-sides.\n\n'Sixteen,' replied the Vulture.\n\n'Are the alliances numbered therein?' asked the King.\n\n'No! these be four,' answered the Vulture, 'namely--of mutual help--of\nfriendship--of blood--and of sacrifice.'\n\n'You are a great diplomatist!' said the King. 'Advise us which to\nchoose!'\n\n'There is no Peace like the Golden \"Sangata,\" which is made between good\nmen, based on friendly feeling, and preceded by the Oath of Truth,'\nreplied the Vulture.\n\n'Let us make that Peace!' said the Goose. Far-sight accordingly, with\nfresh presents of robes and jewels, accompanied the Goose to the camp of\nthe Peacock-King. The Rajah, Jewel-plume, gave the Goose a gracious\naudience, accepted his terms of Peace, and sent him back to the\nSwan-King, loaded with gifts and kind speeches. The revolt in Jambudwipa\nwas suppressed, and the Peacock-King retired to his own kingdom.\n\n\"And now,\" said Vishnu-Sarman, \"I have told your Royal Highnesses all.\nIs there anything remaining to be told?\"\n\n\"Reverend Sir!\" replied the Princes, \"there is nothing. Thanks to you,\nwe have heard and comprehended the perfect cycle of kingly duty, and are\ncontent.\"\n\n\"There remains but this, then,\" said their Preceptor:--\n\n      'Peace and Plenty, all fair things,\n      Grace the realm where ye reign Kings;\n      Grief and loss come not anigh you,\n      Glory guide and magnify you;\n      Wisdom keep your statesmen still\n      Clinging fast, in good or ill,\n      Clinging, like a bride new-wed,\n      Unto lips, and breast, and head:\n    And day by day, that these fair things befall,\n    The Lady Lukshmi give her grace to all.'\n\n\n[21] A young Brahman, being invested with the sacred thread, and having\nconcluded his studies, becomes of the second order: a householder.\n\n\n\n\nNALA AND DAMAYANTI\n\n[_Selected from the \"Mah\u00e2bh\u00e2rata\" Translation by Sir Edwin Arnold_]\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nThe \"Mah\u00e2bh\u00e2rata\" is the oldest epic in Sanscrit literature, and is\nsevenfold greater in bulk than the \"Iliad\" and \"Odyssey\" taken together.\nThis remarkable poem contains almost all the history of ancient India,\nso far as it can be recovered, together with inexhaustible details of\nits political, social, and religious life--in fact, the antique Hindoo\nworld stands epitomized in it. The Old Testament is not more interwoven\nwith the Jewish race, nor the New Testament with the civilization of\nChristendom, nor even the Koran with the records and destinies of Islam,\nthan is this great Sanscrit poem with the unchanging and teeming\npopulation of Hindostan. The stories, songs, and ballads, the\ngenealogies, the nursery tales and religious discourses, the art, the\nlearning, the philosophy, the creeds, the modes of thought, the very\nphrases and daily ideas of the Hindoo people are taken from this poem.\nTheir children are named after its heroes; so are their cities, streets,\nand even cattle. It is the spiritual life of the Hindoo people. It is\npersonified, worshipped, and cited as being something divine. To read,\nor even to listen, is to the devout Hindoo sufficiently meritorious to\nbring prosperity to the fireside in this world, and happiness in the\nworld to come.\n\nThe western world has as yet only received the \"Mah\u00e2bh\u00e2rata\" in\nfragments--mere specimens, bearing to those vast treasures of Sanscrit\nliterature such small proportion as cabinet samples of ore have to the\nriches of a mine. Such knowledge as we have of the great Indian epics is\nlargely due to Sir William Jones, and the host of translators who\nfollowed him.\n\nIn its present shape the \"Mah\u00e2bh\u00e2rata\" contains some two hundred\nthousand verses. The style is forcible, often terse and nervous: the\naction is well sustained, and the whole effect produced is that of a\npoem written in commemoration of actual conflict between members of\nrival clans who lived somewhere southeast of the Punjab. In portrayal of\ncharacter the Hindoo poem somewhat resembles its Grecian\ncounterpart--the \"Iliad\"; the noble devotion and chivalric character of\nits chief hero, Arjuna, reminds us of Hector--and the wily, sinful\nDuryodhana, is a second Ulysses. The \"Mah\u00e2bh\u00e2rata\" was probably begun in\nthe third or fourth century B.C., and completed soon after the beginning\nof the Christian era.\n\nThe \"Bh\u00e2rata\" war is a war between rival cousins of the house of\nBh\u00e2rata, a race of heroes mentioned in the Rig-veda collection.\nDuryodhana deprives his cousin Yudhisthira of his throne by inducing him\nto squander his fortune, kingdom, family, and self--and then banishes\nYudhisthira and the latter's four brothers for twelve years. The\ngambling was conducted in an unfair manner, and the cousins feel that\ntheir banishment was the result of treachery, although pretended to be\nmercy in lieu of death. When the twelve years are over they collect\narmies of sympathizers, and on the Sacred Plain of the Kurus (the Holy\nLand of India) the great war is fought out. The good prevails,\nDuryodhana is slain, and Yudhisthira recovers his kingdom. This story is\ntold so graphically that the \"Mah\u00e2bh\u00e2rata\" still has the charm that\ncomes from plot and action, as well as that of poetic beauty.\n\nA concluding passage of this great poem says: \"The reading of this\n'Mah\u00e2bh\u00e2rata' destroys all sin and produces virtue, so much so that the\npronunciation of a single shloka is sufficient to wipe away much guilt.\nIt has bound human beings in a chain, of which one end is life and the\nother death. If a man reads the 'Mah\u00e2bh\u00e2rata' and has faith in its\ndoctrines, he is free from all sin and ascends to heaven after his\ndeath.\"\n\nThe present selection is the episode of Nala and Damayanti. It is one of\nthe most charming of the \"Mah\u00e2bh\u00e2rata\" stories, and its Oriental flavor\nand delicacy have been well preserved by the translator, Sir Edwin\nArnold.\n\nL.F.C.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MAH\u00c2BH\u00c2RATA\n\n\nNALA AND DAMAYANTI\n\nPart I\n\n\n    A prince there was, named Nala, Virasen's noble breed,\n    Goodly to see, and virtuous; a tamer of the steed;\n    As Indra 'midst the gods, so he of kings was kingliest one,\n    Sovereign of men, and splendid as the golden, glittering sun;\n    Pure, knowing scripture, gallant; ruling nobly Nishadh's lands;\n    Dice-loving, but a proud, true chief of her embattled bands;\n    By lovely ladies lauded; free, trained in self-control;\n    A shield and bow; a Manu on earth; a royal soul!\n    And in Vidarbha's city the Raja Bhima dwelled;\n    Save offspring, from his perfect bliss no blessing was withheld;\n    For offspring, many a pious rite full patiently he wrought,\n    Till Damana the Brahman unto his house was brought.\n    Him Bhima, ever reverent, did courteously entreat,\n    Within the Queen's pavilion led him, to rest and eat;\n    Whereby that sage, grown grateful, gave her--for joy of joys--\n    A girl, the gem of girlhood, and three brave lusty boys--\n    Damana, Dama, D\u00e2nta, their names:--Damayanti she;\n    No daughter more delightful, no sons could goodlier be.\n    Stately and bright and beautiful did Damayanti grow;\n    No land there was which did not the Slender-waisted know;\n    A hundred slaves her fair form decked with robe and ornament--\n    Like \u015aachi's self to serve her a hundred virgins bent;\n    And 'midst them Bhima's daughter, in peerless glory dight,\n    Gleamed as the lightning glitters against the murk of night;\n    Having the eyes of Lakshmi, long-lidded, black, and bright--\n    Nay--never Gods, nor Yakshas, nor mortal men among\n    Was one so rare and radiant e'er seen, or sued, or sung\n    As she, the heart-consuming, in heaven itself desired.\n    And Nala, too, of princes the Tiger-Prince, admired\n    Like Kama was; in beauty an embodied lord of love:\n    And ofttimes Nala praised they all other chiefs above\n    In Damayanti's hearing; and oftentimes to him,\n    With worship and with wonder, her beauty they would limn;\n    So that, unmet, unknowing, unseen, in each for each\n    A tender thought of longing grew up from seed of speech;\n    And love (thou son of Kunti!) those gentle hearts did reach.\n      Thus Nala--hardly bearing in his heart\n    Such longing--wandered in his palace-woods,\n    And marked some water-birds, with painted plumes,\n    Disporting. One, by stealthy steps, he seized;\n    But the sky-traveller spake to Nala this:--\n    \"Kill me not, Prince, and I will serve thee well.\n    For I, in Damayanti's ear, will say\n    Such good of Nishadh's lord, that nevermore\n    Shall thought of man possess her, save of thee.\"\n      Thereat the Prince gladly gave liberty\n    To his soft prisoner, and all the swans\n    Flew, clanging, to Vidarbha--a bright flock--\n    Straight to Vidarbha, where the Princess walked;\n    And there, beneath her eyes, those winged ones\n    Lighted. She saw them sail to earth, and marked--\n    Sitting amid her maids--their graceful forms;\n    While those for wantonness 'gan chase the swans,\n    Which fluttered this and that way through the grove:\n    Each girl with tripping feet her bird pursued,\n    And Damayanti, laughing, followed hers;\n    Till--at the point to grasp--the flying prey\n    Deftly eluding touch, spake as men speak,\n    Addressing Bhima's daughter:--\n                                  \"Lady dear!\n    Loveliest Damayanti! Nala dwells\n    In near Nishadha: oh, a noble Prince,\n    Not to be matched of men; an A\u015bwin he,\n    For goodliness. Incomparable maid!\n    Wert thou but wife to that surpassing chief,\n    Rich would the fruit grow from such lordly birth,\n    Such peerless beauty. Slender-waisted one,\n    Gods, men, and Gandharvas have we beheld,\n    But never none among them like to him.\n    As thou art pearl of princesses, so he\n    Is crown of princes; happy would it fall,\n    One such perfection should another wed.\"\n      And when she heard that bird (O King of men!)\n    The Princess answered: \"Go, dear swan, and tell\n    This same to Nala;\" and the egg-born said,\n    \"I go\"--and flew; and told the Prince of all.\n      But Damayanti, having heard the bird,\n    Lived fancy-free no more; by Nala's side\n    Her soul dwelt, while she sat at home distraught,\n    Mournful and wan, sighing the hours away,\n    With eyes upcast, and passion-laden looks;\n    So that, eftsoons, her limbs failed, and her mind--\n    With love o'erweighted--found no rest in sleep,\n    No grace in company, no joy at feasts.\n    Nor night nor day brought peace; always she heaved\n    Sigh upon sigh, till all her maidens knew--\n    By glance and mien and moan--how changed she was,\n    Her own sweet self no more. Then to the King\n    They told how Damayanti loved the Prince.\n    Which thing when Bhima from her maidens heard,\n    Deep pondering for his child what should be done,\n    And why the Princess was beside herself,\n    That lord of lands perceived his daughter grown,\n    And knew that for her high Swayamvara\n    The time was come.\n                       So, to the Rajas all\n    The King sent word: \"Ye Lords of Earth, attend\n    Of Damayanti the Swayamvara.\"\n    And when these learned of her Swayamvara,\n    Obeying Bhima, to his court they thronged--\n    Elephants, horses, cars--over the land\n    In full files wending, bearing flags and wreaths\n    Of countless hues, with gallant companies\n    Of fighting men. And those high-hearted chiefs\n    The strong-armed King welcomed with worship fair,\n    As fitted each, and led them to their seats.\n      Now at that hour there passed towards Indra's heaven,\n    Thither from earth ascending, those twain saints--\n    The wise, the pure, the mighty-minded ones,\n    The self-restrained--Narad and Parvata.\n    The mansion of the Sovereign of the Gods\n    In honor entered they; and he, the Lord\n    Of Clouds, dread Indra, softly them salutes,\n    Inquiring of their weal, and of the world\n    Wherethrough their name was famous, how it fares.\n      Then Narad said: \"Well is it, Lord of Gods,\n    With us, and with our world; and well with those\n    Who rule the peoples, O thou King in Heaven!\"\n      But He that slew the Demons spake again:--\n    \"The princes of the earth, just-minded, brave,\n    Those who, in battle fearing not to fall,\n    See death on the descending blade, and charge\n    Full front against it, turning not their face--\n    Theirs is this realm eternal, as to me\n    The cow of plenty, K\u00e2madhuk, belongs.\n    Where be my Kshatriya warriors? Wherefore now\n    See I none coming of those slaughtered lords,\n    Chiefs of mankind, our always honored guests?\"\n      And unto Indra Narad gave reply:--\n    \"King of the Air! no wars are waged below;\n    None fall in fight, to enter here. The Lord\n    Of high Vidarbha hath a daughter, famed\n    For loveliness beyond all earthly maids,\n    The Princess Damayanti, far-renowned.\n    Of her, dread Sakra! the Swayamvara\n    Shall soon befall, and thither now repair\n    The kings and princes of all lands, to woo--\n    Each for himself--this pearl of womanhood.\n    For oh, thou Slayer of the Demons, all\n    Desire the maid.\"\n                     Drew round, while Narad spake,\n    The Masters, th'Immortals, pressing in\n    With Agni and the Greatest, near the throne,\n    To listen to the speech of Narada;\n    Whom having heard, all cried delightedly,\n    \"We, too, will go.\" Thereupon those high gods,\n    With chariots, and with heavenly retinues,\n    Sped to Vidarbha, where the kings were met.\n    And Nala, knowing of this kingly tryst,\n    Went thither joyous, heart-full with the thought\n    Of Damayanti.\n                  Thus it chanced the gods\n    Beheld the Prince wending along his road,\n    Goodly of mien, as is the Lord of Love.\n    The world's Protectors saw him, like a sun\n    For splendor; and, in very wonder, paused\n    Some time irresolute, so fair he was;\n    Then in mid-sky their golden chariots stayed,\n    And through the clouds descending called to him:--\n    \"Abo! Nala of Nishadha! Noblest Prince,\n    Be herald for us; bear our message now.\"\n      \"Yea!\" Nala made reply, \"this will I do\"--\n    And then--palm unto palm in reverence pressed--\n    Asked: \"Shining Ones, who are ye? Unto whom,\n    And what words bearing, will ye that I go?\n    Deign to instruct me what it is ye bid.\"\n    Thus the Prince spake, and Indra answered him:--\n    \"Thou seest th'immortal gods. Indra am I,\n    And this is Agni, and the other here,\n    Varuna, Lord of Waters; and beyond,\n    Yama, the King of Death, who parteth souls\n    From mortal frames. To Damayanti go;\n    Tell our approach. Say this: 'The world's dread lords,\n    Wishful to see thee, come; desiring thee--\n    Indra, Varuna, Agni, Yama, all.\n    Choose of these powers to which thou wilt be given.'\"\n    But Nala, hearing that, joined palms again,\n    And cried: \"Ah, send me not, with one accord\n    For this, most mighty Gods! How should a man\n    Sue for another, being suitor too?\n    How bear such errand? Have compassion, Gods!\"\n      Then spake they: \"Yet thou saidst, 'This shall I do,'\n    Nishadha's Prince! and wilt thou do it not,\n    Forswearing faith? Nay, but depart, and soon!\"\n      So bid, but lingering yet again, he said:--\n    \"Well guarded are the gates; how shall I find\n    Speech with her?\"\n                      \"Thou shalt find,\" Indra replied.\n    And, lo! upon that word Nala was brought\n    To Damayanti's chamber. There he saw\n    Vidarbha's glory, sitting 'mid her maids,\n    In majesty and grace surpassing all;\n    So exquisite, so delicate of form,\n    Waist so fine-turned, such limbs, such lighted eyes,\n    The moon hath meaner radiance than she.\n    Love at the sight of that soft smiling face\n    Sprang to full passion, while he stood and gazed.\n    Yet, faith and duty urging, he restrained\n    His beating heart; but when those beauteous maids\n    Spied Nala, from their cushions they uprose,\n    Startled to see a man, yet startled more\n    Because he showed so heavenly bright and fair.\n    In wondering pleasure each saluted him,\n    Uttering no sound, but murmuring to themselves:--\n    \"Aho! the grace of him: aho! the brilliance;\n    Aho! what glorious strength lives in his limbs!\n    What is he? Is he God, Gandharva, Yaksha?\"\n    But this unspoken, for they dared not breathe\n    One syllable, all standing shyly there\n    To see him, and to see his youth so sweet.\n    Yet, softly glancing back to his soft glance,\n    The Princess, presently, with fluttering breath,\n    Accosted Nala, saying: \"Fairest Prince,\n    Who by thy faultless form hath filled my heart\n    With sudden joy, coming as come the gods,\n    Unstayed, I crave to know thee, who thou art;\n    How didst thou enter? how wert thou unseen?\n    Our palace is close-guarded, and the King\n    Hath issued mandates stern.\"\n                                Tenderly spake\n    The Prince, replying to those tender words:--\n    \"Most lovely! I am Nala. I am come\n    A herald of the gods unto thee here.\n    The gods desire thee, the immortal Four--\n    Indra, Varuna, Yama, Agni. Choose,\n    O Brightest! one from these to be thy lord.\n    By their help is it I have entered in\n    Unseen; none could behold me at thy gates,\n    Nor stay me, passing; and to speak their will\n    They sent me, fairest one and best. Do thou,\n    Knowing the message, judge as seemeth well.\"\n      She bowed her head, hearing the great gods named,\n    And then, divinely smiling, said to him:--\n    \"Pledge thyself faithfully to me, and I\n    Will seek, O Raja, only how to pay\n    That debt with all I am, with all I have;\n    For I and mine are thine--in full trust thine.\n    Make me that promise, Prince. Thy gentle name--\n    Sung by the swan--first set my thoughts afire;\n    And for thy sake--only for thee--sweet Lord,\n    The kings were summoned hither. If, alas!\n    Fair Prince, thou dost reject my sudden love,\n    So proffered, then must poison, flame, or flood,\n    Or knitted cord, be my sad remedy.\"\n      So spake Vidarbha's Pride; and Nala said:--\n    \"With gods so waiting--with the world's dread lords\n    Hastening to woo, canst thou desire a man?\n    Bethink! I, unto these, that make and mar,\n    These all-wise ones, almighty, am like dust\n    Under their feet: lift thy heart to the height\n    Of what I bring. If mortal man offend\n    The most high gods, death is what springs of it.\n    Spare me to live, thou faultless lady! Choose\n    Which of these excellent great gods thou wilt;\n    Wear the unstained robes! bear on thy brows\n    The wreaths which never fade, of heavenly blooms!\n    Be, as thou mayest, a goddess, and enjoy\n    Godlike delights! Him who enfolds the earth,\n    Creating and consuming, Brightest Power,\n    Hut\u00e2sa, Eater of the Sacrifice,\n    What woman would not take? Or him whose rod\n    Herds all the generations forward still\n    On virtue's path, Red Yama, King of Death,\n    What woman would affront? Or him, the all-good,\n    All-wise destroyer of the Demons, first\n    In heaven, Mahendra--who of womankind\n    Is there that would not wed? Or, if thy mind\n    Incline, doubt not to choose Varuna; he\n    Is of these world-protectors. From a heart\n    Full friendly cometh what I tell thee now.\"\n      Unto Nishadha's Prince the maid replied--\n    Tears of distress dimming her lustrous eyes---\n    \"Humbly I reverence these mighty gods;\n    But thee I choose, and thee I take for lord;\n    And this I vow!\"\n                     With folded palms she stood,\n    And trembling lips, while his faint answer fell:--\n    \"Sent on such embassy, how shall I dare\n    Speak, sweetest Princess, for myself to thee?\n    Bound by my promise for the gods to sue,\n    How can I be a suitor for myself?\n    Silence is here my duty; afterwards,\n    If I shall come, in mine own name I'll come,\n    Mine own cause pleading. Ah, might that so be!\"\n      Checking her tears, Damayanti sadly smiled,\n    And said full soft: \"One way of hope I see,\n    A blameless way, O Lord of men! wherefrom\n    No fault shall rise, nor any danger fall.\n    Thou also, Prince, with Indra and these gods,\n    Must enter in where my Swayamvara\n    Is held; then I, in presence of those gods,\n    Will choose thee, dearest, for my lord; and so\n    Blame shall not light on thee,\"\n                                    With which sweet words\n    Soft in his ears, Nishadha straight returned\n    There where the gods were gathered, waiting him;\n    Whom the world's masters, on his way, perceived,\n    And, spying, questioned, asking for his news:--\n    \"Saw'st thou her, Prince? Didst see the sweet-lipped one?\n    What spake she of us? Tell us true; tell all!\"\n      Quoth Nala: \"By your worshipful behest\n    Sent to her house, the great gates entered I,\n    Though the gray porters watched; but none might spy\n    My entering, by your power, O radiant Ones,\n    Saving the Raja's daughter; her I saw\n    Amid her maidens, and by them was seen.\n    On me with much amazement they did gaze\n    Whilst I your high Divinities extolled.\n    But she that hath the lovely face, with mind\n    Set upon me, hath chosen me, ye Gods.\n    For thus she spake, my Princess: 'Let them come,\n    And come thou, like a lordly tiger, too,\n    Unto the place of my Swayamvara;\n    There will I choose thee in their presence, Prince,\n    To be my lord; and so there will not fall\n    Blame, thou strong-armed! to thee,' This she did say\n    Even as I tell it; and what shall be next,\n    To will is yours, O ye immortal Ones!\"\n      Soon, when the moon was good, and day and hour\n    Were found propitious, Bhima, King of men,\n    Summoned the chiefs to the Swayamvara;\n    Upon which message all those eager lords\n    For love of Damayanti hastened there.\n    Glorious with gilded pillars was the court,\n    Whereto a gate-house opened, and thereby\n    Into the square, like lions from the hills,\n    Paced the proud guests; and there their seats they took,\n    Each in his rank, the masters of the lands,\n    With crowns of fragrant blossoms garlanded,\n    And polished jewels swinging in their ears.\n    Of some the thews, knitted and rough, stood forth\n    Like iron maces; some had slender limbs,\n    Sleek and fine-turned like the five-headed snake;\n    Lords with long-flowing hair; glittering lords;\n    High-nosed, and eagle-eyed, and heavy-browed;\n    The faces of those kings shone in a ring\n    As shine at night the stars; and that great square\n    As thronged with Rajas was as Naga-land\n    Is full of serpents; thick with warlike chiefs\n    As mountain-caves with panthers. Unto these\n    Entered, in matchless majesty of form,\n    The Princess Damayanti. As she came,\n    The glory of her ravished eyes and hearts,\n    So that the gaze of all those haughty kings,\n    Fastening upon her loveliness, grew fixed--\n    Not moving save with her--step after step\n    Onward and always following the maid.\n      But while the styles and dignities of all\n    Were cried aloud (O son of Bh\u00e2rat!), lo!\n    The Princess marked five of that throng alike\n    In form and garb and visage. There they stood,\n    Each from the next undifferenced, but each\n    Nala's own self;--yet which might Nala be\n    In nowise could that doubting maid descry.\n    Who took her eye seemed Nala while she gazed,\n    Until she looked upon his like; and so\n    Pondered the lovely lady, sore-perplexed,\n    Thinking, \"How shall I tell which be the gods,\n    And which is noble Nala?\" Deep-distressed\n    And meditative waxed she, musing hard\n    What those signs were, delivered us of old,\n    Whereby gods may be known: \"Of all those signs\n    Taught by our elders, lo! I see not one\n    Where stand yon five.\" So murmured she, and turned\n    Over and over every mark she knew.\n    At last, resolved to make the gods themselves\n    Her help at need, with reverent air and voice\n    Humbly saluted she those heavenly ones,\n    And with joined palms and trembling accents spake:--\n    \"As, when I heard the swans, I chose my Prince,\n    By that sincerity I call ye, Gods,\n    To show my Love to me and make me know!\n    As in my heart and soul and speech I stand\n    True to my choice, by that sincerity\n    I call the all-knowing gods to make me know!\n    As the high gods created Nishadha's chief\n    To be my lord, by their sincerity\n    I bid them show themselves, and make me know!\n    As my vow, sealed to him, must be maintained\n    For his name, and for mine, I call the gods\n    By such sincerity to make me know!\n    Let them appear, the masters of the world--\n    The high gods--each one in his proper shape,\n    That I may see Nishadha's chief, my choice,\n    Whom minstrels praise, and Damayanti loves.\"\n      Hearing that earnest speech--so passion-fraught,\n    So full of truth, of strong resolve, of love,\n    Of singleness of soul and constancy--\n    Even as she spake, the gods disclosed themselves.\n    By well-seen signs the effulgent Ones she knew.\n    Shadowless stood they, with unwinking eyes,\n    And skins which never moist with sweat; their feet\n    Light-gliding o'er the ground, not touching it;\n    The unfading blossoms on their brows not soiled\n    By earthly dust, but ever fair and fresh.\n    Whilst, by their side, garbed so and visaged so,\n    But doubled by his shadow, stained with dust,\n    The flower-cups wiltering in his wreath, his skin\n    Pearly with sweat, his feet upon the earth,\n    And eyes a-wink, stood Nala. One by one\n    Glanced she on those divinities, then bent\n    Her gaze upon the Prince, and, joyous, said:--\n    \"I know thee, and I name my rightful lord,\n    Taking Nishadha's chief.\" Therewith she drew\n    Modestly nigh, and held him by the cloth,\n    With large eyes beaming love, and round his neck\n    Hung the bright chaplet, love's delicious crown;\n    So choosing him--him only--whom she named\n    Before the face of all to be her lord.\n      Oh, then brake forth from all those suitors proud,\n    \"Ha!\" and \"Aho!\" But from the gods and saints,\n    \"Sadhu! well done! well done!\" And all admired\n    The happy Prince, praising the grace of him;\n    While Virasena's son, delightedly,\n    Spake to the slender-waisted these fond words:--\n    \"Fair Princess! since, before all gods and men,\n    Thou makest me thy choice, right glad am I\n    Of this thy mind, and true lord will I be.\n    For so long, loveliest, as my breath endures,\n    Thine am I! Thus I plight my troth to thee.\"\n    So, with joined palms, unto that beauteous maid\n    His gentle faith he pledged, rejoicing her;\n    And, hand in hand, radiant with mutual love,\n    Before great Agni and the gods they passed,\n    The world's protectors worshipping.\n                                       Then those,\n    The lords of life, the powerful Ones, bestowed--\n    Being well-pleased--on Nala, chosen so,\n    Eight noble boons. The boon which Indra gave\n    Was grace, at times of sacrifice, to see\n    The visible god approach, with step divine;\n    And Agni's boon was this, that he would come\n    Whenever Nala called--for everywhere\n    Hut\u00e2sa shineth, and all worlds are his;\n    Yama gave skill in cookery, steadfastness\n    In virtue; and Varuna, King of Floods,\n    Bade all the waters ripple at his call.\n    These boons the high gods doubled by the gift\n    Of bright wreaths wove with magic blooms of heaven;\n    And those bestowed, ascended to their seats.\n    Also with wonder and with joy returned\n    The Rajas and the Maharajas all,\n    Full of the marriage-feast; for Bhima made,\n    In pride and pleasure, stately nuptials;\n    So Damayanti and the Prince were wed.\n      Then, having tarried as is wont, that lord--\n    Nishadha's chief--took the King's leave, and went\n    Unto his city, bringing home with him\n    His jewel of all womanhood, with whom\n    Blissful he lived, as lives by \u015aachi's side\n    The slayer of the Demons. Like a sun\n    Shone Nala on his throne, ruling his folk\n    In strength and virtue, guardian of his state.\n    Also the A\u015bwamedha Rite he made\n    Greatest of rites, the Offering of the Horse,\n    As did Yay\u00e2ti; and all other acts\n    Of worship; and to sages gave rich gifts.\n      Many dear days of much delicious love,\n    In pleasant gardens and in shadowy groves,\n    Passed they together, sojourning like gods.\n    And Damayanti bore unto her lord\n    A boy named Indrasen, and next, a girl\n    Named Indrasena. So in happiness\n    The good Prince governed, seeing all his lands\n    Wealthy and well, in piety and peace.\n      Now at the choosing of Nishadha's chief\n    By Bhima's daughter, when those lords of life--\n    The effulgent gods--departed, Dwapara\n    They saw with Kali, coming. Indra said--\n    The Demon-slayer--spying these approach:--\n    \"Whither, with Dwapara, goest thou to-day,\n    O Kali?\" And the sombre Shade replied:--\n    \"To Damayanti's high Swayamvara\n    I go, to make her mine, since she hath passed\n    Into my heart.\" But Indra, laughing, said:--\n    \"Ended is that Swayamvara; for she\n    Hath taken Raja Nala for her lord,\n    Before us all,\" But Kali, hearing this,\n    Breaks into wrath--while he stood worshipping\n    That band divine--and furiously cries:--\n    \"If she hath set a man above the gods,\n    To wed with him, for such sin let there fall\n    Doom, rightful, swift, and terrible, on her!\"\n    \"Nay,\" answered unto him those heavenly ones,\n    \"But Damayanti chose with our good-will;\n    And what maid but would choose so fair a prince,\n    Seeing he hath all qualities, and knows\n    Virtue, and rightly practises the vows,\n    And reads the four great Vedas, and, what's next,\n    The Holy Stories, whilst, perpetually,\n    The gods are honored in his house with gifts?\n    No hurt he does, kind to all living things;\n    True of word is he, faithful, liberal, just;\n    Steadfast and patient, temperate and pure;\n    A king of men is Nala, like the gods.\n    He that would curse a prince of such a mould,\n    Thou foolish Kali, lays upon himself\n    A sin to crush himself; the curse comes back\n    And sinks him in the bottomless vast gulf\n    Of Narak.\"\n              Thus the gods to Kali spake,\n    And mounted heavenward; whereupon that Shade,\n    Frowning, to Dwapara burst forth: \"My rage\n    Beareth no curb. Henceforth in Nala I\n    Will dwell; his kingdom I will make to fall;\n    His bliss with Damayanti I will mar;\n    And thou within the dice shalt enter straight,\n    And help me, Dwapara! to drag him down,\"\n      Into which compact entering, those repaired--\n    Kali and Dwapara--to Nala's house,\n    And haunted in Nishadha, where he ruled,\n    Seeking occasion 'gainst the blameless Prince.\n    Long watched they; twelve years rolled ere Kali saw\n    The fateful fault arrive; Nishadha's Lord,\n    Easing himself, and sprinkling hands and lips\n    With purifying water, passed to prayer,\n    His feet unwashed, offending. Kali straight\n    Possessed the heedless Raja, entering him.\n      That hour there sat with Nala, Pushkara\n    His brother; and the evil spirit hissed\n    Into the ear of Pushkara: \"Ehi!\n    Arise, and challenge Nala at the dice.\n    Throw with the Prince! it may be thou shalt win\n    (Luck helping thee, and I) Nishadha's throne,\n    Town, treasures, palace--thou mayest gain them all.\"\n    And Pushkara, hearing Kali's evil voice,\n    Made near to Nala, with the dice in hand\n    (A great piece for the \"Bull,\" and little ones\n    For \"Cows,\" and Kali hiding in the Bull).\n    So Pushkara came to Nala's side and said:--\n    \"Play with me, brother, at the 'Cows and Bull';\"\n    And, being put off, cried mockingly, \"Nay, play!\"\n    Shaming the Prince, whose spirit chafed to leave\n    A gage unfaced; but when Vidarbha's gem,\n    The Princess, heard that challenge, Nala rose:\n    \"Yea, Pushkara, I will play!\" fiercely he said;\n    And to the game addressed.\n                              His gems he lost,\n    Armlets and belt and necklet; next the gold\n    Of the palace and its vessels; then the cars\n    Yoked with swift steeds; and last, the royal robes:\n    For, cast by cast, the dice against him fell,\n    Bewitched by Kali; and, cast after cast,\n    The passion of the dice kept hold on him,\n    Until not one of all his faithfullest\n    Could stay the madman's hand and gamester's heart\n    Of who was named \"Subduer of his Foes.\"\n      The townsmen gathered with the ministers:\n    Into that palace gate they thronged (my King!)\n    To see their lord, if so they might abate\n    This sickness of his soul. The charioteer,\n    Forth standing from their midst, low worshipping,\n    Spake thus to Damayanti: \"Great Princess,\n    Before thy door all the grieved city sits.\n    Say to our lord for us, 'Thy folk are here;\n    They mourn that evil fortunes hold their liege,\n    Who was so high and just,'\" Then she, deject,\n    Passed in, and to Nishadha's ruler said,\n    Her soft voice broken, and her bright eyes dimmed:--\n    \"Raja, the people of thy town are here;\n    Before our gates they gather, citizens\n    And counsellors, desiring speech with thee;\n    In lealty they come. Wilt thou be pleased\n    We open to them? Wilt thou?\" So she asked\n    Again and yet again; but not one word\n    To that sad lady with the lovely brows\n    Did Nala answer, wholly swallowed up\n    Of Kali and the gaming; so that those--\n    The citizens and counsellors--cried out,\n    \"Our lord is changed! He is not Nala now!\"\n    And home returned, ashamed and sorrowful;\n    Whilst ceaselessly endured that foolish play\n    Moon after moon--the Prince the loser still.\n      Then Damayanti, seeing so estranged\n    Her lord, the praised in song, the chief of men,\n    Watching, all self-possessed, his fantasy,\n    And how the gaming held him; sad, and 'feared,\n    The heavy fortunes pondering of her Prince;\n    Hating the fault, but to the offender kind;\n    And fearing Nala should be stripped of all,\n    This thing devised: Vrihatsen\u00e2 she called--\n    Her foster-nurse and faithful ministrant--\n    True, skilful at all service, soft of speech,\n    Kind-hearted; and she said, \"Vrihatsen\u00e2,\n    Go call the ministers to council now,\n    As though 'twere Nala bade; and make them count\n    What store is gone of treasure, what abides.\"\n    So went Vrihatsen\u00e2, and summoned those;\n    And when they knew all things, as from the Prince,\n    \"Truly we, too, shall perish!\" cried they then;\n    And all to Nala went, and all the town,\n    A second time assembling, thronged his gates:--\n    Which Bhima's daughter told; but not one word\n    Answered the Prince. And when she saw her lord\n    Put by her plea, utterly slighting it,\n    Back to her chamber, full of shame, she goes,\n    And there still hears the dice are falling ill;\n    Still hears of Nala daily losing more;\n    So that again unto her nurse she spake:--\n    \"Send to Varshneya, good Vrihatsen\u00e2;\n    Say to the charioteer--in Nala's name--\n    'A great thing is to do. Come thou!'\" And this--\n    So soon as Damayanti uttered it--\n    Vrihatsen\u00e2, by faithful servants, told\n    Unto the son of Vrishni, who, being come\n    In fitting time and place, heard the sweet Queen\n    In mournful music speak these wistful words:--\n    \"Thou knowest how thy Raja trusted thee;\n    Now he hath fall'n on evil; succor him!\n    The more that Pushkara conquers in the play,\n    The wilder rage of gaming takes thy lord--\n    The more for Pushkara the dice light well,\n    More contrary they happen to the Prince:\n    Nor heeds he, as were meet, kindred or friends;\n    Nay, of myself he putteth by the prayer\n    Unanswered, being bewitched; for well I deem\n    This is not noble-minded Nala's sin,\n    But some ill spell possesseth him to shut\n    His ears to me. Thou, therefore, charioteer!\n    Our refuge be; do what I shall command;\n    My heart is dark with fear. Yea, it may fall\n    Our lord will perish. Wherefore, harnessing\n    His chosen steeds, which fly as swift as thought.\n    Take these our children in the chariot\n    And drive to Kundina, delivering there\n    Unto my kin the little ones, and car,\n    And horses. Afterwards abide thou there,\n    Or otherwhere depart.\"\n                           Varshneya heard\n    The words of Damayanti, and forthwith\n    In Nala's council-hall recounted them,\n    The chief men being present; who, thus met,\n    And long debating, gave him leave to go.\n    So with that royal pair to Bhima's town\n    Drove he, and at Vidarbha rendered up,\n    Together with the swift steeds and the car,\n    That sweet maid Indrasena, and the Prince\n    Indrasen, and made reverence to the King,\n    Saddened for sake of Nala. Afterwards\n    Taking his leave, unto Ayodhy\u00e2\n    Varshneya went, exceeding sorrowful,\n    And with King Rituparna (O my Prince!)\n    Took service as a charioteer.\n                                  These gone--\n    The praised-of-poets, Nala, still played on,\n    Till Pushkara his kingdom's wealth had won,\n    And whatso was to lose beside. Thereat\n    With scornful laugh mocked he that beggared Prince,\n    Saying, \"One other throw; once more!--Yet sooth,\n    What canst thou stake? Nothing is left for thee\n    Save Damayanti; all the rest is mine.\n    Play we for Damayanti, if thou wilt.\"\n    But hearing this from Pushkara, the Prince\n    So in his heart by grief and shame was torn,\n    No word he uttered--only glared in wrath\n    Upon his mocker, upon Pushkara.\n    Then, his rich robes and jewels stripping off,\n    Uncovered, with one cloth, 'mid waiting friends\n    Sorrowful passed he forth, his great state gone;\n    The Princess, with one garment, following him,\n    Piteous to see. And there without the gates\n    Three nights they lay--Nashadha's King and Queen.\n    Upon the fourth day Pushkara proclaimed,\n    Throughout the city, \"Whoso yieldeth help\n    To Nala, dieth! Let my will be known!\"\n      So, for this bitter word of Pushkara's power\n    (O Yudhisthir!) the townsmen rendered not\n    Service nor love, but left them outcast there,\n    Unhelped, whom all the city should have helped.\n    Yet three nights longer tarried he, his drink\n    The common pool, his meat such fruits and roots\n    As miserable hunger plucks from earth:\n    Then fled they from those walls, the Prince going first,\n    The Princess following.\n                            After grievous days,\n    Pinched ever with sharp famine, Nala saw\n    A flock of gold-winged birds lighting anigh,\n    And to himself the famished Raja said:--\n    \"Lo! here is food; this day we shall have store;\"\n    Then lightly cast his cloth and covered them.\n    But these, fluttering aloft, bore with them there\n    Nala's one cloth; and, hovering overhead,\n    Uttered sharp-stinging words, reviling him\n    Even as he stood, naked to all the airs,\n    Downcast and desperate: \"Thou brain-sick Prince!\n    We are the dice; we come to ravish hence\n    Thy last poor cloth; we were not well content\n    Thou shouldst depart owning a garment still.\"\n    And when he saw the dice take wings and fly,\n    Leaving him bare, to Damayanti spake\n    This melancholy Prince: \"O Blameless One,\n    They by whose malice I am driven forth,\n    Finding no sustenance, sad, famine-gaunt--\n    They whose decree forbade Nishadha's folk\n    Should succor me, their Raja--these have come--\n    Demon and dice--and like to winged birds\n    Have borne away my cloth. To such shame fall'n,\n    Such utmost woe, wretched, demented--I\n    Thy lord am still, and counsel thee for good.\n    Attend! Hence be there many roads which go\n    Southwards: some pass Avanti's walls, and some\n    Skirt Rikshavan, the forest of the bears;\n    This wends to Vindhya's lofty peaks, and this\n    To the green banks where quick Payoshni runs\n    Seaward, between her hermitages, rich\n    In fruits and roots; and yon path leadeth thee\n    Unto Vidarbha; that to Kosala,\n    And therefrom southward--southward--far away.\"\n      So spake he to the Princess wistfully,\n    Between his words pointing along the paths,\n    Which she should take (O King!). But Bhima's child\n    Made answer, bowed with grief, her soft voice choked\n    With sobs, these piteous accents uttering:--\n      \"My heart beats quick; my body's force is gone,\n    Thinking, dear Prince, on this which thou hast said,\n    Pointing along the paths. What! robbed of realm,\n    Stripped of thy wealth, bare, famished, parched with thirst,\n    Thus shall I leave thee in the untrodden wood?\n    Ah, no! While thou dost muse on dear days fled,\n    Hungry and weeping, I in this wild waste\n    Will charm thy griefs away, solacing thee.\n    The wisest doctors say, 'In every woe\n    No better physic is than wifely love,'\n    And, Nala, I will make it true to thee.\"\n      \"Thou mak'st it true,\" he said; \"thou sayest well,\n    Sweet Damayanti; neither is there friend\n    To sad men given better than a wife.\n    I had not thought to leave thee, foolish Love!\n    Why didst thou fear? Alas, 't is from myself\n    That I would fly--not thee, thou Faultless One!\"\n      \"Yet, if,\" the Princess answered, \"Maharaja!\n    Thou hadst no thought to leave me, why by thee\n    Was the way pointed to Vidarbha's walls?\n    I know thou wouldst not quit me, noblest Lord,\n    Being thyself, but only if thy mind\n    Were sore distraught; and see, thou gazest still\n    Along the southward road, my dread thereby\n    Increasing, thou that wert as are the gods!\n    If it be thy fixed thought, 'Twere best she went\n    Unto her people'--be it so; I go;\n    But hand in hand with thee. Thus let us fare\n    Unto Vidarbha, where the King, my sire,\n    Will greet thee well, and honor thee; and we\n    Happy and safe within his gates shall dwell.\"\n      \"As is thy father's kingdom,\" Nala said,\n    \"So, once, was mine. Be sure, whatever betide,\n    Never will I go thither! How, in sooth,\n    Should I, who came there glorious, gladdening thee,\n    Creep back, thy shame and scorn, disconsolate?\"\n      So to sweet Damayanti spake the Prince,\n    Beguiling her, whom now one cloth scarce clad--\n    For but one garb they shared; and thus they strayed\n    Hither and thither, faint for meat and drink,\n    Until a little hut they spied; and there,\n    Nishadha's monarch, entering, sat him down\n    On the bare ground, the Princess by his side--\n    Vidarbha's glory, wearing that scant cloth,\n    Without a mat, soiled by the dust and mire.\n    At Damayanti's side he sank asleep,\n    Outworn; and beauteous Damayanti slept,\n    Spent with strange trials--- she so gently reared,\n    So soft and holy. But while slumbering thus,\n    No peaceful rest knew Nala. Trouble-tossed\n    He woke, forever thinking of his realm\n    Lost, lieges estranged, and all the griefs\n    Of that wild wood. These on his heart came back,\n    And, \"What if I shall do it? What, again,\n    If I shall do it not?\" So murmured he.\n    \"Would death be better, or to leave my Love?\n    For my sake she endures this woe, my fate\n    Too fondly sharing; freed from me, her steps\n    Would turn unto her people. At my side,\n    Sure suffering is her portion; but apart,\n    It might be she would somewhere comfort find.\"\n      Thus with himself debating o'er and o'er,\n    The Prince resolves abandonment were best.\n    \"For how,\" saith he, \"should any in the wood\n    Harm her, so radiant in her grace, so good,\n    So noble, virtuous, faithful, famous, pure?\"\n    Thus mused his miserable mind, seduced\n    By Kali's cursed mischiefs to betray\n    His sleeping wife. Then, seeing his loin-cloth gone,\n    And Damayanti clad, he drew anigh,\n    Thinking to take of hers, and muttering,\n    \"May I not rend one fold, and she not know?\"\n    So meditating, round the cabin crept\n    Prince Nala, feeling up and down its walls;\n    And, presently, within the purlieus found\n    A naked knife, keen-tempered; therewithal\n    Shred he away a piece, and bound it on;\n    Then made with desperate steps to seek the waste,\n    Leaving the Princess sleeping; but, anon,\n    Turns back again in changeful mood and glides\n    Into the hut, and, gazing wistfully\n    On slumbering Damayanti, moans with tears:--\n    \"Ah, Sweetheart! whom nor wind nor sun before\n    Hath ever rudely touched; thou to be couched\n    In this poor hut, its floor thy bed, and I,\n    Thy lord, deserting thee, stealing from thee\n    Thy last robe! O my Love with the bright smile,\n    My slender-waisted Queen! Will she not wake\n    To madness? Yea, and when she wanders lone\n    In the dark wood, haunted with beasts and snakes,\n    How will it fare with Bhima's tender child,\n    The bright and peerless? O my life, my wife!\n    May the great sun, may the Eight Powers of air,\n    The Rudras, Maruts, and the A\u015bwins twain,\n    Guard thee, thou true and dear one, on thy way!\"\n      So to his sleeping Queen--on all the earth\n    Unmatched for beauty--spake he piteously;\n    Then breaks away once more, by Kali driven.\n    But yet another and another time\n    Stole back into the hut, for one last gaze--\n    That way by Kali dragged, this way by love.\n    Two hearts he had--the trouble-stricken Prince--\n    One beating \"Go,\" one throbbing \"Stay\"; and thus\n    Backwards and forwards swung his mind between,\n    Till, mastered by the sorrow and the spell,\n    Frantic flies Nala, leaving there alone\n    That tender-sleeper, sighing as she slept.\n    He flies--the soulless prey of Kali flies;\n    Still, while he hurries through the forest drear,\n    Thinking upon that sweet face he hath left.\n      Far distant (King!) was Nala, when, refreshed,\n    The slender-waisted wakened, shuddering\n    At the wood's silence; but when, seeking him,\n    She found no Nala, sudden anguish seized\n    Her frightened heart, and, lifting high her voice,\n    Loud cries she: \"Maharaja! Nishadha's Prince!\n    Ha, Lord! ha, Maharaja! ha, Master! why\n    Hast thou abandoned me? Now am I lost,\n    Am doomed, undone, left in this lonesome gloom.\n    Wert thou not named, O Nala, true and just?\n    Yet art thou such, to quit me while I slept?\n    And hast thou so forsaken me, thy wife--\n    Thine own fond wife--who never wrought thee wrong\n    When by all others wrong was wrought on thee?\n    Mak'st thou it good to me, now, Lord of men,\n    That love which long ago before the gods\n    Thou didst proclaim? Alas! Death will not come,\n    Except at his appointed time to men,\n    And therefore for a little I shall live,\n    Whom thou hast lived to leave. Nay, 't is a jest!\n    Ah, Truant, Runaway, enough thou play'st!\n    Come forth, my Lord!--I am afraid! Come forth!\n    Linger not, for I see--I spy thee there;\n    Thou art within yon thicket! Why not speak\n    One word, Nishadha? Nala, cruel Prince!\n    Thou know'st me, lone, and comest not to calm\n    My terrors, and be with me in my need.\n    Art gone indeed? Then I'll not mourn myself,\n    For whatso may befall me; I must think\n    How desolate thou art, and weep for thee.\n    What wilt thou do, thirsty and hungry, spent\n    With wandering, when, at nightfall, 'mid the trees\n    Thou hast me not, sweet Prince, to comfort thee?\"\n      Thereat, distracted by her bitter fears,\n    Like one whose heart is fire, forward and back\n    She runs, hither and thither, weeping, wild.\n    One while she sinks to earth, one while she springs\n    Quick to her feet; now utterly overcome\n    By fear and fasting, now by grief driven mad,\n    Wailing and sobbing; till anon, with moans\n    And broken sighs and tears, Bhima's fair child,\n    The ever-faithful wife, speaks thus again:--\n    \"By whomsoever's spell this harm hath fall'n\n    On Nishadha's Lord, I pray that evil one\n    May bear a bitterer plague than Nala doth!\n    To him, whoever set my guileless Prince\n    On these ill deeds, I pray some direr might\n    May bring far darker days, and life to live\n    More miserable still!\"\n                          Thus, woe-begone,\n    Mourned that great-hearted wife her vanished lord,\n    Seeking him ever in the gloomy shades,\n    By wild beasts haunted. Roaming everywhere,\n    Like one possessed, frantic, disconsolate,\n    Went Bhima's daughter. \"Ha, ha! Maharaja!\"\n    So crying runs she, so in every place\n    Is heard her ceaseless wail, as when is heard\n    The fish-hawk's cry, which screams, and circling screams,\n    And will not stint complaining.\n                                    Suddenly,\n    Straying too near his den, a serpent's coils\n    Seized Bhima's daughter. A prodigious snake,\n    Glittering and strong, and furious for food,\n    Knitted about the Princess. She, o'erwhelmed\n    With horror, and the cold enfolding death,\n    Spends her last breaths in pitiful laments\n    For Nala, not herself. \"Ah, Prince!\" she cried,\n    \"That would have saved me, who must perish now,\n    Seized in the lone wood by this hideous snake,\n    Why art thou not beside me? What will be\n    Thy thought, Nishadha! me remembering\n    In days to come, when, from the curse set free,\n    Thou hast thy noble mind again, thyself,\n    Thy wealth--all save thy wife? Then thou'lt be sad,\n    Be weary, wilt need food and drink; but I\n    Shall minister no longer. Who will tend\n    My Love, my Lord, my Lion among kings,\n    My blameless Nala--Damayanti dead?\"\n      That hour a hunter, roving through the brake,\n    Heard her bewailing, and with quickened steps\n    Made nigh, and, spying a woman, almond-eyed,\n    Lovely, forlorn, by that fell monster knit,\n    He ran, and, as he came, with keen shaft clove,\n    Through gaping mouth and crown, th'unwitting worm,\n    Slaying it. Then the woodman from its folds\n    Freed her, and laved the snake's slime from her limbs\n    With water of the pool, comforting her\n    And giving food; and afterwards (my King!)\n    Inquiry made: \"What doest, in this wood,\n    Thou with the fawn's eyes? And how earnest thou,\n    My mistress, to such pit of misery?\"\n      And Damayanti, spoken fair by him,\n    Recounted all which had befallen her.\n      But, gazing on her graces, scantly clad\n    With half a cloth, those smooth, full sides, those breasts\n    Beauteously swelling, form of faultless mould,\n    Sweet youthful face, fair as the moon at full,\n    And dark orbs, by long curving lashes swept;\n    Hearing her tender sighs and honeyed speech,\n    The hunter fell to hot desire; he dared\n    Essay to woo, with whispered words at first,\n    And next by amorous approach, the Queen;\n    Who, presently perceiving what he would,\n    And all that baseness of him--being so pure,\n    So chaste, and faithful--like a blazing torch\n    Took fire of scorn and anger 'gainst the man,\n    Her true soul burning at him, till the wretch,\n    Wicked in heart, but impotent of will,\n    Glared on her, splendidly invincible\n    In weakness, loftily defying wrong,\n    A living flame of lighted chastity.\n    She then--albeit so desolate, so lone,\n    Abandoned by her lord, stripped of her state--\n    Like a proud princess stormed, flinging away\n    All terms of supplication, cursing him\n    With wrath which scorched: \"If I am clean in heart\n    And true in thought unto Nishadha's King,\n    Then mayest thou, vile pursuer of the beasts,\n    Sink to the earth, stone dead!\"\n                                    While she did speak,\n    The hunter breathless fell to earth, stone dead,\n    As falls a tree-trunk blasted by the bolt.\n      That ravisher destroyed, the lotus-eyed\n    Fared forward, threading still the fearful wood,\n    Lonely and dim, with trill of jhillikas[22]\n    Resounding, and fierce noise of many beasts\n    Laired in its shade, lions and leopards, deer,\n    Close-hiding tigers, sullen bisons, wolves,\n    And shaggy bears. Also the glades of it\n    Were filled with fowl which crept, or flew, and cried.\n    A home for savage men and murderers,\n    Thick with a world of trees, whereof was sal,\n    Sharp-seeded, weeping gum; knotted bambus,\n    Dhavas with twisted roots; smooth aswatthas,\n    Large-leaved, and creeping through the cloven rocks;\n    Tindukas, iron-fibred, dark of grain;\n    Ingudas, yielding oil; and kinsukas,\n    With scarlet flowerets flaming. Thronging these\n    Were arjuns and arishta-clumps, which bear\n    The scented purple clusters; syandans,\n    And tall silk-cotton trees, and mango-belts\n    With silvery spears; and wild rose-apple, blent\n    'Mid lodhra-tufts and khadirs, interknit\n    By clinging rattans, climbing everywhere\n    From stem to stem. Therewith were intermixed--\n    Round pools where rocked the lotus--\u00e2malaks,\n    Plakshas with fluted leaves, kadambas sweet,\n    Udumbaras; and, on the jungle-edge,\n    Tangles of reed and jujube, whence there rose\n    Bel-trees and nyagrodhas, dropping roots\n    Down from the air; broad-leaved priy\u00e2las, palms\n    And date-trees, and the gold myrobalan,\n    With copper-leaved vibh\u00eetikas. All these\n    Crowded the wood; and many a crag it held,\n    With precious ore of metals interveined;\n    And many a creeper-covered cave wherein\n    The spoken word rolled round; and many a cleft\n    Where the thick stems were like a wall to see;\n    And many a winding stream and reedy jheel,\n    And glassy lakelet, where the woodland beasts\n    In free peace gathered.\n                            Wandering onward thus,\n    The Princess saw far-gliding forms of dread--\n    Pis\u00e2chas, Rakshasas, ill sprites and fiends\n    Which haunt, with swinging snakes, the undergrowth.\n    Dark pools she saw, and drinking-holes, and peaks\n    Wherefrom break down in tumbling cataracts\n    The wild white waters, marvellous to hear.\n    Also she passed--this daughter of a king--\n    Where snorted the fierce buffaloes, and where\n    The gray boars rooted for their food, and where\n    The black bears growled, and serpents in the grass\n    Rustled and hissed. But all along that way\n    Safe paced she in her majesty of grace,\n    High fortune, courage, constancy, and right--\n    Vidarbha's glory--seeking, all alone,\n    Lost Nala; and less terror at these sights\n    Came to sad Damayanti for herself--\n    Threading this dreadful forest--than for him.\n    Most was her mind on Nala's fate intent.\n    Bitterly grieving stood the sweet Princess\n    Upon a rock, her tender limbs a-thrill\n    With heavy fears for Nala while she spake:--\n      \"Broad-chested Chief! my long-armed Lord of men!\n    Nishadha's King! Ah! whither art thou gone.\n    Leaving me thus in the unpeopled wood?\n    The A\u015bwamedha sacrifice thou mad'st,\n    And all the rites and royal gifts hast given,\n    A lion-hearted Prince, holy and true\n    To all save me! That which thou didst declare,\n    Hand in hand with me--once so fond and kind--\n    Recall it now--thy sacred word, thy vow,\n    Whithersoever, Raja, thou art fled.\n    Think how the message of the gold-winged swans\n    Was spoken, by thine own lips, then to me!\n    True men keep faith; this is the teaching taught\n    In Vedas, Angas, and Upangas all,\n    Hear which we may; wilt thou not, therefore, Prince--\n    Wilt thou not, terror of thy foes, keep faith,\n    Making thy promise good to cleave to me?\n    Ha, Nala, Lord! Am I not surely still\n    Thy chosen, thy beloved? Answerest not\n    Thy wife in this dark, horror-haunted shade?\n    The tyrant of the jungle, fierce and fell,\n    With jaws agape to take me, crouches nigh,\n    And thou not here to rescue me--not thou,\n    Who saidst none other in the world was dear\n    But Damayanti! Prove the fond speech true,\n    Uttered so often! Why repliest not\n    To me, thy well-beloved; me, distraught,\n    Longed for and longing; me, my Prince and pride,\n    That am so weary, weak, and miserable,\n    Stained with the mire, in this torn cloth half clad,\n    Alone and weeping, seeing no help near?\n    Ah, stag of all the herd! leav'st thou thy hind\n    Astray, regarding not these tears which roll?\n    My Nala, Maharaja! It is I\n    Who cry, thy Damayanti, true and pure,\n    Lost in the wood, and still thou answerest not!\n    High-born, high-hearted, full of grace and strength\n    In all thy limbs, shall I not find thee soon\n    On yonder hill? Shall I not see, at last,\n    In some track of this grim, beast-peopled wood,\n    Standing, or seated, or upon the leaves\n    Lying, or coming, him who is of men\n    The glory, but for me the grief-maker?\n    If not, whom shall I question, woe-begone,\n    Saying, 'In any region of this wood\n    Hast thou, perchance, seen Nala?' Is there none,\n    In all the forest, would reply to me\n    With tidings of my lord, wandered away,\n    Kingly in mind and form, of hosts of foes\n    The conqueror? Who will say, with blessed voice,\n    'That Raja with the lotus-eyes is near,\n    Whom thou dost seek'?--Nay, here comes one to ask,\n    The yellow forest-king, his great jaws armed\n    With fourfold fangs. A tiger standeth now\n    Face to face on my path; I'll speak with him\n    Fearlessly: 'Dreadful chief of all this waste,\n    Thou art the sovereign of the beasts, and I\n    Am daughter of Vidarbha's King; my name,\n    The Princess Damayanti; know thou me,\n    Wife of Nishadha's Lord--of Nala--styled\n    \"Subduer of his Foes\"? Him seek I here--\n    Abandoned, sorrow-stricken, miserable.\n    Comfort me, mighty beast, if so thou canst,\n    Saying thou hast seen Nala; but if this\n    Thou canst not do, then, ah, thou savage lord,\n    Terrible friend, devour me, setting me\n    Free from all woes!' The tiger answereth not;\n    He turns, and quits me in my tears, to stalk\n    Down where the river glitters through the reeds,\n    Seeking its seaward way. Then will I pray\n    Unto yon sacred mount of clustered crags,\n    Broad-shouldered, shining, lifting high to heaven\n    Its diverse-colored peaks, where the mind climbs\n    Its hid heart rich with silver veins, and gold,\n    And stored with many a precious gem unseen.\n    Clear towers it o'er the forest, broad and bright\n    Like a green banner; and the sides of it\n    House many a living thing--lions and boars,\n    Tigers and elephants, and bears and deer.\n    Softly around me from its feathered flocks\n    The songs ring, perched upon the kinsuk trees,\n    The asokas, vakuls, and punn\u00e2ga boughs,\n    Or hidden in the karnikara leaves,\n    And tendrils of the dhava or the fig;\n    Full of great glens it soars, where waters leap\n    And bright birds lave. This king of hills I sue\n    For tidings of my lord. O Mountain Lord,\n    Far-seen and celebrated hill! that cleav'st\n    The blue of the sky, refuge of living things,\n    Most noble eminence, I worship thee;\n    Thee I salute, who am a monarch's child,\n    The daughter and the consort of a prince,\n    The high-born Damayanti, unto whom\n    Bhima, Vidarbha's chief--that puissant lord--\n    Was sire, renowned o'er earth. Protector he\n    Of the four castes, performer of the rites\n    Called Rajasuya and the A\u015bwamedha--\n    A bounteous giver, first of rulers, known\n    For his large shining eyes; holy and just,\n    Fast to his word, unenvious, sweet of speech,\n    Gentle and valiant, dutiful and pure;\n    The guardian of Vidarbha, of his foes\n    The slayer. Know me, O Majestic Mount!\n    For that King's daughter, bending low to thee.\n    In Nishadha lived the father of my lord,\n    The Maharaja Virasena named,\n    Wealthy and great; whose son, of regal blood,\n    High-fortuned, powerful, and noble-souled,\n    Ruleth by right the realm paternal: he\n    Is Nala, terror of all enemies;\n    Dark Nala, praised-in-song; Nala the just,\n    The pure; deep-seen in scriptures, sweet of speech,\n    Drinker of Soma-juice, and worshipper\n    Of Agni; sacrificing, giving gifts;\n    First in the wars, a perfect, princely lord.\n    His wife am I, Great Mountain! and come here\n    Fortuneless, husbandless, and spiritless,\n    Everywhere seeking him, my best of men.\n    O Mount, whose doubled ridge stamps on the sky\n    Yon line, by fivescore splendid pinnacles\n    Indented! tell me, in this gloomy wood\n    Hast thou seen Nala? Nala, wise and bold,\n    Like a tusked elephant for might; long armed,\n    Indomitable, gallant, glorious, true;\n    Nala, Nishadha's chief--hast thou seen him?\n    O Mountain, why consolest thou me not,\n    Answering one word to sorrowful, distressed,\n    Lonely, lost Damayanti?\"\n                            Then she cried:--\n    \"But answer for thyself, Hero and Lord!\n    If thou art in the forest, show thyself!\n    Alas! when shall I hear that voice, as low,\n    As tender as the murmur of the rain\n    When great clouds gather; sweet as Amrit-drink?\n    Thy voice, once more, my Nala, calling to me\n    Full softly, 'Damayanti!'--dearest Prince,\n    That would be music soothing to these ears\n    As sound of sacred Veda; that would stay\n    My pains and comfort me, and bring me peace.\"\n      Thereafter, turning from the mount, she went\n    Northwards, and journeying on three nights and days\n    Came to a green incomparable grove\n    By holy men inhabited; a haunt\n    Placid as Paradise, whose indwellers\n    Like to Va\u015bistha, Bhrigu, Atri, were--\n    Those ancient saints. Restraining sense they lived,\n    Heedful in meats, subduing passion, pure,\n    Breathing within; their food water and herbs;\n    Ascetics; very holy; seeking still\n    The heavenward road; clad in the bark of trees\n    And skins--all gauds of earth being put by.\n    This hermitage, peopled by gentle ones,\n    Glad Damayanti spied, circled with herds\n    Of wild things grazing fearless, and with troops\n    Of monkey-folk o'erheard; and when she saw,\n    Her heart was lightened, for its quietness.\n    So drew she nigh--that lovely wanderer--\n    Bright-browed, long-tressed, large-hipped, full-bosomed, fair,\n    With pearly teeth and honeyed mouth, in gait\n    Right queenly still, having those long black eyes--\n    The wife of Virasena's son, the gem\n    Of all dear women, glory of her time;\n    Sad Damayanti entered their abode,\n    Those holy men saluting reverently,\n    With modest body bowed. Thus stood she there\n    And all the saints spake gently, \"_Sw\u00e2gatam_--\n    Welcome!\" and gave the greetings which are meet;\n    And afterwards, \"Repose thyself,\" they said;\n    \"What wouldst thou have of us?\" Then, with soft words\n    The slender-waisted spake: \"Of all these here,\n    So worshipful in sacrifice and rite--\n    'Mid gentle beasts and birds--in tasks and toils\n    And blameless duties--is it well?\" And they\n    Answered: \"We thank you, noble lady, well.\n    Tell us, most beauteous one, thy name, and say\n    What thou desirest. Seeing thee so fair,\n    So worthy, yet so sorrowful, our minds\n    Are lost in wonder. Weep not. Comfort take.\n    Art thou the goddess of the wood? Art thou\n    The Mountain-Yakshi, or, belike, some sprite\n    Which lives under the river? Tell us true,\n    Gentle and faultless form!\"\n                                 Whereat reply\n    Thus made she to the Rishis: \"None of these\n    Am I, good saints. No goddess of the wood,\n    Nor yet a mountain nor a river sprite;\n    A woman ye behold, most only ones,\n    Whose moving story I will tell you true.\n    The Raja of Vidarbha is my sire,\n    Bhima his name, and--Best of Twice-born!--know\n    My husband is Nishadha's Chief, the famed,\n    The wise and valiant and victorious Prince,\n    The high and lordly Nala; of the gods\n    A steadfast worshipper; of Br\u00e1hmanas\n    The friend; his people's shield; honored and strong,\n    Truth-speaking, skilled in arms, sagacious, just;\n    Terrible to his foes, fortunate, lord\n    Of many conquered towns; a godlike man,\n    Princeliest of princes--Nala--one that hath\n    A countenance like the full moon's for light,\n    And eyes of lotus. This true offerer\n    Of sacrifices, this close votary\n    Of Vedas and Ved\u00e2ngas, in the war\n    Deadly to enemies, like sun and moon\n    For splendor--by some certain evil ones\n    Being defied to dice, my virtuous Prince\n    Was, by their wicked acts, of realm despoiled--\n    Wealth, jewels, all. I am his woful wife,\n    The Princess Damayanti. Seeking him\n    Through thickets have I roamed, over rough hills,\n    By crag and river and the reedy lake,\n    By marsh and waterfall and jungle-bush,\n    In quest of him--my lord, my warrior,\n    My hero--and still roam, uncomforted.\n    Worshipful brethren! say if he hath come--\n    Nishadha's Chief, my Nala, hitherward\n    Unto your pleasant homes--he, for whose sake\n    I wander in the dismal pathless wood\n    With bears and tigers haunted--terrible!\n    Ah! if I find him not, ere there be passed\n    Many more nights and days, peace will I win;\n    For death shall set my mournful spirit free.\n    What cause have I to live, lacking my Prince?\n    Why should I longer breathe, whose heart is dead\n    With sorrow for my lord?\"\n                               To Bhima's child,\n    So in the wood bewailing, made reply\n    Those holy, truthful men: \"Beautiful One!\n    The future is for thee; fair will it fall!\n    Our eyes, by long devotions opened, see--\n    Even now--thy lord; thou shalt behold him soon,\n    Nishadha's chief, the famous Nala, strong\n    In battle, loving justice. Yea, this Prince\n    Thou wilt regain, Bhima's sad daughter! freed\n    From troubles, purged of sin; and witness him--\n    With all his gems and glories--governing\n    Nishadha once again, invincible,\n    Joy of his friends and terror of his foes.\n    Yea, Noblest, thou shalt have thy love anew\n    In days to come.\"\n                      So speaking, from the sight\n    Of Damayanti, at that instant, passed\n    Hermits, with hermitage and holy fires,\n    Evanishing. In wonderment she stood,\n    Gazing bewildered. Then the Princess cried:--\n    \"Was it in dream I saw them? Whence befell\n    This unto me? Where are the brethren gone,\n    The ring of huts, the pleasant stream that ran\n    With birds upon its crystal banks, the grove\n    Delightful, with its fruits and flowers?\" Long while\n    Pondered and wondered Damayanti there,\n    Her bright smile fled, pale, strengthless, sorrowful;\n    Then to another region of the wood,\n    With sighs, and eyes welling great tears, she passed,\n    Lamenting; till a beauteous tree she spied--\n    The Asoka, best of trees. Fair rose it there\n    Beside the forest, glowing with the flame\n    Of golden and crimson blossoms, and its boughs\n    Full of sweet-singing birds.\n                                 \"_Ahovat_--Look!\"\n    She cried: \"Ah, lovely tree, that wavest here\n    Thy crown of countless, shining, clustering blooms\n    As thou wert woodland king--Asoka tree,\n    Tree called 'the sorrow-ender,' heart's-ease tree!\n    Be what thy name saith--end my sorrow now,\n    Saying, ah, bright Asoka! thou hast seen\n    My Prince, my dauntless Nala; seen that lord\n    Whom Damayanti loves and his foes fear;\n    Seen great Nishadha's Chief, so dear to me,\n    His tender princely skin in rended cloth\n    Scantily clad. Hath he passed wandering\n    Under thy branches, grievously forlorn?\n    Answer, Asoka! 'Sorrow-ender,' speak!\n    That I go sorrowless, O heart's-ease, be\n    Truly heart-easing--ease my heart of pain.\"\n      Thus, wild with grief, she spake unto the tree,\n    Round and round walking, as to reverence it;\n    And then, unanswered, the sweet lady sped\n    Through wastes more dreadful, passing many a\n    Many still-gliding rillets, many a peak\n    Tree-clad, with beasts and birds of wondrous kind,\n    In dark ravines, and caves, and lonely glooms.\n    These things saw Damayanti, Bhima's child,\n    Seeking her lord.\n                      At last, on the long road,\n    She, whose soft smile was once so beautiful,\n    A caravan encountered. Merchantmen\n    With trampling horses, elephants, and wains,\n    Made passage of a river, running slow\n    In cool, clear waves. The quiet waters gleamed,\n    Shining and wide outspread, between the canes\n    Which bordered it, wherefrom echoed the cries\n    Of fish-hawks, curlews, and red chakrav\u00e2ks,\n    With sounds of leaping fish and water-snakes,\n    And tortoises, amid its shoals and flats\n    Sporting or feeding.\n                         When she spied that throng--\n    Heart-maddened with her anguish, weak and wan,\n    Half clad, bloodless and thin, her long black locks\n    Matted with dust--breathlessly breaks she in\n    Upon them--Nala's wife--so beauteous once,\n    So honored. Seeing her, some fled in fear;\n    Some gazed, speechless with wonder; some called out,\n    Mocking the piteous face by words of scorn;\n    But some (my King!) had pity of her woe,\n    And spake her fair, inquiring: \"Who art thou?\n    And whence? And in this grove what seekest thou,\n    To come so wild? Thy mien astonisheth.\n    Art of our kind, or art thou something strange,\n    The spirit of the forest, or the hill,\n    Or river valley? Tell us true; then we\n    Will buy thy favor. If, indeed, thou art\n    Yakshini, Rakshasi, or she-creature\n    Haunting this region, be propitious! Send\n    Our caravan in safety on its path,\n    That we may quickly, by thy fortune, go\n    Homeward, and all fair chances fall to us.\"\n      Hereby accosted, softly gave response\n    That royal lady--weary for her lord--\n    Answering the leader of the caravan,\n    And those that gathered round, a marvelling throng\n    Of men and boys and elders: \"Oh, believe\n    I am as you, of mortal birth, but born\n    A Raja's child, and made a Raja's wife.\n    Him seek I, Chieftain of Nishadha, named\n    Prince Nala--famous, glorious, first in war.\n    If ye know aught of him, my king, my joy,\n    My tiger of the jungle, my lost lord,\n    Quick, tell me, comfort me!\"\n                               Then one who led\n    Their line--the merchant \u015auchi--answering,\n    Spake to the peerless Princess: \"Hear me now.\n    I am the captain of this caravan,\n    But nowhere any named by Nala's name\n    Have I, or these, beheld. Of evil beasts\n    The woods were full--cheetahs and bears and cats,\n    Tigers and elephants, bison and boar;\n    Those saw we in the brake on every side,\n    But nowhere nought of human shape, save thee.\n    May Manibhadra have us in his grace--\n    The Lord of Yakshas--as I tell thee truth!\"\n      Then sadly spake she to the trader-chief\n    And to his band: \"Whither wend ye, I pray?\n    Please ye, acquaint me where this S\u00e2rth\u00e2[23] goes.\"\n      Replied the captain: \"Unto Chedi's realm,\n    Where rules the just Sub\u00e2hu, journey we,\n    To sell our merchandise, daughter of men!\"\n      Thus by the chieftain of the band informed,\n    The peerless Princess journeyed with them, still\n    Seeking her lord. And at the first the way\n    Fared through another forest, dark and deep;\n    Afterwards came the traders to a pool\n    Broad, everywhere delightful, odorous\n    With cups of opened lotus, and its shores\n    Green with rich grass, and edged with garden trees--\n    A place of flowers and fruits and singing birds.\n    So cool and clear and peacefully it gleamed,\n    That men and cattle, weary with the march,\n    Clamored to pitch; and, on their chieftain's sign,\n    The pleasant hollow entered they, and camped--\n    All the long caravan--at sunset's hour.\n      There, in the quiet of the middle night,\n    Deep slumbered these; when, sudden on them fell\n    A herd of elephants, thirsting to drink,\n    In rut, the mada[24] oozing from their heads.\n    And when those great beasts spied the caravan,\n    And smelled the tame cows of their kind, they rushed\n    Headlong, and, mad with must, overwhelming all,\n    With onset vast and irresistible.\n    As when from some tall peak into the plain\n    Thunder and smoke and crash the rolling rocks,\n    Through splintered stems and thorns breaking their path,\n    So swept the herd to where, beside the pool,\n    Those sleepers lay; and trampled them to earth\n    Half-risen, helpless, shrieking in the dark,\n    \"Haha! the elephants!\" Of those unslain,\n    Some in the thickets sought a shelter; some,\n    Yet dazed with sleep, stood panic-stricken, mute;\n    Till here with tusks, and there with trunks, the beasts\n    Gored them, and battered them, and trod them flat\n    Under their monstrous feet. Then might be seen\n    Camels with camel-drivers, perishing,\n    And men flying in fear, who struck at men--\n    Terror and death and clamor everywhere:\n    While some, despairing, cast themselves to earth;\n    And some, in fleeing, fell and died; and some\n    Climbed to the tree-tops. Thus on every side\n    Scattered and ruined was that caravan--\n    Cattle and merchants--by the herd assailed.\n    So hideous was the tumult,-all three worlds\n    Seemed filled with fright; and one was heard to cry:--\n    \"The fire is in the tents! fly for your lives!\n    Stay not!\" And others cried: \"Look where we leave\n    Our treasures trodden down; gather them! Halt!\n    Why run ye, losing ours and yours? Nay, stay!\n    Stand ye, and we will stand!\" And then to these\n    One voice cried, \"Stand!\" another, \"Fly! we die!\"\n    Answered by those again who shouted, \"Stand!\n    Think what we lose, O cowards!\"\n                                    While this rout\n    Raged, amid dying groans and sounds of fear,\n    The Princess, waking startled, terror-struck,\n    Saw such a sight as might the boldest daunt--\n    Such scene as those great lovely lotus-eyes\n    Ne'er gazed upon before. Sick with new dread--\n    Her breath suspended 'twixt her lips--she rose\n    And heard, of those surviving, some one moan\n    Amidst his fellows: \"From whose evil act\n    Is this the fruit? Hath worship not been paid\n    To mighty Manibhadra? Gave we not\n    The reverence due to Vaishravan, that King\n    Of all the Yakshas? Was not offering made\n    At outset to the spirits which impede?\n    Is this the evil portent of the birds?\n    Were the stars adverse? or what else hath fall'n?\"\n      And others said, wailing for friends and goods:--\n    \"Who was that woman, with mad eyes, that came\n    Into our camp, ill-favored, hardly cast\n    In mortal mould? By her, be sure, was wrought\n    This direful sorcery. Demon or witch,\n    Yaksh\u00ee or Rakshas\u00ee, or gliding ghost,\n    Or something frightful, was she. Hers this deed\n    Of midnight murders; doubt there can be none.\n    Ah, if we could espy that hateful one,\n    The ruin of our march, the woe-maker,\n    With stones, clods, canes, or clubs, nay, with clenched fists,\n    We'd strike her dead, the murderess of our band!\"\n      Trembling the Princess heard those angry words;\n    And--saddened, maddened, shamed--breathless she fled\n    Into the thicket, doubtful if such sin\n    Might not be hers, and with fresh dread distressed.\n    \"Aho!\" she weeps, \"pitiless grows the wrath\n    Of Fate against me. Not one gleam of good\n    Arriveth. Of what fault is this the fruit?\n    I cannot call to mind a wrong I wrought\n    To any--even a little thing--in act\n    Or thought or word; whence then hath come this curse?\n    Belike from ill deeds done in by-gone lives\n    It hath befall'n, and what I suffer now\n    Is payment of old evils undischarged.\n    Grievous the doom--my palace lost, my lord,\n    My children, kindred; I am torn away\n    From home and love and all, to roam accurst\n    In this plague-haunted waste!\"\n                                   When broke the day,\n    Those which escaped alive, with grievous cries\n    Departed, mourning for their fellows slain.\n    Each one a kinsman or a friend laments--\n    Father or brother, son, or comrade dear.\n      And Damayanti, hearing, weeps anew,\n    Saying: \"What dreadful sin was that I wrought\n    Long, long ago, which, when I chance to meet\n    These wayfarers in the unpeopled wood,\n    Dooms them to perish by the elephants,\n    In my dark destiny enwrapped? No doubt\n    More and more sorrow I shall bear, or bring,\n    For none dies ere his time; this is the lore\n    Of ancient sages; this is why--being glad\n    If I could die--I was not trampled down\n    Under the elephants. There haps to man\n    Nothing unless by destiny. Why else,\n    Seeing that never have I wrought one wrong,\n    From childhood's hours, in thought or word or deed,\n    Hath this woe chanced? May be--meseems it may!--\n    The mighty gods, at my Swayamvara\n    Slighted by me for Nala's dearest sake,\n    Are wroth, and by their dread displeasure thus\n    To loss and loneliness I am consigned!\"\n      So--woe-begone and wild--this noble wife,\n    Deserted Damayanti, poured her griefs:\n    And afterwards, with certain Br\u00e1hmanas\n    Saved from the rout--good men who knew the Veds--\n    Sadly her road she finished, like the moon\n    That goeth clouded in the month of rain.\n    Thus travelling long, the Princess drew at last\n    Nigh to a city, at the evening hour.\n    The dwelling-place it was of Chedi's Chief,\n    The just Sub\u00e2hu. Through its lofty gates\n    Painfully passed she, clad in half a cloth;\n    And as she entered--sorrow-stricken, wan,\n    Foot-weary, stained with mire, with unsmoothed hair,\n    Unbathed, and eyes of madness--those who saw,\n    Wondered and stared, and watched her as she toiled\n    Down the long city street. The children break\n    From play, and--boys with girls--followed her steps,\n    So that she came--a crowd encompassing--\n    Unto the King's door. On the palace roof\n    The mother of the Maharaja paced,\n    And marked the throng, and that sad wayfarer.\n    Then to her nurse spake the queen-mother this:--\n    \"Go thou, and bring yon woman unto me!\n    The people trouble her; mournful she walks,\n    Seeming unfriended, yet bears she a mien\n    Made for a king's abode, and, all so wild,\n    Still are her wistful eyes like the great eyes\n    Of Lakshmi's self.\" So downwards went the nurse,\n    Bidding the rude folk back; and to the roof\n    Of the great palace led that wandering one--\n    Desolate Damayanti--whom the Queen\n    Courteous besought: \"Though thou art wan of face,\n    Thou wear'st a noble air, which through thy griefs\n    Shineth as lightning doth behind its cloud.\n    Tell me thy name, and whose thou art, and whence.\n    No lowborn form is thine, albeit thou com'st\n    Wearing no ornaments; and all alone\n    Wanderest--not fearing men--by some spell safe.\"\n      Hearing which words, the child of Bhima spake\n    Gratefully this: \"A woful woman I,\n    And woful wife, but faithful to my vows;\n    High-born, but like a servant, like a slave,\n    Lodging where it may hap, and finding food\n    From the wild roots and fruits wherever night\n    Brings me my resting-place. Yet is my lord\n    A prince noble and great, with countless gifts\n    Endued; and him I followed faithfully\n    As 't were his shadow, till hard fate decreed\n    That he should fall into the rage of dice:--\n    And, worsted in that play, into the wood\n    He fled, clad in one cloth, frenzied and lone.\n    And I his steps attended in the wood,\n    Comforting him, my husband. But it chanced,\n    Hungry and desperate, he lost his cloth;\n    And I--one garment bearing--followed still\n    My unclad lord, despairing, reasonless,\n    Through many a weary night not slumbering.\n    But when, at length, a little while I slept,\n    My Prince abandoned me, rending away\n    Half of my garment, leaving there his wife,\n    Who never wrought him wrong. That lord I seek\n    By day and night, with heart and soul on fire--\n    Seek, but still find not; though he is to me\n    Brighter than light which gleams from lotus-cups,\n    Divine as are the immortals, dear as breath,\n    The master of my life, my pride, my joy!\"\n      Whom, grieving so, her sweet eyes blind with tears,\n    Gently addressed Sub\u00e2hu's mother--sad\n    To hear as she to tell. \"Stay with us here,\n    Thou ill-starred lady. Great the friendliness\n    I have for thee. The people of our court\n    Shall thy lost husband seek; or, it may be,\n    He too will wander hither of himself\n    By devious paths: yea, mournful one, thy lord\n    Thou wilt regain, abiding with us here.\"\n      And Damayanti, bowing, answered thus\n    Unto the Queen: \"I will abide with thee,\n    O mother of illustrious sons, if so\n    They feed me not on orts, nor seek from me\n    To wash the feet of comers, nor that I\n    Be set to speak with any stranger-men\n    Before the curtain; and, if any man\n    Sue me, that he be punished; and if twice,\n    Then that he die, guilty of infamy.\n    This is my earnest prayer; but Br\u00e1hmanas\n    Who seek my husband, or bear news of him,\n    Such will I speak with. If it may be thus,\n    Gladly would I abide, great lady, here;\n    If otherwise, it is not on my mind\n    To sojourn longer.\"\n                            Very tenderly\n    Quoth the queen-mother: \"All that thou dost ask\n    We will ordain. The gods reward thy love,\n    Which hath such honor!\" Comforting her so,\n    To the king's daughter, young Sunand\u00e2, spake\n    The Maharajni: \"See, Sunand\u00e2, here\n    Clad as a handmaid, but in form divine,\n    One of thy years, gentle and true. Be friends;\n    Take and give pleasure in glad company\n    Each with the other, keeping happy hearts.\"\n      So went Sunand\u00e2 joyous to her house,\n    Leading with loving hand the Princess in,\n    The maidens of the court accompanying.\n\n\nPart II.\n\n    Not long (O Maharaja!) was Nala fled\n    From Damayanti, when, in midmost gloom\n    Of the thick wood a flaming fire he spied,\n    And from the fire's heart heard proceed a voice\n    Of one imperilled, crying many times:--\n    \"Haste hither, Punyashloka, Nala, haste!\"\n    \"Fear not,\" the Prince replied; \"I come!\" and sprang\n    Across the burning bushes, where he saw\n    A snake--a king of serpents--lying curled\n    In a great ring, which reared its dancing crest\n    Saluting, and in human accents spoke:--\n    \"Maharaja, kindly lord, I am the snake\n    Kark\u00f4taka; by me was once betrayed\n    The famous Rishi Narada; his wrath\n    Doomed me, thou Chief of men! to bear this spell--\n    'Coil thy false folds,' said he, 'forever here,\n    A serpent, motionless upon this spot,\n    Till it shall chance that Nala passeth by\n    And bears thee hence; then only from my curse\n    Canst thou be freed,' And prisoned by that curse\n    I have no power to stir, though the wood burns;\n    Nay, not a coil! good fellowship I'll show\n    If thou wilt succor me. I'll be to thee\n    A faithful friend, as no snake ever yet.\n    Lift me, and quickly from the flames bear forth:\n    For thee I shall grow light.\" Thereat shrank up\n    That monstrous reptile to a finger's length;\n    And grasping this, unto a place secure\n    From burning, Nala bore it, where the air\n    Breathed freshly, and the fire's black path was stayed.\n      Then made the Prince to lay the serpent down,\n    But yet again it speaks: \"Nishadha's Lord,\n    Grasp me and slowly go, counting thy steps;\n    For, Raja, thou shalt have good fortune hence.\"\n    So Nala slowly went, counting his steps;\n    And when the tenth pace came, the serpent turned\n    And bit the Prince. No sooner pierced that tooth\n    Than all the likeness of Nishadha changed;\n    And, wonder-struck, he gazed upon himself;\n    While from the dust he saw the snake arise\n    A man, and, speaking as Kark\u00f4taka,\n    Comfort him thus:--\n                        \"Thou art by me transformed\n    That no man know thee: and that evil one\n    (Possessing, and undoing thee, with grief)\n    Shall so within thee by my venom smart,\n    Shall through thy blood so ache, that--till he quit--\n    He shall endure the woe he did impart.\n    Thus by my potent spell, most noble Prince!\n    (Who sufferest too long) thou wilt be freed\n    From him that haunts thee. Fear no more the wood,\n    Thou tiger of all princes! fear thou not\n    Horned nor fanged beasts, nor any enemies,\n    Though they be Br\u00e1hmans! safe thou goest now,\n    Guarded from grief and hurt--Chieftain of men!\n    By this kind poison. In the fields of war\n    Henceforth the victory always falls to thee;\n    Go joyous, therefore, Prince; give thyself forth\n    For 'Vah\u00fbka, the charioteer:' repair\n    To Rituparna's city, who is skilled\n    In play, and dwells in fair Ayodhy\u00e2.\n    Wend thou, Nishadha! thither; he will teach\n    Great subtlety in numbers unto thee,\n    Exchanging this for thine own matchless gift\n    Of taming horses. From the lordly line\n    Descended of Ikshvaku, glad and kind\n    The King will be; and thou, learning of him\n    His deepest act of dice, wilt win back all,\n    And clasp again thy Princess. Therefore waste\n    No thought on woes. I tell thee truth! thy realm\n    Thou shalt regain; and when the time is come\n    That thou hast need to put thine own form on,\n    Call me to mind, O Prince, and tie this cloth\n    Around thy body. Wearing it, thy shape\n    Thou shalt resume.\"\n                       Therewith the serpent gave\n    A magic twofold robe, not wove on earth,\n    Which (O thou son of Kuru!) Nala took;\n    And so the snake, transformed, vanished away.\n      The great snake being gone, Nishadha's Chief\n    Set forth, and on the tenth day entered in\n    At Rituparna's town; there he besought\n    The presence of the Raja, and spake thus:--\n    \"I am the chariot-driver, Vah\u00fbka.\n    There is not on this earth another man\n    Hath gifts like mine to tame and guide the steed;\n    Moreover, thou mayest use me in nice needs\n    And dangerous, where kings lack faithful hearts.\n    Specially skilful I am in dressing meats;\n    And whatso other duties may befall,\n    Though they be weighty, I shall execute,\n    If, Rituparna, thou wilt take me in.\"\n      \"I take thee,\" quoth the King. \"Dwell here with me.\n    Such service as thou knowest, render us.\n    'Tis, Vah\u00fbka, forever in my heart\n    To have my steeds the swiftest; be thy task\n    To train me horses like the wind for speed;\n    My charioteer I make thee, and thy wage\n    Ten thousand gold suvernas. Thou wilt have\n    For fellows, Varshneya and Jivala;\n    With those abiding, lodge thou happy here.\"\n      So entertained and honored of the King,\n    In Rituparna's city Nala dwelled,\n    Lodging with Varshneya and Jivala.\n      There sojourned he (my Raja!), thinking still\n    Of sweet Vidarbha's Princess day by day;\n    And sunset after sunset one sad strain\n    He sang: \"Where resteth she that roamed the wood\n    Hungry and parched and worn, but always true?\n    Doth she remember yet her faultful lord?\n    Ah, who is near her now?\" So it befell\n    Jivala heard him ever sighing thus,\n    And questioned: \"Who is she thou dost lament?\n    Say, Vah\u00fbka! fain would I know her name.\n    Long life be thine; but tell me who he is,\n    The faultful man that was the lady's lord.\"\n      And Nala answered him: \"There lives a man,\n    Evil and rash, that had a noble wife.\n    False to his word he was; and thus it fell\n    That somewhere, for some reason (ask not me!),\n    He quitted her, this rash one. And--so wrenched\n    Apart from hers--his spirit, bad and sad,\n    Muses and moans, with grief's slow fire consumed\n    Night-time and day-time. Thence it is he sings\n    At every sunset this unchanging verse,\n    An outcast on the earth, by hazard led\n    Hither and thither. Such a man thou seest\n    Woful, unworthy, holding in his heart\n    Always that sin. I was that lady's lord,\n    Whom she did follow through the dreadful wood,\n    Living by me abandoned, at this hour;\n    If yet, in truth, she lives--youthful, alone,\n    Unpractised in the ways, not meriting\n    Fortunes so hard. Ah, if indeed she lives,\n    Who roamed the thick and boundless forest, full\n    Of prowling beasts--roamed it, my Jivala,\n    Unguarded by her guilty lord--forsook,\n    Betrayed, good friend!\"\n                           Thus did Nishadha grieve,\n    Calling sweet Damayanti to his mind.\n    So tarried he within the Raja's house,\n    And no man knew his place of sojourning.\n      While, stripped of state, the Prince and Princess thus\n    Were sunk to servitude, Bhima made quest,\n    Sending his Br\u00e1hmans forth to search for them\n    With straight commands, and for their road-money\n    Liberal store. \"Seek everywhere,\" said he\n    Unto the twice-born, \"Nala--everywhere\n    My daughter Damayanti. Whoso comes\n    Successful in this quest, discovering her--\n    With lost Nishadha's Lord--and bringing them,\n    A thousand cows to that man will I give,\n    And village-lands whence shall be revenue\n    As great as from a city. If so be\n    Ye cannot bring me Nala and my child,\n    To him that learns their refuge I will give\n    The thousand cows.\"\n                       Thereby rejoiced, they went,\n    Those Br\u00e1hmans, hither and thither, up and down,\n    Into all regions, rajaships, and towns,\n    Seeking Nishadha's Chieftain, and his wife.\n    But Nala nowhere found they; nowhere found\n    Sweet Damayanti, Bhima's beauteous child--\n      Until, straying to pleasant Chedipur,\n    One day a twice-born came, Sud\u00eava named,\n    And entered it; and, spying round about\n    (Upon a feast-day by the King proclaimed),\n    He saw forth-passing through the palace gate\n    A woman--Bhima's daughter--side by side\n    With young Sunand\u00e2. Little praise had now\n    That beauty which in old days shone so bright;\n    Marred with much grief it was, like sunlight dimmed\n    By fold on fold of wreathed and creeping mists.\n    But when Sud\u00eava marked the great dark eyes--\n    Lustreless though they were, and she so worn,\n    So listless--\"Lo, the Princess!\" whispered he;--\n    \"'Tis the King's daughter,\" quoth he to himself;\n    And thus mused on:--\n                        \"Yea! as I used to see,\n    'Tis she! no other woman hath such grace!\n    My task is done; I gaze on that one form,\n    Which is like Lakshmi's, whom all worlds adore.\n    I see the bosoms, rounded, dark, and smooth,\n    As they were sister-moons; the soft moon-face\n    Which with its queenly light makes all things bright\n    Where it doth gleam; the large deep lotus-eyes,\n    That, like to Rati's own, the Queen of Love,\n    Beam, each a lovelit star, filling the worlds\n    With longing. Ah, fair lotus-flower, plucked up\n    By Fate's hard grasp from far Vidarbha's pool,\n    How is thy cup muddied and slimed to-day!\n    Ah, moon, how is thy night like to the eclipse\n    When Rahu swallows up the silver round!\n    Ah, tearless eyes, reddened with weeping him,\n    How are ye like to gentle streams run dry!\n    Ah, lake of lilies, where grief's elephant\n    Hath swung his trunk, and turned the crystal black,\n    And scattered all the blue and crimson cups,\n    And frightened off the birds! Ah, lily-cup,\n    Tender, and delicately leaved, and reared\n    To blossom in a palace built of gems,\n    How dost thou wither here, wrenched by the root,\n    Sun-scorched and faded! Noblest, loveliest, best!--\n    Who bear'st no gems, yet so becomest them--\n    How like the new moon's silver horn thou art,\n    When envious black clouds blot it! Lost for thee\n    Are love, home, children, friends, and kinsmen; lost\n    All joy of that fair body thou dost wear\n    Only that it may last to find thy lord.\n    Truly a woman's ornament is this:--\n    The husband is her jewel; lacking him\n    She hath none, though she shines with priceless pearls;\n    Piteous must be her state! And, torn from her,\n    Doth Nala cling to life; or, day by day,\n    Waste with long yearning? Oh, as I behold\n    Those black locks, and those eyes--dark and long-shaped\n    As are the hundred-petalled lotus-leaves--\n    And watch her joyless who deserves all joy,\n    My heart is sore! When will she overpass\n    The river of this sorrow, and come safe\n    Unto its farther shore? When will she meet\n    Her lord, as moon and moon-star in the sky\n    Mingle? For, as I think, in winning her,\n    Nala would win his happy days again,\n    And--albeit banished now--have back his lands.\n    Alike in years and graces, and alike\n    In lordly race these were: no bride could seem\n    Worthy Nishadha, if it were not she;\n    Nor husband worthy of Vidarbha's Pride,\n    Save it were Nala. It is meet I bring\n    Comfort forthwith to yon despairing one,\n    The consort of the just and noble Prince,\n    For whom I see her heart-sick. I will go\n    And speak good tidings to this moon-faced Queen,\n    Who once knew nought of sorrows, but to-day\n    Stands yonder, plunged heart-deep in woful thought.\"\n      So, all those signs and marks considering\n    Which stamped her Bhima's child, Sud\u00eava drew\n    Nearer, and said: \"Vidarbhi, Nala's wife,\n    I am the Br\u00e1hmana Sud\u00eava, friend\n    Unto my lord, thy brother, and I come\n    By royal Bhima's mandate, seeking thee.\n    That Maharaja, thy father, dwells in health;\n    Thy mother and thy house are well; and well--\n    With promise of long years--thy little ones,\n    Sister and brother. Yet, for thy sake, Queen,\n    Thy kindred sit as men with spirit gone;\n    In search of thee a hundred twice-born rove\n    Over all lands.\"\n                     But (O King Yudhisthir!)\n    Hardly one word she heard before she broke\n    With question after question on the man,\n    Asking of this dear friend and that and this;\n    All mingled with quick tears, and tender sighs,\n    And hungry gazing on her brother's friend,\n    Sud\u00eava--best of Br\u00e1hmanas--come there.\n    Which soon Sunand\u00e2 marked, watching them speak\n    Apart, and Damayanti all in tears.\n    Then came she to her mother, saying: \"See,\n    The handmaid thou didst give me talks below\n    With one who is a Br\u00e1hman, all her words\n    Watered with weeping; if thou wilt, demand\n    What this man knows.\"\n                         Therewith swept forth amazed\n    The mother of the Raja, and beheld\n    How Nala's wife spake with the Br\u00e1hmana.\n    Whom straight she bade them summon; and, being brought,\n    In this wise questioned: \"Knowest thou whose wife,\n    Whose daughter, this one is; and how she left\n    Her kin; and wherefore, being heavenly-eyed\n    And noble-mannered, she hath wandered here?\n    I am full fain to hear this; tell me all,\n    No whit withholding; answer faithfully--\n    Who is our slave-girl with the goddess gait?\"\n      The Br\u00e1hmana Sud\u00eava, so addressed,\n    Seating himself at ease, unto the Queen\n    Told Damayanti's story, how all fell.\n      Sud\u00eava said: \"There reigns in majesty\n    King Bhima at Vidarbha; and of him\n    The Princess Damayanti here is child;\n    And Virasena's son, Nala, is Lord\n    Over Nishadha, praised-in-song and wise;\n    And of that Prince this lady is the wife.\n    In play his brother worsted Nala--stripped\n    Of lands and wealth the Prince; who fled his realm,\n    Wandering with Damayanti--where, none knew.\n    In quest of Damayanti we have roamed\n    The earth's face o'er, until I found her here\n    In thy son's house, the King's--the very same,\n    Since like to her for grace no woman lives\n    Of all fair women. Where her eyebrows meet\n    A pretty mole, born with her, should be seen\n    A little lotus-bud--not visible\n    By reason of the dust of toil which clouds\n    Her face and veils its moon-like beauty--that\n    The wondrous Maker on the rare work stamped\n    To be His Mark. But as the waxing moon\n    Goes thin and darkling for awhile, then rounds\n    The crescent's rims with splendors, so this Queen\n    Hath lost not queenliness. Being now obscured,\n    Soiled with the grime of chores, unbeautified,\n    She shows true gold. The fire which trieth gold\n    Denoteth less itself by instant heat\n    Than Damayanti by her goodlihood.\n    As first sight knew I her. She bears that mole.\"\n      Whilst yet Sud\u00eava spake (O King of men!),\n    Sunand\u00e2 from the slave's front washed away\n    The gathered dust, and forth that mark appeared\n    'Twixt Damayanti's brows, as when clouds break,\n    And in the sky the moon, the night-maker,\n    Glitters to view. Seeing the spot awhile,\n    Sunand\u00e2 and the mother of the King\n    Gazed voiceless; then they clasped her neck and wept\n    Rejoicing, till the Queen, staying her tears,\n    Exclaimed: \"My sister's daughter, dear! thou art,\n    By this same mark. Thy mother and myself\n    Were sisters by one father--he that rules\n    Da\u015barna, King Sud\u00e2man. She was given\n    To Bhima, and to Virabahu I.\n    Once at Da\u015barna, in my father's house,\n    I saw thee, newly born. Thy race and mine,\n    Princess, are one: henceforward, therefore, here\n    As I am, Damayanti, shalt thou be.\"\n      With gladdened heart did Damayanti bend\n    Before her mother's sister, answering thus:--\n    \"Peaceful and thankful dwelled I here with thee,\n    Being unknown, my every need supplied,\n    My life and honor by thy succor safe,\n    Yet, Maharajni, even than this dear home\n    One would be dearer: 'tis so many days\n    Since we were parted. Suffer me to go\n    Where those my tender little ones were led;\n    So long--poor babes!--of me and of their sire\n    Bereft. If, lady, thou dost think to show\n    Kindness to me, this is my wish: to wend\n    Unto Vidarbha swiftly; wilt thou bid\n    They bear me thither?\"\n                           Was no sooner heard\n    That fond desire, than the queen-mother gave\n    Willing command; and soon an ample troop,\n    The King consenting, gathered for her guard.\n    So was she sent upon a palanquin,\n    With soldiers, pole-bearers, and meat and drink,\n    And garments as befitted--happier--home.\n      Thus to Vidarbha came its Pride again,\n    By no long road; and joyously her kin\n    Brought the sweet Princess in, and welcomed her.\n    In peace and safety all her house she found;\n    Her children well;--father and mother, friends.\n    The gods she worshipped, and to Br\u00e1hmanas\n    Due reverence made, and whatso else was meet\n    That Damayanti did, regal in all.\n    To wise Sud\u00eava fell the thousand cows\n    By Bhima granted, with the village-lands,\n    And goodly gifts beside.\n                             But when there passed\n    One night of rest within the palace-walls,\n    The wistful Princess to her mother said:--\n    \"If thou wouldst have me live, I tell thee true,\n    Dear mother, it must be by bringing back\n    My Nala, my own lord; and only so.\"\n      When this she spake, right sorrowful became\n    The Rani, weeping silently, nor gave\n    One word of answer; and the palace-girls,\n    Seeing this grief, sat round them, weeping too,\n    And crying: \"Haha! where is gone her lord?\"\n    And loud the lamentation was of all.\n      Afterwards to the Maharaja his Queen\n    Told what was said: \"Lord! all uncomforted\n    Thy daughter Damayanti weeps and grieves,\n    Lacking her husband. Even to me she spake\n    Before our damsels, laying shame aside:--\n    'Find Nala; let the people of the court\n    Strive day and night to learn where Nala is.'\"\n\n    Then Bhima, hearing, called his Br\u00e1hmanas\n    Patient and wise, and issued hest to go\n    Into all regions, seeking for the Prince.\n    But first, by mandate of the Maharaja,\n    To Damayanti all those twice-born came,\n    Saying: \"Now we depart!\" Then Bhima's child\n    Gave ordinance: \"To whatsoever lands\n    Ye wend, say this--wherever gather men,\n    Say this--in every place these verses speak:--\n\n      Whither art thou departed, cruel lover,\n        Who stole the half of thy belov\u00e8d's cloth,\n      And left her to awaken, and discover\n        The wrong thou wroughtest to the love of both?\n      She, as thou didst command, a sad watch keepeth,\n        With woful heart wearing the rended dress.\n      Prince, hear her cry who thus forever weepeth;\n        Be mindful, hero; comfort her distress!\n\n    And, furthermore,\" the Princess said, \"since fire\n    Leaps into flame when the wind fans the spark,\n    Be this too spoken, that his heart may burn:--\n\n      By every husband nourished and protected\n        Should every wife be. Think upon the wood!\n      Why these thy duties hast thou so neglected,\n        Prince, that was called noble and true and good?\n      Art then become compassionate no longer,\n        Shunning, perchance, my fortune's broken way?\n      Ah, husband, love is most! let love be stronger;\n        _Ahimsa paro dharma_,[25] thou didst say.\n\n    These verses while ye speak,\" quoth the Princess,\n    \"Should any man make answer, note him well\n    In any place; and who he is, and where\n    He dwells. And if one listens to these words\n    Intently, and shall so reply to them,\n    Good Br\u00e1hmans, hold ye fast his speech, and bring,\n    Breath by breath, all of it unto me here;\n    But so that he shall know not whence ye speak,\n    If ye go back. Do this unweariedly;\n    And if one answer--be he high or low,\n    Wealthy or poor--learn all he was and is,\n    And what he would.\"\n                        Hereby enjoined, they went,\n    Those twice-born, into all the lands to seek\n    Prince Nala in his loneliness. Through towns,\n    Cities and villages, hamlets and camps,\n    By shepherds' huts and hermits' caves, they passed,\n    Searching for Nala; yet they found him not;\n    Albeit in every region (O my king!)\n    The words of Damayanti, as she taught,\n    Spake they again in hearing of all men.\n      Suddenly--after many days--there came\n    A Br\u00e1hman back, Parn\u00e2da he was called,\n    Who unto Bhima's child in this wise spake:--\n    \"O Damayanti, seeking Nala still,\n    Ayodhy\u00e2's streets I entered, where I saw\n    The Maharaja; he--noble-minded one!--\n    Heard me thy verses say, as thou hadst said;\n    Great Rituparna heard those very words,\n    Excellent Princess; but he answered nought;\n    And no man answered, out of all the throng\n    Ofttimes addressed. But when I had my leave\n    And was withdrawn, a man accosted me\n    Privately--one of Rituparna's train,\n    Vah\u00fbka named, the Raja's charioteer\n    (Something misshapen, with a shrunken arm,\n    But skilled in driving, very dexterous\n    In cookery and sweetmeats). He--with groans,\n    And tears which rolled and rolled--asked of my health,\n    And then these verses spake full wistfully:--\n\n      'Even when their loss is largest, noble ladies\n        Keep the true treasure of their hearts unspent,\n      Attaining heaven through faith, which undismayed is\n        By wrong, unaltered by abandonment;\n      Such an one guards with virtue's golden shield\n        Her name from harm; pious and pure and tender;\n      And, though her lord forsook her, will not yield\n        To wrath, even against that vile offender--\n      Even against the ruined, rash, ungrateful,\n        Faithless, fond Prince from whom the birds did steal\n      His only cloth, whom now a penance fateful\n        Dooms to sad days, that dark-eyed will not feel\n      Anger; for if she saw him she should see\n        A man consumed with grief and loss and shame;\n      Ill or well lodged, ever in misery,\n        Her unthroned lord, a slave without a name.'\n\n    Such words I heard him speak,\" Parn\u00e2da said,\n    \"And, hastening thence, I tell them to thee, here;\n    Thou knowest; thou wilt judge; make the King know.\"\n    But Damayanti listened, with great eyes\n    Welling quick tears, while thus Parn\u00e2da spake,\n    And afterwards crept secretly and said\n    Unto her mother: \"Breathe no word hereof,\n    Dear mother, to the King, but let me speak\n    With wise Sud\u00eava in thy presence here;\n    Nothing should Bhima know of what I plan,\n    But, if thou lovest me, by thee and me\n    This shall be wrought. As I was safely led\n    By good Sud\u00eava home, so let him go--\n    With not less happy fortune--to bring back,\n    Ere many days, my Nala; let him seek\n    Ayodhy\u00e2, mother dear, and fetch my Prince!\"\n      But first Parn\u00e2da, resting from his road--\n    That best of twice-borns--did the Princess thank\n    With honorable words and gifts: \"If home\n    My Nala cometh, Br\u00e1hman!\" so she spake,\n    \"Great guerdon will I give. Thou hast well done\n    For me herein--- better than any man;\n    Helping me find again my wandered lord.\"\n    To which fair words made soft reply, and prayers\n    For \"peace and fortune,\" that high-minded one,\n    And so passed home, his service being wrought.\n      Next to Sud\u00eava spake the sad Princess\n    This (O my King!), her mother standing by:--\n    \"Good Br\u00e1hman, to Ayodhy\u00e2's city go.\n    Say in the ears of Raja Rituparna,\n    As though thou cam'st a simple traveller,\n    'The daughter of King Bhima once again\n    Maketh to hold her high Swayamvara.\n    The kings and princes from all lands repair\n    Thither; the time draws nigh; to-morrow's dawn\n    Shall bring the day. If thou wouldst be of it,\n    Speed quickly, conquering King! at sunsetting\n    Another lord she chooseth for herself;\n    Since whether Nala liveth or is dead,\n    None knoweth.'\"\n                    These the words which he should say;\n    And, learning them, he sped, and thither came--\n    That Br\u00e1hmana Sud\u00eava--and he spake\n    To Maharaja Rituparna so.\n      Now when the Raja Rituparna heard\n    Sud\u00eava's words, quoth he to Vah\u00fbka\n    Full pleasantly: \"Much mind I have to go\n    Where Damayanti holds Swayamvara,\n    If to Vidarbha, in a single day,\n    Thou deemest we might drive, my charioteer!\"\n      Of Nala, by his Raja thus addressed,\n    Torn was the heart with anguish; for he thought:--\n    \"Can Damayanti purpose this? Could grief\n    So change her? Is it not some fine device\n    For my sake schemed? Or doth my Princess seek,\n    All holy as she was, this guilty joy,\n    Being so wronged of me, her rash weak lord?\n    Frail is a woman's heart, and my fault great!\n    Thus might she do it, being far from home,\n    Bereft of friends, desolate with long woes\n    Of love for me--my slender-waisted one!\n    Yet no, no, no! she would not--she that is\n    My children's mother! Be it false or true,\n    Best shall I know in going; therefore now\n    The will of Rituparna must I serve.\"\n      Thus pondering in his mind, the troubled Prince\n    With joined palms meekly to his master said:--\n    \"I shall thy hest accomplish! I can drive\n    In one day, Raja, to Vidarbha's gates.\"\n      Then in the royal stables--steed by steed,\n    Stallions and mares, Vah\u00fbka scanned them all,\n    By Rituparna prayed quickly to choose.\n    Slowly he picked four coursers, under-fleshed,\n    But big of bone and sinew; fetlocked well\n    For journeying; high-bred, heavy-framed; of blood\n    To match the best, yet gentle; blemish-free;\n    Broad in the jaw, with scarlet nostrils spread;\n    Bearing the _Avarthas_, the ten true marks--\n    Reared on the banks of Indus, swift as wind.\n    Which, when the Raja looked upon, he cried,\n    Half-wrathful: \"What thing thinkest thou to do?\n    Wilt thou betray me? How should sorry beasts,\n    Lean-ribbed and ragged, take us all that way,\n    The long road we must swiftly travel hence?\"\n      Vah\u00fbka answered: \"See on all these four\n    The ten sure marks: one curl upon each crest,\n    Two on the cheeks, two upon either flank,\n    Two on the breast, and on each crupper one.[26]\n    These to Vidarbha--doubt it not--will go;\n    Yet, Raja, if thou wilt have others, speak;\n    And I shall yoke them.\"\n                            Rituparna said:--\n    \"I know thou hast deep skill in stable-craft;\n    Yoke therefore such four coursers as thou wilt,\n    But quickly!\"\n                  Thus those horses, two by two,\n    High-mettled, spare, and strong, Prince Nala put\n    Under the bars; and when the car was hitched,\n    And eagerly the Raja made to mount,\n    At sign the coursers bent their knees, and lay\n    Along the earth. Then Nala (O my King!),\n    With kindly voice cheering the gaunt bright steeds,\n    Loosed them, and grasped the reins, and bade ascend\n    Varshneya: so he started, headlong, forth.\n      At cry of Vah\u00fbka the four steeds sprung\n    Into the air, as they would fly with him;\n    And when the Raja felt them, fleet as wind,\n    Whirling along, mute sat he and amazed;\n    And much Varshneya mused to hear and see\n    The thundering of those wheels; the fiery four\n    So lightly held; Vah\u00fbka's matchless art.\n    \"Is M\u00e2tali, who driveth Indra's car,\n    Our charioteer? for all the marks of him\n    Are here! or S\u00e2lihotra can this be,\n    The god of horses, knowing all their ways,\n    Who here in mortal form his greatness hides?\n    Or is it--can it be--Nala the Prince,\n    Nala the steed-tamer?\" Thus pondered he:--\n    \"Whatever Nala knew this one doth know.\n    Alike the mastery seems of both; alike\n    I judge their years. If this man be not he,\n    Two Nalas are there in the world for skill.\n    They say there wander mighty powers on earth\n    In strange disguises, who, divinely sprung,\n    Veil themselves from us under human mould;\n    Bewilderment it brings me, this his shape\n    Misshappen--from conclusion that alone\n    Withholds me; yet I wist not what to think,\n    In age and manner like--and so unlike\n    In form! Else Vah\u00fbka I must have deemed\n    Nala, with Nala's gifts.\"\n                              So in his heart,\n    Varshneya, watching, wondered--being himself\n    The second charioteer. But Rituparna\n    Sat joyous with the speed, delightedly\n    Marking the driving of the Prince: the eyes\n    Attent; the hand so firm upon the reins;\n    The skill so quiet, wise, and masterful;\n    Great joy the Maharaja had to see.\n      By stream and mountain, woodland-path and pool,\n    Swiftly, like birds that skim in air, they sped;\n    Till, as the chariot plunged, the Raja saw\n    His shoulder-mantle falling to the ground;\n    And--loath to lose the robe--albeit so pressed,\n    To Nala cried he, \"Let me take it up;\n    Check the swift horses, wondrous charioteer;\n    And bid Varshneya light, and fetch my cloth,\"\n    But Nala answered: \"Far it lies behind;\n    A yojana already we have passed;\n    We cannot turn again to pick it up.\"\n      A little onward Riturparna saw\n    Within the wood a tall Myrobolan\n    Heavy with fruit; hereat, eager he cried:--\n    \"Now, Vah\u00fbka, my skill thou mayest behold\n    In the Arithmic. All arts no man knows;\n    Each hath his wisdom, but in one man's wit\n    Is perfect gift of one thing, and not more.\n    From yonder tree how many leaves and fruits,\n    Think'st thou, lie fall'n there upon the earth?\n    Just one above a thousand of the leaves,\n    And one above a hundred of the fruits;\n    And on those two limbs hang, of dancing leaves,\n    Five crores exact; and shouldst thou pluck yon boughs\n    Together with their shoots, on those twain boughs\n    Swing twice a thousand nuts and ninety-five!\"\n      Vah\u00fbka checked the chariot wonderingly,\n    And answered: \"Imperceptible to me\n    Is what thou boastest, slayer of thy foes!\n    But I to proof will put it, hewing down\n    The tree, and, having counted, I shall know.\n    Before thine eyes the branches twain I'll lop:\n    How prove thee, Maharaja, otherwise,\n    Whether this be or be not? I will count\n    One by one--fruits and leaves--before thee, King;\n    Varshneya, for a space, can rein the steeds.\"\n      To him replied the Raja: \"Time is none\n    Now to delay.\"\n                    Vah\u00fbka answered quick\n    (His own set purpose serving): \"Stay this space,\n    Or by thyself drive on! The road is good,\n    The son of Vrishni will be charioteer!\"\n      On that the Raja answered soothingly:--\n    \"There is not in the earth another man\n    That hath thy skill; and by thy skill I look\n    To reach Vidarbha, O thou steed-tamer!\n    Thou art my trust; make thou not hindrance now!\n    Yet would I suffer, too, what thou dost ask,\n    If thou couldst surely reach Vidarbha's gate\n    Before yon sun hath sunk.\"\n                               Nala replied:--\n    \"When I have counted those vibh\u00eetak boughs,\n    Vidarbha I will reach; now keep thy word.\"\n      Ill pleased, the Raja said: \"Halt then, and count!\n    Take one bough from the branch which I shall show,\n    And tell its fruits, and satisfy thy soul.\"\n      So leaping from the car--eager he shore\n    The boughs, and counted; and all wonder-struck\n    To Rituparna spake: \"Lo, as thou saidst\n    So many fruits there be upon this bough!\n    Exceeding marvellous is this thy gift,\n    I burn to know such learning, how it comes.\"\n      Answered the Raja, for his journey fain:--\n    \"My mind is quick with numbers, skilled to count;\n    I have the science.\"\n                         \"Give it me, dear Lord!\"\n    Vah\u00fbka cried: \"teach me, I pray, this lore,\n    And take from me my skill in horse-taming.\"\n      Quoth Rituparna--impatient to proceed--\n    Yet of such skill desirous: \"Be it so!\n    As thou hast prayed, receive my secret art,\n    Exchanging with me here thy mastery\n    Of horses.\"\n                Thereupon did he impart\n    His rules of numbers, taking Nala's too.\n      But wonderful! So soon as Nala knew\n    That hidden gift, the accursed Kali leapt\n    Forth from his breast, the evil spirit's mouth\n    Spewing the poison of Kark\u00f4taka\n    Even as he issued. From the afflicted Prince\n    That bitter plague of Kali passed away;\n    And for a space Prince Nala lost himself,\n    Rent by the agony. But when he saw\n    The evil one take visible shape again--\n    Free from the serpent's poison--Nishadha's Lord\n    Had thought to curse him then; but Kali stood\n    With clasped palms trembling, and besought the Prince,\n    Saying: \"Thy wrath restrain, Sovereign of men!\n    I will repay thee well. Thy virtuous wife,\n    Indrasen's angered mother, laid her ban\n    Upon me when thou didst forsake her; since\n    Within thee have I dwelled in anguish sore,\n    Tortured and tossed and burning, night and day,\n    With venom from the great snake's fang, which passed\n    Into me by thy blood. Be pitiful!\n    I take my refuge in thy mercy! Hear\n    My promise, Prince! Wherever men henceforth\n    Shall name thee before people, praising thee,\n    This shall protect them from the dread of me;\n    Nala shall guard from Kali, if so now\n    Thou spare to curse me, seeking grace of thee.\"\n      Thus supplicated, Nala stayed his wrath,\n    Acceding; and the direful Kali fled\n    Into the wounded tree, possessing it.\n    But of no eyes, save Nala's, was he seen,\n    Nor heard of any other; and the Prince,\n    His sorrows shaking off, when Kali passed,\n    After that numbering of the leaves, in joy\n    Unspeakable, and glowing with new hope,\n    Mounted the car again, and urged his steeds.\n    But from that hour the tall Myrobolan,\n    Possessed by Kali, stood there, sear and dead.\n      Then onward, onward, speeding like the birds,\n    Those coursers flew; and fast and faster still\n    The glad Prince cheered them forward, all elate:\n    And proudly rode the Raja towards the walls\n    Of high Vidarbha. Thus did journey down\n    Exultant Nala, free of trouble now,\n    Quit of the evil spell, but bearing still\n    His form misshapen, and the shrunken limb.\n      At sunset in Vidarbha (O great King!)\n    The watchers on the walls proclaimed, \"There comes\n    The Raja Rituparna!\" Bhima bade\n    Open the gates; and thus they entered in,\n    Making all quarters of the city shake\n    With rattling of the chariot-wheels. But when\n    The horses of Prince Nala heard that sound,\n    For joy they neighed, as when of old their lord\n    Drew nigh. And Damayanti, in her bower,\n    Far off that rattling of the chariot heard,\n    As when at time of rains is heard the voice\n    Of clouds low thundering; and her bosom thrilled\n    At echo of that ringing sound. It came\n    Loud and more loud, like Nala's, when of old,\n    Gripping the reins, he cheered his mares along.\n    It seemed like Nala to the Princess then--\n    That clatter of the trampling of the hoofs;\n    It seemed like Nala to the stabled steeds:\n    Upon the palace-roof the peacocks heard\n    And screamed; the elephants within their stalls\n    Heard it and trumpeted; the coursers, tied,\n    Snorted for joy to hear that leaping car;\n      Peacocks and elephants and cattle stalled\n    All called and clamored with uplifted heads,\n    As wild things do at noise of coming rain.\n      Then to herself the Princess spake: \"This car,\n    The rolling of it, echoing all around,\n    Gladdens my heart. It must be Nala comes,\n    My King of men! If I see not, this day,\n    My Prince that hath the bright and moon-like face,\n    My hero of unnumbered gifts, my lord,\n    Ah, I shall die! If this day fall I not\n    Into his opening arms--at last, at last--\n    And feel his close embrace, oh, beyond doubt,\n    I cannot live! If--ending all--to-day\n    Nishadha cometh not, with this deep sound\n    Like far-off thunder, then to-night I'll leap\n    Into the golden, flickering, fiery flames!\n    If now, now, now, my lion draws not nigh,\n    My warrior-love, like the wild elephant,\n    My Prince of princes--I shall surely die!\n    Nought call I now to mind he said or did\n    That was not rightly said and justly done.\n    No idle word he spake, even in free speech;\n    Patient and lordly; generous to bestow\n    Beyond all givers; scorning to be base,\n    Yea, even in secret--such Nishadha was.\n    Alas! when, day and night, I think of him,\n    How is my heart consumed, reft of its joy!\"\n      So meditating, like one torn by thoughts,\n    She mounted to the palace-roof to see;\n    And thence, in the mid-court, the car beheld\n    Arriving. Rituparna and Vah\u00fbka\n    She saw, with Vrishni's son, descend and loose\n    The panting horses, wheeling back the car.\n      Then Rituparna, alighting, sought the King,\n    Bhima the Maharaja, far-renowned--\n    Whom Bhima with fair courtesies received;\n    Since well he deemed such breathless visit made\n    With deep cause, knowing not the women's plots.\n    \"_Sw\u00e2gatam!\"_ cried he; \"what hath brought thee, Prince?\"\n    For nothing wist he that the Raja came\n    Suitor of Damayanti. Questioned so,\n    This Raja Rituparna, wise and brave,\n    Seeing no kings nor princes in the court,\n    Nor noise of the Swayamvara, nor crowd\n    Of Br\u00e1hmans gathering--weighing all those things,\n    Answered in this wise: \"I am come, great Lord,\n    To make thee salutations!\" But the King\n    Laughed in his beard at Rituparna's word--\n    That this of many weary yojanas\n    Should be the mark. \"_Ahoswid_! Hath he passed\n    Through twenty towns,\" thought he, \"and hither flown\n    To bid good-morrow? Nay, it is not that.\n    Good! I shall know it when he bids me know.\"\n      Thereat, with friendly speech his noble guest\n    The King to rest dismissed. \"Repose thyself,\"\n    He said; \"the road was long; weary thou art.\"\n    And Rituparna, with sentences of grace\n    Replying to this graciousness, was led\n    By slaves to the allotted sleeping-room;\n    And after Rituparna, Varshneya went.\n    Vah\u00fbka, left alone, the chariot ran\n    Into its shed, and from the foamy steeds\n    Unbuckled all the harness, thong by thong,\n    Speaking soft words to them; then sat him down,\n    Alone, forgotten, on the driving-seat.\n      But Damayanti, seeing Rituparna,\n    And Vrishni's son, and him called Vah\u00fbka,\n    Spake sorrowful: \"Whose was the thunder, then,\n    Of that fleet car? It seemed like Nala's own;\n    Yet here I see no Nala! Hath yon man\n    My lord's art learned, or th'other one, that thus\n    Their car should thunder as when Nala comes?\n    Could Rituparna drive as Nala doth,\n    So that those chariot-wheels should sound like his?\"\n    And, after having pondered (O my King!),\n    The beauteous Princess sent her handmaiden\n    To Vah\u00fbka, that she might question him.\n      \"Go, Keshin\u00ee,\" the Princess said; \"inquire\n    Who is that man upon the driving-seat,\n    Misshapen, with the shrunken arm. Approach\n    Composedly, question him winningly\n    With greetings kind, and bid him answer thee\n    According to the truth. I feel at heart\n    A doubt--a hope--that this, perchance, may be\n    My Lord and Prince; there is some new-born joy\n    Fluttering within my breast. Accost him, girl;\n    And, ere thou partest, what Parn\u00e2da said,\n    Say thou, and hear him answer, blameless one,\n    And bring it on thy lips!\"\n                                Then went the maid\n    Demurely, and accosted Vah\u00fbka,\n    While Damayanti watched them from the roof.\n      \"_Kushalam t\u00ea brav\u00eemi_--health and peace\n    I wish thee!\" said she. \"Wilt thou answer true\n    What Damayanti asks? She sends to ask\n    Whence set ye forth, and wherefore are ye come\n    Hither? Vidarbha's Princess fain would know.\"\n      \"'Twas told my Raja,\" Vah\u00fbka replied,\n    \"That Damayanti for the second turn\n    Holds her Swayamvara: the Br\u00e1hman's word\n    Was, \"This shall be to-morrow.\" So he sped,\n    Hearing that news, with steeds which in one day\n    Fly fifty yojanas, swift as the winds,\n    Exceeding fleet. His charioteer am I.\"\n      \"Who, then,\" Keshin\u00ee asked, \"is he that rode\n    The third? whence cometh he, and what his race?\n    And thou thyself whence sprung? and tell me why\n    Thou servest thus?\"\n                          Then Vah\u00fbka replied:--\n    \"Varshneya is the third who rode with us,\n    The famous charioteer of Nala he:\n    When thy Prince fled, he went to Koshala\n    And took our service. I in horse-taming\n    And dressing meat have skill; so am I made\n    King Rituparna's driver and his cook.\"\n      \"Knoweth Varshneya, then, where Nala fled?\"\n    Inquired the maid; \"and did he tell thee this,\n    Or what spake he?\"\n                      \"Of that unhappy Prince\n    He brought the children hither, and then went\n    Even where he would, of Nala wotting nought;\n    Nor wotteth any man, fair damsel! more.\n    Hidden from mortal eyes Nishadha lives,\n    Wandering the world, his very body changed.\n    Of Nala only Nala's own heart knows,\n    And by no sign doth he bewray himself.\"\n      Keshin\u00ee said: \"That Br\u00e1hman who did wend\n    First to Ayodhy\u00e2 bore a verse to say\n    Over and over, everywhere--strange words,\n    Wove by a woman's wit. Listen to these:--\n\n      'Whither art thou departed, cruel lover,\n        Who stole the half of thy belov\u00e8d's cloth,\n      And left her to awaken and discover\n        The wrong thou wroughtest to the love of both?\n      She, as thou didst command, a sad watch keepeth,\n        With woful heart wearing the rended dress.\n      Prince, hear her cry who thus forever weepeth;\n        Be mindful, hero; comfort her distress!'\n\n    What was it thou didst utter, hearing this?\n    Some gentle speech! Say it again--the Queen,\n    My peerless mistress, fain would know from me.\n    Nay, on thy faith, when thou didst hear that man,\n    What was it thou replied? She would know.\"\n      (Descendant of the Kurus!) Nala's heart,\n    While so the maid spoke, well-nigh burst with grief,\n    And from his eyes fast flowed the rolling tears;\n    But, mastering his anguish, holding down\n    The passion of his pain, with voice which strove\n    To speak through sobs, the Prince repeated this:--\n\n      \"Even against the ruined, rash, ungrateful,\n        Faithless, fond Prince, from whom the birds did steal\n      His only cloth, whom now a penance fateful\n        Dooms to sad days, that dark-eyed will not feel\n      Anger; for if she saw him she should see\n        A man consumed with grief and loss and shame;\n      Ill or well lodged, ever in misery,\n        Her unthroned lord, a slave without a name.\"\n\n      Speaking these verses, woful Nala moaned,\n    And, overcome by thought, restrained no more\n    His trickling tears; fast broke they forth (O King!).\n    But Keshin\u00ee, returning, told his words\n    To Damayanti, and the grief of him.\n      When Damayanti heard, sore-troubled still,\n    Yet in her heart supposing him her Prince,\n    Again she spake: \"Go, Kashin\u00ee, and watch\n    Whatever this man doeth; near him stand,\n    Holding thy peace, and mark the ways of him\n    And all his acts, going and coming; note\n    If aught there be of strange in any deed.\n    Let them not give him fire, my girl--not though\n    This hindereth sore; nor water, though he ask\n    Even with beseeching. Afterwards observe,\n    And bring me what befalls, and every sign\n    Of earthly or unearthly power he shows;\n    And whatsoever else Vah\u00fbka doth,\n    See it, and say.\"\n                    Thereon Keshin\u00ee sped,\n    Obeying Damayanti and--at hand--\n    Whatever by that horse-tamer was wrought,\n    The damsel watched, and all his ways; and came\n    Back to the Princess, unto whom she told\n    Each thing Vah\u00fbka did, as it befell,\n    And what the signs were, and the wondrous works\n    Of earthly and unearthly gifts in him.\n      \"_Subh\u00ea_!\"[27] quoth she, \"the man is magical,\n    But high and holy mannered; never yet\n    Saw I another such, nor heard of him.\n    Passing the low door of the inner court,\n    Where one must stoop, he did not bow his head,\n    But as he came the lintel lifted up\n    And gave him space. Bhima the King had sent\n    Many and diverse meats for Rituparna,\n    Of beast and bird and fish--great store of food--\n    The which to cleanse some chatties stood hard by,\n    All empty; yet he did but look on them,\n    Wishful, and lo! the water brimmed the pots.\n    Then, having washed the meats, he hastened forth\n    In quest of fire, and, holding towards the sun\n    A knot of withered grass, the bright flame blazed\n    Instant amidst it. Wonderstruck was I\n    This miracle to see, and hither ran\n    With other strangest marvels to impart:--\n    For, Princess, when he touched the blazing grass\n    He was not burned, and water flows for him\n    At will, or ceases flowing; and this, too,\n    The strangest thing of all, did I behold--\n    He took some faded leaves and flowers up,\n    And idly handled them; but while his hands\n    Toyed with them, lo! they blossomed forth again\n    With lovelier life than ever, and fresh scent,\n    Straight on their stalks. These marvels have I seen,\n    And fly back now to tell thee, mistress dear!\"\n      But when she knew such wonders of the man,\n    More certainly she deemed those acts and gifts\n    Betokened Nala; and so-minded, full\n    Of trust to find her lord in Vah\u00fbka,\n    With happier tears and softening voice she said\n    To Keshin\u00ee: \"Speed yet again, my girl;\n    And, while he wots not, from the kitchen take\n    Meat he hath dressed, and bring it here to me.\"\n    So went the maid, and, waiting secretly,\n    Broke from the mess a morsel, hot and spiced,\n    And, bearing it with faithful swiftness, gave\n    To Damayanti. She (O Kuru King!)--\n    That knew so well the dishes dressed by him--\n    Touched, tasted it, and, laughing--weeping--cried,\n    Beside herself with joy: \"Yes, yes; 'tis he!\n    That charioteer is Nala!\" then, a-pant,\n    Even while she washed her mouth, she bade the maid\n    Go with the children twain to Vah\u00fbka;\n    Who, when he saw his little Indrasen\n    And Indrasena, started up, and ran,\n    And caught, and folded them upon his breast;\n    Holding them there, his darlings, each as fair\n    As children of the gods. Then, quite undone\n    With love and yearning, loudly sobbed the Prince.\n      Until, perceiving Keshin\u00ee, who watched,\n    Shamed to be known, he set his children down,\n    And said: \"In sooth, good friend, this lovely pair\n    So like mine own are, that at seeing them\n    I am surprised into these foolish tears.\n    Thou comest here too often; men will think\n    Thee light, or me; remember, we are here,\n    Strangers and guests, girl! Go thy ways in peace!\"\n      But seeing that great trouble of his soul,\n    Lightly came Keshin\u00ee, and pictured all\n    To Damayanti. She, burning to know\n    If truly this were Nala, bade the girl\n    Seek the Queen's presence, saying thus for her:--\n    \"Mother! long watching Vah\u00fbka, I deem\n    The charioteer is Nala. One doubt lives--\n    His altered form. I must myself have speech\n    With Vah\u00fbka; thou, therefore, bid him come,\n    Or suffer me to seek him. Be this done\n    Forthwith, good mother!--whether known or not\n    Unto the Maharaja.\"\n                        When she heard,\n    The Queen told Bhima what the Princess prayed,\n    Who gave consent; and having this good leave\n    From father and from mother (O my King!),\n    Command was sent that Vah\u00fbka be brought\n    Where the court ladies lodged.\n                                  So met those twain;\n    And when Prince Nala's gaze fell on his wife,\n    He stood with beating heart and tearful eyes.\n    And when sweet Damayanti looked on him,\n    She could not speak for anguish of keen joy\n    To have him close; but sat there, mute and wan,\n    Wearing a sad-hued cloth, her lustrous hair\n    Falling unbanded, and the mourning-mark\n    Stamped in gray ashes on her lovely brow.\n    And, when she found a voice, these were the words\n    That came from her: \"Didst ever, Vah\u00fbka--\n    If Vah\u00fbka thy name be, as thou say'st--\n    Know one of noble nature, honorable,\n    Who in the wild woods left his wife asleep--\n    His innocent, fond wife--weary and worn?\n    Know'st thou the man. I'll say his name to thee;\n    'Twas Nala, Raja Nala! Ah, and when\n    In any thoughtless hour had I once wrought\n    The smallest wrong, that he should leave me so,\n    There in the wood, by slumber overcome?\n    Before the gods I chose him for my lord,\n    The gods themselves rejecting; tell me how\n    This Prince could so abandon, in her need,\n    His true, his loving wife, she who did bear\n    His babes--abandon her to whom he swore--\n    My hand clasped, in the sight of all the gods,\n    And Agni's self--'Thy true lord I will be!'\n    Thou saidst it!--where is now that promise, fled?\"\n      While thus she spake (O Victor of thy foes!),\n    Fast from her eyes the woe-sprung waters ran.\n    And Nala, seeing those night-black, loving eyes\n    Reddened with weeping, seeing her falling tears;\n    Broke forth: \"Ah! that I lost my throne and realm\n    In dicing, was not done by fault of mine;\n    'T was Kali wrought it; Kali, O my wife,\n    Drove me to leave thee. Therefore, long ago\n    That evil one was stricken by the curse\n    Which thou didst utter, wandering in the wood,\n    Desolate, night and day, grieving for me.\n    Possessing me he dwelt; but, cursed by thee,\n    Tortured he dwelt, consuming with thy words\n    In fierce and fiercer pain, as when is piled\n    Brand upon burning brand. But he is gone;\n    Patience and penance have o'ermastered him.\n    Princess, the end is reached of our long woes.\n    That evil one being fled, freeing my will,\n    See, I am here; and wherefore would I come,\n    Fairest, except for thee? Yet, answer this:--\n    How should a wife, right-minded to her lord--\n    Her own and lawful lord--compass to choose\n    Another love, as thou, that tremblest, didst?\n    Thy messengers over all regions ran,\n    By the King's name proclaiming: 'Bhima's child\n    A second husband chooseth for herself,\n    Whomso she will--as pleaseth--being free,'\n    Those shameless tidings brought the Raja here\n    At headlong speed--and me!\"\n                                 Tenderly smiled\n    Damayanti through her tears, with quivering lips,\n    And joined palms, answering her aggriev\u00e8d Prince:--\n    \"Judgest thou me guilty of such a sin?\n    When for thy sake I put the gods aside--\n    Thee did I choose, Nishadha, my one lord.\n    In quest of thee did all those Br\u00e1hmans range\n    In all ten regions, telling all one tale\n    Taught them by me; and so Parn\u00e2da came\n    To Koshala, where Rituparna dwells,\n    And found thee in his house, and spake to thee\n    Those words, and had thy gentle answer back.\n    Mine the device was, Prince, to bring thee quick;\n    For well I wist no man in all this world\n    Could in one day the fleetest coursers urge\n    So many yojanas, save thou, dear Prince!\n    I touch thy feet, and tell thee this in truth;\n    And true it is that never any wrong\n    Against thee, even in fancy, have I dreamed.\n    Witness for me, as I am loyal and pure,\n    The ever-shifting, all-beholding Air,\n    Who wanders o'er the earth; let him withdraw\n    My breath and slay me, if I sinned in aught!\n    Witness for me, yon golden Sun who goes\n    With bright eye over us; let him withhold\n    Warm life and kill me, if I sinned in aught!\n    Witness for me the white Moon, whose pale spell\n    Lies on all flesh and spirit; let that orb\n    Deny me peace and end me, if I sinned!\n    These be the watchers and the testifiers,\n    The three chief gods that rule the three wide worlds;\n    I cry unto them; let them speak for me;\n    And thou shalt hear them answer for my faith,\n    Or once again, this day, abandon me.\"\n      Then Vayu showed--the all-enfolding Air--\n    And spake: \"Not one wrong hath she wrought thee, Prince,\n    I tell thee sooth. The treasure of her truth\n    Faultless and undefiled she hath kept\n    By us regarded, and sustained by us,\n    These many days. Her tender plot it was,\n    Planned for thy sake, which brought thee; since who else\n    Could in one day drive threescore yojanas?\n    Nala, thou hast thy noble wife again;\n    Thou, Damayanti, hast thy Nala back.\n    Away with doubting; take her to thy breast,\n    Thrice happy Prince!\"\n                          And while God Vayu spake,\n    Look! there showered flowers down out of the sky[28]\n    Upon them; and the drums of heaven beat\n    Beautiful music, and a gentle wind,\n    Fragrant, propitious, floated, kissing them.\n    But Nala, when he saw these things befall--\n    Wonderful, gracious--when he heard that voice\n    Called the great snake to memory:--whereupon\n    His proper self returned. Bhima's fair child\n    Divinely sounding (Lord of Bh\u00e2rat's line!)--\n    Yielded all doubt of his delightful Love.\n    Then cast he round about his neck the cloth--\n    Unstained by earth, enchanted--and (O King!)\n    Saw her dear lord his beauteous form resume.\n    \"Ah, Nala! Nala!\" cried she, while her arms\n    Clasped him and clung; and Nala to his heart\n    Pressed that bright lady, glowing, as of old,\n    With princely majesty. Their children twain\n    Next he caressed; while she--at happy peace--\n    Her beautiful glad face laid on his breast,\n    Sighing with too much joy. And Nala stood\n    A great space silent, gazing on her face,\n    Sorrow-stamped yet, her long, deep-lidded eyes,\n    Her melting smile--himself 'twixt joy and woe.\n      Afterwards, all that story of the Prince,\n    And all of Damayanti, Bhima's Queen\n    Told to the Maharaja joyously.\n    And Bhima said: \"To-morrow will I see--\n    When Nala hath his needful offerings made--\n    Our daughter and this wandering lord well knit.\"\n      But all that night they sat, hand clasped in hand,\n    Rejoicing, and relating what befell\n    In the wild wood, and of the woful times.\n      That night being spent, Prince Nala in his state\n    Led forth Vidarbha's Pride before the court.\n    And Bhima--in an hour found fortunate--\n    Re-wed those married lovers. Dutifully\n    Nala paid homage to the Maharaja,\n    And reverently did Damayanti bow\n    Before her father. He the Prince received\n    With grace and gladness, as a son restored,\n    Making fair welcome, and with words of praise\n    Exalting Damayanti, tried and true;\n    Which in all dignity Prince Nala took,\n    Returning, as was meet, words honorable.\n    Therewith unto the city spread the noise\n    Of that rejoicing. All the townspeople,\n    Learning of Nala joyously returned,\n    Made all their quarters gay with float of flags,\n    Flutter of cloths, and garlands; sprinkled free\n    The King's-ways with fresh water, and the cups\n    Of fragrant flowers; and hung long wreaths of flowers.\n    From door to door the white street-fronts before;\n    And decked each temple-porch, and went about\n    The altar-gods.\n    And afterwards, in Bhima's royal house\n    Serenely dwelled the Princess and the Prince,\n    Each making for the other peaceful joy.\n    So in the fourth year Nala was rejoined\n    To Damayanti, comforted and free,\n    Restful, attained, tasting delights again.\n    Also the glad Princess, gaining her lord,\n    Laid sorrows by, and blossomed forth anew,\n    As doth the laughing earth when the rain falls,\n    And brings her unseen, waiting wonders forth\n    Of blade and flower and fruit. The ache was gone,\n    The loneliness and load. Heart-full of ease,\n    Lovelier she grew and brighter, like the moon\n    Mounting at midnight in the cloudless blue.\n                    When Rituparna heard\n    How Vah\u00fbka is Nala in disguise,\n    And of the meeting, right rejoiced at heart\n    That Raja grew. And, being softly prayed\n    By Nala favorable thought, the King\n    Made royal and gentle answer, with like grace\n    By Nala met. To whom spake Rituparna:--\n    \"Joy go with thee and her, happily joined.\n    But say, Nishadha, wrought I any jot\n    Wrongful to thee, whilst sojourning unknown\n    Within my walls? If any word or deed,\n    Purposed or purposeless, hath vexed thee, friend,\n    For one and all thy pardon grant to me!\"\n      And Nala answered: \"Never act or word,\n    The smallest, Raja, lingers to excuse!\n    If this were otherwise, thy slave was I,\n    And might not question, but must pardon thee.\n    Yet good to me thou wert, princely and just,\n    And kind thou art; and friendly from this time\n    Deign thou to be. Happily was I lodged,\n    Well-tended, well-befriended in thy house;\n    In mine own palace never better stead.\n    The skill in steeds which pleased thee, that is mine,\n    And, Raja, I will give it all to thee,\n    If thou art minded.\"\n                         So Nishadha gave\n    All his great gift in horses to the King,\n    Who learned each rule approved, and ordinance;\n    And, having all this knowledge, gave in turn\n    His deepest lore of numbers and the dice\n    To Nala, afterwards departing home\n    To his own place, another charioteer\n    Driving his steeds; and, Rituparna gone,\n    Not long did Nala dwell in Bhima's town.\n      When one moon he had tarried, taking leave,\n    Nishadha to his city started forth\n    With chosen train. A shining car he drove;\n    And elephants sixteen, and fifty horse,\n    And footmen thirty-score came in the rear.\n    Swiftly did Nala journey, making earth\n    Quake 'neath his flying car; and wrathfully\n    With quick steps entered he his palace doors.\n    The son of Virasena, Nala, stood\n    Once more before that gamester Pushkara!\n    Spake he: \"Play yet again; much wealth is mine,\n    And that, and all I have--yea, my Princess--\n    Set I for stakes: set thou this realm, and throw!\n    My mind is fixed a second chance to try,\n    Where, Pushkara, we will play for all or none.\n    Who wins his throne and treasures from a prince,\n    Must stand the hazard of the counter-cast--\n    This is the accepted law. If thou dost blench,\n    The next game we will play is 'life or death,'\n    In chariot-fight; when, or of thee or me\n    One shall lie satisfied: 'Descended realms,\n    By whatsoever means, are to be sought,'\n    The sages say, 'by whatsoever won.'\n    Choose, therefore, Pushkara, which way of these\n    Shall please thee; either meet me with the dice,\n    Or with thy bow confront me in the field.\"\n      When Pushkara this heard, lightly he smiled,\n    Concluding victory sure; and to the Prince\n    Answered, exulting: \"_Dishtya_! hast thou gained\n    Stakes for a counter-game, Nishadha, now?\n    _Dishtya_! shall I have my hard-won prize,\n    Sweet Damayanti? _Dishtya_! didst thou come\n    In kissing-reach again of thy fair wife?\n    Soon, in thy new gold splendid, she shall shine\n    Before all men beside me, as in heaven\n    On Sakra waits the loveliest Apsar\u00e2.\n    See, now, I thought on thee, I looked for thee,\n    Ever and ever, Prince. There is no joy\n    Like casting in the game with such as thee.\n    And when to-day I win thy blameless one--\n    The smooth-limbed Damayanti--then shall be\n    What was to be: and I can rest content,\n    For always in my heart her beauty burns.\"\n      Listening the idle talk that babbler poured,\n    Angry Prince Nala fain had lopped away\n    His head with vengeful _khudga;_[29] but, unmoved,\n    Albeit the wrath blazed in his bloodshot eyes,\n    He made reply: \"Play! mock me not with jests;\n    Thou wilt not jest when I have cast with thee!\"\n      So was the game set, and the Princes threw\n    Nala and Pushkara, and--the numbers named--\n    By Nala was the hazard gained: he swept\n    His brother's stake, gems, treasure, kingdom, off;\n    At one stroke all that mighty venture won.\n      Then quoth the conquering Prince to Pushkara,\n    Scornfully smiling: \"Mine is now once more\n    Nishadha's throne; mine is the realm again,\n    Its curse plucked forth; Vidarbha's glory thou,\n    Outcast, shalt ne'er so much as look upon!\n    Fool! who to-day becom'st her bond and slave.\n    Not by thy gifts that evil stroke was wrought\n    Wherefrom I fled before; 'twas Kali's spell--\n    Albeit thou knew'st nought, fool--overmastered me;\n    Yet will I visit not in wrathful wise\n    My wrong on thee; live as thou wilt; I grant\n    Wherewith to live, and set apart henceforth\n    Thy proper goods and substance, and fit food.\n    Nay, doubt not I shall show thee favor, too,\n    And be in friendship with thee, if thou wilt,\n    Who art my brother. Peace abide with thee!\"\n      Thus all-victorious Nala comforted\n    His brother, and embraced him, sending him\n    In honor to his town; and Pushkara--\n    Gently entreated--to Nishadha spake,\n    With folded palms and humbled face, these words:--\n    \"Unending be thy glory. May thy bliss\n    Last and increase for twice five thousand years,\n    Who grantest me wherewith to live, just Lord!\n    And where to dwell.\" Thereafter, well bested,\n    Pushkara sojourned with the Prince one moon;\n    So to his town departed--heart-content--\n    With slaves and foot-soldiers and followers,\n    Gay as a rising sun (O Bh\u00e2rat's glory!).\n    Thus sent he Pushkara, rich and safe, away.\n    Then, with flags and drums and jewels, robed and royally arrayed,\n    Nala into fair Nishadha entry high and dazzling made;\n    At the gates the Raja, halting, spake his people words of love;\n    Gathered were they from the city, gathered from the field and grove;\n    From the mountain and the maidan, all a-thrill with joy to see\n    Nala come to guard his children. \"Happy now our days will be,\"\n    Said the townsfolk, said the elders, said the villagers, \"O King!\"\n    Standing all with palms upfolded: \"Peace and fortune thou wilt bring\n    To thy city, to thy country! Boundless welcome do we give,\n    As the gods in heaven to Indra, when with them he comes to live.\"\n    After, when the show was ended, and the city, calm and glad,\n    Rest from tumult of rejoicing and rich flood of feasting had,\n    Girt with shining squadrons, Nala fetched his pearl of women home.\n    Like a queen did Damayanti back unto her palace come,\n    By the Maharaja Bhima, by that mighty monarch sent\n    Royally, with countless blessings, to her kingdom, in content.\n    There, beside his peerless Princess, and his children, bore he sway,\n    Godlike, even as Indra ruling 'mid the bliss of Nandana.[30]\n    Bore he sway--my noble Nala--princeliest of all lords--who reign\n    In the lands of Jambudwipa;[31] winning power and fame again;\n    Ruling well his realm reconquered, like a just and perfect king,\n    All the appointed gifts bestowing, all the rites remembering.\n\n\n[22] Jhillikas are the large wood-crickets\n\n[23] A caravan.\n\n[24] This is a secretion which flows by a small orifice from the\nelephant's temples at certain seasons. It is sweet-smelling, and\nconstantly alluded to in Hindoo poetry.\n\n[25] \"Gentleness is chief of virtues.\"\n\n[26] These \"curls\" are the \"Arvathas,\" or marks of good blood and\nhigh-breeding.\n\n[27] \"O Beautiful One!\"\n\n[28] This raining down of heavenly flowers on auspicious occasions is a\nfrequent incident in ancient Indian poetry.\n\n[29] A short; broad-bladed sword.\n\n[30] Nandana is the Paradise of Indra.\n\n[31] Ancient name of India: \"The Land of the Rose-apple Tree.\"\n\n\n\n\nSELECTIONS FROM THE R\u00c1M\u00c1YANA\n\nBY\n\nV\u00c1LM\u00cdKI\n\n\n[_Metrical translation by R.T.H. Griffiths_]\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nThe ideas of the human family are few, as is apparent from the study of\nthe literature of widely different nations. Thus the \"R\u00e1m\u00e1yana\" ranks in\nHindoo with the \"Iliad\" and the \"Odyssey\" in Greek literature. The\ncharacter of R\u00e1ma corresponds with that of Menelaus, for both the\nEuropean and the Asiatic heroes have had their wives carried off from\nthem--although S\u00edt\u00e1, the bride of R\u00e1ma, is chaste as an icicle from\nDiana's temple, while Helen is the infamous type of wanton wives,\nancient and modern. The Hindoo Lanka is Troy, and Ayodhy\u00e1 is Sparta. The\nmaterial civilization of the cities in the Hindoo epic is more luxurious\nand gorgeous than that which Homer attributes to Greece in the heroic\nage. Such splendor and refinement as invests social life at Lanka and\nAyodhy\u00e1 never appear amid the severe simplicity of Argos or Troy. The\nmoral tone seems perhaps higher in India than in Greece during the\nperiods described in their several epics--at least as far as mutual love\nand forbearance go--and the ideas of marriage and conjugal fidelity are\nequally exalted.\n\nAs to the literary quality of the Hindoo epic in comparison with Homer's\nwork, we are at once impressed with the immense superiority of the Greek\npoem in artistic proportion, point, and precision. The Hindoo poet\nflounders along, amid a maze of prolix description and wearisome simile.\nTrifles are amplified and repeated, and the whole poem resembles a wild\nforest abounding in rich tropical vegetation, palms and flowers, but\nwithout paths, roads, or limits. Or rather, we are reminded of one of\nthe highly painted and richly decorated idols of India, with their many\nheads and many hands: but when we turn to the Greek epic we stand before\na statue of pure outline, flawless proportions, and more than human\nbeauty.\n\nIt is difficult to fix the date of the \"R\u00e1m\u00e1yana.\" Scholars generally\nagree that it belongs to the third century before Christ, in its\noriginal form, but that some recent portions were added even during the\nChristian era. It is reckoned as one of the sacred books, and the study\nof it is supposed to bring forgiveness of sin, and prosperity. Its\nauthor is thought to have been the famous poet V\u00e1lm\u00edki, but the work has\nevidently been rehandled several times, and there are three versions of\nthe poems still extant. The poem consists of twenty-four thousand\nverses, and the story of it--now overlaid as it is with extravagant and\nfabulous accretions--is evidently founded on fact. The scene of the poem\nis laid in the city of Ayodhy\u00e1, the modern Oudh, which is described in\nglowing colors as a place of health, beauty, and prosperity--\n\n    \"In by-gone ages built and planned\n    By sainted Manu's princely hand.\"\n\nIn the splendid palace of the Rajah, at Oudh, lives Da\u015baratha, mourning\nin childlessness. He is one of the princes descended from the sun, and\nhis line now threatens to become extinct. He determines to appeal to the\nGods by the Asva-medha, the great sacrifice in which a horse is the\nvictim. The rites accordingly are performed with unparalleled\nmagnificence, and, at the close of the ceremony, the high priest\ndeclares to the king--\n\n    \"Four sons, O Monarch, shall be thine,\n    Upholders of the royal line.\"\n\nAmong the offspring duly granted to Da\u015baratha is R\u00e1ma, who is a typical\nHindoo of the heroic type. His fair wife, S\u00edt\u00e1, is carried off by the\ndemon Ravana, who had assumed the form of a humble priest, or ascetic,\nin order to gain access to her. He carries her in his chariot to Lanka,\nthe fair city built on an island of the sea. By the assistance of a\nlarge army of monkeys, R\u00e1ma marches against Lanka, and when they stand\nhelpless--for the water separates them from Ceylon--he then invokes the\ngoddess of the sea, as Achilles did Thetis, and she comes in radiant\nbeauty, telling them how to bridge the waves. The monkeys bring timber\nand stones, the bridge is built, Lanka reached, and the battle begins.\nIndra sends his own chariot down from heaven to R\u00e1ma, who mounts it, and\nvanquishes Ravana in single combat, upon which S\u00edt\u00e1 is restored to her\nhusband. E.W.\n\n\n\n\nTHE R\u00c1M\u00c1YANA\n\nINVOCATION\n\n\n    Praise to V\u00e1lm\u00edki, bird of charming song,\n    Who mounts on Poesy's sublimest spray,\n    And sweetly sings with accent clear and strong\n    R\u00e1ma, aye R\u00e1ma, in his deathless lay.\n\n    Where breathes the man can listen to the strain\n    That flows in music from V\u00e1lm\u00edki's tongue,\n    Nor feel his feet the path of bliss attain\n    When R\u00e1ma's glory by the saint is sung?\n\n    The stream R\u00e1m\u00e1yan leaves its sacred fount\n    The whole wide world from sin and stain to free.\n    The Prince of Hermits is the parent mount,\n    The lordly R\u00e1ma is the darling sea.\n\n    Glory to him whose fame is ever bright!\n    Glory to him, Prachet's holy son!\n    Whose pure lips quaff with ever-new delight\n    The nectar-sea of deeds by R\u00e1ma done.\n\n    Hail, arch-ascetic, pious, good, and kind!\n    Hail, Saint V\u00e1lm\u00edki, lord of every lore!\n    Hail, holy Hermit, calm and pure of mind!\n    Hail, First of Bards, V\u00e1lm\u00edki, hail once more!\n\n\n\n\nBOOK I\n\nCANTO I\n\nNARAD\n\n_Om_.\n\n    To sainted N\u00e1rad, prince of those\n    Whose lore in words of wisdom flows,\n    Whose constant care and chief delight\n    Were Scripture and ascetic rite,\n    The good V\u00e1lm\u00edki, first and best\n    Of hermit saints, these words addressed:--\n    \"In all this world, I pray thee, who\n    Is virtuous, heroic, true?\n    Firm in his vows, of grateful mind,\n    To every creature good and kind?\n    Bounteous, and holy, just, and wise,\n    Alone most fair to all men's eyes?\n    Devoid of envy, firm, and sage,\n    Whose tranquil soul ne'er yields to rage?\n    Whom, when his warrior wrath is high,\n    Do Gods embattled fear and fly?\n    Whose noble might and gentle skill\n    The triple world can guard from ill?\n    Who is the best of princes, he\n    Who loves his people's good to see?\n    The store of bliss, the living mine\n    Where brightest joys and virtues shine?\n    Queen Fortune's best and dearest friend,\n    Whose steps her choicest gifts attend?\n    Who may with Sun and Moon compare,\n    With Indra, Vishnu, Fire, and Air?\n    Grant, Saint divine, the boon I ask,\n    For thee, I ween, an easy task,\n    To whom the power is given to know\n    If such a man breathe here below.\"\n\n    Then N\u00e1rad, clear before whose eye\n    The present, past, and future lie,\n    Made ready answer: \"Hermit, where\n    Are graces found so high and rare?\n    Yet listen, and my tongue shall tell\n    In whom alone these virtues dwell.\n    From old Ikshv\u00e1ku's line he came,\n    Known to the world by R\u00e1ma's name:--\n    With soul subdued, a chief of might,\n    In Scripture versed, in glory bright.\n    His steps in virtue's paths are bent,\n    Obedient, pure, and eloquent.\n    In each emprise he wins success,\n    And dying foes his power confess.\n    Tall and broad-shouldered, strong of limb,\n    Fortune has set her mark on him.\n    Graced with a conch-shell's triple line,\n    His throat displays the auspicious sign.\n    High destiny is clear impressed\n    On massive jaw and ample chest.\n    His mighty shafts he truly aims,\n    And foemen in the battle tames.\n    Deep in the muscle, scarcely shown,\n    Embedded lies his collar-bone.\n    His lordly steps are firm and free,\n    His strong arms reach below his knee;\n    All fairest graces join to deck\n    His head, his brow, his stately neck,\n    And limbs in fair proportion set:--\n    The manliest form e'er fashioned yet.\n    Graced with each high imperial mark,\n    His skin is soft and lustrous dark.\n    Large are his eyes that sweetly shine\n    With majesty almost divine.\n    His plighted word he ne'er forgets;\n    On erring sense a watch he sets.\n    By nature wise, his teacher's skill\n    Has trained him to subdue his will.\n    Good, resolute and pure, and strong,\n    He guards mankind from scathe and wrong,\n    And lends his aid, and ne'er in vain,\n    The cause of justice to maintain.\n    Well has he studied o'er and o'er\n    The Vedas and their kindred lore.\n    Well skilled is he the bow to draw,\n    Well trained in arts and versed in law;\n    High-souled and meet for happy fate,\n    Most tender and compassionate;\n    The noblest of all lordly givers,\n    Whom good men follow, as the rivers\n    Follow the King of Floods, the sea:--\n    So liberal, so just is he.\n    The joy of Queen Kau\u015baly\u00e1's heart,\n    In every virtue he has part;\n    Firm as Him\u00e1laya's snowy steep,\n    Unfathomed like the mighty deep;\n    The peer of Vishnu's power and might,\n    And lovely as the Lord of Night;\n    Patient as Earth, but, roused to ire,\n    Fierce as the world-destroying fire;\n    In bounty like the Lord of Gold,\n    And Justice' self in human mould.\n    With him, his best and eldest son,\n    By all his princely virtues won\n    King Da\u015baratha willed to share\n    His kingdom as the Regent Heir.\n    But when Kaikey\u00ed, youngest queen,\n    With eyes of envious hate had seen\n    The solemn pomp and regal state\n    Prepared the prince to consecrate,\n    She bade the hapless king bestow\n    Two gifts he promised long ago,\n    That R\u00e1ma to the woods should flee,\n    And that her child the heir should be.\n\n    By chains of duty firmly tied,\n    The wretched King perforce complied.\n    R\u00e1ma, to please Kaikey\u00ed went\n    Obedient forth, to banishment.\n    Then Lakshman's truth was nobly shown,\n    Then were his love and courage known,\n    When for his brother's sake he dared\n    All perils, and his exile shared.\n    And S\u00edt\u00e1, R\u00e1ma's darling wife,\n    Loved even as he loved his life,\n    Whom happy marks combined to bless,\n    A miracle of loveliness,\n    Of Janak's royal lineage sprung,\n    Most excellent of women, clung\n    To her dear lord, like Rohin\u00ed\n    Rejoicing with the Moon to be.\n    The King and people, sad of mood,\n    The hero's car awhile pursued.\n    But when Prince R\u00e1ma lighted down\n    At \u015aringavera's pleasant town,\n    Where Gang\u00e1's holy waters flow,\n    He bade his driver turn and go.\n    Guha, Nish\u00e1das' King, he met,\n    And on the farther bank was set.\n    Then on from wood to wood they strayed,\n    O'er many a stream, through constant shade,\n    As Bharadv\u00e1ja bade them, till\n    They came to Chitrak\u00fata's hill.\n    And R\u00e1ma there, with Lakshman's aid,\n    A pleasant little cottage made,\n    And spent his days with S\u00edt\u00e1, dressed\n    In coat of bark and deerskin vest.\n    And Chitrak\u00fata grew to be\n    As bright with those illustrious three\n    As Meru's sacred peaks that shine\n    With glory, when the Gods recline\n    Beneath them: \u015aiva's self between\n    The Lord of Gold and Beauty's Queen.\n\n    The aged King for R\u00e1ma pined,\n    And for the skies the earth resigned.\n    Bharat, his son, refused to reign,\n    Though urged by all the twice-born train.\n    Forth to the woods he fared to meet\n    His brother, fell before his feet,\n    And cried \"Thy claim all men allow:--\n    O come, our lord and King be thou.\"\n    But R\u00e1ma nobly chose to be\n    Observant of his sire's decree.\n    He placed his sandals in his hand,\n    A pledge that he would rule the land:--\n    And bade his brother turn again.\n    Then Bharat, finding prayer was vain,\n    The sandals took and went away;\n    Nor in Ayodhy\u00e1 would he stay,\n    But turned to Nandigr\u00e1ma, where\n    He ruled the realm with watchful care,\n    Still longing eagerly to learn\n    Tidings of R\u00e1ma's safe return.\n\n    Then lest the people should repeat\n    Their visit to his calm retreat,\n    Away from Chitrak\u00fata's hill\n    Fared R\u00e1ma, ever onward till\n    Beneath the shady trees he stood\n    Of Dandak\u00e1's primeval wood.\n    Vir\u00e1dha, giant fiend, he slew,\n    And then Agastya's friendship knew.\n    Counselled by him he gained the sword\n    And bow of Indra, heavenly lord:--\n    A pair of quivers too, that bore\n    Of arrows an exhaustless store.\n    While there he dwelt in greenwood shade,\n    The trembling hermits sought his aid,\n    And bade him with his sword and bow\n    Destroy the fiends who worked them woe:--\n    To come like Indra strong and brave,\n    A guardian God to help and save.\n    And R\u00e1ma's falchion left its trace\n    Deep cut on S\u00farpanakh\u00e1's face:--\n    A hideous giantess who came\n    Burning for him with lawless flame.\n    Their sister's cries the giants heard,\n    And vengeance in each bosom stirred;\n    The monster of the triple head,\n    And D\u00fashan to the contest sped.\n    But they and myriad fiends beside\n    Beneath the might of R\u00e1ma died.\n\n    When R\u00e1van, dreaded warrior, knew\n    The slaughter of his giant crew--\n    R\u00e1van, the King, whose name of fear\n    Earth, hell, and heaven all shook to hear--\n    He bade the fiend M\u00e1r\u00edcha aid\n    The vengeful plot his fury laid.\n    In vain the wise M\u00e1r\u00edcha tried\n    To turn him from his course aside:--\n    Not R\u00e1van's self, he said, might hope\n    With R\u00e1ma and his strength to cope.\n    Impelled by fate and blind with rage\n    He came to R\u00e1ma's hermitage.\n    There, by M\u00e1r\u00edcha's magic art,\n    He wiled the princely youths apart,\n    The vulture slew, and bore away\n    The wife of R\u00e1ma as his prey.\n    The son of Raghu came and found\n    Jat\u00e1yu slain upon the ground.\n    He rushed within his leafy cot;\n    He sought his wife, but found her not.\n    Then, then the hero's senses failed;\n    In mad despair he wept and wailed.\n    Upon the pile that bird he laid,\n    And still in quest of S\u00edt\u00e1 strayed.\n    A hideous giant then he saw,\n    Kabandha named, a shape of awe.\n\n    The monstrous fiend he smote and slew,\n    And in the flame the body threw;\n    When straight from out the funeral flame\n    In lovely form Kabandha came,\n    And bade him seek in his distress\n    A wise and holy hermitess.\n    By counsel of this saintly dame\n    To Pamp\u00e1's pleasant flood he came,\n    And there the steadfast friendship won\n    Of Hanum\u00e1n the Wind-God's son.\n    Counselled by him he told his grief\n    To great Sugr\u00edva, V\u00e1nar chief,\n    Who, knowing all the tale, before\n    The sacred flame alliance swore.\n    Sugr\u00edva to his new-found friend\n    Told his own story to the end:--\n    His hate of B\u00e1li for the wrong\n    And insult he had borne so long.\n    And R\u00e1ma lent a willing ear\n    And promised to allay his fear.\n    Sugr\u00edva warned him of the might\n    Of B\u00e1li, matchless in the fight,\n    And, credence for his tale to gain,\n    Showed the huge fiend by B\u00e1li slain.\n    The prostrate corse of mountain size\n    Seemed nothing in the hero's eyes;\n    He lightly kicked it, as it lay,\n    And cast it twenty leagues away.\n    To prove his might his arrows through\n    Seven palms in line, uninjured, flew.\n    He cleft a mighty hill apart,\n    And down to hell he hurled his dart.\n    Then high Sugr\u00edva's spirit rose,\n    Assured of conquest o'er his foes.\n    With his new champion by his side\n    To vast Kishkindh\u00e1's cave he hied.\n    Then, summoned by his awful shout,\n    King B\u00e1li came in fury out,\n    First comforted his trembling wife,\n    Then sought Sugr\u00edva in the strife.\n    One shaft from R\u00e1ma's deadly bow\n    The monarch in the dust laid low.\n    Then R\u00e1ma bade Sugr\u00edva reign\n    In place of royal B\u00e1li slain.\n    Then speedy envoys hurried forth\n    Eastward and westward, south and north,\n    Commanded by the grateful King\n    Tidings of R\u00e1ma's spouse to bring.\n    Then by Samp\u00e1ti's counsel led,\n    Brave Hanum\u00e1n, who mocked at dread,\n    Sprang at one wild tremendous leap\n    Two hundred leagues, across the deep.\n    To Lank\u00e1's[32] town he urged his way,\n    Where R\u00e1van held his royal sway.\n    There pensive 'neath A\u015boka boughs\n    He found poor S\u00edt\u00e1, R\u00e1ma's spouse.\n    He gave the hapless girl a ring,\n    A token from her lord and King.\n    A pledge from her fair hand he bore;\n    Then battered down the garden door.\n    Five captains of the host he slew,\n    Seven sons of councillors o'erthrew;\n    Crushed youthful Aksha on the field,\n    Then to his captors chose to yield.\n    Soon from their bonds his limbs were free,\n    But honoring the high decree\n    Which Brahm\u00e1 had pronounced of yore,\n    He calmly all their insults bore.\n    The town he burnt with hostile flame,\n    And spoke again with R\u00e1ma's dame,\n    Then swiftly back to R\u00e1ma flew\n    With tidings of the interview.\n\n    Then with Sugr\u00edva for his guide,\n    Came R\u00e1ma to the ocean side.\n    He smote the sea with shafts as bright\n    As sunbeams in their summer height,\n    And quick appeared the River's King\n    Obedient to the summoning.\n    A bridge was thrown by Nala o'er\n    The narrow sea from shore to shore.\n    They crossed to Lank\u00e1's golden town,\n    Where R\u00e1ma's hand smote R\u00e1van down.\n    Vibh\u00edshan there was left to reign\n    Over his brother's wide domain.\n    To meet her husband S\u00edt\u00e1 came;\n    But R\u00e1ma, stung with ire and shame,\n    With bitter words his wife addressed\n    Before the crowd that round her pressed.\n    But S\u00edt\u00e1, touched with noble ire,\n    Gave her fair body to the fire.\n    Then straight the God of Wind appeared,\n    And words from heaven her honor cleared.\n    And R\u00e1ma clasped his wife again,\n    Uninjured, pure from spot and stain,\n    Obedient to the Lord of Fire\n    And the high mandate of his sire.\n    Led by the Lord who rules the sky,\n    The Gods and heavenly saints drew nigh,\n    And honored him with worthy meed,\n    Rejoicing in each glorious deed.\n    His task achieved, his foe removed,\n    He triumphed, by the Gods approved.\n    By grace of Heaven he raised to life\n    The chieftains slain in mortal strife;\n    Then in the magic chariot through\n    The clouds to Nandigr\u00e1ma flew.\n    Met by his faithful brothers there,\n    He loosed his votive coil of hair;\n    Thence fair Ayodhy\u00e1's town he gained,\n    And o'er his father's kingdom reigned.\n    Disease or famine ne'er oppressed\n    His happy people, richly blest\n    With all the joys of ample wealth,\n    Of sweet content and perfect health.\n    No widow mourned her well-loved mate,\n    No sire his son's untimely fate.\n    They feared not storm or robber's hand,\n    No fire or flood laid waste the land:\n    The Golden Age seemed come again\n    To bless the days of R\u00e1ma's reign.\n    From him the great and glorious King,\n    Shall many a princely scion spring.\n    And he shall rule, beloved by men,\n    Ten thousand years and hundreds ten,\n    And when his life on earth is past\n    To Brahm\u00e1's world shall go at last.\n\n    Whoe'er this noble poem reads\n    That tells the tale of R\u00e1ma's deeds,\n    Good as the Scriptures, he shall be\n    From every sin and blemish free.\n    Whoever reads the saving strain,\n    With all his kin the heavens shall gain.\n    Br\u00e1hmans who read shall gather hence\n    The highest praise for eloquence.\n    The warrior, o'er the land shall reign,\n    The merchant, luck in trade obtain;\n    And S\u00fadras, listening, ne'er shall fail\n    To reap advantage from the tale.\n\n[_Cantos II., III., IV., and V. are omitted_.]\n\n\n[32] Ceylon.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO VI\n\nTHE KING\n\n    There reigned a King of name revered,\n    To country and to town endeared,\n    Great Da\u015baratha, good and sage,\n    Well read in Scripture's holy page:\n    Upon his kingdom's weal intent,\n    Mighty and brave and provident;\n    The pride of old Ikshv\u00e1ku's seed\n    For lofty thought and righteous deed.\n    Peer of the saints, for virtues famed,\n    For foes subdued and passions tamed;\n    A rival in his wealth untold\n    Of Indra and the Lord of Gold.\n    Like Manu first of kings, he reigned,\n    And worthily his state maintained.\n    For firm and just and ever true\n    Love, duty, gain, he kept in view,\n    And ruled his city rich and free,\n    Like Indra's Amar\u00e1vat\u00ed.\n    And worthy of so fair a place\n    There dwelt a just and happy race\n    With troops of children blest.\n    Each man contented sought no more,\n    Nor longed with envy for the store\n    By richer friends possessed.\n    For poverty was there unknown,\n    And each man counted as his own\n    Kine, steeds, and gold, and grain.\n    All dressed in raiment bright and clean,\n    And every townsman might be seen\n    With ear-rings, wreath or chain.\n    None deigned to feed on broken fare,\n    And none was false or stingy there.\n    A piece of gold, the smallest pay,\n    Was earned by labor for a day.\n    On every arm were bracelets worn,\n    And none was faithless or forsworn,\n    A braggart or unkind.\n    None lived upon another's wealth,\n    None pined with dread or broken health,\n    Or dark disease of mind.\n    High-souled were all. The slanderous word,\n    The boastful lie, were never heard.\n    Each man was constant to his vows,\n    And lived devoted to his spouse.\n    No other love his fancy knew,\n    And she was tender, kind, and true.\n    Her dames were fair of form and face,\n    With charm of wit and gentle grace,\n    With modest raiment simply neat,\n    And winning manners soft and sweet.\n    The twice-born sages, whose delight\n    Was Scripture's page and holy rite,\n    Their calm and settled course pursued,\n    Nor sought the menial multitude.\n    In many a Scripture each was versed,\n    And each the flame of worship nursed,\n    And gave with lavish hand.\n    Each paid to Heaven the offerings due,\n    And none was godless or untrue\n    In all that holy band.\n    To Br\u00e1hmans, as the laws ordain,\n    The Warrior caste were ever fain\n    The reverence due to pay;\n    And these the Vai\u015byas' peaceful crowd,\n    Who trade and toil for gain, were proud\n    To honor and obey;\n    And all were by the S\u00fadras served,\n    Who never from their duty swerved.\n    Their proper worship all addressed\n    To Br\u00e1hman, spirits, God, and guest.\n    Pure and unmixt their rites remained,\n    Their race's honor ne'er was stained.\n    Cheered by his grandsons, sons, and wife,\n    Each passed a long and happy life.\n    Thus was that famous city held\n    By one who all his race excelled,\n    Blest in his gentle reign,\n    As the whole land aforetime swayed\n    By Manu, prince of men, obeyed\n    Her king from main to main.\n    And heroes kept her, strong and brave,\n    As lions guard their mountain cave;\n    Fierce as devouring flame they burned,\n    And fought till death, but never turned.\n    Horses had she of noblest breed,\n    Like Indra's for their form and speed,\n    From V\u00e1hli's hills and Sindhu's sand,\n    Van\u00e1yu and K\u00e1mboja's land.\n    Her noble elephants had strayed\n    Through Vindhyan and Him\u00e1layan shade,\n    Gigantic in their bulk and height,\n    Yet gentle in their matchless might.\n    They rivalled well the world-spread fame\n    Of the great stock from which they came,\n    Of V\u00e1man, vast of size,\n    Of Mah\u00e1padma's glorious line,\n    Thine, Anjan, and, Air\u00e1vat, thine,\n    Upholders of the skies.\n    With those, enrolled in fourfold class,\n    Who all their mighty kin surpass,\n    Whom men Matangas name,\n    And Mrigas spotted black and white,\n    And Bhadras of unwearied might,\n    And Mandras hard to tame.\n    Thus, worthy of the name she bore,\n    Ayodhy\u00e1 for a league or more\n    Cast a bright glory round,\n    Where Da\u015baratha wise and great\n    Governed his fair ancestral state,\n    With every virtue crowned.\n    Like Indra in the skies he reigned\n    In that good town whose wall contained\n    High domes and turrets proud,\n    With gates and arcs of triumph decked,\n    And sturdy barriers to protect\n    Her gay and countless crowd.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO VII\n\nTHE MINISTERS\n\n    Two sages, holy saints, had he,\n    His ministers and priests to be:--\n    Va\u015bishtha, faithful to advise,\n    And V\u00e1madeva, Scripture-wise.\n    Eight other lords around him stood,\n    All skilled to counsel, wise and good:--\n    Jayanta, Vijay, Dhrishti bold\n    In fight, affairs of war controlled;\n    Siddh\u00e1rth and Arthas\u00e1dhak true\n    Watched o'er expense and revenue,\n    And Dharmap\u00e1l and wise A\u015bok\n    Of right and law and justice spoke.\n    With these the sage Sumantra, skilled\n    To urge the car, high station filled.\n    All these in knowledge duly trained\n    Each passion and each sense restrained:--\n    With modest manners, nobly bred,\n    Each plan and nod and look they read,\n    Upon their neighbors' good intent,\n    Most active and benevolent;\n    As sits the Vasus round their King,\n    They sate around him counselling.\n    They ne'er in virtue's loftier pride\n    Another's lowly gifts decried.\n    In fair and seemly garb arrayed,\n    No weak uncertain plans they made.\n    Well skilled in business, fair and just,\n    They gained the people's love and trust,\n    And thus without oppression stored\n    The swelling treasury of their lord.\n    Bound in sweet friendship each to each,\n    They spoke kind thoughts in gentle speech.\n    They looked alike with equal eye\n    On every caste, on low and high.\n    Devoted to their King, they sought,\n    Ere his tongue spoke, to learn his thought,\n    And knew, as each occasion rose,\n    To hide their counsel or disclose.\n    In foreign lands or in their own\n    Whatever passed, to them was known.\n    By secret spies they timely knew\n    What men were doing or would do.\n    Skilled in the grounds of war and peace\n    They saw the monarch's state increase,\n    Watching his weal with conquering eye\n    That never let occasion by,\n    While nature lent her aid to bless\n    Their labors with unbought success.\n    Never for anger, lust, or gain,\n    Would they their lips with falsehood stain.\n    Inclined to mercy they could scan\n    The weakness and the strength of man.\n    They fairly judged both high and low,\n    And ne'er would wrong a guiltless foe;\n    Yet if a fault were proved, each one\n    Would punish e'en his own dear son.\n    But there and in the kingdom's bound\n    No thief or man impure was found:--\n    None of loose life or evil fame,\n    No tempter of another's dame.\n    Contented with their lot each caste\n    Calm days in blissful quiet passed;\n    And, all in fitting tasks employed,\n    Country and town deep rest enjoyed.\n    With these wise lords around his throne\n    The monarch justly reigned,\n    And making every heart his own\n    The love of all men gained.\n    With trusty agents, as beseems,\n    Each distant realm he scanned,\n    As the sun visits with his beams\n    Each corner of the land.\n    Ne'er would he on a mightier foe\n    With hostile troops advance,\n    Nor at an equal strike a blow\n    In war's delusive chance.\n    These lords in council bore their part\n    With ready brain and faithful heart,\n    With skill and knowledge, sense and tact,\n    Good to advise and bold to act.\n    And high and endless fame he won\n    With these to guide his schemes--\n    As, risen in his might, the sun\n    Wins glory with his beams.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO VIII\n\nSUMANTRA'S SPEECH\n\n    But splendid, just, and great of mind,\n    The childless King for offspring pined.\n    No son had he his name to grace,\n    Transmitter of his royal race.\n    Long had his anxious bosom wrought,\n    And as he pondered rose the thought:--\n    \"A votive steed 'twere good to slay,\n    So might a son the gift repay.\"\n    Before his lords his plans he laid,\n    And bade them with their wisdom aid;\n    Then with these words Sumantra, best\n    Of royal counsellors, addressed:--\n    \"Hither, Va\u015bishtha at their head,\n    Let all my priestly guides be led.\"\n\n    To him Sumantra made reply:--\n    \"Hear, sire, a tale of days gone by.\n    To many a sage in time of old,\n    Sanatkum\u00e1r, the saint, foretold\n    How from thine ancient line, O King,\n    A son, when years came round, should spring\n    'Here dwells,' 'twas thus the seer began,\n    'Of Ka\u015byap's race, a holy man,\n    Vibh\u00e1ndak named: to him shall spring\n    A son, the famous Rishya\u015bring.\n    Bred with the deer that round him roam,\n    The wood shall be that hermit's home.\n    To him no mortal shall be known\n    Except his holy sire alone.\n    Still by those laws shall he abide\n    Which lives of youthful Br\u00e1hmans guide,\n    Obedient to the strictest rule\n    That forms the young ascetic's school:\n    And all the wondering world shall hear\n    Of his stern life and penance drear;\n    His care to nurse the holy fire\n    And do the bidding of his sire.\n    Then, seated on the Angas' throne,\n    Shall Lomap\u00e1d to fame be known.\n    But folly wrought by that great King\n    A plague upon the land shall bring;\n    No rain for many a year shall fall\n    And grievous drought shall ruin all.\n    The troubled King with many a prayer\n    Shall bid the priests some cure declare:--\n    \"The lore of Heaven 'tis yours to know,\n    Nor are ye blind to things below:--\n    Declare, O holy men, the way\n    This plague to expiate and stay.\"\n    Those best of Br\u00e1hmans shall reply:--\n    \"By every art, O Monarch, try,\n    Hither to bring Vibh\u00e1ndak's child,\n    Persuaded, captured, or beguiled.\n    And when the boy is hither led\n    To him thy daughter duly wed.\"\n\n    But how to bring that wondrous boy\n    His troubled thoughts will long employ,\n    And hopeless to achieve the task\n    He counsel of his lords will ask,\n    And bid his priests and servants bring\n    With honor saintly Rishya\u015bring.\n    But when they hear the monarch's speech,\n    All these their master will beseech,\n    With trembling hearts and looks of woe,\n    To spare them, for they fear to go.\n    And many a plan will they declare\n    And crafty plots will frame,\n    And promise fair to show him there,\n    Unforced, with none to blame.\n    On every word his lords shall say,\n    The King will meditate,\n    And on the third returning day\n    Recall them to debate.\n    Then this shall be the plan agreed,\n    That damsels shall be sent\n    Attired in holy hermits' weed,\n    And skilled in blandishment,\n    That they the hermit may beguile\n    With every art and amorous wile\n    Whose use they know so well,\n    And by their witcheries seduce\n    The unsuspecting young recluse\n    To leave his father's cell.\n    Then when the boy with willing feet\n    Shall wander from his calm retreat\n    And in that city stand,\n    The troubles of the King shall end,\n    And streams of blessed rain descend\n    Upon the thirsty land.\n    Thus shall the holy Rishya\u015bring\n    To Lomap\u00e1d, the mighty King,\n    By wedlock be allied;\n    For \u015a\u00e1nt\u00e1, fairest of the fair,\n    In mind and grace beyond compare,\n    Shall be his royal bride.\n    He, at the Offering of the Steed,\n    The flames with holy oil shall feed,\n    And for King Da\u015baratha gain\n    Sons whom his prayers have begged in vain,'\n    I have repeated, sire, thus far,\n    The words of old Sanatkum\u00e1r,\n    In order as he spoke them then\n    Amid the crowd of holy men.\"\n    Then Da\u015baratha cried with joy,\n    \"Say how they brought the hermit boy.\"\n\n\n\n\nCANTO IX\n\nRISHYA\u015aRING\n\n    The wise Sumantra, thus addressed,\n    Unfolded at the King's behest\n    The plan the lords in council laid\n    To draw the hermit from the shade.\n    The priest, amid the lordly crowd,\n    To Lomap\u00e1d thus spoke aloud:--\n    \"Hear, King, the plot our thoughts have framed,\n    A harmless trick by all unblamed.\n    Far from the world that hermit's child\n    Lives lonely in the distant wild:\n    A stranger to the joys of sense,\n    His bliss is pain and abstinence;\n    And all unknown are women yet\n    To him, a holy anchoret.\n    The gentle passions we will wake\n    That with resistless influence shake\n    The hearts of men; and he\n    Drawn by enchantment strong and sweet\n    Shall follow from his lone retreat,\n    And come and visit thee.\n    Let ships be formed with utmost care\n    That artificial trees may bear,\n    And sweet fruit deftly made;\n    Let goodly raiment, rich and rare,\n    And flowers, and many a bird be there\n    Beneath the leafy shade.\n    Upon the ships thus decked a band\n    Of young and lovely girls shall stand,\n    Rich in each charm that wakes desire,\n    And eyes that burn with amorous fire;\n    Well skilled to sing, and play, and dance,\n    And ply their trade with smile and glance.\n    Let these, attired in hermits' dress,\n    Betake them to the wilderness,\n    And bring the boy of life austere\n    A voluntary captive here,\"\n    He ended; and the King agreed,\n    By the priest's counsel won,\n    And all the ministers took heed\n    To see his bidding done.\n    In ships with wondrous art prepared\n    Away the lovely women fared,\n    And soon beneath the shade they stood\n    Of the wild, lonely, dreary wood.\n    And there the leafy cot they found\n    Where dwelt the devotee.\n    And looked with eager eyes around\n    The hermit's son to see.\n    Still, of Vibh\u00e1ndak sore afraid,\n    They hid behind the creeper's shade.\n    But when by careful watch they knew\n    The elder saint was far from view,\n    With bolder steps they ventured nigh\n    To catch the youthful hermit's eye.\n    Then all the damsels blithe and gay,\n    At various games began to play.\n    They tossed the flying ball about\n    With dance and song and merry shout,\n    And moved, their scented tresses bound\n    With wreaths, in mazy motions round.\n    Some girls as if by love possessed,\n    Sank to the earth in feigned unrest,\n    Up-starting quickly to pursue\n    Their intermitted game anew.\n    It was a lovely sight to see\n    Those fair ones, as they played,\n    While fragrant robes were floating free,\n    And bracelets clashing in their glee\n    A pleasant tinkling made.\n    The anklet's chime, the Ko\u00efl's cry\n    With music filled the place,\n    As 'twere some city in the sky;\n    Which heavenly minstrels grace.\n    With each voluptuous art they strove\n    To win the tenant of the grove,\n    And with their graceful forms inspire\n    His modest soul with soft desire.\n    With arch of brow, with beck and smile,\n    With every passion-waking wile\n    Of glance and lotus hand,\n    With all enticements that excite\n    The longing for unknown delight\n    Which boys in vain withstand.\n    Forth came the hermit's son to view\n    The wondrous sight to him so new,\n    And gazed in rapt surprise\n    For from his natal hour till then\n    On woman or the sons of men\n    He ne'er had cast his eyes.\n    He saw them with their waists so slim,\n    With fairest shape and faultless limb,\n    In variegated robes arrayed,\n    And sweetly singing as they played.\n    Near and more near the hermit drew,\n    And watched them at their game,\n    And stronger still the impulse grew\n    To question whence they came.\n    They marked the young ascetic gaze\n    With curious eye and wild amaze,\n    And sweet the long-eyed damsels sang,\n    And shrill their merry laughter rang.\n    Then came they nearer to his side,\n    And languishing with passion cried:--\n    \"Whose son, O youth, and who art thou,\n    Come suddenly to join us now?\n    And why dost thou all lonely dwell\n    In the wild wood? We pray thee, tell.\n    We wish to know thee, gentle youth;\n    Come, tell us, if thou wilt, the truth,\"\n    He gazed upon that sight he ne'er\n    Had seen before, of girls so fair,\n    And out of love a longing rose\n    His sire and lineage to disclose:--\n    \"My father,\" thus he made reply,\n    \"Is Ka\u015byap's son, a saint most high,\n    Vibh\u00e1ndak styled; from him I came,\n    And Rishya\u015bring he calls my name.\n    Our hermit cot is near this place:--\n    Come thither, O ye fair of face;\n    There be it mine, with honor due,\n    Ye gentle youths, to welcome you.\"\n\n    They heard his speech, and gave consent,\n    And gladly to his cottage went.\n    Vibh\u00e1ndak's son received them well\n    Beneath the shelter of his cell--\n    With guest-gift, water for their feet,\n    And woodland fruit and roots to eat.\n    They smiled and spoke sweet words like these.\n    Delighted with his courtesies:--\n    \"We too have goodly fruit in store,\n    Grown on the trees that shade our door;\n    Come, if thou wilt, kind Hermit, haste\n    The produce of our grove to taste;\n    And let, O good Ascetic, first\n    This holy water quench thy thirst.\"\n    They spoke, and gave him comfits sweet\n    Prepared ripe fruits to counterfeit;\n    And many a dainty cate beside,\n    And luscious mead their stores supplied.\n    The seeming fruits, in taste and look,\n    The unsuspecting hermit took,\n    For, strange to him, their form beguiled\n    The dweller in the lonely wild.\n    Then round his neck fair arms were flung,\n    And there the laughing damsels clung,\n    And pressing nearer and more near\n    With sweet lips whispered at his ear;\n    While rounded limb and swelling breast\n    The youthful hermit softly pressed.\n    The pleasing charm of that strange bowl,\n    The touch of a tender limb,\n    Over his yielding spirit stole\n    And sweetly vanquished him--\n    But vows, they said, must now be paid;\n    They bade the boy farewell,\n    And of the aged saint afraid,\n    Prepared to leave the dell.\n    With ready guile they told him where\n    Their hermit dwelling lay;\n    Then, lest the sire should find them there,\n    Sped by wild paths away.\n    They fled and left him there alone\n    By longing love possessed;\n    And with a heart no more his own\n    He roamed about distressed.\n    The aged saint came home, to find\n    The hermit boy distraught,\n    Revolving in his troubled mind\n    One solitary thought.\n    \"Why dost thou not, my son,\" he cried,\n    \"Thy due obeisance pay?\n    Why do I see thee in the tide\n    Of whelming thought to-day?\n    A devotee should never wear\n    A mien so sad and strange.\n    Come, quickly, dearest child, declare\n    The reason of the change.\"\n    And Rishya\u015bring, when questioned thus,\n    Made answer in this wise:--\n    \"O sire, there came to visit us\n    Some men with lovely eyes.\n    About my neck soft arms they wound\n    And kept me tightly held\n    To tender breasts so soft and round,\n    That strangely heaved and swelled.\n    They sing more sweetly as they dance\n    Than e'er I heard till now,\n    And play with many a sidelong glance\n    And arching of the brow.\"\n    \"My son,\" said he, \"thus giants roam\n    Where holy hermits are,\n    And wander round their peaceful home\n    Their rites austere to mar.\n    I charge thee, thou must never lay\n    Thy trust in them, dear boy:--\n    They seek thee only to betray,\n    And woo but to destroy.\"\n    Thus having warned him of his foes\n    That night at home he spent,\n    And when the morrow's sun arose\n    Forth to the forest went.\n\n    But Rishya\u015bring with eager pace\n    Sped forth and hurried to the place\n    Where he those visitants had seen\n    Of dainty waist and charming mien.\n    When from afar they saw the son\n    Of Saint Vibh\u00e1ndak toward them run,\n    To meet the hermit boy they hied,\n    And hailed him with a smile, and cried:--\n    \"O come, we pray, dear lord, behold\n    Our lovely home of which we told:--\n    Due honor there to thee we'll pay,\n    And speed thee on thy homeward way.\"\n    Pleased with the gracious words they said\n    He followed where the damsels led.\n    As with his guides his steps he bent,\n    That Br\u00e1hman high of worth,\n    A flood of rain from heaven sent\n    That gladdened all the earth.\n\n    Vibh\u00e1ndak took his homeward road,\n    And wearied by the heavy load\n    Of roots and woodland fruit he bore\n    Entered at last his cottage door.\n    Fain for his son he looked around,\n    But desolate the cell he found.\n    He stayed not then to bathe his feet,\n    Though fainting with the toil and heat,\n    But hurried forth and roamed about\n    Calling the boy with cry and shout.\n    He searched the wood, but all in vain;\n    Nor tidings of his son could gain.\n    One day beyond the forest's bound\n    The wandering saint a village found,\n    And asked the swains and neatherds there\n    Who owned the land so rich and fair,\n    With all the hamlets of the plain,\n    And herds of kine and fields of grain.\n    They listened to the hermit's words,\n    And all the guardians of the herds,\n    With suppliant hands together pressed,\n    This answer to the saint addressed:--\n    \"The Angas' lord who bears the name\n    Of Lomap\u00e1d, renowned by fame,\n    Bestowed these hamlets with their kine\n    And all their riches, as a sign\n    Of grace, on Rishya\u015bring; and he\n    Vibh\u00e1ndak's son is said to be.\"\n    The hermit with exulting breast\n    The mighty will of fate confessed,\n    By meditation's eye discerned;\n    And cheerful to his home returned.\n\n    A stately ship, at early morn,\n    The hermit's son away had borne.\n    Loud roared the clouds, as on he sped,\n    The sky grew blacker overhead;\n    Till, as he reached the royal town,\n    A mighty flood of rain came down.\n    By the great rain the monarch's mind\n    The coming of his guest divined.\n    To meet the honored youth he went,\n    And low to earth his head he bent.\n    With his own priest to lead the train,\n    He gave the gift high guests obtain,\n    And sought, with all who dwelt within\n    The city walls, his grace to win.\n    He fed him with the daintiest fare,\n    He served him with unceasing care,\n    And ministered with anxious eyes\n    Lest anger in his breast should rise;\n    And gave to be the Br\u00e1hman's bride\n    His own fair daughter, lotus-eyed.\n\n    Thus loved and honored by the King,\n    The glorious Br\u00e1hman Rishya\u015bring\n    Passed in that royal town his life\n    With \u015a\u00e1nt\u00e1 his beloved wife.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO X\n\nRISHYA\u015aRING INVITED\n\n    \"Again, O best of Kings, give ear:--\n    My saving words attentive hear,\n    And listen to the tale of old\n    By that illustrious Br\u00e1hman told.\n    'Of famed Ikshv\u00e1ku's line shall spring\n    ('Twas thus he spoke) a pious king,\n    Named Da\u015baratha, good and great,\n    True to his word and fortunate.\n    He with the Angas' mighty lord\n    Shall ever live in sweet accord,\n    And his a daughter fair shall be,\n    \u015a\u00e1nt\u00e1 of happy destiny.\n    But Lomap\u00e1d, the Angas' chief,\n    Still pining in his childless grief,\n    To Da\u015baratha thus shall say:--\n    \"Give me thy daughter, friend, I pray,\n    Thy \u015a\u00e1nt\u00e1 of the tranquil mind,\n    The noblest one of womankind.\"\n\n    The father, swift to feel for woe,\n    Shall on his friend his child bestow;\n    And he shall take her and depart\n    To his own town with joyous heart.\n    The maiden home in triumph led,\n    To Rishya\u015bring the King shall wed.\n    And he with loving joy and pride\n    Shall take her for his honored bride.\n    And Da\u015baratha to a rite\n    That best of Br\u00e1hmans shall invite\n    With supplicating prayer\n    To celebrate the sacrifice\n    To win him sons and Paradise,\n    That he will fain prepare.\n    From him the lord of men at length\n    The boon he seeks shall gain,\n    And see four sons of boundless strength\n    His royal line maintain,\n    Thus did the godlike saint of old\n    The will of fate declare,\n    And all that should befall unfold\n    Amid the sages there.\n    O Prince, supreme of men, go thou,\n    Consult thy holy guide,\n    And win, to aid thee in thy vow,\n    This Br\u00e1hman to thy side.\"\n\n    Sumantra's counsel, wise and good,\n    King Da\u015baratha heard,\n    Then by Va\u015bishtha's side he stood\n    And thus with him conferred:--\n    \"Sumantra counsels thus:--do thou\n    My priestly guide, the plan allow.\"\n    Va\u015bishtha gave his glad consent,\n    And forth the happy monarch went\n    With lords and servants on the road\n    That led to Rishya\u015bring's abode.\n    Forests and rivers duly past,\n    He reached the distant town at last--\n    Of Lomap\u00e1d the Angas' King,\n    And entered it with welcoming.\n    On through the crowded streets he came,\n    And, radiant as the kindled flame,\n    He saw within the monarch's house\n    The hermit's son, most glorious.\n    There Lomap\u00e1d, with joyful breast,\n    To him all honor paid,\n    For friendship for his royal guest\n    His faithful bosom swayed.\n    Thus entertained with utmost care\n    Seven days, or eight, he tarried there,\n    And then that best of men thus broke\n    His purpose to the King, and spoke:--\n\n    \"O King of men, mine ancient friend,\n    (Thus Da\u015baratha prayed),\n    Thy \u015a\u00e1nt\u00e1 with her husband send\n    My sacrifice to aid.\"\n    Said he who ruled the Angas, \"Yea,\"\n    And his consent was won:--\n    And then at once he turned away\n    To warn the hermit's son.\n    He told him of their ties beyond\n    Their old affection's faithful bond:--\n    \"This King,\" he said, \"from days of old\n    A well beloved friend I hold.\n    To me this pearl of dames he gave\n    From childless woe mine age to save,\n    The daughter whom he loved so much,\n    Moved by compassion's gentle touch.\n    In him thy \u015a\u00e1nt\u00e1's father see:--\n    As I am, even so is he.\n    For sons the childless monarch yearns,\n    To thee alone for help he turns.\n    Go thou, the sacred rite ordain\n    To win the sons he prays to gain:--\n    Go, with thy wife thy succor lend,\n    And give his vows a blissful end.\"\n\n    The hermit's son with quick accord\n    Obeyed the Angas' mighty lord,\n    And with fair \u015a\u00e1nt\u00e1 at his side\n    To Da\u015baratha's city hied.\n    Each king, with suppliant hands upheld,\n    Gazed on the other's face:--\n    And then by mutual love impelled\n    Met in a close embrace.\n    Then Da\u015baratha's thoughtful care,\n    Before he parted thence,\n    Bade trusty servants homeward bear\n    The glad intelligence:--\n    \"Let all the town be bright and gay,\n    With burning incense sweet;\n    Let banners wave, and water lay\n    The dust in every street.\"\n    Glad were the citizens to learn\n    The tidings of their lord's return,\n    And through the city every man\n    Obediently his task began.\n    And fair and bright Ayodhy\u00e1 showed,\n    As following his guest he rode\n    Through the full streets, where shell and drum\n    Proclaimed aloud the King was come.\n    And all the people with delight\n    Kept gazing on their king,\n    Attended by that youth so bright,\n    The glorious Rishya\u015bring.\n    When to his home the King had brought\n    The hermit's saintly son,\n    He deemed that all his task was wrought,\n    And all he prayed for won.\n    And lords who saw the stranger dame\n    So beautiful to view,\n    Rejoiced within their hearts, and came\n    And paid her honor, too.\n    There Rishya\u015bring passed blissful days,\n    Graced like the King with love and praise,\n    And shone in glorious light with her,\n    Sweet \u015a\u00e1nt\u00e1 for his minister,\n    As Brahm\u00e1's son Va\u015bishtha, he\n    Who wedded Saint Arundhat\u00ed.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XI\n\nTHE SACRIFICE DECREED\n\n    The Dewy Season came and went;\n    The spring returned again--\n    Then would the King, with mind intent,\n    His sacrifice ordain.\n    He came to Rishya\u015bring, and bowed\n    To him of look divine,\n    And bade him aid his offering vowed\n    For heirs, to save his line.\n    Nor would the youth his aid deny,\n    He spake the monarch fair,\n    And prayed him for that rite so high\n    All requisites prepare.\n    The King to wise Sumantra cried\n    Who stood aye ready near;\n    \"Go summon quick, each holy guide,\n    To counsel and to hear,\"\n    Obedient to his lord's behest\n    Away Sumantra sped,\n    And brought Va\u015bishtha and the rest,\n    In Scripture deeply read.\n    Suyaj\u0144a, V\u00e1madeva came,\n    J\u00e1v\u00e1li, Ka\u015byap's son,\n    And old Va\u015bishtha, dear to fame,\n    Obedient, every one.\n    King Da\u015baratha met them there\n    And duly honored each,\n    And spoke in pleasant words his fair\n    And salutary speech:--\n    \"In childless longing doomed to pine,\n    No happiness, O lords, is mine.\n    So have I for this cause decreed\n    To slay the sacrificial steed.\n    Fain would I pay that offering high\n    Wherein the horse is doomed to die,\n    With Rishya\u015bring his aid to lend,\n    And with your glory to befriend.\"\n\n    With loud applause each holy man\n    Received his speech, approved the plan,\n    And, by the wise Va\u015bishtha led,\n    Gave praises to the King, and said:--\n    \"The sons thou cravest shalt thou see,\n    Of fairest glory, born to thee,\n    Whose holy feelings bid thee take\n    This righteous course for offspring's sake.\"\n    Cheered by the ready praise of those\n    Whose aid he sought, his spirits rose--\n    And thus the King his speech renewed\n    With looks of joy and gratitude:--\n    \"Let what the coming rites require\n    Be ready, as the priests desire,\n    And let the horse, ordained to bleed,\n    With fitting guard and priest, be freed.\n    Yonder on Sarj\u00fa's northern side\n    The sacrificial ground provide;\n    And let the saving rites, that nought\n    Ill-omened may occur, be wrought.\n    The offering I announce to-day\n    Each lord of earth may claim to pay,\n    Provided that his care can guard\n    The holy rite by flaws unmarred.\n    For wandering fiends, whose watchful spite\n    Waits eagerly to spoil each rite--\n    Hunting with keenest eye detect\n    The slightest slip, the least neglect;\n    And when the sacred work is crossed\n    The workman is that moment lost.\n    Let preparation due be made,\n    Your powers the charge can meet,\n    That so the noble rite be paid\n    In every point complete.\"\n    And all the Br\u00e1hmans answered, \"Yea,\"\n    His mandate honoring,\n    And gladly promised to obey\n    The order of the King.\n    They cried with voices raised aloud:--\n    \"Success attend thine aim!\"\n    Then bade farewell, and lowly bowed,\n    And hastened whence they came.\n    King Da\u015baratha went within,\n    His well-loved wives to see--\n    And said: \"Your lustral rites begin,\n    For these shall prosper me.\n    A glorious offering I prepare\n    That precious fruit of sons may bear.\"\n    Their lily faces brightened fast\n    Those pleasant words to hear,\n    As lilies, when the winter's past,\n    In lovelier hues appear.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XII\n\nTHE SACRIFICE BEGUN\n\n    Again the spring with genial heat\n    Returning made the year complete.\n    To win him sons, without delay\n    His vow the King resolved to pay--\n    And to Va\u015bishtha, saintly man,\n    In modest words this speech began:--\n    \"Prepare the rite with all things fit\n    As is ordained in Holy Writ,\n    And keep with utmost care afar\n    Whate'er its sacred forms might mar.\n    Thou art, my lord, my trustiest guide,\n    Kind-hearted, and my friend beside;\n    So is it meet thou undertake\n    This heavy task for duty's sake.\"\n\n    Then he, of twice-born men the best,\n    His glad assent at once expressed:--\n    \"Fain will I do whatever may be\n    Desired, O honored King, by thee.\"\n    To ancient priests he spoke, who, trained\n    In holy rites, deep skill had gained:--\n    \"Here guards be stationed, good and sage,\n    Religious men of trusted age.\n    And various workmen send and call,\n    Who frame the door and build the wall--\n    With men of every art and trade,\n    Who read the stars and ply the spade,\n    And mimes and minstrels hither bring,\n    And damsels trained to dance and sing.\"\n    Then to the learned men he said,\n    In many a page of Scripture read:--\n    \"Be yours each rite performed to see\n    According to the King's decree.\n    And stranger Br\u00e1hmans quickly call\n    To this great rite that welcomes all.\n    Pavilions for the princes, decked\n    With art and ornament, erect,\n    And handsome booths by thousands made\n    The Br\u00e1hman visitors to shade--\n    Arranged in order side by side,\n    With meat and drink and all supplied.\n    And ample stables we shall need\n    For many an elephant and steed--\n    And chambers where the men may lie,\n    And vast apartments, broad and high,\n    Fit to receive the countless bands\n    Of warriors come from distant lands.\n    For our own people too provide\n    Sufficient tents, extended wide,\n    And stores of meat and drink prepare,\n    And all that can be needed there.\n    And food in plenty must be found\n    For guests from all the country round.\n    Of various viands presents make,\n    For honor, not for pity's sake,\n    That fit regard and worship be\n    Paid to each caste in due degree.\n    And let not wish or wrath excite\n    Your hearts the meanest guest to slight;\n    But still observe with special grace\n    Those who obtain the foremost place,\n    Whether for happier skill in art\n    Or bearing in the rite their part\n    Do you, I pray, with friendly mind\n    Perform the task to you assigned,\n    And work the rite, as bids the law,\n    Without omission, slip, or flaw.\"\n\n    They answered: \"As thou seest fit\n    So will we do and nought omit.\"\n    The sage Va\u015bishtha then addressed\n    Sumantra, called at his behest:--\n    \"The princes of the earth invite,\n    And famous lords who guard the rite,\n    Priest, Warrior, Merchant, lowly thrall,\n    In countless thousands summon all.\n    Where'er their home be, far or near,\n    Gather the good with honor here.\n    And Janak, whose imperial sway\n    The men of Mithil\u00e1 obey,\n    The firm of vow, the dread of foes,\n    Who all the lore of Scripture knows,\n    Invite him here with honor high,\n    King Da\u015baratha's old ally.\n    And K\u00e1\u015bi's lord of gentle speech,\n    Who finds a pleasant word for each--\n    In length of days our monarch's peer,\n    Illustrious King, invite him here.\n    The father of our ruler's bride,\n    Known for his virtues far and wide,\n    The King whom Kekaya's realms obey,\n    Him with his son invite, I pray.\n    And Lomap\u00e1d, the Angas King,\n    True to his vows and godlike, bring.\n    Far be thine invitations sent\n    To west and south and orient.\n    Call those who rule Sur\u00e1shtra's land,\n    Suv\u00edra's realm and Sindhu's strand,\n    And all the kings of earth beside\n    In friendship's bonds with us allied:--\n    Invite them all to hasten in\n    With retinue and kith and kin.\"\n    Va\u015bishtha's speech without delay\n    Sumantra bent him to obey,\n    And sent his trusty envoys forth\n    Eastward and westward, south and north.\n    Obedient to the saint's request\n    Himself he hurried forth, and pressed\n    Each nobler chief and lord and king\n    To hasten to the gathering.\n    Before the saint Va\u015bishtha stood\n    All those who wrought with stone and wood,\n    And showed the work which every one\n    In furtherance of the rite had done.\n    Rejoiced their ready zeal to see,\n    Thus to the craftsmen all said he:--\n    \"I charge ye, masters, see to this,\n    That there be nothing done amiss.\n    And this, I pray, in mind be borne,\n    That not one gift ye give in scorn;\n    Whenever scorn a gift attends\n    Great sin is his who thus offends.\"\n\n    And now some days and nights had passed,\n    And Kings began to gather fast,\n    And precious gems in liberal store\n    As gifts to Da\u015baratha bore.\n    Then joy thrilled through Va\u015bishtha's breast\n    As thus the monarch he addressed:--\n    \"Obedient to thy high decree\n    The Kings, my lord, are come to thee.\n    And it has been my care to greet\n    And honor all with reverence meet.\n    Thy servants' task is ended quite,\n    And all is ready for the rite.\n    Come forth then to the sacred ground\n    Where all in order will be found.\"\n    Then Rishya\u015bring confirmed the tale:--\n    Nor did their words to move him fail.\n    The stars propitious influence lent\n    When forth the world's great ruler went.\n    Then by the sage Va\u015bishtha led,\n    The priest began to speed\n    Those glorious rites wherein is shed\n    The lifeblood of the steed.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XIII\n\nTHE SACRIFICE FINISHED\n\n    The circling year had filled its course,\n    And back was brought the wandering horse:--\n    Then upon Sarj\u00fa's northern strand\n    Began the rite the King had planned.\n    With Rishya\u015bring the forms to guide,\n    The Br\u00e1hmans to their task applied,\n    At that great offering of the steed\n    Their lofty-minded King decreed.\n    The priests, who all the Scripture knew,\n    Performed their part in order due,\n    And circled round in solemn train\n    As precepts of the law ordain.\n    Pravargya rites were duly sped:--\n    For Upasads the flames were fed.\n    Then from the plant the juice was squeezed,\n    And those high saints, with minds well pleased,\n    Performed the mystic rites begun\n    With bathing ere the rise of sun.\n    They gave the portion, Indra's claim,\n    And hymned the King whom none can blame.\n    The mid-day bathing followed next,\n    Observed as bids the holy text.\n    Then the good priests with utmost care,\n    In form that Scripture's rules declare,\n    For the third time pure water shed\n    On high-souled Da\u015baratha's head.\n    Then Rishya\u015bring and all the rest\n    To Indra and the Gods addressed\n    Their sweet-toned hymn of praise and prayer,\n    And called them in the rite to share.\n    With sweetest song and hymn intoned\n    They gave the Gods in heaven enthroned,\n    As duty bids, the gifts they claim,\n    The holy oil that feeds the flame.\n    And many an offering there was paid,\n    And not one slip in all was made.\n    For with most careful heed they saw\n    That all was done by Veda law.\n    None, all those days, was seen oppressed\n    By hunger or by toil distressed.\n    Why speak of human kind? No beast\n    Was there that lacked an ample feast.\n    For there was store for all who came,\n    For orphan child and lonely dame;\n    The old and young were well supplied,\n    The poor and hungry satisfied.\n    Throughout the day ascetics fed,\n    And those who roam to beg their bread:--\n    While all around the cry was still,\n    \"Give forth, give forth,\" and \"Eat your fill.\"\n    \"Give forth with liberal hand the meal,\n    And various robes in largess deal.\"\n\n    Urged by these cries on every side\n    Unweariedly their task they plied,\n    And heaps of food like hills in size\n    In boundless plenty met the eyes:--\n    And lakes of sauce, each day renewed,\n    Refreshed the weary multitude.\n    And strangers there from distant lands,\n    And women folk in crowded bands\n    The best of food and drink obtained\n    At the great rite the King ordained.\n    Apart from all, the Br\u00e1hmans there,\n    Thousands on thousands, took their share\n    Of various dainties sweet to taste,\n    On plates of gold and silver placed--\n    All ready set, as, when they willed,\n    The twice-born men their places filled.\n    And servants in fair garments dressed\n    Waited upon each Br\u00e1hman guest.\n\n    Of cheerful mind and mien were they,\n    With gold and jewelled ear-rings gay.\n    The best of Br\u00e1hmans praised the fare\n    Of countless sorts, of flavor rare--\n    And thus to Raghu's son they cried:--\n    \"We bless thee, and are satisfied.\"\n    Between the rites some Br\u00e1hmans spent\n    The time in learned argument,\n    With ready flow of speech, sedate,\n    And keen to vanquish in debate.\n    There day by day the holy train\n    Performed all rites as rules ordain.\n    No priest in all that host was found\n    But kept the vows that held him bound;\n    None, but the holy Vedas knew,\n    And all their sixfold science too.\n    No Br\u00e1hman there was found unfit\n    To speak with eloquence and wit.\n\n    And now the appointed time came near\n    The sacrificial posts to rear.\n    They brought them, and prepared to fix\n    Of Bel and Kh\u00e1dir six and six;\n    Six, made of the Pal\u00e1\u015ba-tree,\n    Of Fig-wood one, apart to be--\n    Of Sleshm\u00e1t and of Devad\u00e1r\n    One column each, the mightiest far:--\n    So thick the two the arms of man\n    Their ample girth would fail to span.\n    All these with utmost care were wrought\n    By hand of priests in Scripture taught,\n    And all with gold were gilded bright\n    To add new splendor to the rite;\n    Twenty-and-one those stakes in all,\n    Each one-and-twenty cubits tall:--\n    And one-and-twenty ribbons there\n    Hung on the pillars bright and fair.\n    Firm in the earth they stood at last,\n    Where cunning craftsmen fixed them fast;\n    And there unshaken each remained,\n    Octagonal and smoothly planed.\n\n    Then ribbons over all were hung,\n    And flowers and scent around them flung.\n    Thus decked they cast a glory forth\n    Like the great saints who star the north.\n    The sacrificial altar then\n    Was raised by skilful twice-born men--\n    In shape and figure to behold\n    An eagle with his wings of gold,\n    With twice nine pits and formed threefold.\n    Each for some special God, beside\n    The pillars were the victims tied;\n    The birds that roam the wood, the air,\n    The water, and the land were there,\n    And snakes and things of reptile birth,\n    And healing herbs that spring from earth:--\n    As texts prescribe, in Scripture found,\n    Three hundred victims there were bound.\n    The steed devoted to the host\n    Of Gods, the gem they honor most,\n    Was duly sprinkled. Then the Queen\n    Kau\u015baly\u00e1, with delighted mien,\n    With reverent steps around him paced,\n    And with sweet wreaths the victim graced;\n    Then with three swords in order due\n    She smote the steed with joy, and slew.\n    That night the queen, a son to gain,\n    With calm and steady heart was fain\n    By the dead charger's side to stay\n    From evening till the break of day.\n    Then came three priests, their care to lead\n    The other queens to touch the steed--\n    Upon Kau\u015baly\u00e1 to attend,\n    Their company and aid to lend.\n    As by the horse she still reclined,\n    With happy mien and cheerful mind,\n    With Rishya\u015bring the twice-born came\n    And praised and blessed the royal dame.\n    The priest who well his duty knew,\n    And every sense could well subdue,\n    From out the bony chambers freed\n    And boiled the marrow of the steed.\n    Above the steam the monarch bent,\n    And, as he smelt the fragrant scent,\n    In time and order drove afar\n    All error, that his hopes could mar.\n    Then sixteen priests together came,\n    And cast into the sacred flame\n    The severed members of the horse,\n    Made ready all in ordered course.\n    On piles of holy Fig-tree raised\n    The meaner victims' bodies blazed:--\n    The steed, of all the creatures slain,\n    Alone required a pile of cane.\n    Three days, as is by law decreed,\n    Lasted that Offering of the Steed.\n    The Chatushtom began the rite,\n    And when the sun renewed his light,\n    The Ukthya followed--after came\n    The Atir\u00e1tra's holy flame.\n    These were the rites, and many more,\n    Arranged by light of holy lore,\n    The Aptory\u00e1m of mighty power,\n    And, each performed in proper hour,\n    The Abhijit and Vi\u015bvajit\n    With every form and service fit;\n    And with the sacrifice at night\n    The Jyotishtom and \u00c1yus rite.\n\n    The task was done, as laws prescribe:--\n    The monarch, glory of his tribe,\n    Bestowed the land in liberal grants\n    Upon the sacred ministrants.\n    He gave the region of the east,\n    His conquest, to the Hotri priest.\n    The west the celebrant obtained,\n    The south the priest presiding gained--\n    The northern region was the share\n    Of him who chanted forth the prayer.\n    Thus did each priest obtain his meed\n    At the great Slaughter of the Steed,\n    Ordained, the best of all to be,\n    By self-existent deity.\n\n    Ikshv\u00e1ku's son, with joyful mind,\n    This noble fee to each assigned--\n    But all the priests with one accord\n    Addressed that unpolluted lord:--\n    \"'Tis thine alone to keep the whole\n    Of this broad earth in firm control.\n    No gift of lands from thee we seek,\n    To guard these realms our hands were weak.\n    On sacred lore our days are spent,\n    Let other gifts our wants content.\"\n\n    The chief of old Ikshv\u00e1ku's line\n    Gave them ten hundred thousand kine,\n    A hundred millions of fine gold,\n    The same in silver four times told.\n    But every priest in presence there\n    With one accord resigned his share.\n    To Saint Va\u015bishtha, high of soul,\n    And Rishya\u015bring they gave the whole.\n    That largess pleased those Br\u00e1hmans well,\n    Who bade the prince his wishes tell.\n    Then Da\u015baratha, mighty King,\n    Made answer thus to Rishya\u015bring:--\n    \"O holy Hermit, of thy grace,\n    Vouchsafe the increase of my race.\"\n    He spoke; nor was his prayer denied--\n    The best of Br\u00e1hmans thus replied:--\n    \"Four sons, O Monarch, shall be thine,\n    Upholders of thy royal line.\"\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XIV\n\nR\u00c1VAN DOOMED\n\n\n    The saint, well-read in holy lore,\n    Pondered awhile his answer o'er,\n    And thus again addressed the King,\n    His wandering thoughts regathering:--\n    \"Another rite will I begin\n    Which shall the sons thou cravest win,\n    Where all things shall be duly sped\n    And first Atharva texts be read.\"\n\n    Then by Vibh\u00e1ndak's gentle son\n    Was that high sacrifice begun,\n    The King's advantage seeking still\n    And zealous to perform his will.\n    Now all the Gods had gathered there,\n    Each one for his allotted share--\n    Brahm\u00e1, the ruler of the sky,\n    Sth\u00e1nu, N\u00e1r\u00e1yan, Lord most high,\n    And holy Indra men might view\n    With Maruts for his retinue;\n    The heavenly chorister, and saint,\n    And spirit pure from earthly taint,\n    With one accord had sought the place\n    The high-souled monarch's rite to grace,\n    Then to the Gods who came to take\n    Their proper share, the hermit spake:--\n    \"For you has Da\u015baratha slain\n    The votive steed, a son to gain;\n    Stern penance-rites the King has tried,\n    And in firm faith on you relied,\n    And now with undiminished care\n    A second rite would fain prepare.\n    But, O ye Gods, consent to grant\n    The longing of your supplicant.\n    For him beseeching hands I lift,\n    And pray you all to grant the gift,\n    That four fair sons of high renown\n    The offerings of the King may crown.\"\n    They to the hermit's son replied:--\n    \"His longing shall be gratified.\n    For, Br\u00e1hman, in most high degree\n    We love the King and honor thee.\"\n\n    These words the Gods in answer said,\n    And vanished thence, by Indra led.\n    Thus to the Lord, the worlds who made,\n    The Immortals all assembled prayed:--\n    \"O Brahm\u00e1, mighty by thy grace,\n    R\u00e1van, who rules the giant race,\n    Torments us in his senseless pride,\n    And penance-loving saints beside.\n    For thou well pleased in days of old\n    Gavest the boon that makes him bold,\n    That God nor demon e'er should kill\n    His charmed life, for so thy will.\n    We, honoring that high behest,\n    Bear all his rage though sore distressed.\n    That lord of giants fierce and fell\n    Scourges the earth and heaven and hell.\n    Mad with thy boon, his impious rage\n    Smites saint and bard and God and sage.\n    The sun himself withholds his glow,\n    The wind in fear forbears to blow;\n    The fire restrains his wonted heat\n    Where stand the dreaded R\u00e1van's feet,\n    And, necklaced with the wandering wave,\n    The sea before him fears to rave.\n    Kuvera's self in sad defeat\n    Is driven from his blissful seat.\n    We see, we feel the giant's might,\n    And woe comes o'er us and affright.\n    To thee, O Lord, thy suppliants pray\n    To find some cure this plague to stay.\"\n\n    Thus by the gathered Gods addressed\n    He pondered in his secret breast,\n    And said: \"One only way I find\n    To slay this fiend of evil mind.\n    He prayed me once his life to guard\n    From demon, God, and heavenly bard,\n    And spirits of the earth and air,\n    And I consenting heard his prayer.\n    But the proud giant in his scorn\n    Recked not of man of woman born.\n    None else may take his life away,\n    But only man the fiend may slay.\"\n\n    The Gods, with Indra at their head,\n    Rejoiced to hear the words he said.\n    Then, crowned with glory like a flame,\n    Lord Vishnu to the council came;\n    His hands shell, mace, and discus bore,\n    And saffron were the robes he wore.\n    Riding his eagle through the crowd,\n    As the sun rides upon a cloud,\n    With bracelets of fine gold, he came,\n    Loud welcomed by the Gods' acclaim.\n    His praise they sang with one consent,\n    And cried, in lowly reverence bent:--\n    \"O Lord whose hand fierce Madhu slew,\n    Be thou our refuge, firm and true;\n    Friend of the suffering worlds art thou,\n    We pray thee help thy suppliants now.\"\n    Then Vishnu spake: \"Ye Gods, declare,\n    What may I do to grant your prayer?\"\n\n    \"King Da\u015baratha,\" thus cried they,\n    \"Fervent in penance many a day,\n    The sacrificial steed has slain,\n    Longing for sons, but all in vain.\n    Now, at the cry of us forlorn,\n    Incarnate as his seed be born.\n    Three queens has he--each lovely dame\n    Like Beauty, Modesty, or Fame.\n    Divide thyself in four, and be\n    His offspring by these noble three.\n    Man's nature take, and slay in fight\n    R\u00e1van who laughs at heavenly might--\n    This common scourge, this rankling thorn\n    Whom the three worlds too long have borne.\n    For R\u00e1van, in the senseless pride\n    Of might unequalled, has defied\n    The host of heaven, and plagues with woe\n    Angel and bard and saint below,\n    Crushing each spirit and each maid\n    Who plays in Nandan's heavenly shade.\n    O conquering Lord, to thee we bow;\n    Our surest hope and trust art thou.\n    Regard the world of men below,\n    And slay the God's tremendous foe.\"\n\n    When thus the suppliant Gods had prayed,\n    His wise reply N\u00e1r\u00e1yan made:--\n    \"What task demands my presence there,\n    And when this dread, ye Gods declare.\"\n    The Gods replied: \"We fear, O Lord,\n    Fierce R\u00e1van, ravener abhorred.\n    Be thine the glorious task, we pray,\n    In human form this fiend to slay.\n    By thee of all the Blest alone\n    This sinner may be overthrown.\n    He gained by penance long and dire\n    The favor of the mighty Sire.\n    Then He who every gift bestows\n    Guarded the fiend from heavenly foes,\n    And gave a pledge his life that kept\n    From all things living, man except.\n    On him thus armed no other foe\n    Than man may deal the deadly blow.\n    Assume, O King, a mortal birth,\n    And strike the demon to the earth.\"\n\n    Then Vishnu, God of Gods, the Lord\n    Supreme by all the worlds adored,\n    To Brahm\u00e1 and the suppliants spake:--\n    \"Dismiss your fear: for your dear sake\n    In battle will I smite him dead,\n    The cruel fiend, the Immortal's dread.\n    And lords and ministers and all\n    His kith and kin with him shall fall.\n    Then, in the world of mortal men,\n    Ten thousand years and hundreds ten\n    I as a human King will reign,\n    And guard the earth as my domain.\"\n    God, saint, and nymph, and minstrel throng\n    With heavenly voices raised their song\n    In hymns of triumph to the God\n    Whose conquering feet on Madhu trod:---\n\n    \"Champion of Gods, as man appear,\n    This cruel R\u00e1van slay,\n    The thorn that saints and hermits fear,\n    The plague that none can stay.\n    In savage fury uncontrolled\n    His pride forever grows--\n    He dares the Lord of Gods to hold\n    Among his deadly foes.\"\n\n\n\nCANTO XV\n\nTHE NECTAR\n\n    When wisest Vishnu thus had given\n    His promise to the Gods of heaven,\n    He pondered in his secret mind\n    A suited place of birth to find.\n    Then he decreed, the lotus-eyed,\n    In four his being to divide,\n    And Da\u015baratha, gracious King,\n    He chose as sire from whom to spring.\n    That childless prince, of high renown,\n    Who smote in war his foemen down,\n    At that same time with utmost care\n    Prepared the rite that wins an heir.\n    Then Vishnu, fain on earth to dwell,\n    Bade the Almighty Sire farewell,\n    And vanished while a reverent crowd\n    Of Gods and saints in worship bowed.\n\n    The monarch watched the sacred rite,\n    When a vast form of awful might,\n    Of matchless splendor, strength and size\n    Was manifest before his eyes.\n    From forth the sacrificial flame,\n    Dark, robed in red, the being came.\n    His voice was drumlike, loud and low,\n    His face suffused with rosy glow.\n    Like a huge lion's mane appeared\n    The long locks of his hair and beard.\n    He shone with many a lucky sign,\n    And many an ornament divine;\n    A towering mountain in his height,\n    A tiger in his gait and might.\n\n    No precious mine more rich could be,\n    No burning flame more bright than he.\n    His arms embraced in loving hold,\n    Like a dear wife, a vase of gold\n    Whose silver lining held a draught\n    Of nectar as in heaven is quaffed--\n    A vase so vast, so bright to view,\n    They scarce could count the vision true.\n    Upon the King his eyes he bent,\n    And said: \"The Lord of life has sent\n    His servant down, O Prince, to be\n    A messenger from heaven to thee.\"\n    The King with all his nobles by\n    Raised reverent hands and made reply:--\n    \"Welcome, O glorious being! Say\n    How can my care thy grace repay,\"\n    Envoy of Him whom all adore,\n    Thus to the King he spake once more:--\n    \"The Gods accept thy worship--they\n    Give thee the blessed fruit to-day.\n    Approach and take, O glorious King,\n    This heavenly nectar which I bring,\n    For it shall give thee sons and wealth,\n    And bless thee with a store of health.\n    Give it to those fair queens of thine,\n    And bid them quaff the drink divine--\n    And they the princely sons shall bear\n    Long sought by sacrifice and prayer.\"\n\n    \"Yea, O my lord,\" the monarch said,\n    And took the vase upon his head,\n    The gift of Gods, of fine gold wrought,\n    With store of heavenly liquor fraught.\n    He honored, filled with transport new,\n    That wondrous being, fair to view,\n    As round the envoy of the God\n    With reverential steps he trod.\n    His errand done, that form of light\n    Arose and vanished from the sight.\n    High rapture filled the monarch's soul,\n    Possessed of that celestial bowl,\n    As when a man by want distressed\n    With unexpected wealth is blest.\n    And rays of transport seemed to fall\n    Illuminating bower and hall,\n    As when the autumn moon rides high,\n    And floods with lovely light the sky.\n    Quick to the ladies' bower he sped,\n    And thus to Queen Kau\u015baly\u00e1 said:--\n    \"This genial nectar take and quaff,\"\n    He spoke, and gave the lady half.\n    Part of the nectar that remained\n    Sumitr\u00e1 from his hand obtained.\n    He gave, to make her fruitful too,\n    Kaikey\u00ed half the residue.\n    A portion yet remaining there,\n    He paused awhile to think,\n    Then gave Sumitr\u00e1, with her share,\n    The remnant of the drink.\n    Thus on each queen of those fair three\n    A part the King bestowed,\n    And with sweet hope a child to see\n    Their yearning bosoms glowed.\n    The heavenly bowl the King supplied\n    Their longing souls relieved,\n    And soon, with rapture and with pride,\n    Each royal dame conceived.\n    He gazed upon each lady's face,\n    And triumphed as he gazed.\n    As Indra in his royal place\n    By Gods and spirits praised.\n\n\n\nCANTO XVI\n\nTHE VANARS\n\n    When Vishnu thus had gone on earth,\n    From the great King to take his birth,\n    The self-existent Lord of all\n    Addressed the Gods who heard his call:--\n    \"For Vishnu's sake, the strong and true,\n    Who seeks the good of all of you,\n    Make helps, in war to lend him aid,\n    In forms that change at will, arrayed,\n    Of wizard skill and hero might,\n    Outstrippers of the wind in flight,\n    Skilled in the arts of counsel, wise,\n    And Vishnu's peers in bold emprise;\n    With heavenly arts and prudence fraught,\n    By no devices to be caught;\n    Skilled in all weapons' lore and use\n    As they who drink the immortal juice.\n    And let the nymphs supreme in grace,\n    And maidens of the minstrel race,\n    Monkeys and snakes, and those who rove\n    Free spirits of the hill and grove,\n    And wandering Daughters of the Air,\n    In monkey form brave children bear.\n    So erst the lord of bears I shaped,\n    Born from my mouth as wide I gaped.\"\n\n    Thus by the mighty Sire addressed\n    They all obeyed his high behest,\n    And thus begot in countless swarms\n    Brave sons disguised in sylvan forms.\n    Each God, each sage became a sire,\n    Each minstrel of the heavenly choir.\n    Each faun, of children strong and good\n    Whose feet should roam the hill and wood.\n    Snakes, bards, and spirits, serpents bold\n    Had sons too numerous to be told.\n    B\u00e1li, the woodland hosts who led,\n    High as Mahendra's lofty head,\n    Was Indra's child. That noblest fire,\n    The Sun, was great Sugr\u00edva's sire.\n    T\u00e1ra, the mighty monkey, he\n    Was offspring of Vrihaspati--\n    T\u00e1ra the matchless chieftain, boast\n    For wisdom of the V\u00e1nar host.\n    Of Gandham\u00e1dan brave and bold\n    The father was the Lord of Gold.\n    Nala the mighty, dear to fame,\n    Of skilful Vi\u015bvakarm\u00e1 came.\n    From Agni, N\u00edla bright as flame,\n    Who in his splendor, might, and worth,\n    Surpassed the sire who gave him birth.\n    The heavenly A\u015bvins, swift and fair,\n    Were fathers of a noble pair,\n    Who, Dwivida and Mainda named,\n    For beauty like their sires were famed.\n    Varun was father of Sushen,\n    Of \u015aarabh, he who sends the rain.\n    Hanum\u00e1n, best of monkey kind,\n    Was son of him who breathes the wind--\n    Like thunderbolt in frame was he,\n    And swift as Garud's self could flee.\n    These thousands did the Gods create\n    Endowed with might that none could mate,\n    In monkey forms that changed at will--\n    So strong their wish the fiend to kill.\n    In mountain size, like lions thewed,\n    Up-sprang the wondrous multitude,\n    Auxiliar hosts in every shape,\n    Monkey and bear and highland ape.\n    In each the strength, the might, the mien\n    Of his own parent God were seen.\n    Some chiefs of V\u00e1nar mothers came,\n    Some of she-bear and minstrel dame,\n    Skilled in all arms in battle's shock,\n    The brandished tree, the loosened rock;\n    And prompt, should other weapons fail,\n    To fight and slay with tooth and nail.\n    Their strength could shake the hills amain.\n    And rend the rooted trees in twain,\n    Disturb with their impetuous sweep\n    The Rivers' Lord, the Ocean deep,\n    Rend with their feet the seated ground,\n    And pass wide floods with airy bound--\n    Or forcing through the sky their way\n    The very clouds by force could stay.\n    Mad elephants that wander through\n    The forest wilds, could they subdue,\n    And with their furious shout could scare\n    Dead upon earth the birds of air.\n    So were the sylvan chieftains formed;\n    Thousands on thousands still they swarmed.\n    These were the leaders honored most,\n    The captains of the V\u00e1nar host,\n    And to each lord and chief and guide\n    Was monkey offspring born beside.\n    Then by the bears' great monarch stood\n    The other roamers of the wood,\n    And turned, their pathless homes to seek,\n    To forest and to mountain peak.\n    The leaders of the monkey band\n    By the two brothers took their stand,\n    Sugr\u00edva, offspring of the Sun,\n    And B\u00e1li, Indra's mighty one.\n    They both endowed with Garud's might,\n    And skilled in all the arts of fight,\n    Wandered in arms the forest through,\n    And lions, snakes, and tigers, slew.\n    But every monkey, ape, and bear\n    Ever was B\u00e1li's special care;\n    With his vast strength and mighty arm\n    He kept them from all scathe and harm.\n    And so the earth with hill, wood, seas,\n    Was filled with mighty ones like these--\n    Of various shape and race and kind,\n    With proper homes to each assigned.\n    With R\u00e1ma's champions fierce and strong\n    The earth was overspread,\n    High as the hills and clouds, a throng\n    With bodies vast and dread.\n\n\n\nCANTO XVII\n\nRISHYASRING'S RETURN\n\n    Now when the high-souled monarch's rite,\n    The A\u015bvamedh, was finished quite,\n    Their sacrificial dues obtained,\n    The Gods their heavenly homes regained.\n    The lofty-minded saints withdrew,\n    Each to his place, with honor due,\n    And kings and chieftains, one and all,\n    Who came to grace the festival.\n    And Da\u015baratha, ere they went,\n    Addressed them thus benevolent:--\n    \"Now may you, each with joyful heart,\n    To your own realms, O Kings, depart.\n    Peace and good luck attend you there,\n    And blessing, is my friendly prayer;\n    Let cares of state each mind engage\n    To guard his royal heritage.\n    A monarch from his throne expelled\n    No better than the dead is held.\n    So he who cares for power and might\n    Must guard his realm and royal right.\n    Such care a meed in heaven will bring\n    Better than rites and offering.\n    Such care a king his country owes\n    As man upon himself bestows,\n    When for his body he provides\n    Raiment and every need besides.\n    For future days should kings foresee,\n    And keep the present error-free.\"\n    Thus did the King the kings exhort--\n    They heard, and turned them from the court,\n    And, each to each in friendship bound,\n    Went forth to all the realms around.\n    The rites were o'er, the guests were sped,\n    The train the best of Br\u00e1hmans led--\n    In which the King with joyful soul,\n    With his dear wives, and with the whole\n    Of his imperial host and train\n    Of cars and servants turned again,\n    And, as a monarch dear to fame,\n    Within his royal city came.\n\n    Next, Rishya\u015bring, well-honored sage,\n    And \u015a\u00e1nt\u00e1, sought their hermitage.\n    The King himself, of prudent mind,\n    Attended him, with troops behind,\n    And all her men the town outpoured\n    With Saint Va\u015bishtha and their lord.\n    High mounted on a car of state,\n    O'ercanopied fair \u015a\u00e1nt\u00e1 sate,\n    Drawn by white oxen, while a band\n    Of servants marched on either hand.\n    Great gifts of countless price she bore,\n    With sheep and goats and gems in store.\n    Like Beauty's self the lady shone\n    With all the jewels she had on,\n    As, happy in her sweet content,\n    Peerless amid the fair she went.\n    Not Queen Paulom\u00ed's self could be\n    More loving to her lord than she.\n    She who had lived in happy ease,\n    Honored with all her heart could please,\n    While dames and kinsfolk ever vied\n    To see her wishes gratified--\n    Soon as she knew her husband's will\n    Again to seek the forest, still\n    Was ready for the hermit's cot,\n    Nor murmured at her altered lot.\n    The King attended to the wild\n    That hermit and his own dear child,\n    And in the centre of a throng\n    Of noble courtiers rode along.\n    The sage's son had let prepare\n    A lodge within the wood, and there\n    Awhile they lingered blithe and gay,\n    Then, duly honored, went their way.\n    The glorious hermit Rishya\u015bring\n    Drew near and thus besought the King:--\n    \"Return, my honored lord, I pray,\n    Return, upon thy homeward way.\"\n    The monarch, with the waiting crowd,\n    Lifted his voice and wept aloud,\n    And with eyes dripping still to each\n    Of his good queens he spake this speech:--\n    \"Kau\u015baly\u00e1 and Sumitr\u00e1 dear,\n    And thou, my sweet Kaikey\u00ed, hear--\n    All upon \u015a\u00e1nt\u00e1 feast your gaze,\n    The last time for a length of days.\"\n    To '\u015a\u00e1nt\u00e1's side the ladies leapt,\n    And hung about her neck and wept,\n    And cried, \"O, happy be the life\n    Of this great Br\u00e1hman and his wife.\n    The Wind, the Fire, the Moon on high,\n    The Earth, the Streams, the circling Sky,\n    Preserve thee in the wood, true spouse,\n    Devoted to thy husband's vows.\n    And O dear \u015a\u00e1nt\u00e1, ne'er neglect\n    To pay the dues of meek respect\n    To the great saint, thy husband's sire,\n    With all observance and with fire.\n    And, sweet one, pure of spot and blame.\n    Forget not thou thy husband's claim;\n    In every change, in good and ill,\n    Let thy sweet words delight him still,\n    And let thy worship constant be--\n    Her lord is woman's deity.\n    To learn thy welfare, dearest friend,\n    The King will many a Br\u00e1hman send.\n    Let happy thoughts thy spirit cheer,\n    And be not troubled, daughter dear.\"\n\n    These soothing words the ladies said,\n    And pressed their lips upon her head,\n    Each gave with sighs her last adieu,\n    Then at the King's command withdrew.\n    The King around the hermit went\n    With circling footsteps reverent,\n    And placed at Rishya\u015bring's command\n    Some soldiers of his royal band.\n    The Br\u00e1hman bowed in turn and cried,\n    \"May fortune never leave thy side.\n    O mighty King, with justice reign,\n    And still thy people's love retain.\"\n    He spoke, and turned away his face,\n    And, as the hermit went,\n    The monarch, rooted to the place,\n    Pursued with eyes intent.\n    But when the sage had passed from view\n    King Da\u015baratha turned him too,\n    Still fixing on his friend each thought,\n    With such deep love his breast was fraught.\n    Amid his people's loud acclaim\n    Home to his royal seat he came,\n    And lived delighted there--\n    Expecting when each queenly dame,\n    Upholder of his ancient fame,\n    Her promised son should bear.\n    The glorious sage his way pursued\n    Till close before his eyes he viewed\n    Sweet Champ\u00e1, Lomap\u00e1d's fair town,\n    Wreathed with her Champac's leafy crown.\n    Soon as the saint's approach he knew,\n    The King, to yield him honor due,\n    Went forth to meet him with a band\n    Of priests and nobles of the land:--\n    \"Hail, Sage,\" he cried, \"O joy to me!\n    What bliss it is, my lord, to see\n    Thee with thy wife and all thy train\n    Returning to my town again.\n    Thy father, honored Sage, is well,\n    Who hither from his woodland cell\n    Has sent full many a messenger\n    For tidings both of thee and her.\"\n    Then joyfully, for due respect,\n    The monarch bade the town be decked.\n    The King and Rishya\u015bring elate\n    Entered the royal city's gate--\n    In front the chaplain rode.\n    Then, loved and honored with all care\n    By monarch and by courtier, there\n    The glorious saint abode.\n\n\n\nCANTO XVIII\n\nRISHYA\u015aRING'S DEPARTURE\n\n    The monarch called a Br\u00e1hman near\n    And said, \"Now speed away\n    To Ka\u015byap's son, the mighty seer,\n    And with all reverence say--\n    The holy child he holds so dear,\n    The hermit of the noble mind,\n    Whose equal it were hard to find,\n    Returned, is dwelling here.\n    Go, and instead of me do thou\n    Before that best of hermits bow,\n    That still he may for his dear son,\n    Show me the favor I have won.\"\n    Soon as the King these words had said,\n    To Ka\u015byap's son the Br\u00e1hman sped.\n    Before the hermit low he bent\n    And did obeisance, reverent;\n    Then with meek words his grace to crave\n    The message of his lord he gave:--\n    \"The high-souled father of his bride\n    Had called thy son his rites to guide--\n    Those rites are o'er, the steed is slain;\n    Thy noble child is come again.\"\n    Soon as the saint that speech had heard\n    His spirit with desire was stirred\n    To seek the city of the King\n    And to his cot his son to bring.\n    With young disciples at his side\n    Forth on his way the hermit hied,\n    While peasants from their hamlets ran\n    To reverence the holy man.\n    Each with his little gift of food,\n    Forth came the village multitude,\n    And, as they humbly bowed the head,\n    \"What may we do for thee?\" they said.\n    Then he, of Br\u00e1hmans first and best,\n    The gathered people thus addressed:--\n    \"Now tell me, for I fain would know,\n    Why is it I am honored so?\"\n    They to the high-souled saint replied:--\n    \"Our ruler is with thee allied.\n    Our master's order we fulfil;\n    O Br\u00e1hman, let thy mind be still.\"\n\n    With joy the saintly hermit heard\n    Each pleasant and delightful word,\n    And poured a benediction down\n    On King and ministers and town.\n    Glad at the words of that high saint\n    Some servants hastened to acquaint\n    Their King, rejoicing to impart\n    The tidings that would cheer his heart.\n    Soon as the joyful tale he knew\n    To meet the saint the monarch flew,\n    The guest-gift in his hand he brought,\n    And bowed before him and besought:--\n    \"This day by seeing thee I gain\n    Not to have lived my life in vain.\n    Now be not wroth with me, I pray,\n    Because I wiled thy son away.\"\n    The best of Br\u00e1hmans answer made:--\n    \"Be not, great lord of Kings, afraid.\n    Thy virtues have not failed to win\n    My favor, O thou pure of sin.\"\n    Then in the front the saint was placed,\n    The King came next in joyous haste,\n    And with him entered his abode,\n    'Mid glad acclaim as on they rode.\n    To greet the sage the reverent crowd\n    Raised suppliant hands and humbly bowed.\n    Then from the palace many a dame\n    Following well-dressed \u015a\u00e1nt\u00e1 came,\n    Stood by the mighty saint and cried:--\n    \"See, honor's source, thy son's dear bride.\"\n    The saint, who every virtue knew,\n    His arms around his daughter threw,\n    And with a father's rapture pressed\n    The lady to his wondering breast.\n    Arising from the saint's embrace\n    She bowed her low before his face,\n    And then, with palm to palm applied,\n    Stood by her hermit father's side.\n    He for his son, as laws ordain,\n    Performed the rite that frees from stain,\n    And, honored by the wise and good,\n    With him departed to the wood.\n\n\n\nCANTO XIX\n\nTHE BIRTH OF THE PRINCES\n\n    The seasons six, in rapid flight,\n    Had circled since that glorious rite.\n    Eleven months had passed away--\n    'Twas Chaitra's ninth returning day.\n    The moon within that mansion shone\n    Which Aditi looks so kindly on.\n    Raised to their apex in the sky\n    Five brilliant planets beamed on high.\n    Shone with the moon, in Cancer's sign,\n    Vrihaspati with light divine.\n    Kau\u015baly\u00e1 bore an infant blest\n    With heavenly marks of grace impressed;\n    R\u00e1ma, the universe's lord,\n    A prince by all the worlds adored.\n    New glory Queen Kau\u015baly\u00e1 won\n    Reflected from her splendid son.\n    So Aditi shone more and more,\n    The Mother of the Gods, when she\n    The King of the Immortals bore,\n    The thunder-wielding deity.\n    The lotus-eyed, the beauteous boy,\n    He came fierce R\u00e1van to destroy;\n    From half of Vishnu's vigor born,\n    He came to help the worlds forlorn.\n    And Queen Kaikey\u00ed bore a child\n    Of truest valor, Bharat styled,\n    With every princely virtue blest,\n    One-fourth of Vishnu manifest.\n    Sumitr\u00e1 too a noble pair,\n    Called Lakshman and \u015aatrughna, bare,\n    Of high emprise, devoted, true,\n    Sharers in Vishnu's essence too.\n    'Neath Pushya's mansion, M\u00edna's sign,\n    Was Bharat born, of soul benign.\n    The sun had reached the Crab at morn\n    When Queen Sumitr\u00e1's babes were born,\n    What time the moon had gone to make\n    His nightly dwelling with the Snake.\n    The high-souled monarch's consorts bore\n    At different times those glorious four,\n    Like to himself and virtuous, bright\n    As Proshthapad\u00e1's fourfold light.\n\n    Then danced the nymphs' celestial throng,\n    The minstrels raised their strain;\n    The drums of heaven pealed loud and long,\n    And flowers came down in rain.\n    Within Ayodhy\u00e1, blithe and gay,\n    All kept the joyous holiday.\n    The spacious square, the ample road\n    With mimes and dancers overflowed,\n    And with the voice of music rang\n    Where minstrels played and singers sang--\n    And shone, a wonder to behold,\n    With dazzling show of gems and gold.\n    Nor did the King his largess spare,\n    For minstrel, driver, bard, to share;\n    Much wealth the Br\u00e1hmans bore away,\n    And many thousand kine that day.\n    Soon as each babe was twelve days old\n    Twas time the naming rite to hold,\n    When Saint Va\u015bishtha, rapt with joy,\n    Assigned a name to every boy.\n    R\u00e1ma, to him the high-souled heir,\n    Bharat, to him Kaikey\u00ed bare--\n    Of Queen Sumitr\u00e1 one fair son\n    Was Lakshman, and \u015aatrughna one.\n    R\u00e1ma, his sire's supreme delight,\n    Like some proud banner cheered his sight,\n    And to all creatures seemed to be\n    The self-existent deity.\n    All heroes, versed in holy lore,\n    To all mankind great love they bore.\n    Fair stores of wisdom all possessed,\n    With princely graces all were blest.\n    But mid those youths of high descent,\n    With lordly light pre\u00ebminent,\n    Like the full moon unclouded shone\n    R\u00e1ma, the world's dear paragon.\n    He best the elephant could guide,\n    Urge the fleet car, the charger ride--\n    A master he of bowman's skill,\n    Joying to do his father's will.\n    The world's delight and darling, he\n    Loved Lakshman best from infancy;\n    And Lakshman, lord of lofty fate,\n    Upon his elder joyed to wait,\n    Striving his second self to please\n    With friendship's sweet observances.\n    His limbs the hero ne'er would rest\n    Unless the couch his brother pressed;\n    Except beloved R\u00e1ma shared\n    He could not taste the meal prepared.\n    When R\u00e1ma, pride of Raghu's race,\n    Sprang on his steed to urge the chase,\n    Behind him Lakshman loved to go\n    And guard him with his trusty bow.\n    As R\u00e1ma was to Lakshman dear\n    More than his life and ever near,\n    So fond \u015aatrughna prized above\n    His very life his Bharat's love.\n    Illustrious heroes, nobly kind\n    In mutual love they all combined,\n    And gave their royal sire delight\n    With modest grace and warrior might;\n    Supported by the glorious four\n    Shone Da\u015baratha more and more,\n    As though, with every guardian God\n    Who keeps the land and skies,\n    The Father of all creatures trod\n    The earth before men's eyes.\n\n\n\nCANTO XX\n\nVI\u015aV\u00c1MITRA'S VISIT\n\n    NOW Da\u015baratha's pious mind\n    Meet wedlock for his sons designed;\n    With priests and friends the King began\n    To counsel and prepare his plan.\n    Such thoughts engaged his bosom, when,\n    To see Ayodhy\u00e1's lord of men,\n    A mighty saint of glorious fame,\n    The hermit Vi\u015bv\u00e1mitra came.\n    For evil fiends that roam by night\n    Disturbed him in each holy rite,\n    And in their strength and frantic rage\n    Assailed with witcheries the sage.\n    He came to seek the monarch's aid\n    To guard the rites the demons stayed,\n    Unable to a close to bring\n    One unpolluted offering.\n    Seeking the King in this dire strait\n    He said to those who kept the gate:--\n    \"Haste, warders, to your master run,\n    And say that here stands G\u00e1dhi's son.\"\n    Soon as they heard the holy man,\n    To the King's chamber swift they ran\n    With minds disordered all, and spurred\n    To wildest zeal by what they heard.\n    On to the royal hall they sped,\n    There stood and lowly bowed the head,\n    And made the lord of men aware\n    That the great saint was waiting there.\n    The King with priest and peer arose\n    And ran the sage to meet,\n    As Indra from his palace goes\n    Lord Brahm\u00e1's self to greet.\n    When glowing with celestial light\n    The pious hermit was in sight,\n    The King, whose mien his transport showed,\n    The honored gift for guests bestowed.\n    Nor did the saint that gift despise,\n    Offered as holy texts advise;\n    He kindly asked the earth's great King\n    How all with him was prospering.\n    The son of Kus\u00edk bade him tell\n    If all in town and field were well,\n    All well with friends, and kith and kin,\n    And royal treasure stored within:--\n    \"Do all thy neighbors own thy sway?\n    Thy foes confess thee yet?\n    Dost thou continue still to pay\n    To Gods and men each debt?\"\n    Then he, of hermits first and best,\n    Va\u015bishtha with a smile addressed,\n    And asked him of his welfare too,\n    Showing him honor as was due.\n    Then with the sainted hermit all\n    Went joyous to the monarch's hall,\n    And sate them down by due degree,\n    Each one, of rank and dignity.\n    Joy filled the noble prince's breast\n    Who thus bespoke the honored guest:--\n    \"As Amrit by a mortal found,\n    As rain upon the thirsty ground,\n    As to an heirless man a son\n    Born to him of his precious one--\n    As gain of what we sorely miss,\n    As sudden dawn of mighty bliss,\n    So is thy coming here to me--\n    All welcome, mighty Saint, to thee.\n    What wish within thy heart hast thou!\n    If I can please thee, tell me how.\n    Hail, Saint, from whom all honors flow,\n    Worthy of all I can bestow.\n    Blest is my birth with fruit to-day,\n    Nor has my life been thrown away.\n    I see the best of Br\u00e1hman race,\n    And night to glorious morn gives place.\n    Thou, holy Sage, in days of old\n    Among the royal saints enrolled,\n    Didst, penance-glorified, within\n    The Br\u00e1hman caste high station win.\n    'Tis meet and right in many a way\n    That I to thee should honor pay.\n    This seems a marvel to mine eyes--\n    All sin thy visit purifies;\n    And I by seeing thee, O Sage,\n    Have reaped the fruit of pilgrimage.\n    Then say what thou wouldst have me do.\n    That thou hast sought this interview.\n    Favored by thee, my wish is still,\n    O Hermit, to perform thy will.\n    Nor needest thou at length explain\n    The object that thy heart would gain.\n    Without reserve I grant it now--\n    My deity, O Lord, art thou.\"\n    The glorious hermit, far renowned.\n    With highest fame and virtue crowned,\n    Rejoiced these modest words to hear\n    Delightful to the mind and ear.\n\n\n\nCANTO XXI\n\nVI\u015aV\u00c1MITRA'S SPEECH\n\n    The hermit heard with high content\n    That speech so wondrous eloquent,\n    And while each hair with joy arose,\n    He thus made answer at the close:--\n    \"Good is thy speech, O noble King,\n    And like thyself in everything.\n    So should their lips be wisdom-fraught\n    Whom kings begot, Va\u015bishtha taught.\n    The favor which I came to seek\n    Thou grantest ere my tongue can speak.\n    But let my tale attention claim,\n    And hear the need for which I came.\n    O King, as Scripture texts allow,\n    A holy rite employs me now.\n    Two fiends who change their forms at will\n    Impede that rite with cursed skill.\n    Oft when the task is nigh complete,\n    These worst of fiends my toil defeat,\n    Throw bits of bleeding flesh, and o'er\n    The altar shed a stream of gore.\n    When thus the rite is mocked and stayed.\n    And all my pious hopes delayed,\n    Cast down in heart the spot I leave,\n    And spent with fruitless labor grieve.\n    Nor can I, checked by prudence, dare\n    Let loose my fury on them there--\n    The muttered curse, the threatening word,\n    In such a rite must ne'er be heard.\n    Thy grace the rite from check can free,\n    And yield the fruit I long to see.\n    Thy duty bids thee, King, defend\n    The suffering guest, the suppliant friend.\n    Give me thy son, thine eldest born,\n    Whom locks like raven's wings adorn.\n    That hero youth, the truly brave,\n    Of thee, O glorious King, I crave.\n    For he can lay those demons low\n    Who mar my rites and work me woe:\n    My power shall shield the youth from harm,\n    And heavenly might shall nerve his arm.\n    And on my champion will I shower\n    Unnumbered gifts of varied power--\n    Such gifts as shall ensure his fame\n    And spread through all the worlds his name.\n    Be sure those fiends can never stand\n    Before the might of R\u00e1ma's hand,\n    And mid the best and bravest none\n    Can slay that pair but Raghu's son.\n    Entangled in the toils of Fate\n    Those sinners, proud and obstinate,\n    Are, in their fury overbold,\n    No match for R\u00e1ma, mighty-souled.\n    Nor let a father's breast give way\n    Too far to fond affection's sway.\n    Count thou the fiends already slain:\n    My word is pledged, nor pledged in vain.\n    I know the hero R\u00e1ma well\n    In whom high thoughts and valor dwell;\n    So does Va\u015bishtha, so do these\n    Engaged in long austerities.\n    If thou would do the righteous deed,\n    And win high fame, thy virtue's meed,\n    Fame that on earth shall last and live,\n    To me, great King, thy R\u00e1ma give.\n    If to the words that I have said,\n    With Saint Va\u015bishtha at their head\n    Thy holy men, O King, agree,\n    Then let thy R\u00e1ma go with me.\n    Ten nights my sacrifice will last,\n    And ere the stated time be past\n    Those wicked fiends, those impious twain,\n    Must fall by wondrous R\u00e1ma slain.\n    Let not the hours, I warn thee, fly,\n    Fixt for the rite, unheeded by;\n    Good luck have thou, O royal Chief,\n    Nor give thy heart to needless grief.\"\n\n    Thus in fair words with virtue fraught,\n    The pious glorious saint besought.\n    But the good speech with poignant sting\n    Pierced ear and bosom of the King,\n    Who, stabbed with pangs too sharp to bear,\n    Fell prostrate and lay fainting there.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXII\n\nDA\u015aARATHA'S SPEECH\n\n    His tortured senses all astray,\n    Awhile the hapless monarch lay,\n    Then slowly gathering thought and strength\n    To Vi\u015bv\u00e1mitra spoke at length:--\n    \"My son is but a child, I ween;\n    This year he will be just sixteen.\n    How is he fit for such emprise,\n    My darling with the lotus eyes?\n    A mighty army will I bring\n    That calls me master, lord, and King,\n    And with its countless squadrons fight\n    Against these rovers of the night.\n    My faithful heroes skilled to wield\n    The arms of war will take the field;\n    Their skill the demons' might may break:\n    R\u00e1ma, my child, thou must not take.\n    I, even I, my bow in hand,\n    Will in the van of battle stand,\n    And, while my soul is left alive,\n    With the night-roaming demons strive.\n    Thy guarded sacrifice shall be\n    Completed, from all hindrance free.\n    Thither will I my journey make:\n    R\u00e1ma, my child, thou must not take.\n    A boy unskilled, he knows not yet\n    The bounds to strength and weakness set.\n    No match is he for demon foes\n    Who magic arts to arms oppose.\n    O chief of saints, I have no power,\n    Of R\u00e1ma reft, to live one hour--\n    Mine aged heart at once would break:\n    R\u00e1ma, my child, thou must not take.\n    Nine thousand circling years have fled\n    With all their seasons o'er my head,\n    And as a hard-won boon, O Sage,\n    These sons have come to cheer mine age.\n    My dearest love amid the four\n    Is he whom first his mother bore,\n    Still dearer for his virtue's sake;\n    R\u00e1ma, my child, thou must not take.\n    But if, unmoved by all I say,\n    Thou needs must bear my son away,\n    Let me lead with him, I entreat,\n    A fourfold army all complete.\n    What is the demons' might, O Sage?\n    Who are they? What their parentage?\n    What is their size? What beings lend\n    Their power to guard them and befriend?\n    How can my son their arts withstand?\n    Or I or all my armed band?\n    Tell me the whole that I may know\n    To met in war each evil foe\n    Whom conscious might inspires with pride.\"\n\n    And Vi\u015bv\u00e1mitra thus replied:--\n    \"Sprung from Pulastya's race there came\n    A giant known by R\u00e1van's name.\n    Once favored by the Eternal Sire\n    He plagues the worlds in ceaseless ire,\n    For peerless power and might renowned,\n    By giant bands encompassed round.\n    Vi\u015bravas for his sire they hold,\n    His brother is the Lord of Gold.\n    King of the giant hosts is he,\n    And worst of all in cruelty.\n    This R\u00e1van's dread commands impel\n    Two demons who in might excel,\n    M\u00e1r\u00edcha and Suv\u00e1hu Light,\n    To trouble and impede the rite.\"\n    Then thus the King addressed the sage:--\n    \"No power have I, my lord, to wage\n    War with this evil-minded foe;\n    Now pity on my darling show,\n    And upon me of hapless fate,\n    For thee as God I venerate.\n    Gods, spirits, bards of heavenly birth,\n    The birds of air, the snakes of earth\n    Before the might of R\u00e1van quail,\n    Much less can mortal man avail.\n    He draws, I hear, from out the breast,\n    The valor of the mightiest.\n    No, ne'er can I with him contend,\n    Or with the forces he may send.\n    How can I then my darling lend,\n    Godlike, unskilled in battle? No,\n    I will not let my young child go.\n    Foes of thy rite, those mighty ones,\n    Sunda and Upasunda's sons,\n    Are fierce as Fate to overthrow:\n    I will not let my young child go.\n    M\u00e1r\u00edcha and Suv\u00e1hu fell\n    Are valiant and instructed well.\n    One of the twain I might attack\n    With all my friends their lord to back.\"\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXIII\n\nVA\u015aISHTHA'S SPEECH\n\n    While thus the hapless monarch spoke,\n    Paternal love his utterance broke.\n    Then words like these the saint returned,\n    And fury in his bosom burned:--\n    \"Didst thou, O King, a promise make,\n    And wishest now thy word to break?\n    A son of Raghu's line should scorn\n    To fail in faith, a man forsworn.\n    But if thy soul can bear the shame\n    I will return e'en as I came.\n    Live with thy sons, and joy be thine,\n    False scion of Kakutstha's line.\"\n    As Vi\u015bv\u00e1mitra, mighty sage,\n    Was moved with this tempestuous rage,\n    Earth rocked and reeled throughout her frame,\n    And fear upon the Immortals came.\n    But Saint Va\u015bishtha, wisest seer,\n    Observant of his vows austere,\n    Saw the whole world convulsed with dread,\n    And thus unto the monarch said:--\n    \"Thou, born of old Ikshv\u00e1ku's seed,\n    Art Justice' self in mortal weed.\n    Constant and pious, blest by fate,\n    The right thou must not violate.\n    Thou, Raghu's son, so famous through\n    The triple world as just and true,\n    Perform thy bounden duty still,\n    Nor stain thy race by deed of ill.\n    If thou have sworn and now refuse\n    Thou must thy store of merit lose.\n    Then, Monarch, let thy R\u00e1ma go?\n    Nor fear for him the demon foe.\n    The fiends shall have no power to hurt\n    Him trained to war or inexpert--\n    Nor vanquish him in battle field,\n    For Ku\u015bik's son the youth will shield.\n    He is incarnate Justice, he\n    The best of men for bravery--\n    Embodied love of penance drear,\n    Among the wise without a peer.\n    Full well he knows, great Ku\u015bik's son,\n    The arms celestial, every one,\n    Arms from the Gods themselves concealed,\n    Far less to other men revealed.\n    These arms to him, when earth he swayed,\n    Mighty Kri\u015b\u00e1\u015bva, pleased, conveyed.\n    Kri\u015b\u00e1\u015bva's sons they are indeed,\n    Brought forth by Daksha's lovely seed,\n    Heralds of conquest, strong and bold,\n    Brilliant, of semblance manifold.\n    Jay\u00e1 and Vijay\u00e1, most fair,\n    A hundred splendid weapons bare;\n    Of Jay\u00e1, glorious as the morn,\n    First fifty noble sons were born,\n    Boundless in size yet viewless too,\n    They came the demons to subdue.\n    And fifty children also came\n    Of Vijay\u00e1 the beauteous dame,\n    Sanh\u00e1ras named, of mighty force,\n    Hard to assail or check in course;\n    Of these the hermit knows the use,\n    And weapons new can he produce.\n    All these the mighty saint will yield\n    To R\u00e1ma's hand, to own and wield;\n    And armed with these, beyond a doubt\n    Shall R\u00e1ma put those fiends to rout.\n    For R\u00e1ma and the people's sake,\n    For thine own good my counsel take,\n    Nor seek, O King, with fond delay,\n    The parting of thy son to stay.\"\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXIV\n\nTHE SPELLS\n\n    Va\u015bishtha thus was speaking still:\n    The monarch, of his own free will,\n    Bade with quick zeal and joyful cheer\n    R\u00e1ma and Lakshman hasten near.\n    Mother and sire in loving care\n    Sped their dear son with rite and prayer;\n    Va\u015bishtha blessed him ere he went,\n    O'er his loved head the father bent--\n    And then to Ku\u015bik's son resigned\n    R\u00e1ma with Lakshman close behind.\n    Standing by Vi\u015bv\u00e1mitra's side,\n    The youthful hero, lotus-eyed,\n    The Wind-God saw, and sent a breeze\n    Whose sweet pure touch just waved the trees.\n    There fell from heaven a flowery rain,\n    And with the song and dance the strain\n    Of shell and tambour sweetly blent\n    As forth the son of Raghu went.\n    The hermit led: behind him came\n    The bow-armed R\u00e1ma, dear to fame,\n    Whose locks were like the raven's wing:--\n    Then Lakshman, closely following.\n    The Gods and Indra, filled with joy,\n    Looked down upon the royal boy,\n    And much they longed the death to see\n    Of their ten-headed enemy.\n    R\u00e1ma and Lakshman paced behind\n    That hermit of the lofty mind,\n    As the young A\u015bvins, heavenly pair,\n    Follow Lord Indra through the air.\n    On arm and hand the guard they wore,\n    Quiver and bow and sword they bore;\n    Two fire-born Gods of War seemed they,\n    He, \u015aiva's self who led the way.\n    Upon fair Sarj\u00fa's southern shore\n    They now had walked a league or more,\n    When thus the sage in accents mild\n    To R\u00e1ma said: \"Beloved child,\n    This lustral water duly touch:\n    My counsel will avail thee much.\n    Forget not all the words I say,\n    Nor let the occasion slip away.\n    Lo, with two spells I thee invest,\n    The mighty and the mightiest.\n    O'er thee fatigue shall ne'er prevail,\n    Nor age nor change thy limbs assail.\n    Thee powers of darkness ne'er shall smite\n    In tranquil sleep or wild delight.\n    No one is there in all the land\n    Thine equal for the vigorous hand.\n    Thou, when thy lips pronounce the spell,\n    Shalt have no peer in heaven or hell.\n    None in the world with thee shall vie,\n    O sinless one, in apt reply--\n    In fortune, knowledge, wit, and tact,\n    Wisdom to plan and skill to act.\n    This double science take, and gain\n    Glory that shall for aye remain.\n    Wisdom and judgment spring from each\n    Of these fair spells whose use I teach.\n    Hunger and thirst unknown to thee,\n    High in the worlds thy rank shall be.\n    For these two spells with might endued,\n    Are the Great Father's heavenly brood,\n    And thee, O Chief, may fitly grace,\n    Thou glory of Kakutstha's race.\n    Virtues which none can match are thine,\n    Lord, from thy birth, of gifts divine--\n    And now these spells of might shall cast\n    Fresh radiance o'er the gifts thou hast.\"\n    Then R\u00e1ma duly touched the wave,\n    Raised suppliant hands, bowed low his head,\n    And took the spells the hermit gave,\n    Whose soul on contemplation fed.\n    From him whose might these gifts enhanced\n    A brighter beam of glory glanced:--\n    So shines in all his autumn blaze\n    The Day-God of the thousand rays.\n    The hermit's wants those youths supplied,\n    As pupils used to holy guide.\n    And then the night in sweet content\n    On Sarj\u00fa's pleasant bank they spent.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXV\n\nTHE HERMITAGE OF LOVE\n\n\n    Soon as appeared the morning light\n    Up rose the mighty anchorite,\n    And thus to youthful R\u00e1ma said,\n    Who lay upon his leafy bed:--\n    \"High fate is hers who calls thee son:\n    Arise, 'tis break of day;\n    Rise, Chief, and let those rites be done\n    Due at the morning's ray.\"\n    At that great sage's high behest\n    Up sprang the princely pair,\n    To bathing rites themselves addressed,\n    And breathed the holiest prayer.\n    Their morning task completed, they\n    To Vi\u015bv\u00e1mitra came,\n    That store of holy works, to pay\n    The worship saints may claim.\n    Then to the hallowed spot they went\n    Along fair Sarj\u00fa's side\n    Where mix her waters confluent\n    With three-pathed Gang\u00e1's tide.\n    There was a sacred hermitage\n    Where saints devout of mind\n    Their lives through many a lengthened age\n    To penance had resigned.\n    That pure abode the princes eyed\n    With unrestrained delight,\n    And thus unto the saint they cried,\n    Rejoicing at the sight:--\n    \"Whose is that hermitage we see?\n    Who makes his dwelling there?\n    Full of desire to hear are we:\n    O Saint, the truth declare.\"\n    The hermit, smiling, made reply\n    To the two boys' request:--\n    \"Hear, R\u00e1ma, who in days gone by\n    This calm retreat possessed--\n    Kandarpa in apparent form,\n    (Called K\u00e1ma by the wise,)\n    Dared Um\u00e1's new-wed lord to storm\n    And make the God his prize.\n    'Gainst Sth\u00e1nu's self, on rites austere\n    And vows intent, they say,\n    His bold rash hand he dared to rear,\n    Though Sth\u00e1nu cried, Away!\n    But the God's eye with scornful glare\n    Fell terrible on him,\n    Dissolved the shape that was so fair\n    And burnt up every limb.\n    Since the great God's terrific rage\n    Destroyed his form and frame,\n    K\u00e1ma in each succeeding age\n    Has borne Ananga's name.\n    So, where his lovely form decayed,\n    This land is Anga styled:--\n    Sacred to him of old this shade,\n    And hermits undefiled.\n    Here Scripture-talking elders sway\n    Each sense with firm control,\n    And penance-rites have washed away\n    All sin from every soul.\n    One night, fair boy, we here will spend,\n    A pure stream on each hand,\n    And with to-morrow's light will bend\n    Our steps to yonder strand.\n    Here let us bathe, and free from stain\n    To that pure grove repair,\n    Sacred to K\u00e1ma, and remain\n    One night in comfort there.\"\n    With penance' far-discerning eye\n    The saintly men beheld\n    Their coming, and with transport high\n    Each holy bosom swelled.\n    To Ku\u015bik's son the gift they gave\n    That honored guest should greet--\n    Water they brought his feet to lave,\n    And showed him honor meet.\n    R\u00e1ma and Lakshman next obtained\n    In due degree their share--\n    Then with sweet talk the guests remained,\n    And charmed each listener there.\n    The evening prayers were duly said\n    With voices calm and low:--\n    Then on the ground each laid his head\n    And slept till morning's glow.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXVI\n\nTHE FOREST OF T\u00c1DAK\u00c1\n\n    When the fair light of morning rose\n    The princely tamers of their foes\n    Followed, his morning worship o'er,\n    The hermit to the river's shore.\n    The high-souled men with thoughtful care\n    A pretty barge had stationed there.\n    All cried, \"O lord, this barge ascend,\n    And with thy princely followers bend\n    To yonder side thy prosperous way--\n    With nought to check thee or delay.\"\n    Nor did the saint their rede reject:\n    He bade farewell with due respect,\n    And crossed, attended by the twain,\n    That river rushing to the main.\n    When now the bark was half-way o'er,\n    R\u00e1ma and Lakshman heard the roar,\n    That louder grew and louder yet,\n    Of waves by dashing waters met.\n    Then R\u00e1ma asked the mighty seer:--\n    \"What is the tumult that I hear\n    Of waters cleft in mid-career?\"\n    Soon as the speech of R\u00e1ma, stirred\n    By deep desire to know, he heard,\n    The pious saint began to tell\n    What caused the waters' roar and swell:--\n    \"On high Kail\u00e1sa's distant hill\n    There lies a noble lake\n    Whose waters, born from Brahm\u00e1's will,\n    The name of M\u00e1nas take.\n    Thence, hallowing where'er they flow,\n    The streams of Sarj\u00fa fall,\n    And wandering through the plains below\n    Embrace Ayodhy\u00e1's wall.\n    Still, still preserved in Sarj\u00fa's name\n    Sarovar's fame we trace,\n    The flood of Brahm\u00e1 whence she came\n    To run her holy race.\n    To meet great Gang\u00e1 here she hies\n    With tributary wave--\n    Hence the loud roar ye hear arise,\n    Of floods that swell and rave.\n    Here, pride of Raghu's line, do thou\n    In humble adoration bow.\"\n\n    He spoke. The princes both obeyed,\n    And reverence to each river paid.\n    They reached the southern shore at last,\n    And gayly on their journey passed.\n    A little space beyond there stood\n    A gloomy awe-inspiring wood.\n    The monarch's noble son began\n    To question thus the holy man:--\n    \"Whose gloomy forest meets mine eye,\n    Like some vast cloud that fills the sky?\n    Pathless and dark it seems to be,\n    Where birds in thousands wander free;\n    Where shrill cicadas' cries resound,\n    And fowl of dismal note abound.\n    Lion, rhinoceros, and bear,\n    Boar, tiger, elephant, are there,\n    There shrubs and thorns run wild:\n    Dh\u00e1o, S\u00e1l, Bignonia, Bel, are found,\n    And every tree that grows on ground:\n    How is the forest styled?\"\n    The glorious saint this answer made:--\n    \"Dear child of Raghu, hear\n    Who dwells within the horrid shade\n    That looks so dark and drear.\n    Where now is wood, long ere this day\n    Two broad and fertile lands,\n    Malaja and Kar\u00fasha lay,\n    Adorned by heavenly hands.\n    Here, mourning friendship's broken ties,\n    Lord Indra of the thousand eyes\n    Hungered and sorrowed many a day,\n    His brightness soiled with mud and clay,\n    When in a storm of passion he\n    Had slain his dear friend Namuchi.\n    Then came the Gods and saints who bore\n    Their golden pitchers brimming o'er\n    With holy streams that banish stain,\n    And bathed Lord Indra pure again.\n    When in this land the God was freed\n    From spot and stain of impious deed\n    For that his own dear friend he slew,\n    High transport thrilled his bosom through.\n    Then in his joy the lands he blessed,\n    And gave a boon they long possessed:--\n    \"Because these fertile lands retain\n    The washings of the blot and stain,\n    ('Twas thus Lord Indra sware,)\n    Malaja and Kar\u00fasha's name\n    Shall celebrate with deathless fame\n    My malady and care.\"\n    \"So be it,\" all the Immortals cried,\n    When Indra's speech they heard--\n    And with acclaim they ratified\n    The names his lips conferred.\n    \"Long time, O victor of thy foes,\n    These happy lands had sweet repose,\n    And higher still in fortune rose.\n    At length a spirit, loving ill,\n    T\u00e1dak\u00e1, wearing shapes at will--\n    Whose mighty strength, exceeding vast,\n    A thousand elephants' surpassed,\n    Was to fierce Sunda, lord and head\n    Of all the demon armies, wed.\n    From her, Lord Indra's peer in might\n    Giant M\u00e1r\u00edcha sprang to light;\n    And she, a constant plague and pest,\n    These two fair realms has long distressed.\n    Now dwelling in her dark abode\n    A league away she bars the road:\n    And we, O R\u00e1ma, hence must go\n    Where lies the forest of the foe.\n    Now on thine own right arm rely,\n    And my command obey:\n    Smite the foul monster that she die,\n    And take the plague away.\n    To reach this country none may dare,\n    Fallen from its old estate,\n    Which she, whose fury nought can bear,\n    Has left so desolate.\n    And now my truthful tale is told--\n    How with accursed sway\n    The spirit plagued this wood of old,\n    And ceases not to-day.\"\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXVII\n\nTHE BIRTH OF T\u00c1DAK\u00c1\n\n    When thus the sage without a peer\n    Had closed that story strange to hear,\n    R\u00e1ma again the saint addressed,\n    To set one lingering doubt at rest:--\n    \"O holy man, 'tis said by all\n    That spirits' strength is weak and small,\n    How can she match, of power so slight,\n    A thousand elephants in might?\"\n    And Vi\u015bv\u00e1mitra thus replied\n    To Raghu's son, the glorified:--\n    \"Listen, and I will tell thee how\n    She gained the strength that arms her now.\n    A mighty spirit lived of yore;\n    Suketu was the name he bore.\n    Childless was he, and free from crime\n    In rites austere he passed his time.\n    The mighty Sire was pleased to show\n    His favor, and a child bestow,\n    T\u00e1dak\u00e1 named, most fair to see,\n    A pearl among the maids was she--\n    And matched, for such was Brahm\u00e1's dower,\n    A thousand elephants in power.\n    Nor would the Eternal Sire, although\n    The spirit longed, a son bestow.\n    That maid in beauty's youthful pride\n    Was given to Sunda for a bride.\n    Her son, M\u00e1r\u00edcha was his name,\n    A giant, through a curse, became.\n    She, widowed, dared with him molest\n    Agastya, of all saints the best.\n    Inflamed with hunger's wildest rage,\n    Roaring she rushed upon the sage.\n    When the great hermit saw her near,\n    On-speeding in her fierce career,\n    He thus pronounced M\u00e1r\u00edcha's doom:--\n    'A giant's form and shape assume,'\n    And then, by mighty anger swayed,\n    On T\u00e1dak\u00e1 this curse he laid:--\n    'Thy present form and semblance quit,\n    And wear a shape thy mood to fit;\n    Changed form and feature by my ban,\n    A fearful thing that feeds on man.'\n    She, by his awful curse possessed,\n    And mad with rage that fills her breast,\n    Has on this land her fury dealt\n    Where once the saint Agastya dwelt.\n    Go, R\u00e1ma, smite this monster dead,\n    The wicked plague, of power so dread,\n    And further by this deed of thine\n    The good of Br\u00e1hmans and of kine.\n    Thy hand alone can overthrow,\n    In all the worlds, this impious foe.\n    Nor let compassion lead thy mind\n    To shrink from blood of womankind;\n    A monarch's son must ever count\n    The people's welfare paramount--\n    And whether pain or joy he deal\n    Dare all things for his subjects' weal;\n    Yea, if the deed bring praise or guilt,\n    If life be saved or blood be spilt:--\n    Such, through all time, should be the care\n    Of those a kingdom's weight who bear.\n    Slay, R\u00e1ma, slay this impious fiend,\n    For by no law her life is screened.\n    So Manthar\u00e1, as bards have told,\n    Virochan's child, was slain of old\n    By Indra, when in furious hate\n    She longed the earth to devastate.\n    So K\u00e1vya's mother, Bhrigu's wife,\n    Who loved her husband as her life,\n    When Indra's throne she sought to gain,\n    By Vishnu's hand of yore was slain.\n    By these and high-souled kings beside,\n    Struck down, have lawless women died.\"\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXVIII\n\nTHE DEATH OF T\u00c1DAK\u00c1\n\n    Thus spoke the saint. Each vigorous word\n    The noble monarch's offspring heard--\n    And, reverent hands together laid,\n    His answer to the hermit made:--\n    \"My sire and mother bade me aye\n    Thy word, O mighty Saint, obey.\n    So will I, O most glorious, kill\n    This T\u00e1dak\u00e1 who joys in ill--\n    For such my sire's, and such thy will.\n    To aid with mine avenging hand\n    The Br\u00e1hmans, kine, and all the land,\n    Obedient, heart and soul, I stand.\"\n    Thus spoke the tamer of the foe,\n    And by the middle grasped his bow.\n    Strongly he drew the sounding string\n    That made the distant welkin ring.\n    Scared by the mighty clang the deer\n    That roamed the forest shook with fear.\n    And T\u00e1dak\u00e1 the echo heard,\n    And rose in haste from slumber stirred.\n    In wild amaze, her soul aflame\n    With fury towards the spot she came.\n    When that foul shape of evil mien\n    And stature vast as e'er was seen\n    The wrathful son of Raghu eyed,\n    He thus unto his brother cried:--\n    \"Her dreadful shape, O Lakshman, see,\n    A form to shudder at and flee.\n    The hideous monster's very view\n    Would cleave a timid heart in two.\n    Behold the demon hard to smite,\n    Defended by her magic might.\n    My hand shall stay her course to-day,\n    And shear her nose and ears away.\n    No heart have I her life to take:\n    I spare it for her sex's sake.\n    My will is but--with minished force--\n    To check her in her evil course.\"\n    While thus he spoke, by rage impelled--\n    Roaring as she came nigh,\n    The fiend her course at R\u00e1ma held\n    With huge arms tossed on high.\n    Her, rushing on, the seer assailed\n    With a loud cry of hate;\n    And thus the sons of Raghu hailed:--\n    \"Fight, and be fortunate.\"\n    Then from the earth a horrid cloud\n    Of dust the demon raised,\n    And for awhile in darkling shroud\n    Wrapt Raghu's sons amazed.\n    Then calling on her magic power\n    The fearful fight to wage,\n    She smote him with a stony shower,\n    Till R\u00e1ma burned with rage.\n    Then pouring forth his arrowy rain\n    That stony flood to stay,\n    With wing\u00e8d darts, as she charged amain,\n    He shore her hands away.\n    As T\u00e1dak\u00e1 still thundered near\n    Thus maimed by R\u00e1ma's blows,\n    Lakshman in fury severed sheer\n    The monster's ears and nose.\n    Assuming by her magic skill\n    A fresh and fresh disguise,\n    She tried a thousand shapes at will,\n    Then vanished from their eyes.\n    When G\u00e1dhi's son of high renown\n    Still saw the stony rain pour down\n    Upon each princely warrior's head,\n    With words of wisdom thus he said:--\n    \"Enough of mercy, R\u00e1ma, lest\n    This sinful evil-working pest,\n    Disturber of each holy rite,\n    Repair by magic arts her might.\n    Without delay the fiend should die,\n    For, see, the twilight hour is nigh.\n    And at the joints of night and day\n    Such giant foes are hard to slay.\"\n    Then R\u00e1ma, skilful to direct\n    His arrow to the sound--\n    With shafts the mighty demon checked\n    Who rained her stones around.\n    She, sore impeded and beset\n    By R\u00e1ma and his arrowy net--\n    Though skilled in guile and magic lore,\n    Rushed on the brothers with a roar.\n    Deformed, terrific, murderous, dread,\n    Swift as the levin on she sped--\n    Like cloudy pile in autumn's sky,\n    Lifting her two vast arms on high:\n    When R\u00e1ma smote her with a dart\n    Shaped like a crescent, to the heart.\n    Sore wounded by the shaft that came\n    With lightning speed and surest aim,\n    Blood spurting from her mouth and side,\n    She fell upon the earth and died.\n    Soon as the Lord who rules the sky\n    Saw the dread monster lifeless lie,\n    He called aloud, Well done! well done!\n    And the Gods honored Raghu's son.\n    Standing in heaven the Thousand-eyed,\n    With all the Immortals, joying cried:--\n    \"Lift up thine eyes, O Saint, and see\n    The Gods and Indra nigh to thee.\n    This deed of R\u00e1ma's boundless might\n    Has filled our bosoms with delight.\n    Now, for our will would have it so,\n    To Raghu's son some favor show.\n    Invest him with the power which nought\n    But penance gains, and holy thought.\n    Those heavenly arms on him bestow--\n    To thee entrusted long ago\n    By great Kri\u015b\u00e1\u015bva best of kings,\n    Son of the Lord of living things.\n    More fit recipient none can be\n    Than he who joys in following thee;\n    And for our sakes the monarch's seed\n    Has yet to do a mighty deed.\"\n\n    He spoke; and all the heavenly train\n    Rejoicing sought their homes again,\n    While honor to the saint they paid--\n    Then came the evening's twilight shade.\n    The best of hermits overjoyed\n    To know the monstrous fiend destroyed,\n    His lips on R\u00e1ma's forehead pressed,\n    And thus the conquering chief addressed:--\n    \"O R\u00e1ma, gracious to the sight,\n    Here will we pass the present night,\n    And with the morrow's earliest ray\n    Bend to my hermitage our way.\"\n    The son of Da\u015baratha heard,\n    Delighted, Vi\u015bv\u00e1mitra's word--\n    And as he bade, that night he spent\n    In T\u00e1dak\u00e1's wild wood, content.\n    And the grove shone that happy day,\n    Freed from the curse that on it lay--\n    Like Chaitraratha fair and gay.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXIX\n\nTHE CELESTIAL ARMS\n\n    That night they slept and took their rest;\n    And then the mighty saint addressed,\n    With pleasant smile and accents mild\n    These words to Raghu's princely child:--\n    \"Well pleased am I. High fate be thine,\n    Thou scion of a royal line.\n    Now will I, for I love thee so,\n    All heavenly arms on thee bestow.\n    Victor with these, whoe'er oppose,\n    Thy hand shall conquer all thy foes--\n    Though Gods and spirits of the air,\n    Serpents and fiends, the conflict dare.\n    I'll give thee as a pledge of love\n    The mystic arms they use above,\n    For worthy thou to have revealed\n    The weapons I have learnt to wield.\n    First, son of Raghu, shall be thine\n    The arm of Vengeance, strong, divine:\n    The arm of Fate, the arm of Right,\n    And Vishnu's arm of awful might:--\n    That, before which no foe can stand,\n    The thunderbolt of Indra's hand;\n    And \u015aiva's trident, sharp and dread,\n    And that dire weapon, Brahm\u00e1's Head.\n    And two fair clubs, O royal child,\n    One Charmer and one Pointed styled--\n    With flame of lambent fire aglow,\n    On thee, O Chieftain, I bestow.\n    And Fate's dread net and Justice' noose\n    That none may conquer, for thy use:--\n    And the great cord, renowned of old,\n    Which Varun ever loves to hold.\n    Take these two thunderbolts, which I\n    Have got for thee, the Moist and Dry.\n    Here \u015aiva's dart to thee I yield,\n    And that which Vishnu wont to wield.\n    I give to thee the arm of Fire,\n    Desired by all and named the Spire.\n    To thee I grant the Wind-God's dart,\n    Named Crusher, O thou pure of heart.\n    This arm, the Horse's Head, accept,\n    And this, the Curlew's Bill yclept,\n    And these two spears, the best e'er flew,\n    Named the Invincible and True.\n    And arms of fiends I make thine own,\n    Skull-wreath and mace that smashes bone.\n    And Joyous, which the spirits bear,\n    Great weapon of the sons of air.\n    Brave offspring of the best of lords,\n    I give thee now the Gem of swords--\n    And offer next, thine hand to arm,\n    The heavenly bard's beloved charm.\n    Now with two arms I thee invest\n    Of never-ending Sleep and Rest--\n    With weapons of the Sun and Rain,\n    And those that dry and burn amain;\n    And strong Desire with conquering touch,\n    The dart that K\u00e1ma prizes much.\n    I give the arm of shadowy powers\n    That bleeding flesh of man devours.\n    I give the arms the God of Gold\n    And giant fiends exult to hold.\n    This smites the foe in battle-strife,\n    And takes his fortune, strength, and life.\n    I give the arms called False and True,\n    And great Illusion give I too;\n    The hero's arm called Strong and Bright\n    That spoils the foeman's strength in fight.\n    I give thee as a priceless boon\n    The Dew, the weapon of the Moon,\n    And add the weapon, deftly planned,\n    That strengthens Vi\u015bvakarm\u00e1's hand.\n    The Mortal dart whose point is chill,\n    And Slaughter, ever sure to kill;\n    All these and other arms, for thou\n    Art very dear, I give thee now.\n    Receive these weapons from my hand,\n    Son of the noblest in the land.\"\n    Facing the east, the glorious saint\n    Pure from all spot of earthly taint,\n    To R\u00e1ma, with delighted mind,\n    That noble host of spells consigned.\n    He taught the arms, whose lore is won\n    Hardly by Gods, to Raghu's son.\n    He muttered low the spell whose call\n    Summons those arms and rules them all--\n    And each, in visible form and frame,\n    Before the monarch's son they came.\n    They stood and spoke in reverent guise\n    To R\u00e1ma with exulting cries:--\n    \"O noblest child of Raghu, see,\n    Thy ministers and thralls are we.\"\n    With joyful heart and eager hand\n    R\u00e1ma received the wondrous band,\n    And thus with words of welcome cried:--\n    \"Aye present to my will abide\"--\n    Then hasted to the saint to pay\n    Due reverence, and pursued his way.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXX\n\nTHE MYSTERIOUS POWERS\n\n\n    Pure, with glad cheer and joyful breast,\n    Of those mysterious arms possessed,\n    R\u00e1ma, now passing on his way,\n    Thus to the saint began to say:--\n    \"Lord of these mighty weapons, I\n    Can scarce be harmed by Gods on high;\n    Now, best of saints, I long to gain\n    The powers that can these arms restrain.\"\n    Thus spoke the prince. The sage austere,\n    True to his vows, from evil clear,\n    Called forth the names of those great charms\n    Whose powers restrain the deadly arms.\n    \"Receive thou True and Truly-famed,\n    And Bold and Fleet: the weapons named\n    Warder and Progress, swift of pace,\n    Averted-head and Drooping-face;\n    The Seen, and that which Secret flies--\n    The weapon of the thousand eyes;\n    Ten-headed, and the Hundred-faced,\n    Star-gazer and the Layer-waste;\n    The Omen-bird, the Pure-from-spot,\n    The pair that wake and slumber not;\n    The Fiendish, that which shakes amain,\n    The Strong-of-Hand, the Rich-in-Gain;\n    The Guardian, and the Close-allied,\n    The Gaper, Love, and Golden-side:--\n    O Raghu's son receive all these,\n    Bright ones that wear what forms they please;\n    Kri\u015b\u00e1\u015bva's mystic sons are they,\n    And worthy thou their might to sway.\"\n    With joy the pride of Raghu's race\n    Received the hermit's proffered grace--\n    Mysterious arms, to check and stay,\n    Or smite the foeman in the fray.\n    Then, all with heavenly forms endued,\n    Nigh came the wondrous multitude.\n    Celestial in their bright attire\n    Some shone like coals of burning fire--\n    Some were like clouds of dusky smoke;\n    And suppliant thus they sweetly spoke:--\n    \"Thy thralls, O R\u00e1ma, here we stand--\n    Command, we pray, thy faithful band.\"\n    \"Depart,\" he cried, \"where each may list,\n    But when I call you to assist,\n    Be present to my mind with speed,\n    And aid me in the hour of need.\"\n\n    To R\u00e1ma then they lowly bent,\n    And round him in due reverence went--\n    To his command they answered, \"Yea,\"\n    And as they came so went away.\n    When thus the arms had homeward flown,\n    With pleasant words and modest tone,\n    E'en as he walked, the prince began\n    To question thus the holy man:--\n    \"What cloudlike wood is that which near\n    The mountain's side I see appear?\n    O tell me, for I long to know:\n    Its pleasant aspect charms me so.\n    Its glades are full of deer at play,\n    And sweet birds sing on every spray.\n    Passed is the hideous wild--I feel\n    So sweet a tremor o'er me steal--\n    And hail with transport fresh and new\n    A land that is so fair to view.\n    Then tell me all, thou holy Sage,\n    And whose this pleasant hermitage\n    In which those wicked ones delight\n    To mar and kill each holy rite--\n    And with foul heart and evil deed\n    Thy sacrifice, great Saint, impede.\n    To whom, O Sage, belongs this land\n    In which thine altars ready stand?\n    'Tis mine to guard them, and to slay\n    The giants who the rites would stay.\n    All this, O best of saints, I burn\n    From thine own lips, my lord, to learn.\"\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXXI\n\nTHE PERFECT HERMITAGE\n\n\n    Thus spoke the prince of boundless might,\n    And thus replied the anchorite:--\n    \"Chief of the mighty arm, of yore\n    Lord Vishnu, whom the Gods adore\n    For holy thought and rites austere,\n    Of penance made his dwelling here.\n    This ancient wood was called of old\n    Grove of the Dwarf, the mighty-souled--\n    And when perfection he attained\n    The grove the name of Perfect gained.\n    Bali of yore, Virochan's son,\n    Dominion over Indra won--\n    And when with power his proud heart swelled,\n    O'er the three worlds his empire held.\n    When Bali then began a rite,\n    The Gods and Indra in affright\n    Sought Vishnu in this place of rest,\n    And thus with prayers the God addressed:--\n    'Bali, Virochan's mighty son,\n    His sacrifice has now begun:\n    Of boundless wealth, that demon king\n    Is bounteous to each living thing.\n    Though suppliants flock from every side\n    The suit of none is e'er denied.\n    Whate'er, where'er, howe'er the call,\n    He hears the suit and gives to all.\n    Now with thine own illusive art\n    Perform, O Lord, the helper's part:\n    Assume a dwarfish form, and thus\n    From fear and danger rescue us.'\n    Thus in their dread the Immortals sued\n    The God, a dwarfish shape indued:--\n    Before Virochan's son he came,\n    Three steps of land his only claim.\n    The boon obtained, in wondrous wise\n    Lord Vishnu's form increased in size;\n    Through all the worlds, tremendous, vast,\n    God of the Triple Step, he passed.\n    The whole broad earth from side to side\n    He measured with one mighty stride--\n    Spanned with the next the firmament,\n    And with the third through heaven he went.\n    Thus was the king of demons hurled\n    By Vishnu to the nether world--\n    And thus the universe restored\n    To Indra's rule, its ancient lord.\n    And now because the Immortal God\n    This spot in dwarflike semblance trod,\n    The grove has aye been loved by me\n    For reverence of the devotee.\n    But demons haunt it, prompt to stay\n    Each holy offering I would pay.\n    Be thine, O lion-lord, to kill\n    These giants that delight in ill.\n    This day, beloved child, our feet\n    Shall rest within the calm retreat;\n    And know, thou chief of Raghu's line,\n    My hermitage is also thine.\"\n    He spoke; and soon the anchorite,\n    With joyous looks that beamed delight,\n    With R\u00e1ma and his brother stood\n    Within the consecrated wood.\n    Soon as they saw the holy man,\n    With one accord together ran\n    The dwellers in the sacred shade,\n    And to the saint their reverence paid--\n    And offered water for his feet,\n    The gift of honor, and a seat;\n    And next with hospitable care\n    They entertained the princely pair.\n    The royal tamers of their foes\n    Rested awhile in sweet repose--\n    Then to the chief of hermits sued\n    Standing in suppliant attitude:--\n    \"Begin, O best of saints, we pray,\n    Initiatory rites to-day.\n    This Perfect Grove shall be anew\n    Made perfect, and thy words be true.\"\n\n    Then, thus addressed, the holy man,\n    The very glorious sage, began\n    The high preliminary rite,\n    Restraining sense and appetite.\n    Calmly the youths that night reposed,\n    And rose when morn her light disclosed--\n    Their morning worship paid, and took\n    Of lustral water from the brook.\n    Thus purified they breathed the prayer,\n    Then greeted Vi\u015bv\u00e1mitra where\n    As celebrant he sate beside\n    The flame with sacred oil supplied.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXXII\n\nVI\u015aV\u00c1MITRA'S SACRIFICE\n\n    That conquering pair, of royal race,\n    Skilled to observe due time and place--\n    To K\u00fa\u015bik's hermit son addressed,\n    In timely words, their meet request:--\n    \"When must we, lord, we pray thee tell,\n    Those Rovers of the Night repel?\n    Speak, lest we let the moment fly,\n    And pass the due occasion by.\"\n    Thus longing for the strife, they prayed,\n    And thus the hermit's answer made:--\n    \"Till the fifth day be come and past,\n    O Raghu's sons, your watch must last.\n    The saint his D\u00edksh\u00e1 has begun,\n    And all that time will speak to none.\"\n    Soon as the steadfast devotees\n    Had made reply in words like these,\n    The youths began, disdaining sleep,\n    Six days and nights their watch to keep--\n    The warrior pair who tamed the foe,\n    Unrivalled benders of the bow,\n    Kept watch and ward unwearied still\n    To guard the saint from scathe and ill.\n    Twas now the sixth returning day,\n    The hour foretold had passed away.\n    Then R\u00e1ma cried: \"O Lakshman, now!\n    Firm, watchful, resolute be thou.\n    The fiends as yet have kept afar\n    From the pure grove in which we are;\n    Yet waits us, ere the day shall close,\n    Dire battle with the demon foes.\"\n    While thus spoke R\u00e1ma, borne away\n    By longing for the deadly fray,\n    See! bursting from the altar came\n    The sudden glory of the flame;\n    Round priest and deacon, and upon\n    Grass, ladles, flowers, the splendor shone--\n    And the high rite, in order due,\n    With sacred texts began anew.\n    But then a loud and fearful roar\n    Re-echoed through the sky;\n    And like vast clouds that shadow o'er\n    The heavens in dark July,\n    Involved in gloom of magic might\n    Two fiends rushed on amain--\n    M\u00e1r\u00edcha, Rover of the Night,\n    Suv\u00e1hu, and their train.\n    As on they came in wild career\n    Thick blood in rain they shed;\n    And R\u00e1ma saw those things of fear\n    Impending overhead. Then, soon as those accursed two\n    Who showered down blood he spied,\n    Thus to his brother brave and true\n    Spoke R\u00e1ma lotus-eyed:--\n    \"Now, Lakshman, thou these fiends shalt see,\n    Man-eaters, foul of mind,\n    Before my mortal weapon flee\n    Like clouds before the wind.\"\n    He spoke. An arrow, swift as thought,\n    Upon his bow he pressed,\n    And smote, to utmost fury wrought,\n    M\u00e1r\u00edcha on the breast.\n    Deep in his flesh the weapon lay\n    Winged by the mystic spell,\n    And, hurled a hundred leagues away,\n    In ocean's flood he fell.\n    Then R\u00e1ma, when he saw the foe\n    Convulsed and mad with pain\n    'Neath the chill-pointed weapon's blow,\n    To Lakshman spoke again:--\n    \"See, Lakshman, see! this mortal dart\n    That strikes a numbing chill,\n    Hath struck him senseless with the smart,\n    But left him breathing still.\n    But these who love the evil way\n    And drink the blood they spill,\n    Rejoicing holy rites to stay,\n    Fierce plagues, my hand shall kill.\"\n    He seized another shaft, the best,\n    Aglow with living flame;\n    It struck Suv\u00e1hu on the chest,\n    And dead to earth he came.\n    Again a dart, the Wind-God's own,\n    Upon his string he laid,\n    And all the demons were overthrown--\n    The saints no more afraid.\n    When thus the fiends were slain in fight,\n    Disturbers of each holy rite,\n    Due honor by the saints was paid\n    To R\u00e1ma for his wondrous aid:--\n    So Indra is adored when he\n    Has won some glorious victory.\n    Success at last the rite had crowned,\n    And Vi\u015bv\u00e1mitra gazed around--\n    And seeing every side at rest,\n    The son of Raghu thus addressed:--\n    \"My joy, O Prince, is now complete--\n    Thou hast obeyed my will:\n    Perfect before, this calm retreat\n    Is now more perfect still.\"\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXXIII\n\nTHE SONE\n\n    Their task achieved, the princes spent\n    That night with joy and full content.\n    Ere yet the dawn was well displayed\n    Their morning rites they duly paid--\n    And sought, while yet the light was faint,\n    The hermits and the mighty saint.\n    They greeted first that holy sire\n    Resplendent like the burning fire,\n    And then with noble words began\n    Their sweet speech to the sainted man:--\n    \"Here stand, O lord, thy servants true--\n    Command what thou wouldst have us do.\"\n    The saints, by Vi\u015bv\u00e1mitra led,\n    To R\u00e1ma thus in answer said:--\n    \"Janak, the king who rules the land\n    Of fertile Mithil\u00e1, has planned\n    A noble sacrifice, and we\n    Will thither go the rite to see.\n    Thou, Prince of men, with us shalt go,\n    And there behold the wondrous bow--\n    Terrific, vast, of matchless might,\n    Which, splendid at the famous rite,\n    The Gods assembled gave the King.\n    No giant, fiend, or God can string\n    That gem of bows, no heavenly bard;\n    Then, sure, for man the task were hard.\n    When lords of earth have longed to know\n    The virtue of that wondrous bow,\n    The strongest sons of kings in vain\n    Have tried the mighty cord to strain.\n    This famous bow thou there shalt view,\n    And wondrous rites shalt witness too.\n    The high-souled king who lords it o'er\n    The realm of Mithil\u00e1, of yore\n    Gained from the Gods this bow, the price\n    Of his imperial sacrifice.\n    Won by the rite the glorious prize\n    Still in his royal palace lies--\n    Laid up in oil of precious scent\n    With aloes-wood and incense blent.\"\n    Then R\u00e1ma answering, \"Be it so,\"\n    Made ready with the rest to go.\n    The saint himself was now prepared,\n    But ere beyond the grove he fared,\n    He turned him and in words like these\n    Addressed the sylvan deities:--\n    \"Farewell! each holy rite complete,\n    I leave the hermits' perfect seat:\n    To Gang\u00e1's northern shore I go\n    Beneath Him\u00e1laya's peaks of snow.\"\n    With reverent steps he paced around\n    The limits of the holy ground--\n    And then the mighty saint set forth\n    And took his journey to the north.\n    His pupils, deep in Scripture's page,\n    Followed behind the holy sage,\n    And servants from the sacred grove\n    A hundred wains for convoy drove.\n    The very birds that winged that air,\n    The very deer that harbored there,\n    Forsook the glade and leafy brake\n    And followed for the hermits' sake.\n    They travelled far, till in the west\n    The sun was speeding to his rest,\n    And made, their portioned journey o'er,\n    Their halt on \u015aona's distant shore.\n    The hermits bathed when sank the sun,\n    And every rite was duly done--\n    Oblations paid to Fire, and then\n    Sate round their chief the holy men.\n    R\u00e1ma and Lakshman lowly bowed\n    In reverence to the hermit crowd--\n    And R\u00e1ma, having sate him down\n    Before the saint of pure renown,\n    With humble palms together laid\n    His eager supplication made:--\n    \"What country, O my lord, is this,\n    Fair-smiling in her wealth and bliss?\n    Deign fully, O thou mighty Seer,\n    To tell me, for I long to hear.\"\n    Moved by the prayer of R\u00e1ma, he\n    Told forth the country's history.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXXIV\n\nBRAHMADATTA\n\n    A king of Brahm\u00e1's seed who bore\n    The name of K\u00fasa reigned of yore.\n    Just, faithful to his vows, and true,\n    He held the good in honor due.\n    His bride, a queen of noble name,\n    Of old Vidarbha's monarchs came.\n    Like their own father, children four,\n    All valiant boys, the lady bore.\n    In glorious deeds each nerve they strained,\n    And well their Warrior part sustained.\n    To them most just, and true, and brave,\n    Their father thus his counsel gave:--\n    \"Beloved children, ne'er forget\n    Protection is a prince's debt:\n    The noble work at once begin,\n    High virtue and her fruits to win.\"\n    The youths, to all the people dear,\n    Received his speech with willing ear;\n    And each went forth his several way,\n    Foundations of a town to lay.\n    Ku\u015b\u00e1mba, prince of high renown,\n    Was builder of Kau\u015b\u00e1mb\u00ed's town,\n    And Ku\u015ban\u00e1bha, just and wise,\n    Bade high Mahodaya's towers arise.\n    Am\u00fartarajas chose to dwell\n    In Dharm\u00e1ranya's citadel,\n    And Vasu bade his city fair\n    The name of Girivraja bear.\n    This fertile spot whereon we stand\n    Was once the high-souled Vasu's land.\n    Behold! as round we turn our eyes,\n    Five lofty mountain peaks arise.\n    See! bursting from her parent hill,\n    Sum\u00e1gadh\u00ed, a lovely rill,\n    Bright gleaming as she flows between\n    The mountains, like a wreath is seen--\n    And then through Magadh's plains and groves\n    With many a fair meander roves.\n    And this was Vasu's old domain,\n    The fertile Magadh's broad champaign,\n    Which smiling fields of tilth adorn\n    And diadem with golden corn.\n    The queen Ghrit\u00e1ch\u00ed, nymph most fair,\n    Married to Ku\u015ban\u00e1bha, bare\n    A hundred daughters lovely faced,\n    With every charm and beauty graced.\n    It chanced the maidens, bright and gay\n    As lightning-flashes on a day\n    Of rain-time, to the garden went\n    With song and play and merriment--\n    And there in gay attire they strayed,\n    And danced, and laughed, and sang, and played.\n    The God of Wind who roves at will\n    All places, as he lists, to fill,\n    Saw the young maidens dancing there,\n    Of faultless shape and mien most fair--\n    \"I love you all, sweet girls,\" he cried,\n    \"And each shall be my darling bride.\n    Forsake, forsake your mortal lot,\n    And gain a life that withers not.\n    A fickle thing is youth's brief span,\n    And more than all is mortal man.\n    Receive unending youth, and be\n    Immortal, O my loves, with me,\"\n    The hundred girls, to wonder stirred,\n    The wooing of the Wind-God heard,\n    Laughed, as a jest, his suit aside,\n    And with one voice they thus replied:--\n    \"O mighty Wind, free spirit who\n    All life pervadest, through and through--\n    Thy wondrous power we maidens know;\n    Then wherefore wilt thou mock us so?\n    Our sire is Ku\u015ban\u00e1bha, King;\n    And we, forsooth, have charms to bring\n    A God to woo us from the skies;\n    But honor first we maidens prize.\n    Far may the hour, we pray, be hence,\n    When we, O thou of little sense,\n    Our truthful father's choice refuse,\n    And for ourselves our husbands choose.\n    Our honored sire our lord we deem,\n    He is to us a God supreme--\n    And they to whom his high decree\n    May give us shall our husbands be.\"\n\n    He heard the answer they returned,\n    And mighty rage within him burned.\n    On each fair maid a blast he sent--\n    Each stately form he bowed and bent.\n    Bent double by the Wind-God's ire\n    They sought the palace of their sire,\n    There fell upon the ground with sighs,\n    While tears and shame were in their eyes.\n    The King himself, with, troubled brow,\n    Saw his dear girls so fair but now,\n    A mournful sight all bent and bowed--\n    And grieving, thus he cried aloud:--\n    \"What fate is this, and what the cause?\n    What wretch has scorned all heavenly laws?\n    Who thus your forms could curve and break?\n    You struggle, but no answer make.\"\n    They heard the speech of that wise king\n    Of their misfortune questioning.\n    Again the hundred maidens sighed,\n    Touched with their heads his feet, and cried:--\n    \"The God of Wind, pervading space,\n    Would bring on us a foul disgrace,\n    And choosing folly's evil way\n    From virtue's path in scorn would stray.\n    But we in words like these reproved\n    The God of Wind whom passion moved:--\n    'Farewell, O Lord! A sire have we,\n    No women uncontrolled and free.\n    Go, and our sire's consent obtain\n    If thou our maiden hands wouldst gain.\n    No self-dependent life we live:\n    If we offend, our fault forgive,'\n    But led by folly as a slave,\n    He would not hear the rede we gave,\n    And even as we gently spoke\n    We felt the Wind-God's crushing stroke.\"\n    The pious King, with grief distressed,\n    The noble hundred thus addressed:--\n    \"With patience, daughters, bear your fate,\n    Yours was a deed supremely great\n    When with one mind you kept from shame\n    The honor of your father's name.\n    Patience, when men their anger vent,\n    Is woman's praise and ornament;\n    Yet when the Gods inflict the blow\n    Hard is it to support the woe.\n    Patience, my girls, exceeds all price--\n    'Tis alms, and truth, and sacrifice.\n    Patience is virtue, patience fame:\n    Patience upholds this earthly frame.\n    And now, I think, is come the time\n    To wed you in your maiden prime.\n    Now, daughters, go where'er you will:\n    Thoughts for your good my mind shall fill.\"\n    The maidens went, consoled, away:--\n    The best of kings, that very day,\n    Summoned his ministers of state\n    About their marriage to debate.\n    Since then, because the Wind-God bent\n    The damsels' forms for punishment,\n    That royal town is known to fame\n    By Kany\u00e1kubja's borrowed name.\n\n    There lived a sage called Ch\u00fali then,\n    Devoutest of the sons of men;\n    His days in penance rites he spent,\n    A glorious saint, most continent.\n    To him absorbed in tasks austere\n    The child of Urm\u00edl\u00e1 draw near--\n    Sweet Somad\u00e1, the heavenly maid,\n    And lent the saint her pious aid.\n    Long time near him the maiden spent,\n    And served him meek and reverent,\n    Till the great hermit, pleased with her,\n    Thus spoke unto his minister:--\n    \"Grateful am I for all thy care--\n    Blest maiden, speak, thy wish declare.\"\n    The sweet-voiced nymph rejoiced to see\n    The favor of the devotee,\n    And to that excellent old man,\n    Most eloquent she thus began:--\n    \"Thou hast, by heavenly grace sustained,\n    Close union with the Godhead gained.\n    I long, O Saint, to see a son\n    By force of holy penance won.\n    Unwed, a maiden life I live:\n    A son to me, thy suppliant, give.\"\n    The saint with favor heard her prayer,\n    And gave a son exceeding fair.\n    Him, Ch\u00fali's spiritual child,\n    His mother Brahmadatta styled.\n    King Brahmadatta, rich and great,\n    In K\u00e1mpil\u00ed maintained his state--\n    Ruling, like Indra in his bliss,\n    His fortunate metropolis.\n    King Ku\u015ban\u00e1bha planned that he\n    His hundred daughters' lord should be.\n    To him, obedient to his call,\n    The happy monarch gave them all.\n    Like Indra then he took the hand\n    Of every maiden of the band.\n    Soon as the hand of each young maid\n    In Brahmadatta's palm was laid,\n    Deformity and cares away,\n    She shone in beauty bright and gay.\n    Their freedom from the Wind-God's might\n    Saw Ku\u015ban\u00e1bha with delight.\n    Each glance that on their forms he threw\n    Filled him with raptures ever new.\n    Then when the rites were all complete,\n    With highest marks of honor meet\n    The bridegroom with his brides he sent\n    To his great seat of government.\n    The nymph received with pleasant speech\n    Her daughters; and, embracing each,\n    Upon their forms she fondly gazed,\n    And royal Ku\u015ban\u00e1bha praised.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXXV\n\nVI\u015aV\u00c1MITRA'S LINEAGE\n\n    The rites were o'er, the maids were wed,\n    The bridegroom to his home was sped.\n    The sonless monarch bade prepare\n    A sacrifice to gain an heir.\n    Then Ku\u015ba, Brahm\u00e1's son, appeared,\n    And thus King Ku\u015ban\u00e1bha cheered:--\n    'Thou shalt, my child, obtain a son\n    Like thine own self, O holy one.\n    Through him forever, G\u00e1dhi named,\n    Shalt thou in all the worlds be famed.'\n    He spoke and vanished from the sight\n    To Brahm\u00e1's world of endless light.\n    Time fled, and, as the saint foretold,\n    G\u00e1dhi was born, the holy-souled.\n    My sire was he; through him I trace\n    My line from royal K\u00fasa's race.\n    My sister--elder-born was she--\n    The pure and good Satyavat\u00ed,\n    Was to the great Rich\u00edka wed.\n    Still faithful to her husband dead,\n    She followed him, most noble dame,\n    And, raised to heaven in human frame,\n    A pure celestial stream became.\n    Down from Him\u00e1laya's snowy height,\n    In floods forever fair and bright,\n    My sister's holy waves are hurled\n    To purify and glad the world.\n    Now on Him\u00e1laya's side I dwell\n    Because I love my sister well.\n    She, for her faith and truth renowned,\n    Most loving to her husband found,\n    High-fated, firm in each pure vow,\n    Is queen of all the rivers now.\n    Bound by a vow I left her side\n    And to the Perfect convent hied.\n    There, by the aid 'twas thine to lend,\n    Made perfect, all my labors end.\n    Thus, mighty Prince, I now have told\n    My race and lineage, high and old,\n    And local tales of long ago\n    Which thou, O R\u00e1ma, fain wouldst know.\n    As I have sate rehearsing thus\n    The midnight hour is come on us.\n    Now, R\u00e1ma, sleep, that nothing may\n    Our journey of to-morrow stay.\n    No leaf on any tree is stirred--\n    Hushed in repose are beast and bird:\n    Where'er you turn, on every side,\n    Dense shades of night the landscape hide.\n    The light of eve is fled: the skies,\n    Thick-studded with their host of eyes,\n    Seem a star-forest overhead,\n    Where signs and constellations spread.\n    Now rises, with his pure cold ray,\n    The moon that drives the shades away,\n    And with his gentle influence brings\n    Joy to the hearts of living things.\n    Now, stealing from their lairs, appear\n    The beasts to whom the night is dear.\n    Now spirits walk, and every power\n    That revels in the midnight hour.\"\n\n    The mighty hermit's tale was o'er,\n    He closed his lips and spoke no more.\n    The holy men on every side,\n    \"Well done! well done,\" with reverence cried,\n    \"The mighty men of Ku\u015ba's seed\n    Were ever famed for righteous deed.\n    Like Brahm\u00e1's self in glory shine\n    The high-souled lords of Ku\u015ba's line.\n    And thy great name is sounded most,\n    O Saint, amid the noble host.\n    And thy dear sister--fairest she\n    Of streams, the high-born Kau\u015bik\u00ed--\n    Diffusing virtue where she flows,\n    New splendor on thy lineage throws.\"\n    Thus by the chief of saints addressed\n    The son of G\u00e1dhi turned to rest;\n    So, when his daily course is done,\n    Sinks to his rest the beaming sun.\n    R\u00e1ma, with Lakshman, somewhat stirred\n    To marvel by the tales they heard,\n    Turned also to his couch, to close\n    His eyelids in desired repose.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXXVI\n\nTHE BIRTH OF GANG\u00c1\n\n    The hours of night now waning fast\n    On \u015aona's pleasant shore they passed.\n    Then, when the dawn began to break.\n    To R\u00e1ma thus the hermit spake:--\n    \"The light of dawn is breaking clear,\n    The hour of morning rites is near.\n    Rise, R\u00e1ma, rise, dear son, I pray,\n    And make thee ready for the way.\"\n    Then R\u00e1ma rose, and finished all\n    His duties at the hermit's call--\n    Prepared with joy the road to take,\n    And thus again in question spake:--\n    \"Here fair and deep the \u015aona flows,\n    And many an isle its bosom shows:\n    What way, O Saint, will lead us o'er\n    And land us on the farther shore?\"\n    The saint replied: \"The way I choose\n    Is that which pious hermits use.\"\n    For many a league they journeyed on\n    Till, when the sun of mid-day shone,\n    The hermit-haunted flood was seen\n    Of J\u00e1hnav\u00ed, the Rivers' Queen.\n    Soon as the holy stream they viewed,\n    Thronged with a white-winged multitude\n    Of s\u00e1rases and swans, delight\n    Possessed them at the lovely sight;\n    And then prepared the hermit band\n    To halt upon that holy strand.\n    They bathed as Scripture bids, and paid\n    Oblations due to God and shade.\n    To Fire they burnt the offerings meet,\n    And sipped the oil, like Amrit sweet.\n    Then pure and pleased they sate around\n    Saint Vi\u015bv\u00e1mitra, on the ground.\n    The holy men of lesser note,\n    In due degree, sate more remote,\n    While Raghu's sons took nearer place\n    By virtue of their rank and race.\n    Then R\u00e1ma said: \"O Saint, I yearn\n    The three-pathed Gang\u00e1's tale to learn.\"\n\n    Thus urged, the sage recounted both\n    The birth of Gang\u00e1 and her growth:--\n    \"The mighty hill with metals stored,\n    Him\u00e1laya, is the mountains' lord,\n    The father of a lovely pair\n    Of daughters fairest of the fair--\n    Their mother, offspring of the will\n    Of Meru, everlasting hill,\n    Men\u00e1, Him\u00e1laya's darling, graced\n    With beauty of her dainty waist.\n    Gang\u00e1 was elder-born:--then came\n    The fair one known by Um\u00e1's name.\n    Then all the Gods of heaven, in need\n    Of Gang\u00e1's help their vows to speed,\n    To great Him\u00e1laya came and prayed\n    The Mountain King to yield the maid.\n    He, not regardless of the weal\n    Of the three worlds, with holy zeal\n    His daughter to the Immortals gave,\n    Gang\u00e1 whose waters cleanse and save--\n    Who roams at pleasure, fair and free,\n    Purging all sinners, to the sea.\n    The three-pathed Gang\u00e1 thus obtained,\n    The Gods their heavenly homes regained.\n    Long time the sister Um\u00e1 passed\n    In vows austere and rigid fast,\n    And the King gave the devotee\n    Immortal Rudra's bride to be--\n    Matching with that unequalled Lord\n    His Um\u00e1 through the worlds adored.\n    So now a glorious station fills\n    Each daughter of the King of Hills--\n    One honored as the noblest stream,\n    One mid the Goddesses supreme.\n    Thus Gang\u00e1, King Him\u00e1laya's child,\n    The heavenly river, undefiled,\n    Rose bearing with her to the sky\n    Her waves that bless and purify.\"\n\n\n[_Cantos XXXVII and XXXVIII are omitted._]\n\n\nCANTO XXXIX\n\nTHE SONS OF SAGAR\n\n    The saint in accents sweet and clear\n    Thus told his tale for R\u00e1ma's ear--\n    And thus anew the holy man\n    A legend to the prince began:--\n    \"There reigned a pious monarch o'er\n    Ayodhy\u00e1 in the days of yore:\n    Sagar his name:--no child had he,\n    And children much he longed to see.\n    His honored consort, fair of face,\n    Sprang from Vidarbha's royal race--\n    Ke\u015bin\u00ed, famed from early youth\n    For piety and love of truth.\n    Arishtanemi's daughter fair,\n    With whom no maiden might compare\n    In beauty, though the earth is wide,\n    Sumati, was his second bride.\n    With his two queens afar he went,\n    And weary days in penance spent,\n    Fervent, upon Him\u00e1laya's hill\n    Where springs the stream called Bhrigu's rill.\n    Nor did he fail that saint to please\n    With his devout austerities,\n    And, when a hundred years had fled,\n    Thus the most truthful Bhrigu said:--\n    'From thee, O Sagar, blameless King,\n    A mighty host of sons shall spring,\n    And thou shalt win a glorious name\n    Which none, O Chief, but thou shall claim.\n    One of thy queens a son shall bear\n    Maintainer of thy race and heir;\n    And of the other there shall be\n    Sons sixty thousand born to thee.'\n    Thus as he spake, with one accord,\n    To win the grace of that high lord,\n    The queens, with palms together laid,\n    In humble supplication prayed:--\n    'Which queen, O Br\u00e1hman, of the pair,\n    The many, or the one shall bear?\n    Most eager, Lord, are we to know,\n    And as thou sayest be it so,'\n    With his sweet speech the saint replied:--\n    'Yourselves, O Queens, the choice decide.\n    Your own discretion freely use\n    Which shall the one or many choose:\n    One shall the race and name uphold,\n    The host be famous, strong, and bold.\n    Which will have which?' Then Ke\u015bin\u00ed\n    The mother of one heir would be.\n    Sumati, sister of the King\n    Of all the birds that ply the wing,\n    To that illustrious Br\u00e1hman sued\n    That she might bear the multitude--\n    Whose fame throughout the world should sound\n    For mighty enterprise renowned.\n    Around the saint the monarch went,\n    Bowing his head, most reverent.\n    Then with his wives, with willing feet,\n    Resought his own imperial seat,\n    Time passed. The elder consort bare\n    A son called Asamanj, the heir.\n    Then Sumati, the younger, gave\n    Birth to a gourd, O hero brave,\n    Whose rind, when burst and cleft in two,\n    Gave sixty thousand babes to view.\n    All these with care the nurses laid\n    In jars of oil; and there they stayed,\n    Till, youthful age and strength complete,\n    Forth speeding from each dark retreat--\n    All peers in valor, years, and might,\n    The sixty thousand came to light.\n    Prince Asamanj, brought up with care,\n    Scourge of his foes, was made the heir.\n    But liegemen's boys he used to cast\n    To Sarj\u00fa's waves that hurried past--\n    Laughing the while in cruel glee\n    Their dying agonies to see.\n    This wicked prince who aye withstood\n    The counsel of the wise and good,\n    Who plagued the people in his hate,\n    His father banished from the state.\n    His son, kind-spoken, brave, and tall,\n    Was An\u015bum\u00e1n, beloved of all.\n    Long years flew by. The King decreed\n    To slay a sacrificial steed.\n    Consulting with his priestly band\n    He vowed the rite his soul had planned,\n    And, Veda-skilled, by their advice\n    Made ready for the sacrifice.\"\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XL\n\nTHE CLEAVING OF THE EARTH\n\n    The hermit ceased--the tale was done:--\n    Then in a transport Raghu's son\n    Again addressed the ancient sire\n    Resplendent as a burning fire:--\n    \"O holy man, I fain would hear\n    The tale repeated full and clear\n    How he from whom my sires descend\n    Brought the great rite to happy end,\"\n    The hermit answered with a smile:--\n    \"Then listen, son of Raghu, while\n    My legendary tale proceeds\n    To tell of high-souled Sagar's deeds.\n    Within the spacious plain that lies\n    From where Him\u00e1laya's heights arise\n    To where proud Vindhya's rival chain\n    Looks down upon the subject plain--\n    A land the best for rites declared--\n    His sacrifice the king prepared.\n    And An\u015bum\u00e1n the prince--for so\n    Sagar advised--with ready bow\n    Was borne upon a mighty car\n    To watch the steed who roamed afar.\n    But Indra, monarch of the skies,\n    Veiling his form in demon guise,\n    Came down upon the appointed day\n    And drove the victim horse away.\n    Reft of the steed the priests, distressed,\n    The master of the rite addressed:--\n    'Upon the sacred day by force\n    A robber takes the victim horse.\n    Haste, King! now let the thief be slain;\n    Bring thou the charger back again:\n    The sacred rite prevented thus\n    Brings scathe and woe to all of us.\n    Rise, Monarch, and provide with speed\n    That nought its happy course impede.'\n\n    King Sagar in his crowded court\n    Gave ear unto the priests' report.\n    He summoned straightway to his side\n    His sixty thousand sons, and cried:--\n    'Brave sons of mine, I know not how\n    These demons are so mighty now--\n    The priests began the rite so well\n    All sanctified with prayer and spell.\n    If in the depths of earth he hide,\n    Or lurk beneath the ocean's tide,\n    Pursue, dear sons, the robber's track;\n    Slay him and bring the charger back.\n    The whole of this broad earth explore,\n    Sea-garlanded, from shore to shore:\n    Yea, dig her up with might and main\n    Until you see the horse again.\n    Deep let your searching labor reach,\n    A league in depth dug out by each.\n    The robber of our horse pursue,\n    And please your sire who orders you.\n    My grandson, I, this priestly train,\n    Till the steed comes, will here remain.'\n\n    Their eager hearts with transport burned\n    As to their task the heroes turned.\n    Obedient to their father, they\n    Through earth's recesses forced their way.\n    With iron arms' unflinching toil\n    Each dug a league beneath the soil.\n    Earth, cleft asunder, groaned in pain,\n    As emulous they plied amain--\n    Sharp-pointed coulter, pick, and bar,\n    Hard as the bolts of Indra are.\n    Then loud the horrid clamor rose\n    Of monsters dying 'neath their blows,\n    Giant and demon, fiend and snake,\n    That in earth's core their dwelling make.\n    They dug, in ire that nought could stay,\n    Through sixty thousand leagues their way--\n    Cleaving the earth with matchless strength\n    Till hell itself they reached at length.\n    Thus digging searched they Jambudv\u00edp\n    With all its hills and mountains steep.\n    Then a great fear began to shake\n    The heart of God, bard, fiend, and snake--\n    And all distressed in spirit went\n    Before the Sire Omnipotent.\n    With signs of woe in every face\n    They sought the mighty Father's grace,\n    And trembling still and ill at ease\n    Addressed their Lord in words like these:--\n    'The sons of Sagar, Sire benign,\n    Pierce the whole earth with mine on mine,\n    And as their ruthless work they ply\n    Innumerable creatures die,'\n    'This is the thief,' the princes say,\n    'Who stole our victim steed away.\n    This marred the rite, and caused us ill.'\n    And so their guiltless blood they spill.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XLI\n\nKAPIL\n\n    \"The Father lent a gracious ear\n    And listened to their tale of fear,\n    And kindly to the Gods replied\n    Whom woe and death had terrified:--\n    'The wisest V\u00e1sudeva, who\n    The Immortals' foe, fierce Madhu, slew,\n    Regards broad Earth with love and pride,\n    And guards, in Kapil's form, his bride.\n    His kindled wrath will quickly fall\n    On the King's sons and burn them all.\n    This cleaving of the earth his eye\n    Foresaw in ages long gone by:\n    He knew with prescient soul the fate\n    That Sagar's children should await.'\n    The Three-and-thirty, freed from fear,\n    Sought their bright homes with hopeful cheer.\n    Still rose the great tempestuous sound\n    As Sagar's children pierced the ground.\n    When thus the whole broad earth was cleft,\n    And not a spot unsearched was left,\n    Back to their home the princes sped,\n    And thus unto their father said:--\n    'We searched the earth from side to side,\n    While countless hosts of creatures died.\n    Our conquering feet in triumph trod\n    On snake and demon, fiend and God;\n    But yet we failed, with all our toil,\n    To find the robber and the spoil.\n    What can we more? If more we can,\n    Devise, O King, and tell thy plan,'\n    His children's speech King Sagar heard,\n    And answered thus, to anger stirred:--\n    'Dig on, and ne'er your labor stay\n    Till through earth's depths you force your way.\n    Then smite the robber dead, and bring\n    The charger back with triumphing.'\n\n    The sixty thousand chiefs obeyed--\n    Deep through the earth their way they made.\n    Deep as they dug and deeper yet\n    The immortal elephant they met--\n    Famed Vir\u00fap\u00e1ksha vast of size,\n    Upon whose head the broad earth lies:\n    The mighty beast who earth sustains\n    With shaggy hills and wooded plains.\n    When, with the changing moon, distressed,\n    And longing for a moment's rest,\n    His mighty head the monster shakes,\n    Earth to the bottom reels and quakes.\n    Around that warder strong and vast\n    With reverential steps they passed--\n    Nor, when the honor due was paid,\n    Their downward search through earth delayed.\n    But turning from the east aside\n    Southward again their task they plied.\n    There Mah\u00e1padma held his place,\n    The best of all his mighty race--\n    Like some huge hill, of monstrous girth,\n    Upholding on his head the earth.\n    When the vast beast the princes saw,\n    They marvelled and were filled with awe.\n    The sons of high-souled Sagar round\n    That elephant in reverence wound.\n    Then in the western region they\n    With might unwearied cleft their way.\n    There saw they with astonished eyes\n    Saumanas, beast of mountain size.\n    Round him with circling steps they went\n    With greetings kind and reverent.\n    On, on--no thought of rest or stay--\n    They reached the seat of Soma's sway.\n    There saw they Bhadra, white as snow,\n    With lucky marks that fortune show,\n    Bearing the earth upon his head.\n    Round him they paced with solemn tread,\n    And honored him with greetings kind;\n    Then downward yet their way they mined.\n    They gained the tract 'twixt east and north\n    Whose fame is ever blazoned forth,\n    And by a storm of rage impelled,\n    Digging through earth their course they held.\n    Then all the princes, lofty-souled,\n    Of wondrous vigor, strong and bold,\n    Saw V\u00e1sudeva standing there\n    In Kapil's form he loved to wear,\n    And near the everlasting God\n    The victim charger cropped the sod.\n    They saw with joy and eager eyes\n    The fancied robber and the prize,\n    And on him rushed the furious band\n    Crying aloud, 'Stand, villain! stand!'\n    'Avaunt! avaunt!' great Kapil cried,\n    His bosom flushed with passion's tide;\n    Then by his might that proud array\n    All scorched to heaps of ashes lay.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XLII\n\nSAGAR'S SACRIFICE\n\n    Then to the prince his grandson, bright\n    With his own fame's unborrowed light,\n    King Sagar thus began to say,\n    Marvelling at his sons' delay:--\n    'Thou art a warrior skilled and bold,\n    Match for the mighty men of old.\n    Now follow on thine uncles' course\n    And track the robber of the horse.\n    To guard thee take thy sword and bow,\n    For huge and strong are beasts below.\n    There to the reverend reverence pay,\n    And kill the foes who check thy way;\n    Then turn successful home and see\n    My sacrifice complete through thee.'\n\n    Obedient to the high-souled lord\n    Grasped An\u015bum\u00e1n his bow and sword,\n    And hurried forth the way to trace\n    With youth and valor's eager pace.\n    On sped he by the path he found\n    Dug by his uncles underground.\n    The warder elephant he saw\n    Whose size and strength pass Nature's law--\n    Who bears the world's tremendous weight,\n    Whom God, fiend, giant, venerate.\n    Bird, serpent, and each flitting shade,\n    To him the honor meet he paid--\n    With circling steps and greeting due,\n    And further prayed him, if he knew,\n    To tell him of his uncles' weal,\n    And who had dared the horse to steal.\n\n    To him in war and council tried\n    The warder elephant replied:--\n    'Thou, son of Asamanj, shalt lead\n    In triumph back the rescued steed,'\n\n    As to each warder beast he came\n    And questioned all, his words the same,\n    The honored youth with gentle speech\n    Drew eloquent reply from each--\n    That fortune should his steps attend,\n    And with the horse he home should wend.\n    Cheered with the grateful answer, he\n    Passed on with step more light and free,\n    And reached with careless heart the place\n    Where lay in ashes Sagar's race.\n    Then sank the spirit of the chief\n    Beneath that shock of sudden grief--\n    And with a bitter cry of woe\n    He mourned his kinsmen fallen so.\n    He saw, weighed down by woe and care,\n    The victim charger roaming there.\n    Yet would the pious chieftain fain\n    Oblations offer to the slain:\n    But, needing water for the rite,\n    He looked and there was none in sight.\n    His quick eye searching all around\n    The uncle of his kinsmen found--\n    King Garud, best beyond compare\n    Of birds who wing the fields of air.\n    Then thus unto the weeping man\n    The son of Vinat\u00e1 began:--\n    'Grieve not, O hero, for their fall\n    Who died a death approved of all.\n    Of mighty strength, they met their fate\n    By Kapil's hand whom none can mate.\n    Pour forth for them no earthly wave,\n    A holier flood their spirits crave.\n    If, daughter of the Lord of Snow,\n    Gang\u00e1 would turn her stream below,\n    Her waves that cleanse all mortal stain\n    Would wash their ashes pure again.\n    Yea, when her flood whom all revere\n    Rolls o'er the dust that moulders here,\n    The sixty thousand, freed from sin,\n    A home in Indra's heaven shall win.\n    Go, and with ceaseless labor try\n    To draw the Goddess from the sky.\n    Return, and with thee take the steed;\n    So shall thy grandsire's rite succeed,'\n\n    Prince An\u015bum\u00e1n the strong and brave\n    Followed the rede Suparna gave.\n    The glorious hero took the horse,\n    And homeward quickly bent his course.\n    Straight to the anxious King he hied,\n    Whom lustral rites had purified--\n    The mournful story to unfold\n    And all the King of birds had told.\n    The tale of woe the monarch heard,\n    No longer was the rite deferred:\n    With care and just observance he\n    Accomplished all, as texts decree.\n    The rites performed, with brighter fame,\n    Mighty in counsel, home he came.\n    He longed to bring the river down,\n    But found no plan his wish to crown.\n    He pondered long with anxious thought,\n    But saw no way to what he sought.\n    Thus thirty thousand years he spent,\n    And then to heaven the monarch went.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XLIII\n\nBHAG\u00cdRATH\n\n    \"When Sagar thus had bowed to fate,\n    The lords and commons of the state\n    Approved with ready heart and will\n    Prince An\u015bum\u00e1n his throne to fill.\n    He ruled, a mighty king, unblamed,\n    Sire of Dil\u00edpa justly famed.\n    To him, his child and worthy heir,\n    The King resigned his kingdom's care,\n    And on Him\u00e1laya's pleasant side\n    His task austere of penance plied.\n    Bright as a God in clear renown\n    He planned to bring pure Gang\u00e1 down.\n    There on his fruitless hope intent\n    Twice sixteen thousand years he spent,\n    And in the grove of hermits stayed\n    Till bliss in heaven his rites repaid.\n    Dil\u00edpa then, the good and great,\n    Soon as he learnt his kinsmen's fate,\n    Bowed down by woe, with troubled mind.\n    Pondering long no cure could find.\n    'How can I bring,' the mourner sighed,\n    'To cleanse their dust, the heavenly tide?\n    How can I give them rest, and save\n    Their spirits with the offered wave?'\n    Long with this thought his bosom skilled\n    In holy discipline was filled.\n    A son was born, Bhag\u00edrath named,\n    Above all men for virtue famed.\n    Dil\u00edpa many a rite ordained,\n    And thirty thousand seasons reigned.\n    But when no hope the king could see\n    His kinsmen from their woe to free,\n    The lord of men, by sickness tried,\n    Obeyed the law of fate, and died;\n    He left the kingdom to his son,\n    And gained the heaven his deeds had won.\n    The good Bhag\u00edrath, royal sage,\n    Had no fair son to cheer his age.\n    He, great in glory, pure in will,\n    Longing for sons was childless still.\n    Then on one wish, one thought intent,\n    Planning the heavenly stream's descent,\n    Leaving his ministers the care\n    And burden of his state to bear--\n    Dwelling in far Gokarna he\n    Engaged in long austerity.\n    With senses checked, with arms upraised,\n    Five fires around and o'er him blazed.\n    Each weary month the hermit passed\n    Breaking but once his awful fast.\n    In winter's chill the brook his bed,\n    In rain, the clouds to screen his head.\n    Thousands of years he thus endured\n    Till Brahm\u00e1's favor was assured--\n    And the high Lord of living things\n    Looked kindly on his sufferings.\n    With trooping Gods the Sire came near\n    The King who plied his task austere:--\n    'Blest Monarch, of a glorious race,\n    Thy fervent rites have won my grace.\n    Well hast thou wrought thine awful task,\n    Some boon in turn, O Hermit, ask.'\n\n    Bhag\u00edrath, rich in glory's light,\n    The hero with the arm of might,\n    Thus to the Lord of earth and sky\n    Raised suppliant hands and made reply:--\n    'If the great God his favor deigns,\n    And my long toil its fruit obtains,\n    Let Sagar's sons receive from me\n    Libations that they long to see.\n    Let Gang\u00e1 with her holy wave\n    The ashes of the heroes lave--\n    That so my kinsmen may ascend\n    To heavenly bliss that ne'er shall end.\n    And give, I pray, O God, a son,\n    Nor let my house be all undone.\n    Sire of the worlds! be this the grace\n    Bestowed upon Ikshv\u00e1ku's race,'\n    The Sire, when thus the King had prayed,\n    In sweet kind words his answer made:--\n    'High, high thy thought and wishes are,\n    Bhag\u00edrath of the mighty car!\n    Ikshv\u00e1ku's line is blest in thee,\n    And as thou prayest it shall be.\n    Gang\u00e1, whose waves in Swarga flow,\n    Is daughter of the Lord of Snow.\n    Win \u015aiva that his aid be lent\n    To hold her in her mid-descent--\n    For earth alone will never bear\n    Those torrents hurled from upper air;\n    And none may hold her weight but He,\n    The Trident-wielding deity,'\n    Thus having said, the Lord supreme\n    Addressed him to the heavenly stream;\n    And then with Gods and Maruts went\n    To heaven, above the firmament.\"\n\n\n\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1\n\nBY\n\nK\u00c1LID\u00c1SA\n\n\n\n[_Translation by Sir Monier Monier-Williams_]\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nThe drama is always the latest development of a national poetry--for the\norigin of poetry is in the religious rite, where the hymn or the ode is\nused to celebrate the glories of some divinity, or some hero who has\nbeen received into the circle of the gods. This at least is the case in\nSanscrit as in Greek literature, where the hymn and ballad precede the\nepic. The epic poem becomes the stable form of poetry during the middle\nperiod in the history of literature, both in India and Greece. The union\nof the lyric and the epic produces the drama. The speeches uttered by\nthe heroes in such poems as the \"Iliad\" are put into the mouths of real\npersonages who appear in sight of the audience and represent with\nfitting gestures and costumes the characters of the story. The dialogue\nis interspersed with songs or odes, which reach their perfection in the\nchoruses of Sophocles.\n\nThe drama is undoubtedly the most intellectual, as it is the most\nartificial, form of poetry. The construction of the plot, and the\narrangement of the action, give room for the most thoughtful and\ndeliberate display of genius. In this respect the Greek drama stands\nforth as most philosophically perfect. The drama, moreover, has always\nbeen by far the most popular form of poetry; because it aids, as much as\npossible, the imagination of the auditor, and for distinctness and\nclearness of impression stands pre\u00ebminent above both the epic narrative\nand the emotional description of the lyric.\n\nThe drama in India appears to have been a perfectly indigenous creation,\nalthough it was of very late development, and could not have appeared\neven so early as the Alexandrian pastorals which marked the last phase\nof Greek poetry. When it did appear, it never took the perfect form of\nthe drama at Athens. It certainly borrowed as little from Greece as it\ndid from China or Japan, and the Persians and Arabians do not appear to\nhave produced any dramatic masterpieces. The greatest of dramatists in\nthe Sanscrit language is undoubtedly K\u00e1lid\u00e1sa, whose date is placed, by\ndifferent scholars, anywhere from the first to the fifth century of our\nera. His masterpiece, and indeed the masterpiece of the Indian drama, is\nthe \"\u015aakoontal\u00e1,\" which has all the graces as well as most of the faults\nof Oriental poetry. There can be no doubt that to most Europeans the\ncharm of it lies in the exquisite description of natural scenery and of\nthat atmosphere of piety and religious calm--almost mediaeval in its\naustere beauty and serenity--which invests the hermit life of India. The\nabode of the ascetics is depicted with a pathetic grace that we only\nfind paralleled in the \"Admetus\" of Euripides. But at the same time the\nconstruction of the drama is more like such a play as Milton's \"Comus,\"\nthan the closely-knit, symmetrical, and inevitable progress of such a\nwork of consummate skill as the \"King Oedipus\" of Sophocles. Emotion,\nand generally the emotion of love, is the motive in the \"\u015aakoontal\u00e1\" of\nK\u00e1lid\u00e1sa, and different phases of feeling, rather than the struggles of\nenergetic action, lead on to the _d\u00e9nouement_ of the play. The\nintroduction of supernatural agencies controlling the life of the\npersonages, leaves very little room for the development and description\nof human character. As the fate of the hero is dependent altogether upon\nthe caprice of superhuman powers, the moral elements of a drama are but\nfaintly discernible. Thus the central action of \u015aakoontal\u00e1 hinges on the\nfact that the heroine, absorbed in thoughts of love, neglects to welcome\nwith due respect the great saint Durvasas--certainly a trifling and\nvenial fault--but he is represented as blighting her with a curse which\nresults in all the unhappiness of the drama, and which is only ended at\nlast by the intervention of a more powerful being. By this principle of\nconstruction the characters are reduced to mere shadow creations:\nbeautiful as arabesques, delicate as a piece of ivory carving, tinted\nlike the flat profiles of an Oriental fan or the pattern of a porcelain\nvase, but deficient in robustness and vigorous coloring. Humanity is\nabsolutely dwarfed and its powers rendered inoperative by the crowd of\nsupernatural creatures that control its destiny. Even in the \"Tempest\"\nof Shakespeare, in which the supernatural plays a greater part than in\nany other English drama, the strength and nobility of human character\nare allowed full play--and man in his fortitude, in his intellect and\nwill, even more than in his emotions, keeps full possession of the\nstage, and imparts a reality to every scene which makes the wildest\nflight of fancy bear a real relation to the common experiences of human\nlife.\n\nThe \"\u015aakoontal\u00e1\" is divided into seven acts, and is a mixture of prose\nand verse;--each character rising in the intensity of emotional\nutterance into bursts of lyric poetry. The first act introduces the King\nof India, Dushyanta, armed with bow and arrows, in a chariot with his\ndriver. They are passing through a forest in pursuit of a black\nantelope, which they fail to overtake before the voice of some hermit\nforbids them to slay the creature as it belongs to the hermitage. The\nking piously desists and reaches the hermitage of the great saint Kanwa,\nwho has left his companions in charge of his foster-daughter,\n\u015aakoontal\u00e1, while he is bound on a pilgrimage. Following these hermits\nthe king finds himself within the precincts of a sacred grove, where\nrice is strewn on the ground to feed the parrots that nest in the hollow\ntrunks, and where the unterrified antelopes do not start at the human\nvoice. The king stops his chariot and alights, so as not to disturb the\ndwellers in the holy wood. He feels a sudden throb in his right arm,\nwhich augurs happy love, and sees hermit maidens approaching to sprinkle\nthe young shrubs, with watering-pots suited to their strength. The forms\nof these hermit maidens eclipse those found in queenly halls, as the\nluxuriance of forest vines excels the trim vineyards of cultivation.\nAmongst these maidens the king, concealed by the trees, observes\n\u015aakoontal\u00e1, dressed in the bark garment of a hermit--like a blooming bud\nenclosed within a sheath of yellow leaves. When she stands by the\n_ke\u015bara_-tree, the king is impressed by her beauty, and regrets that she\nis, if of a purely Br\u00e1hmanic origin, forbidden to marry one of the\nwarrior class, even though he be a king. A very pretty description is\ngiven of the pursuit of \u015aakoontal\u00e1 by a bee which her sprinkling has\nstartled from a jasmine flower. From this bee she is rescued by the\nking, and is dismayed to find that the sight of the stranger affects her\nwith an emotion unsuited to the holy grove. She hurries off with her two\ncompanions, but as she goes she declares that a prickly _kusa_-grass has\nstung her foot; a _kuruvaka_-bush has caught her garment, and while her\ncompanions disentangle it, she takes a long look at the king, who\nconfesses that he cannot turn his mind from \u015aakoontal\u00e1. This is the\nopening episode of their love.\n\nThe second act introduces the king's jester, a Br\u00e1hman on confidential\nterms with his master, who, while Dushyanta is thinking of love, is\nlonging to get back to the city. He is tired of the hot jungle, the\nnauseating water of bitter mountain streams, the racket of fowlers at\nearly dawn, and the eternal galloping, by which his joints are bruised.\nThe king is equally tired of hunting, and confesses that he cannot bend\nhis bow against those fawns which dwell near \u015aakoontal\u00e1's abode, and\nhave taught their tender glance to her. He calls back the beaters sent\nout to surround the forest, takes off his hunting-suit, and talks to the\njester about the charms of \u015aakoontal\u00e1--whom the Creator, he says, has\nformed by gathering in his mind all lovely shapes, so as to make a\npeerless woman-gem. He recalls the glance which she shot at him as she\ncried, \"a _kusha-grass_ has stung my foot.\" Meanwhile two hermits\napproach him with the news that the demons have taken advantage of\nKanwa's absence to disturb the sacrifices. They request him to take up\nhis abode in the grove for a few days, in order to vanquish the enemies.\nA messenger arrives to tell him that his mother, in four days, will be\noffering a solemn sacrifice for her son's welfare, and invites his\npresence at the rite. But he cannot leave \u015aakoontal\u00e1, and sends the\njester M\u00e1thavya in his stead, telling him to say nothing about his love\nfor \u015aakoontal\u00e1.\n\nIn the third act the love of the king and the hermit girl reaches its\nclimax. The king is found walking in the hermitage, invoking the God of\nLove, whose shafts are flowers, though the flowery darts are hard as\nsteel. \"Mighty God of Love, hast Thou no pity on me?\" What better\nrelief, he asks, than the sight of my beloved? He traces \u015aakoontal\u00e1, by\nthe broken tubes which bore the blossoms she had culled, to the arbor,\nenclosed by the plantation of canes, and shaded by vines, at whose\nentrance he observes in the sand the track of recent footsteps. Peering\nthrough the branches, he perceives her reclining on a stone seat strewn\nwith flowers. Her two companions are with her, and she is sick unto\ndeath. The king notices that her cheeks are wasted, her breasts less\nswelling, her slender waist more slender, her roseate hue has grown\npale, and she seems like some poor _madhave_ creeper touched by winds\nthat have scorched its leaves. Her companions anxiously inquire the\ncause of her sickness, and, after much hesitation, she reveals her love\nby inscribing a poem, with her fingernail, on a lotus leaf smooth as a\nparrot's breast. The king hears the avowal of her love, rushes in to\nher, and declares his passion: adding that daughters of a royal saint\nhave often been wedded by _Gandharva_ rites, without ceremonies or\nparental consent, yet have not forfeited the father's blessing. He thus\novercomes her scruples. Gautam\u00ed, the matron of the hermitage, afterwards\nenters, and asks, \"My child, is your fever allayed?\" \"Venerable mother,\"\nis the reply, \"I feel a grateful change.\" As the king sits in solitude\nthat evening in the deserted arbor, he hears a voice outside, uttering\nthe verses--\"The evening rites have begun; but, dark as the clouds of\nnight, the demons are swarming round the altar fires.\" With these words\nof ill-omen the third act comes to an end.\n\nThe fourth act describes the fulfilment of this evil omen. The king has\nnow returned to the city, and has given \u015aakoontal\u00e1 a signet ring, with\nan inscription on it, pronouncing that after there have elapsed as many\ndays as there are letters in this inscription he will return. As the two\nmaiden companions of \u015aakoontal\u00e1 are culling flowers in the garden of the\nhermitage, they hear a voice exclaiming, \"It is I! give heed!\" This is\nthe great Durvasas, whom \u015aakoontal\u00e1, lost in thoughts of her absent\nhusband, has neglected at once to go forth to welcome. The voice from\nbehind the scenes is soon after heard uttering a curse--\"Woe unto her\nwho is thus neglectful of a guest,\" and declaring that Dushyanta, of\nwhom alone she is thinking, regardless of the presence of a pious saint,\nshall forget her in spite of all his love, as the wine-bibber forgets\nhis delirium. The Hindoo saint is here described in all his arrogance\nand cruelty. One of the maidens says that he who had uttered the curse\nis now retiring with great strides, quivering with rage--for his wrath\nis like a consuming fire. A pretty picture is given of \u015aakoontal\u00e1, who\ncarries on her finger the signet ring, which has the virtue of restoring\nthe king's love, if ever he should forget her. \"There sits our beloved\nfriend,\" cries one of the maidens: \"motionless as a picture; her cheek\nsupported by her left hand, so absorbed in thoughts of her absent lover\nthat she is unconscious of her own self--how much more of a passing\nstranger?\"\n\nIn the fourth act there is an exquisite description of the return of\nKanwa from his pilgrimage, and the preparations for the start of\n\u015aakoontal\u00e1 for her husband's palace, in the city. The delicate pathos of\nthe scene is worthy of Euripides. \"Alas! Alas!\" exclaim the two maidens,\n\"Now \u015aakoontal\u00e1 has disappeared behind the trees of the forest. Tell us,\nmaster, how shall we enter again the sacred grove made desolate by her\ndeparture?\" But the holy calm, broken for a moment by the excitement of\nhis child's departure, is soon restored to Kanwa's mind. \"Now that my\nchild is dismissed to her husband's home, tranquillity regains my soul.\"\nThe closing reflection is worthy of a Greek dramatist: \"Our maids we\nrear for the happiness of others; and now that I have sent her to her\nhusband I feel the satisfaction that comes from restoring a trust.\"\n\nIn the fifth act, the scene is laid in Dushyanta's palace, where the\nking is living, under the curse of Durvasas, in complete oblivion of\n\u015aakoontal\u00e1. The life of the court is happily suggested, with its\nintrigues and its business. The king has yet a vague impression of\nrestlessness, which, on hearing a song sung behind the scenes, prompts\nhim to say, \"Why has this strain flung over me so deep a melancholy, as\nthough I was separated from some loved one; can this be the faint\nremembrance of affections in some previous existence?\" It is here that\nthe hermits, with Gautam\u00ed, arrive, bringing \u015aakoontal\u00e1, soon to be made\na mother, into the presence of the king; but she has been utterly\nforgotten by him. He angrily denies his marriage; and when she proposes\nto bring forth the ring, she finds she has lost it from her finger. \"It\nmust have slipped off,\" suggested Gautam\u00ed, \"when thou wast offering\nhomage to \u015aach\u00ed's holy lake.\" The king smiles derisively. \u015aakoontal\u00e1\ntries to quicken his memory:--\"Do you remember how, in the jasmine\nbower, you poured water from the lotus cup into the hollow of my hand?\nDo you remember how you said to my little fawn, Drink first, but she\nshrunk from you--and drank water from my hand, and you said, with a\nsmile, 'Like trusts Like,' for you are two sisters in the same grove.\"\nThe king calls her words \"honeyed falsehoods.\" \u015aakoontal\u00e1 buries her\nface in her mantle and bursts into tears.\n\nThe tenderness of this scene, its grace and delicacy, are quite idyllic,\nand worthy of the best ages of the pastoral drama. The ring is at\nlength restored to Dushyanta, having been found by a fisherman in the\nbelly of a carp. On its being restored to the king's finger, he is\novercome with a flood of recollection: he gives himself over to mourning\nand forbids the celebration of the Spring festival. He admits that his\npalsied heart had been slumbering, and that, now it is roused by\nmemories of his fawn-eyed love, he only wakes to agonies of remorse.\nMeanwhile \u015aakoontal\u00e1 had been carried away like a celestial nymph to the\nsacred grove of Ka\u015byapa, far removed from earth in the upper air. The\nking, being summoned by Indra to destroy the brood of giants,\ndescendants of Kalamemi, the monster of a hundred arms and heads,\nreaches in the celestial car Indra, the grove where dwell his wife and\nchild, an heroic boy whom the hermits call Sarva-damana--the all-tamer.\nThe recognition and reconciliation of husband and wife are delineated\nwith the most delicate skill, and the play concludes with a prayer to\nShiva.\n\nE.W.\n\nDRAMATIS PERSON\u00c6\n\nDUSHYANTA, King of India.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA, the Jester, friend and companion of the King.\n\nKANWA, chief of the Hermits, foster-father of \u015aakoontal\u00e1.\n\nS\u00c1RNGARAVA, S\u00c1RADWATA, two Br\u00e1hmans, belonging to the hermitage of\nKanwa.\n\nMITR\u00c1VASU, brother-in-law of the King, and Superintendent of the city\npolice.\n\nJ\u00c1NUKA, S\u00daCHAKA, two constables.\n\nV\u00c1T\u00c1YANA, the Chamberlain or attendant on the women's apartments.\n\nSOMAR\u00c1TA, the domestic Priest.\n\nKARABHAKA, a messenger of the Queen-mother.\n\nRAIVATAKA, the warder or door-keeper.\n\nM\u00c1TALI, charioteer of Indra.\n\nSARVA-DAMANA, afterwards Bharata, a little boy, son of Dushyanta by\n\u015aakoontal\u00e1.\n\nKA\u015aYAPA, a divine sage, progenitor of men and gods, son of Mar\u00edchi and\ngrandson of Brahm\u00e1.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1, daughter of the sage Vi\u015bw\u00e1mitra and the nymph Menak\u00e1,\nfoster-child of the hermit Kanwa.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 and ANAS\u00daY\u00c1, female attendants, companions of \u015aakoontal\u00e1.\n\nGAUTAM\u00cd, a holy matron, Superior of the female inhabitants of the\nhermitage.\n\nVASUMAT\u00cd, the Queen of Dushyanta.\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd, a nymph, friend of \u015aakoontal\u00e1.\n\nTARALIK\u00c1, personal attendant of the King.\n\nCHATURIK\u00c1, personal attendant of the Queen.\n\nVETRAVAT\u00cd, female warder, or door-keeper.\n\nPARABARITIK\u00c1 and MADHUKARIK\u00c1, maidens in charge of the royal gardens.\n\nSUVRAT\u00c1, a nurse.\n\nADITI, wife of Ka\u015byapa; grand-daughter of Brahm\u00e1, through her father,\nDaksha.\n\nCharioteer, Fisherman, Officers, and Hermits.\n\n\nRULES FOR PRONUNCIATION OF PROPER NAMES\n\nObserve, that in order to secure the correct pronunciation of the title\nof this Drama, \"\u015aakuntal\u00e1\" has been spelt \"\u015aa-koontal\u00e1,\" the _u_ being\npronounced like the _u_ in the English word _rule_.\n\nThe vowel _a_ must invariably be pronounced with a dull sound, like the\n_a_ in _organ_, or the _u_ in _fun, sun. Dushyanta_ must therefore be\npronounced as if written _Dooshyunta_. The long vowel _a_ is pronounced\nlike the _a_ in _last, cart; i_ like the _i_ in _pin, sin_; _\u00ed_ like the\n_i_ in _marine; e_ like the _e_ in _prey; o_ like the _o_ in _so; ai_\nlike the _ai_ in _aisle; au_ like _au_ in the German word _baum_, or\nlike the _ou_ in _our_.\n\nThe consonants are generally pronounced as in English, but _g_ has\nalways the sound of _g_ in _gun, give_, never of _g_ in _gin. S_ with\nthe accent over it (\u015b) has the sound of _s_ in _sure_, or of the last\n_s_ in _session_.\n\n\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1\n\nPROLOGUE\n\nBenediction\n\n    I\u015ba preserve you! he who is revealed\n    In these eight forms by man perceptible--\n    Water, of all creation's works the first;\n    The fire that bears on high the sacrifice\n    Presented with solemnity to heaven;\n    The Priest, the holy offerer of gifts;\n    The Sun and Moon, those two majestic orbs,\n    Eternal marshallers of day and night;\n    The subtle Ether, vehicle of sound,\n    Diffused throughout the boundless universe;\n    The Earth, by sages called \"The place of birth\n    Of all material essences and things\";\n    And Air, which giveth life to all that breathe.\n\nSTAGE-MANAGER [_after the recitation of the benediction, looking towards\nthe tiring-room._]--Lady, when you have finished attiring yourself, come\nthis way.\n\nACTRESS [_entering._]--Here I am, Sir; what are your commands?\n\nSTAGE-MANAGER.--We are here before the eyes of an audience of educated\nand discerning men; and have to represent in their presence a new drama\ncomposed by K\u00e1lid\u00e1sa, called \"\u015aakoontal\u00e1, or the Lost Ring.\" Let the\nwhole company exert themselves to do justice to their several parts.\n\nACTRESS,--You, Sir, have so judiciously managed the cast of the\ncharacters, that nothing will be defective in the acting.\n\nSTAGE-MANAGER.--Lady, I will tell you the exact state of the case.\n    No skill in acting can I deem complete,\n    Till from the wise the actor gain applause:\n    Know that the heart e'en of the truly skilful,\n    Shrinks from too boastful confidence in self.\n\nACTRESS [_modestly_].--You judge correctly. And now, what are your\ncommands?\n\nSTAGE-MANAGER.--What can you do better than engage the attention of the\naudience by some captivating melody?\n\nACTRESS.--Which among the seasons shall I select as the subject of my\nsong?\n\nSTAGE-MANAGER.--You surely ought to give the preference to the present\nSummer season that has but recently commenced, a season so rich in\nenjoyment. For now\n    Unceasing are the charms of halcyon days,\n    When the cool bath exhilarates the frame;\n    When sylvan gales are laden with the scent\n    Of fragrant P\u00e1talas; when soothing sleep\n    Creeps softly on beneath the deepening shade;\n    And when, at last, the dulcet calm of eve\n    Entrancing steals o'er every yielding sense.\n\nACTRESS.--I will. [_Sings._\n    Fond maids, the chosen of their hearts to please,\n      Entwine their ears with sweet \u015air\u00edsha flowers,\n    Whose fragrant lips attract the kiss of bees\n      That softly murmur through the summer hours.\n\nSTAGE-MANAGER.--Charmingly sung! The audience are motionless as statues,\ntheir souls riveted by the enchanting strain. What subject shall we\nselect for representation, that we may insure a continuance of their\nfavor?\n\nACTRESS.--Why not the same, Sir, announced by you at first? Let the\ndrama called \"\u015aakoontal\u00e1, or the Lost Ring,\" be the subject of our\ndramatic performance.\n\nSTAGE-MANAGER.--Rightly reminded! For the moment I had forgotten it.\n    Your song's transporting melody decoyed\n    My thoughts, and rapt with ecstasy my soul;\n    As now the bounding antelope allures\n    The King Dushyanta on the chase intent. [_Exeunt._\n\n\n\n\nACT FIRST\n\nScene.--A Forest\n\n\n_Enter King Dushyanta, armed with a bow and arrow, in a chariot, chasing\nan antelope, attended by his Charioteer_.\n\nCHARIOTEER [_looking at the deer, and then at the King_].--\nGreat Prince,\n    When on the antelope I bend my gaze,\n    And on your Majesty, whose mighty bow\n    Has its string firmly braced; before my eyes\n    The god that wields the trident seems revealed,\n    Chasing the deer that flies from him in vain.\n\nKING.--Charioteer, this fleet antelope has drawn us far from my\nattendants. See! there he runs:--\n    Aye and anon his graceful neck he bends\n    To cast a glance at the pursuing car;\n    And dreading now the swift-descending shaft,\n    Contracts into itself his slender frame:\n    About his path, in scattered fragments strewn,\n    The half-chewed grass falls from his panting mouth;\n    See! in his airy bounds he seems to fly,\n    And leaves no trace upon th'elastic turf.\n          [_With astonishment_.\nHow now! swift as is our pursuit, I scarce can see him.\n\nCHARIOTEER.--Sire, the ground here is full of hollows; I have therefore\ndrawn in the reins and checked the speed of the chariot. Hence the deer\nhas somewhat gained upon us. Now that we are passing over level ground,\nwe shall have no difficulty in overtaking him.\n\nKING.--Loosen the reins, then.\n\nCHARIOTEER.--The King is obeyed. [_Drives the chariot at full speed_.]\nGreat Prince, see! see!\n    Responsive to the slackened rein, the steeds\n    Chafing with eager rivalry, career\n    With emulative fleetness o'er the plain;\n    Their necks outstretched, their waving plumes, that late\n    Fluttered above their brows, are motionless;\n    Their sprightly ears, but now erect, bent low;\n    Themselves unsullied by the circling dust,\n    That vainly follows on their rapid course.\n\nKING [_joyously_].--In good sooth, the horses seem as if they would\noutstrip the steeds of Indra and the Sun.[33]\n    That which but now showed to my view minute\n    Quickly assumes dimension; that which seemed\n    A moment since disjoined in diverse parts,\n    Looks suddenly like one compacted whole;\n    That which is really crooked in its shape\n    In the far distance left, grows regular;\n    Wondrous the chariot's speed, that in a breath,\n    Makes the near distant and the distant near.\n\nNow, Charioteer, see me kill the deer. [_Takes aim_.\n\nA VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Hold, O King! this deer belongs to our\nhermitage. Kill it not! kill it not!\n\nCHARIOTEER [_listening and looking_].--Great King, some hermits have\nstationed themselves so as to screen the antelope at the very moment of\nits coming within range of your arrow.\n\nKING [_hastily_].--Then stop the horses.\n\nCHARIOTEER.--I obey. [_Stops the chariot_.\n\n_Enter a Hermit, and two others with him_.\n\nHERMIT [_raising his hand_].--This deer, O King, belongs to our\nhermitage. Kill it not! kill it not!\n    Now heaven forbid this barb\u00e8d shaft descend\n    Upon the fragile body of a fawn,\n    Like fire upon a heap of tender flowers!\n    Can thy steel bolts no meeter quarry find\n    Than the warm life-blood of a harmless deer?\n    Restore, great Prince, thy weapon to its quiver;\n    More it becomes thy arms to shield the weak,\n    Than to bring anguish on the innocent.\n\nKING.--'Tis done. [_Replaces the arrow in its quiver_.\n\nHERMIT.--Worthy is this action of a Prince, the light of Puru's race.\n    Well does this act befit a Prince like thee,\n    Right worthy is it of thine ancestry.\n    Thy guerdon be a son of peerless worth,\n    Whose wide dominion shall embrace the earth.\n\nBOTH THE OTHER HERMITS [_raising their hands_].--May heaven indeed grant\nthee a son, a sovereign of the earth from sea to sea!\n\nKING [_bowing._]--I accept with gratitude a Br\u00e1hman's benediction.\n\nHERMIT.--We came hither, mighty Prince, to collect sacrificial wood.\nHere on the banks of the M\u00e1lin\u00ed you may perceive the hermitage of the\ngreat sage Kanwa. If other duties require not your presence, deign to\nenter and accept our hospitality.\n    When you behold our penitential rites\n    Performed without impediment by Saints\n    Rich only in devotion, then with pride\n    Will you reflect, Such are the holy men\n    Who call me Guardian; such the men for whom\n    To wield the bow I bare my nervous arm,\n    Scarred by the motion of the glancing string.\n\nKING.--Is the Chief of your Society now at home?\n\nHERMIT.--No; he has gone to Soma-t\u00edrtha to propitiate Destiny, which\nthreatens his daughter \u015aakoontal\u00e1 with some calamity; but he has\ncommissioned her in his absence to entertain all guests with\nhospitality.\n\nKING.--Good! I will pay her a visit. She will make me acquainted with\nthe mighty sage's acts of penance and devotion.\n\nHERMIT.--And we will depart on our errand.\n          [_Exit with his companions_.\n\nKING.--Charioteer, urge on the horses. We will at least purify our souls\nby a sight of this hallowed retreat.\n\nCHARIOTEER.--Your Majesty is obeyed.\n          [_Drives the chariot with great velocity_.\n\nKING [_looking all about him_].--Charioteer, even without being told, I\nshould have known that these were the precincts of a grove consecrated\nto penitential rites.\n\nCHARIOTEER.--How so?\n\nKING.--Do not you observe?\n    Beneath the trees, whose hollow trunks afford\n    Secure retreat to many a nestling brood\n    Of parrots, scattered grains of rice lie strewn.\n    Lo! here and there are seen the polished slabs\n    That serve to bruise the fruit of Ingud\u00ed.\n    The gentle roe-deer, taught to trust in man,\n    Unstartled hear our voices. On the paths\n    Appear the traces of bark-woven vests\n    Borne dripping from the limpid fount of waters.\n    And mark! Laved are the roots of trees by deep canals,\n    Whose glassy waters tremble in the breeze;\n    The sprouting verdure of the leaves is dimmed\n    By dusky wreaths of upward curling smoke\n    From burnt oblations; and on new-mown lawns\n    Around our car graze leisurely the fawns.\n\nCHARIOTEER.--I observe it all.\n\nKING [_advancing a little further_].--The inhabitants of this sacred\nretreat must not be disturbed. Stay the chariot, that I may alight.\n\nCHARIOTEER.--The reins are held in. Your Majesty may descend.\n\nKING [_alighting_].--Charioteer, groves devoted to penance must be\nentered in humble attire. Take these ornaments.\n[_Delivers his ornaments and bow to the Charioteer_.]\nCharioteer, see that the horses are watered, and attend to them until I\nreturn from visiting the inhabitants of the hermitage.\n\nCHARIOTEER.--I will.          [_Exit_.\n\nKING [_walking and looking about_].--Here is the entrance to the\nhermitage. I will now go in.\n          [_Entering he feels a throbbing sensation in his arm_\n    Serenest peace is in this calm retreat,\n    By passion's breath unruffled; what portends\n    My throbbing arm? Why should it whisper here\n    Of happy love? Yet everywhere around us\n    Stand the closed portals of events unknown.\n\nA VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--This way, my dear companions; this way.\n\nKING [_listening_].--Hark! I hear voices to the right of yonder grove of\ntrees. I will walk in that direction. [_Walking and looking about_.] Ah!\nhere are the maidens of the hermitage coming this way to water the\nshrubs, carrying watering-pots proportioned to their strength. [_Gazing\nat them_.] How graceful they look!\n    In palaces such charms are rarely ours;\n    The woodland plants outshine the garden flowers.\nI will conceal myself in this shade and watch them.\n          [_Stands gazing at them_.\n\n_Enter \u015aakoontal\u00e1, with her two female companions, employed in the\nmanner described_.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--This way, my dear companions; this way.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Dear \u015aakoontal\u00e1, one would think that father Kanwa had more\naffection for the shrubs of the hermitage even than for you, seeing he\nassigns to you who are yourself as delicate as the fresh-blown jasmine,\nthe task of filling with water the trenches which encircle their roots.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Dear Anas\u00fay\u00e1, although I am charged by my good father with\nthis duty, yet I cannot regard it as a task. I really feel a sisterly\nlove for these plants.\n          [_Continues watering the shrubs_.\n\nKING.--Can this be the daughter of Kanwa? The saintly man, though\ndescended from the great Ka\u015byapa, must be very deficient in judgment to\nhabituate such a maiden to the life of a recluse.\n    The sage who would this form of artless grace\n    Inure to penance--thoughtlessly attempts\n    To cleave in twain the hard acacia's stem\n    With the soft edge of a blue lotus leaf.\nWell! concealed behind this tree, I will watch her without raising her\nsuspicions.          [_Conceals himself_.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Good Anas\u00fay\u00e1, Priyamvad\u00e1 has drawn this bark-dress too\ntightly about my chest. I pray thee, loosen it a little.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--I will.          [_Loosens it_.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 [_smiling_].--Why do you lay the blame on me? Blame rather\nyour own blooming youthfulness which imparts fulness to your bosom.\n\nKING.--A most just observation!\n    This youthful form, whose bosom's swelling charms\n    By the bark's knotted tissue are concealed,\n    Like some fair bud close folded in its sheath,\n    Gives not to view the blooming of its beauty.\nBut what am I saying? In real truth, this bark-dress, though ill-suited\nto her figure, sets it off like an ornament.\n    The lotus with the Saivala entwined\n    Is not a whit less brilliant: dusky spots\n    Heighten the lustre of the cold-rayed moon:\n    This lovely maiden in her dress of bark\n    Seems all the lovelier. E'en the meanest garb\n    Gives to true beauty fresh attractiveness.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_looking before her_].--Yon Ke\u015bara-tree beckons to me with\nits young shoots, which, as the breeze waves them to and fro, appear\nlike slender fingers. I will go and attend to it. [_Walks towards it_.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--Dear \u015aakoontal\u00e1, prithee, rest in that attitude one moment.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Why so?\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--The Ke\u015bara-tree, whilst your graceful form bends about its\nstem, appears as if it were wedded to some lovely twining creeper.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Ah! saucy girl, you are most appropriately named Priyamvad\u00e1\n(\"Speaker of flattering things\").\n\nKING.--What Priyamvad\u00e1 says, though complimentary, is nevertheless true.\nVerily,\n    Her ruddy lip vies with the opening bud;\n    Her graceful arms are as the twining stalks;\n    And her whole form is radiant with the glow\n    Of youthful beauty, as the tree with bloom.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--See, dear \u015aakoontal\u00e1, here is the young jasmine, which you\nnamed \"the Moonlight of the Grove,\" the self-elected wife of the\nmango-tree. Have you forgotten it?\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Rather will I forget myself. [_Approaching the plant and\nlooking at it_.] How delightful is the season when the jasmine-creeper\nand the mango-tree seem thus to unite in mutual embraces! The fresh\nblossoms of the jasmine resemble the bloom of a young bride, and the\nnewly-formed shoots of the mango appear to make it her natural\nprotector.          [_Continues gazing at it_.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 [_smiling_].--Do you know, my Anas\u00fay\u00e1, why \u015aakoontal\u00e1 gazes\nso intently at the jasmine?\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--No, indeed, I cannot imagine. I pray thee tell me.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--She is wishing that as the jasmine is united to a suitable\ntree, so, in like manner, she may obtain a husband worthy of her.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Speak for yourself, girl; this is the thought in your own\nmind.          [_Continues watering the flowers_.\n\nKING.--Would that my union with her were permissible! and yet I hardly\ndare hope that the maiden is sprung from a caste different from that of\nthe Head of the hermitage. But away with doubt:--\n    That she is free to wed a warrior-king\n    My heart attests. For, in conflicting doubts,\n    The secret promptings of the good man's soul\n    Are an unerring index of the truth.\n\nHowever, come what may, I will ascertain the fact.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_in a flurry_].--Ah! a bee, disturbed by the sprinkling of\nthe water, has left the young jasmine, and is trying to settle on my\nface.          [_Attempts to drive it away_.\n\nKING [_gazing at her ardently_].--Beautiful! there is something charming\neven in her repulse.\n    Where'er the bee his eager onset plies,\n    Now here, now there, she darts her kindling eyes:\n    What love hath yet to teach, fear teaches now,\n    The furtive glances and the frowning brow.\n                                [_In a tone of envy_.\n    Ah happy bee! how boldly dost thou try\n    To steal the lustre from her sparkling eye;\n    And in thy circling movements hover near,\n    To murmur tender secrets in her ear;\n    Or, as she coyly waves her hand, to sip\n    Voluptuous nectar from her lower lip!\n    While rising doubts my heart's fond hopes destroy,\n    Thou dost the fulness of her charms enjoy.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--This impertinent bee will not rest quiet. I must move\nelsewhere. [_Moving a few steps off, and casting a glance around_.] How\nnow! he is following me here. Help! my dear friends, help! deliver me\nfrom the attacks of this troublesome insect.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 AND ANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--How can we deliver you? Call Dushyanta to your\naid. The sacred groves are under the king's special protection.\n\nKING.--An excellent opportunity for me to show myself. Fear\nnot--[_Checks himself when the words are half-uttered._ _Aside_.] But\nstay, if I introduce myself in this manner, they will know me to be the\nKing. Be it so, I will accost them, nevertheless.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_moving a step or two further off_].--What! it still\npersists in following me.\n\nKING [_advancing hastily_].--When mighty Puru's offspring sways the\nearth,\n    And o'er the wayward holds his threatening rod,\n    Who dares molest the gentle maids that keep\n    Their holy vigils here in Kanwa's grove?\n\n          [_All look at the King, and are embarrassed_.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Kind Sir, no outrage has been committed; only our dear friend\nhere was teased by the attacks of a troublesome bee.\n          [_Points to \u015aakoontal\u00e1_.\n\nKING [_turning to \u015aakoontal\u00e1_].--I trust all is well with your\ndevotional rites?\n\n          [_\u015aakoontal\u00e1 stands confused and silent_.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--All is well, indeed, now that we are honored by the reception\nof a distinguished guest. Dear \u015aakoontal\u00e1, go, bring from the hermitage\nan offering of flowers, rice, and fruit. This water that we have brought\nwith us will serve to bathe our guest's feet.\n\nKING.--The rites of hospitality are already performed; your truly kind\nwords are the best offering I can receive.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--At least be good enough, gentle Sir, to sit down awhile,\nand rest yourself on this seat shaded by the leaves of the Sapta-parna\ntree.\n\nKING.--You, too, must all be fatigued by your employment.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Dear \u015aakoontal\u00e1, there is no impropriety in our sitting by the\nside of our guest: come, let us sit down here.\n\n          [_All sit down together_.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_aside_].--How is it that the sight of this man has made me\nsensible of emotions inconsistent with religious vows?\n\nKING [_gazing at them all by turns_].--How charmingly your friendship is\nin keeping with the equality of your ages and appearance!\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 [_aside to Anas\u00fay\u00e1_].--Who can this person be, whose lively\nyet dignified manner, and polite conversation, bespeak him a man of high\nrank?\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--I, too, my dear, am very curious to know. I will ask him\nmyself. [_Aloud_]. Your kind words, noble Sir, fill me with confidence,\nand prompt me to inquire of what regal family our noble guest is the\nornament? what country is now mourning his absence? and what induced a\nperson so delicately nurtured to expose himself to the fatigue of\nvisiting this grove of penance?\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_aside_].--Be not troubled, O my heart, Anas\u00fay\u00e1 is giving\nutterance to thy thoughts.\n\nKING [_aside_].--How now shall I reply? shall I make myself known, or\nshall I still disguise my real rank? I have it; I will answer her thus.\n[_Aloud_]. I am the person charged by his majesty, the descendant of\nPuru, with the administration of justice and religion; and am come to\nthis sacred grove to satisfy myself that the rites of the hermits are\nfree from obstruction.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--The hermits, then, and all the members of our religious\nsociety have now a guardian.\n\n          [_\u015aakoontal\u00e1 gazes bashfully at the King_.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 AND ANAS\u00daY\u00c1 [_perceiving the state of her feelings, and of\nthe King's. Aside to \u015aakoontal\u00e1_].--Dear \u015aakoontal\u00e1, if father Kanwa\nwere but at home to-day------\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_angrily_].--What if he were?\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 AND ANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--He would honor this our distinguished guest\nwith an offering of the most precious of his possessions.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Go to! you have some silly idea in your minds. I will not\nlisten to such remarks.\n\nKING.--May I be allowed, in my turn, to ask you maidens a few\nparticulars respecting your friend?\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 AND ANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Your request, Sir, is an honor.\n\nKING.--The sage Kanwa lives in the constant practice of austerities.\nHow, then, can this friend of yours be called his daughter?\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--I will explain to you, Sir. You have heard of an illustrious\nsage of regal caste, Vi\u015bw\u00e1mitra, whose family name is Ka\u00fasika.\n\nKING.--I have.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Know that he is the real father of our friend. The venerable\nKanwa is only her reputed father. He it was who brought her up, when she\nwas deserted by her mother.\n\nKING.--\"Deserted by her mother!\" My curiosity is excited; pray let me\nhear the story from the beginning.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--You shall hear it, Sir. Some time since, this sage of regal\ncaste, while performing a most severe penance on the banks of the river\nGod\u00e1var\u00ed, excited the jealousy and alarm of the gods; insomuch that they\ndespatched a lovely nymph named Menak\u00e1 to interrupt his devotions.\n\nKING.--The inferior gods, I am aware, are jealous of the power which the\npractice of excessive devotion confers on mortals.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Well, then, it happened that Vi\u015bw\u00e1mitra, gazing on the\nbewitching beauty of that nymph at a season when, spring being in its\nglory------\n          [_Stops short, and appears confused_.\n\nKING.--The rest may be easily divined. \u015aakoontal\u00e1, then, is the\noffspring of the nymph.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Just so.\n\nKING.--It is quite intelligible.\n    How could a mortal to such charms give birth?\n    The lightning's radiance flashes not from earth.\n\n          [_\u015aakoontal\u00e1 remains modestly seated with downcast eyes.\n\n[Aside_]. And so my desire has really scope for its indulgence. Yet I am\nstill distracted by doubts, remembering the pleasantry of her female\ncompanions respecting her wish for a husband.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 [_looking with a smile at \u015aakoontal\u00e1, and then turning\ntowards the King_].--You seem desirous, Sir, of asking something\nfurther.\n\n          [_\u015aakoontal\u00e1 makes a chiding gesture with her finger_.\n\nKING.--You conjecture truly. I am so eager to hear the particulars of\nyour friend's history, that I have still another question to ask.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--Scruple not to do so. Persons who lead the life of hermits\nmay be questioned unreservedly.\n\nKING.--I wish to ascertain one point respecting your friend--\n    Will she be bound by solitary vows\n    Opposed to love, till her espousals only?\n    Or ever dwell with these her cherished fawns,\n    Whose eyes, in lustre vieing with her own,\n    Return her gaze of sisterly affection?\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--Hitherto, Sir, she has been engaged in the practice of\nreligious duties, and has lived in subjection to her foster-father; but\nit is now his fixed intention to give her away in marriage to a husband\nworthy of her.\n\nKING [_aside_].--His intention may be easily carried into effect.\n    Be hopeful, O my heart, thy harrowing doubts\n    Are past and gone; that which thou didst believe\n    To be as unapproachable as fire,\n    Is found a glittering gem that may be touched.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_pretending anger_].--Anas\u00fay\u00e1, I shall leave you.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Why so?\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--That I may go and report this impertinent Priyamvad\u00e1 to the\nvenerable matron, Gautam\u00ed.[34]\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Surely, dear friend, it would not be right to leave a\ndistinguished guest before he has received the rights of hospitality,\nand quit his presence in this wilful manner.\n\n          [_\u015aakoontal\u00e1, without answering a word, moves away_.\n\nKING [_making a movement to arrest her departure, but checking himself.\nAside_].--Ah! a lover's feelings betray themselves by his gestures.\n    When I would fain have stayed the maid, a sense\n    Of due decorum checked my bold design:\n    Though I have stirred not, yet my mien betrays\n    My eagerness to follow on her steps.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 [_holding \u015aakoontal\u00e1 back_].--Dear \u015aakoontal\u00e1, it does not\nbecome you to go away in this manner.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_frowning_].--Why not, pray?\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--You are under a promise to water two more shrubs for me.\nWhen you have paid your debt, you shall go, and not before.\n          [_Forces her to turn back_.\n\nKING.--Spare her this trouble, gentle maiden. The exertion of watering\nthe shrubs has already fatigued her.\n    The water-jar has overtasked the strength\n    Of her slim arms; her shoulders droop, her hands\n    Are ruddy with the glow of quickened pulses;\n    E'en now her agitated breath imparts\n    Unwonted tremor to her heaving breast;\n    The pearly drops that mar the recent bloom\n    Of the \u015air\u00edsha pendant in her ear,\n    Gather in clustering circles on her cheek;\n    Loosed is the fillet of her hair: her hand\n    Restrains the locks that struggle to be free.\nSuffer me, then, thus to discharge the debt for you.\n\n[_Offers a ring to Priyamvad\u00e1. Both the maidens, reading the name\nDushyanta on the seal, look at each other with surprise._\n\nKING.--Nay, think not that I am King Dushyanta. I am only the king's\nofficer, and this is the ring which I have received from him as my\ncredentials.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--The greater the reason you ought not to part with the ring\nfrom your finger. I am content to release her from her obligation at\nyour simple request. [_With a smile_.] Now, \u015aakoontal\u00e1 my love, you are\nat liberty to retire, thanks to the intercession of this noble stranger,\nor rather of this mighty prince.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_aside_].--My movements are no longer under my own control.\n[_Aloud_.] Pray, what authority have you over me, either to send me away\nor keep me back?\n\nKING [_gazing at \u015aakoontal\u00e1. Aside_].--Would I could ascertain whether\nshe is affected towards me as I am towards her! At any rate, my hopes\nare free to indulge themselves. Because,\n    Although she mingles not her words with mine,\n    Yet doth her listening ear drink in my speech;\n    Although her eye shrinks from my ardent gaze,\n    No form but mine attracts its timid glances.\n\nA VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--O hermits, be ready to protect the\nanimals belonging to our hermitage. King Dushyanta, amusing himself with\nhunting, is near at hand.\n    Lo! by the feet of prancing horses raised,\n    Thick clouds of moving dust, like glittering swarms\n    Of locusts in the glow of eventide,\n    Fall on the branches of our sacred trees;\n    Where hang the dripping vests of woven bark,\n    Bleached by the waters of the cleansing fountain.\nAnd see!\n    Scared by the royal chariot in its course,\n    With headlong haste an elephant invades\n    The hallowed precincts of our sacred grove;\n    Himself the terror of the startled deer,\n    And an embodied hindrance to our rites.\n    The hedge of creepers clinging to his feet,\n    Feeble obstruction to his mad career,\n    Is dragged behind him in a tangled chain;\n    And with terrific shock one tusk he drives\n    Into the riven body of a tree,\n    Sweeping before him all impediments.\n\nKING [_aside_].--Out upon it! my retinue are looking for me, and are\ndisturbing this holy retreat. Well! there is no help for it; I must go\nand meet them.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 AND ANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Noble Sir, we are terrified by the accidental\ndisturbance caused by the wild elephant. Permit us to return into the\ncottage.\n\nKING [_hastily_].--Go, gentle maidens. It shall be our care that no\ninjury happen to the hermitage.          [_All rise up_.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 AND ANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--After such poor hospitality we are ashamed to\nrequest the honor of a second visit from you.\n\nKING.--Say not so. The mere sight of you, sweet maidens, has been to me\nthe best entertainment.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Anas\u00fay\u00e1, a pointed blade of Ku\u015ba-grass[35] has pricked my\nfoot; and my bark-mantle is caught in the branch of a Kuruvaka-bush. Be\nso good as to wait for me until I have disentangled it.\n[_Exit with her two companions, after making pretexts for delay, that\nshe may steal glances at the King_.\n\nKING.--I have no longer any desire to return to the city. I will\ntherefore rejoin my attendants, and make them encamp somewhere in the\nvicinity of this sacred grove. In good truth, \u015aakoontal\u00e1 has taken such\npossession of my thoughts, that I cannot turn myself in any other\ndirection.\n    My limbs drawn onward leave my heart behind,\n    Like silken pennon borne against the wind.\n\n\n[33] The speed of the chariot resembled that of the wind and the sun.\nIndra was the god of the firmament or atmosphere. The sun, in Hindoo\nmythology, is represented as seated in a chariot drawn by seven green\nhorses, having before him a lovely youth without legs, who acts as\ncharioteer, and who is Aruna, or the Dawn personified.\n\n[34] The Matron or Superior of the female part of the society of\nhermits. Their authority resembled that of an abbess in a convent of\nnuns.\n\n[35] A grass held sacred by the Hindoos and freely used at their\nreligious ceremonies. Its leaves are very long and taper to a\nneedle-like point.\n\n\n\n\nACT SECOND\n\nScene.--A Plain on the Skirts of the Forest\n\n\n_Enter the Jester, M\u00e1thavya, in a melancholy mood_.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA [_sighing_].--Heigh-ho! what an unlucky fellow I am! worn to a\nshadow by my royal friend's sporting propensities. \"Here's a deer!\"\n\"There goes a boar!\" \"Yonder's a tiger!\" This is the only burden of our\ntalk, while in the heat of the meridian sun we toil on from jungle to\njungle, wandering about in the paths of the woods, where the trees\nafford us no shelter. Are we thirsty? We have nothing to drink but the\nfoul water of some mountain stream, filled with dry leaves which give it\na most pungent flavor. Are we hungry? We have nothing to eat but roast\ngame, which we must swallow down at odd times, as best we can. Even at\nnight there is no peace to be had. Sleeping is out of the question, with\njoints all strained by dancing attendance upon my sporting friend; or if\nI do happen to doze, I am awakened at the very earliest dawn by the\nhorrible din of a lot of rascally beaters and huntsmen, who must needs\nsurround the wood before sunrise, and deafen me with their clatter. Nor\nare these my only troubles. Here's a fresh grievance, like a new boil\nrising upon an old one! Yesterday, while we were lagging behind, my\nroyal friend entered yonder hermitage after a deer; and there, as\nill-luck would have it? caught sight of a beautiful girl, called\n\u015aakoontal\u00e1, the hermit's daughter. From that moment, not another thought\nabout returning to the city! and all last night, not a wink of sleep did\nhe get for thinking of the damsel. What is to be done? At any rate, I\nwill be on the watch for him as soon as he has finished his toilet.\n[[_Walking and looking about_.] Oh! here he comes, attended by the\nYavana women with bows in their hands, and wearing garlands of wild\nflowers. What shall I do? I have it. I will pretend to stand in the\neasiest attitude for resting my bruised and crippled limbs.\n          [_Stands leaning on a staff_.\n\n_Enter King Dushyanta, followed by a retinue in the manner described_.\n\nKING.--True, by no easy conquest may I win her,\n    Yet are my hopes encouraged by her mien.\n    Love is not yet triumphant; but, methinks,\n    The hearts of both are ripe for his delights.\n[_Smiling_.] Ah! thus does the lover delude himself; judging of the\nstate of his loved one's feelings by his own desires. But yet,\n    The stolen glance with half-averted eye,\n    The hesitating gait, the quick rebuke\n    Addressed to her companion, who would fain\n    Have stayed her counterfeit departure; these\n    Are signs not unpropitious to my suit.\n    So eagerly the lover feeds his hopes,\n    Claiming each trivial gesture for his own.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA [_still in the same attitude_].--Ah, friend, my hands cannot\nmove to greet you with the usual salutation. I can only just command my\nlips to wish your majesty victory.\n\nKING.--Why, what has paralyzed your limbs?\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--You might as well ask me how my eye comes to water after you\nhave poked your finger into it.\n\nKING.--I don't understand you; speak more intelligibly.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Ah, my dear friend, is yonder upright reed transformed into a\ncrooked plant by its own act, or by the force of the current?\n\nKING.--The current of the river causes it, I suppose.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Aye; just as you are the cause of my crippled limbs.\n\nKING.--How so?\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Here are you living the life of a wild man of the woods in a\nsavage, unfrequented region, while your state affairs are left to shift\nfor themselves; and as for poor me, I am no longer master of my own\nlimbs, but have to follow you about day after day in your chases after\nwild animals, till my bones are all crippled and out of joint. Do, my\ndear friend, let me have one day's rest.\n\nKING [_aside_].--This fellow little knows, while he talks in this\nmanner, that my mind is wholly engrossed by recollections of the\nhermit's daughter, and quite as disinclined to the chase as his own.\n    No longer can I bend my well-braced bow\n    Against the timid deer; nor e'er again\n    With well-aimed arrows can I think to harm\n    These her beloved associates, who enjoy\n    The privilege of her companionship;\n    Teaching her tender glances in return.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA [_looking in the King's face_].--I may as well speak to the\nwinds, for any attention you pay to my requests. I suppose you have\nsomething on your mind, and are talking it over to yourself.\n\nKING [_smiling_].--I was only thinking that I ought not to disregard a\nfriend's request.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Then may the King live forever!          [_Moves off_.\n\nKING.--Stay a moment, my dear friend. I have something else to say to\nyou.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Say on, then.\n\nKING.--When you have rested, you must assist me in another business,\nwhich will give you no fatigue.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--In eating something nice, I hope.\n\nKING.--You shall know at some future time.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--No time better than the present.\n\nKING.--What ho! there.\n\nWARDER [_entering_].--What are your Majesty's commands?\n\nKING.--O Raivataka! bid the General of the forces attend.\n\nWARDER.--I will, Sire.        [_Exit and re\u00ebnters with the General_]\nCome forward, General; his Majesty is looking towards you, and has some\norder to give you.\n\nGENERAL [_looking at the King_].--Though hunting is known to produce ill\neffects, my royal master has derived only benefit from it. For\n    Like the majestic elephant that roams\n    O'er mountain wilds, so does the King display\n    A stalwart frame, instinct with vigorous life.\n    His brawny arms and manly chest are scored\n    By frequent passage of the sounding string;\n    Unharmed he bears the mid-day sun; no toil\n    His mighty spirit daunts; his sturdy limbs,\n    Stripped of redundant flesh, relinquish nought\n    Of their robust proportions, but appear\n    In muscle, nerve, and sinewy fibre cased.\n[_Approaching the King_.] Victory to the King! We have tracked the wild\nbeasts to their lairs in the forest. Why delay, when everything is\nready?\n\nKING.--My friend M\u00e1thavya here has been disparaging the chase, till he\nhas taken away all my relish for it.\n\nGENERAL [_aside to M\u00e1thavya_].--Persevere in your opposition, my good\nfellow; I will sound the King's real feelings, and humor him\naccordingly. [_Aloud_]. The blockhead talks nonsense, and your Majesty,\nin your own person, furnishes the best proof of it. Observe, Sire, the\nadvantage and pleasure the hunter derives from the chase.\n    Freed from all grosser influences, his frame\n    Loses its sluggish humors, and becomes\n    Buoyant, compact, and fit for bold encounter.\n    'Tis his to mark with joy the varied passions,\n    Fierce heats of anger, terror, blank dismay,\n    Of forest animals that cross his path.\n    Then what a thrill transports the hunter's soul,\n    When, with unerring course, his driven shaft\n    Pierces the moving mark! Oh! 'tis conceit\n    In moralists to call the chase a vice;\n    What recreation can compare with this?\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA [_angrily_].--Away! tempter, away! The King has recovered his\nsenses, and is himself again. As for you, you may, if you choose, wander\nabout from forest to forest, till some old bear seizes you by the nose,\nand makes a mouthful of you.\n\nKING.--My good General, as we are just now in the neighborhood of a\nconsecrated grove, your panegyric upon hunting is somewhat ill-timed,\nand I cannot assent to all you have said. For the present,\n    All undisturbed the buffaloes shall sport\n    In yonder pool, and with their ponderous horns\n    Scatter its tranquil waters, while the deer,\n    Couched here and there in groups beneath the shade\n    Of spreading branches, ruminate in peace.\n    And all securely shall the herd of boars\n    Feed on the marshy sedge; and thou, my bow,\n    With slackened string enjoy a long repose.\n\nGENERAL.--So please your Majesty, it shall be as you desire.\n\nKING.--Recall, then, the beaters who were sent in advance to surround\nthe forest. My troops must not be allowed to disturb this sacred\nretreat, and irritate its pious inhabitants.\n    Know that within the calm and cold recluse\n    Lurks unperceived a germ of smothered flame,\n    All-potent to destroy; a latent fire\n    That rashly kindled bursts with fury forth:--\n    As in the disc of crystal that remains\n    Cool to the touch, until the solar ray\n    Falls on its polished surface, and excites\n    The burning heat that lies within concealed.\n\nGENERAL.--Your Majesty's commands shall be obeyed.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Off with you, you son of a slave! Your nonsense won't go down\nhere, my fine fellow.          [_Exit General_.\n\nKING [_looking at his attendants_].--Here, women, take my hunting-dress;\nand you, Raivataka, keep guard carefully outside.\n\nATTENDANTS.--We will, sire.          [_Exeunt._\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Now that you have got rid of these plagues, who have been\nbuzzing about us like so many flies, sit down, do, on that stone slab,\nwith the shade of the tree as your canopy, and I will seat myself by you\nquite comfortably.\n\nKING.--Go you, and sit down first.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Come along, then.\n\n          [_Both walk on a little way, and seat themselves_.\n\nKING.--M\u00e1thavya, it may be said of you that you have never beheld\nanything worth seeing: for your eyes have not yet looked upon the\nloveliest object in creation.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--How can you say so, when I see your Majesty before me at this\nmoment?\n\nKING.--It is very natural that everyone should consider his own friend\nperfect; but I was alluding to \u015aakoontal\u00e1, the brightest ornament of\nthese hallowed groves.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA [_aside_].--I understand well enough, but I am not going to\nhumor him. [_Aloud_.] If, as you intimate, she is a hermit's daughter,\nyou cannot lawfully ask her in marriage. You may as well, then, dismiss\nher from your mind, for any good the mere sight of her can do.\n\nKING.--Think you that a descendant of the mighty Puru could fix his\naffections on an unlawful object?\n    Though, as men say, the offspring of the sage,\n    The maiden to a nymph celestial owes\n    Her being, and by her mother left on earth,\n    Was found and nurtured by the holy man\n    As his own daughter, in this hermitage;--\n    So, when dissevered from its parent stalk,\n    Some falling blossom of the jasmine, wafted\n    Upon the sturdy sunflower, is preserved\n    By its support from premature decay.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA [_smiling_].--This passion of yours for a rustic maiden, when\nyou have so many gems of women at home in your palace, seems to me very\nlike the fancy of a man who is tired of sweet dates, and longs for sour\ntamarinds as a variety.\n\nKING.--You have not seen her, or you would not talk in this fashion.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--I can quite understand it must require something surpassingly\nattractive to excite the admiration of such a great man as you.\n\nKING.--I will describe her, my dear friend, in a few words--\n    Man's all-wise Maker, wishing to create\n    A faultless form, whose matchless symmetry\n    Should far transcend Creation's choicest works,\n    Did call together by his mighty will,\n    And garner up in his eternal mind,\n    A bright assemblage of all lovely things:--\n    And then, as in a picture, fashion them\n    Into one perfect and ideal form.\n    Such the divine, the wondrous prototype,\n    Whence her fair shape was moulded into being.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--If that's the case, she must indeed throw all other beauties\ninto the shade.\n\nKING.--To my mind she really does.\n    This peerless maid is like a fragrant flower,\n    Whose perfumed breath has never been diffused;\n    A tender bud, that no profaning hand\n    Has dared to sever from its parent stalk;\n    A gem of priceless water, just released\n    Pure and unblemished from its glittering bed.\n    Or may the maiden haply be compared\n    To sweetest honey, that no mortal lip\n    Has sipped; or, rather to the mellowed fruit\n    Of virtuous actions in some former birth,\n    Now brought to full perfection? Lives the man\n    Whom bounteous heaven has destined to espouse her?\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Make haste, then, to her aid; you have no time to lose, if\nyou don't wish this fruit of all the virtues to drop into the mouth of\nsome greasy-headed rustic of devout habits.\n\nKING.--The lady is not her own mistress, and her foster-father is not at\nhome.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Well, but tell me, did she look at all kindly upon you?\n\nKING.--Maidens brought up in a hermitage are naturally shy and reserved;\nbut for all that,\n    She did look towards me, though she quick withdrew\n    Her stealthy glances when she met my gaze;\n    She smiled upon me sweetly, but disguised\n    With maiden grace the secret of her smiles.\n    Coy love was half unveiled; then, sudden checked\n    By modesty, left half to be divined.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Why, of course, my dear friend, you never could seriously\nexpect that at the very first sight she would fall over head and ears in\nlove with you, and without more ado come and sit in your lap.\n\nKING.--When we parted from each other, she betrayed her liking for me by\nclearer indications, but still with the utmost modesty.\n    Scarce had the fair one from my presence passed,\n    When, suddenly, without apparent cause,\n    She stopped, and counterfeiting pain, exclaimed,\n    \"My foot is wounded by this prickly grass.\"\n    Then glancing at me tenderly, she feigned\n    Another charming pretext for delay,\n    Pretending that a bush had caught her robe,\n    And turned as if to disentangle it.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--I trust you have laid in a good stock of provisions, for I\nsee you intend making this consecrated grove your game-preserve, and\nwill be roaming here in quest of sport for some time to come.\n\nKING.--You must know, my good fellow, that I have been recognized by\nsome of the inmates of the hermitage. Now I want the assistance of your\nfertile invention, in devising some excuse for going there again.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--There is but one expedient that I can suggest. You are the\nKing, are you not?\n\nKING.--What then?\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Say you have come for the sixth part of their grain, which\nthey owe you for tribute.\n\nKING.--No, no, foolish man; these hermits pay me a very different kind\nof tribute, which I value more than heaps of gold or jewels; observe,\n    The tribute which my other subjects bring\n    Must moulder into dust, but holy men\n    Present me with a portion of the fruits\n    Of penitential services and prayers--\n    A precious and imperishable gift.\n\nA VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--We are fortunate; here is the object of\nour search.\n\nKING [_listening],_--Surely those must be the voices of hermits, to\njudge by their deep tones.\n\nWARDER [_entering],_--Victory to the King! two young hermits are in\nwaiting outside, and solicit an audience of your Majesty.\n\nKING.--Introduce them immediately.\n\nWARDER.--I will, my liege. [_Goes out, and re\u00ebnters with two young\nHermits_.] This way, Sirs, this way.\n\n          [_Both the Hermits look at the King_\n\nFIRST HERMIT.--How majestic is his mien, and yet what confidence it\ninspires! But this might be expected in a king whose character and\nhabits have earned for him a title only one degree removed from that of\na Saint.\n    In this secluded grove, whose sacred joys\n    All may participate, he deigns to dwell\n    Like one of us; and daily treasures up\n    A store of purest merit for himself,\n    By the protection of our holy rites.\n    In his own person wondrously are joined\n    Both majesty and saintlike holiness:--\n    And often chanted by inspired bards,\n    His hallowed title of \"Imperial Sage\"\n    Ascends in joyous accents to the skies.\n\nSECOND HERMIT.--Bear in mind, Gautama, that this is the great Dushyanta,\nthe friend of Indra.\n\nFIRST HERMIT.--What of that?\n\nSECOND HERMIT.--Where is the wonder if his nervous arm,\n    Puissant and massive as the iron bar\n    That binds a castle-gateway, singly sways\n    The sceptre of the universal earth,\n    E'en to its dark-green boundary of waters?\n    Or if the gods, beholden to his aid\n    In their fierce warfare with the powers of hell,\n    Should blend his name with Indra's in their songs\n    Of victory, and gratefully accord\n    No lower meed of praise to his braced bow,\n    Than to the thunders of the god of heaven?\n\nBOTH THE HERMITS [_approaching_].--Victory to the King!\n\nKING [_rising from his seat_].--Hail to you both!\n\nBOTH THE HERMITS.--Heaven bless your Majesty!\n\n          [_They offer fruits_.\n\nKING [_respectfully receiving the offering_].--Tell me, I pray you, the\nobject of your visit.\n\nBOTH THE HERMITS.--The inhabitants of the hermitage having heard of your\nMajesty's sojourn in our neighborhood, make this humble petition.\n\nKING.--What are their commands?\n\nBOTH THE HERMITS.--In the absence of our Superior, the great Sage Kanwa,\nevil demons are disturbing our sacrificial rites.[36] Deign, therefore,\naccompanied by your charioteer, to take up your abode in our hermitage\nfor a few days.\n\nKING.--I am honored by your invitation.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA [_aside_].--Most opportune and convenient, certainly!\n\nKING [_smiling_].--Ho! there, Raivataka! Tell the charioteer from me to\nbring round the chariot with my bow.\n\nWARDER.--I will, Sire.           [_Exit._\n\nBOTH THE HERMITS [_joyfully_].--Well it becomes the King by acts of\ngrace\n    To emulate the virtues of his race.\n    Such acts thy lofty destiny attest;\n    Thy mission is to succor the distressed.\n\nKING [_bowing to the Hermits_].--Go first, reverend Sirs, I will follow\nyou immediately.\n\nBOTH THE HERMITS.--May victory attend you!          [_Exeunt._\n\nKING.--My dear M\u00e1thavya, are you not full of longing to see \u015aakoontal\u00e1?\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--To tell you the truth, though I was just now brimful of\ndesire to see her, I have not a drop left since this piece of news about\nthe demons.\n\nKING.--Never fear; you shall keep close to me for protection.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Well, you must be my guardian-angel, and act the part of a\nvery Vishnu[37] to me.\n\nWARDER--[_entering_].--Sire, the chariot is ready, and only waits to\nconduct you to victory. But here is a messenger named Karabhaka, just\narrived from your capital, with a message from the Queen, your mother.\n\nKING--[_respectfully_].--How say you? a messenger from the venerable\nQueen?\n\nWARDER.--Even so.\n\nKING.--Introduce him at once.\n\nWARDER.--I will, Sire. [_Goes out, and re-\u00ebnters with Karabhaka_.]\nBehold the King! Approach.\n\nKARABHAKA.--Victory to the King! The Queen-mother bids me say that in\nfour days from the present time she intends celebrating a solemn\nceremony for the advancement and preservation of her son. She expects\nthat your Majesty will honor her with your presence on that occasion.\n\nKING.--This places me in a dilemma. Here, on the one hand, is the\ncommission of these holy men to be executed; and, on the other, the\ncommand of my revered parent to be obeyed. Both duties are too sacred to\nbe neglected. What is to be done?\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--You will have to take up an intermediate position between the\ntwo, like King Tri\u015banku, who was suspended between heaven and earth,\nbecause the sage Vi\u015bw\u00e1mitra commanded him to mount up to heaven, and the\ngods ordered him down again.\n\nKING.--I am certainly very much perplexed. For here,\n    Two different duties are required of me\n    In widely distant places; how can I\n    In my own person satisfy them both?\n    Thus is my mind distracted and impelled\n    In opposite directions, like a stream\n    That, driven back by rocks, still rushes on,\n    Forming two currents in its eddying course.\n[_Reflecting_.] Friend M\u00e1thavya, as you were my playfellow in childhood,\nthe Queen has always received you like a second son; go you, then, back\nto her and tell her of my solemn engagement to assist these holy men.\nYou can supply my place in the ceremony, and act the part of a son to\nthe Queen.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--With the greatest pleasure in the world; but don't suppose\nthat I am really coward enough to have the slightest fear of those\ntrumpery demons.\n\nKING [_smiling_].--Oh! of course not; a great Br\u00e1hman like you could not\npossibly give way to such weakness.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--You must let me travel in a manner suitable to the King's\nyounger brother.\n\nKING.--Yes, I shall send my retinue with you, that there may be no\nfurther disturbance in this sacred forest.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA [_with a strut_].--Already I feel quite like a young prince.\n\nKING [_aside_].--This is a giddy fellow, and in all probability he will\nlet out the truth about my present pursuit to the women of the palace.\nWhat is to be done? I must say something to deceive him. [_Aloud to\nM\u00e1thavya, taking him by the hand_.] Dear friend, I am going to the\nhermitage wholly and solely out of respect for its pious inhabitants,\nand not because I have really any liking for \u015aakoontal\u00e1, the hermit's\ndaughter. Observe,\n    What suitable communion could there be\n    Between a monarch and a rustic girl?\n    I did but feign an idle passion, friend,\n    Take not in earnest what was said in jest.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Don't distress yourself; I quite understand.\n\n          [_Exeunt._\n\n\n[36] The religious rites of holy men were often disturbed by certain\nevil spirits called R\u00e1kshasas, who were the determined enemies of piety\nand devotion.\n\n[37] Vishnu, the Preserver, was one of the three principal gods.\n\n\n\n\nPRELUDE TO ACT THIRD\n\nScene.--The Hermitage\n\n\n_Enter a young Br\u00e1hman, carrying bundles of Ku\u015ba-grass for the use of\nthe sacrificing priests_.\n\nYOUNG BR\u00c1HMAN.--How wonderful is the power of King Dushyanta! No sooner\ndid he enter our hermitage, than we were able to proceed with our\nsacrificial rites, unmolested by the evil demons.\n    No need to fix the arrow to the bow;\n    The mighty monarch sounds the quivering string,\n    And, by the thunder of his arms dismayed,\n    Our demon foes are scattered to the wind.\nI must now, therefore, make haste and deliver to the sacrificing priests\nthese bundles of Ku\u015ba-grass, to be strewn round the altar. [_Walking and\nlooking about; then addressing someone off the stage_.] Why, Priyamvad\u00e1,\nfor whose use are you carrying that ointment of Us\u00edra-root and those\nlotus leaves with fibres attached to them? [_Listening for her answer_.]\nWhat say you?--that \u015aakoontal\u00e1 is suffering from fever produced by\nexposure to the sun, and that this ointment is to cool her burning\nframe? Nurse her with care, then, Priyamvad\u00e1, for she is cherished by\nour reverend Superior as the very breath of his nostrils. I, for my\npart, will contrive that soothing waters, hallowed in the sacrifice, be\nadministered to her by the hands of Gautam\u00ed.\n          [_Exit._\n\n\n\n\nACT THIRD\n\nScene.--The Sacred Grove\n\n\n_Enter King Dushyanta, with the air of one in love_.\n\nKING [_sighing thoughtfully_].--The holy sage possesses magic power\n    In virtue of his penance; she, his ward,\n    Under the shadow of his tutelage\n    Rests in security. I know it well;\n    Yet sooner shall the rushing cataract\n    In foaming eddies re-ascend the steep,\n    Than my fond heart turn back from its pursuit.\n\nGod of Love! God of the flowery shafts![38] we are all of us cruelly\ndeceived by thee, and by the Moon, however deserving of confidence you\nmay both appear.\n\n    For not to us do these thine arrows seem\n    Pointed with tender flowerets; not to us\n    Doth the pale moon irradiate the earth\n    With beams of silver fraught with cooling dews:--\n    But on our fevered frames the moon-beams fall\n    Like darts of fire, and every flower-tipped shaft\n    Of K\u00e1ma, as it probes our throbbing hearts,\n    Seems to be barbed with hardest adamant.\n\nAdorable god of love! hast thou no pity for me? [_In a tone of\nanguish_.] How can thy arrows be so sharp when they are pointed with\nflowers? Ah! I know the reason:\n\n    E'en now in thine unbodied essence lurks\n    The fire of Siva's anger, like the flame\n    That ever hidden in the secret depths\n    Of ocean, smoulders there unseen. How else\n    Couldst thou, all immaterial as thou art,\n    Inflame our hearts thus fiercely?--thou, whose form\n    Was scorched to ashes by a sudden flash\n    From the offended god's terrific eye.\nYet, methinks,\n    Welcome this anguish, welcome to my heart\n    These rankling wounds inflicted by the god,\n    Who on his scutcheon bears the monster-fish\n    Slain by his prowess: welcome death itself,\n    So that, commissioned by the lord of love,\n    This fair one be my executioner.\n\nAdorable divinity! Can I by no reproaches excite your commiseration?\n\n    Have I not daily offered at thy shrine\n    Innumerable vows, the only food\n    Of thine ethereal essence? Are my prayers\n    Thus to be slighted? Is it meet that thou\n    Shouldst aim thy shafts at thy true votary's heart,\n    Drawing thy bow-string even to thy ear?\n\n[_Pacing up and down in a melancholy manner_.] Now that the holy men\nhave completed their rites, and have no more need of my services, how\nshall I dispel my melancholy? [_Sighing._ I have but one resource. Oh\nfor another sight of the idol of my soul! I will seek her. [_Glancing at\nthe sun._] In all probability, as the sun's heat is now at its height,\n\u015aakoontal\u00e1 is passing her time under the shade of the bowers on the\nbanks of the M\u00e1lin\u00ed, attended by her maidens. I will go and look for her\nthere. [_Walking and looking about._] I suspect the fair one has but\njust passed by this avenue of young-trees.\n\n    Here, as she tripped along, her fingers plucked\n    The opening buds: these lacerated plants,\n    Shorn of their fairest blossoms by her hand,\n    Seem like dismembered trunks, whose recent wounds\n    Are still unclosed; while from the bleeding socket\n    Of many a severed stalk, the milky juice\n    Still slowly trickles, and betrays her path.\n\n[_Feeling a breeze._] What a delicious breeze meets me in this spot!\n\n    Here may the zephyr, fragrant with the scent\n    Of lotuses, and laden with the spray\n    Caught from the waters of the rippling stream,\n    Fold in its close embrace my fevered limbs.\n\n[_Walking and looking about._] She must be somewhere in the neighborhood\nof this arbor of overhanging creepers, enclosed by plantations of cane.\n          [_Looking down._]\n\n    For at the entrance here I plainly see\n    A line of footsteps printed in the sand.\n    Here are the fresh impressions of her feet;\n    Their well-known outline faintly marked in front,\n    More deeply towards the heel; betokening\n    The graceful undulation of her gait.\n\nI will peep through those branches. [_Walking and looking. With\ntransport._] Ah! now my eyes are gratified by an entrancing sight.\nYonder is the beloved of my heart reclining on a rock strewn with\nflowers, and attended by her two friends. How fortunate! Concealed\nbehind the leaves, I will listen to their conversation, without raising\ntheir suspicions.          [_Stands concealed, and gazes at them._]\n\n_\u015aakoontal\u00e1 and her two attendants, holding fans in their hands are\ndiscovered as described_.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 AND ANAS\u00daY\u00c1 [_fanning her. In a tone of affection._]--Dearest\n\u015aakoontal\u00e1, is the breeze raised by these broad lotus leaves refreshing\nto you?\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Dear friends, why should you trouble yourselves to fan me?\n\n          [_Priyamvad\u00e1 and Anas\u00fay\u00e1 look sorrowfully at one another._]\n\nKING.--\u015aakoontal\u00e1 seems indeed to be seriously ill. [_Thoughtfully._]Can\nit be the intensity of the heat that has affected her? or does my heart\nsuggest the true cause of her malady? [_Gazing at her passionately._]\nWhy should I doubt it?\n    The maiden's spotless bosom is o'erspread\n    With cooling balsam; on her slender arm\n    Her only bracelet, twined with lotus stalks,\n    Hangs loose and withered; her recumbent form\n    Expresses languor. Ne'er could noon-day sun\n    Inflict such fair disorder on a maid--\n    No, love, and love alone, is hereto blame.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 [_aside to Anas\u00fay\u00e1._]--I have observed, Anas\u00fay\u00e1, that\n\u015aakoontal\u00e1 has been indisposed ever since her first interview with King\nDushyanta. Depend upon it, her ailment is to be traced to this source.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--The same suspicion, dear Priyamvad\u00e1, has crossed my mind. But\nI will at once ask her and ascertain the truth. [_Aloud._] Dear\n\u015aakoontal\u00e1, I am about to put a question to you. Your indisposition is\nreally very serious.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_half-rising from her couch_].--What were you going to ask?\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--We know very little about love-matters, dear \u015aakoontal\u00e1; but\nfor all that, I cannot help suspecting your present state to be\nsomething similar to that of the lovers we have read about in romances.\nTell us frankly what is the cause of your disorder. It is useless to\napply a remedy, until the disease be understood.\n\nKING.--Anas\u00fay\u00e1 bears me out in my suspicion.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_aside_].--I am, indeed, deeply in love; but cannot rashly\ndisclose my passion to these young girls.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--What Anas\u00fay\u00e1 says, dear \u015aakoontal\u00e1, is very just. Why give\nso little heed to your ailment? Every day you are becoming thinner;\nthough I must confess your complexion is still as beautiful as ever.\n\nKING.--Priyamvad\u00e1 speaks most truly.\n    Sunk is her velvet cheek; her wasted bosom\n    Loses its fulness; e'en her slender waist\n    Grows more attenuate; her face is wan,\n    Her shoulders droop;--as when the vernal blasts\n    Sear the young blossoms of the M\u00e1dhav\u00ed,\n    Blighting their bloom; so mournful is the change,\n    Yet in its sadness, fascinating still,\n    Inflicted by the mighty lord of love\n    On the fair figure of the hermit's daughter.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Dear friends, to no one would I rather reveal the nature of\nmy malady than to you; but I should only be troubling you.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 AND ANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Nay, this is the very point about which we are\nso solicitous. Sorrow shared with affectionate friends is relieved of\nhalf its poignancy.\n\nKING.--Pressed by the partners of her joys and griefs, Her much beloved\ncompanions, to reveal The cherished secret locked within her breast,\nShe needs must utter it; although her looks Encourage me to hope, my\nbosom throbs As anxiously I listen for her answer.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Know then, dear friends, that from the first moment the\nillustrious Prince, who is the guardian of our sacred grove, presented\nhimself to my sight--\n          [_Stops short, and appears confused._]\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 AND ANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Say on, dear \u015aakoontal\u00e1, say on.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Ever since that happy moment, my heart's affections have\nbeen fixed upon him, and my energies of mind and body have all deserted\nme, as you see.\n\nKING [_with rapture_].--Her own lips have uttered the words I most\nlonged to hear.\n    Love lit the flame, and Love himself allays\n    My burning fever, as when gathering clouds\n    Rise o'er the earth in summer's dazzling noon,\n    And grateful showers dispel the morning heat.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--You must consent, then, dear friends, to contrive some\nmeans by which I may find favor with the King, or you will have ere long\nto assist at my funeral.\n\nKING [_with rapture_].--Enough! These words remove all my doubts.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 [_aside to Anas\u00fay\u00e1_].--She is far gone in love, dear Anas\u00fay\u00e1,\nand no time ought to be lost. Since she has fixed her affections on a\nmonarch who is the ornament of Puru's line, we need not hesitate for a\nmoment to express our approval.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--I quite agree with you.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 [_aloud_].--We wish you joy, dear \u015aakoontal\u00e1. Your affections\nare fixed on an object in every respect worthy of you. The noblest river\nwill unite itself to the ocean, and the lovely M\u00e1dhav\u00ed-creeper clings\nnaturally to the Mango, the only tree capable of supporting it.\n\nKING.--Why need we wonder if the beautiful constellation Vi\u015b\u00e1kh\u00e1 pines\nto be united with the Moon.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--By what stratagem can we best secure to our friend the\naccomplishment of her heart's desire, both speedily and secretly?\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--The latter point is all we have to think about. As to\n\"speedily,\" I look upon the whole affair as already settled.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--How so?\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--Did you not observe how the King betrayed his liking by the\ntender manner in which he gazed upon her, and how thin he has become the\nlast few days, as if he had been lying awake thinking of her?\n\nKING [_looking at himself_].--Quite true! I certainly am becoming thin\nfrom want of sleep:--\n    As night by night in anxious thought I raise\n    This wasted arm to rest my sleepless head,\n    My jewelled bracelet, sullied by the tears\n    That trickle from my eyes in scalding streams,\n    Slips towards my elbow from my shrivelled wrist.\n    Oft I replace the bauble, but in vain;\n    So easily it spans the fleshless limb\n    That e'en the rough and corrugated skin,\n    Scarred by the bow-string, will not check its fall.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 [_thoughtfully_].--An idea strikes me, Anas\u00fay\u00e1. Let\n\u015aakoontal\u00e1 write a love-letter; I will conceal it in a flower, and\ncontrive to drop it in the King's path. He will surely mistake it for\nthe remains of some sacred offering, and will, in all probability, pick\nit up.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--A very ingenious device! It has my entire approval; but what\nsays \u015aakoontal\u00e1?\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--I must consider before I can consent to it.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--Could you not, dear \u015aakoontal\u00e1, think of some pretty\ncomposition in verse, containing a delicate declaration of your love?\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Well, I will do my best; but my heart trembles when I think\nof the chances of a refusal.\n\nKING [_with rapture_].--Too timid maid, here stands the man from whom\n    Thou fearest a repulse; supremely blessed\n    To call thee all his own. Well might he doubt\n    His title to thy love; but how couldst thou\n    Believe thy beauty powerless to subdue him?\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 AND ANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--You undervalue your own merits, dear\n\u015aakoontal\u00e1. What man in his senses would intercept with the skirt of his\nrobe the bright rays of the autumnal moon, which alone can allay the\nfever of his body?\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_smiling_].--Then it seems I must do as I am bid.\n          [_Sits down and appears to be thinking._]\n\nKING.--How charming she looks! My very eyes forget to wink, jealous of\nlosing even for an instant a sight so enchanting.\n    How beautiful the movement of her brow,\n    As through her mind love's tender fancies flow!\n    And, as she weighs her thoughts, how sweet to trace\n    The ardent passion mantling in her face!\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Dear girls, I have thought of a verse, but I have no\nwriting-materials at hand.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--Write the letters with your nail on this lotus leaf, which\nis smooth as a parrot's breast.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_after writing the verse_].--Listen, dear friends, and tell\nme whether the ideas are appropriately expressed.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 AND ANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--We are all attention.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_reads_].--\n    I know not the secret thy bosom conceals,\n      Thy form is not near me to gladden my sight;\n    But sad is the tale that my fever reveals,\n      Of the love that consumes me by day and by night.\n\nKING [_advancing hastily towards her_].--\n    Nay, Love does but warm thee, fair maiden--thy frame\n      Only droops like the bud in the glare of the noon;\n    But me he consumes with a pitiless flame,\n      As the beams of the day-star destroy the pale moon.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 AND ANAS\u00daY\u00c1 [_looking at him joyfully, and rising to salute\nhim_].--Welcome, the desire of our hearts, that so speedily presents\nitself!\n\n          [_\u015aakoontal\u00e1 makes an effort to rise._]\n\nKING.--Nay, trouble not thyself, dear maiden,\n      Move not to do me homage; let thy limbs\n      Still softly rest upon their flowery couch,\n      And gather fragrance from the lotus stalks\n      Bruised by the fevered contact of thy frame.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Deign, gentle Sir, to seat yourself on the rock on which our\nfriend is reposing.\n\n          [_The King sits down. \u015aakoontal\u00e1 is confused._]\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--Anyone may see at a glance that you are deeply attached to\neach other. But the affection I have for my friend prompts me to say\nsomething of which you hardly require to be informed.\n\nKING.--Do not hesitate to speak out, my good girl. If you omit to say\nwhat is in your mind, you may be sorry for it afterwards.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--Is it not your special office as a King to remove the\nsuffering of your subjects who are in trouble?\n\nKING.--Such is my duty, most assuredly.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--Know, then, that our dear friend has been brought to her\npresent state of suffering entirely through love for you. Her life is in\nyour hands; take pity on her and restore her to health.\n\nKING.--Excellent maiden, our attachment is mutual. It is I who am the\nmost honored by it.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_looking at Priyamvad\u00e1_].--What do you mean by detaining the\nKing, who must be anxious to return to his royal consorts after so long\na separation?\n\nKING.--Sweet maiden, banish from thy mind the thought\n    That I could love another. Thou dost reign\n    Supreme, without a rival, in my heart,\n    And I am thine alone: disown me not,\n    Else must I die a second deadlier death--\n    Killed by thy words, as erst by K\u00e1ma's shafts.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Kind Sir, we have heard it said that kings have many favorite\nconsorts. You must not, then, by your behavior towards our dear friend,\ngive her relations cause to sorrow for her.\n\nKING.--Listen, gentle maiden, while in a few words I quiet your anxiety.\n    Though many beauteous forms my palace grace,\n    Henceforth two things alone will I esteem\n    The glory of my royal dynasty;--\n    My sea-girt realm, and this most lovely maid.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 AND ANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--We are satisfied by your assurances.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 [_glancing on one side_],--See, Anas\u00fay\u00e1, there is our\nfavorite little fawn running about in great distress, and turning its\neyes in every direction as if looking for its mother; come, let us help\nthe little thing to find her.\n\n          [_Both move away._]\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Dear friends, dear friends, leave me not alone and\nunprotected. Why need you both go?\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 AND ANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Unprotected! when the Protector of the world is\nat your side.          [_Exeunt._]\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--What! have they both really left me?\n\nKING.--Distress not thyself, sweet maiden. Thy adorer is at hand to wait\nupon thee.\n    Oh, let me tend thee, fair one, in the place\n    Of thy dear friends; and, with broad lotus fans,\n    Raise cooling breezes to refresh thy frame;\n    Or shall I rather, with caressing touch,\n    Allay the fever of thy limbs, and soothe\n    Thy aching feet, beauteous as blushing lilies?\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Nay, touch me not. I will not incur the censure of those\nwhom I am bound to respect.\n          [_Rises and attempts to go._]\n\nKING.--Fair one, the heat of noon has not yet subsided, and thy body is\nstill feeble.\n    How canst thou quit thy fragrant couch of flowers,\n    And from thy throbbing bosom cast aside\n    Its covering of lotus leaves, to brave\n    With weak and fainting limbs the noon-day heat?\n\n[_Forces her to turn back._]\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Infringe not the rules of decorum, mighty descendant of\nPuru. Remember, though I love you, I have no power to dispose of myself.\n\nKING.--Why this fear of offending your relations, timid maid? When your\nvenerable foster-father hears of it, he will not find fault with you. He\nknows that the law permits us to be united without consulting him.\n    In Indra's heaven, so at least 'tis said,\n    No nuptial rites prevail,[39] nor is the bride\n    Led to the altar by her future spouse;\n    But all in secret does the bridegroom plight\n    His troth, and each unto the other vow\n    Mutual allegiance. Such espousals, too,\n    Are authorized on earth, and many daughters\n    Of royal saints thus wedded to their lords,\n    Have still received their father's benison.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Leave me, leave me; I must take counsel with my female\nfriends.\n\nKING.--I will leave thee when------\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--When?\n\nKING.--When I have gently stolen from thy lips\n    Their yet untasted nectar, to allay\n    The raging of my thirst, e'en as the bee\n    Sips the fresh honey from the opening bud.\n          [_Attempts to raise her face. \u015aakoontal\u00e1 tries to prevent him_.\n\nA VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--The loving birds, doomed by fate to\nnightly separation, must bid farewell to each other, for evening is at\nhand.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_in confusion_].--Great Prince, I hear the voice of the\nmatron Gautam\u00ed. She is coming this way, to inquire after my health.\nHasten and conceal yourself behind the branches.\n\nKING.--I will.          [_Conceals himself_.\n\n_Enter Gautam\u00ed with a vase in her hand, preceded by two attendants_.\n\nATTENDANTS.--This way, most venerable Gautam\u00ed.\n\nGAUTAM\u00cd [_approaching \u015aakoontal\u00e1_].--My child, is the fever of thy limbs\nallayed?\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Venerable mother, there is certainly a change for the\nbetter.\n\nGAUTAM\u00cd.--Let me sprinkle you with this holy water, and all your\nailments will depart. [_Sprinkling \u015aakoontal\u00e1 on the head_.] The day is\nclosing, my child; come, let us go to the cottage.\n          [_They all move away_.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_aside_].--Oh my heart! thou didst fear to taste of\nhappiness when it was within thy reach. Now that the object of thy\ndesires is torn from thee, how bitter will be thy remorse, how\ndistracting thine anguish! [_Moving on a few steps and stopping.\nAloud_.] Farewell! bower of creepers, sweet soother of my sufferings,\nfarewell! may I soon again be happy under thy shade.\n          [_Exit reluctantly with the others_.\n\nKING [_returning to his former seat in the arbor. Sighing_].--Alas! how\nmany are the obstacles to the accomplishment of our wishes!\n    Albeit she did coyly turn away\n    Her glowing cheek, and with her fingers guard\n    Her pouting lips, that murmured a denial\n    In faltering accents, she did yield herself\n    A sweet reluctant captive to my will,\n    As eagerly I raised her lovely face:\n    But ere with gentle force I stole the kiss,\n    Too envious Fate did mar my daring purpose.\nWhither now shall I betake myself? I will tarry for a brief space in\nthis bower of creepers, so endeared to me by the presence of my beloved\n\u015aakoontal\u00e1.\n          [_Looking round_.\n    Here printed on the flowery couch I see\n    The fair impression of her slender limbs;\n    Here is the sweet confession of her love,\n    Traced with her nail upon the lotus leaf--\n    And yonder are the withered lily stalks\n    That graced her wrist. While all around I view\n    Things that recall her image, can I quit\n    This bower, e'en though its living charm be fled?\n\nA VOICE [_in the air_].--Great King,\n    Scarce is our evening sacrifice begun,\n    When evil demons, lurid as the clouds\n    That gather round the dying orb of day,\n    Cluster in hideous troops, obscene and dread,\n    About our altars, casting far and near\n    Terrific shadows, while the sacred fire\n    Sheds a pale lustre o'er their ghostly shapes.\n\nKING.--I come to the rescue, I come.\n          [_Exit._\n\n\n[38] K\u00e1ma, the Hindoo Cupid, or god of love. He has five arrows, each\ntipped with the blossom of a flower, which pierce the heart through the\nfive senses.\n\n[39] A marriage without the usual ceremonies is called G\u00e1ndharva. It was\nsupposed to be the form of marriage prevalent among the nymphs of\nIndra's heaven.\n\n\n\n\nPRELUDE TO ACT FOURTH\n\nScene.--The Garden of the Hermitage\n\n\n_Enter Priyamvad\u00e1 and Anas\u00fay\u00e1 in the act of gathering flowers_.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Although, dear Priyamvad\u00e1, it rejoices my heart to think that\n\u015aakoontal\u00e1 has been happily united to a husband in every respect worthy\nof her, by the form of marriage prevalent among Indra's celestial\nmusicians, nevertheless, I cannot help feeling somewhat uneasy in my\nmind.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--How so?\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--You know that the pious King was gratefully dismissed by the\nhermits on the successful termination of their sacrificial rites. He has\nnow returned to his capital, leaving \u015aakoontal\u00e1 under our care; and it\nmay be doubted whether, in the society of his royal consorts, he will\nnot forget all that has taken place in this hermitage of ours.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--On that score be at ease. Persons of his noble nature are\nnot so destitute of all honorable feeling. I confess, however, that\nthere is one point about which I am rather anxious. What, think you,\nwill father Kanwa say when he hears what has occurred?\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--In my opinion, he will approve the marriage.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--What makes you think so?\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--From the first, it was always his fixed purpose to bestow the\nmaiden on a husband worthy of her; and since heaven has given her such a\nhusband, his wishes have been realized without any trouble to himself.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 [_looking at the flower-basket_].--We have gathered flowers\nenough for the sacred offering, dear Anas\u00fay\u00e1.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Well, then, let us now gather more, that we may have wherewith\nto propitiate the guardian-deity of our dear \u015aakoontal\u00e1.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--By all means.          [_They continue gathering_.\n\nA VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Ho there! See you not that I am here?\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1 [_listening_].--That must be the voice of a guest announcing his\narrival.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--Surely, \u015aakoontal\u00e1 is not absent from the cottage.\n[_Aside_.] Her heart at least is absent, I fear.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Come along, come along; we have gathered flowers enough.\n          [_They move away_.\n\nTHE SAME VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Woe to thee, maiden, for daring\nto slight a guest like me!\n    Shall I stand here unwelcomed; even I,\n    A very mine of penitential merit,\n    Worthy of all respect? Shalt thou, rash maid,\n    Thus set at nought the ever sacred ties\n    Of hospitality? and fix thy thoughts\n    Upon the cherished object of thy love,\n    While I am present? Thus I curse thee, then--\n    He, even he of whom thou thinkest, he\n    Shall think no more of thee; nor in his heart\n    Retain thine image. Vainly shalt thou strive\n    To waken his remembrance of the past;\n    He shall disown thee, even as the sot,\n    Roused from his midnight drunkenness, denies\n    The words he uttered in his revellings.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--Alas! alas! I fear a terrible misfortune has occurred.\n\u015aakoontal\u00e1, from absence of mind, must have offended some guest whom she\nwas bound to treat with respect. [_Looking behind the scenes_.] Ah! yes;\nI see, and no less a person than the great sage Durvasas, who is known\nto be most irascible. He it is that has just cursed her, and is now\nretiring with hasty strides, trembling with passion, and looking as if\nnothing could turn him. His wrath is like a consuming fire.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Go quickly, dear Priyamvad\u00e1, throw yourself at his feet, and\npersuade him to come back, while I prepare a propitiatory offering for\nhim, with water and refreshments.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--I will.          [_Exit._\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1 [_advancing hastily a few steps and stumbling_].--Alas! alas!\nthis comes of being in a hurry. My foot has slipped and my basket of\nflowers has fallen from my hand.\n          [_Stays to gather them up_.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 [_re\u00ebntering_].--Well, dear Anas\u00fay\u00e1, I have done my best; but\nwhat living being could succeed in pacifying such a cross-grained,\nill-tempered old fellow? However, I managed to mollify him a little.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1 [_smiling_].--Even a little was much for him. Say on.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--When he refused to turn back, I implored his forgiveness in\nthese words: \"Most venerable sage, pardon, I beseech you, this first\noffence of a young and inexperienced girl, who was ignorant of the\nrespect due to your saintly character and exalted rank.\"\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--And what did he reply?\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--\"My word must not be falsified; but at the sight of the\nring of recognition the spell shall cease.\" So saying, he disappeared.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Oh! then we may breathe again; for now I think of it, the King\nhimself, at his departure, fastened on \u015aakoontal\u00e1's finger, as a token\nof remembrance, a ring on which his own name was engraved. She has,\ntherefore, a remedy for her misfortune at her own command.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--Come, dear Anas\u00fay\u00e1, let us proceed with our religious\nduties.          [_They walk away_.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 [_looking off the stage_].--See, Anas\u00fay\u00e1, there sits our dear\nfriend, motionless as a statue, resting her face on her left hand, her\nwhole mind absorbed in thinking of her absent husband. She can pay no\nattention to herself, much less to a stranger.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Priyamvad\u00e1, let this affair never pass our lips. We must spare\nour dear friend's feelings. Her constitution is too delicate to bear\nmuch emotion.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--I agree with you. Who would think of watering a tender\njasmine with hot water?\n\n\n\n\nACT FOURTH\n\nScene.--The Neighborhood of the Hermitage\n\n\n_Enter one of Kanwa's pupils, just arisen from his couch at the dawn of\nday_.\n\nPUPIL.--My master, the venerable Kanwa, who is but lately returned from\nhis pilgrimage, has ordered me to ascertain how the time goes. I have\ntherefore come into the open air to see if it be still dark. [_Walking\nand looking about_.] Oh! the dawn has already broken.\n    Lo! in one quarter of the sky, the Moon,\n    Lord of the herbs and night-expanding flowers,\n    Sinks towards his bed behind the western hills;\n    While in the east, preceded by the Dawn,\n    His blushing charioteer, the glorious Sun\n    Begins his course, and far into the gloom\n    Casts the first radiance of his orient beams,\n    Hail! co-eternal orbs, that rise to set,\n    And set to rise again; symbols divine\n    Of man's reverses, life's vicissitudes.\nAnd now,\n    While the round Moon withdraws his looming disc\n    Beneath the western sky, the full-blown flower\n    Of the night-loving lotus sheds her leaves\n    In sorrow for his loss, bequeathing nought\n    But the sweet memory of her loveliness\n    To my bereav\u00e8d sight: e'en as the bride\n    Disconsolately mourns her absent lord,\n    And yields her heart a prey to anxious grief.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1 [_entering abruptly_].--Little as I know of the ways of the\nworld, I cannot help thinking that King Dushyanta is treating \u015aakoontal\u00e1\nvery improperly.\n\nPUPIL.--Well, I must let my revered preceptor know that it is time to\noffer the burnt oblation.          [_Exit._\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--I am broad awake, but what shall I do? I have no energy to go\nabout my usual occupations. My hands and feet seem to have lost their\npower. Well, Love has gained his object; and Love only is to blame for\nhaving induced our dear friend, in the innocence of her heart, to\nconfide in such a perfidious man. Possibly, however, the imprecation of\nDurvasas may be already taking effect. Indeed, I cannot otherwise\naccount for the King's strange conduct, in allowing so long a time to\nelapse without even a letter; and that, too, after so many promises and\nprotestations. I cannot think what to do, unless we send him the ring\nwhich was to be the token of recognition. But which of these austere\nhermits could we ask to be the bearer of it? Then, again, Father Kanwa\nhas just returned from his pilgrimage: and how am I to inform him of\n\u015aakoontal\u00e1's marriage to King Dushyanta, and her expectation of being\nsoon a mother? I never could bring myself to tell him, even if I felt\nthat \u015aakoontal\u00e1 had been in fault, which she certainly has not. What is\nto be done?\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 [_entering; joyfully_].--Quick! quick! Anas\u00fay\u00e1! come and\nassist in the joyful preparations for \u015aakoontal\u00e1's departure to her\nhusband's palace.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--My dear girl, what can you mean?\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--Listen, now, and I will tell you all about it. I went just\nnow to \u015aakoontal\u00e1, to inquire whether she had slept comfortably--\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Well, well; go on.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--She was sitting with her face bowed down to the very ground\nwith shame, when Father Kanwa entered and, embracing her, of his own\naccord offered her his congratulations. \"I give thee joy, my child,\" he\nsaid, \"we have had an auspicious omen. The priest who offered the\noblation dropped it into the very centre of the sacred fire, though\nthick smoke obstructed his vision. Henceforth thou wilt cease to be an\nobject of compassion. This very day I purpose sending thee, under the\ncharge of certain trusty hermits, to the King's palace; and shall\ndeliver thee into the hands of thy husband, as I would commit knowledge\nto the keeping of a wise and faithful student.\"\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Who, then, informed the holy Father of what passed in his\nabsence?\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--As he was entering the sanctuary of the consecrated fire,\nan invisible being chanted a verse in celestial strains.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1 [_with astonishment_].--Indeed! pray repeat it.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 [_repeats the verse_].--\n    Glows in thy daughter King Dushyanta's glory,\n      As in the sacred tree the mystic fire.\n    Let worlds rejoice to hear the welcome story;\n      And may the son immortalize the sire.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1 [_embracing Priyamvad\u00e1_].--Oh, my dear Priyamvad\u00e1, what\ndelightful news! I am pleased beyond measure; yet when I think that we\nare to lose our dear \u015aakoontal\u00e1 this very day, a feeling of melancholy\nmingles with my joy.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--We shall find means of consoling ourselves after her\ndeparture. Let the dear creature only be made happy, at any cost.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Yes, yes, Priyamvad\u00e1, it shall be so; and now to prepare our\nbridal array. I have always looked forward to this occasion, and some\ntime since, I deposited a beautiful garland of Ke\u015bara flowers in a\ncocoa-nut box, and suspended it on a bough of yonder mango-tree. Be good\nenough to stretch out your hand and take it down, while I compound\nunguents and perfumes with this consecrated paste and these blades of\nsacred grass.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--Very well.\n\n          [_Exit Anas\u00fay\u00e1. Priyamvad\u00e1 takes down the flowers._\n\nA VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Gautam\u00ed, bid \u015a\u00e1rngarava and the others\nhold themselves in readiness to escort \u015aakoontal\u00e1.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 [_listening_].--Quick, quick, Anas\u00fay\u00e1! They are calling the\nhermits who are to go with \u015aakoontal\u00e1 to Hastin\u00e1pur.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1 [_re\u00ebntering, with the perfumed unguents in her hand_].--Come\nalong then, Priyamvad\u00e1; I am ready to go with you. [_They walk away_.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 [_looking_].--See! there sits \u015aakoontal\u00e1, her locks arranged\neven at this early hour of the morning. The holy women of the hermitage\nare congratulating her, and invoking blessings on her head, while they\npresent her with wedding-gifts and offerings of consecrated wild-rice.\nLet us join them.          [_They approach_.\n\n_\u015aakoontal\u00e1 is seen seated, with women surrounding her, occupied in the\nmanner described_.\n\nFIRST WOMAN [_to \u015aakoontal\u00e1_].--My child, may'st thou receive the title\nof \"Chief-queen,\" and may thy husband delight to honor thee above all\nothers!\n\nSECOND WOMAN.--My child, may'st thou be the mother of a hero!\n\nTHIRD WOMAN.--My child, may'st thou be highly honored by thy lord!\n\n[_Exeunt all the women, excepting Gautam\u00ed, after blessing \u015aakoontal\u00e1._\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 AND ANAS\u00daY\u00c1 [_approaching_].--Dear \u015aakoontal\u00e1, we are come to\nassist you at your toilet, and may a blessing attend it!\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Welcome, dear friends, welcome. Sit down here.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 AND ANAS\u00daY\u00c1 [_taking the baskets containing the bridal\ndecorations, and sitting down_].--Now, then, dearest, prepare to let us\ndress you. We must first rub your limbs with these perfumed unguents.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--I ought indeed to be grateful for your kind offices, now\nthat I am so soon to be deprived of them. Dear, dear friends, perhaps I\nshall never be dressed by you again.          [_Bursts into tears_.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 AND ANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Weep not, dearest, tears are out of season on\nsuch a happy occasion.\n\n          [_They wipe away her tears and begin to dress her_.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--Alas! these simple flowers and rude ornaments which our\nhermitage offers in abundance, do not set off your beauty as it\ndeserves.\n\n          _Enter two young Hermits, bearing costly presents_.\n\nBOTH HERMITS.--Here are ornaments suitable for a queen.\n\n          [_The women look at them in astonishment_.\n\nGAUTAM\u00cd.--Why, N\u00e1rada, my son, whence came these?\n\nFIRST HERMIT.--You owe them to the devotion of Father Kanwa.\n\nGAUTAM\u00cd.--Did he create them by the power of his own mind?\n\nSECOND HERMIT.--Certainly not; but you shall hear. The venerable sage\nordered us to collect flowers for \u015aakoontal\u00e1 from the forest-trees; and\nwe went to the wood for that purpose, when\n    Straightway depending from a neighboring tree\n    Appeared a robe of linen tissue, pure\n    And spotless as a moon-beam--mystic pledge\n    Of bridal happiness; another tree\n    Distilled a roseate dye wherewith to stain\n    The lady's feet; and other branches near\n    Glistened with rare and costly ornaments.\n    While, 'midst the leaves, the hands of forest-nymphs,\n    Vying in beauty with the opening buds,\n    Presented us with sylvan offerings.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 [_looking at \u015aakoontal\u00e1_].--The wood-nymphs have done you\nhonor, indeed. This favor doubtless signifies that you are soon to be\nreceived as a happy wife into your husband's house, and are from this\nforward to become the partner of his royal fortunes.\n          [_\u015aakoontal\u00e1 appears confused_.\n\nFIRST HERMIT.--Come, Gautama; Father Kanwa has finished his ablutions.\nLet us go and inform him of the favor we have received from the deities\nwho preside over our trees.\n\nSECOND HERMIT.--By all means.          [_Exeunt._\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 AND ANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Alas! what are we to do? We are unused to such\nsplendid decorations, and are at a loss how to arrange them. Our\nknowledge of painting must be our guide. We will dispose the ornaments\nas we have seen them in pictures.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Whatever pleases you, dear girls, will please me. I have\nperfect confidence in your taste. [_They commence dressing her_.\n\n          _Enter Kanwa, having just finished his ablutions_.\n\nKANWA.--This day my loved one leaves me, and my heart\n    Is heavy with its grief: the streams of sorrow\n    Choked at the source, repress my faltering voice.\n    I have no words to speak; mine eyes are dimmed\n    By the dark shadows of the thoughts that rise\n    Within my soul. If such the force of grief\n    In an old hermit parted from his nursling,\n    What anguish must the stricken parent feel--\n    Bereft forever of an only daughter?\n          [_Advances towards \u015aakoontal\u00e1_\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 AND ANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Now, dearest \u015aakoontal\u00e1, we have finished\ndecorating you. You have only to put on the two linen mantles.\n           [_\u015aakoontal\u00e1 rises and puts them on_.\n\nGAUTAM\u00cd.--Daughter, see, here comes thy foster-father; he is eager to\nfold thee in his arms; his eyes swim with tears of joy. Hasten to do him\nreverence.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_reverently_].--My father, I salute you.\n\nKANWA.--My daughter,\n    May'st thou be highly honored by thy lord,\n    E'en as Yay\u00e1ti \u015aarmishth\u00e1 adored!\n    And, as she bore him Puru; so may'st thou\n    Bring forth a son to whom the world shall bow!\n\nGAUTAM\u00cd.--Most venerable father, she accepts your benediction as if she\nalready possessed the boon it confers.\n\nKANWA.--Now come this way, my child, and walk reverently round these\nsacrificial fires.          [_They all walk round_.\n\nKANWA [_repeats a prayer in the metre of the Rig-veda_].--\n    Holy flames, that gleam around\n    Every altar's hallowed ground;\n    Holy flames, whose frequent food\n    Is the consecrated wood,\n    And for whose encircling bed,\n    Sacred Ku\u015ba-grass is spread;\n    Holy flames, that waft to heaven\n    Sweet oblations daily given,\n    Mortal guilt to purge away;--\n    Hear, oh hear me, when I pray--\n    Purify my child this day!\nNow then, my daughter, set out on thy journey. [_Looking on one side_.]\nWhere are thy attendants, \u015a\u00e1rngarava and the others?\n\nYOUNG HERMIT [_entering_].--Here we are, most venerable father.\n\nKANWA.--Lead the way for thy sister.\n\nS\u00c1RNGARAVA.--Come, \u015aakoontal\u00e1, let us proceed.\n          [_All move away_.\n\nKANWA.--Hear me, ye trees that surround our hermitage!\n    \u015aakoontal\u00e1 ne'er moistened in the stream\n    Her own parched lips, till she had fondly poured\n    Its purest water on your thirsty roots;\n    And oft, when she would fain have decked her hair\n    With your thick-clustering blossoms, in her love\n    She robbed you not e'en of a single flower.\n    Her highest joy was ever to behold\n    The early glory of your opening buds:\n    Oh, then, dismiss her with a kind farewell!\n    This very day she quits her father's home,\n    To seek the palace of her wedded lord.\n          [_The note of a K\u00f6il is heard_.\n    Hark! heard'st thou not the answer of the trees,\n    Our sylvan sisters, warbled in the note\n    Of the melodious K\u00f6il? they dismiss\n    Their dear \u015aakoontal\u00e1 with loving wishes.\n\nVOICES [_in the air_].--\n    Fare thee well, journey pleasantly on amid streams\n    Where the lotuses bloom, and the sun's glowing beams\n    Never pierce the deep shade of the wide-spreading trees,\n    While gently around thee shall sport the cool breeze;\n    Then light be thy footsteps and easy thy tread,\n    Beneath thee shall carpets of lilies be spread.\n    Journey on to thy lord, let thy spirit be gay,\n    For the smiles of all Nature shall gladden thy way.\n          [_All listen with astonishment_.\n\nGAUTAM\u00cd.--Daughter! the nymphs of the wood, who love thee with the\naffection of a sister, dismiss thee with kind wishes for thy happiness.\nTake thou leave of them reverentially.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_bowing respectfully and walking on. Aside to her\nfriend_].--Eager as I am, dear Priyamvad\u00e1, to see my husband once more,\nyet my feet refuse to move, now that I am quitting forever the home of\nmy girlhood.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1.--You are not the only one, dearest, to feel the bitterness\nof parting. As the time of separation approaches, the whole grove seems\nto share your anguish.\n    In sorrow for thy loss, the herd of deer\n    Forget to browse; the peacock on the lawn\n    Ceases its dance; the very trees around us\n    Shed their pale leaves, like tears, upon the ground.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_recollecting herself_].--My father, let me, before I go,\nbid adieu to my pet jasmine, the Moonlight of the Grove. I love the\nplant almost as a sister.\n\nKANWA.--Yes, yes, my child, I remember thy sisterly affection for the\ncreeper. Here it is on the right.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_approaching the jasmine_],--My beloved jasmine, most\nbrilliant of climbing plants, how sweet it is to see thee cling thus\nfondly to thy husband, the mango-tree; yet, prithee, turn thy twining\narms for a moment in this direction to embrace thy sister; she is going\nfar away, and may never see thee again.\n\nKANWA.--Daughter, the cherished purpose of my heart\n    Has ever been to wed thee to a spouse\n    That should be worthy of thee; such a spouse\n    Hast thou thyself, by thine own merits, won.\n    To him thou goest, and about his neck\n    Soon shalt thou cling confidingly, as now\n    Thy favorite jasmine twines its loving arms\n    Around the sturdy mango. Leave thou it\n    To its protector--e'en as I consign\n    Thee to thy lord, and henceforth from my mind\n    Banish all anxious thought on thy behalf.\nProceed on thy journey, my child.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_to Priyamvad\u00e1 and Anas\u00fay\u00e1_].--To you, my sweet companions,\nI leave it as a keepsake. Take charge of it when I am gone.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 AND ANAS\u00daY\u00c1 [_bursting into tears_].--And to whose charge do\nyou leave us, dearest? Who will care for us when you are gone?\n\nKANWA.--For shame, Anas\u00fay\u00e1! dry your tears. Is this the way to cheer\nyour friend at a time when she needs your support and consolation?\n          [_All move on_.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--My father, see you there my pet deer, grazing close to the\nhermitage? She expects soon to fawn, and even now the weight of the\nlittle one she carries hinders her movements. Do not forget to send me\nword when she becomes a mother.\n\nKANWA.--I will not forget it.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_feeling herself drawn back_].--What can this be, fastened\nto my dress?          [_Turns round_.\n\nKANWA.--My daughter,\n    It is the little fawn, thy foster-child.\n    Poor helpless orphan! it remembers well\n    How with a mother's tenderness and love\n    Thou didst protect it, and with grains of rice\n    From thine own hand didst daily nourish it;\n    And, ever and anon, when some sharp thorn\n    Had pierced its mouth, how gently thou didst tend\n    The bleeding wound, and pour in healing balm.\n    The grateful nursling clings to its protectress,\n    Mutely imploring leave to follow her.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--My poor little fawn, dost thou ask to follow an unhappy\nwoman who hesitates not to desert her companions? When thy mother died,\nsoon after thy birth, I supplied her place, and reared thee with my own\nhand; and now that thy second mother is about to leave thee, who will\ncare for thee? My father, be thou a mother to her. My child, go back,\nand be a daughter to my father.          [_Moves on, weeping_.\n\nKANWA.--Weep not, my daughter, check the gathering tear\n    That lurks beneath thine eyelid, ere it flow\n    And weaken thy resolve; be firm and true--\n    True to thyself and me; the path of life\n    Will lead o'er hill and plain, o'er rough and smooth,\n    And all must feel the steepness of the way;\n    Though rugged be thy course, press boldly on.\n\nS\u00c1RNGARAVA.--Venerable sire! the sacred precept is--\"Accompany thy\nfriend as far as the margin of the first stream.\" Here then, we are\narrived at the border of a lake. It is time for you to give us your\nfinal instructions and return.\n\nKANWA.--Be it so; let us tarry for a moment under the shade of this\nfig-tree.          [_They do so_.\n\nKANWA [_aside_].--I must think of some appropriate message to send to\nhis majesty King Dushyanta.          [_Reflects._\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_aside to Anas\u00fay\u00e1_].--See, see, dear Anas\u00fay\u00e1, the poor\nfemale Chakrav\u00e1ka-bird, whom cruel fate dooms to nightly separation\nfrom her mate, calls to him in mournful notes from the other side of the\nstream, though he is only hidden from her view by the spreading leaves\nof the water-lily. Her cry is so piteous that I could almost fancy she\nwas lamenting her hard lot in intelligible words.\n\nANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Say not so, dearest.\n    Fond bird! though sorrow lengthen out her night\n    Of widowhood, yet with a cry of joy\n    She hails the morning light that brings her mate\n    Back to her side. The agony of parting\n    Would wound us like a sword, but that its edge\n    Is blunted by the hope of future meeting.\n\nKANWA.--\u015a\u00e1rngarava, when you have introduced \u015aakoontal\u00e1 into the\npresence of the King, you must give him this message from me.\n\n\u015a\u00c1RNGARAVA.--Let me hear it, venerable father.\n\nKANWA.--This is it--\n    Most puissant prince! we here present before thee\n    One thou art bound to cherish and receive\n    As thine own wife; yea, even to enthrone\n    As thine own queen--worthy of equal love\n    With thine imperial consorts. So much, Sire,\n    We claim of thee as justice due to us,\n    In virtue of our holy character--\n    In virtue of thine honorable rank--\n    In virtue of the pure spontaneous love\n    That secretly grew up 'twixt thee and her,\n    Without consent or privity of us.\n    We ask no more--the rest we freely leave\n    To thy just feeling and to destiny.\n\n\u015a\u00c1RNGARAVA.--A most suitable message. I will take care to deliver it\ncorrectly.\n\nKANWA.--And now, my child, a few words of advice for thee. We hermits,\nthough we live secluded from the world, are not ignorant of worldly\nmatters.\n\n\u015a\u00c1RNGARAVA.--No, indeed. Wise men are conversant with all subjects.\n\nKANWA.--Listen, then, my daughter. When thou reachest thy husband's\npalace, and art admitted into his family,\n    Honor thy betters; ever be respectful\n    To those above thee; and, should others share\n    Thy husband's love, ne'er yield thyself a prey\n    To jealousy; but ever be a friend,\n    A loving friend, to those who rival thee\n    In his affections. Should thy wedded lord\n    Treat thee with harshness, thou must never be\n    Harsh in return, but patient and submissive.\n    Be to thy menials courteous, and to all\n    Placed under thee, considerate and kind:\n    Be never self-indulgent, but avoid\n    Excess in pleasure; and, when fortune smiles,\n    Be not puffed up. Thus to thy husband's house\n    Wilt thou a blessing prove, and not a curse.\nWhat thinks Gautam\u00ed of this advice?\n\nGAUTAM\u00cd.--An excellent compendium, truly, of every wife's duties! Lay it\nwell to heart, my daughter.\n\nKANWA.--Come, my beloved child, one parting embrace for me and for thy\ncompanions, and then we leave thee.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--My father, must Priyamvad\u00e1 and Anas\u00fay\u00e1 really return with\nyou? They are very dear to me.\n\nKANWA.--Yes, my child; they, too, in good time, will be given in\nmarriage to suitable husbands. It would not be proper for them to\naccompany thee to such a public place. But Gautam\u00ed shall be thy\ncompanion.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_embracing him_].--Removed from thy bosom, my beloved\nfather, like a young tendril of the sandal-tree torn from its home in\nthe western mountains,[40] how shall I be able to support life in a\nforeign soil?\n\nKANWA.--Daughter, thy fears are groundless:--\n    Soon shall thy lord prefer thee to the rank\n    Of his own consort; and unnumbered cares\n    Befitting his imperial dignity\n    Shall constantly engross thee. Then the bliss\n    Of bearing him a son--a noble boy,\n    Bright as the day-star--shall transport thy soul\n    With new delights, and little shalt thou reck\n    Of the light sorrow that afflicts thee now\n    At parting from thy father and thy friends.\n\n          [_\u015aakoontal\u00e1 throws herself at her foster-father's feet_.\n\nKANWA.--Blessings on thee, my child! May all my hopes of thee be\nrealized!\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_approaching her friends_].--Come, my two loved companions,\nembrace me--both of you together.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 AND ANAS\u00daY\u00c1 [_embracing her_].--Dear \u015aakoontal\u00e1, remember, if\nthe King should by any chance be slow in recognizing you, you have only\nto show him this ring, on which his own name is engraved.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--The bare thought of it puts me in a tremor.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 AND ANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--There is no real cause for fear, dearest.\nExcessive affection is too apt to suspect evil where none exists.\n\n\u015a\u00c1RNGARAVA.--Come, lady, we must hasten on. The sun is rising in the\nheavens.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_looking towards the hermitage_].--Dear father, when shall I\never see this hallowed grove again?\n\nKANWA.--I will tell thee; listen--\n    When thou hast passed a long and blissful life\n    As King Dushyanta's queen, and jointly shared\n    With all the earth his ever-watchful care;\n    And hast beheld thine own heroic son,\n    Matchless in arms, united to a spouse\n    In happy wedlock; when his aged sire,\n    Thy faithful husband, hath to him resigned\n    The helm of state; then, weary of the world,\n    Together with Dushyanta thou shalt seek\n    The calm seclusion of thy former home:--\n    There amid holy scenes to be at peace,\n    Till thy pure spirit gain its last release.\n\nGAUTAM\u00cd.--Come, my child, the favorable time for our journey is fast\npassing. Let thy father return. Venerable Sire, be thou the first to\nmove homewards, or these last words will never end.\n\nKANWA.--Daughter, detain me no longer. My religious duties must not be\ninterrupted.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_again embracing her foster-father_].--Beloved father, thy\nframe is much enfeebled by penitential exercises. Do not, oh! do not,\nallow thyself to sorrow too much on my account.\n\nKANWA [_sighing_].--How, O my child, shall my bereav\u00e8d heart\n    Forget its bitterness, when, day by day,\n    Full in my sight shall grow the tender plants\n    Reared by thy care, or sprung from hallowed grain\n    Which thy loved hands have strewn around the door--\n    A frequent offering to our household gods?\nGo, my daughter, and may thy journey be prosperous.\n\n          [_Exit \u015aakoontal\u00e1 with her escort_.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 AND ANAS\u00daY\u00c1 [_gazing after \u015aakoontal\u00e1_].--Alas! alas! she is\ngone, and now the trees hide our darling from our view.\n\nKANWA [_sighing_].--Well, Anas\u00fay\u00e1, your sister has departed. Moderate\nyour grief, both of you, and follow me. I go back to the hermitage.\n\nPRIYAMVAD\u00c1 AND ANAS\u00daY\u00c1.--Holy father, the sacred grove will be a desert\nwithout \u015aakoontal\u00e1. How can we ever return to it?\n\nKANWA.--It is natural enough that your affection should make you view it\nin this light. [_Walking pensively on_.] As for me, I am quite surprised\nat myself. Now that I have fairly dismissed her to her husband's house,\nmy mind is easy: for indeed,\n    A daughter is a loan--a precious jewel\n    Lent to a parent till her husband claim her.\n    And now that to her rightful lord and master\n    I have delivered her, my burdened soul\n    Is lightened, and I seem to breathe more freely.\n\n          [_Exeunt._\n\n\n[40] The sandal-tree is a large kind of myrtle, with pointed leaves. The\nwood affords many highly esteemed perfumes and is celebrated for its\ndelicious scent. It is chiefly found on the slopes of the Malay\nmountains or Western Ghants, on the Malabar coast.\n\n\n\n\nACT FIFTH\n\nScene.--A Room in the Palace\n\n\n_The King Dushyanta and the Jester M\u00e1thavya are discovered seated_.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA [_listening_].--Hark! my dear friend, listen a minute, and you\nwill hear sweet sounds proceeding from the music-room. Someone is\nsinging a charming air. Who can it be? Oh! I know. The queen Hansapadik\u00e1\nis practising her notes, that she may greet you with a new song.\n\nKING.--Hush! Let me listen.\n\nA VOICE [_sings behind the scenes_].--\n    How often hither didst thou rove,\n    Sweet bee, to kiss the mango's cheek;\n    Oh! leave not, then, thy early love,\n    The lily's honeyed lip to seek.\n\nKING.--A most impassioned strain, truly!\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Do you understand the meaning of the words?\n\nKING [_smiling_].--She means to reprove me, because I once paid her\ngreat attention, and have lately deserted her for the queen Vasumat\u00ed.\nGo, my dear fellow, and tell Hansapadik\u00e1 from me that I take her\ndelicate reproof as it is intended.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Very well. [_Rising from his seat_.] But stay--I don't much\nrelish being sent to bear the brunt of her jealousy. The chances are\nthat she will have me seized by the hair of the head and beaten to a\njelly. I would as soon expose myself, after a vow of celibacy, to the\nseductions of a lovely nymph, as encounter the fury of a jealous woman.\n\nKING.--Go, go; you can disarm her wrath by a civil speech; but give her\nmy message.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--What must be must be, I suppose.          [_Exit._\n\nKING [_aside_].--Strange! that song has filled me with a most peculiar\nsensation. A melancholy feeling has come over me, and I seem to yearn\nafter some long-forgotten object of affection. Singular, indeed! but,\n    Not seldom in our happy hours of ease,\n    When thought is still, the sight of some fair form,\n    Or mournful fall of music breathing low,\n    Will stir strange fancies, thrilling all the soul\n    With a mysterious sadness, and a sense\n    Of vague yet earnest longing. Can it be\n    That the dim memory of events long past,\n    Or friendships formed in other states of being,\n    Flits like a passing shadow o'er the spirit?\n          [_Remains pensive and sad_.\n\n          _Enter the Chamberlain_.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN.--Alas! to what an advanced period of life have I attained!\n    Even this wand betrays the lapse of years;\n    In youthful days 'twas but a useless badge\n    And symbol of my office; now it serves\n    As a support to prop my tottering steps.\n\nAh me! I feel very unwilling to announce to the King that a deputation\nof young hermits from the sage Kanwa has arrived, and craves an\nimmediate audience. Certainly, his majesty ought not to neglect a matter\nof sacred duty, yet I hardly like to trouble him when he has just risen\nfrom the judgment-seat. Well, well; a monarch's business is to sustain\nthe world, and he must not expect much repose; because--\n\n    Onward, forever onward, in his car\n    The unwearied Sun pursues his daily course,\n    Nor tarries to unyoke his glittering steeds.\n    And ever moving speeds the rushing Wind\n    Through boundless space, filling the universe\n    With his life-giving breezes. Day and night,\n    The King of Serpents on his thousand heads\n    Upholds the incumbent earth; and even so,\n    Unceasing toil is aye the lot of kings,\n    Who, in return, draw nurture from their subjects.\n\nI will therefore deliver my message. [_Walking on and looking about_.]\nAh! here comes the King:--\n\n    His subjects are his children; through the day,\n    Like a fond father, to supply their wants,\n    Incessantly he labors; wearied now,\n    The monarch seeks seclusion and repose--\n    E'en as the prince of elephants defies\n    The sun's fierce heat, and leads the fainting herd\n    To verdant pastures, ere his wayworn limbs\n    He yields to rest beneath the cooling shade.\n\n[_Approaching_.] Victory to the King! So please your majesty, some\nhermits who live in a forest near the Snowy Mountains have arrived here,\nbringing certain women with them. They have a message to deliver from\nthe sage Kanwa, and desire an audience. I await your Majesty's commands.\n\nKING [_respectfully_].--A message from the sage Kanwa, did you say?\n\nCHAMBERLAIN.--Even so, my liege.\n\nKING.--Tell my domestic priest, Somar\u00e1ta, to receive the hermits with\ndue honor, according to the prescribed form. He may then himself\nintroduce them into my presence. I will await them in a place suitable\nfor the reception of such holy guests.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN.--Your Majesty's commands shall be obeyed. [_Exit._\n\nKING [_rising and addressing the Warder_].--Vetravat\u00ed, lead the way to\nthe chamber of the consecrated fire.\n\nWARDER.--This way, Sire.\n\nKING [_walking on, with the air of one oppressed by the cares of\ngovernment_].--People are generally contented and happy when they have\ngained their desires; but kings have no sooner attained the object of\ntheir aspirations than all their troubles begin.\n    'Tis a fond thought that to attain the end\n    And object of ambition is to rest;\n    Success doth only mitigate the fever\n    Of anxious expectation; soon the fear\n    Of losing what we have, the constant care\n    Of guarding it doth weary. Ceaseless toil\n    Must be the lot of him who with his hands\n    Supports the canopy that shields his subjects.\n\nTwo HERALDS [_behind the scenes_].--May the King be victorious!\n\nFIRST HERALD.--Honor to him who labors day by day\n    For the world's weal, forgetful of his own.\n    Like some tall tree that with its stately head\n    Endures the solar beam, while underneath\n    It yields refreshing shelter to the weary.\n\nSECOND HERALD.--Let but the monarch wield his threatening rod\n    And e'en the guilty tremble; at his voice\n    The rebel spirit cowers; his grateful subjects\n    Acknowledge him their guardian; rich and poor\n    Hail him a faithful friend, a loving kinsman.\n\nKING.--Weary as I was before, this complimentary address has refreshed\nme.          [_Walks on_.\n\nWARDER.--Here is the terrace of the hallowed fire-chamber, and yonder\nstands the cow that yields the milk for the oblations. The sacred\nenclosure has been recently purified, and looks clean and beautiful.\nAscend, Sire.\n\nKING [_leans on the shoulders of his attendants, and ascends_].\nVetravat\u00ed, what can possibly be the message that the venerable Kanwa has\nsent me by these hermits?--\n    Perchance their sacred rites have been disturbed\n    By demons, or some evil has befallen\n    The innocent herds, their favorites, that graze\n    Within the precincts of the hermitage;\n    Or haply, through my sins, some withering blight\n    Has nipped the creeping plants that spread their arms\n    Around the hallowed grove. Such troubled thoughts\n    Crowd through my mind, and fill me with misgiving.\n\nWARDER.--If you ask my opinion, Sire, I think the hermits merely wish to\ntake an opportunity of testifying their loyalty, and are therefore come\nto offer homage to your Majesty.\n\n_Enter the Hermits, leading \u015aakoontal\u00e1, attended by Gautam\u00ed; and, in\nadvance of them, the Chamberlain and the domestic Priest._\n\nCHAMBERLAIN.--This way, reverend sirs, this way.\n\n\u015a\u00c1RNGARAVA.--O \u015a\u00e1radwata,\n    'Tis true the monarch lacks no royal grace,\n    Nor ever swerves from justice; true, his people,\n    Yea such as in life's humblest walks are found,\n    Refrain from evil courses; still to me,\n    A lonely hermit reared in solitude,\n    This throng appears bewildering, and methinks\n    I look upon a burning house, whose inmates\n    Are running to and fro in wild dismay.\n\nS\u00c1RADWATA.--It is natural that the first sight of the King's capital\nshould affect you in this manner; my own sensations are very similar.\n    As one just bathed beholds the man polluted;\n    As one late purified, the yet impure:--\n    As one awake looks on the yet unwakened;\n    Or as the freeman gazes on the thrall,\n    So I regard this crowd of pleasure-seekers.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_feeling a quivering sensation in her right eyelid, and\nsuspecting a bad omen_],--Alas! what means this throbbing of my right\neyelid?\n\nGAUTAM\u00cd.--Heaven avert the evil omen, my child! May the guardian deities\nof thy husband's family convert it into a sign of good fortune! [_Walks\non_.\n\nPRIEST [_pointing to the King_].--Most reverend sirs, there stands the\nprotector of the four classes of the people; the guardian of the four\norders of the priesthood. He has just left the judgment-seat, and is\nwaiting for you. Behold him!\n\n\u015a\u00c1RNGARAVA.--Great Br\u00e1hman, we are happy in thinking that the King's\npower is exerted for the protection of all classes of his subjects. We\nhave not come as petitioners--we have the fullest confidence in the\ngenerosity of his nature.\n    The loftiest trees bend humbly to the ground\n    Beneath the teeming burden of their fruit;\n    High in the vernal sky the pregnant clouds\n    Suspend their stately course, and hanging low,\n    Scatter their sparkling treasures o'er the earth:--\n    And such is true benevolence; the good\n    Are never rendered arrogant by riches.\n\nWARDER.--So please your Majesty, I judge from the placid countenance of\nthe hermits that they have no alarming message to deliver.\n\nKING [_looking at \u015aakoontal\u00e1_].--But the lady there--\n    Who can she be, whose form of matchless grace\n    Is half concealed beneath her flowing veil?\n    Among the sombre hermits she appears\n    Like a fresh bud 'mid sear and yellow leaves.\n\nWARDER.--So please your Majesty, my curiosity is also roused, but no\nconjecture occurs to my mind. This at least is certain, that she\ndeserves to be looked at more closely.\n\nKING.--True; but it is not right to gaze at another man's wife.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_placing her hand on her bosom. Aside_].--O my heart, why\nthis throbbing? Remember thy lord's affection, and take courage.\n\nPRIEST [_advancing_].--These holy men have been received with all due\nhonor. One of them has now a message to deliver from his spiritual\nsuperior. Will your Majesty deign to hear it?\n\nKING.--I am all attention.\n\nHERMITS [_extending their hands_].--Victory to the King!\n\nKING.--Accept my respectful greeting.\n\nHERMITS.--May the desires of your soul be accomplished!\n\nKING.--I trust no one is molesting you in the prosecution of your\nreligious rites.\n\nHERMITS.--Who dares disturb our penitential rites\n    When thou art our protector? Can the night\n    Prevail to cast her shadows o'er the earth\n    While the sun's beams irradiate the sky?\n\nKING.--Such, indeed, is the very meaning of my title--\"Defender of the\nJust.\" I trust the venerable Kanwa is in good health. The world is\ninterested in his well-being.\n\nHERMITS.--Holy men have health and prosperity in their own power. He\nbade us greet your Majesty, and, after kind inquiries, deliver this\nmessage.\n\nKING.--Let me hear his commands.\n\n\u015a\u00c1RNGARAVA.--He bade us say that he feels happy in giving his sanction\nto the marriage which your Majesty contracted with this lady, his\ndaughter, privately and by mutual agreement. Because\n    By us thou art esteemed the most illustrious\n    Of noble husbands; and \u015aakoontal\u00e1\n    Virtue herself in human form revealed.\n    Great Brahm\u00e1 hath in equal yoke united\n    A bride unto a husband worthy of her:--\n    Henceforth let none make blasphemous complaint\n    That he is pleased with ill-assorted unions.\n\nSince, therefore, she expects soon to be the mother of thy child,\nreceive her into thy palace, that she may perform, in conjunction with\nthee, the ceremonies prescribed by religion on such an occasion.\n\nGAUTAM\u00cd.--So please your Majesty, I would add a few words: but why\nshould I intrude my sentiments when an opportunity of speaking my mind\nhas never been allowed me?\n    She took no counsel with her kindred; thou\n    Didst not confer with thine, but all alone\n    Didst solemnize thy nuptials with thy wife.\n    Together, then, hold converse; let us leave you.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_aside_].--Ah! how I tremble for my lord's reply.\n\nKING.--What strange proposal is this?\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_aside_].--His words are fire to me.\n\n\u015a\u00c1RNGARAVA.--What do I hear? Dost thou, then, hesitate? Monarch, thou\nart well acquainted with the ways of the world, and knowest that\n    A wife, however virtuous and discreet,\n    If she live separate from her wedded lord,\n    Though under shelter of her parent's roof,\n    Is mark for vile suspicion. Let her dwell\n    Beside her husband, though he hold her not\n    In his affection. So her kinsmen will it.\n\nKING.--Do you really mean to assert that I ever married this lady?\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_despondingly. Aside_].--O my heart, thy worst misgivings\nare confirmed.\n\n\u015a\u00c1RNGARAVA.--Is it becoming in a monarch to depart from the rules of\njustice, because he repents of his engagements?\n\nKING.--I cannot answer a question which is based on a mere fabrication.\n\n\nS\u00c1RNGARAVA.--Such inconstancy is fortunately not common, excepting in\nmen intoxicated by power.\n\nKING.--Is that remark aimed at me?\n\nGAUTAM\u00cd.--Be not ashamed, my daughter. Let me remove thy veil for a\nlittle space. Thy husband will then recognize thee. [_Removes her veil_.\n\nKING [_gazing at \u015aakoontal\u00e1. Aside_].--What charms are here revealed\nbefore mine eyes!\n    Truly no blemish mars the symmetry\n    Of that fair form; yet can I ne'er believe\n    She is my wedded wife; and like a bee\n    That circles round the flower whose nectared cup\n    Teems with the dew of morning, I must pause\n    Ere eagerly I taste the proffered sweetness.\n          [_Remains wrapped in-thought._\n\nWARDER.--How admirably does our royal master's behavior prove his regard\nfor justice! Who else would hesitate for a moment when good fortune\noffered for his acceptance a form of such rare beauty?\n\nS\u00c1RNGARAVA.--Great King, why art thou silent?\n\nKING.--Holy men, I have revolved the matter in my mind; but the more I\nthink of it, the less able am I to recollect that I ever contracted an\nalliance with this lady. What answer, then, can I possibly give you when\nI do not believe myself to be her husband, and I plainly see that she is\nsoon to become a mother?\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_aside_].--Woe! woe! Is our very marriage to be called in\nquestion by my own husband? Ah me! is this to be the end of all my\nbright visions of wedded happiness?\n\n\u015a\u00c1RNGARAVA.--Beware!\n    Beware how thou insult the holy Sage!\n    Remember how he generously allowed\n    Thy secret union with his foster-child;\n    And how, when thou didst rob him of his treasure,\n    He sought to furnish thee excuse, when rather\n    He should have cursed thee for a ravisher.\n\n\u015a\u00c1RADWATA.--\u015a\u00e1rngarava, speak to him no more. \u015aakoontal\u00e1, our part is\nperformed; we have said all we had to say, and the King has replied in\nthe manner thou hast heard. It is now thy turn to give him convincing\nevidence of thy marriage.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_aside_].--Since his feeling towards me has undergone a\ncomplete revolution, what will it avail to revive old recollections? One\nthing is clear--I shall soon have to mourn my own widowhood. [_Aloud_.]\nMy revered husband--[_Stops short_.] But no--I dare not address thee by\nthis title, since thou hast refused to acknowledge our union. Noble\ndescendant of Puru! It is not worthy of thee to betray an\ninnocent-minded girl, and disown her in such terms, after having so\nlately and so solemnly plighted thy vows to her in the hermitage.\n\nKING [_stopping his ears_].--I will hear no more. Be such a crime far\nfrom my thoughts!\n    What evil spirit can possess thee, lady,\n    That thou dost seek to sully my good name\n    By base aspersions? like a swollen torrent,\n    That, leaping from its narrow bed, overthrows\n    The tree upon its bank, and strives to blend\n    Its turbid waters with the crystal stream?\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--If, then, thou really believest me to be the wife of\nanother, and thy present conduct proceeds from some cloud that obscures\nthy recollection, I will easily convince thee by this token.\n\nKING.--An excellent idea!\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_feeling for the ring_].--Alas! alas! woe is me! There is no\nring on my finger!\n          [_Looks with anguish at Gautam\u00ed_.\n\nGAUTAM\u00cd.--The ring must have slipped off when thou wast in the act of\noffering homage to the holy water of \u015aach\u00ed's sacred pool, near\n\u015aakr\u00e1vat\u00e1ra.\n\nKING [_smiling_].--People may well talk of the readiness of woman's\ninvention! Here is an instance of it.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Say, rather, of the omnipotence of fate. I will mention\nanother circumstance, which may yet convince thee.\n\nKING.--By all means let me hear it at once.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--One day, while we were seated in a jasmine bower, thou\ndidst pour into the hollow of thine hand some water, sprinkled by a\nrecent shower in the cup of a lotus blossom--\n\nKING.--I am listening; proceed.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--At that instant, my adopted child, the little fawn, with\nsoft, long eyes, came running towards us. Upon which, before tasting the\nwater thyself, thou didst kindly offer some to the little creature,\nsaying fondly--\"Drink first, gentle fawn.\" But she could not be induced\nto drink from the hand of a stranger; though immediately afterwards,\nwhen I took the water in my own hand, she drank with perfect confidence.\nThen, with a smile, thou didst say--\"Every creature confides naturally\nin its own kind. You are both inhabitants of the same forest, and have\nlearnt to trust each other.\"\n\nKING.--Voluptuaries may allow themselves to be seduced from the path of\nduty by falsehoods such as these, expressed in honeyed words.\n\nGAUTAM\u00cd.--Speak not thus, illustrious Prince. This lady was brought up\nin a hermitage, and has never learnt deceit.\n\nKING.--Holy matron,\n    E'en in untutored brutes, the female sex\n    Is marked by inborn subtlety--much more\n    In beings gifted with intelligence.\n    The wily K\u00f6il, ere towards the sky\n    She wings her sportive flight, commits her eggs\n    To other nests, and artfully consigns\n    The rearing of her little ones to strangers.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_angrily_].--Dishonorable man, thou judgest of others by\nthine own evil heart. Thou, at least, art unrivalled in perfidy, and\nstandest alone--a base deceiver in the garb of virtue and religion--like\na deep pit whose yawning mouth is concealed by smiling flowers.\n\nKING [_aside_].--Her anger, at any rate, appears genuine, and makes me\nalmost doubt whether I am in the right. For, indeed,\n    When I had vainly searched my memory,\n    And so with stern severity denied\n    The fabled story of our secret loves,\n    Her brows, that met before in graceful curves,\n    Like the arched weapon of the god of love,\n    Seemed by her frown dissevered; while the fire\n    Of sudden anger kindled in her eyes.\n\n[_Aloud_.] My good lady, Dushyanta's character is well-known to all. I\ncomprehend not your meaning.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Well do I deserve to be thought a harlot for having, in the\ninnocence of my heart, and out of the confidence I reposed in a Prince\nof Puru's race, intrusted my honor to a man whose mouth distils honey,\nwhile his heart is full of poison.\n          [_Covers her face with her mantle, and bursts into tears_.\n\n\u015a\u00c1RNGARAVA.--Thus is it that burning remorse must ever follow rash\nactions which might have been avoided, and for which one has only one's\nself to blame.\n    Not hastily should marriage be contracted,\n    And specially in secret. Many a time,\n    In hearts that know not each the other's fancies,\n    Fond love is changed into most bitter hate.\n\nKING.--How now! Do you give credence to this woman rather than to me,\nthat you heap such accusations on me?\n\n\u015a\u00c1RNGARAVA [_sarcastically_].--That would be too absurd, certainly. You\nhave heard the proverb--\n    Hold in contempt the innocent words of those\n    Who from their infancy have known no guile:--\n    But trust the treacherous counsels of the man\n    Who makes a very science of deceit.\n\nKING.--Most veracious Br\u00e1hman, grant that you are in the right, what end\nwould be gained by betraying this lady?\n\n\u015a\u00c1RNGARAVA.--Ruin.\n\nKING.--No one will believe that a Prince of Puru's race would seek to\nruin others or himself.\n\n\u015a\u00c1RADWATA.--This altercation is idle, \u015a\u00e1rngarava. We have executed the\ncommission of our preceptor; come, let us return. [_To the King_.\n    \u015aakoontal\u00e1 is certainly thy bride;\n    Receive her or reject her, she is thine.\n    Do with her, King, according to thy pleasure--\n    The husband o'er the wife is absolute.\nGo on before us, Gautam\u00ed.          [_They move away_.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--What! is it not enough to have been betrayed by this\nperfidious man? Must you also forsake me, regardless of my tears and\nlamentations?\n          [_Attempts to follow them_.\n\nGAUTAM\u00cd [_stopping_].--My son \u015a\u00e1rngarava, see, \u015aakoontal\u00e1 is following\nus, and with tears implores us not to leave her. Alas! poor child, what\nwill she do here with a cruel husband who casts her from him?\n\n\u015a\u00c1RNGARAVA [_turning angrily towards her_].--Wilful woman, dost thou\nseek to be independent of thy lord?\n          [_\u015aakoontal\u00e1 trembles with fear_.\n\n\u015a\u00c1RNGARAVA.--\u015aakoontal\u00e1!\n    If thou art really what the King proclaims thee,\n    How can thy father e'er receive thee back\n    Into his house and home? but, if thy conscience\n    Be witness to thy purity of soul,\n    E'en should thy husband to a handmaid's lot\n    Condemn thee, thou may'st cheerfully endure it,\n    When ranked among the number of his household.\n\nThy duty, therefore, is to stay. As for us, we must return immediately.\n\nKING.--Deceive not the lady, my good hermit, by any such expectations.\n    The moon expands the lotus of the night,\n    The rising sun awakes the lily; each\n    Is with his own contented. Even so\n    The virtuous man is master of his passions,\n    And from another's wife averts his gaze.\n\n\u015a\u00c1RNGARAVA.--Since thy union with another woman has rendered thee\noblivious of thy marriage with \u015aakoontal\u00e1, whence this fear of losing\nthy character for constancy and virtue?\n\nKING [_to the Priest_],--You must counsel me, revered sir, as to my\ncourse of action. Which of the two evils involves the greater or less\nsin?\n    Whether by some dark veil my mind be clouded,\n    Or this designing woman speak untruly,\n    I know not. Tell me, must I rather be\n    The base disowner of my wedded wife,\n    Or the defiling and defiled adulterer?\n\nPRIEST [_after deliberation_].--You must take an intermediate course.\n\nKING.--What course, revered sir? Tell me at once.\n\nPRIEST.--I will provide an asylum for the lady in my own house until the\nbirth of her child; and my reason, if you ask me, is this. Soothsayers\nhave predicted that your first-born will have universal dominion. Now,\nif the hermit's daughter bring forth a son with the discus or mark of\nempire in the lines of his hand, you must admit her immediately into\nyour royal apartments with great rejoicings; if not, then determine to\nsend her back as soon as possible to her father.\n\nKING.--I bow to the decision of my spiritual adviser.\n\nPRIEST.--Daughter, follow me.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--O divine earth, open and receive me into thy bosom!\n\n[_Exit \u015aakoontal\u00e1 weeping, with the Priest and the Hermits. The King\nremains absorbed in thinking of her, though the curse still clouds his\nrecollection_.\n\nA VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--A miracle! a miracle!\n\nKING [_listening_].--What has happened now?\n\nPRIEST [_entering with an air of astonishment_].--Great Prince, a\nstupendous prodigy has just occurred!\n\nKING.--What is it?\n\nPRIEST.--May it please your Majesty, so soon as Kanwa's pupils had\ndeparted,\n    \u015aakoontal\u00e1, her eyes all bathed in tears,\n    With outstretched arms bewailed her cruel fate--\n\nKING.--Well, well, what happened then?\n\nPRIEST.--When suddenly a shining apparition, In female shape, descended\nfrom the skies, Near the nymphs' pool, and bore her up to heaven.\n\n          [_All remain motionless with astonishment_.\n\nKING.--My good priest, from the very first I declined having anything to\ndo with this matter. It is now all over, and we can never, by our\nconjectures, unravel the mystery; let it rest; go, seek repose.\n\nPRIEST [_looking at the King_].--Be it so. Victory to the King! [_Exit._\n\nKING.--Vetravat\u00ed, I am tired out; lead the way to the bed-chamber.\n\nWARDER.--This way, Sire. [_They move away_.\n\nKING.--Do what I will, I cannot call to mind\n    That I did e'er espouse the sage's daughter--\n    Therefore I have disowned her; yet 'tis strange\n    How painfully my agitated heart\n    Bears witness to the truth of her assertion,\n    And makes me credit her against my judgment.\n          [_Exeunt._\n\n\n\n\nPRELUDE TO ACT SIXTH\n\nScene.--A Street\n\n\n_Enter the King's brother-in-law as Superintendent of the city police;\nand with him two Constables, dragging a poor fisherman, who has his\nhands tied behind his back_.\n\nBOTH THE CONSTABLES [_striking the prisoner_].--Take that for a rascally\nthief that you are; and now tell us, sirrah, where you found this\nring--aye, the King's own signet-ring. See, here is the royal name\nengraved on the setting of the jewel.\n\nFISHERMAN [_with a gesture of alarm_].--Mercy! kind sirs, mercy! I did\nnot steal it; indeed I did not.\n\nFIRST CONSTABLE.--Oh! then I suppose the King took you for some fine\nBr\u00e1hman, and made you a present of it?\n\nFISHERMAN.--Only hear me. I am but a poor fisherman, living at\n\u015aakr\u00e1vat\u00e1ra------\n\nSECOND CONSTABLE.--Scoundrel, who ever asked you, pray, for a history of\nyour birth and parentage?\n\nSUPERINTENDENT [_to one of the Constables_].--S\u00fachaka, let the fellow\ntell his own story from the beginning. Don't interrupt him.\n\nBOTH CONSTABLES.--As you please, master. Go on, then, sirrah, and say\nwhat you've got to say.\n\nFISHERMAN.--You see in me a poor man, who supports his family by\ncatching fish with nets, hooks, and the like.\n\nSUPERINTENDENT [_laughing_].--A most refined occupation, certainly!\n\nFISHERMAN.--Blame me not for it, master.\n    The father's occupation, though despised\n    By others, casts no shame upon the son,\n    And he should not forsake it. Is the priest\n    Who kills the animal for sacrifice\n    Therefore deemed cruel? Sure a lowborn man\n    May, though a fisherman, be tender-hearted.\n\nSUPERINTENDENT.--Well, well; go on with your story.\n\nFISHERMAN.--One day I was cutting open a large carp I had just hooked,\nwhen the sparkle of a jewel caught my eye, and what should I find in the\nfish's maw but that ring! Soon afterwards, when I was offering it for\nsale, I was seized by your honors. Now you know everything. Whether you\nkill me, or whether you let me go, this is the true account of how the\nring came into my possession.\n\nSUPERINTENDENT [_to one of the Constables_].--Well, J\u00e1nuka, the rascal\nemits such a fishy odor that I have no doubt of his being a fisherman;\nbut we must inquire a little more closely into this queer story about\nthe finding of the ring. Come, we'll take him before the King's\nhousehold.\n\nBOTH CONSTABLES.--Very good, master. Get on with you, you cutpurse.\n          [_All move on_.\n\nSUPERINTENDENT.--Now attend, S\u00fachaka; keep you guard here at the gate;\nand hark ye, sirrahs, take good care your prisoner does not escape,\nwhile I go in and lay the whole story of the discovery of this ring\nbefore the King in person. I will soon return and let you know his\ncommands.\n\nCONSTABLE.--Go in, master, by all means; and may you find favor in the\nKing's sight!\n          [_Exit Superintendent_.\n\nFIRST CONSTABLE [_after an interval_].--I say, J\u00e1nuka, the\nSuperintendent is a long time away.\n\nSECOND CONSTABLE.--Aye, aye; kings are not to be got at so easily. Folks\nmust bide the proper opportunity.\n\nFIRST CONSTABLE.--J\u00e1nuka, my fingers itch to strike the first blow at\nthis royal victim here. We must kill him with all the honors, you know.\nI long to begin binding the flowers round his head.\n          [_Pretends to strike a blow at the fisherman_.\n\nFISHERMAN.--Your honor surely will not put an innocent man to a cruel\ndeath.\n\nSECOND CONSTABLE [_looking_].--There's our Superintendent at last, I\ndeclare. See, he is coming towards us with a paper in his hand. We shall\nsoon know the King's command; so prepare, my fine fellow, either to\nbecome food for the vultures, or to make acquaintance with some hungry\ncur.\n\nSUPERINTENDENT [_entering_].--Ho, there, S\u00fachaka! set the fisherman at\nliberty, I tell you. His story about the ring is all correct.\n\nS\u00daCHAKA.--Oh! very good, sir; as you please.\n\nSECOND CONSTABLE.--The fellow had one foot in hell, and now here he is\nin the land of the living.          [_Releases him_.\n\nFISHERMAN [_bowing to the Superintendent_].--Now, master, what think you\nof my way of getting a livelihood?\n\nSUPERINTENDENT.--Here, my good man, the King desired me to present you\nwith this purse. It contains a sum of money equal to the full value of\nthe ring.\n          [_Gives him the money_.\n\nFISHERMAN [_taking it and bowing_].--His Majesty does me too great\nhonor.\n\nS\u00daCHAKA.--You may well say so. He might as well have taken you from the\ngallows to seat you on his state elephant.\n\nJ\u00c1NUKA.--Master, the King must value the ring very highly, or he would\nnever have sent such a sum of money to this ragamuffin.\n\nSUPERINTENDENT.--I don't think he prizes it as a costly jewel so much as\na memorial of some person he tenderly loves. The moment it was shown to\nhim he became much agitated, though in general he conceals his feelings.\n\nS\u00daCHAKA.--Then you must have done a great service------\n\nJ\u00c1NUKA.--Yes, to this husband of a fish-wife.\n          [_Looks enviously at the fisherman_.\n\nFISHERMAN.--Here's half the money for you, my masters. It will serve to\npurchase the flowers you spoke of, if not to buy me your good-will.\n\nJ\u00c1NUKA.--Well, now, that's just as it should be.\n\nSUPERINTENDENT.--My good fisherman, you are an excellent fellow, and I\nbegin to feel quite a regard for you. Let us seal our first friendship\nover a glass of good liquor. Come along to the next wine-shop and we'll\ndrink your health.\n\nALL.--By all means.\n          [_Exeunt._\n\n\n\n\nACT SIXTH\n\nScene.--The Garden of the Palace\n\n\n_The nymph S\u00e1numat\u00ed is seen descending in a celestial car_.\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd.--Behold me just arrived from attending in my proper turn at\nthe nymphs' pool, where I have left the other nymphs to perform their\nablutions, whilst I seek to ascertain, with my own eyes, how it fares\nwith King Dushyanta. My connection with the nymph Menak\u00e1 has made her\ndaughter \u015aakoontal\u00e1 dearer to me than my own flesh and blood; and Menak\u00e1\nit was who charged me with this errand on her daughter's behalf.\n[_Looking round in all directions_.] How is it that I see no\npreparations in the King's household for celebrating the great vernal\nfestival? I could easily discover the reason by my divine faculty of\nmeditation; but respect must be shown to the wishes of my friend. How\nthen shall I arrive at the truth? I know what I will do. I will become\ninvisible, and place myself near those two maidens who are tending the\nplants in the garden.          [_Descends and takes her station_.\n\n_Enter a Maiden, who stops in front of a mango-tree and gazes at the\nblossom. Another Maiden is seen behind her_.\n\nFIRST MAIDEN.--Hail to thee, lovely harbinger of spring! The varied\nradiance of thy opening flowers Is welcome to my sight. I bid thee hail,\nSweet mango, soul of this enchanting season.\n\nSECOND MAIDEN.--Parabaitik\u00e1, what are you saying there to yourself?\n\nFIRST MAIDEN.--Dear Madhukarik\u00e1, am I not named after the K\u00f6il?[41] and\ndoes not the K\u00f6il sing for joy at the first appearance of the\nmango-blossom?\n\nSECOND MAIDEN [_approaching hastily, with transport_].--What! is spring\nreally come?\n\nFIRST MAIDEN.--Yes, indeed, Madhukarik\u00e1, and with it the season of joy,\nlove, and song.\n\nSECOND MAIDEN.--Let me lean upon you, dear, while I stand on tip-toe and\npluck a blossom of the mango, that I may present it as an offering to\nthe god of love.\n\nFIRST MAIDEN.--Provided you let me have half the reward which the god\nwill bestow in return.\n\nSECOND MAIDEN.--To be sure you shall, and that without asking. Are we\nnot one in heart and soul, though divided in body? [_Leans on her friend\nand plucks a mango-blossom._] Ah! here is a bud just bursting into\nflower. It diffuses a delicious perfume, though not yet quite expanded.\n          [_Joining her hands reverentially_.\n\n    God of the bow, who with spring's choicest flowers\n    Dost point thy five unerring shafts; to thee\n    I dedicate this blossom; let it serve\n    To barb thy truest arrow; be its mark\n    Some youthful heart that pines to be beloved.\n\n          [_Throws down a mango-blossom._\n\nCHAMBERLAIN [_entering in a hurried manner, angrily_].--Hold there,\nthoughtless woman. What are you about breaking off those mango-blossoms,\nwhen the King has forbidden the celebration of the spring festival?\n\nBOTH MAIDENS [_alarmed_].--Pardon us, kind sir, we have heard nothing of\nit.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN.--You have heard nothing of it? Why, all the vernal plants\nand shrubs, and the very birds that lodge in their branches, show more\nrespect to the King's order than you do.\n    Yon mango-blossoms, though long since expanded,\n    Gather no down upon their tender crests;\n    The flower still lingers in the amaranth,\n    Imprisoned in its bud; the tuneful K\u00f6il,\n    Though winter's chilly dews be overpast,\n    Suspends the liquid volume of his song\n    Scarce uttered in his throat; e'en Love, dismayed,\n    Restores the half-drawn arrow to his quiver.\n\nBOTH MAIDENS.--The mighty power of King Dushyanta is not to be disputed.\n\nFIRST MAIDEN.--It is but a few days since Mitr\u00e1vasu, the king's\nbrother-in-law, sent us to wait upon his Majesty; and, during the whole\nof our sojourn here, we have been intrusted with the charge of the royal\npleasure-grounds. We are therefore strangers in this place, and heard\nnothing of the order until you informed us of it.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN.--Well then, now you know it, take care you don't continue\nyour preparations.\n\nBOTH MAIDENS.--But tell us, kind sir, why has the King prohibited the\nusual festivities? We are curious to hear, if we may.\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd [_aside_].--Men are naturally fond of festive entertainments.\nThere must be some good reason for the prohibition.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN.--The whole affair is now public; why should I not speak of\nit! Has not the gossip about the King's rejection of \u015aakoontal\u00e1 reached\nyour ears yet?\n\nBOTH MAIDENS.--Oh yes, we heard the story from the King's\nbrother-in-law, as far, at least, as the discovery of the ring.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN.--Then there is little more to tell you. As soon as the\nKing's memory was restored by the sight of his own ring, he exclaimed,\n\"Yes, it is all true. I remember now my secret marriage with \u015aakoontal\u00e1.\nWhen I repudiated her, I had lost my recollection.\" Ever since that\nmoment, he has yielded himself a prey to the bitterest remorse.\n    He loathes his former pleasures; he rejects\n    The daily homage of his ministers.\n    On his lone couch he tosses to and fro,\n    Courting repose in vain. Whene'er he meets\n    The ladies of his palace, and would fain\n    Address them with politeness, he confounds\n    Their names; or, calling them \"\u015aakoontal\u00e1,\"\n    Is straightway silent and abashed with shame.\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd [_aside_].--To me this account is delightful.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN.--In short, the King is so completely out of his mind that\nthe festival has been prohibited.\n\nBOTH MAIDENS.--Perfectly right.\n\nA VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--The King! the King! This way, Sire, this\nway.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN [_listening_].--Oh! here comes his majesty in this\ndirection. Pass on, maidens; attend to your duties.\n\nBOTH MAIDENS.--We will, sir. [_Exeunt._\n\n_Enter King Dushyanta, dressed in deep mourning, attended by his Jester,\nM\u00e1thavya, and preceded by Vetravat\u00ed._\n\nCHAMBERLAIN [_gazing at the King_].--Well, noble forms are certainly\npleasing, under all varieties of outward circumstances. The King's\nperson is as charming as ever, notwithstanding his sorrow of mind.\n    Though but a single golden bracelet spans\n    His wasted arm; though costly ornaments\n    Have given place to penitential weeds;\n    Though oft-repeated sighs have blanched his lips,\n    And robbed them of their bloom; though sleepless care\n    And carking thought have dimmed his beaming eye;\n    Yet does his form, by its inherent lustre,\n    Dazzle the gaze; and, like a priceless gem\n    Committed to some cunning polisher,\n    Grow more effulgent by the loss of substance.\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd [_aside. Looking at the King_].--Now that I have seen him, I\ncan well understand why \u015aakoontal\u00e1 should pine after such a man, in\nspite of his disdainful rejection of her.\n\nKING [_walking slowly up and down, in deep thought_].--\n    When fatal lethargy overwhelmed my soul,\n    My loved one strove to rouse me, but in vain:--\n    And now when I would fain in slumber deep\n    Forget myself, full soon remorse doth wake me.\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd [_aside_].--My poor \u015aakoontal\u00e1's sufferings are very similar.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA [_aside_].--He is taken with another attack of this odious\n\u015aakoontal\u00e1 fever. How shall we ever cure him?\n\nCHAMBERLAIN [_approaching_].--Victory to the King! Great Prince, the\nroyal pleasure-grounds have been put in order. Your Majesty can resort\nto them for exercise and amusement whenever you think proper.\n\nKING.--Vetravat\u00ed, tell the worthy Pi\u015buna, my prime minister, from me,\nthat I am so exhausted by want of sleep that I cannot sit on the\njudgment-seat to-day. If any case of importance be brought before the\ntribunal he must give it his best attention, and inform me of the\ncircumstances by letter.\n\nVETRAVAT\u00cd.--Your Majesty's commands shall be obeyed. [_Exit._\n\nKING [_to the Chamberlain_].--And you, V\u00e1t\u00e1yana, may go about your own\naffairs.\n\nCHAMBERLAIN.--I will, Sire. [_Exit._\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Now that you have rid yourself of these troublesome fellows,\nyou can enjoy the delightful coolness of your pleasure-grounds without\ninterruption.\n\nKING.--Ah! my dear friend, there is an old adage--\"When affliction has a\nmind to enter, she will find a crevice somewhere\"--and it is verified in\nme.\n    Scarce is my soul delivered from the cloud\n    That darkened its remembrance of the past,\n    When lo! the heart-born deity of love\n    With yonder blossom of the mango barbs\n    His keenest shaft, and aims it at my breast.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Well, then, wait a moment; I will soon demolish Master K\u00e1ma's\narrow with a cut of my cane.\n\n          [_Raises his stick and strikes off the mango-blossom._\n\nKING [_smiling_].--That will do. I see very well the god of Love is not\na match for a Br\u00e1hman. And now, my dear friend, where shall I sit down,\nthat I may enchant my sight by gazing on the twining plants, which seem\nto remind me of the graceful shape of my beloved?\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Do you not remember? you told Chaturik\u00e1 you should pass the\nheat of the day in the jasmine bower; and commanded her to bring the\nlikeness of your queen \u015aakoontal\u00e1, sketched with your own hand.\n\nKING.--True. The sight of her picture will refresh my soul. Lead the way\nto the arbor.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--This way, Sire.\n\n          [_Both move on, followed by S\u00e1numat\u00ed._\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Here we are at the jasmine bower. Look, it has a marble seat,\nand seems to bid us welcome with its offerings of delicious flowers. You\nhave only to enter and sit down. [_Both enter and seat themselves._\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd [_aside_].--I will lean against these young jasmines. I can\neasily, from behind them, glance at my friend's picture, and will then\nhasten to inform her of her husband's ardent affection. [_Stands leaning\nagainst the creepers_.\n\nKING.--Oh! my dear friend, how vividly all the circumstances of my union\nwith \u015aakoontal\u00e1 present themselves to my recollection at this moment!\nBut tell me now how it was that, between the time of my leaving her in\nthe hermitage and my subsequent rejection of her, you never breathed her\nname to me! True, you were not by my side when I disowned her; but I had\nconfided to you the story of my love and you were acquainted with every\nparticular. Did it pass out of your mind as it did out of mine?\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--No, no; trust me for that. But, if you remember, when you had\nfinished telling me about it, you added that I was not to take the story\nin earnest, for that you were not really in love with a country girl,\nbut were only jesting; and I was dull and thick-headed enough to believe\nyou. But so fate decreed, and there is no help for it.\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd [_aside_].--Exactly.\n\nKING [_after deep thought_].--My dear friend, suggest some relief for my\nmisery.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Come, come, cheer up; why do you give way? Such weakness is\nunworthy of you. Great men never surrender themselves to uncontrolled\ngrief. Do not mountains remain unshaken even in a gale of wind?\n\nKING.--How can I be otherwise than inconsolable, when I call to mind the\nagonized demeanor of the dear one on the occasion of my disowning her?\n    When cruelly I spurned her from my presence,\n    She fain had left me; but the young recluse,\n    Stern as the Sage, and with authority\n    As from his saintly master, in a voice\n    That brooked not contradiction, bade her stay.\n    Then through her pleading eyes, bedimmed with tears,\n    She cast on me one long reproachful look,\n    Which like a poisoned shaft torments me still.\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd [_aside_].--Alas! such is the force of self-reproach following\na rash action. But his anguish only rejoices me.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--An idea has just struck me. I should not wonder if some\ncelestial being had carried her off to heaven.\n\nKING.--Very likely. Who else would have dared to lay a\nfinger on a wife, the idol of her husband? It is said that Menak\u00e1, the\nnymph of heaven, gave her birth. The suspicion has certainly crossed my\nmind that some of her celestial companions may have taken her to their\nown abode.\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd [_aside_].--His present recollection of every circumstance of\nher history does not surprise me so much as his former forgetfulness.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--If that's the case, you will be certain to meet her before\nlong.\n\nKING.--Why?\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--No father and mother can endure to see a daughter suffering\nthe pain of separation from her husband.\n\nKING.--Oh! my dear M\u00e1thavya,\n    Was it a dream? or did some magic dire,\n    Dulling my senses with a strange delusion,\n    Overcome my spirit? or did destiny,\n    Jealous of my good actions, mar their fruit,\n    And rob me of their guerdon? It is past,\n    Whatever the spell that bound me. Once again\n    Am I awake, but only to behold\n    The precipice o'er which my hopes have fallen.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Do not despair in this manner. Is not this very ring a proof\nthat what has been lost may be unexpectedly found?\n\nKING [_gazing at the ring_].--Ah! this ring, too, has fallen from a\nstation which it will not easily regain, and deserves all my sympathy.\n    O gem, deserved the punishment we suffer,\n    And equal is the merit of our works,\n    When such our common doom. Thou didst enjoy\n    The thrilling contact of those slender fingers,\n    Bright as the dawn; and now how changed thy lot!\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd [_aside_].--Had it found its way to the hand of any other\nperson, then indeed its fate would have been deplorable.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Pray, how did the ring ever come upon her hand at all?\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd.--I myself am curious to know.\n\nKING.--You shall hear. When I was leaving my beloved \u015aakoontal\u00e1 that I\nmight return to my own capital, she said to me, with tears in her eyes,\n\"How long will it be ere my lord send for me to his palace and make me\nhis queen?\"\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Well, what was your reply?\n\nKING.--Then I placed the ring on her finger, and thus addressed her--\n    Repeat each day one letter of the name\n    Engraven on this gem; ere thou hast reckoned\n    The tale of syllables, my minister\n    Shall come to lead thee to thy husband's palace.\nBut, hard-hearted man that I was, I forgot to fulfil my promise, owing\nto the infatuation that took possession of me.\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd [_aside_].--A pleasant arrangement! Fate, however, ordained\nthat the appointment should not be kept.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--But how did the ring contrive to pass into the stomach of\nthat carp which the fisherman caught and was cutting up?\n\nKING.--It must have slipped from my \u015aakoontal\u00e1's hand, and fallen into\nthe stream of the Ganges, while she was offering homage to the water of\nSach\u00ed's holy pool.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Very likely.\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd [_aside_].--Hence it happened, I suppose, that the King, always\nfearful of committing the least injustice, came to doubt his marriage\nwith my poor \u015aakoontal\u00e1. But why should affection so strong as his stand\nin need of any token of recognition?\n\nKING.--Let me now address a few words of reproof to this ring.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA [_aside_].--He is going stark mad, I verily believe.\n\nKING.--Hear me, thou dull and undiscerning bauble!\n    For so it argues thee, that thou couldst leave\n    The slender fingers of her hand, to sink\n    Beneath the waters. Yet what marvel is it\n    That thou shouldst lack discernment? let me rather\n    Heap curses on myself, who, though endowed\n    With reason, yet rejected her I loved.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA [_aside_].--And so, I suppose, I must stand here to be devoured\nby hunger, whilst he goes on in this sentimental strain.\n\nKING.--O forsaken one, unjustly banished from my presence, take pity on\nthy slave, whose heart is consumed by the fire of remorse, and return to\nmy sight.\n\n_Enter Chaturik\u00e1 hurriedly, with a picture in her hand_.\n\nCHATURIK\u00c1.--Here is the Queen's portrait. [_Shows the picture_.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Excellent, my dear friend, excellent! The imitation of nature\nis perfect, and the attitude of the figures is really charming. They\nstand out in such bold relief that the eye is quite deceived.\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd [_aside_].--A most artistic performance! I admire the King's\nskill, and could almost believe that \u015aakoontal\u00e1 herself was before me.\n\nKING.--I own 'tis not amiss, though it portrays\n    But feebly her angelic loveliness.\n    Aught less than perfect is depicted falsely,\n    And fancy must supply the imperfection.\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd [_aside_].--A very just remark from a modest man, whose\naffection is exaggerated by the keenness of his remorse.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Tell me--I see three female figures drawn on the canvas, and\nall of them beautiful; which of the three is her Majesty, \u015aakoontal\u00e1?\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd [_aside_].--If he cannot distinguish her from the others, the\nsimpleton might as well have no eyes in his head.\n\nKING.--Which should you imagine to be intended for her?\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--She who is leaning, apparently a little tired, against the\nstem of that mango-tree, the tender leaves of which glitter with the\nwater she has poured upon them. Her arms are gracefully extended; her\nface is somewhat flushed with the heat; and a few flowers have escaped\nfrom her hair, which has become unfastened, and hangs in loose tresses\nabout her neck. That must be the queen \u015aakoontal\u00e1, and the others, I\npresume, are her two attendants.\n\nKING.--I congratulate you on your discernment. Behold the proof of my\npassion;\n    My finger, burning with the glow of love,\n    Has left its impress on the painted tablet;\n    While here and there, alas! a scalding tear\n    Has fallen on the cheek and dimmed its brightness.\n    Chaturik\u00e1, the garden in the background of the picture is\n    only half-painted. Go, fetch the brush that I may finish it.\n\nCHATURIK\u00c1.--Worthy M\u00e1thavya, have the kindness to hold the picture until\nI return.\n\nKING.--Nay, I will hold it myself.\n          [_Takes the picture. Exit Chaturik\u00e1_.\n\nKING.--My loved one came but lately to my presence\n    And offered me herself, but in my folly\n    I spurned the gift, and now I fondly cling\n    To her mere image; even as a madman\n    Would pass the waters of the gushing stream,\n    And thirst for airy vapors of the desert.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA [_aside_].--He has been fool enough to forego the reality for\nthe semblance, the substance for the shadow. [_Aloud._] Tell us, I pray,\nwhat else remains to be painted.\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd [_aside_].--He longs, no doubt, to delineate some favorite spot\nwhere my dear \u015aakoontal\u00e1 delighted to ramble.\n\nKING.--You shall hear------\n    I wish to see the M\u00e1lin\u00ed portrayed,\n    Its tranquil course by banks of sand impeded--\n    Upon the brink a pair of swans: beyond,\n    The hills adjacent to Him\u00e1laya,\n    Studded with deer; and, near the spreading shade\n    Of some large tree, where 'mid the branches hang\n    The hermits' vests of bark, a tender doe,\n    Rubbing its downy forehead on the horn\n    Of a black antelope, should be depicted.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA [_aside_].--Pooh! if I were he, I would fill up the vacant\nspaces with a lot of grizzly-bearded old hermits.\n\nKING.--My dear M\u00e1thavya, there is still a part of \u015aakoontal\u00e1's dress\nwhich I purposed to draw, but find I have omitted.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--What is that?\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd [_aside_].--Something suitable, I suppose, to the simple attire\nof a young and beautiful girl dwelling in a forest.\n\nKING.--A sweet \u015air\u00edsha blossom should be twined\n    Behind her ear, its perfumed crest depending\n    Towards her cheek; and, resting on her bosom,\n    A lotus-fibre necklace, soft and bright\n    As an autumnal moon-beam, should be traced.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Pray, why does the Queen cover her lips with the tips of her\nfingers, bright as the blossom of a lily, as if she were afraid of\nsomething? [_Looking more closely_.] Oh! I see; a vagabond bee, intent\non thieving the honey of flowers, has mistaken her mouth for a rose-bud,\nand is trying to settle upon it.\n\nKING.--A bee! drive off the impudent insect, will you?\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--That's your business. Your royal prerogative gives you power\nover all offenders.\n\nKING.--Very true. Listen to me, thou favorite guest of flowering plants;\nwhy give thyself the trouble of hovering here? See where thy partner\nsits on yonder flower, And waits for thee ere she will sip its dew.\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd [_aside_].--A most polite way of warning him off!\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--You'll find the obstinate creature is not to be sent about\nhis business so easily as you think.\n\nKING.--Dost thou presume to disobey? Now hear me--\n    An thou but touch the lips of my beloved,\n    Sweet as the opening blossom, whence I quaffed\n    In happier days love's nectar, I will place thee\n    Within the hollow of yon lotus cup,\n    And there imprison thee for thy presumption.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--He must be bold indeed not to show any fear when you threaten\nhim with such an awful punishment. [_Smiling, aside_.] He is stark mad,\nthat's clear; and I believe, by keeping him company, I am beginning to\ntalk almost as wildly. [_Aloud_.] Look, it is only a painted bee.\n\nKING.--Painted? impossible!\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd [_aside_].--Even I did not perceive it; how much less should\nhe?\n\nKING.--Oh! my dear friend, why were you so ill-natured as to tell me the\ntruth?\n    While, all entranced, I gazed upon her picture,\n    My loved one seemed to live before my eyes,\n    Till every fibre of my being thrilled\n    With rapturous emotion. Oh! 'twas cruel\n    To dissipate the day-dream, and transform\n    The blissful vision to a lifeless image.\n          [_Sheds tears_.\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd [_aside_].--Separated lovers are very difficult to please; but\nhe seems more difficult than usual.\n\nKING.--Alas! my dear M\u00e1thavya, why am I doomed to be the victim of\nperpetual disappointment?\n    Vain is the hope of meeting her in dreams,\n    For slumber night by night forsakes my couch:\n    And now that I would fain assuage my grief\n    By gazing on her portrait here before me,\n    Tears of despairing love obscure my sight.\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd [_aside_],--You have made ample amends for the wrong you did\n\u015aakoontal\u00e1 in disowning her.\n\nCHATURIK\u00c1 [_entering_].--Victory to the King! I was coming along with\nthe box of colors in my hand------\n\nKING.--What now?\n\nCHATURIK\u00c1.--When I met the Queen Vasumat\u00ed, attended by Taralik\u00e1. She\ninsisted on taking it from me, and declared she would herself deliver it\ninto your Majesty's hands.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--By what luck did you contrive to escape her?\n\nCHATURIK\u00c1.--While her maid was disengaging her mantle, which had caught\nin the branch of a shrub, I ran away.\n\nKING.--Here, my good friend, take the picture and conceal it. My\nattentions to the Queen have made her presumptuous. She will be here in\na minute.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--Conceal the picture! conceal myself, you mean. [_Getting up\nand taking the picture_.] The Queen has a bitter draught in store for\nyou, which you will have to swallow as Siva did the poison at the\nDeluge. When you are well quit of her, you may send and call me from the\nPalace of Clouds,[42] where I shall take refuge.\n          [_Exit, running_.\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd [_aside_].--Although the King's affections are transferred to\nanother object, yet he respects his previous attachments. I fear his\nlove must be somewhat fickle.\n\nVETRAVAT\u00cd [_entering with a despatch in her hand_].--Victory to the\nKing!\n\nKING.---Vetravat\u00ed, did you observe the Queen Vasumat\u00ed coming in this\ndirection?\n\nVETRAVAT\u00cd.--I did; but when she saw that I had a despatch in my hand for\nyour Majesty, she turned back.\n\nKING.--The Queen has too much regard for propriety to interrupt me when\nI am engaged with state-affairs.\n\nVETRAVAT\u00cd.--So please your Majesty, your Prime Minister begs\nrespectfully to inform you that he has devoted much time to the\nsettlement of financial calculations, and only one case of importance\nhas been submitted by the citizens for his consideration. He has made a\nwritten report of the facts, and requests your Majesty to cast your eyes\nover it.\n\nKING.--Hand me the paper.\n          [_Vetravat\u00ed delivers it_.\n\nKING [_reading_].--What have we here? \"A merchant named Dhanamitra,\ntrading by sea, was lost in a late shipwreck. Though a wealthy trader,\nhe was childless; and the whole of his immense property becomes by law\nforfeited to the King.\" So writes the minister. Alas! alas! for his\nchildlessness. But surely, if he was wealthy, he must have had many\nwives. Let an inquiry be made whether any one of them is expecting to\ngive birth to a child.\n\nVETRAVAT\u00cd.--They say that his wife, the daughter of the foreman of a\nguild belonging to Ayodhy\u00e1, has just completed the ceremonies usual upon\nsuch expectations.\n\nKING.--The unborn child has a title to his father's property. Such is my\ndecree. Go, bid my minister proclaim it so.\n\nVETRAVAT\u00cd.--I will, my liege.          [_Going_.\n\nKING.--Stay a moment.\n\nVETRAVAT\u00cd.--I am at your Majesty's service.\n\nKING.--Let there be no question whether he may or may not have left\noffspring;\n    Rather be it proclaimed that whosoe'er\n    Of King Dushyanta's subjects be bereaved\n    Of any loved relation, an it be not\n    That his estates are forfeited for crimes,\n    Dushyanta will himself to them supply\n    That kinsman's place in tenderest affection.\n\nVETRAVAT\u00cd.--It shall be so proclaimed.\n\n          [_Exit Vetravat\u00ed, and re\u00ebnter after an interval_.\n\nVETRAVAT\u00cd.--Your Majesty's proclamation was received with acclamations\nof joy, like grateful rain at the right season.\n\nKING [_drawing a deep sigh_].--So then, the property of rich men, who\nhave no lineal descendants, passes over to a stranger at their decease.\nAnd such, alas! must be the fate of the fortunes of the race of Puru at\nmy death; even as when fertile soil is sown with seed at the wrong\nseason.\n\nVETRAVAT\u00cd.--Heaven forbid!\n\nKING.--Fool that I was to reject such happiness when it offered itself\nfor my acceptance!\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd [_aside_].--He may well blame his own folly when he calls to\nmind his treatment of my beloved \u015aakoontal\u00e1.\n\nKING.--Ah! woe is me? when I forsook my wife--\n    My lawful wife--concealed within her breast\n    There lay my second self, a child unborn,\n    Hope of my race, e'en as the choicest fruit\n    Lies hidden in the bosom of the earth.\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd [_aside_].--There is no fear of your race being cut off for\nwant of a son.\n\nCHATURIK\u00c1 [_aside to Vetravat\u00ed_].--The affair of the merchant's death\nhas quite upset our royal master, and caused him sad distress. Had you\nnot better fetch the worthy M\u00e1thavya from the Palace of Clouds to\ncomfort him?\n\nVETRAVAT\u00cd.--A very good idea. [_Exit_.\n\nKING.--Alas! the shades of my forefathers are even now beginning to be\nalarmed, lest at my death they may be deprived of their funeral\nlibations.\n    No son remains in King Dushyanta's place\n    To offer sacred homage to the dead\n    Of Puru's noble line: my ancestors\n    Must drink these glistening tears, the last libation\n    A childless man can ever hope to make them.\n          [_Falls down in an agony of grief_.\n\nCHATURIK\u00c1 [_looking at him in consternation_].--Great King, compose\nyourself.\n\nS\u00c1NUMAT\u00cd [_aside_].--Alas! alas! though a bright light is shining near\nhim, he is involved in the blackest darkness, by reason of the veil that\nobscures his sight. I will now reveal all, and put an end to his misery.\nBut no; I heard the mother of the great Indra, when she was consoling\n\u015aakoontal\u00e1, say, that the gods will soon bring about a joyful union\nbetween husband and wife, being eager for the sacrifice which will be\ncelebrated in their honor on the occasion. I must not anticipate the\nhappy moment, but will return at once to my dear friend and cheer her\nwith an account of what I have seen and heard.\n          [_Rises aloft and disappears_.\n\nA VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Help! help! to the rescue!\n\nKING [_recovering himself. Listening_].--Ha! I heard a cry of distress,\nand in M\u00e1thavya's voice. What ho there!\n\nVETRAVAT\u00cd [_entering_].--Your friend is in danger; save him, great King.\n\nKING.--Who dares insult the worthy M\u00e1thavya?\n\nVETRAVAT\u00cd.--Some evil demon, invisible to human eyes, has seized him,\nand carried him to one of the turrets of the Palace of Clouds.\n\nKING [_rising_].--Impossible! Have evil spirits power over my subjects,\neven in my private apartments? Well, well--\n    Daily I seem less able to avert\n    Misfortune from myself, and o'er my actions\n    Less competent to exercise control;\n    How can I then direct my subjects' ways,\n    Or shelter them from tyranny and wrong?\n\nA VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Halloo there! my dear friend; help!\nhelp!\n\nKING [_advancing with rapid strides_].--Fear nothing--\n\nTHE SAME VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Fear nothing, indeed! How can I\nhelp fearing when some monster is twisting back my neck, and is about to\nsnap it as he would a sugarcane?\n\nKING [_looking round_].--What ho there! my bow.\n\nSLAVE [_entering with a bow_].--Behold your bow, Sire, and your\narm-guard.\n\n          [_The king snatches up the bow and arrows_.\n\nANOTHER VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Here, thirsting for thy\nlife-blood, will I slay thee, As a fierce tiger rends his struggling\nprey. Call now thy friend Dushyanta to thy aid; His bow is mighty to\ndefend the weak; Yet all its vaunted power shall be as nought.\n\nKING [_with fury_].--What! dares he defy me to my face? Hold there,\nmonster! Prepare to die, for your time is come. [_Stringing his bow_.]\nVetravat\u00ed, lead the way to the terrace.\n\nVETRAVAT\u00cd.--This way, Sire. [_They advance in haste_.\n\nKING [_looking on every side_].--How's this? there is nothing to be\nseen.\n\nA VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Help! Save me! I can see you, though you\ncannot see me. I am like a mouse in the claws of a cat; my life is not\nworth a moment's purchase.\n\nKING.--Avaunt, monster! You may pride yourself on the magic that renders\nyou invisible, but my arrow shall find you out. Thus do I fix a shaft\n    That shall discern between an impious demon\n    And a good Br\u00e1hman; bearing death to thee,\n    To him deliverance--even as the swan\n    Distinguishes the milk from worthless water.\n          [_Takes aim_.\n\n          _Enter M\u00e1tali, holding M\u00e1thavya, whom he releases_.\n\nM\u00c1TALI.--Turn thou thy deadly arrows on the demons;\n    Such is the will of Indra; let thy bow\n    Be drawn against the enemies of the gods;\n    But on thy friends cast only looks of favor.\n\nKING [_putting back his arrow_].--What, M\u00e1tali! Welcome, most noble\ncharioteer of the mighty Indra.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--So, here is a monster who thought as little about\nslaughtering me as if I had been a bullock for sacrifice, and you must\ne'en greet him with a welcome.\n\nM\u00c1TALI [_smiling_].--Great Prince, hear on what errand Indra sent me\ninto your presence.\n\nKING.--I am all attention.\n\nM\u00c1TALI.--There is a race of giants, the descendants of K\u00e1lanemi, whom\nthe gods find difficult to subdue.\n\nKING.--So I have already heard from N\u00e1rada.\n\nM\u00c1TALI.--Heaven's mighty lord, who deigns to call thee \"friend,\"\n    Appoints thee to the post of highest honor,\n    As leader of his armies; and commits\n    The subjugation of this giant brood\n    To thy resistless arms, e'en as the sun\n    Leaves the pale moon to dissipate the darkness.\n\nLet your Majesty, therefore, ascend at once the celestial car of Indra;\nand, grasping your arms, advance to victory.\n\nKING.--The mighty Indra honors me too highly by such a mark of\ndistinction. But tell me, what made you act thus towards my poor friend\nM\u00e1thavya?\n\nM\u00c1TALI.--I will tell you. Perceiving that your Majesty's spirit was\ncompletely broken by some distress of mind under which you were\nlaboring, I determined to rouse your energies by moving you to anger.\nBecause\n    To light a flame, we need but stir the embers;\n    The cobra, when incensed, extends his head\n    And springs upon his foe; the bravest men\n    Display their courage only when provoked.\n\nKING [_aside to M\u00e1thavya_].--My dear M\u00e1thavya, the commands of the great\nIndra must not be left unfulfilled. Go you and acquaint my minister,\nPi\u015buna, with what has happened, and say to him from me, Dushyanta to thy\ncare confides his realm--\n    Protect with all the vigor of thy mind\n    The interests of my people; while my bow\n    Is braced against the enemies of heaven.\n\nM\u00c1THAVYA.--I obey.          [_Exit._\n\nM\u00c1TALI.--Ascend, illustrious Prince.\n          [_The King ascends the car. Exeunt_.\n\n\n[41] The K\u00f6il is the Indian cuckoo. It is sometimes called Parabhrita\n(nourished by another) because the female is known to leave her eggs in\nthe nest of the crow to be hatched. The bird is a great favorite with\nthe Indian poets, as the nightingale with Europeans.\n\n[42] Palace of King Dushyanta, so-called because it was as lofty as the\nclouds.\n\n\n\n\nACT SEVENTH\n\nScene.--The Sky\n\n\n_Enter King Dushyanta and M\u00e1tali in the car of Indra, moving in the\nair_.\n\nKING.--My good M\u00e1tali, it appears to me incredible that I can merit such\na mark of distinction for having simply fulfilled the behests of the\ngreat Indra.\n\nM\u00c1TALI [_smiling_].--Great Prince, it seems to me that neither of you is\nsatisfied with himself--\n    You underrate the service you have rendered,\n    And think too highly of the god's reward:\n    He deems it scarce sufficient recompense\n    For your heroic deeds on his behalf.\n\nKING.--Nay, M\u00e1tali, say not so. My most ambitious expectations were more\nthan realized by the honor conferred on me at the moment when I took my\nleave. For,\n    Tinged with celestial sandal, from the breast\n    Of the great Indra, where before it hung,\n    A garland of the ever-blooming tree\n    Of Nandana was cast about my neck\n    By his own hand: while, in the very presence\n    Of the assembled gods, I was enthroned\n    Beside their mighty lord, who smiled to see\n    His son Jayanta envious of the honor.\n\nM\u00c1TALI.--There is no mark of distinction which your Majesty does not\ndeserve at the hands of the immortals. See,\n    Heaven's hosts acknowledge thee their second saviour;\n    For now thy bow's unerring shafts (as erst\n    The lion-man's terrific claws) have purged\n    The empyreal sphere from taint of demons foul.\n\nKING.--The praise of my victory must be ascribed to the majesty of\nIndra.\n    When mighty gods make men their delegates\n    In martial enterprise, to them belongs\n    The palm of victory; and not to mortals.\n    Could the pale Dawn dispel the shades of night,\n    Did not the god of day, whose diadem\n    Is jewelled with a thousand beams of light,\n    Place him in front of his effulgent car?\n\nM\u00c1TALI.--A very just comparison. [_Driving on._] Great King, behold! the\nglory of thy fame has reached even to the vault of heaven.\n    Hark! yonder inmates of the starry sphere\n    Sing anthems worthy of thy martial deeds,\n    While with celestial colors they depict\n    The story of thy victories on scrolls\n    Formed of the leaves of heaven's immortal trees.\n\nKING.--My good M\u00e1tali, yesterday, when I ascended the sky, I was so\neager to do battle with the demons, that the road by which we were\ntravelling towards Indra's heaven escaped my observation. Tell me, in\nwhich path of the seven winds are we now moving?\n\nM\u00c1TALI.--We journey in the path of Parivaha;\n    The wind that bears along the triple Ganges,\n    And causes Ursa's seven stars to roll\n    In their appointed orbits, scattering\n    Their several rays with equal distribution.\n    'Tis the same path that once was sanctified\n    By the divine impression of the foot\n    Of Vishnu, when, to conquer haughty Bali,\n    He spanned the heavens in his second stride.\n\nKING.--This is the reason, I suppose, that a sensation of calm repose\npervades all my senses. [_Looking down at the wheels._] Ah! M\u00e1tali, we\nare descending towards the earth's atmosphere.\n\nM\u00c1TALI.--What makes you think so?\n\nKING.--The car itself instructs me; we are moving\n    O'er pregnant clouds, surcharged with rain; below us\n    I see the moisture-loving Ch\u00e1takas\n    In sportive flight dart through the spokes; the steeds\n    Of Indra glisten with the lightning's flash;\n    And a thick mist bedews the circling wheels.\n\nM\u00c1TALI.--You are right; in a little while the chariot will touch the\nground, and you will be in your own dominions.\n\nKING [_looking down_],--How wonderful is the appearance of the earth as\nwe rapidly descend!\n    Stupendous prospect! yonder lofty hills\n    Do suddenly uprear their towering heads\n    Amid the plain, while from beneath their crests\n    The ground receding sinks; the trees, whose stems\n    Seemed lately hid within their leafy tresses,\n    Rise into elevation, and display\n    Their branching shoulders; yonder streams, whose waters,\n    Like silver threads, but now were scarcely seen,\n    Grow into mighty rivers; lo! the earth\n    Seems upward hurled by some gigantic power.\n\nM\u00c1TALI.--Well described! [_Looking with awe._] Grand, indeed, and lovely\nis the spectacle presented by the earth.\n\nKING.--Tell me, M\u00e1tali, what is that range of mountains which, like a\nbank of clouds illumined by the setting sun, pours down a stream of\ngold? On one side its base dips into the eastern ocean, and on the other\nside into the western.\n\nM\u00c1TALI.--Great Prince, it is called \"Golden-peak,\"[43] and is the abode\nof the attendants of the god of Wealth. In this spot the highest forms\nof penance are wrought out.\n    There Ka\u015byapa, the great progenitor\n    Of demons and of gods, himself the offspring\n    Of the divine Mar\u00edchi, Brahm\u00e1's son,\n    With Aditi, his wife, in calm seclusion,\n    Does holy penance for the good of mortals.\n\nKING.--Then I must not neglect so good an opportunity of obtaining his\nblessing. I should much like to visit this venerable personage and offer\nhim my homage.\n\nM\u00c1TALI.--By all means! An excellent idea. [_Guides the car to the\nearth._]\n\nKING [_in a tone of wonder_].--How's this?\n    Our chariot wheels move noiselessly. Around\n    No clouds of dust arise; no shock betokened\n    Our contact with the earth; we seem to glide\n    Above the ground, so lightly do we touch it.\n\nM\u00c1TALI.--Such is the difference between the car of Indra and that of\nyour Majesty.\n\nKING.--In which direction, M\u00e1tali, is Ka\u015byapa's sacred retreat?\n\nM\u00c1TALI [_pointing_].--Where stands yon anchorite, towards the orb\n    Of the meridian sun, immovable\n    As a tree's stem, his body half-concealed\n    By a huge ant-hill. Round about his breast\n    No sacred cord is twined, but in its stead\n    A hideous serpent's skin. In place of necklace,\n    The tendrils of a withered creeper chafe\n    His wasted neck. His matted hair depends\n    In thick entanglement about his shoulders,\n    And birds construct their nests within its folds.\n\nKING.--I salute thee, thou man of austere devotion.\n\nM\u00c1TALI [_holding in the reins of the car_].--Great Prince, we are now in\nthe sacred grove of the holy Ka\u015byapa--the grove that boasts as its\nornament one of the five trees of Indra's heaven, reared by Aditi.\n\nKING.--This sacred retreat is more delightful than heaven itself. I\ncould almost fancy myself bathing in a pool of nectar.\n\nM\u00c1TALI [_stopping the chariot_].--Descend, mighty Prince.\n\nKING [_descending_].--And what will you do, M\u00e1tali?\n\nM\u00c1TALI.--The chariot will remain where I have stopped it. We may both\ndescend. [_Doing so._] This way, great King, [_Walking on._] You see\naround you the celebrated region where the holiest sages devote\nthemselves to penitential rites.\n\nKING.--I am filled with awe and wonder as I gaze.\n    In such a place as this do saints of earth\n    Long to complete their acts of penance; here,\n    Beneath the shade of everlasting trees,\n    Transplanted from the groves of Paradise,\n    May they inhale the balmy air, and need\n    No other nourishment; here may they bathe\n    In fountains sparkling with the golden dust\n    Of lilies; here, on jewelled slabs of marble,\n    In meditation rapt, may they recline;\n    Here, in the presence of celestial nymphs,\n    E'en passion's voice is powerless to move them.\n\nM\u00c1TALI.--So true is it that the aspirations of the good and great are\never soaring upwards. [_Turning round and speaking off the stage_.] Tell\nme, Vriddha-\u015b\u00e1kalya, how is the divine son of Mar\u00edchi now engaged? What\nsayest thou? that he is conversing with Aditi and some of the wives of\nthe great sages, and that they are questioning him respecting the duties\nof a faithful wife?\n\nKING [_listening_].--Then we must await the holy father's leisure.\n\nM\u00c1TALI [_looking at the King_].--If your Majesty will rest under the\nshade, at the foot of this A\u015boka-tree, I will seek an opportunity of\nannouncing your arrival to Indra's reputed father.\n\nKING.--As you think proper.          [_Remains under the tree_.\n\nM\u00c1TALI.--Great King, I go.          [_Exit._\n\nKING [_feeling his arm throb_].--Wherefore this causeless throbbing, O\nmine arm?\n    All hope has fled forever; mock me not\n    With presages of good, when happiness\n    Is lost, and nought but misery remains.\n\nA VOICE [_behind the scenes_].--Be not so naughty. Do you begin already\nto show a refractory spirit?\n\nKING [_listening_].--This is no place for petulance. Who can it be whose\nbehavior calls for such a rebuke? [_Looking in the direction of the\nsound and smiling_.] A child, is it? closely attended by two holy women.\nHis disposition seems anything but childlike. See,\n    He braves the fury of yon lioness\n    Suckling its savage offspring, and compels\n    The angry whelp to leave the half-sucked dug,\n    Tearing its tender mane in boisterous sport.\n\n_Enter a child, attended by two women of the hermitage, In the manner\ndescribed_.\n\nCHILD.--Open your mouth, my young lion, I want to count your teeth.\n\nFIRST ATTENDANT.--You naughty child, why do you tease the animals? Know\nyou not that we cherish them in this hermitage as if they were our own\nchildren? In good sooth, you have a high spirit of your own, and are\nbeginning already to do justice to the name Sarva-damana (All-taming),\ngiven you by the hermits.\n\nKING.--Strange! My heart inclines towards the boy with almost as much\naffection as if he were my own child. What can be the reason? I suppose\nmy own childlessness makes me yearn towards the sons of others.\n\nSECOND ATTENDANT.--This lioness will certainly attack you if you do not\nrelease her whelp.\n\nCHILD [_laughing_].--Oh! indeed! let her come. Much I fear her, to be\nsure.          [_Pouts his under-lip in defiance_.\n\nKING.--The germ of mighty courage lies concealed\n    Within this noble infant, like a spark\n    Beneath the fuel, waiting but a breath\n    To fan the flame and raise a conflagration.\n\nFIRST ATTENDANT.--Let the young lion go, like a dear child, and I will\ngive you something else to play with.\n\nCHILD.--Where is it? Give it me first.\n          [_Stretches out his hand._\n\nKING [_looking at his hand_].--How's this? His hand exhibits one of\nthose mystic marks which are the sure prognostic of universal empire.\nSee!\n    His fingers stretched in eager expectation\n    To grasp the wished-for toy, and knit together\n    By a close-woven web, in shape resemble\n    A lotus-blossom, whose expanding petals\n    The early dawn has only half unfolded.\n\nSECOND ATTENDANT.--We shall never pacify him by mere words, dear\nSuvrat\u00e1. Be kind enough to go to my cottage, and you will find there a\nplaything belonging to M\u00e1rk\u00e1ndeya, one of the hermit's children. It is a\npeacock made of China-ware, painted in many colors. Bring it here for\nthe child.\n\nFIRST ATTENDANT.--Very well.          [_Exit._\n\nCHILD.--No, no; I shall go on playing with the young lion.\n\n          [_Looks at the female attendant and laughs_.\n\nKING.--I feel an unaccountable affection for this wayward child.\n    How blessed the virtuous parents whose attire\n    Is soiled with dust, by raising from the ground\n    The child that asks a refuge in their arms!\n    And happy are they while with lisping prattle,\n    In accents sweetly inarticulate,\n    He charms their ears; and with his artless smiles\n    Gladdens their hearts, revealing to their gaze\n    His tiny teeth, just budding into view.\n\nATTENDANT.--I see how it is. He pays me no manner of attention.\n[_Looking off the stage._] I wonder whether any of the hermits are about\nhere. [_Seeing the King._] Kind Sir, could you come hither a moment and\nhelp me to release the young lion from the clutch of this child, who is\nteasing him in boyish play?\n\nKING [_approaching and smiling_].--Listen to me, thou child of a mighty\nsaint.\n    Dost thou dare show a wayward spirit here?\n    Here, in this hallowed region? Take thou heed\n    Lest, as the serpent's young defiles the sandal,\n    Thou bring dishonor on the holy sage,\n    Thy tender-hearted parent, who delights\n    To shield from harm the tenants of the wood.\n\nATTENDANT.--Gentle Sir, I thank you; but he is not the saint's son.\n\nKING.--His behavior and whole bearing would have led me to doubt it, had\nnot the place of his abode encouraged the idea.\n\n[_Follows the child, and takes him by the hand, according to the request\nof the attendant. Speaking aside._\n    I marvel that the touch of this strange child\n    Should thrill me with delight; if so it be,\n    How must the fond caresses of a son\n    Transport the father's soul who gave him being!\n\nATTENDANT [_looking at them both_].--Wonderful! Prodigious!\n\nKING.--What excites your surprise, my good woman?\n\nATTENDANT.--I am astonished at the striking resemblance between the\nchild and yourself; and, what is still more extraordinary, he seems to\nhave taken to you kindly and submissively, though you are a stranger to\nhim.\n\nKING [_fondling the child_].--If he be not the son of the great sage, of\nwhat family does he come, may I ask?\n\nATTENDANT.--Of the race of Puru.\n\nKING [_aside_].--What! are we, then, descended from the same ancestry?\nThis, no doubt, accounts for the resemblance she traces between the\nchild and me. Certainly it has always been an established usage among\nthe princes of Puru's race,\n    To dedicate the morning of their days\n    To the world's weal, in palaces and halls,\n    'Mid luxury and regal pomp abiding;\n    Then, in the wane of life, to seek release\n    From kingly cares, and make the hallowed shade\n    Of sacred trees their last asylum, where\n    As hermits they may practise self-abasement,\n    And bind themselves by rigid vows of penance.\n[_Aloud._] But how could mortals by their own power gain admission to\nthis sacred region?\n\nATTENDANT.--Your remark is just; but your wonder will cease when I tell\nyou that his mother is the offspring of a celestial nymph, and gave him\nbirth in the hallowed grove of Ka\u015byapa.\n\nKING [_aside_].--Strange that my hopes should be again excited!\n[_Aloud._] But what, let me ask, was the name of the prince whom she\ndeigned to honor with her hand?\n\nATTENDANT.--How could I think of polluting my lips by the mention of a\nwretch who had the cruelty to desert his lawful wife?\n\nKING [_aside_].--Ha! the description suits me exactly. Would I could\nbring myself to inquire the name of the child's mother! [_Reflecting._]\nBut it is against propriety to make too minute inquiries about the wife\nof another man.\n\nFIRST ATTENDANT [_entering with the china peacock in her\nhand_].--Sarva-damana, Sarva-damana, see, see, what a beautiful \u015aakoonta\n(bird).\n\nCHILD [_looking round_].--My mother! Where? Let me go to her.\n\nBOTH ATTENDANTS.--He mistook the word \u015aakoonta for \u015aakoontal\u00e1. The boy\ndotes upon his mother, and she is ever uppermost in his thoughts.\n\nSECOND ATTENDANT.--Nay, my dear child, I said, Look at the beauty of\nthis \u015aakoonta.\n\nKING [_aside_].--What! is his mother's name \u015aakoontal\u00e1? But the name is\nnot uncommon among women. Alas! I fear the mere similarity of a name,\nlike the deceitful vapor of the desert, has once more raised my hopes\nonly to dash them to the ground.\n\nCHILD [_takes the toy_].--Dear nurse, what a beautiful peacock!\n\nFIRST ATTENDANT [_looking at the child. In great distress_].--Alas!\nalas! I do not see the amulet on his wrist.\n\nKING.--Don't distress yourself. Here it is. It fell off while he was\nstruggling with the young lion.\n\n          [_Stoops to pick it up_.\n\nBOTH ATTENDANTS.--Hold! hold! Touch it not, for your life. How\nmarvellous! He has actually taken it up without the slightest\nhesitation.\n\n[_Both raise their hands to their breasts and look at each other in\nastonishment._\n\nKING.--Why did you try to prevent my touching it?\n\nFIRST ATTENDANT.--Listen, great Monarch. This amulet, known as \"The\nInvincible,\" was given to the boy by the divine son of Mar\u00edchi, soon\nafter his birth, when the natal ceremony was performed. Its peculiar\nvirtue is, that when it falls on the ground, no one excepting the father\nor mother of the child can touch it unhurt.\n\nKING.--And suppose another person touches it?\n\nFIRST ATTENDANT.--Then it instantly becomes a serpent, and bites him.\n\nKING.--Have you ever witnessed the transformation with your own eyes?\n\nBOTH ATTENDANTS.--Over and over again.\n\nKING [_with rapture. Aside_].--Joy! joy! Are then my dearest hopes to be\nfulfilled?\n          [_Embraces the child_.\n\nSECOND ATTENDANT.--Come, my dear Suvrat\u00e1, we must inform \u015aakoontal\u00e1\nimmediately of this wonderful event, though we have to interrupt her in\nthe performance of her religious vows.\n          [_Exeunt._\n\nCHILD [_to the King_].--Do not hold me. I want to go to my mother.\n\nKING.--We will go to her together, and give her joy, my son.\n\nCHILD.--Dushyanta is my father, not you.\n\nKING [_smiling_].--His contradiction convinces me only the more.\n\n_Enter \u015aakoontal\u00e1, in widow's apparel, with her long hair twisted into a\nsingle braid_.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_aside_].--I have just heard that Sarva-damana's amulet has\nretained its form, though a stranger raised it from the ground. I can\nhardly believe in my good fortune. Yet why should not S\u00e1numat\u00ed's\nprediction be verified?\n\nKING [_gazing at \u015aakoontal\u00e1_].--Alas! can this indeed be my \u015aakoontal\u00e1?\n    Clad in the weeds of widowhood, her face\n    Emaciate with fasting, her long hair\n    Twined in a single braid, her whole demeanor\n    Expressive of her purity of soul:\n    With patient constancy she thus prolongs\n    The vow to which my cruelty condemned her.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_gazing at the King, who is pale with remorse_]. Surely this\nis not like my husband; yet who can it be that dares pollute by the\npressure of his hand my child, whose amulet should protect him from a\nstranger's touch?\n\nCHILD [_going to his mother_].--Mother, who is this man that has been\nkissing me and calling me his son?\n\nKING.--My best beloved, I have indeed treated thee most cruelly, but am\nnow once more thy fond and affectionate lover. Refuse not to acknowledge\nme as thy husband.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_aside_].--Be of good cheer, my heart. The anger of Destiny\nis at last appeased. Heaven regards thee with compassion. But is he in\nvery truth my husband?\n\nKING.--Behold me, best and loveliest of women,\n    Delivered from the cloud of fatal darkness\n    That erst oppressed my memory. Again\n    Behold us brought together by the grace\n    Of the great lord of Heaven. So the moon\n    Shines forth from dim eclipse, to blend his rays\n    With the soft lustre of his Rohin\u00ed.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--May my husband be victorious------\n          [_She stops short, her voice choked with tears._\n\nKING.--O fair one, though the utterance of thy prayer\n    Be lost amid the torrent of thy tears,\n    Yet does the sight of thy fair countenance,\n    And of thy pallid lips, all unadorned\n    And colorless in sorrow for my absence,\n    Make me already more than conqueror.\n\nCHILD.--Mother, who is this man?\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--My child, ask the deity that presides over thy destiny.\n\nKING [_falling at \u015aakoontal\u00e1's feet_].--Fairest of women, banish from\nthy mind\n    The memory of my cruelty; reproach\n    The fell delusion that overpowered my soul,\n    And blame not me, thy husband; 'tis the curse\n    Of him in whom the power of darkness reigns,\n    That he mistakes the gifts of those he loves\n    For deadly evils. Even though a friend\n    Should wreathe a garland on a blind man's brow,\n    Will he not cast it from him as a serpent?\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Rise, my own husband, rise. Thou wast not to blame. My own\nevil deeds, committed in a former state of being, brought down this\njudgment upon me. How else could my husband, who was ever of a\ncompassionate disposition, have acted so unfeelingly? [_The King\nrises_.] But tell me, my husband, how did the remembrance of thine\nunfortunate wife return to thy mind?\n\nKING.--As soon as my heart's anguish is removed, and its wounds are\nhealed, I will tell thee all.\n    Oh! let me, fair one, chase away the drop\n    That still bedews the fringes of thine eye;\n    And let me thus efface the memory\n    Of every tear that stained thy velvet cheek,\n    Unnoticed and unheeded by thy lord,\n    When in his madness he rejected thee.\n          [_Wipes away the tear_.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_seeing the signet-ring on his finger_].--Ah! my dear\nhusband, is that the Lost Ring?\n\nKING.--Yes; the moment I recovered it, my memory was restored.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--The ring was to blame in allowing itself to be lost at the\nvery time when I was anxious to convince my noble husband of the reality\nof my marriage.\n\nKING.--Receive it back, as the beautiful twining plant receives again\nits blossom in token of its reunion with the spring.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--Nay; I can never more place confidence in it. Let my\nhusband retain it.\n\n          _Enter M\u00e1tali_.\n\nM\u00c1TALI.--I congratulate your Majesty. Happy are you in your reunion with\nyour wife: happy are you in beholding the face of your son.\n\nKING.--Yes, indeed. My heart's dearest wish has borne sweet fruit. But\ntell me, M\u00e1tali, is this joyful event known to the great Indra?\n\nM\u00c1TALI [_smiling_].--What is unknown to the gods? But come with me,\nnoble Prince, the divine Ka\u015byapa graciously permits thee to be presented\nto him.\n\nKING.--\u015aakoontal\u00e1, take our child and lead the way. We will together go\ninto the presence of the holy Sage.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--I shrink from entering the august presence of the great\nSaint, even with my husband at my side.\n\nKING.--Nay; on such a joyous occasion it is highly proper. Come, come; I\nentreat thee.          [_All advance_.\n\n          _Ka\u015byapa is discovered seated on a throne with his wife Aditi_.\n\nKA\u015aYAPA [_gazing at Dushyanta. To his wife_].--O Aditi, This is the\nmighty hero, King Dushyanta, Protector of the earth; who, at the head Of\nthe celestial armies of thy son, Does battle with the enemies of heaven.\nThanks to his bow, the thunderbolt of Indra Rests from its work, no more\nthe minister Of death and desolation to the world, But a mere symbol of\ndivinity.\n\nADITI.--He bears in his noble form all the marks of dignity.\n\nM\u00c1TALI [_to Dushyanta_].--Sire, the venerable progenitors of the\ncelestials are gazing at your Majesty with as much affection as if you\nwere their son. You may advance towards them.\n\nKING.--Are these, O M\u00e1tali, the holy pair,\n    Offspring of Daksha and divine Mar\u00edchi,\n    Children of Brahm\u00e1's sons, by sages deemed\n    Sole fountain of celestial light, diffused\n    Through twelve effulgent orbs? Are these the pair\n    From whom the ruler of the triple world,\n    Sovereign of gods and lord of sacrifice,\n    Sprang into being? That immortal pair\n    Whom Vishnu, greater than the self-existent,\n    Chose for his parents, when, to save mankind,\n    He took upon himself the shape of mortals?\n\nM\u00c1TALI.--Even so.\n\nKING [_prostrating himself_].--Most august of beings, Dushyanta, content\nto have fulfilled the commands of your son Indra, offers you his\nadoration.\n\nKA\u015aYAPA.--My son, long may'st thou live, and happily may'st thou reign\nover the earth!\n\nADITI.--My son, may'st thou ever be invincible in the field of battle!\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1.--I also prostrate myself before you, most adorable beings,\nand my child with me.\n\nKA\u015aYAPA.--My daughter,\n    Thy lord resembles Indra, and thy child\n    Is noble as Jayanta, Indra's son;\n    I have no worthier blessing left for thee,\n    May'st thou be faithful as the god's own wife!\n\nADITI.--My daughter, may'st thou be always the object of thy husband's\nfondest love; and may thy son live long to be the joy of both his\nparents! Be seated.\n\n          [_All sit down in the presence of Ka\u015byapa_.\n\nKA\u015aYAPA [_regarding each of them by turns_].--Hail to the beautiful\n\u015aakoontal\u00e1!\n    Hail to her noble son! and hail to thee,\n    Illustrious Prince! Rare triple combination\n    Of virtue, wealth, and energy united!\n\nKING.--Most venerable Ka\u015byapa, by your favor all my desires were\naccomplished even before I was admitted to your presence. Never was\nmortal so honored that his boon should be granted ere it was solicited.\nBecause,\n    Bloom before fruit, the clouds before the rain--\n    Cause first and then effect, in endless sequence,\n    Is the unchanging law of constant nature:\n    But, ere the blessing issued from thy lips,\n    The wishes of my heart were all fulfilled.\n\nM\u00c1TALI.--It is thus that the great progenitors of the world confer\nfavors.\n\nKING.--Most reverend Sage, this thy handmaid was married to me by the\nGandharva ceremony, and after a time was conducted to my palace by her\nrelations. Meanwhile a fatal delusion seized me; I lost my memory and\nrejected her, thus committing a grievous offence against the venerable\nKanwa, who is of thy divine race. Afterwards the sight of this ring\nrestored my faculties, and brought back to my mind all the circumstances\nof my union with his daughter. But my conduct still seems to me\nincomprehensible;\n    As foolish as the fancies of a man\n    Who, when he sees an elephant, denies\n    That 'tis an elephant, yet afterwards,\n    When its huge bulk moves onward, hesitates,\n    Yet will not be convinced till it has passed\n    Forever from his sight, and left behind\n    No vestige of its presence save its footsteps.\n\nKASYAPA.--My son, cease to think thyself in fault. Even the delusion\nthat possessed thy mind was not brought about by any act of thine.\nListen to me.\n\nKING.--I am attentive.\n\nKASYAPA.--Know that when the nymph Menak\u00e1, the mother of \u015aakoontal\u00e1,\nbecame aware of her daughter's anguish in consequence of the loss of the\nring at the nymphs' pool, and of thy subsequent rejection of her, she\nbrought her and confided her to the care of Aditi. And I no sooner saw\nher than I ascertained by my divine power of meditation, that thy\nrepudiation of thy poor faithful wife had been caused entirely by the\ncurse of Durv\u00e1sas--not by thine own fault--and that the spell would\nterminate on the discovery of the ring.\n\nKING [_drawing a deep breath_].--Oh! what a weight is taken off my mind,\nnow that my character is cleared of reproach.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_aside_].--Joy! joy! My revered husband did not, then,\nreject me without good reason, though I have no recollection of the\ncurse pronounced upon me. But, in all probability, I unconsciously\nbrought it upon myself, when I was so distracted on being separated from\nmy husband soon after our marriage. For I now remember that my two\nfriends advised me not to fail to show the ring in case he should have\nforgotten me.\n\nKA\u015aYAPA.--At last, my daughter, thou art happy, and hast gained thy\nheart's desire. Indulge, then, no feeling of resentment against thy\npartner. See, now,\n    Though he repulsed thee, 'twas the sage's curse\n    That clouded his remembrance; 'twas the curse\n    That made thy tender husband harsh towards thee.\n    Soon as the spell was broken, and his soul\n    Delivered from its darkness, in a moment\n    Thou didst gain thine empire o'er his heart.\n    So on the tarnished surface of a mirror\n    No image is reflected, till the dust\n    That dimmed its wonted lustre is removed.\n\nKING.--Holy father, see here the hope of my royal race.\n          [_Takes his child by the hand_.\n\nKA\u015aYAPA.--Know that he, too, will become the monarch of the whole earth.\nObserve,\n    Soon, a resistless hero, shall he cross\n    The trackless ocean, borne above the waves\n    In an aerial car; and shall subdue\n    The earth's seven sea-girt isles.[44] Now has he gained,\n    As the brave tamer of the forest-beasts,\n    The title Sarva-damana; but then\n    Mankind shall hail him as King Bharata,\n    And call him the supporter of the world.\n\nKING.--We cannot but entertain the highest hopes of a child for whom\nyour highness performed the natal rites.\n\nADITI.--My revered husband, should not the intelligence be conveyed to\nKanwa, that his daughter's wishes are fulfilled, and her happiness\ncomplete? He is \u015aakoontal\u00e1's foster-father. Menak\u00e1, who is one of my\nattendants, is her mother, and dearly does she love her daughter.\n\n\u015aAKOONTAL\u00c1 [_aside_].--The venerable matron has given utterance to the\nvery wish that was in my mind.\n\nKA\u015aYAPA.--His penances have gained for him the faculty of omniscience,\nand the whole scene is already present to his mind's eye.\n\nKING.--Then most assuredly he cannot be very angry with me.\n\nKA\u015aYAPA.--Nevertheless it becomes us to send him intelligence of this\nhappy event, and hear his reply. What, ho there!\n\nPUPIL [_entering_].--Holy father, what are your commands?\n\nKA\u015aYAPA.--My good G\u00e1lava, delay not an instant, but hasten through the\nair and convey to the venerable Kanwa, from me, the happy news that the\nfatal spell has ceased, that Dushyanta's memory is restored, that his\ndaughter \u015aakoontal\u00e1 has a son, and that she is once more tenderly\nacknowledged by her husband.\n\nPUPIL.--Your highness's commands shall be obeyed.          [_Exit._\n\nKA\u015aYAPA.--And now, my dear son, take thy consort and thy child,\nre-ascend the car of Indra, and return to thy imperial capital.\n\nKING.--Most holy father, I obey.\n\nKA\u015aYAPA.--And accept this blessing--\n    For countless ages may the god of gods,\n    Lord of the atmosphere, by copious showers\n    Secure abundant harvest to thy subjects;\n    And thou by frequent offerings preserve\n    The Thunderer's friendship! Thus, by interchange\n    Of kindly actions, may you both confer\n    Unnumbered benefits on earth and heaven!\n\nKING.--Holy father, I will strive, as far as I am able, to attain this\nhappiness.\n\nKA\u015aYAPA.--What other favor can I bestow on thee, my son?\n\nKING.--What other can I desire? If, however, you permit me to form\nanother wish, I would humbly beg that the saying of the sage Bharata be\nfulfilled:--\n    May kings reign only for their subjects' weal!\n    May the divine Saraswati, the source\n    Of speech, and goddess of dramatic art,\n    Be ever honored by the great and wise!\n    And may the purple self-existent god,\n    Whose vital Energy pervades all space,\n    From future transmigrations save my soul!\n\n          [_Exeunt omnes_.\n\n\n[43] A sacred range of mountains lying along the Him\u00e1laya chain\nimmediately adjacent to Kail\u00e1sa, the paradise of Kuvera, the god of\nwealth.\n\n[44] According to the mythical geography of the Hindoos the earth\nconsisted of seven islands surrounded by seven seas.\n\n\n\n\nBALLADS OF HINDOSTAN\n\n\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\n\nBY\n\nTORU DUTT\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nIf Toru Dutt were alive, she would still be younger than any recognized\nEuropean writer, and yet her fame, which is already considerable, has\nbeen entirely posthumous. Within the brief space of four years which now\ndivides us from the date of her decease, her genius has been revealed to\nthe world under many phases, and has been recognized throughout France\nand England. Her name, at least, is no longer unfamiliar in the ear of\nany well-read man or woman. But at the hour of her death she had\npublished but one book, and that book had found but two reviewers in\nEurope. One of these, M. Andr\u00e9 Theuriet, the well-known poet and\nnovelist, gave the \"Sheaf gleaned in French Fields\" adequate praise in\nthe \"Revue des Deux Mondes\"; but the other, the writer of the present\nnotice, has a melancholy satisfaction in having been a little earlier\nstill in sounding the only note of welcome which reached the dying\npoetess from England. It was while Professor W. Minto was editor of the\n\"Examiner,\" that one day in August, 1876, in the very heart of the dead\nseason for books, I happened to be in the office of that newspaper, and\nwas upbraiding the whole body of publishers for issuing no books worth\nreviewing. At that moment the postman brought in a thin and sallow\npacket with a wonderful Indian postmark on it, and containing a most\nunattractive orange pamphlet of verse, printed at Bhowanipore, and\nentitled \"A Sheaf gleaned in French Fields, by Toru Dutt.\" This shabby\nlittle book of some two hundred pages, without preface or introduction,\nseemed specially destined by its particular providence to find its way\nhastily into the waste-paper basket. I remember that Mr. Minto thrust it\ninto my unwilling hands, and said \"There! see whether you can't make\nsomething of that.\" A hopeless volume it seemed, with its queer type,\npublished at Bhowanipore, printed at the Saptahiksambad Press! But when\nat last I took it out of my pocket, what was my surprise and almost\nrapture to open at such verse as this:--\n\n    \"Still barred thy doors! The far East glows,\n      The morning wind blows fresh and free.\n    Should not the hour that wakes the rose\n            Awaken also thee?\n\n    \"All look for thee, Love, Light, and Song,\n      Light in the sky deep red above,\n    Song, in the lark of pinions strong,\n            And in my heart, true Love.\n\n    \"Apart we miss our nature's goal,\n      Why strive to cheat our destinies?\n    Was not my love made for thy soul?\n      Thy beauty for mine eyes?\n            No longer sleep,\n              Oh, listen now!\n            I wait and weep,\n              But where art thou?\"\n\nWhen poetry is as good as this it does not much matter whether Rouveyre\nprints it upon Whatman paper, or whether it steals to light in blurred\ntype from some press in Bhowanipore.\n\nToru Dutt was the youngest of the three children of a high-caste Hindoo\ncouple in Bengal. Her father, who survives them all, the Baboo Govin\nChunder Dutt, is himself distinguished among his countrymen for the\nwidth of his views and the vigor of his intelligence. His only son,\nAbju, died in 1865, at the age of fourteen, and left his two younger\nsisters to console their parents. Aru, the elder daughter, born in 1854,\nwas eighteen months senior to Toru, the subject of this memoir, who was\nborn in Calcutta on March 4, 1856. With the exception of one year's\nvisit to Bombay, the childhood of these girls was spent in Calcutta, at\ntheir father's garden-house. In a poem now printed for the first time,\nToru refers to the scene of her earliest memories, the circling\nwilderness of foliage, the shining tank with the round leaves of the\nlilies, the murmuring dusk under the vast branches of the central\ncasuarina-tree. Here, in a mystical retirement more irksome to a\nEuropean in fancy than to an Oriental in reality, the brain of this\nwonderful child was moulded. She was pure Hindoo, full of the typical\nqualities of her race and blood, and, as the present volume shows us for\nthe first time, preserving to the last her appreciation of the poetic\nside of her ancient religion, though faith itself in Vishnu and Siva had\nbeen cast aside with childish things and been replaced by a purer faith.\nHer mother fed her imagination with the old songs and legends of their\npeople, stories which it was the last labor of her life to weave into\nEnglish verse; but it would seem that the marvellous faculties of Toru's\nmind still slumbered, when, in her thirteenth year, her father decided\nto take his daughters to Europe to learn English and French. To the end\nof her days Toru was a better French than English scholar. She loved\nFrance best, she knew its literature best, she wrote its language with\nmore perfect elegance. The Dutts arrived in Europe at the close of 1869,\nand the girls went to school, for the first and last time, at a French\npension. They did not remain there very many months; their father took\nthem to Italy and England with him, and finally they attended for a\nshort time, but with great zeal and application, the lectures for women\nat Cambridge. In November, 1873, they went back to Bengal, and the four\nremaining years of Toru's life were spent in the old garden-house at\nCalcutta, in a feverish dream of intellectual effort and imaginative\nproduction. When we consider what she achieved in these forty-five\nmonths of seclusion, it is impossible to wonder that the frail and\nhectic body succumbed under so excessive a strain.\n\nShe brought with her from Europe a store of knowledge that would have\nsufficed to make an English or French girl seem learned, but which in\nher case was simply miraculous. Immediately on her return she began to\nstudy Sanscrit with the same intense application which she gave to all\nher work, and mastering the language with extraordinary swiftness, she\nplunged into its mysterious literature. But she was born to write, and\ndespairing of an audience in her own language, she began to adopt ours\nas a medium for her thought. Her first essay, published when she was\neighteen, was a monograph, in the \"Bengal Magazine,\" on Leconte de\nLisle, a writer with whom she had a sympathy which is very easy to\ncomprehend. The austere poet of \"La Mort de Valmiki\" was, obviously, a\nfigure to whom the poet of \"Sindhu\" must needs be attracted on\napproaching European literature. This study, which was illustrated by\ntranslations into English verse, was followed by another on Jos\u00e9phin\nSoulary, in whom she saw more than her maturer judgment might have\njustified. There is something very interesting and now, alas! still more\npathetic in these sturdy and workmanlike essays in unaided criticism.\nStill more solitary her work became, in July, 1874, when her only\nsister, Aru, died, at the age of twenty. She seems to have been no less\namiable than her sister, and if gifted with less originality and a less\nforcible ambition, to have been finely accomplished. Both sisters were\nwell-trained musicians, with full contralto voices, and Aru had a\nfaculty for design which promised well. The romance of \"Mlle. D'Arvers\"\nwas originally projected for Aru to illustrate, but no page of this book\ndid Aru ever see.\n\nIn 1876, as we have said, appeared that obscure first volume at\nBhowanipore. The \"Sheaf gleaned in French Fields\" is certainly the most\nimperfect of Toru's writings, but it is not the least interesting. It is\na wonderful mixture of strength and weakness, of genius overriding great\nobstacles, and of talent succumbing to ignorance and inexperience. That\nit should have been performed at all is so extraordinary that we forget\nto be surprised at its inequality. The English verse is sometimes\nexquisite; at other times the rules of our prosody are absolutely\nignored, and it is obvious that the Hindoo poetess was chanting to\nherself a music that is discord in an English ear. The notes are no less\ncurious, and to a stranger no less bewildering. Nothing could be more\nnaive than the writer's ignorance at some points, or more startling than\nher learning at others. On the whole, the attainment of the book was\nsimply astounding. It consisted of a selection of translations from\nnearly one hundred French poets, chosen by the poetess herself on a\nprinciple of her own which gradually dawned upon the careful reader. She\neschewed the Classicist writers as though they had never existed. For\nher Andr\u00e9 Chenier was the next name in chronological order after Du\nBartas. Occasionally she showed a profundity of research that would have\ndone no discredit to Mr. Saintsbury or \"le doux Assellineau.\" She was\nready to pronounce an opinion on Napol le Pyr\u00e9n\u00e9an or detect a\nplagiarism in Baudelaire. But she thought that Alexander Smith was still\nalive, and she was curiously vague about the career of Sainte-Beuve.\nThis inequality of equipment was a thing inevitable to her isolation,\nand hardly worthy recording, except to show how laborious her mind was,\nand how quick to make the best of small resources.\n\nWe have already seen that the \"Sheaf gleaned in French Fields\" attracted\nthe very minimum of attention in England. In France it was talked about\na little more. M. Garcin de Tassy, the famous Orientalist, who scarcely\nsurvived Toru by twelve months, spoke of it to Mlle. Clarisse Bader,\nauthor of a somewhat remarkable book on the position of women in ancient\nIndian society. Almost simultaneously this volume fell into the hands of\nToru, and she was moved to translate it into English, for the use of\nHindoos less instructed than herself. In January, 1877, she accordingly\nwrote to Mlle. Bader requesting her authorization, and received a prompt\nand kind reply. On the 18th of March Toru wrote again to this, her\nsolitary correspondent in the world of European literature, and her\nletter, which has been preserved, shows that she had already descended\ninto the valley of the shadow of death:--\n\n     \"Ma constitution n'est pas forte; j'ai contract\u00e9 une toux\n     opini\u00e2tre, il y a plus de deux ans, qui ne me quitte point.\n     Cependant j'esp\u00e8re mettre la main \u00e0 l'oeuvre bient\u00f4t. Je ne peux\n     dire, mademoiselle, combien votre affection--car vous les aimez,\n     votre livre et votre lettre en t\u00e9moignent assez--pour mes\n     compatriotes et mon pays me touche; et je suis fi\u00e8re de pouvoir le\n     dire que les h\u00e9ro\u00efnes de nos grandes \u00e9pop\u00e9es sont dignes de tout\n     honneur et de tout amour. Y a-t-il d'h\u00e9ro\u00efne plus touchante, plus\n     aimable que S\u00eeta? Je ne le crois pas. _Quand j'entends ma m\u00e9re\n     chanter, le soir, les vieux chants de notre pays, je pleure presque\n     toujours_. La plainte de S\u00eeta, quand, bannie pour la s\u00e9conde fois,\n     elle erre dans la vaste for\u00eat, seule, le d\u00e9sespoir et l'effroi dans\n     l'\u00e2me, est si path\u00e9tique qu'il n'y a personne, je crois, qui puisse\n     l'entendre sans verser des larmes. Je vous envois sous ce pli deux\n     petites traductions du Sanscrit, cette belle langue antique.\n     Malheureusement j'ai \u00e9t\u00e9 oblig\u00e9e de faire cesser mes traductions de\n     Sanscrit, il y a six mois. Ma sant\u00e9 ne me permet pas de les\n     continuer.\"\n\nThese simple and pathetic words, in which the dying poetess pours out\nher heart to the one friend she had, and that one gained too late, seem\nas touching and as beautiful as any strain of Marceline Valmore's\nimmortal verse. In English poetry I do not remember anything that\nexactly parallels their resigned melancholy. Before the month of March\nwas over, Toru had taken to her bed. Unable to write, she continued to\nread, strewing her sick-room with the latest European books, and\nentering with interest into the questions raised by the Soci\u00e9t\u00e9\nAsiatique of Paris, in its printed Transactions. On the 30th of July she\nwrote her last letter to Mlle. Clarisse Bader, and a month later, on\nAugust 30, 1877, at the age of twenty-one years six months and\ntwenty-six days, she breathed her last in her father's house in\nManiktollah street, Calcutta.\n\nIn the first distraction of grief it seemed as though her unequalled\npromise had been entirely blighted, and as though she would be\nremembered only by her single book. But as her father examined her\npapers, one completed work after another revealed itself. First a\nselection from the sonnets of the Comte de Grammont, translated into\nEnglish, turned up, and was printed in a Calcutta magazine; then some\nfragments of an English story, which were printed in another Calcutta\nmagazine. Much more important, however, than any of these was a complete\nromance, written in French, being the identical story for which her\nsister Aru had proposed to make the illustrations. In the meantime Toru\nwas no sooner dead than she began to be famous. In May, 1878, there\nappeared a second edition of the \"Sheaf gleaned in French Fields,\" with\na touching sketch of her death, by her father; and in 1879 was\npublished, under the editorial care of Mlle. Clarisse Bader, the romance\nof \"Le Journal de Mlle. D'Arvers,\" forming a handsome volume of 259\npages. This book, begun, as it appears, before the family returned from\nEurope, and finished nobody knows when, is an attempt to describe scenes\nfrom modern French society, but it is less interesting as an experiment\nof the fancy, than as a revelation of the mind of a young Hindoo woman\nof genius. The story is simple, clearly told, and interesting; the\nstudies of character have nothing French about them, but they are full\nof vigor and originality. The description of the hero is most\ncharacteristically Indian:--\n\n     \"Il est beau en effet. Sa taille est haute, mais quelques-uns la\n     trouveraient mince; sa chevelure noire est boucl\u00e9e et tombe jusqu'\u00e1\n     la nuque; ses yeux noirs sont profonds et bien fendus; le front est\n     noble; la l\u00e8vre sup\u00e9rieure, couverte par une moustache naissante et\n     noire, est parfaitement model\u00e9e; son menton a quelque chose de\n     s\u00e9v\u00e8re; son teint est d'un blanc presque f\u00e9minin, ce qui d\u00e9note sa\n     haute naissance.\"\n\nIn this description we seem to recognize some Surya or Soma of Hindoo\nmythology, and the final touch, meaningless as applied to a European,\nreminds us that in India whiteness of skin has always been a sign of\naristocratic birth, from the days when it originally distinguished the\nconquering Aryas from the indigenous race of the Dasyous.\n\nAs a literary composition \"Mlle. D'Arvers\" deserves high commendation.\nIt deals with the ungovernable passion of two brothers for one placid\nand beautiful girl, a passion which leads to fratricide and madness.\nThat it is a very melancholy and tragical story is obvious from this\nbrief sketch of its contents, but it is remarkable for coherence and\nself-restraint no less than for vigor of treatment. Toru Dutt never\nsinks to melodrama in the course of her extraordinary tale, and the\nwonder is that she is not more often fantastic and unreal.\n\nBut we believe that the original English poems will be ultimately found\nto constitute Toru's chief legacy to posterity. These ballads form the\nlast and most matured of her writings, and were left so far fragmentary\nat her death that the fourth and fifth in her projected series of nine\nwere not to be discovered in any form among her papers. It is probable\nthat she had not even commenced them. Her father, therefore, to give a\ncertain continuity to the series, has filled up these blanks with two\nstories from the \"Vishnupurana,\" which originally appeared respectively\nin the \"Calcutta Review\" and in the \"Bengal Magazine.\" These are\ninteresting, but a little rude in form, and they have not the same\npeculiar value as the rhymed octo-syllabic ballads. In these last we see\nToru no longer attempting vainly, though heroically, to compete with\nEuropean literature on its own ground, but turning to the legends of her\nown race and country for inspiration. No modern Oriental has given us so\nstrange an insight into the conscience of the Asiatic as is presented in\nthe story of \"Preh\u00edad,\" or so quaint a piece of religious fancy as the\nballad of \"Jogadhya Uma.\" The poetess seems in these verses to be\nchanting to herself those songs of her mother's race to which she always\nturned with tears of pleasure. They breathe a Vedic solemnity and\nsimplicity of temper, and are singularly devoid of that littleness and\nfrivolity which seem, if we may judge by a slight experience, to be the\nbane of modern India.\n\nAs to the merely technical character of these poems, it may be suggested\nthat in spite of much in them that is rough and inchoate, they show that\nToru was advancing in her mastery of English verse. Such a stanza as\nthis, selected out of many no less skilful, could hardly be recognized\nas the work of one by whom the language was a late acquirement:--\n\n    \"What glorious trees! The sombre saul,\n      On which the eye delights to rest--\n    The betel-nut, a pillar tall,\n      With feathery branches for a crest--\n    The light-leaved tamarind spreading wide--\n      The pale faint-scented bitter neem,\n    The seemul, gorgeous as a bride,\n      With flowers that have the ruby's gleam.\"\n\nIn other passages, of course, the text reads like a translation from\nsome stirring ballad, and we feel that it gives but a faint and\ndiscordant echo of the music welling in Toru's brain. For it must\nfrankly be confessed that in the brief May-day of her existence she had\nnot time to master our language as Blanco White did, or as Chamisso\nmastered German. To the end of her days, fluent and graceful as she was,\nshe was not entirely conversant with English, especially with the\ncolloquial turns of modern speech. Often a very fine thought is spoiled\nfor hypercritical ears by the queer turn of expression which she has\ninnocently given to it. These faults are found to a much smaller degree\nin her miscellaneous poems. Her sonnets seem to me to be of great\nbeauty, and her longer piece, entitled \"Our Casuarina Tree,\" needs no\napology for its rich and mellifluous numbers.\n\nIt is difficult to exaggerate when we try to estimate what we have lost\nin the premature death of Toru Dutt. Literature has no honors which need\nhave been beyond the grasp of a girl who at the age of twenty-one, and\nin languages separated from her own by so deep a chasm, had produced so\nmuch of lasting worth. And her courage and fortitude were worthy of her\nintelligence. Among \"last words\" of celebrated people, that which her\nfather has recorded, \"It is only the physical pain that makes me cry,\"\nis not the least remarkable, or the least significant of strong\ncharacter. It was to a native of our island, and to one ten years senior\nto Toru, to whom it was said, in words more appropriate, surely, to her\nthan to Oldham,\n\n    \"Thy generous fruits, though gathered ere their prime,\n    Still showed a quickness, and maturing time\n    But mellows what we write to the dull sweets of Rime.\"\n\nThat mellow sweetness was all that Toru lacked to perfect her as an\nEnglish poet, and of no other Oriental who has ever lived can the same\nbe said. When the history of the literature of our country comes to be\nwritten, there is sure to be a page in it dedicated to this fragile\nexotic blossom of song.\n\nEDMUND W. GOSSE.\n\n_London, 1881_.\n\n\n\n\nBALLADS OF HINDOSTAN\n\nJOGADHYA UMA\n\n\n    \"Shell-bracelets ho! Shell-bracelets ho!\n      Fair maids and matrons come and buy!\"\n    Along the road, in morning's glow,\n      The pedler raised his wonted cry.\n    The road ran straight, a red, red line,\n      To Khirogram, for cream renowned,\n    Through pasture-meadows where the kine,\n      In knee-deep grass, stood magic bound\n    And half awake, involved in mist,\n      That floated in dun coils profound,\n    Till by the sudden sunbeams kissed\n      Rich rainbow hues broke all around.\n\n    \"Shell-bracelets ho! Shell-bracelets ho!\"\n      The roadside trees still dripped with dew,\n    And hung their blossoms like a show.\n      Who heard the cry? 'Twas but a few,\n    A ragged herd-boy, here and there,\n      With his long stick and naked feet;\n    A ploughman wending to his care,\n      The field from which he hopes the wheat;\n    An early traveller, hurrying fast\n      To the next town; an urchin slow\n    Bound for the school; these heard and passed,\n      Unheeding all--\"Shell-bracelets ho!\"\n\n    Pellucid spread a lake-like tank\n      Beside the road now lonelier still,\n    High on three sides arose the bank\n      Which fruit-trees shadowed at their will;\n    Upon the fourth side was the Ghat,\n      With its broad stairs of marble white,\n    And at the entrance-arch there sat,\n      Full face against the morning light,\n    A fair young woman with large eyes,\n      And dark hair falling to her zone,\n    She heard the pedler's cry arise,\n      And eager seemed his ware to own.\n\n    \"Shell-bracelets ho! See, maiden see!\n      The rich enamel sunbeam kissed!\n    Happy, oh happy, shalt thou be,\n      Let them but clasp that slender wrist;\n    These bracelets are a mighty charm,\n      They keep a lover ever true,\n    And widowhood avert, and harm,\n      Buy them, and thou shalt never rue.\n    Just try them on!\"--She stretched her hand,\n      \"Oh what a nice and lovely fit!\n    No fairer hand, in all the land,\n      And lo! the bracelet matches it.\"\n\n    Dazzled the pedler on her gazed\n      Till came the shadow of a fear,\n    While she the bracelet arm upraised\n      Against the sun to view more clear.\n    Oh she was lovely, but her look\n      Had something of a high command\n    That filled with awe. Aside she shook\n      Intruding curls by breezes fanned\n    And blown across her brows and face,\n      And asked the price, which when she heard\n    She nodded, and with quiet grace\n      For payment to her home referred.\n\n    \"And where, O maiden, is thy house?\n      But no, that wrist-ring has a tongue,\n    No maiden art thou, but a spouse,\n      Happy, and rich, and fair, and young.\"\n    \"Far otherwise, my lord is poor,\n      And him at home thou shalt not find;\n    Ask for my father; at the door\n      Knock loudly; he is deaf, but kind.\n    Seest thou that lofty gilded spire\n      Above these tufts of foliage green?\n    That is our place; its point of fire\n      Will guide thee o'er the tract between.\"\n\n    \"That is the temple spire.\"--\"Yes, there\n      We live; my father is the priest,\n    The manse is near, a building fair\n      But lowly, to the temple's east.\n    When thou hast knocked, and seen him, say,\n      His daughter, at Dhamaser Ghat,\n    Shell-bracelets bought from thee to-day,\n      And he must pay so much for that.\n    Be sure, he will not let thee pass\n      Without the value, and a meal.\n    If he demur, or cry alas!\n      No money hath he--then reveal,\n\n    Within the small box, marked with streaks\n      Of bright vermilion, by the shrine,\n    The key whereof has lain for weeks\n      Untouched, he'll find some coin--'tis mine.\n    That will enable him to pay\n      The bracelet's price, now fare thee well!\"\n    She spoke, the pedler went away,\n      Charmed with her voice, as by some spell;\n    While she left lonely there, prepared\n      To plunge into the water pure,\n    And like a rose her beauty bared,\n      From all observance quite secure.\n\n    Not weak she seemed, nor delicate,\n      Strong was each limb of flexile grace,\n    And full the bust; the mien elate,\n      Like hers, the goddess of the chase\n    On Latmos hill--and oh, the face\n      Framed in its cloud of floating hair,\n    No painter's hand might hope to trace\n      The beauty and the glory there!\n    Well might the pedler look with awe,\n      For though her eyes were soft, a ray\n    Lit them at times, which kings who saw\n      Would never dare to disobey.\n\n    Onwards through groves the pedler sped\n      Till full in front the sunlit spire\n    Arose before him. Paths which led\n      To gardens trim in gay attire\n    Lay all around. And lo! the manse,\n      Humble but neat with open door!\n    He paused, and blest the lucky chance\n      That brought his bark to such a shore.\n    Huge straw ricks, log huts full of grain,\n      Sleek cattle, flowers, a tinkling bell,\n    Spoke in a language sweet and plain,\n      \"Here smiling Peace and Plenty dwell.\"\n\n    Unconsciously he raised his cry,\n      \"Shell-bracelets ho!\" And at his voice\n    Looked out the priest, with eager eye,\n      And made his heart at once rejoice.\n    \"Ho, _Sankha_ pedler! Pass not by,\n      But step thou in, and share the food\n    Just offered on our altar high,\n      If thou art in a hungry mood.\n    Welcome are all to this repast!\n      The rich and poor, the high and low!\n    Come, wash thy feet, and break thy fast,\n      Then on thy journey strengthened go.\"\n\n    \"Oh thanks, good priest! Observance due\n      And greetings! May thy name be blest!\n    I came on business, but I knew,\n      Here might be had both food and rest\n    Without a charge; for all the poor\n      Ten miles around thy sacred shrine\n    Know that thou keepest open door,\n      And praise that generous hand of thine:\n    But let my errand first be told,\n      For bracelets sold to thine this day,\n    So much thou owest me in gold,\n      Hast thou the ready cash to pay?\n\n    The bracelets were enamelled--so\n      The price is high.\"--\"How! Sold to mine?\n    Who bought them, I should like to know.\"\n      \"Thy daughter, with the large black eyne,\n    Now bathing at the marble ghat.\"\n      Loud laughed the priest at this reply,\n    \"I shall not put up, friend, with that;\n      No daughter in the world have I,\n    An only son is all my stay;\n      Some minx has played a trick, no doubt,\n    But cheer up, let thy heart be gay.\n      Be sure that I shall find her out.\"\n\n    \"Nay, nay, good father, such a face\n      Could not deceive, I must aver;\n    At all events, she knows thy place,\n      'And if my father should demur\n    To pay thee'--thus she said--'or cry\n      He has no money, tell him straight\n    The box vermilion-streaked to try,\n      That's near the shrine,'\" \"Well, wait, friend, wait!\"\n    The priest said thoughtful, and he ran\n      And with the open box came back,\n    \"Here is the price exact, my man,\n      No surplus over, and no lack.\n\n    How strange! how strange! Oh blest art thou\n      To have beheld her, touched her hand,\n    Before whom Vishnu's self must bow,\n      And Brahma and his heavenly band!\n    Here have I worshipped her for years\n      And never seen the vision bright;\n    Vigils and fasts and secret tears\n      Have almost quenched my outward sight;\n    And yet that dazzling form and face\n      I have not seen, and thou, dear friend,\n    To thee, unsought for, comes the grace,\n      What may its purport be, and end?\n\n    How strange! How strange! Oh happy thou!\n      And couldst thou ask no other boon\n    Than thy poor bracelet's price? That brow\n      Resplendent as the autumn moon\n    Must have bewildered thee, I trow,\n      And made thee lose thy senses all.\"\n    A dim light on the pedler now\n      Began to dawn; and he let fall\n    His bracelet basket in his haste,\n      And backward ran the way he came;\n    What meant the vision fair and chaste,\n      Whose eyes were they--those eyes of flame?\n\n    Swift ran the pedler as a hind,\n      The old priest followed on his trace,\n    They reached the Ghat but could not find\n      The lady of the noble face.\n    The birds were silent in the wood,\n      The lotus flowers exhaled a smell\n    Faint, over all the solitude,\n      A heron as a sentinel\n    Stood by the bank. They called--in vain,\n      No answer came from hill or fell,\n    The landscape lay in slumber's chain,\n      E'en Echo slept within her cell.\n\n    Broad sunshine, yet a hush profound!\n      They turned with saddened hearts to go;\n    Then from afar there came a sound\n      Of silver bells;--the priest said low,\n    \"O Mother, Mother, deign to hear,\n      The worship-hour has rung; we wait\n    In meek humility and fear.\n      Must we return home desolate?\n    Oh come, as late thou cam'st unsought,\n      Or was it but an idle dream?\n    Give us some sign if it was not,\n      A word, a breath, or passing gleam.\"\n\n    Sudden from out the water sprung\n      A rounded arm, on which they saw\n    As high the lotus buds among\n      It rose, the bracelet white, with awe.\n    Then a wide ripple tost and swung\n      The blossoms on that liquid plain,\n    And lo! the arm so fair and young\n      Sank in the waters down again.\n    They bowed before the mystic Power,\n      And as they home returned in thought,\n    Each took from thence a lotus flower\n      In memory of the day and spot.\n\n    Years, centuries, have passed away,\n      And still before the temple shrine\n    Descendants of the pedler pay\n      Shell-bracelets of the old design\n    As annual tribute. Much they own\n      In lands and gold--but they confess\n    From that eventful day alone\n      Dawned on their industry--success.\n    Absurd may be the tale I tell,\n      Ill-suited to the marching times,\n    I loved the lips from which it fell,\n      So let it stand among my rhymes.\n\n\n\n\nBUTTOO\n\n\n    \"Ho! Master of the wondrous art!\n    Instruct me in fair archery,\n    And buy for aye--a grateful heart\n    That will not grudge to give thy fee.\"\n    Thus spoke a lad with kindling eyes,\n    A hunter's lowborn son was he--\n    To Dronacharjya, great and wise,\n    Who sat with princes round his knee.\n\n    Up Time's fair stream far back--oh far,\n    The great wise teacher must be sought!\n    The Kurus had not yet in war\n    With the Pandava brethren fought.\n    In peace, at Dronacharjya's feet,\n    Magic and archery they learned,\n    A complex science, which we meet\n    No more, with ages past inurned.\n\n    \"And who art thou,\" the teacher said,\n    \"My science brave to learn so fain?\n    Which many kings who wear the thread\n    Have asked to learn of me in vain.\"\n    \"My name is Buttoo,\" said the youth,\n    \"A hunter's son, I know not Fear;\"\n    The teacher answered, smiling smooth,\n    \"Then know him from this time, my dear.\"\n\n    Unseen the magic arrow came,\n    Amidst the laughter and the scorn\n    Of royal youths--like lightning flame\n    Sudden and sharp. They blew the horn,\n    As down upon the ground he fell,\n    Not hurt, but made a jest and game;--\n    He rose--and waved a proud farewell,\n    But cheek and brow grew red with shame.\n\n    And lo--a single, single tear\n    Dropped from his eyelash as he past,\n    \"My place I gather is not here;\n    No matter--what is rank or caste?\n    In us is honor, or disgrace,\n    Not out of us,\" 'twas thus he mused,\n    \"The question is--not wealth or place,\n    But gifts well used, or gifts abused.\"\n\n    \"And I shall do my best to gain\n    The science that man will not teach,\n    For life is as a shadow vain,\n    Until the utmost goal we reach\n    To which the soul points. I shall try\n    To realize my waking dream,\n    And what if I should chance to die?\n    None miss one bubble from a stream.\"\n\n    So thinking, on and on he went,\n    Till he attained the forest's verge,\n    The garish day was well-nigh spent,\n    Birds had already raised its dirge.\n    Oh what a scene! How sweet and calm!\n    It soothed at once his wounded pride,\n    And on his spirit shed a balm\n    That all its yearnings purified.\n\n    What glorious trees! The sombre saul\n    On which the eye delights to rest,\n    The betel-nut--a pillar tall,\n    With feathery branches for a crest,\n    The light-leaved tamarind spreading wide,\n    The pale faint-scented bitter neem,\n    The seemul, gorgeous as a bride,\n    With flowers that have the ruby's gleam,\n\n    The Indian fig's pavilion tent\n    In which whole armies might repose,\n    With here and there a little rent,\n    The sunset's beauty to disclose,\n    The bamboo boughs that sway and swing\n    'Neath bulbuls as the south wind blows,\n    The mango-tope, a close dark ring,\n    Home of the rooks and clamorous crows,\n\n    The champac, bok, and South-sea pine,\n    The nagessur with pendant flowers\n    Like ear-rings--and the forest vine\n    That clinging over all, embowers,\n    The sirish famed in Sanscrit song\n    Which rural maidens love to wear,\n    The peepul giant-like and strong,\n    The bramble with its matted hair,\n\n    All these, and thousands, thousands more,\n    With helmet red, or golden crown,\n    Or green tiara, rose before\n    The youth in evening's shadows brown.\n    He passed into the forest--there\n    New sights of wonder met his view,\n    A waving Pampas green and fair\n    All glistening with the evening dew.\n\n    How vivid was the breast-high grass!\n    Here waved in patches, forest corn--\n    Here intervened a deep morass--\n    Here arid spots of verdure shorn\n    Lay open--rock or barren sand--\n    And here again the trees arose\n    Thick clustering--a glorious band\n    Their tops still bright with sunset glows.--\n\n    Stirred in the breeze the crowding boughs,\n    And seemed to welcome him with signs,\n    Onwards and on--till Buttoo's brows\n    Are gemmed with pearls, and day declines.\n    Then in a grassy open space\n    He sits and leans against a tree,\n    To let the wind blow on his face\n    And look around him leisurely.\n\n    Herds, and still herds, of timid deer\n    Were feeding in the solitude,\n    They knew not man, and felt no fear,\n    And heeded not his neighborhood,\n    Some young ones with large eyes and sweet\n    Came close, and rubbed their foreheads smooth\n    Against his arms, and licked his feet,\n    As if they wished his cares to soothe.\n\n    \"They touch me,\" he exclaimed with joy,\n    \"They have no pride of caste like men,\n    They shrink not from the hunter-boy,\n    Should not my home be with them then?\n    Here in this forest let me dwell,\n    With these companions innocent,\n    And learn each science and each spell\n    All by myself in banishment.\n\n    A calm, calm life, and it shall be\n    Its own exceeding great reward!\n    No thoughts to vex in all I see,\n    No jeers to bear or disregard;--\n    All creatures and inanimate things\n    Shall be my tutors; I shall learn\n    From beast, and fish, and bird with wings,\n    And rock, and stream, and tree, and fern.\n\n    With this resolve, he soon began\n    To build a hut, of reeds and leaves,\n    And when that needful work was done\n    He gathered in his store, the sheaves\n    Of forest corn, and all the fruit,\n    Date, plum, guava, he could find,\n    And every pleasant nut and root\n    By Providence for man designed,\n\n    A statue next of earth he made,\n    An image of the teacher wise,\n    So deft he laid, the light and shade,\n    On figure, forehead, face and eyes,\n    That any one who chanced to view\n    That image tall might soothly swear,\n    If he great Dronacharjya knew,\n    The teacher in his flesh was there.\n\n    Then at the statue's feet he placed\n    A bow, and arrows tipped with steel,\n    With wild-flower garlands interlaced,\n    And hailed the figure in his zeal\n    As Master, and his head he bowed,\n    A pupil reverent from that hour\n    Of one who late had disallowed\n    The claim, in pride of place and power.\n\n    By strained sense, by constant prayer,\n    By steadfastness of heart and will,\n    By courage to confront and dare,\n    All obstacles he conquered still;\n    A conscience clear--a ready hand,\n    Joined to a meek humility,\n    Success must everywhere command,\n    How could he fail who had all three!\n\n    And now, by tests assured, he knows\n    His own God-gifted wondrous might,\n    Nothing to any man he owes,\n    Unaided he has won the fight;\n    Equal to gods themselves--above\n    Wishmo and Drona--for his worth\n    His name, he feels, shall be with love\n    Reckoned with great names of the earth.\n\n    Yet lacks he not, in reverence\n    To Dronacharjya, who declined\n    To teach him--nay, with e'en offence\n    That well might wound a noble mind,\n    Drove him away;--for in his heart\n    Meek, placable, and ever kind,\n    Resentment had not any part,\n    And Malice never was enshrined.\n\n    One evening, on his work intent,\n    Alone he practised Archery,\n    When lo! the bow proved false and sent\n    The arrow from its mark awry;\n    Again he tried--and failed again;\n    Why was it? Hark!--A wild dog's bark!\n    An evil omen:--it was plain\n    Some evil on his path hung dark!\n\n    Thus many times he tried and failed,\n    And still that lean, persistent dog\n    At distance, like some spirit wailed,\n    Safe in the cover of a fog.\n    His nerves unstrung, with many a shout\n    He strove to frighten it away,\n    It would not go--but roamed about,\n    Howling, as wolves howl for their prey.\n\n    Worried and almost in a rage,\n    One magic shaft at last he sent,\n    A sample of his science sage,\n    To quiet but the noises meant.\n    Unerring to its goal it flew,\n    No death ensued, no blood was dropped;\n    But by the hush the young man knew\n    At last that howling noise had stopped.\n\n    It happened on this very day\n    That the Pandava princes came\n    With all the Kuru princes gay\n    To beat the woods and hunt the game.\n    Parted from others in the chase,\n    Arjuna brave the wild dog found--\n    Stuck still the shaft--but not a trace\n    Of hurt, though tongue and lip were bound.\n\n    \"Wonder of wonders! Didst not thou\n    O Dronacharjya, promise me\n    Thy crown in time should deck my brow\n    And I be first in archery?\n    Lo! here, some other thou hast taught\n    A magic spell--to all unknown;\n    Who has in secret from thee bought\n    The knowledge, in this arrow shown!\"\n\n    Indignant thus Arjuna spake\n    To his great Master when they met--\n    \"My word, my honor, is at stake,\n    Judge not, Arjuna, judge not yet.\n    Come, let us see the dog \"--and straight\n    They followed up the creature's trace.\n    They found it, in the self-same state,\n    Dumb, yet unhurt--near Buttoo's place.\n\n    A hut--_a_ statue--and a youth\n    In the dim forest--what mean these?\n    They gazed in wonder, for in sooth\n    The thing seemed full of mysteries.\n    \"Now who art thou that dar'st to raise\n    Mine image in the wilderness?\n    Is it for worship and for praise?\n    What is thine object? speak, confess,\"\n\n    \"Oh Master, unto thee I came\n    To learn thy science. Name or pelf\n    I had not, so was driven with shame,\n    And here I learn all by myself.\n    But still as Master thee revere,\n    For who so great in archery!\n    Lo, all my inspiration here,\n    And all my knowledge is from thee.\"\n\n    \"If I am Master, now thou hast\n    Finished thy course, give me my due.\n    Let all the past, be dead and past,\n    Henceforth be ties between us new.\"\n    \"All that I have, O Master mine,\n    All I shall conquer by my skill,\n    Gladly shall I to thee resign,\n    Let me but know thy gracious will,\"\n\n    \"Is it a promise?\" \"Yea, I swear\n    So long as I have breath and life\n    To give thee all thou wilt,\" \"Beware!\n    Rash promise ever ends in strife.\"\n    \"Thou art my Master--ask! oh ask!\n    From thee my inspiration came,\n    Thou canst not set too hard a task,\n    Nor aught refuse I, free from blame.\"\n\n    \"If it be so--Arjuna hear!\"\n    Arjuna and the youth were dumb,\n    \"For thy sake, loud I ask and clear,\n    Give me, O youth, thy right-hand thumb.\n    I promised in my faithfulness\n    No equal ever shall there be\n    To thee, Arjuna--and I press\n    For this sad recompense--for thee.\"\n\n    Glanced the sharp knife one moment high,\n    The severed thumb was on the sod,\n    There was no tear in Buttoo's eye,\n    He left the matter with his God.\n    \"For this\"--said Dronacharjya--\"Fame\n    Shall sound thy praise from sea to sea,\n    And men shall ever link thy name\n    With Self-help, Truth, and Modesty.\"\n\n\n\n\nSINDHU\n\nPART I\n\n\n    Deep in the forest shades there dwelt\n      A _Muni_ and his wife,\n    Blind, gray-haired, weak, they hourly felt\n      Their slender hold on life.\n\n    No friends had they, no help or stay,\n      Except an only boy,\n    A bright-eyed child, his laughter gay,\n      Their leaf-hut filled with joy.\n\n    Attentive, duteous, loving, kind,\n      Thoughtful, sedate, and calm,\n    He waited on his parents blind,\n      Whose days were like a psalm.\n\n    He roamed the woods for luscious fruits,\n      He brought them water pure,\n    He cooked their simple mess of roots,\n      Content to live obscure.\n\n    To fretful questions, answers mild\n      He meekly ever gave,\n    If they reproved, he only smiled,\n      He loved to be their slave.\n\n    Not that to him they were austere,\n      But age is peevish still,\n    Dear to their hearts he was--so dear,\n      That none his place might fill.\n    They called him Sindhu, and his name\n      Was ever on their tongue,\n    And he, nor cared for wealth nor fame,\n      Who dwelt his own among.\n\n    A belt of _Bela_-trees hemmed round\n      The cottage small and rude,\n    If peace on earth was ever found\n      'Twas in that solitude.\n\n\n\n\nPART II\n\n\n    Great Dasarath, the King of Oudh,\n      Whom all men love and fear,\n    With elephants and horses proud\n      Went forth to hunt the deer.\n\n    O gallant was the long array!\n      Pennons and plumes were seen,\n    And swords that mirrored back the day,\n      And spears and axes keen.\n\n    Rang trump, and conch, and piercing fife,\n      Woke Echo from her bed!\n    The solemn woods with sounds were rife\n      As on the pageant sped.\n\n    Hundreds, nay thousands, on they went!\n      The wild beasts fled away!\n    Deer ran in herds, and wild boars spent\n      Became an easy prey.\n\n    Whirring the peacocks from the brake\n      With Argus wings arose,\n    Wild swans abandoned pool and lake\n      For climes beyond the snows.\n\n    From tree to tree the monkeys sprung,\n      Unharmed and unpursued,\n    As louder still the trumpets rung\n      And startled all the wood.\n\n    The porcupines and such small game\n      Unnoted fled at will,\n    The weasel only caught to tame\n      From fissures in the hill.\n\n    Slunk light the tiger from the bank,\n      But sudden turned to bay!\n    When he beheld the serried rank\n      That barred his tangled way.\n    Uprooting fig-trees on their path,\n      And trampling shrubs and flowers,\n    Wild elephants, in fear and wrath,\n      Burst through, like moving towers.\n\n    Lowering their horns in crescents grim\n      Whene'er they turned about,\n    Retreated into coverts dim\n      The bisons' fiercer rout.\n\n    And in this mimic game of war\n      In bands dispersed and passed\n    The royal train--some near, some far,\n      As day closed in at last.\n\n    Where was the king? He left his friends\n      At mid-day, it was known,\n    And now that evening fast descends\n      Where was he? All alone.\n\n    Curving, the river formed a lake,\n      Upon whose bank he stood, I\n    No noise the silence there to break,\n      Or mar the solitude.\n\n    Upon the glassy surface fell\n      The last beams of the day,\n    Like fiery darts, that lengthening swell,\n      As breezes wake and play.\n\n    Osiers and willows on the edge\n      And purple buds and red,\n    Leant down--and 'mid the pale green sedge\n      The lotus raised its head.\n\n    And softly, softly, hour by hour\n      Light faded, and a veil\n    Fell over tree, and wave, and flower,\n      On came the twilight pale.\n\n    Deeper and deeper grew the shades,\n      Stars glimmered in the sky,\n    The nightingale along the glades\n      Raised her preluding cry.\n    What is that momentary flash?\n      A gleam of silver scales\n    Reveals the _Mahseer_;--then a splash,\n      And calm again prevails.\n\n    As darkness settled like a pall\n      The eye would pierce in vain,\n    The fireflies gemmed the bushes all,\n      Like fiery drops of rain.\n\n    Pleased with the scene--and knowing not\n      Which way, alas! to go,\n    The monarch lingered on the spot--\n      The lake spread bright below.\n\n    He lingered, when--oh hark! oh hark\n      What sound salutes his ear!\n    A roebuck drinking in the dark,\n      Not hunted, nor in fear.\n\n    Straight to the stretch his bow he drew,\n      That bow ne'er missed its aim,\n    Whizzing the deadly arrow flew,\n      Ear-guided, on the game!\n\n    Ah me! What means this?--Hark, a cry,\n      A feeble human wail,\n    \"Oh God!\" it said--\"I die--I die,\n      Who'll carry home the pail?\"\n\n    Startled, the monarch forward ran,\n      And then there met his view\n    A sight to freeze in any man\n      The warm blood coursing true.\n\n    A child lay dying on the grass,\n      A pitcher by his side,\n    Poor Sindhu was the child, alas!\n      His parents' stay and pride.\n\n    His bow and quiver down to fling,\n      And lift the wounded boy,\n    A moment's work was with the king.\n      Not dead--that was a joy!\n    He placed the child's head on his lap,\n      And 'ranged the blinding hair,\n    The blood welled fearful from the gap\n      On neck and bosom fair.\n\n    He dashed cold water on the face,\n      He chafed the hands, with sighs,\n    Till sense revived, and he could trace\n      Expression in the eyes.\n\n    Then mingled with his pity, fear--\n      In all this universe\n    What is so dreadful as to hear\n      A Brahman's dying curse!\n\n    So thought the king, and on his brow\n      The beads of anguish spread,\n    And Sindhu, fully conscious now,\n      The anguish plainly read.\n\n    \"What dost thou fear, O mighty king?\n      For sure a king thou art!\n    Why should thy bosom anguish wring?\n      No crime was in thine heart!\n\n    Unwittingly the deed was done;\n      It is my destiny,\n    O fear not thou, but pity one\n      Whose fate is thus to die.\n\n    No curses, no!--I bear no grudge,\n      Not thou my blood hast spilt,\n    Lo! here before the unseen Judge,\n      Thee I absolve from guilt.\n\n    The iron, red-hot as it burns,\n      Burns those that touch it too,\n    Not such my nature--for it spurns,\n      Thank God, the like to do.\n\n    Because I suffer, should I give\n      Thee, king, a needless pain?\n    Ah, no! I die, but may'st thou live,\n      And cleansed from every stain!\"\n    Struck with these words, and doubly grieved\n      At what his hands had done,\n    The monarch wept, as weeps bereaved\n      A man his only son.\n\n    \"Nay, weep not so,\" resumed the child,\n      \"But rather let me say\n    My own sad story, sin-defiled,\n      And why I die to-day!\n\n    Picking a living in our sheaves,\n      And happy in their loves,\n    Near, 'mid a peepul's quivering leaves,\n      There lived a pair of doves.\n\n    Never were they two separate,\n      And lo, in idle mood,\n    I took a sling and ball, elate\n      In wicked sport and rude--\n\n    And killed one bird--it was the male,\n      Oh cruel deed and base!\n    The female gave a plaintive wail\n      And looked me in the face!\n\n    The wail and sad reproachful look\n      In plain words seemed to say,\n    A widowed life I cannot brook,\n      The forfeit thou must pay.\n\n    What was my darling's crime that thou\n      Him wantonly shouldst kill?\n    The curse of blood is on thee now,\n      Blood calls for red blood still.\n\n    And so I die--a bloody death--\n      But not for this I mourn,\n    To feel the world pass with my breath\n      I gladly could have borne,\n\n    But for my parents, who are blind,\n      And have no other stay--\n    This, this, weighs sore upon my mind,\n      And fills me with dismay.\n\n    Upon the eleventh day of the moon\n      They keep a rigorous fast,\n    All yesterday they fasted; soon\n      For water and repast\n\n    They shall upon me feebly call!\n      Ah, must they call in vain?\n    Bear thou the pitcher, friend--'tis all\n      I ask--down that steep lane.\"\n\n    He pointed--ceased--then sudden died!\n      The king took up the corpse,\n    And with the pitcher slowly hied,\n      Attended by Remorse,\n\n    Down the steep lane--unto the hut\n      Girt round with _Bela_-trees;\n    Gleamed far a light--the door not shut\n      Was open to the breeze.\n\n\n\n\nPART III\n\n\n    \"Oh why does not our child return?\n      Too long he surely stays.\"--\n    Thus to the _Muni_, blind and stern,\n      His partner gently says.\n\n    \"For fruits and water when he goes\n      He never stays so long,\n    Oh can it be, beset by foes,\n      He suffers cruel wrong?\n\n    Some distance he has gone, I fear,\n      A more circuitous round--\n    Yet why should he? The fruits are near,\n      The river near our bound.\n\n    I die of thirst--it matters not\n      If Sindhu be but safe,\n    What if he leave us, and this spot,\n      Poor birds in cages chafe.\n\n    Peevish and fretful oft we are--\n      Ah, no--that cannot be:\n    Of our blind eyes he is the star,\n      Without him, what were we?\n\n    Too much he loves us to forsake,\n      But something ominous,\n    Here in my heart, a dreadful ache,\n      Says, he is gone from us.\n\n    Why do my bowels for him yearn,\n      What ill has crossed his path?\n    Blind, helpless, whither shall we turn,\n      Or how avert the wrath?\n\n    Lord of my soul--what means my pain?\n      This horrid terror--like\n    Some cloud that hides a hurricane;\n      Hang not, O lightning--strike!\"\n\n    Thus while she spake, the king drew near\n      With haggard look and wild,\n    Weighed down with grief, and pale with fear,\n      Bearing the lifeless child.\n\n    Rustled the dry leaves 'neath his foot,\n      And made an eerie sound,\n    A neighboring owl began to hoot,\n      All else was still around.\n\n    At the first rustle of the leaves\n      The _Muni_ answered clear,\n    \"Lo, here he is--oh wherefore grieves\n      Thy soul, my partner dear?\"\n\n    The words distinct, the monarch heard,\n      He could no further go,\n    His nature to its depths was stirred,\n      He stopped in speechless woe.\n\n    No steps advanced--the sudden pause\n      Attention quickly drew,\n    Rolled sightless orbs to learn the cause,\n      But, hark!--the steps renew.\n\n    \"Where art thou, darling--why so long\n      Hast thou delayed to-night?\n    We die of thirst--we are not strong,\n      This fasting kills outright.\n\n    Speak to us, dear one--only speak,\n      And calm our idle fears,\n    Where hast thou been, and what to seek?\n      Have pity on these tears.\"\n\n    With head bent low the monarch heard,\n      Then came a cruel throb\n    That tore his heart--still not a word,\n      Only a stifled sob!\n\n    \"It is not Sindhu--who art thou?\n      And where is Sindhu gone?\n    There's blood upon thy hands--avow!\"\n      \"There is.\"--\"Speak on, speak on,\"\n\n    The dead child in their arms he placed,\n      And briefly told his tale,\n    The parents their dead child embraced,\n      And kissed his forehead pale.\n\n    \"Our hearts are broken. Come, dear wife,\n      On earth no more we dwell;\n    Now welcome Death, and farewell Life,\n      And thou, O king, farewell!\n\n    We do not curse thee, God forbid\n      But to my inner eye\n    The future is no longer hid,\n      Thou too shalt like us die.\n\n    Die--for a son's untimely loss!\n      Die--with a broken heart!\n    Now help us to our bed of moss,\n      And let us both depart.\"\n\n    Upon the moss he laid them down,\n      And watched beside the bed;\n    Death gently came and placed a crown\n      Upon each reverend head.\n\n    Where the Sarayu's waves dash free\n      Against a rocky bank,\n    The monarch had the corpses three\n      Conveyed by men of rank;\n\n    There honored he with royal pomp\n      Their funeral obsequies--\n    Incense and sandal, drum and tromp.\n      And solemn sacrifice.\n\n    What is the sequel of the tale?\n      How died the king?--Oh man,\n    A prophet's words can never fail--\n      Go, read the Ramayan.\n\n\n\n\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\n\n\nNEAR HASTINGS\n\n\n    Near Hastings, on the shingle-beach,\n      We loitered at the time\n    When ripens on the wall the peach,\n      The autumn's lovely prime.\n    Far off--the sea and sky seemed blent,\n      The day was wholly done,\n    The distant town its murmurs sent,\n      Strangers--we were alone.\n\n    We wandered slow; sick, weary, faint,\n      Then one of us sat down,\n    No nature hers, to make complaint;--\n      The shadows deepened brown.\n    A lady past--she was not young,\n      But oh! her gentle face\n    No painter-poet ever sung,\n      Or saw such saintlike grace.\n\n    She passed us--then she came again,\n      Observing at a glance\n    That we were strangers; one, in pain--\n      Then asked--Were we from France?\n    We talked awhile--some roses red\n      That seemed as wet with tears,\n    She gave my sister, and she said,\n      God bless you both, my dears!\"\n\n    Sweet were the roses--sweet and full,\n      And large as lotus flowers\n    That in our own wide tanks we cull\n      To deck our Indian bowers.\n    But sweeter was the love that gave\n      Those flowers to one unknown,\n    I think that He who came to save\n      The gift a debt will own.\n\n    The lady's name I do not know,\n      Her face no more may see,\n    But yet, oh yet I love her so!\n      Blest, happy, may she be!\n    Her memory will not depart,\n      Though grief my years should shade,\n    Still bloom her roses in my heart!\n      And they shall never fade!\n\n\nFRANCE\n\n_1870_\n\n    Not dead--oh no--she cannot die!\n      Only a swoon, from loss of blood!\n    Levite England passes her by,\n    Help, Samaritan! None is nigh;\n      Who shall staunch me this sanguine flood?\n\n    'Range the brown hair, it blinds her eyne,\n      Dash cold water over her face!\n    Drowned in her blood, she makes no sign,\n    Give her a draught of generous wine.\n      None heed, none hear, to do this grace.\n\n    Head of the human column, thus\n      Ever in swoon wilt thou remain?\n    Thought, Freedom, Truth, quenched ominous\n    Whence then shall Hope arise for us,\n      Plunged in the darkness all again.\n\n    No, she stirs!--There's a fire in her glance,\n      Ware, oh ware of that broken sword!\n    What, dare ye for an hour's mischance,\n    Gather around her, jeering France,\n      Attila's own exultant horde?\n\n    Lo, she stands up--stands up e'en now,\n      Strong once more for the battle-fray,\n    Gleams bright the star, that from her brow\n    Lightens the world. Bow, nations, bow,\n      Let her again lead on the way!\n\n\nTHE TREE OF LIFE\n\n    Broad daylight, with a sense of weariness!\n    Mine eyes were closed, but I was not asleep,\n    My hand was in my father's, and I felt\n    His presence near me. Thus we often passed\n    In silence, hour by hour. What was the need\n    Of interchanging words when every thought\n    That in our hearts arose, was known to each,\n    And every pulse kept time? Suddenly there shone\n    A strange light, and the scene as sudden changed.\n    I was awake:--It was an open plain\n    Illimitable--stretching, stretching--oh, so far!\n    And o'er it that strange light--a glorious light\n    Like that the stars shed over fields of snow\n    In a clear, cloudless, frosty winter night,\n    Only intenser in its brilliance calm.\n    And in the midst of that vast plain, I saw,\n    For I was wide awake--it was no dream,\n    A tree with spreading branches and with leaves\n    Of divers kinds--dead silver and live gold,\n    Shimmering in radiance that no words may tell!\n    Beside the tree an Angel stood; he plucked\n    A few small sprays, and bound them round my head.\n    Oh, the delicious touch of those strange leaves!\n    No longer throbbed my brows, no more I felt\n    The fever in my limbs--\"And oh,\" I cried,\n    \"Bind too my father's forehead with these leaves.\"\n    One leaf the Angel took and therewith touched\n    His forehead, and then gently whispered \"Nay!\"\n    Never, oh never had I seen a face\n    More beautiful than that Angel's, or more full\n    Of holy pity and of love divine.\n    Wondering I looked awhile--then, all at once\n    Opened my tear-dimmed eyes--When lo! the light\n    Was gone--the light as of the stars when snow\n    Lies deep upon the ground. No more, no more,\n    Was seen the Angel's face. I only found\n    My father watching patient by my bed,\n    And holding in his own, close-prest, my hand.\n\n\nMADAME TH\u00c9R\u00c8SE\n\n_Written on the fly-leaf of Erckmann-Chatrian's novel, entitled, \"Madame\nTh\u00e9r\u00e8se_.\"\n\n    Wavered the foremost soldiers--then fell back.\n    Fallen was their leader, and loomed right before\n    The sullen Prussian cannon, grim and black,\n    With lighted matches waving. Now, once more,\n    Patriots and veterans!--Ah! Tis in vain!\n    Back they recoil, though bravest of the brave;\n    No human troops may stand that murderous rain;\n    But who is this--that rushes to a grave?\n\n    It is a woman--slender, tall, and brown!\n    She snatches up the standard as it falls--\n    In her hot haste tumbles her dark hair down,\n    And to the drummer-boy aloud she calls\n    To beat the charge; then forwards on the _pont_\n    They dash together;--who could bear to see\n    A woman and a child, thus Death confront,\n    Nor burn to follow them to victory?\n\n    I read the story and my heart beats fast!\n    Well might all Europe quail before thee, France,\n    Battling against oppression! Years have passed,\n    Yet of that time men speak with moistened glance.\n    _Va-nu-pieds!_ When rose high your Marseillaise\n    Man knew his rights to earth's remotest bound,\n    And tyrants trembled. Yours alone the praise!\n    Ah, had a Washington but then been found!\n\n\n\n\nSONNET\n\n\n    A sea of foliage girds our garden round,\n      But not a sea of dull unvaried green,\n      Sharp contrasts of all colors here are seen;\n    The light-green graceful tamarinds abound\n    Amid the mango clumps of green profound,\n      And palms arise, like pillars gray, between;\n      And o'er the quiet pools the seemuls lean,\n    Red--red, and startling like a trumpet's sound.\n    But nothing can be lovelier than the ranges\n      Of bamboos to the eastward, when the moon\n    Looks through their gaps, and the white lotus changes\n      Into a cup of silver. One might swoon\n        Drunken with beauty then, or gaze and gaze\n        On a primeval Eden, in amaze.\n\n\n\n\nSONNET\n\n\n    Love came to Flora asking for a flower\n      That would of flowers be undisputed queen,\n      The lily and the rose, long, long had been\n    Rivals for that high honor. Bards of power\n    Had sung their claims. \"The rose can never tower\n      Like the pale lily with her Juno mien\"--\n      \"But is the lily lovelier?\" Thus between\n    Flower-factions rang the strife in Psyche's bower.\n    \"Give me a flower delicious as the rose\n      And stately as the lily in her pride\"--\n      \"But of what color?\"--\"Rose-red,\" Love first chose,\n      Then prayed--\"No, lily-white--or, both provide;\"\n      And Flora gave the lotus, \"rose-red\" dyed,\n    And \"lily-white\"--the queenliest flower that blows.\n\n\n\n\nOUR CASUARINA-TREE\n\n    Like a huge Python, winding round and round\n      The rugged trunk, indented deep with scars\n      Up to its very summit near the stars,\n    A creeper climbs, in whose embraces bound\n      No other tree could live. But gallantly\n    The giant wears the scarf, and flowers are hung\n    In crimson clusters all the boughs among,\n      Whereon all day are gathered bird and bee;\n    And oft at nights the garden overflows\n    With one sweet song that seems to have no close,\n    Sung darkling from our tree, while men repose,\n\n    When first my casement is wide open thrown\n      At dawn, my eyes delighted on it rest;\n      Sometimes, and most in winter--on its crest\n    A gray baboon sits statue-like alone\n      Watching the sunrise; while on lower boughs\n    His puny offspring leap about and play;\n    And far and near kokilas hail the day;\n      And to their pastures wend our sleepy cows;\n    And in the shadow, on the broad tank cast\n    By that hoar tree, so beautiful and vast,\n    The water-lilies spring, like snow enmassed.\n\n    But not because of its magnificence\n      Dear is the Casuarina to my soul:\n      Beneath it we have played; though years may roll,\n    O sweet companions, loved with love intense,\n      For your sakes, shall the tree be ever dear!\n    Blent with your images, it shall arise\n    In memory, till the hot tears blind mine eyes!\n      What is that dirge-like murmur that I hear\n    Like the sea breaking on a shingle-beach?\n    It is the tree's lament, an eerie speech,\n    That haply to the unknown land may reach.\n\n    Unknown, yet well-known to the eye of faith!\n      Ah, I have heard that wail far, far away\n      In distant lands, by many a sheltered bay,\n    When slumbered in his cave the water-wraith\n      And the waves gently kissed the classic shore\n    Of France or Italy, beneath the moon,\n    When earth lay tranced in a dreamless swoon:\n      And every time the music rose--before\n    Mine inner vision rose a form sublime,\n    Thy form, O Tree, as in my happy prime\n    I saw thee, in my own loved native clime.\n\n    Therefore I fain would consecrate a lay\n      Unto thy honor, Tree, beloved of those\n      Who now in blessed sleep, for aye, repose,\n    Dearer than life to me, alas! were they!\n      May'st thou be numbered when my days are done\n    With deathless trees--like those in Borrowdale,\n    Under whose awful branches lingered pale\n      \"Fear, trembling Hope, and Death, the skeleton,\n    And Time, the shadow;\" and though weak the verse\n    That would thy beauty fain, oh fain rehearse,\n    May Love defend thee from Oblivion's curse.","title":"Hindu literature : Comprising The Book of good counsels, Nala and Damayanti, The Ramayana, and Sakoontala","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":122645}