Part 1 (1/2)
Tales of Ind.
by T. Ramakrishna.
_LORD TENNYSON._
A poet of my native land has said-- The life the good and virtuous lead on earth Is like the black-eyed maiden of the East, Who paints the lids to look more bright and fair.
The eyes may smart and water, but withal She loves to please them that behold her face.
E'en so, my Master, thine own life has been.
Thy songs have pleased the world, thy thoughts divine Have purified, likewise enn.o.bled man.
And what are they, those songs and thoughts divine, But sad experience of thy life, dipt deep In thine own tears, and traced on nature's page?
To please and teach the world for two dear ones You mourned--a friend in youth, a son in age 'Tis said the life that gives one moment's joy To one lone mortal is not lived in vain; But lives like thine G.o.d grants as s.h.i.+ning lights That we in darkness Him aright may see.
Nay more, such lives the more by ills beset Do s.h.i.+ne the more and better teach His ways.
Alas! thou'rt gone that wert so kind to one Obscure--a stranger in a distant land.
Accept from him this wreath uncouth of words Which do but half express the grief he feels.
_SEETA AND RAMA_.
A TALE OF THE INDIAN FAMINE.
It was by far the loveliest scene in Ind:-- A deep sunk lonely vale, 'tween verdant hills That, in eternal friends.h.i.+p, seemed to hold Communion with the changing skies above; Dark shady groves the haunts of shepherd boys And wearied peasants in the midday noon; A lake that shone in l.u.s.tre clear and bright Like a pure Indian diamond set amidst Green emeralds, where every morn, with songs Of parted lovers that tempted blooming maids With pitchers on their heads to stay and hear Those songs, the busy villagers of the vale Their green fields watered that gave them sure hopes Of future plenty and of future joys.
Oh, how uncertain man's sure hopes and joys!
In this enchanted hollow that was scooped-- For so it seemed--by G.o.d's own mighty hand, Where Nature shower'd her richest gifts to make Another paradise, stood Krishnapore With her two score and seven huts reared by The patient labour of her simple men.
In this blest hamlet one there was that owned Its richest lands: beloved by all its men, Their friend in times of need, their guide in life, Partaker of their joys and woes as well, The arbiter of all their petty strifes.
By him his friend the village master lived That at his door a group of children taught; A man he was well versed in ancient lore; And oft at night, when ended was their toil, The villagers with souls enraptured heard him In fiery accents speak of Krishna's deeds And Rama's warlike skill, and wondered that He knew so well the deities they adored.
One only daughter this schoolmaster had, And Seeta was her name, the prettiest maid In all the village, nursed by the fond cares Of her indulgent sire, and loved with all The tender feelings that pure love inspires By the rich villager's only son, the heir Of all his father's wealth; the best at school, The boldest of the village youths at play, And the delight of all those that saw him; And these seemed such a fitting pair that oft The secret whisper round the village ran That Seeta was to wed the rich man's son.
Thus, in this Eden, its blest inmates lived And pa.s.sed their days, the villagers at the fields, Their busy women at the blazing hearths, The village master at his cottage door, And Rama and fair Seeta in true love.
Hither a monster came, that slowly sucked The vigour, the very life of Krishnapore.
The brilliant l.u.s.tre of the diamond lake, The emerald greenness of the waving fields, The shady groves and pleasant cottage grounds, And all the beauties of the happy vale Soon vanished imperceptibly, as if Some unconsuming furnace underneath Had baked the earth and rendered it all bare, Until its inmates wandered desolate, With hollow cheeks, sunk eyes, and haggard faces, Like walking skeletons pasted o'er with skin.
No more would blooming girls with pitchers laden Repair to the clear lake while curling smoke Rose from their cottage roofs; no more at morn Would Rama be the first at school to see His Seeta deck her father's house with flowers; No more at eve the village master pour From Hindu lore the mighty deeds of G.o.ds To the delighted ears of simple men; For these have left their lands and their dear homes.
And Seeta with her father left her cot, And cast behind, with a deep, heavy sigh, One ling'ring look upon that vale where she Was born and fondly nursed,--where glided on Her days in pleasure and pure innocence,-- Where Rama lived and loved her tenderly.
Her father died of hunger on the way, And the lone creature wandered in the streets Of towns from door to door, and vainly begged For food, till some, deep moved by the sad tales Of the lone straggler, safely lodged her in A famine camp, where, heavy laden with A double sorrow (for her lover too, She thought, had died), her tedious life she spent.
And days and weeks and months thus rolled away, Until at last her love for the dead youth Mysterious waned, and, like a shallow lamp, Burnt in her breast with nothing to feed it.
One day the news went through the famine shed That a lean youth, plucked from the very arms Of cruel death, was tenderly nursed there; And all its inmates hurried to the scene.
Poor Seeta saw the youth, and that sad sight She ne'er forgot; the youth was in her mind Too firmly rooted to be rooted out, Who ev'ry day in strength and beauty grew, till he Appeared the fairest youth in all the camp.
First pity for the youth, then love for him Mysterious came to her, until at last The flick'ring flame shone sudden in her breast.
”This stranger I must wed, for him I love, I know not how; that pleasant face is like The face of him I dearly loved; I see Appearing ev'ry day upon that face, As if by magic wrought, those beauties that Were seated on dead Rama's face.” Thus mused This maiden of the camp, and the fair youth Thus kindled in her breast the hidden flame Of love and fed it ever with new strength, Which shone again in all its purity.
As the moon whose effulgence hidden lies When dimmed by clouds, suddenly blazes forth And in her wonted beauty s.h.i.+nes again What time she darts into the cloudless vault, So shone again in lovely Seeta's breast The lamp of love by clouds of sorrow dimmed.
The smothered pa.s.sion suddenly blazed forth In brighter l.u.s.tre, and to her returned With double force, as when the flaming fire Is smothered when more fuel is on it thrown, And straightway flames and gives a brighter light.
At last the monster left the land, the camp Was broke, its inmates left it for their homes.
England, would that one of thy sons were there To hear what words, what blessings now burst from Their inward hearts for nursing them when they From all estranged had poured into thine arms!