Part 2 (1/2)
No help from man. Well, be it so!
No sympathy,--it matters not!
G.o.d can avert the heavy blow!
He answers wors.h.i.+p. Thus she thought.
And so, her prayers, by day and night, Like incense rose unto the throne; Nor did she vow neglect or rite The Veds enjoin or helpful own.
Upon the fourteenth of the moon, As nearer came the time of dread, In Joystee, that is May or June, She vowed her vows and Bramins fed.
And now she counted e'en the hours, As to Eternity they past; O'er head the dark cloud darker lowers, The year is rounding full at last.
To-day,--to-day,--with doleful sound The word seem'd in her ear to ring!
O breaking heart,--thy pain profound Thy husband knows not, nor the king, Exiled and blind, nor yet the queen; But One knows in His place above.
To-day,--to-day,--it will be seen Which shall be victor, Death or Love!
Incessant in her prayers from morn, The noon is safely tided,--then A gleam of faint, faint hope is born, But the heart fluttered like a wren That sees the shadow of the hawk Sail on,--and trembles in affright, Lest a down-rus.h.i.+ng swoop should mock Its fortune, and o'erwhelm it quite.
The afternoon has come and gone And brought no change;--should she rejoice?
The gentle evening's shades come on, When hark!--She hears her husband's voice!
”The twilight is most beautiful!
Mother, to gather fruit I go, And fuel,--for the air is cool Expect me in an hour or so.”
”The night, my child, draws on apace,”
The mother's voice was heard to say, ”The forest paths are hard to trace In darkness,--till the morrow stay.”
”Not hard for me, who can discern The forest-paths in any hour, Blindfold I could with ease return, And day has not yet lost its power.”
”He goes then,” thought Savitri, ”thus With unseen bands Fate draws us on Unto the place appointed us; We feel no outward force,--anon We go to marriage or to death At a determined time and place; We are her playthings; with her breath She blows us where she lists in s.p.a.ce.
What is my duty? It is clear, My husband I must follow; so, While he collects his forest gear Let me permission get to go.”
His sire she seeks,--the blind old king, And asks from him permission straight.
”My daughter, night with ebon wing Hovers above; the hour is late.
My son is active, brave, and strong, Conversant with the woods, he knows Each path; methinks it would be wrong For thee to venture where he goes, Weak and defenceless as thou art, At such a time. If thou wert near Thou might'st embarra.s.s him, dear heart, Alone, he would not have a fear.”
So spake the hermit-monarch blind, His wife too, entering in, exprest The self-same thoughts in words as kind, And begged Savitri hard, to rest.
”Thy recent fasts and vigils, child, Make thee unfit to undertake This journey to the forest wild.”
But nothing could her purpose shake.
She urged the nature of her vows, Required her now the rites were done To follow where her loving spouse Might e'en a chance of danger run.
”Go then, my child,--we give thee leave, But with thy husband quick return, Before the flickering shades of eve Deepen to night, and planets burn, And forest-paths become obscure, Lit only by their doubtful rays.
The G.o.ds, who guard all women pure, Bless thee and kept thee in thy ways, And safely bring thee and thy lord!”
On this she left, and swiftly ran Where with his saw in lieu of sword, And basket, plodded Satyavan.
Oh, lovely are the woods at dawn, And lovely in the sultry noon, But loveliest, when the sun withdrawn The twilight and a crescent moon Change all asperities of shape, And tone all colours softly down, With a blue veil of silvered c.r.a.pe!
Lo! By that hill which palm-trees crown, Down the deep glade with perfume rife From buds that to the dews expand, The husband and the faithful wife Pa.s.s to dense jungle,--hand in hand.
Satyavan bears beside his saw A forked stick to pluck the fruit, His wife, the basket lined with straw; He talks, but she is almost mute, And very pale. The minutes pa.s.s; The basket has no further s.p.a.ce, Now on the fruits they flowers ama.s.s That with their red flush all the place While twilight lingers; then for wood He saws the branches of the trees, The noise, heard in the solitude, Grates on its soft, low harmonies.
And all the while one dreadful thought Haunted Savitri's anxious mind, Which would have fain its stress forgot; It came as chainless as the wind, Oft and again: thus on the spot Marked with his heart-blood oft comes back The murdered man, to see the clot!
Death's final blow,--the fatal wrack Of every hope, whence will it fall?
For fall, by Narad's words, it must; Persistent rising to appall This thought its horrid presence thrust.
Sudden the noise is hushed,--a pause!