Part 6 (2/2)

The sins of previous lives must bear their fruit.

The ivory throne, the umbrella of gold, The best steed, and the royal elephant Rich caparisoned, must be his by right Who has deserved them by his virtuous acts In times long past. Oh think on this, my son, And be content. For glorious actions done Not in this life, but in some previous birth, Suruchee by the monarch is beloved.

Women, unfortunate like myself, who bear Only the name of wife without the powers, But pine and suffer for our ancient sins.

Suruchee raised her virtues pile on pile, Hence Uttama her son, the fortunate!

Suneetee heaped but evil,--hence her son Dhruva the luckless! But for all this, child, It is not meet that thou shouldst ever grieve As I have said. That man is truly wise Who is content with what he has, and seeks Nothing beyond, but in whatever sphere, Lowly or great, G.o.d placed him, works in faith; My son, my son, though proud Suruchee spake Harsh words indeed, and hurt thee to the quick, Yet to thine eyes thy duty should be plain.

Collect a large sum of the virtues; thence A goodly harvest must to thee arise.

Be meek, devout, and friendly, full of love, Intent to do good to the human race And to all creatures sentient made of G.o.d; And oh, be humble, for on modest worth Descends prosperity, even as water flows Down to low grounds.”

She finished, and her son, Who patiently had listened, thus replied:--

”Mother, thy words of consolation find Nor resting-place, nor echo in this heart Broken by words severe, repulsing Love That timidly approached to wors.h.i.+p. Hear My resolve unchangeable. I shall try The highest good, the loftiest place to win, Which the whole world deems priceless and desires.

There is a crown above my father's crown, I shall obtain it, and at any cost Of toil, or penance, or unceasing prayer.

Not born of proud Suruchee, whom the king Favours and loves, but grown up from a germ In thee, O mother, humble as thou art, I yet shall show thee what is in my power.

Thou shalt behold my glory and rejoice.

Let Uttama my brother,--not thy son,-- Receive the throne and royal t.i.tles,--all My father pleases to confer on him.

I grudge them not. Not with another's gifts Desire I, dearest mother, to be rich, But with my own work would acquire a name.

And I shall strive unceasing for a place Such as my father hath not won,--a place That would not know him even,--aye, a place Far, far above the highest of this earth.”

He said, and from his mother's chambers past, And went into the wood where hermits live, And never to his father's house returned.

Well kept the boy his promise made that day!

By prayer and penance Dhruva gained at last The highest heavens, and there he s.h.i.+nes a star!

Nightly men see him in the firmament.

VI.

b.u.t.tOO.

”Ho! Master of the wondrous art!

Instruct me in fair archery, And buy for aye,--a grateful heart That will not grudge to give thy fee.”

Thus spoke a lad with kindling eyes, A hunter's low-born son was he,-- To Dronacharjya, great and wise, Who sat with princes round his knee.

Up Time's fair stream far back,--oh far, The great wise teacher must be sought!

The Kurus had not yet in war With the Pandava brethren fought.

In peace, at Dronacharjya's feet, Magic and archery they learned, A complex science, which we meet No more, with ages past inurned.

”And who art thou,” the teacher said, ”My science brave to learn so fain?

Which many kings who wear the thread Have asked to learn of me in vain.”

”My name is b.u.t.too,” said the youth, ”A hunter's son, I know not Fear;”

The teacher answered, smiling smooth, ”Then know him from this time, my dear.”

Unseen the magic arrow came, Amidst the laughter and the scorn Of royal youths,--like lightning flame Sudden and sharp. They blew the horn, As down upon the ground he fell, Not hurt, but made a jest and game;-- He rose,--and waved a proud farewell, But cheek and brow grew red with shame.

And lo,--a single, single tear Dropped from his eyelash as he past, ”My place I gather is not here; No matter,--what is rank or caste?

In us is honour, or disgrace, Not out of us,” 'twas thus he mused, ”The question is,--not wealth or place, But gifts well used, or gifts abused.”

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