Part 13 (1/2)

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

To us the blind, the dest.i.tute--with helpless hunger peris.h.i.+ng?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

EXTRACTS FROM THE MAHABHARATA.

THE BRAHMIN'S LAMENT.

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

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

THE BRAHMIN'S LAMENT.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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