Chapter 8

So saying [the Bard went on] Dharma's own voice Gave ordinance, and from the shining bands A golden Deva glided, taking hest To guide the king there where his kinsmen were. So wended these, the holy angel first, And in his steps the king, close following. Together passed they through the gates of pearl, Together heard them close; then to the left Descending, by a path evil and dark, Hard to be traversed, rugged, entered they The 'SINNERS' ROAD.' The tread of sinful feet Matted the thick thorns carpeting its slope; The smell of sin hung foul on them; the mire About their roots was trampled filth of flesh Horrid with rottenness, and splashed with gore Curdling in crimson puddles; where there buzzed And sucked and settled creatures of the swamp, Hideous in wing and sting, gnat-clouds and flies, With moths, toads, newts, and snakes red-gulleted, And livid, loathsome worms, writhing in slime Forth from skull-holes and scalps and tumbled bones. A burning forest shut the roadside in On either hand, and 'mid its crackling boughs Perched ghastly birds, or flapped amongst the flames,-- Vultures and kites and crows,--with brazen plumes And beaks of iron; and these grisly fowl Screamed to the shrieks of Prets, lean, famished ghosts, Featureless, eyeless, having pin-point mouths, Hungering, but hard to fill,--all swooping down To gorge upon the meat of wicked ones; Whereof the limbs disparted, trunks and heads, Offal and marrow, littered all the way. By such a path the king passed, sore afeared If he had known of fear, for the air stank With carrion stench, sickly to breathe; and lo! Presently 'thwart the pathway foamed a flood Of boiling waves, rolling down corpses. This They crossed, and then the Asipatra wood Spread black in sight, whereof the undergrowth Was sword-blades, spitting, every blade, some wretch; All around poison trees; and next to this, Strewn deep with fiery sands, an awful waste, Wherethrough the wicked toiled with blistering feet, 'Midst rocks of brass, red hot, which scorched, and pools Of bubbling pitch that gulfed them. Last the gorge Of Kutashála Mali,--frightful gate Of utmost Hell, with utmost horrors filled. Deadly and nameless were the plagues seen there; Which when the monarch reached, nigh overborne By terrors and the reek of tortured flesh, Unto the angel spake he: 'Whither goes This hateful road, and where be they I seek, Yet find not?' Answer made the heavenly One: 'Hither, great King, it was commanded me To bring thy steps. If thou be'st overborne, It is commanded that I lead thee back To where the Gods wait. Wilt thou turn and mount?'

"Then (O thou Son of Bhárat!) Yudhishthir Turned heavenward his face, so was he moved With horror and the hanging stench, and spent By toil of that black travel. But his feet Scarce one stride measured, when about the place Pitiful accents rang: 'Alas, sweet King!-- Ah, saintly Lord!--Ah, Thou that hast attained Place with the Blessed, Pandu's offspring!--pause A little while, for love of us who cry! Nought can harm _thee_ in all this baneful place; But at thy coming there 'gan blow a breeze Balmy and soothing, bringing us relief. O Pritha's son, mightiest of men! we breathe Glad breath again to see thee; we have peace One moment in our agonies. Stay here One moment more, Bhárata's child! Go not, Thou Victor of the Kurus! Being here, Hell softens and our bitter pains relax.'

"These pleadings, wailing all around the place, Heard the King Yudhishthira,--words of woe Humble and eager; and compassion seized His lordly mind. 'Poor souls unknown!' he sighed, And hellwards turned anew; for what those were. Whence such beseeching voices, and of whom, That son of Pandu wist not,--only wist That all the noxious murk was filled with forms, Shadowy, in anguish, crying grace of him. Wherefore he called aloud,'Who speaks with me? What do ye here, and what things suffer ye?' Then from the black depth piteously there came Answers of whispered suffering: 'Karna I, O King!' and yet another,'O my Liege, Thy Bhíma speaks!' and then a voice again, 'I am Arjuna, Brother!' and again, 'Nakla is here and Sahadev!' and last A moan of music from the darkness sighed, 'Draupadí cries to thee!' Thereat broke forth The monarch's spirit,--knowing so the sound Of each familiar voice,--'What doom is this? What have my well-beloved wrought to earn Death with the damned, or life loathlier than death In Narak's midst? Hath Karna erred so deep, Bhíma, Arjuna, or the glorious twins, Or she, the slender-waisted, sweetest, best, My princess,--that Duryodhana should sit Peaceful in Paradise with all his crew, Throned by Mahendra and the shining gods? How should these fail of bliss, and he attain? What were their sins to his, their splendid faults? For if they slipped, it was in virtue's way Serving good laws, performing holy rites, Boundless in gifts and faithful to the death. These be their well-known voices! Are ye here, Souls I loved best? Dream I, belike, asleep, Or rave I, maddened with accursed sights And death-reeks of this hellish air?'

"Thereat For pity and for pain the king waxed wroth. That soul fear could not shake, nor trials tire, Burned terrible with tenderness, the while His eyes searched all the gloom, his planted feet Stood fast in the mid horrors. Well-nigh, then, He cursed the gods; well-nigh that steadfast mind Broke from its faith in virtue. But he stayed Th' indignant passion, softly speaking this Unto the angel: 'Go to those thou serv'st; Tell them I come not thither. Say I stand Here in the throat of hell, and here will bide-- Nay, if I perish--while my well-belov'd Win ease and peace by any pains of mine.'

"Whereupon, nought replied the shining One, But straight repaired unto the upper light, Where Sákra sate above the gods, and spake Before the gods the message of the king."

* * * * *

"Afterward what befell?" the prince inquired.

"Afterward, Princely One!" replied the Sage, "At hearing and at knowing that high deed (Great Yudhishthira braving hell for love), The Presences of Paradise uprose, Each Splendour in his place,--god Sákra chief; Together rose they, and together stepped Down from their thrones, treading the nether road Where Yudhishthira tarried. Sákra led The shining van, and Dharma, Lord of laws, Paced glorious next. O Son of Bhárata, While that celestial company came down-- Pure as the white stars sweeping through the sky, And brighter than their brilliance--look! Hell's shades Melted before them; warm gleams drowned the gloom; Soft, lovely scenes rolled over the ill sights; Peace calmed the cries of torment; in its bed The boiling river shrank, quiet and clear; The Asipatra Vana--awful wood-- Blossomed with colours; all those cruel blades, And dreadful rocks, and piteous scattered wreck Of writhing bodies, where the king had passed, Vanished as dreams fade. Cool and fragrant went A wind before their faces, as these Gods Drew radiant to the presence of the king,-- Maruts; and Vasus eight, who shine and serve Round Indra; Rudras; Aswins; and those Six Immortal Lords of light beyond our light, Th' Adityas; Saddhyas; Siddhas,--those were there, With angels, saints, and habitants of heaven, Smiling resplendent round the steadfast prince.

"Then spake the God of gods these gracious words To Yudhishthira, standing in that place:-- "'King Yudhishthira! O thou long-armed Lord, This is enough! All heaven is glad of thee. It is enough! Come, thou most blessed one. Unto thy peace, well-gained. Lay now aside Thy loving wrath, and hear the speech of Heaven. It is appointed that all kings see hell. The reckonings for the life of men are twain: Of each man's righteous deeds a tally true, A tally true of each man's evil deeds. Who hath wrought little right, to him is paid A little bliss in Swarga, then the woe Which purges; who much right hath wrought, from him The little ill by lighter pains is cleansed, And then the joys. Sweet is peace after pain, And bitter pain which follows peace; yet they, Who sorely sin, taste of the heaven they miss, And they that suffer quit their debt at last. Lo! We have loved thee, laying hard on thee Grievous assaults of soul, and this black road. Bethink thee: by a semblance once, dear Son! Drona thou didst beguile; and once, dear Son! Semblance of hell hath so thy sin assoiled, "Which passeth with these shadows. Even thus Thy Bhíma came a little space t' account, Draupadí, Krishna,--all whom thou didst love, Never again to lose! Come, First of Men! These be delivered and their quittance made. Also the princes, son of Bhárata! Who fell beside thee fighting, have attained. Come thou to see! Karna, whom thou didst mourn,-- That mightiest archer, master in all wars,-- He hath attained, shining as doth the sun; Come thou and see! Grieve no more, King of Men! Whose love helped them and thee, and hath its meed. Rajas and maharajahs, warriors, aids,-- All thine are thine for ever. Krishna waits To greet thee coming, 'companied by gods, Seated in heaven, from toils and conflicts saved. Son! there is golden fruit of noble deeds, Of prayer, alms, sacrifice. The most just Gods Keep thee thy place above the highest saints, Where thou shalt sit, divine, compassed about With royal souls in bliss, as Hari sits; Seeing Mándháta crowned, and Bhagirath, Daushyanti, Bhárata, with all thy line. Now therefore wash thee in this holy stream, Gunga's pure fount, whereof the bright waves bless All the Three Worlds. It will so change thy flesh To likeness of th' immortal, thou shalt leave Passions and aches and tears behind thee there.'

"And when the awful Sákra thus had said, Lo! Dharma spake,--th' embodied Lord of Right:

"'Bho! bho! I am well pleased! Hail to thee, Chief! Worthy, and wise, and firm. Thy faith is full, Thy virtue, and thy patience, and thy truth, And thy self-mastery. Thrice I put thee, King! Unto the trial. In the Dwaita wood, The day of sacrifice,--then thou stood'st fast; Next, on thy brethren's death and Draupadí's, When, as a dog, I followed thee, and found Thy spirit constant to the meanest friend. Here was the third and sorest touchstone, Son! That thou shouldst hear thy brothers cry in hell, And yet abide to help them. Pritha's child, We love thee! Thou art fortunate and pure, Past trials now. Thou art approved, and they Thou lov'st have tasted hell only a space, Not meriting to suffer more than when An evil dream doth come, and Indra's beam Ends it with radiance--as this vision ends. It is appointed that all flesh see death, And therefore thou hast borne the passing pangs, Briefest for thee, and brief for those of thine,-- Bhíma the faithful, and the valiant twins Nakla and Sahadev, and those great hearts Karna, Arjuna, with thy princess dear, Draupadí. Come, thou best-belovèd Son, Blessed of all thy line! Bathe in this stream,-- It is great Gunga, flowing through Three Worlds.'

"Thus high-accosted, the rejoicing king (Thy ancestor, O Liege!) proceeded straight Unto that river's brink, which floweth pure Through the Three Worlds, mighty, and sweet, and praised. There, being bathed, the body of the king Put off its mortal, coming up arrayed In grace celestial, washed from soils of sin, From passion, pain, and change. So, hand in hand With brother-gods, glorious went Yudhishthir, Lauded by softest minstrelsy, and songs Of unknown music, where those heroes stood-- The princes of the Pandavas, his kin-- And lotus-eyed and lovliest Draupadí, Waiting to greet him, gladdening and glad."

_FROM THE "SAUPTIKA PARVA" OF THE MAHÁBHÁRATA,_

OR

_"NIGHT OF SLAUGHTER."_

_To Narayen, Best of Lords, be glory given, To great Saraswati, the Queen in Heaven; Unto Vyása, too, be paid his meed, So shall this story worthily proceed._

"Those vanquished warriors then," Sanjaya said, "Fled southwards; and, near sunset, past the tents, Unyoked; abiding close in fear and rage. There was a wood beyond the camp,--untrod, Quiet,--and in its leafy harbour lay The Princes, some among them bleeding still From spear and arrow-gashes; all sore-spent, Fetching faint breath, and fighting o'er again In thought that battle. But there came the noise Of Pandavas pursuing,--fierce and loud Outcries of victory--whereat those chiefs Sullenly rose, and yoked their steeds again, Driving due east; and eastward still they drave Under the night, till drouth and desperate toil Stayed horse and man; then took they lair again, The panting horses, and the Warriors, wroth With chilled wounds, and the death-stroke of their King.

"Now were they come, my Prince," Sanjaya said, "Unto a jungle thick with stems, whereon The tangled creepers coiled; here entered they-- Watering their horses at a stream--and pushed Deep in the thicket. Many a beast and bird Sprang startled at their feet; the long grass stirred With serpents creeping off; the woodland flowers Shook where the pea-fowl hid, and, where frogs plunged, The swamp rocked all its reeds and lotus-buds. A banian-tree, with countless dropping boughs Earth-rooted, spied they, and beneath its aisles A pool; hereby they stayed, tethering their steeds, And dipping water, made the evening prayer.

"But when the 'Day-maker' sank in the west And Night descended--gentle, soothing Night, Who comforts all, with silver splendour decked Of stars and constellations, and soft folds Of velvet darkness drawn--then those wild things Which roam in darkness woke, wandering afoot Under the gloom. Horrid the forest grew With roar, and yelp, and yell, around that place Where Kripa, Kritavarman, and the son Of Drona lay, beneath the banian-tree; Full many a piteous passage instancing In their lost battle-day of dreadful blood; Till sleep fell heavy on the wearied lids Of Bhoja's child and Kripa. Then these Lords-- To princely life and silken couches used-- Sought on the bare earth slumber, spent and sad, As houseless outcasts lodge.

"But, Oh, my King! There came no sleep to Drona's angry son, Great Aswatthâman. As a snake lies coiled And hisses, breathing, so his panting breath Hissed rage and hatred round him, while he lay, Chin uppermost, arm-pillowed, with fierce eyes Roving the wood, and seeing sightlessly. Thus chanced it that his wandering glances turned Into the fig-tree's shadows, where there perched A thousand crows, thick-roosting, on its limbs; Some nested, some on branchlets, deep asleep, Heads under wings--all fearless; nor, O Prince! Had Aswatthâman more than marked the birds, When, lo! there fell out of the velvet night, Silent and terrible, an eagle-owl, With wide, soft, deadly, dusky wings, and eyes Flame-coloured, and long claws, and dreadful beak; Like a winged sprite, or great Garood himself; Offspring of Bhârata! it lighted there Upon the banian's bough; hooted, but low, The fury smothering in its throat;--then fell With murderous beak and claws upon those crows, Rending the wings from this, the legs from that, From some the heads, of some ripping the crops; Till, tens and scores, the fowl rained down to earth Bloody and plucked, and all the ground waxed black With piled crow-carcases; whilst the great owl Hooted for joy of vengeance, and again Spread the wide, deadly, dusky wings.

"Up sprang The son of Drona: 'Lo! this owl,' quoth he, 'Teacheth me wisdom; lo! one slayeth so Insolent foes asleep. The Pandu Lords Are all too strong in arms by day to kill; They triumph, being many. Yet I swore Before the King, my Father, I would "kill" And "kill"--even as a foolish fly should swear To quench a flame. It scorched, and I shall die If I dare open battle; but by art Men vanquish fortune and the mightiest odds. If there be two ways to a wise man's wish, Yet only one way sure, he taketh this; And if it be an evil way, condemned For Brahmans, yet the Kshattriya may do What vengeance bids against his foes. Our foes, The Pandavas, are furious, treacherous, base, Halting at nothing; and how say the wise In holy Shastras?--"Wounded, wearied, fed, Or fasting; sleeping, waking, setting forth, Or new arriving; slay thine enemies;" And so again, "At midnight when they sleep, Dawn when they watch not; noon if leaders fall; Eve, should they scatter; all the times and hours Are times and hours fitted for killing foes."'

"So did the son of Drona steel his soul To break upon the sleeping Pandu chiefs And slay them in the darkness. Being set On this unlordly deed, and clear in scheme, He from their slumbers roused the warriors twain, Kripa and Kritavarman."

_THE MORNING PRAYER._

Our Lord the Prophet (peace to him!) doth write-- Súrah the Seventeenth, intituled "Night"-- "Pray at the noon; pray at the sinking sun; In night-time pray; but most when night is done; For daybreak's prayer is surely borne on high By angels, changing guard within the sky;" And in another place:--"Dawn's prayer is more Than the wide world, with all its treasured store."

Therefore the Faithful, when the growing light Gives to discern a black hair from a white, Haste to the mosque, and, bending Mecca-way, Recite _Al-Fâtihah_ while 'tis scarce yet day: "_Praise be to Allah--Lord of all that live: Merciful King and Judge! To Thee we give Worship and honour! Succour us, and guide Where those have walked who rest Thy throne beside: The way of Peace; the way of truthful speech; The way of Righteousness. So we beseech._" He that saith this, before the East is red, A hundred prayers of Azan hath he said.

Hear now a story of it--told, I ween, For your souls' comfort by Jelal-ud-din, In the great pages of the Mesnevî; For therein, plain and certain, shall ye see How precious is the prayer at break of day In Allah's ears, and in his sight alway How sweet are reverence and gentleness Shown to his creatures. Àli (whom I bless!) The son of Abu Talib--he surnamed "Lion of God," in many battles famed, The cousin of our Lord the Prophet (grace Be his!)--uprose betimes one morn, to pace-- As he was wont--unto the mosque, wherein Our Lord (bliss live with him!) watched to begin _Al-Fâtihah_. Darkling was the sky, and strait The lane between the city and mosque-gate, By rough stones broken and deep pools of rain; And there through toilfully, with steps of pain, Leaning upon his staff an old Jew went To synagogue, on pious errand bent: For those be "People of the Book,"--and some Are chosen of Allah's will, who have not come Unto full light of wisdom. Therefore he Àli--the Caliph of proud days to be-- Knowing this good old man, and why he stirred Thus early, e'er the morning mills were heard, Out of his nobleness and grace of soul Would not thrust past, though the Jew blocked the whole Breadth of the lane, slow-hobbling. So they went, That ancient first; and in soft discontent, After him Àli--noting how the sun Flared nigh, and fearing prayer might be begun; Yet no command upraising, no harsh cry To stand aside;--because the dignity Of silver hairs is much, and morning praise Was precious to the Jew, too. Thus their ways Wended the pair; Great Àli, sad and slow, Following the greybeard, while the East, a-glow, Blazed with bright spears of gold athwart the blue, And the Muezzin's call came "_Illahu! Allah-il-Allah!_"

In the mosque, our Lord (On whom be peace!) stood by the Mehrab-board In act to bow, and _Fâtihah_ forth to say. But as his lips moved, some strong hand did lay Over his mouth a palm invisible, So that no voice on the Assembly fell. "_Ya! Rabbi 'lalamîna_" thrice he tried To read, and thrice the sound of reading died, Stayed by this unseen touch. Thereat amazed Our Lord Muhammed turned, arose, and gazed; And saw--alone of those within the shrine-- A splendid Presence, with large eyes divine Beaming, and golden pinions folded down, Their speed still tokened by the fluttered gown. GABRIEL he knew, the spirit who doth stand Chief of the Sons of Heav'n, at God's right hand: "Gabriel! why stayest thou me?" the Prophet said, "Since at this hour the _Fâtihah_ should be read."

But the bright Presence, smiling, pointed where Àli towards the outer gate drew near, Upon the threshold shaking off his shoes And giving "alms of entry," as men use. "Yea!" spake th' Archangel, "sacred is the sound Of morning-praise, and worth the world's wide round, Though earth were pearl and silver; therefore I Stayed thee, Muhammed, in the act to cry, Lest Àli, tarrying in the lane, should miss, For his good deed, its blessing and its bliss."

Thereat th' Archangel vanished:--and our Lord Read _Fâtihah_ forth beneath the Mehrab-board.

_PROVERBIAL WISDOM_

FROM THE

_SHLOKAS OF THE HITOPADESA_.

DEDICATION

(_TO FIRST EDITION_)

_To you, dear Wife--to whom beside so well?-- True Counsellor and tried, at every shift, I bring my "Book of Counsels:" let it tell Largeness of love by littleness of gift;_

_And take this growth of foreign skies from me, (A scholar's thanks for gentle help in toil,) Whose leaf, "though dark," like Milton's Hoemony, "Bears a bright golden flower, if not in this soil."_

_April 9, 1861._

PREFACE

_TO THE "BOOK OF GOOD COUNSELS."_