Chapter 2

While impious TÁRAK in resistless might Was troubling heaven and earth with wild affright, To BRAHMÁ'S high abode, by INDRA led, The mournful deities for refuge fled. As when the Day-God's loving beams awake The lotus slumbering on the silver lake, So BRAHMÁ deigned his glorious face to show, And poured sweet comfort on their looks of woe. Then nearer came the suppliant Gods to pay Honour to him whose face turns every way. They bowed them low before the Lord of Speech, And sought with truthful words his heart to reach: "Glory to Thee! before the world was made, One single form thy Majesty displayed. Next Thou, to body forth the mystic Three, Didst fill three Persons: Glory, Lord, to Thee! Unborn and unbegotten! from thy hand The fruitful seed rained down; at thy command From that small germ o'er quickening waters thrown All things that move not, all that move have grown. Before thy triple form in awe they bow: Maker, preserver, and destroyer, Thou! Thou, when a longing urged thee to create, Thy single form in twain didst separate. The Sire, the Mother that made all things be By their first union were but parts of Thee. From them the life that fills this earthly frame, And fruitful Nature, self-renewing, came. Thou countest not thy time by mortals' light; With Thee there is but one vast day and night. When BRAHMÁ slumbers fainting Nature dies, When BRAHMÁ wakens all again arise. Creator of the world, and uncreate! Endless! all things from Thee their end await. Before the world wast Thou! each Lord shall fall Before Thee, mightiest, highest, Lord of all. Thy self-taught soul thine own deep spirit knows; Made by thyself thy mighty form arose; Into the same, when all things have their end, Shall thy great self, absorbed in Thee, descend. Lord, who may hope thy essence to declare? Firm, yet as subtile as the yielding air: Fixt, all-pervading; ponderous, yet light, Patent to all, yet hidden from the sight. Thine are the sacred hymns which mortals raise, Commencing ever with the word of praise, With three-toned chant the sacrifice to grace, And win at last in heaven a blissful place. They hail Thee Nature labouring to free The Immortal Soul from low humanity; Hail Thee the stranger Spirit, unimpressed, Gazing on Nature from thy lofty rest. Father of fathers, God of gods art thou, Creator, highest, hearer of the vow! Thou art the sacrifice, and Thou the priest, Thou, he that eateth; Thou, the holy feast. Thou art the knowledge which by Thee is taught, The mighty thinker, and the highest thought!"

Pleased with their truthful praise, his favouring eye He turned upon the dwellers in the sky, While from four mouths his words in gentle flow Come welling softly to assuage their woe: "Welcome! glad welcome, Princes! ye who hold Your lofty sovereignties ordained of old. But why so mournful? what has dimmed your light? Why shine your faces less divinely bright? Like stars that pour forth weaker, paler gleams, When the fair moon with brighter radiance beams. O say, in vain doth mighty INDRA bear The thunderbolt of heaven, unused to spare? VRITRA, the furious fiend, 'twas strong to slay: Why dull and blunted is that might to-day? See, VARUN'S noose hangs idly on his arm, Like some fell serpent quelled by magic charm. Weak is KUVERA'S hand, his arm no more Wields the dread mace it once so proudly bore; But like a tree whose boughs are lopped away, It tells of piercing woe, and dire dismay. In days of yore how YAMA'S sceptre shone! Fled are its glories, all its terrors gone; Despised and useless as a quenched brand, All idly now it marks the yielding sand. Fallen are the Lords of Light, ere now the gaze Shrank from the coming of their fearful blaze; So changed are they, the undazzled eye may see Like pictured forms, each rayless deity. Some baffling power has curbed the breezes' swell: Vainly they chafe against the secret spell. We know some barrier checks their wonted course, When refluent waters seek again their source. The RUDRAS too--fierce demigods who bear The curved moon hanging from their twisted hair-- Tell by their looks of fear, and shame, and woe, Of threats now silenced, of a mightier foe. Glory and power, ye Gods, were yours of right: Have ye now yielded to some stronger might, Even as on earth a general law may be Made powerless by a special text's decree? Then say, my sons, why seek ye BRAHMÁ'S throne? 'Tis mine to frame the worlds, and yours to guard your own."

Then INDRA turned his thousand glorious eyes, Glancing like lilies when the soft wind sighs, And in the Gods' behalf, their mighty chief Urged the Most Eloquent to tell their grief. Then rose the heavenly Teacher, by whose side Dim seemed the glories of the Thousand-eyed, And with his hands outspread, to BRAHMÁ spake, Couched on his own dear flower, the daughter of the lake: "O mighty Being! surely thou dost know The unceasing fury of our ruthless foe; For thou canst see the secret thoughts that lie Deep in the heart, yet open to thine eye. The vengeful TÁRAK, in resistless might, Like some dire Comet, gleaming wild affright, O'er all the worlds an evil influence sheds, And, in thy favour strong, destruction spreads. All bow before him: on his palace wall The sun's first ray and parting splendour fall; Ne'er could he waken with a lovelier glance His own dear lotus from her nightly trance. For him, proud fiend, the moon no waning knows, But with unminished full-orbed lustre glows. Too faint for him the crescent glory set Amid the blaze of ['S]IVA'S coronet. How fair his garden, where the obedient breeze Dares steal no blossom from the slumbering trees! The wild wind checks his blustering pinions there, And gently whispering fans the balmy air; While through the inverted year the seasons pour, To win the demon's grace, their flowery store. For him, the River-god beneath the stream, Marks the young pearl increase its silver gleam, Until, its beauty and its growth complete, He bears the offering to his master's feet. The Serpents, led by VÁSUKI, their king, Across his nightly path their lustre fling; Bright as a torch their flashing jewels blaze, Nor wind, nor rain, can dim their dazzling rays. E'en INDRA, sovereign of the blissful skies, To gain his love by flattering homage tries, And sends him oft those flowers of wondrous hue That on the heavenly tree in beauty grew. Yet all these offerings brought from day to day, This flattery, fail his ruthless hand to stay. Earth, hell, and heaven, beneath his rage must groan, Till force can hurl him from his evil throne. Alas! where glowed the bright celestial bowers, And gentle fair ones nursed the opening flowers, Where heavenly trees a heavenly odour shed, O'er a sad desert ruin reigns instead. He roots up MERU'S sacred peaks, where stray The fiery coursers of the God of Day, To form bright slopes, and glittering mounds of ease, In the broad gardens of his palaces. There, on his couch, the mighty lord is fanned To sweetest slumber by a heavenly band; Poor captive nymphs, who stand in anguish by, Drop the big tear, and heave the ceaseless sigh. And now have INDRA'S elephants defiled The sparkling stream where heavenly GANGÁ smiled, And her gold lotuses the fiend has taken To deck his pools, and left her all forsaken. The Gods of heaven no more delight to roam O'er all the world, far from their glorious home. They dread the demon's impious might, nor dare Speed their bright chariots through the fields of air. And when our worshippers in duty bring The appointed victims for the offering, He tears them from the flame with magic art, While we all powerless watch with drooping heart. He too has stolen from his master's side The steed of heavenly race, great INDRA'S pride. No more our hosts, so glorious once, withstand The fierce dominion of the demon's hand, As herbs of healing virtue fail to tame The sickness raging through the infected frame. Idly the discus hangs on VISH[N.]U'S neck, And our last hope is vain, that it would check The haughty TÁRAK'S might, and flash afar Ruin and death--the thunderbolt of war. E'en INDRA'S elephant has felt the might Of his fierce monsters in the deadly fight, Which spurn the dust in fury, and defy The threatening clouds that sail along the sky. Therefore, O Lord, we seek a chief, that he May lead the hosts of heaven to victory, Even as holy men who long to sever The immortal spirit from its shell for ever, Seek lovely Virtue's aid to free the soul From earthly ties and action's base control. Thus shall he save us: proudly will we go Under his escort 'gainst the furious foe; And INDRA, conqueror in turn, shall bring FORTUNE, dear captive, home with joy and triumphing."

Sweet as the rains--the fresh'ning rains--that pour On the parched earth when thunders cease to roar, Were BRAHMÁ'S words: "Gods, I have heard your grief; Wait ye in patience: time will bring relief. 'Tis not for me, my children, to create A chief to save you from your mournful fate. Not by my hand the fiend must be destroyed, For my kind favour has he once enjoyed; And well ye know that e'en a poisonous tree By him who planted it unharmed should be. He sought it eagerly, and long ago I gave my favour to your demon-foe, And stayed his awful penance, that had hurled Flames, death, and ruin o'er the subject world. When that great warrior battles for his life, O, who may conquer in the deadly strife, Save one of ['S]IVA'S seed? He is the light, Reigning supreme beyond the depths of night. Nor I, nor VISH[N.]U, his full power may share, Lo, where he dwells in solitude and prayer! Go, seek the Hermit in the grove alone, And to the God be UMÁ'S beauty shown. Perchance, the Mountain-child, with magnet's force, May turn the iron from its steadfast course, Bride of the mighty God; for only she Can bear to Him as water bears to me. Then from their love a mighty Child shall rise, And lead to war the armies of the skies. Freed by his hand, no more the heavenly maids Shall twine their glittering hair in mournful braids."

He spake, and vanished from their wondering sight; And they sped homeward to their world of light. But INDRA, still on BRAHMÁ'S words intent, To KÁMA'S dwelling-place his footsteps bent. Swiftly he came: the yearning of his will Made INDRA'S lightning course more speedy still. The LOVE-GOD, armed with flowers divinely sweet, In lowly homage bowed before his feet. Around his neck, where bright love-tokens clung, Arched like a maiden's brow, his bow was hung, And blooming SPRING, his constant follower, bore The mango twig, his weapon famed of yore.

_CANTO THIRD._

Canto Third.

_THE DEATH OF LOVE._

In eager gaze the sovereign of the skies Looked full on _Káma_ with his thousand eyes: E'en such a gaze as trembling suppliants bend, When danger threatens, on a mighty friend.

Close by his side, where INDRA bade him rest, The LOVE-GOD sate, and thus his lord addressed: "All-knowing INDRA, deign, my Prince, to tell Thy heart's desire in earth, or heaven, or hell: Double the favour, mighty sovereign, thou Hast thought on KÁMA, O, command him now: Who angers thee by toiling for the prize, By penance, prayer, or holy sacrifice? What mortal being dost thou count thy foe? Speak, I will tame him with my darts and bow. Has some one feared the endless change of birth, And sought the path that leads the soul from earth? Slave to a glancing eye thy foe shall bow, And own the witchery of a woman's brow; E'en though the object of thine envious rage Were taught high wisdom by the immortal sage, With billowy passions will I whelm his soul, Like rushing waves that spurn the bank's control. Or has the ripe full beauty of a spouse, Too fondly faithful to her bridal vows, Ravished thy spirit from thee? Thine, all thine Around thy neck her loving arms shall twine. Has thy love, jealous of another's charms, Spurned thee in wrath when flying to her arms? I'll rack her yielding bosom with such pain, Soon shall she be all love and warmth again, And wildly fly in fevered haste to rest Her aching heart close, close to thy dear breast. Lay, INDRA, lay thy threatening bolt aside: My gentle darts shall tame the haughtiest pride, And all that war with heaven and thee shall know The magic influence of thy KÁMA'S bow; For woman's curling lip shall bow them down, Fainting in terror at her threatening frown. Flowers are my arms, mine only warrior SPRING, Yet in thy favour am I strong, great King. What can their strength who draw the bow avail Against my matchless power when I assail? Strong is the Trident-bearing God, yet he, The mighty ['S]IVA, e'en, must yield to me."

Then INDRA answered with a dawning smile, Resting his foot upon a stool the while: "Dear God of Love, thou truly hast displayed The power unrivalled of thy promised aid. My hope is all in thee: my weapons are The thunderbolt and thou, more mighty far. But vain, all vain the bolt of heaven to fright Those holy Saints whom penance arms aright. Thy power exceeds all bound: thou, only thou, All-conquering Deity, canst help me now! Full well I know thy nature, and assign This toil to thee, which needs a strength like thine: As on that snake alone will KRISH[N.]A rest, That bears the earth upon his haughty crest. Our task is well-nigh done: thy boasted dart Has power to conquer even ['S]IVA'S heart. Hear what the Gods, oppressed with woe, would fain From mighty ['S]IVA through thine aid obtain. He may beget--and none in heaven but he-- A chief to lead our hosts to victory. But all his mind with holiest lore is fraught, Bent on the Godhead is his every thought. Thy darts, O LOVE, alone can reach him now, And lure his spirit from the hermit vow. Go, seek HIMÁLAYA'S Mountain-child, and aid With all thy loveliest charms the lovely maid, So may she please his fancy: only she May wed with ['S]IVA: such the fixt decree. E'en now my bands of heavenly maids have spied Fair UMÁ dwelling by the Hermit's side. There by her father's bidding rests she still, Sweet minister, upon the cold bleak hill. Go, KÁMA, go! perform this great emprise, And free from fear the Rulers of the Skies; We need thy favour, as the new-sown grain Calls for the influence of the gentle rain. Go, KÁMA, go! thy flowery darts shall be Crowned with success o'er this great deity. Yea, and thy task is e'en already done, For praise and glory are that instant won When a bold heart dares manfully essay The deed which others shrink from in dismay. Gods are thy suppliants, KÁMA, and on thee Depends the triple world's security. No cruel deed will stain thy flowery bow: With all thy gentlest, mightiest valour, go! And now, Disturber of the spirit, see SPRING, thy beloved, will thy comrade be, And gladly aid thee ['S]IVA'S heart to tame: None bids the whispering Wind, and yet he fans the flame."

He spake, and KÁMA bowed his bright head down, And took his bidding like a flowery crown. Above his wavy curls great INDRA bent, And fondly touched his soldier ere he went, With that hard hand--but, O, how gentle now-- That fell so heavy on his elephant's brow. Then for that snow-crowned hill he turned away, Where all alone the heavenly Hermit lay. His fearful RATI and his comrade SPRING Followed the guidance of Love's mighty king. There will he battle in unwonted strife, Return a conqueror or be reft of life.

How fair was SPRING! To fill the heart with love, And lure the Hermit from his thoughts above, In that pure grove he grew so heavenly bright That KÁMA'S envy wakened at the sight. Now the bright Day-God turned his burning ray To where KUVERA holds his royal sway, While the sad South in whispering breezes sighed And mourned his absence like a tearful bride. Then from its stem the red A['s]oka threw Full buds and flowerets of celestial hue, Nor waited for the maiden's touch, the sweet beloved pressure of her tinkling feet. There grew LOVE'S arrow, his dear mango spray, Winged with young leaves to speed its airy way, And at the call of SPRING the wild bees came, Grouping the syllables of KÁMA'S name. How sighed the spirit o'er that loveliest flower That boasts no fragrance to enrich its dower! For Nature, wisest mother, oft prefers To part more fairly those good gifts of hers. There from the tree Palása blossoms spread, Curved like the crescent moon, their rosiest red, With opening buds that looked as if young SPRING Had pressed his nails there in his dallying: Sweet wanton SPRING, to whose enchanting face His flowery Tilaka gave fairer grace: Who loves to tint his lip, the mango spray, With the fresh colours of the early day, And powder its fine red with many a bee That sips the oozing nectar rapturously. The cool gale speeding o'er the shady lawns Shook down the sounding leaves, while startled fawns Ran wildly at the viewless foe, all blind With pollen wafted by the fragrant wind. Sweet was the Köil's voice, his neck still red With mango buds on which he late had fed: Twas as the voice of LOVE to bid the dame Spurn her cold pride, nor quench the gentle flame. What though the heat has stained the tints that dyed With marvellous bloom the heavenly minstrel's bride? Neither her smile nor sunny glances fail: Bright is her lip, although her check be pale E'en the pure hermits owned the secret power Of warm SPRING coming in unwonted hour, While LOVE'S delightful witchery gently stole With strong sweet influence o'er the saintly soul.

On came the Archer-God, and at his side The timid RATI, his own darling bride, While breathing nature showed how deep it felt, At passion's glowing touch, the senses melt. For there in eager love the wild bee dipp'd In the dark flower-cup where his partner sipp'd. Here in the shade the hart his horn declined, And, while joy closed her eyes, caressed the hind. There from her trunk the elephant had poured A lily-scented stream to cool her lord, While the fond love-bird by the silver flood Gave to his mate the tasted lotus bud. Full in his song the minstrel stayed to sip The heavenlier nectar of his darling's lip. Pure pearls of heat had late distained the dye, But flowery wine was sparkling in her eye. How the young creeper's beauty charmed the view, Fair as the fairest maid, as playful too! Here some bright blossoms, lovelier than the rest, In full round beauty matched her swelling breast. Here in a thin bright line, some delicate spray, Red as her lip, ravished the soul away. And then how loving, and how close they clung To the tall trees that fondly o'er them hung! Bright, heavenly wantons poured the witching strain, Quiring for ['S]IVA'S ear, but all in vain. No charmer's spell may check the firm control Won by the holy o'er the impassioned soul.

The Hermit's servant hasted to the door: In his left hand a branch of gold he bore. He touched his lip for silence: "Peace! be still! Nor mar the quiet of this holy hill." He spake: no dweller of the forest stirred, No wild bee murmured, hushed was every bird. Still and unmoved, as in a picture stood All life that breathed within the waving wood. As some great monarch when he goes to war Shuns the fierce aspect of a baleful star, So KÁMA hid him from the Hermit's eye, And sought a path that led unnoticed by, Where tangled flowers and clustering trailers spread Their grateful canopy o'er ['S]IVA'S head. Bent on his hardy enterprise, with awe The Three-eyed Lord--great Penitent--he saw. There sate the God beneath a pine-tree's shade, Where on a mound a tiger's skin was laid. Absorbed in holiest thought, erect and still, The Hermit rested on the gentle hill. His shoulders drooping down, each foot was bent Beneath the body of the Penitent. With open palms the hands were firmly pressed, As though a lotus lay upon his breast. A double rosary in each ear, behind With wreathing serpents were his locks entwined. His coat of hide shone blacker to the view Against his neck of brightly beaming blue. How wild the look, how terrible the frown Of his dark eyebrows bending sternly down! How fiercely glared his eyes' unmoving blaze Fixed in devotion's meditating gaze: Calm as a full cloud resting on a hill, A waveless lake when every breeze is still, Like a torch burning in a sheltered spot, So still was he, unmoving, breathing not. So full the stream of marvellous glory poured from the bright forehead of that mighty Lord, Pale seemed the crescent moon upon his head, And slenderer than a slender lotus thread. At all the body's nine-fold gates of sense He had barred in the pure Intelligence, To ponder on the Soul which sages call Eternal Spirit, highest, over all.

How sad was KÁMA at the awful sight, How failed his courage in a swoon of fright! As near and nearer to the God he came Whom wildest thought could never hope to tame, Unconsciously his hands, in fear and woe, Dropped the sweet arrows and his flowery bow. But UMÁ came with all her maiden throng, And KÁMA'S fainting heart again was strong; Bright flowers of spring, in every lovely hue, Around the lady's form rare beauty threw. Some clasped her neck like strings of purest pearls, Some shot their glory through her wavy curls. Bending her graceful head as half-oppressed With swelling charms even too richly blest, Fancy might deem that beautiful young maiden Some slender tree with its sweet flowers o'erladen. From time to time her gentle hand replaced The flowery girdle slipping from her waist: It seemed that LOVE could find no place more fair, So hung his newest, dearest bowstring there. A greedy bee kept hovering round to sip The fragrant nectar of her blooming lip. She closed her eyes in terror of the thief, And beat him from her with a lotus leaf. The angry curl of RATI'S lip confessed The shade of envy that stole o'er her breast. Through KÁMA'S soul fresh hope and courage flew, As that sweet vision blessed his eager view. So bright, so fair, so winning soft was she, Who could not conquer in such company?

Now UMÁ came, fair maid, his destined bride, With timid steps approaching ['S]IVA'S side. In contemplation will he brood no more, He sees the Godhead, and his task is o'er. He breathes, he moves, the earth begins to rock, The Snake, her bearer, trembling at the shock. Due homage then his own dear servant paid, And told him of the coming of the maid. He learnt his Master's pleasure by the nod, And led HIMÁLAYA'S daughter to the God. Before his feet her young companions spread Fresh leaves and blossoms as they bowed the head, While UMÁ stooped so low, that from her hair Dropped the bright flower that starred the midnight there. To him whose ensign bears the bull she bent, Till each spray fell, her ear's rich ornament. "Sweet maid," cried ['S]IVA, "surely thou shalt be Blessed with a husband who loves none but thee!" Her fear was banished, and her hope was high: A God had spoken, and Gods cannot lie.