THE DYNASTY OF RAGHU
Project Gutenberg EPUB edition
Kālidāsa and Ryder, Arthur W. (Arthur William)
Raghu therefore determines to make a warlike progress through all India. He marches eastward with his army from his capital Ayodhya (the name is preserved in the modern Oudh) to the Bay of Bengal, then south along the eastern shore of India to Cape Comorin, then north along the western shore until he comes to the region drained by the Indus, finally east through the tremendous Himalaya range into Assam, and thence home. The various nations whom he encounters, Hindus, Persians, Greeks, and White Huns, all submit either with or without fighting. On his safe return, Raghu offers a great sacrifice and gives away all his wealth. 2
Fifth canto. Aja goes wooing.—While King Raghu is penniless, a young sage comes to him, desiring a huge sum of money to give to the teacher with whom he has just finished his education. The king, unwilling that any suppliant should go away unsatisfied, prepares to assail the god of wealth in his Himalayan stronghold, and the god, rather than risk the combat, sends a rain of gold into the king's treasury. This gold King Raghu bestows upon the sage, who gratefully uses his spiritual power to cause a son to be born to his benefactor. In course of time, the son is born and the name Aja is given to him. We are here introduced to Prince Aja, who is a kind of secondary hero in the poem, inferior only to his mighty grandson, Rama. To Aja are devoted the remainder of this fifth canto and the following three cantos; and these Aja-cantos are among the loveliest in the epic. When the prince has grown into young manhood, he journeys to a neighbouring court to participate in the marriage reception of Princess Indumati. 3 One evening he camps by a river, from which a wild elephant issues and attacks his party. When wounded by Aja, the elephant strangely changes his form, becoming a demigod, gives the prince a magic weapon, and departs to heaven. Aja proceeds without further adventure to the country and the palace of Princess Indumati, where he is made welcome and luxuriously lodged for the night. In the morning, he is awakened by the song of the court poets outside his chamber. He rises and betakes himself to the hall where the suitors are gathering.
Sixth canto. The princess chooses.—The princely suitors assemble in the hall; then, to the sound of music, the princess enters in a litter, robed as a bride, and creates a profound sensation.
For when they saw God's masterpiece, the maid Who smote their eyes to other objects blind, Their glances, wishes, hearts, in homage paid, Flew forth to her; mere flesh remained behind.
The princes could not but betray their yearning By sending messengers, their love to bring, In many a quick, involuntary turning, As flowering twigs of trees announce the spring.
Then a maid-servant conducts the princess from one suitor to another, and explains the claim which each has upon her affection. First is presented the King of Magadha, recommended in four stanzas, one of which runs:
Though other kings by thousands numbered be, He seems the one, sole governor of earth; Stars, constellations, planets, fade and flee When to the moon the night has given birth.
But the princess is not attracted.
The slender maiden glanced at him; she glanced And uttered not a word, nor heeded how The grass-twined blossoms of her garland danced When she dismissed him with a formal bow.
They pass to the next candidate, the king of the Anga country, in whose behalf this, and more, is said:
Learning and wealth by nature are at strife, Yet dwell at peace in him; and for the two You would be fit companion as his wife, Like wealth enticing, and like learning true.
Him too the princess rejects, "not that he was unworthy of love, or she lacking in discernment, but tastes differ." She is then conducted to the King of Avanti:
And if this youthful prince your fancy pleases, Bewitching maiden, you and he may play In those unmeasured gardens that the breezes From Sipra's billows ruffle, cool with spray.
The inducement is insufficient, and a new candidate is presented, the King of Anupa,
A prince whose fathers' glories cannot fade, By whom the love of learned men is wooed, Who proves that Fortune is no fickle jade When he she chooses is not fickly good.
But alas!
She saw that he was brave to look upon, Yet could not feel his love would make her gay; Full moons of autumn nights, when clouds are gone, Tempt not the lotus-flowers that bloom by day.
The King of Shurasena has no better fortune, in spite of his virtues and his wealth. As a river hurrying to the sea passes by a mountain that would detain her, so the princess passes him by. She is next introduced to the king of the Kalinga country;
His palace overlooks the ocean dark With windows gazing on the unresting deep, Whose gentle thunders drown the drums that mark The hours of night, and wake him from his sleep.
But the maiden can no more feel at home with him than the goddess of fortune can with a good but unlucky man. She therefore turns her attention to the king of the Pandya country in far southern India. But she is unmoved by hearing of the magic charm of the south, and rejects him too.
And every prince rejected while she sought A husband, darkly frowned, as turrets, bright One moment with the flame from torches caught, Frown gloomily again and sink in night.
The princess then approaches Aja, who trembles lest she pass him by, as she has passed by the other suitors. The maid who accompanies Indumati sees that Aja awakens a deeper feeling, and she therefore gives a longer account of his kingly line, ending with the recommendation:
High lineage is his, fresh beauty, youth, And virtue shaped in kingly breeding's mould; Choose him, for he is worth your love; in truth, A gem is ever fitly set in gold.
The princess looks lovingly at the handsome youth, but cannot speak for modesty. She is made to understand her own feelings when the maid invites her to pass on to the next candidate. Then the wreath is placed round Aja's neck, the people of the city shout their approval, and the disappointed suitors feel like night-blooming lotuses at daybreak.
Seventh canto. Aja's marriage.—While the suitors retire to the camps where they have left their retainers, Aja conducts Indumati into the decorated and festive city. The windows are filled with the faces of eager and excited women, who admire the beauty of the young prince and the wisdom of the princess's choice. When the marriage ceremony has been happily celebrated, the disappointed suitors say farewell with pleasant faces and jealous hearts, like peaceful pools concealing crocodiles. They lie in ambush on the road which he must take, and when he passes with his young bride, they fall upon him. Aja provides for the safety of Indumati, marshals his attendants, and greatly distinguishes himself in the battle which follows. Finally he uses the magic weapon, given him by the demigod, to benumb his adversaries, and leaving them in this helpless condition, returns home. He and his young bride are joyfully welcomed by King Raghu, who resigns the kingdom in favour of Aja.
Eighth canto. Aja's lament.—As soon as King Aja is firmly established on his throne, Raghu retires to a hermitage to prepare for the death of his mortal part. After some years of religious meditation he is released, attaining union with the eternal spirit which is beyond all darkness. His obsequies are performed by his dutiful son. Indumati gives birth to a splendid boy, who is named Dasharatha. One day, as the queen is playing with her husband in the garden, a wreath of magic flowers falls upon her from heaven, and she dies. The stricken king clasps the body of his dead beloved, and laments over her.
If flowers that hardly touch the body, slay it, The simplest instruments of fate may bring Destruction, and we have no power to stay it; Then must we live in fear of everything?
No! Death was right. He spared the sterner anguish; Through gentle flowers your gentle life was lost As I have seen the lotus fade and languish When smitten by the slow and silent frost.
Yet God is hard. With unforgiving rigour He forged a bolt to crush this heart of mine; He left the sturdy tree its living vigour, But stripped away and slew the clinging vine.
Through all the years, dear, you would not reprove me, Though I offended. Can you go away Sudden, without a word? I know you love me, And I have not offended you to-day.
You surely thought me faithless, to be banished As light-of-love and gambler, from your life, Because without a farewell word, you vanished And never will return, sweet-smiling wife.
The warmth and blush that followed after kisses Is still upon her face, to madden me; For life is gone, 'tis only life she misses. A curse upon such life's uncertainty!
I never wronged you with a thought unspoken, Still less with actions. Whither are you flown? Though king in name, I am a man heartbroken, For power and love took root in you alone.
Your bee-black hair from which the flowers are peeping, Dear, wavy hair that I have loved so well, Stirs in the wind until I think you sleeping, Soon to return and make my glad heart swell.
Awake, my love! Let only life be given, And choking griefs that stifle now, will flee As darkness from the mountain-cave is driven By magic herbs that glitter brilliantly.
The silent face, round which the curls are keeping Their scattered watch, is sad to look upon As in the night some lonely lily, sleeping When musically humming bees are gone.
The girdle that from girlhood has befriended You, in love-secrets wise, discreet, and true, No longer tinkles, now your dance is ended, Faithful in life, in dying faithful too.
Your low, sweet voice to nightingales was given; Your idly graceful movement to the swans; Your grace to fluttering vines, dear wife in heaven; Your trustful, wide-eyed glances to the fawns:
You left your charms on earth, that I, reminded By them, might be consoled though you depart; But vainly! Far from you, by sorrow blinded, I find no prop of comfort for my heart.
Remember how you planned to make a wedding, Giving the vine-bride to her mango-tree; Before that happy day, dear, you are treading The path with no return. It should not be.