Classic Poem

I

A RJUN by his arduous penance
Won a hermit's holy fame,
Till unto his forest-dwelling
Indra in his mercy came;
Came disguised, — as come the bright gods, —
Like an ancient anchorite,
Wearied by a tiresome journey,
Weak in limbs and weak in sight.
And his red locks closely plaited
With his white hair mingling fell,
As the evening's crimson radiance
Mingles with the moonbeams pale;
And his eyes bedimmed in lustre,
And by fleecy eye-brows shaded,
Were like winter's withered lotus
By a snow fall pale and faded.
Yet he seemed, albeit so slender,
Still instinct with strength of life,
Like an old man hale and hearty,
Nourished by a careful wife!
Thus concealed came mighty Indra
Radiant still with heavenly light,
As the sun is hid but faintly
By a cloud-bank, fleecy white;
With a grace divine he glittered
Though so ancient and so hoary,
Spreading o'er the hills and woodlands
Lustre of his shaded glory!
Him the pious Arjun welcomed,
Greeted with a kind embrace, —
Sight of friends instils a pleasure
Though unknown to us their face;
Indra too received with gladness
Homage which to guests is paid,
On a seat of wild grass rested,
And in gentle accents said.

II

" Well hast thou in early age
Choice of hermit's duties made,
Aged mortals like myself
Oft by worldly thoughts are led;
And thy deep devotions, youth,
Unto higher life will lead,
Grace of form we often meet
Grace of heart is rare indeed!
Transient as the autumn cloud
Pride and pomp of human kind,
Pleasures please us for a day,
Bitter sorrows leave behind;
Mortals' days are full of ills,
Unseen comes the hand of Death,
Holy work alone endures,
Faith survives the fleeting breath;
Wisely therefore hast thou chosen
Rites to bright Immortals dear,
But, despite thy pious penance,
Thy attire inspires my fear!

III

" Skins and barks of forest trees
Suit the holy anchorite,
Wherefore then in warlike guise
Wearest thou this armour bright?
If devoid of vain desires
In the righteous path wouldst go,
Wherefore then, misguided youth,
Quivers and this mighty bow?
If thy holy penance bids
Angry thoughts and passions cease,
Doth this sword, like arm of Death,
Lead thy restless heart to peace?
Much I fear, against some foe
Seekest thou a vengeance dire,
Warriors deal in deadly arms,
Hermits nurse the Holy Fire.
He who sighs for warlike fame
Soils the hermits' holy rite,
As the fool with hands impure
Soils the spring, pellucid, bright.
Therefore chase this lust of glory,
For it drives to sinful deeds,
Casts a stain on stainless virtue,
And from holy peace misleads.

IV

" Listen more! Who strives for fame
Wins on earth a brief success,
But as rivers end in seas,
Ends in trouble and distress.
Wealth is won by evil ways,
Leads to thoughts and things unclean,
Riches bring us cark and care,
End in suffering and in sin.
Impure pleasures, earthly joys,
Stifle strong and steadfast faith,
And like snakes with poisoned fangs
Sting the heedless unto death!
Fickle Fortune, ever quick,
Loves not with a constant will, —
Fools her fleeting favours seek,
Chasing shapeless shadows still!
Fortune, — if she spurned the weak,
On her fame it were no stain, —
But the constant and the strong,
Likewise earn the maid's disdain!
Love is still an emptier shade
Vanishing in life-long woe, —
Sad bereavement, young heart's death,
Bitter pang on earth below.
When we meet the loved and true,
Lonely places peopled seem,
Penury hath charms to please,
Grief itself is happy dream.
When we lose the loved and true,
Bright hopes vanish and delude,
Life is like a poisoned dart,
Company is solitude!

V

" Thus each fleeting thing of earth
Ends in sorrow and in grief,
Righteousness alone endures,
Faith alone brings true relief;
For our life is brief and vain,
Pleasures please us for a day,
Holy work survives our breath,
Turn not from the righteous way!
Stain not, youth, these sacred rites
With the lust of fame and war,
Seek the path of lasting bliss,
Leaving earthly things afar;
Conquer lust of earthly things
Born with mortals at their birth,
Conquest of thy inner self
Is the conquest of the earth!
Weak are they and narrow-souled,
Worldly power who seek to wield,
Slaves of passion, slaves of lust,
Even like cattle of the field!
Joys that pleased thee yesterday
Ghost-like haunt the vacant mind,
Pleasures fly like fleeting light,
Leave a deeper gloom behind!
Ever wished but unobtained,
Cherished but to cause us pain,
Never present never gone,
Happiness on earth is vain!
On this lofty mountain range,
Where the Ganga wanders far,
Strive for thy salvation, youth,
Leave this impure lust of war! "

VI

Indra thus in guise of hermit
Spake his thoughts and paused awhile,
And in humble words but forceful
Arjun answered with a smile.
" Full of weight and wisdom, father,
Is thy counsel to my ear,
Full of sense and deepest import
Is thy utterance calm and clear;
Like an independent Sastra
In its reasons strong in sooth,
Like the Vedas sung by Rishis
Mighty in its holy truth;
In its ample force inviolate
Like the vast inviolate sea,
Gentle in its soft persuasion
Like a soul from passions free!
He who utters words so noble
Is a saint of spotless birth,
He who harbours thoughts so peaceful
Glasses heaven upon this earth!
But, unknown to thee, my father,
Is the purpose of my rites,
Hence in accents soft and gentle
Speakest thou of anchorites;
Even the god of speech will falter
Speaking of a thing unknown,
Even the highest effort fails us
By our blindness overthrown!

VII

" Father, thy advice is holy,
But, alas, it suits not me,
As the radiant stars of midnight
Do not suit the light of day!
I am of the race of Kshatra,
Pandu's son, of Pritha born,
And I serve my honoured elder
Of his realm and glory shorn;
And I do this holy penance
As by saintly Vyasa told,
For to please the Thunder-Wielder
By these rites prescribed of old.
Fate's decree is stern and woeful,
Mortals' bliss is often crossed,
Now his realm and wife my elder
Staked on game of dice, — and lost;
And in evenings long and dreary,
Grieving at their doleful fate,
His fair queen and faithful brothers
Term of my devotions wait.
From our backs they tore the garments,
Shamed us in the palace hall,
Pierced our souls, th' exulting foemen,
With their insults on our fall;
And in presence of the chieftains
Dragged our chaste and spotless queen,
Death has sealed a vow of vengeance
For that insult fierce and keen!
False Duhsasan base of purpose
Held the dame so pure of mind,
As the gnarled tree of forest
Holds its lengthening shade behind;
Vain she looked upon her husband
In her sorrow deep and high,
Pride and anguish tore her bosom,
Checked the tear-drop in her eye!
True to plighted word, he suffered
Insults keen and words unkind, —
What is conquest of an empire
To such conquest of the mind?
Noble souls retain their calmness
Though by grief and passions riven,
As the ocean keeps its confines
Though by raging tempest driven!
Friendship with our faithless kinsmen
To this shame and insult led, —
Death awaits the man who slumbers
'Neath a falling bank for shade;
Men who fear no sinful action,
Right from wrong who do not see, —
Who can guess their artful purpose,
Who can fathom Fate's Decree?

VIII

" Shamed, insulted by our foemen,
Sure this heart had ceased to beat,
But I hoped this arm of vengeance
Would inflict requital meet;
Shamed, insulted by our foemen,
Low as cattle on the plain,
Scarce we see each other's faces,
Dare not meet the eyes of men!
Humbled by the loss of glory
In the woods our days we pass,
Mortals when bereft of honour
Are like low and trodden grass;
But survey those snowy summits
By no living creature crossed,
Loftiness is highest virtue,
Honour is our highest boast!
Fickle Fortune frowns or favours,
Changeless lives a hero's fame,
And the name of man befits him
When true glory decks his name;
Highest he in rolls of honour
Who hath toiled and earned his meed,
And the finger of the reckoner
Points to none of worthier deed!
Even this range of lofty mountains
May be crossed by living wight,
But the man of truth and valour
Is inviolate in his might;
And his race and land he brightens,
Fills the wide earth with his light,
And his glory's bright effulgence
Pales the radiant Queen of Night;
And his wrath like flash of lightning
Smites the false and crouching slave,
And his fame through untold ages
Lives among the true and brave!

IX

" Hence I seek not wealth or pleasure,
Fleeting as the torrent's flow,
Nor, afraid of death and danger,
Crave the grace the gods bestow;
But I seek to wash the insult, —
Stain for which this heart hath bled, —
With the tear-drops for our foemen
By their sorrowing widows shed!
If this hope on which I've rested,
Be unreal, idle, vain,
Be it so; — thy words are wasted,
Pardon if I cause thee pain;
Till I conquer all my foemen,
Win again our long lost fame,
Vain to me are joys celestial, —
Hindrance to my lofty aim!
For the warrior lives not, breathes not,
Or is dead like trodden grass,
Who will let his good sword slumber
While his fame and glory pass;
Whose warm blood flows not in anger
When his foemen steal his fame,
Dost thou, man of peace and virtue,
Give him warrior's noble name?
Vainly he assumes the title
While his right arm wins no meed,
Sacred is the honoured title
Sanctified by manlike deed;
For, whose name in wonder spoken
Pales the names of other men,
And whose deeds are sung by nations,
He is MAN among all men!

X

" Listen more! Our honoured elder,
Vowing retribution fell,
Waits my help as thirsty trav'ller
Waits beside the cooling well;
Heedless of my elder's wishes,
Heedless of his life and peace,
Can I shirk this task of honour
False unto my creed and race?
Wherefore preachest to me, father,
Life retired before my time,
Sages live the life in forest
Not in youth but after prime;
Love of mother, love of brothers,
Duty to my elder's wife,
Warrior's task explained by Vyasa, —
All forbid a forest-life!
Honour's maxims, gentle hermit,
Brace the soldier for the fight,
Not retirement is his duty,
But to battle for the right;
Let me therefore on these mountains
Until death pursue my aim,
Or by gracious Indra's succour
Live to win our long lost fame! "

XI

Arjun spake with fervour
Thoughts that filled his mind,
Indra heard with gladness
And with feelings kind;
And the Thunder-Wielder
Wore his form divine,
Bade the prince to penance
Still his heart incline.
" Unto mighty Siva
Do thy homage pay,
He alone can help thee
In the dubious fray;
Peerless in thy prowess,
Matchless in thy might,
Win the arms of Siva,
Conquer in the fight! "