Reading section 19

'Will that stead you?' asked Kapila; 'nay--

'Seek not the wild, sad heart! thy passions haunt it; Play hermit in thine house with heart undaunted; A governed heart, thinking no thought but good, Makes crowded houses holy solitude.'

To be master of one's self--to eat only to prolong life--to yield to love no more than may suffice to perpetuate a family--and never to speak but in the cause of truth, this,' said Kapila, 'is armor against grief. What wouldst thou with a hermit's life--prayer and purification from sorrow and sin in holy streams? Hear this!--

'Away with those that preach to us the washing off of sin-- Thine own self is the stream for thee to make ablutions in: In self-restraint it rises pure--flows clear in tide of truth, By widening banks of wisdom, in waves of peace and ruth. Bathe there, thou son of Pandu! with reverence and rite, For never yet was water wet could wash the spirit white.'

Resign thyself to loss. Pain exists absolutely. Ease, what is it but a minute's alleviation?'

'It is nothing else,' said Kaundinya: 'I will resign myself!' Thereupon,' the Serpent continued, 'he cursed me with the curse that I should be a carrier of frogs, and so retired--and here remain I to do according to the Brahman's malediction.'

'The Frog, hearing all this, went and reported it to Web-foot the Frog-King, who shortly came himself for an excursion on the Serpent. He was carried delightfully, and constantly employed the conveyance. But one day observing the Serpent to be sluggish, he asked the reason.

'May it please you,' explained the Serpent, 'your slave has nothing to eat.'

'Eat a few of my frogs,' said the King. 'I give you leave.'

'I thank your Majesty!' answered the Serpent, and forthwith he began to eat the frogs, until the pond becoming clear, he finished with their monarch himself. 'I also,' said Night-cloud, 'stooped to conquer, but King Silver-sides is a good King, and I would your Majesty were at peace with him.'

'Peace!' cried King Jewel-plume, 'shall I make peace with my vassal! I have vanquished him--let him serve me!'

"At this moment the Parrot came in. 'Sire!' said he, breathlessly,' the Stork Strong-bill, Rajah of Ceylon, has raised the standard of revolt in Jambudwipa, and claims the country.'

'What! what!' cried the King in a fury.

'Excellent good, Goose!' muttered the Minister. 'This is thy work!'

'Bid him but await me!' exclaimed the King, 'and I will tear him up like a tree!'

'Ah, Sire,' said the Minister--

'Thunder for nothing, like December's cloud, Passes unmarked: strike hard, but speak not loud.'

We cannot march without making peace first; our rear will be attacked.'

'Must it be so?' asked the King.

'My Liege, it must,' replied the Vulture.

'Make a peace then,' said the King, 'and make an end.'

'It is well,' observed the Minister, and set out for the Court of the King Silver-sides. While he was yet coming, the Crane announced his approach.

'Ah!' said the Swan-King, 'this will be another designing spy from the enemy.'

'Misdoubt him not!' answered the Goose, smiling, 'it is the Vulture Far-sight, a spirit beyond suspicion. Would your Majesty be as the Swan that took the stars reflected in the pool for lily-buds, and being deceived, would eat no lily-shoots by day, thinking them stars?'

'Not so! but treachery breeds mistrust,' replied the Rajah; is it not written--

'Minds deceived by evil natures, from the good their faith withhold; When hot conjee once has burned them, children blow upon the cold.'

'It is so written, my Liege,' said the Minister. 'But this one may be trusted. Let him be received with compliments and a gift.'

'Accordingly the Vulture was conducted, with the most profound respect, from the fort to the King's audience-hall, where a throne was placed for him.

'Minister,' said the Goose, 'consider us and ours at thy disposal.'

'So consider us,' assented the Swan-King.

'I thank you,' said Far-sight; 'but--

'With a gift the miser meet; Proud men by obeisance greet; Women's silly fancies soothe; Give wise men their due--the truth.'

'I am come to conclude a peace, not to claim your kingdom. By what mode shall we conclude it?'

'How many modes be there?' asked King Silver-sides.

'Sixteen,' replied the Vulture.

'Are the alliances numbered therein?' asked the King.

'No! these be four,' answered the Vulture, 'namely--of mutual help--of friendship--of blood--and of sacrifice.'

'You are a great diplomatist!' said the King. 'Advise us which to choose!'

'There is no Peace like the Golden "Sangata," which is made between good men, based on friendly feeling, and preceded by the Oath of Truth,' replied the Vulture.

'Let us make that Peace!' said the Goose. Far-sight accordingly, with fresh presents of robes and jewels, accompanied the Goose to the camp of the Peacock-King. The Rajah, Jewel-plume, gave the Goose a gracious audience, accepted his terms of Peace, and sent him back to the Swan-King, loaded with gifts and kind speeches. The revolt in Jambudwipa was suppressed, and the Peacock-King retired to his own kingdom.

"And now," said Vishnu-Sarman, "I have told your Royal Highnesses all. Is there anything remaining to be told?"

"Reverend Sir!" replied the Princes, "there is nothing. Thanks to you, we have heard and comprehended the perfect cycle of kingly duty, and are content."

"There remains but this, then," said their Preceptor:--

'Peace and Plenty, all fair things, Grace the realm where ye reign Kings; Grief and loss come not anigh you, Glory guide and magnify you; Wisdom keep your statesmen still Clinging fast, in good or ill, Clinging, like a bride new-wed, Unto lips, and breast, and head: And day by day, that these fair things befall, The Lady Lukshmi give her grace to all.'

[21] A young Brahman, being invested with the sacred thread, and having concluded his studies, becomes of the second order: a householder.

NALA AND DAMAYANTI

[_Selected from the "Mahâbhârata" Translation by Sir Edwin Arnold_]

INTRODUCTION

The "Mahâbhârata" is the oldest epic in Sanscrit literature, and is sevenfold greater in bulk than the "Iliad" and "Odyssey" taken together. This remarkable poem contains almost all the history of ancient India, so far as it can be recovered, together with inexhaustible details of its political, social, and religious life--in fact, the antique Hindoo world stands epitomized in it. The Old Testament is not more interwoven with the Jewish race, nor the New Testament with the civilization of Christendom, nor even the Koran with the records and destinies of Islam, than is this great Sanscrit poem with the unchanging and teeming population of Hindostan. The stories, songs, and ballads, the genealogies, the nursery tales and religious discourses, the art, the learning, the philosophy, the creeds, the modes of thought, the very phrases and daily ideas of the Hindoo people are taken from this poem. Their children are named after its heroes; so are their cities, streets, and even cattle. It is the spiritual life of the Hindoo people. It is personified, worshipped, and cited as being something divine. To read, or even to listen, is to the devout Hindoo sufficiently meritorious to bring prosperity to the fireside in this world, and happiness in the world to come.

The western world has as yet only received the "Mahâbhârata" in fragments--mere specimens, bearing to those vast treasures of Sanscrit literature such small proportion as cabinet samples of ore have to the riches of a mine. Such knowledge as we have of the great Indian epics is largely due to Sir William Jones, and the host of translators who followed him.

In its present shape the "Mahâbhârata" contains some two hundred thousand verses. The style is forcible, often terse and nervous: the action is well sustained, and the whole effect produced is that of a poem written in commemoration of actual conflict between members of rival clans who lived somewhere southeast of the Punjab. In portrayal of character the Hindoo poem somewhat resembles its Grecian counterpart--the "Iliad"; the noble devotion and chivalric character of its chief hero, Arjuna, reminds us of Hector--and the wily, sinful Duryodhana, is a second Ulysses. The "Mahâbhârata" was probably begun in the third or fourth century B.C., and completed soon after the beginning of the Christian era.

The "Bhârata" war is a war between rival cousins of the house of Bhârata, a race of heroes mentioned in the Rig-veda collection. Duryodhana deprives his cousin Yudhisthira of his throne by inducing him to squander his fortune, kingdom, family, and self--and then banishes Yudhisthira and the latter's four brothers for twelve years. The gambling was conducted in an unfair manner, and the cousins feel that their banishment was the result of treachery, although pretended to be mercy in lieu of death. When the twelve years are over they collect armies of sympathizers, and on the Sacred Plain of the Kurus (the Holy Land of India) the great war is fought out. The good prevails, Duryodhana is slain, and Yudhisthira recovers his kingdom. This story is told so graphically that the "Mahâbhârata" still has the charm that comes from plot and action, as well as that of poetic beauty.

A concluding passage of this great poem says: "The reading of this 'Mahâbhârata' destroys all sin and produces virtue, so much so that the pronunciation of a single shloka is sufficient to wipe away much guilt. It has bound human beings in a chain, of which one end is life and the other death. If a man reads the 'Mahâbhârata' and has faith in its doctrines, he is free from all sin and ascends to heaven after his death."

The present selection is the episode of Nala and Damayanti. It is one of the most charming of the "Mahâbhârata" stories, and its Oriental flavor and delicacy have been well preserved by the translator, Sir Edwin Arnold.

L.F.C.

THE MAHÂBHÂRATA

NALA AND DAMAYANTI

Part I

A prince there was, named Nala, Virasen's noble breed, Goodly to see, and virtuous; a tamer of the steed; As Indra 'midst the gods, so he of kings was kingliest one, Sovereign of men, and splendid as the golden, glittering sun; Pure, knowing scripture, gallant; ruling nobly Nishadh's lands; Dice-loving, but a proud, true chief of her embattled bands; By lovely ladies lauded; free, trained in self-control; A shield and bow; a Manu on earth; a royal soul! And in Vidarbha's city the Raja Bhima dwelled; Save offspring, from his perfect bliss no blessing was withheld; For offspring, many a pious rite full patiently he wrought, Till Damana the Brahman unto his house was brought. Him Bhima, ever reverent, did courteously entreat, Within the Queen's pavilion led him, to rest and eat; Whereby that sage, grown grateful, gave her--for joy of joys-- A girl, the gem of girlhood, and three brave lusty boys-- Damana, Dama, Dânta, their names:--Damayanti she; No daughter more delightful, no sons could goodlier be. Stately and bright and beautiful did Damayanti grow; No land there was which did not the Slender-waisted know; A hundred slaves her fair form decked with robe and ornament-- Like Śachi's self to serve her a hundred virgins bent; And 'midst them Bhima's daughter, in peerless glory dight, Gleamed as the lightning glitters against the murk of night; Having the eyes of Lakshmi, long-lidded, black, and bright-- Nay--never Gods, nor Yakshas, nor mortal men among Was one so rare and radiant e'er seen, or sued, or sung As she, the heart-consuming, in heaven itself desired. And Nala, too, of princes the Tiger-Prince, admired Like Kama was; in beauty an embodied lord of love: And ofttimes Nala praised they all other chiefs above In Damayanti's hearing; and oftentimes to him, With worship and with wonder, her beauty they would limn; So that, unmet, unknowing, unseen, in each for each A tender thought of longing grew up from seed of speech; And love (thou son of Kunti!) those gentle hearts did reach. Thus Nala--hardly bearing in his heart Such longing--wandered in his palace-woods, And marked some water-birds, with painted plumes, Disporting. One, by stealthy steps, he seized; But the sky-traveller spake to Nala this:-- "Kill me not, Prince, and I will serve thee well. For I, in Damayanti's ear, will say Such good of Nishadh's lord, that nevermore Shall thought of man possess her, save of thee." Thereat the Prince gladly gave liberty To his soft prisoner, and all the swans Flew, clanging, to Vidarbha--a bright flock-- Straight to Vidarbha, where the Princess walked; And there, beneath her eyes, those winged ones Lighted. She saw them sail to earth, and marked-- Sitting amid her maids--their graceful forms; While those for wantonness 'gan chase the swans, Which fluttered this and that way through the grove: Each girl with tripping feet her bird pursued, And Damayanti, laughing, followed hers; Till--at the point to grasp--the flying prey Deftly eluding touch, spake as men speak, Addressing Bhima's daughter:-- "Lady dear! Loveliest Damayanti! Nala dwells In near Nishadha: oh, a noble Prince, Not to be matched of men; an Aświn he, For goodliness. Incomparable maid! Wert

thou but wife to that surpassing chief, Rich would the fruit grow from such lordly birth, Such peerless beauty. Slender-waisted one, Gods, men, and Gandharvas have we beheld, But never none among them like to him. As thou art pearl of princesses, so he Is crown of princes; happy would it fall, One such perfection should another wed." And when she heard that bird (O King of men!) The Princess answered: "Go, dear swan, and tell This same to Nala;" and the egg-born said, "I go"--and flew; and told the Prince of all. But Damayanti, having heard the bird, Lived fancy-free no more; by Nala's side Her soul dwelt, while she sat at home distraught, Mournful and wan, sighing the hours away, With eyes upcast, and passion-laden looks; So that, eftsoons, her limbs failed, and her mind-- With love o'erweighted--found no rest in sleep, No grace in company, no joy at feasts. Nor night nor day brought peace; always she heaved Sigh upon sigh, till all her maidens knew-- By glance and mien and moan--how changed she was, Her own sweet self no more. Then to the King They told how Damayanti loved the Prince. Which thing when Bhima from her maidens heard, Deep pondering for his child what should be done, And why the Princess was beside herself, That lord of lands perceived his daughter grown, And knew that for her high Swayamvara The time was come. So, to the Rajas all The King sent word: "Ye Lords of Earth, attend Of Damayanti the Swayamvara." And when these learned of her Swayamvara, Obeying Bhima, to his court they thronged-- Elephants, horses, cars--over the land In full files wending, bearing flags and wreaths Of countless hues, with gallant companies Of fighting men. And those high-hearted chiefs The strong-armed King welcomed with worship fair, As fitted each, and led them to their seats. Now at that hour there passed towards Indra's heaven, Thither from earth ascending, those twain saints-- The wise, the pure, the mighty-minded ones, The self-restrained--Narad and Parvata. The mansion of the Sovereign of the Gods In honor entered they; and he, the Lord Of Clouds, dread Indra, softly them salutes, Inquiring of their weal, and of the world Wherethrough their name was famous, how it fares. Then Narad said: "Well is it, Lord of Gods, With us, and with our world; and well with those Who rule the peoples, O thou King in Heaven!" But He that slew the Demons spake again:-- "The princes of the earth, just-minded, brave, Those who, in battle fearing not to fall, See death on the descending blade, and charge Full front against it, turning not their face-- Theirs is this realm eternal, as to me The cow of plenty, Kâmadhuk, belongs. Where be my Kshatriya warriors? Wherefore now See I none coming of those slaughtered lords, Chiefs of mankind, our always honored guests?" And unto Indra Narad gave reply:-- "King of the Air! no wars are waged below; None fall in fight, to enter here. The Lord Of high Vidarbha hath a daughter, famed For loveliness beyond all earthly maids, The Princess Damayanti, far-renowned. Of her, dread Sakra! the Swayamvara Shall soon befall, and thither now repair The kings and princes of all lands, to woo-- Each for