Chief of the virtuous, never in his life Harmed he, or strove to harm, his fellow-man, Or any creature sentient. But he left His kingdom in the forest-shades to dwell, And changed his sceptre for a hermit"s staff, And with ascetic rites, privations rude, And constant prayers, endeavoured to attain Perfect dominion on his soul. At morn, Fuel, and flowers, and fruit, and holy gra.s.s, He gathered for oblations; and he pa.s.sed In stern devotions all his other hours; Of the world heedless, and its myriad cares, And heedless too of wealth, and love, and fame.
Once on a time, while living thus, he went To bathe where through the wood the river flows: And his ablutions done, he sat him down Upon the shelving bank to muse and pray.
Thither impelled by thirst a graceful hind, Big with its young, came fearlessly to drink.
Sudden, while yet she drank, the lion"s roar, Feared by all creatures, like a thunder-clap Burst in that solitude from a thicket nigh.
Startled, the hind leapt up, and from her womb Her offspring tumbled in the rushing stream.
Whelmed by the hissing waves and carried far By the strong current swoln by recent rain, The tiny thing still struggled for its life, While its poor mother, in her fright and pain, Fell down upon the bank, and breathed her last.
Up rose the hermit-monarch at the sight Full of keen anguish; with his pilgrim staff He drew the new-born creature from the wave; "Twas panting fast, but life was in it still.
Now, as he saw its luckless mother dead, He would not leave it in the woods alone, But with the tenderest pity brought it home.
There, in his leafy hut, he gave it food, And daily nourished it with patient care, Until it grew in stature and in strength, And to the forest skirts could venture forth In search of sustenance. At early morn Thenceforth it used to leave the hermitage And with the shades of evening come again, And in the little courtyard of the hut Lie down in peace, unless the tigers fierce, Prowling about, compelled it to return Earlier at noon. But whether near or far, Wandering abroad, or resting in its home, The monarch-hermit"s heart was with it still, Bound by affection"s ties; nor could he think Of anything besides this little hind, His nursling. Though a kingdom he had left, And children, and a host of loving friends, Almost without a tear, the fount of love Sprang out anew within his blighted heart, To greet this dumb, weak, helpless foster-child, And so, whene"er it lingered in the wilds, Or at the "customed hour could not return, His thoughts went with it; "And alas!" he cried, "Who knows, perhaps some lion or some wolf, Or ravenous tiger with relentless jaws Already hath devoured it,--timid thing!
Lo, how the earth is dinted with its hoofs, And variegated. Surely for my joy It was created. When will it come back, And rub its budding antlers on my arms In token of its love and deep delight To see my face? The shaven stalks of gra.s.s, Kusha and kasha, by its new teeth clipped, Remind me of it, as they stand in lines Like pious boys who chant the Samga Veds Shorn by their vows of all their wealth of hair."
Thus pa.s.sed the monarch-hermit"s time; in joy, With smiles upon his lips, whenever near His little favourite; in bitter grief And fear, and trouble, when it wandered far.
And he who had abandoned ease and wealth, And friends and dearest ties, and kingly power, Found his devotions broken by the love He had bestowed upon a little hind Thrown in his way by chance. Years glided on....
And Death, who spareth none, approached at last The hermit-king to summon him away; The hind was at his side, with tearful eyes Watching his last sad moments, like a child Beside a father. He too, watched and watched His favourite through a blinding film of tears, And could not think of the Beyond at hand, So keen he felt the parting, such deep grief O"erwhelmed him for the creature he had reared.
To it devoted was his last, last thought, Reckless of present and of future both!
Thus far the pious chronicle, writ of old By Brahman sage; but we, who happier, live Under the holiest dispensation, know That G.o.d is Love, and not to be adored By a devotion born of stoic pride, Or with ascetic rites, or penance hard, But with a love, in character akin To His unselfish, all-including love.
And therefore little can we sympathize With what the Brahman sage would fain imply As the concluding moral of his tale, That for the hermit-king it was a sin To love his nursling. What! a sin to love!
A sin to pity! Rather should we deem Whatever Brahmans wise, or monks may hold, That he had sinned in _casting off_ all love By his retirement to the forest-shades; For that was to abandon duties high, And, like a recreant soldier, leave the post Where G.o.d had placed him as a sentinel.
This little hind brought strangely on his path, This love engendered in his withered heart, This hindrance to his rituals,--might these not Have been ordained to teach him? Call him back To ways marked out for him by Love divine?
And with a mind less self-willed to adore?
Not in seclusion, not apart from all, Not in a place elected for its peace, But in the heat and bustle of the world, "Mid sorrow, sickness, suffering and sin, Must he still labour with a loving soul Who strives to enter through the narrow gate.
V.
THE LEGEND OF DHRUVA.
_Vishnu Purana. Book I. Chapter XI._
Sprung from great Brahma, Manu had two sons, Heroic and devout, as I have said, Pryavrata and Uttanapado,--names Known in legends; and of these the last Married two wives, Suruchee, his adored, The mother of a handsome petted boy Uttama; and Suneetee, less beloved, The mother of another son whose name Was Dhruva. Seated on his throne the king Uttanapado, on his knee one day Had placed Uttama; Dhruva, who beheld His brother in that place of honour, longed To clamber up and by his playmate sit; Led on by Love he came, but found, alas!
Scant welcome and encouragement; the king Saw fair Suruchee sweep into the hall With stately step,--aye, every inch a queen, And dared not smile upon her co-wife"s son.
Observing him,--her rival"s boy,--intent To mount ambitious to his father"s knee, Where sat her own, thus fair Suruchee spake: "Why hast thou, child, formed such a vain design?
Why harboured such an aspiration proud, Born from another"s womb and not from mine?
Oh thoughtless! To desire the loftiest place, The throne of thrones, a royal father"s lap!
It is an honour to the destined given, And not within thy reach. What though thou art Born of the king; those sleek and tender limbs Hold of my blood no portion; I am queen.
To be the equal of mine only son Were in thee vain ambition. Know"st thou not, Fair prattler, thou art sprung,--not, not from mine, But from Suneetee"s bowels? Learn thy place."
Repulsed in silence from his father"s lap, Indignant, furious, at the words that fell From his step-mother"s lips, poor Dhruva ran To his own mother"s chambers, where he stood Beside her with his pale, thin, trembling lips, (Trembling with an emotion ill-suppressed) And hair in wild disorder, till she took And raised him to her lap, and gently said: "Oh, child, what means this? What can be the cause Of this great anger? Who hath given thee pain?
He that hath vexed thee, hath despised thy sire, For in these veins thou hast the royal blood."
Thus conjured, Dhruva, with a swelling heart Repeated to his mother every word That proud Suruchee spake, from first to last, Even in the very presence of the king.
His speech oft broken by his tears and sobs, Helpless Suneetee, languid-eyed from care, Heard sighing deeply, and then soft replied: "Oh son, to lowly fortune thou wert born, And what my co-wife said to thee is truth; No enemy to Heaven"s favoured ones may say Such words as thy step-mother said to thee.
Yet, son, it is not meet that thou shouldst grieve Or vex thy soul. The deeds that thou hast done, The evil, haply, in some former life, Long, long ago, who may alas! annul, Or who the good works not done, supplement!
The sins of previous lives must bear their fruit.
The ivory throne, the umbrella of gold, The best steed, and the royal elephant Rich caparisoned, must be his by right Who has deserved them by his virtuous acts In times long past. Oh think on this, my son, And be content. For glorious actions done Not in this life, but in some previous birth, Suruchee by the monarch is beloved.
Women, unfortunate like myself, who bear Only the name of wife without the powers, But pine and suffer for our ancient sins.
Suruchee raised her virtues pile on pile, Hence Uttama her son, the fortunate!
Suneetee heaped but evil,--hence her son Dhruva the luckless! But for all this, child, It is not meet that thou shouldst ever grieve As I have said. That man is truly wise Who is content with what he has, and seeks Nothing beyond, but in whatever sphere, Lowly or great, G.o.d placed him, works in faith; My son, my son, though proud Suruchee spake Harsh words indeed, and hurt thee to the quick, Yet to thine eyes thy duty should be plain.
Collect a large sum of the virtues; thence A goodly harvest must to thee arise.
Be meek, devout, and friendly, full of love, Intent to do good to the human race And to all creatures sentient made of G.o.d; And oh, be humble, for on modest worth Descends prosperity, even as water flows Down to low grounds."
She finished, and her son, Who patiently had listened, thus replied:--
"Mother, thy words of consolation find Nor resting-place, nor echo in this heart Broken by words severe, repulsing Love That timidly approached to worship. Hear My resolve unchangeable. I shall try The highest good, the loftiest place to win, Which the whole world deems priceless and desires.
There is a crown above my father"s crown, I shall obtain it, and at any cost Of toil, or penance, or unceasing prayer.
Not born of proud Suruchee, whom the king Favours and loves, but grown up from a germ In thee, O mother, humble as thou art, I yet shall show thee what is in my power.
Thou shalt behold my glory and rejoice.
Let Uttama my brother,--not thy son,-- Receive the throne and royal t.i.tles,--all My father pleases to confer on him.
I grudge them not. Not with another"s gifts Desire I, dearest mother, to be rich, But with my own work would acquire a name.
And I shall strive unceasing for a place Such as my father hath not won,--a place That would not know him even,--aye, a place Far, far above the highest of this earth."
He said, and from his mother"s chambers past, And went into the wood where hermits live, And never to his father"s house returned.
Well kept the boy his promise made that day!
By prayer and penance Dhruva gained at last The highest heavens, and there he shines a star!
Nightly men see him in the firmament.
VI.
b.u.t.tOO.
"Ho! Master of the wondrous art!
Instruct me in fair archery, And buy for aye,--a grateful heart That will not grudge to give thy fee."
Thus spoke a lad with kindling eyes, A hunter"s low-born son was he,-- To Dronacharjya, great and wise, Who sat with princes round his knee.
Up Time"s fair stream far back,--oh far, The great wise teacher must be sought!
The Kurus had not yet in war With the Pandava brethren fought.
In peace, at Dronacharjya"s feet, Magic and archery they learned, A complex science, which we meet No more, with ages past inurned.
"And who art thou," the teacher said, "My science brave to learn so fain?
Which many kings who wear the thread Have asked to learn of me in vain."
"My name is b.u.t.too," said the youth, "A hunter"s son, I know not Fear;"
The teacher answered, smiling smooth, "Then know him from this time, my dear."
Unseen the magic arrow came, Amidst the laughter and the scorn Of royal youths,--like lightning flame Sudden and sharp. They blew the horn, As down upon the ground he fell, Not hurt, but made a jest and game;-- He rose,--and waved a proud farewell, But cheek and brow grew red with shame.
And lo,--a single, single tear Dropped from his eyelash as he past, "My place I gather is not here; No matter,--what is rank or caste?
In us is honour, or disgrace, Not out of us," "twas thus he mused, "The question is,--not wealth or place, But gifts well used, or gifts abused."