Ancient Ballads and Legends of Hindustan Part 9

Struck with these words, and doubly grieved At what his hands had done, The monarch wept, as weeps bereaved A man his only son.

"Nay, weep not so," resumed the child, "But rather let me say My own sad story, sin-defiled.

And why I die to day!

"Picking a living in our sheaves, And happy in their loves, Near, 'mid a peepul's quivering leaves, There lived a pair of doves.

"Never were they two separate, And lo, in idle mood, I took a sling and ball, elate In wicked sport and rude,--

"And killed one bird,--it was the male, Oh cruel deed and base!

The female gave a plaintive wail And looked me in the face!

"The wail and sad reproachful look In plain words seemed to say, A widowed life I cannot brook, The forfeit thou must pay.

"What was my darling's crime that thou Him wantonly shouldst kill?

The curse of blood is on thee now, Blood calls for red blood still.

"And so I die--a b.l.o.o.d.y death-- But not for this I mourn, To feel the world pa.s.s with my breath I gladly could have borne,

"But for my parents, who are blind, And have no other stay,-- This, this, weighs sore upon my mind And fills me with dismay.

"Upon the eleventh day of the moon They keep a rigorous fast, All yesterday they fasted; soon For water and repast

"They shall upon me feebly call!

Ah, must they call in vain?

Bear thou the pitcher, friend--'tis all I ask--down that steep lane."

He pointed,--ceased,--then sudden died!

The king took up the corpse, And with the pitcher slowly hied, Attended by Remorse,

Down the steep lane--unto the hut Girt round with _Bela_ trees; Gleamed far a light-the door not shut Was open to the breeze.

PART III.

"Oh why does not our child return?

Too long he surely stays."-- Thus to the _Muni_, blind and stern, His partner gently says.

"For fruits and water when he goes He never stays so long, Oh can it be, beset by foes, He suffers cruel wrong?

"Some distance he has gone, I fear, A more circuitous round,-- Yet why should he? The fruits are near, The river near our bound.

"I die of thirst,--it matters not If Sindhu be but safe, What if he leave us, and this spot, Poor birds in cages chafe.

"Peevish and fretful oft we are,-- Ah, no--that cannot be: Of our blind eyes he is the star, Without him, what were we?

"Too much he loves us to forsake, But something ominous, Here in my heart, a dreadful ache, Says, he is gone from us.

"Why do my bowels for him yearn, What ill has crossed his path?

Blind, helpless, whither shall we turn, Or how avert the wrath?

"Lord of my soul--what means my pain?

This horrid terror,--like Some cloud that hides a hurricane; Hang not, O lightning,--strike!"

Thus while she spake, the king drew near With haggard look and wild, Weighed down with grief, and pale with fear, Bearing the lifeless child.

Rustled the dry leaves neath his foot, And made an eerie sound, A neighbouring owl began to hoot, All else was still around.

At the first rustle of the leaves The _Muni_ answered clear, "Lo, here he is--oh wherefore grieves Thy soul, my partner dear?"

The words distinct, the monarch heard, He could no further go, His nature to its depths was stirred, He stopped in speechless woe.

No steps advanced,--the sudden pause Attention quickly drew, Rolled sightless...o...b.. to learn the cause, But, hark!--the steps renew.

"Where art thou, darling--why so long Hast thou delayed to-night?

We die of thirst,--we are not strong, This fasting kills outright.

"Speak to us, dear one,--only speak, And calm our idle fears, Where hast thou been, and what to seek?

Have pity on these tears."

With head bent low the monarch heard, Then came a cruel throb That tore his heart,--still not a word, Only a stifled sob!

"It is not Sindhu--who art thou?

And where is Sindhu gone?

There's blood upon thy hands--avow!"

"There is."--"Speak on, speak on."

The dead child in their arms he placed, And briefly told his tale, The parents their dead child embraced, And kissed his forehead pale.

"Our hearts are broken. Come, dear wife, On earth no more we dwell; Now welcome Death, and farewell Life, And thou, O king, farewell!

"We do not curse thee, G.o.d forbid But to my inner eye The future is no longer hid, Thou too shalt like us die.

"Die--for a son's untimely loss!

Die--with a broken heart!

Now help us to our bed of moss, And let us both depart."

Upon the moss he laid them down, And watched beside the bed; Death gently came and placed a crown Upon each reverend head.

Where the Sarayu's waves dash free Against a rocky bank, The monarch had the corpses three Conveyed by men of rank;

There honoured he with royal pomp Their funeral obsequies,-- Incense and sandal, drum and tromp, And solemn sacrifice.

What is the sequel of the tale?

How died the king?--Oh man, A prophet's words can never fail-- Go, read the Ramayan.

VIII.