Hindu literature Part 73

How strange! How strange! Oh happy thou!

And couldst thou ask no other boon Than thy poor bracelet's price? That brow Resplendent as the autumn moon Must have bewildered thee, I trow, And made thee lose thy senses all."

A dim light on the pedler now Began to dawn; and he let fall His bracelet basket in his haste, And backward ran the way he came; What meant the vision fair and chaste, Whose eyes were they--those eyes of flame?

Swift ran the pedler as a hind, The old priest followed on his trace, They reached the Ghat but could not find The lady of the n.o.ble face.

The birds were silent in the wood, The lotus flowers exhaled a smell Faint, over all the solitude, A heron as a sentinel Stood by the bank. They called--in vain, No answer came from hill or fell, The landscape lay in slumber's chain, E'en Echo slept within her cell.

Broad suns.h.i.+ne, yet a hush profound!

They turned with saddened hearts to go; Then from afar there came a sound Of silver bells;--the priest said low, "O Mother, Mother, deign to hear, The wors.h.i.+p-hour has rung; we wait In meek humility and fear.

Must we return home desolate?

Oh come, as late thou cam'st unsought, Or was it but an idle dream?

Give us some sign if it was not, A word, a breath, or pa.s.sing gleam."

Sudden from out the water sprung A rounded arm, on which they saw As high the lotus buds among It rose, the bracelet white, with awe.

Then a wide ripple tost and swung The blossoms on that liquid plain, And lo! the arm so fair and young Sank in the waters down again.

They bowed before the mystic Power, And as they home returned in thought, Each took from thence a lotus flower In memory of the day and spot.

Years, centuries, have pa.s.sed away, And still before the temple shrine Descendants of the pedler pay Sh.e.l.l-bracelets of the old design As annual tribute. Much they own In lands and gold--but they confess From that eventful day alone Dawned on their industry--success.

Absurd may be the tale I tell, Ill-suited to the marching times, I loved the lips from which it fell, So let it stand among my rhymes.

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 lowborn 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 honor, or disgrace, Not out of us," 'twas thus he mused, "The question is--not wealth or place, But gifts well used, or gifts abused."

"And I shall do my best to gain The science that man will not teach, For life is as a shadow vain, Until the utmost goal we reach To which the soul points. I shall try To realize my waking dream, And what if I should chance to die?

None miss one bubble from a stream."

So thinking, on and on he went, Till he attained the forest's verge, The garish day was well-nigh spent, Birds had already raised its dirge.

Oh what a scene! How sweet and calm!

It soothed at once his wounded pride, And on his spirit shed a balm That all its yearnings purified.

What glorious trees! The sombre saul On which the eye delights to rest, The betel-nut--a pillar tall, With feathery branches for a crest, The light-leaved tamarind spreading wide, The pale faint-scented bitter neem, The seemul, gorgeous as a bride, With flowers that have the ruby's gleam,

The Indian fig's pavilion tent In which whole armies might repose, With here and there a little rent, The sunset's beauty to disclose, The bamboo boughs that sway and swing 'Neath bulbuls as the south wind blows, The mango-tope, a close dark ring, Home of the rooks and clamorous crows,

The champac, bok, and South-sea pine, The nagessur with pendant flowers Like ear-rings--and the forest vine That clinging over all, embowers, The sirish famed in Sanscrit song Which rural maidens love to wear, The peepul giant-like and strong, The bramble with its matted hair,

All these, and thousands, thousands more, With helmet red, or golden crown, Or green tiara, rose before The youth in evening's shadows brown.

He pa.s.sed into the forest--there New sights of wonder met his view, A waving Pampas green and fair All glistening with the evening dew.

How vivid was the breast-high gra.s.s!

Here waved in patches, forest corn-- Here intervened a deep mora.s.s-- Here arid spots of verdure shorn Lay open--rock or barren sand-- And here again the trees arose Thick cl.u.s.tering--a glorious band Their tops still bright with sunset glows.--

Stirred in the breeze the crowding boughs, And seemed to welcome him with signs, Onwards and on--till b.u.t.too's brows Are gemmed with pearls, and day declines.

Then in a gra.s.sy open s.p.a.ce He sits and leans against a tree, To let the wind blow on his face And look around him leisurely.

Herds, and still herds, of timid deer Were feeding in the solitude, They knew not man, and felt no fear, And heeded not his neighborhood, Some young ones with large eyes and sweet Came close, and rubbed their foreheads smooth Against his arms, and licked his feet, As if they wished his cares to soothe.

"They touch me," he exclaimed with joy, "They have no pride of caste like men, They shrink not from the hunter-boy, Should not my home be with them then?

Here in this forest let me dwell, With these companions innocent, And learn each science and each spell All by myself in banishment.

A calm, calm life, and it shall be Its own exceeding great reward!

No thoughts to vex in all I see, No jeers to bear or disregard;-- All creatures and inanimate things Shall be my tutors; I shall learn From beast, and fish, and bird with wings, And rock, and stream, and tree, and fern.

With this resolve, he soon began To build a hut, of reeds and leaves, And when that needful work was done He gathered in his store, the sheaves Of forest corn, and all the fruit, Date, plum, guava, he could find, And every pleasant nut and root By Providence for man designed,

A statue next of earth he made, An image of the teacher wise, So deft he laid, the light and shade, On figure, forehead, face and eyes, That any one who chanced to view That image tall might soothly swear, If he great Dronacharjya knew, The teacher in his flesh was there.

Then at the statue's feet he placed A bow, and arrows tipped with steel, With wild-flower garlands interlaced, And hailed the figure in his zeal As Master, and his head he bowed, A pupil reverent from that hour Of one who late had disallowed The claim, in pride of place and power.

By strained sense, by constant prayer, By steadfastness of heart and will, By courage to confront and dare, All obstacles he conquered still; A conscience clear--a ready hand, Joined to a meek humility, Success must everywhere command, How could he fail who had all three!

And now, by tests a.s.sured, he knows His own G.o.d-gifted wondrous might, Nothing to any man he owes, Unaided he has won the fight; Equal to G.o.ds themselves--above Wishmo and Drona--for his worth His name, he feels, shall be with love Reckoned with great names of the earth.

Yet lacks he not, in reverence To Dronacharjya, who declined To teach him--nay, with e'en offence That well might wound a n.o.ble mind, Drove him away;--for in his heart Meek, placable, and ever kind, Resentment had not any part, And Malice never was enshrined.

One evening, on his work intent, Alone he practised Archery, When lo! the bow proved false and sent The arrow from its mark awry; Again he tried--and failed again; Why was it? Hark!--A wild dog's bark!

An evil omen:--it was plain Some evil on his path hung dark!

Thus many times he tried and failed, And still that lean, persistent dog At distance, like some spirit wailed, Safe in the cover of a fog.

His nerves unstrung, with many a shout He strove to frighten it away, It would not go--but roamed about, Howling, as wolves howl for their prey.

Worried and almost in a rage, One magic shaft at last he sent, A sample of his science sage, To quiet but the noises meant.

Unerring to its goal it flew, No death ensued, no blood was dropped; But by the hush the young man knew At last that howling noise had stopped.

It happened on this very day That the Pandava princes came With all the Kuru princes gay To beat the woods and hunt the game.

Parted from others in the chase, Arjuna brave the wild dog found-- Stuck still the shaft--but not a trace Of hurt, though tongue and lip were bound.

"Wonder of wonders! Didst not thou O Dronacharjya, promise me Thy crown in time should deck my brow And I be first in archery?

Lo! here, some other thou hast taught A magic spell--to all unknown; Who has in secret from thee bought The knowledge, in this arrow shown!"