Chapter III: Part 3

But those souls attaining Allah, oh! the Gardens of good cheer
Kept to bless them! Yea, besides the "faithful," many shall be there.

Lightly lying on soft couches, beautiful with 'broidered gold,
Friends with friends, they shall be served by youths immortal, who
shall hold.

"_Akwâb, abareek_"--cups and goblets, brimming with celestial wine,
Wine that hurts not head or stomach: this and fruits of heav'n which
shine.

Bright, desirable; and rich flesh of what birds they relish best.
Yea! and--feasted--there shall soothe them damsels fairest, stateliest;

Damsels, having eyes of wonder, large black eyes, like hidden pearls,
"_Lulu-l-maknûn_": Allah grants them for sweet love those matchless
girls.

Never in that Garden hear they speech of folly, sin, or dread,
Only PEACE; "_SALAMUN_" only; that one word for ever said.

PEACE! PEACE! PEACE!--and the "Companions of the Right Hand" (ah!
those bowers!)
They shall lodge 'mid thornless lote-groves; under mawz-trees thick
with flowers;

Shaded, fed, by flowing waters; near to fruits that never cloy,
Hanging ever ripe for plucking; and at hand the tender joy,

Of those Maids of Heaven--the Hûris. Lo! to these we gave a birth
Specially creating. Lo! they are not as the wives of earth.

Ever virginal and stainless, howsooften they embrace,
Always young, and loved, and loving, these are. Neither is there grace,

Like the grace and bliss the Black-eyed keep for you in Paradise;
Oh, "Companions of the Right Hand"! oh! ye others who were wise!

_DEDICATION OF A POEM FROM THE SANSKRIT_.

Sweet, on the daisies of your English grave
I lay this little wreath of Indian flowers,
Fragrant for me because the scent they have
Breathes of the memory of our wedded hours;

For others scentless; and for you, in heaven,
Too pale and faded, dear dead wife! to wear,
Save that they mean--what makes all fault forgiven--
That he who brings them lays his heart, too, there.

_April_ 9, 1865.

_THE RAJAH'S RIDE_.

A PUNJAB SONG.

Now is the Devil-horse come to Sindh!
Wah! wah! gooroo!--that is true!
His belly is stuffed with the fire and the wind,
But a fleeter steed had Runjeet Dehu!

It's forty koss from Lahore to the ford,
Forty and more to far Jummoo;
Fast may go the Feringhee lord,
But never so fast as Runjeet Dehu!

Runjeet Dehu was King of the Hill,
Lord and eagle of every crest;
Now the swords and the spears are still,
God will have it--and God knows best!

Rajah Runjeet sate in the sky,
Watching the loaded Kafilas in;
Affghan, Kashmeree, passing by,
Paid him pushm to save their skin,

Once he caracoled into the plain,
Wah! the sparkle of steel on steel!
And up the pass came singing again
With a lakh of silver borne at his heel.

Once he trusted the Mussulman's word,
Wah! wah! trust a liar to lie!
Down from his eyrie they tempted my Bird,
And clipped his wings that he could not fly.

Fettered him fast in far Lahore,
Fast by the gate at the Runchenee Pûl;
Sad was the soul of Chunda Kour,
Glad the merchants of rich Kurnool.

Ten months Runjeet lay in Lahore--
Wah! a hero's heart is brass!
Ten months never did Chunda Kour
Braid her hair at the tiring-glass.

There came a steed from Toorkistan,
Wah! God made him to match the hawk!
Fast beside him the four grooms ran,
To keep abreast of the Toorkman's walk.

Black as the bear on Iskardoo;
Savage at heart as a tiger chained;
Fleeter than hawk that ever flew,
Never a Muslim could ride him reined.

"Runjeet Dehu! come forth from thy hold"--
Wah! ten months had rusted his chain!
"Ride this Sheitan's liver cold"--
Runjeet twisted his hand in the mane.

Runjeet sprang to the Toorkman's back,
Wah! a king on a kingly throne!
Snort, black Sheitan! till nostrils crack,
Rajah Runjeet sits, a stone.

Three times round the Maidan he rode,
Touched its neck at the Kashmeree wall,
Struck the spurs till they spirted blood,
Leapt the rampart before them all!

Breasted the waves of the blue Ravee,
Forty horsemen mounting behind,
Forty bridle-chains flung free,--
Wah! wah! better chase the wind!

Chunda Kour sate sad in Jummoo:--
Hark! what horse-hoof echoes without?
"Rise! and welcome Runjeet Dehu--
Wash the Toorkman's nostrils out!

"Forty koss he has come, my life!
Forty koss back he must carry me;
Rajah Runjeet visits his wife,
He steals no steed like an Afreedee.

"They bade me teach them how to ride--
Wah! wah! now I have taught them well!"
Chunda Kour sank low at his side!
Rajah Runjeet rode the hill.

When he came back to far Lahore--
Long or ever the night began--
Spake he, "Take your horse once more,
He carries well--when he bears a man."

Then they gave him a khillut and gold,
All for his honour and grace and truth;
Sent him back to his mountain-hold--
Muslim manners have touch of ruth;

Sent him back, with dances and drum--
Wah! my Rajah Runjeet Dehu!
To Chunda Kour and his Jummoo home--
Wah! wah! futteh!--wah, gooroo!

_TWO BOOKS FROM THE ILIAD OF INDIA._

_TWO BOOKS FROM THE ILIAD OF INDIA._

(_Now for the first time translated_.)

There exist certain colossal, unparalleled, epic poems in the sacred language of India, which were not known to Europe, even by name, till Sir William Jones announced their existence; and which, since his time, have been made public only by fragments--by mere specimens--bearing to those vast treasures of Sanskrit literature such small proportion as cabinet samples of ore have to the riches of a mine. Yet these twain mighty poems contain all the history of ancient India, so far as it can be recovered, together with such inexhaustible details of its political, social, and religious life that the antique Hindu world really stands epitomised in them. The Old Testament is not more interwoven with the Jewish race, nor the New Testament with the civilisation of Christendom, nor the Koran with the records and destinies of Islam, than are these two Sanskrit poems--the Mahábhárata and Rámáyana--with that unchanging and teeming population which Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, rules as Empress of Hindustan. The stories, songs, and ballads, the histories and genealogies, the nursery tales and religious discourses, the art, the learning, the philosophy, the creeds, the moralities, the modes of thought; the very phrases, sayings, turns of expression, and daily ideas of the Hindu people, are taken from these poems. Their children and their wives are named out of them; so are their cities, temples, streets, and cattle. They have constituted the library, the newspaper, and the Bible--generation after generation--to all the succeeding and countless millions of Indian people; and it replaces patriotism with that race and stands in stead of nationality to possess these two precious and inexhaustible books, and to drink from them as from mighty and overflowing rivers. The value ascribed in Hindustan to these yet little-known epics has transcended all literary standards established in the West. They are personified, worshipped, and cited from as something divine. To read or even listen to them is thought by the devout Hindu sufficiently meritorious to bring prosperity to his household here and happiness in the next world; they are held also to give wealth to the poor, health to the sick, wisdom to the ignorant; and the recitation of certain _parvas_ and _shlokas_ in them can fill the household of the barren, it is believed, with children. A concluding passage of the great poem says:--

"The reading of this Mahábhárata destroys all sin and
produces virtue; so much so, that the pronunciation of a
single shloka is sufficient to wipe away much guilt. This
Mahábhárata contains the history of the gods, of the Rishis
in heaven and those on earth, of the Gandharvas and the
Rákshasas. It also contains the life and actions of the one
God, holy, immutable, and true,--who is Krishna, who is the
creator and the ruler of this universe; who is seeking the
welfare of his creation by means of his incomparable and
indestructible power; whose actions are celebrated by all
sages; who has bound human beings in a chain, of which one
end is life and the other death; on whom the Rishis
meditate, and a knowledge of whom imparts unalloyed
happiness to their hearts, and for whose gratification and
favour all the daily devotions are performed by all
worshippers. If a man reads the Mahábhárata and has faith in
its doctrines, he is free from all sin, and ascends to
heaven after his death."

In order to explain the portion of this Indian epic, here for the first time published in English verse, I reprint a brief summary of its plot:--

The "great war of Bhârat" has its first scenes in Hastinapur, an ancient and vanished city, formerly situated about sixty miles north-east of the modern Delhi. The Ganges has washed away even the ruins of this the metropolis of King Bhârat's dominions. The poem opens with a "sacrifice of snakes," but this is a prelude, connected merely by a curious legend with the real beginning. That beginning is reached when the five sons of "King Pandu the Pale" and the five sons of "King Dhritarashtra the Blind," both of them descendants of Bhârat, are being brought up together in the palace. The first were called Pandavas, the last Kauravas, and their lifelong feud is the main subject of the epic. Yudhishthira, Bhíma, Arjuna, Nakula, and Sahadeva are the Pandava princes. Duryodhana is chief of the Kauravas. They are instructed by one master, Drona, a Brahman, in the arts of war and peace, and learn to manage and brand cattle, hunt wild animals, and tame horses. There is in the early portion a striking picture of an Aryan tournament, wherein the young cousins display their skill, "highly arrayed, amid vast crowds," and Arjuna especially distinguishes himself. Clad in golden mail, he shows amazing feats with sword and bow. He shoots twenty-one arrows into the hollow of a buffalo-horn while his chariot whirls along; he throws the "chakra," or sharp quoit, without once missing his victim; and, after winning the prizes, kneels respectfully at the feet of his instructor to receive his crown. The cousins, after this, march out to fight with a neighbouring king, and the Pandavas, who are always the favoured family in the poem, win most of the credit, so that Yudhishthira is elected from among them _Yuvaraj_, or heir apparent. This incenses Duryodhana, who, by appealing to his father, Dhritarashtra, procures a division of the kingdom, the Pandavas being sent to Vacanavat, now Allahabad. All this part of the story refers obviously to the advances gradually made by the Aryan conquerors of India into the jungles peopled by aborigines. Forced to quit their new city, the Pandavas hear of the marvellous beauty of Draupadí, whose _Swayamvara_, or "choice of a suitor," is about to be celebrated at Kâmpilya. This again furnishes a strange and glittering picture of the old times; vast masses of holiday people, with rajahs, elephants, troops, jugglers, dancing-women, and showmen, are gathered in a gay encampment round the pavilion of the King Draupada, whose lovely daughter is to take for her husband (on the well-understood condition that she approves of him) the fortunate archer who can strike the eye of a golden fish, whirling round upon the top of a tall pole, with an arrow shot from an enormously strong bow. The princess, adorned with radiant gems, holds a garland of flowers in her hand for the victorious suitor; but none of the rajahs can bend the bow. Arjuna, disguised as a Brahman, performs the feat with ease, and his youth and grace win the heart of Draupadí more completely than his skill. The princess henceforth follows the fortunes of the brothers, and, by a strange ancient custom, lives with them in common. The Pandavas, now allied to the King Draupada and become strong, are so much dreaded by the Kauravas that they are invited back again, for safety's sake, to Hastinapura, and settle near it in the city of Indraprastha, now Delhi. The reign of Yudhishthira and his brothers is very prosperous there; "every subject was pious; there were no liars, thieves, or cheats; no droughts, floods, or locusts; no conflagrations nor invaders, nor parrots to eat up the grain."

The Pandava king, having subdued all enemies, now performs the _Rajasuya_, or ceremony of supremacy,--and here again occur wonderfully interesting pictures. Duryodhana comes thither, and his jealousy is inflamed by the magnificence of the rite. Among other curious incidents is one which seems to show that glass was already known. A pavilion is paved with "black crystal," which the Kaurava prince mistakes for water, and "draws up his garments lest he should be wetted." But now approaches a turning-point in the epic. Furious at the wealth and fortune of his cousins, Duryodhana invites them to Hastinapura to join in a great gambling festival. The passion for play was as strong apparently with these antique Hindus as that for fighting or for love: "No true Kshatriya must ever decline a challenge to combat or to dice." The brothers go to the entertainment, which is to ruin their prosperity; for Sakuni, the most skilful and lucky gambler, has loaded the "coupun," so as to win every throw. Mr. Wheeler's excellent summary again says:--

"Then Yudhishthira and Sakuni sat down to play, and whatever
Yudhishthira laid as stakes Duryodhana laid something of
equal value; but Yudhishthira lost every game. He first lost
a very beautiful pearl; next a thousand bags each containing
a thousand pieces of gold; next a great piece of gold so
pure that it was as soft as wax; next a chariot set with
jewels and hung all round with golden bells; next a thousand
war-elephants with golden howdahs set with diamonds; next a
lakh of slaves all dressed in rich garments; next a lakh of
beautiful slave-girls, adorned from head to foot with golden
ornaments; next all the remainder of his goods; next all his
cattle; and then the whole of his Râj, excepting only the
lands which had been granted to the Brahmans."

After this tremendous run of ill-luck, he madly stakes Draupadí the Beautiful, and loses her. The princess is dragged away by the hair, and Duryodhana mockingly bids her come and sit upon his knee, for which Bhíma the Pandava swears that he will some day break his thigh-bone,--a vow which is duly kept. But the blind old king rebukes this fierce elation of the winner, restores Draupadí, and declares that they must throw another main to decide who shall leave Hastinapura. The cheating Sakuni cogs the dice again, and the Pandavas must now go away into the forest, and let no man know them by name for thirteen years. They depart, Draupadí unbinding her long black hair, and vowing never to fasten it back again till the hands of Bhíma, the strong man among the Pandavas, are red with the punishment of the Kauravas. "Then he shall tie my tresses up again, when his fingers are dripping with Duhsasana's blood."

There follow long episodes of their adventures in the jungle till the time when the Pandavas emerge, and, still disguised, take up their residence in King Viráta's city. Here the vicissitudes of Draupadí as a handmaid of the queen, of Bhíma as the palace wrestler, of Arjuna disguised as a eunuch, and of Nakula, Sahadeva, and Yudhishthira, acting as herdsmen and attendants, are most absorbing and dramatic. The virtue of Draupadí, assailed by a prince of the State, is terribly defended by the giant Bhíma; and when the Kauravas, suspecting the presence in the place of their cousins, attack Viráta, Arjuna drives the chariot of the heir apparent, and victoriously repulses them with his awful bow Gandiva.

After all these evidences of prowess and the help afforded in the battle, the King of Viráta discovers the princely rank of the Pandavas, and gives his daughter in marriage to the son of Arjuna. A great council is then held to consider the question of declaring war on the Kauravas, at which the speeches are quite Homeric, the god Krishna taking part. The decision is to prepare for war, but to send an embassy first. Meantime Duryodhana and Arjuna engage in a singular contest to obtain the aid of Krishna, whom both of them seek out. This celestial hero is asleep when they arrive, and the proud Kaurava, as Lord of Indraprastha, sits down at his head; Arjuna, more reverently, takes a place at his feet. Krishna, awaking, offers to give his vast army to one of them, and himself as counsellor to the other; and Arjuna gladly allows Duryodhana to take the army, which turns out much the worse bargain. The embassy, meantime, is badly received; but it is determined to reply by a counter-message, while warlike preparations continue. There is a great deal of useless negotiation, against which Draupadí protests, like another Constance, saying, "War, war! no peace! Peace is to me a war!" Krishna consoles her with the words, "Weep not! the time has nearly come when the Kauravas will be slain, both great and small, and their wives will mourn as you have been mourning." The ferocity of the chief of the Kauravas prevails over the wise counsels of the blind old king and the warnings of Krishna, so that the fatal conflict must now begin upon the plain of Kurukshetra.

All is henceforth martial and stormy in the "parvas" that ensue. The two enormous hosts march to the field, generalissimos are selected, and defiances of the most violent and abusive sort exchanged. Yet there are traces of a singular civilisation in the rules which the leaders draw up to be observed in the war. Thus, no stratagems are to be used; the fighting men are to fraternise, if they will, after each combat; none may slay the flier, the unarmed, the charioteer, or the beater of the drum; horsemen are not to attack footmen, and nobody is to fling a spear till the preliminary challenges are finished; nor may any third man interfere when two combatants are engaged. These curious regulations--which would certainly much embarrass Von Moltke--are, sooth to say, not very strictly observed, and, no doubt, were inserted at a later age in the body of the poem by its Brahman editors. Those same interpolaters have overloaded the account of the eighteen days of terrific battle which follow with many episodes and interruptions, some very eloquent and philosophic; indeed, the whole _Bhagavad-Gîta_ comes in hereabouts as a religious interlude. Essays on laws, morals, and the sciences are grafted, with lavish indifference to the continuous flow of the narrative, upon its most important portions; but there is enough of solid and tremendous fighting, notwithstanding, to pale the crimson pages of the Greek Iliad itself. The field glitters, indeed, with kings and princes in panoply of gold and jewels, who engage in mighty and varied combats, till the earth swims in blood, and the heavens themselves are obscured with dust and flying weapons. One by one the Kaurava chiefs are slain, and Bhíma, the giant, at last meets in arms Duhsasana, the Kaurava prince who had dragged Draupadí by the hair. He strikes him down with the terrible mace of iron, after which he cuts off his head, and drinks of his blood, saying, "Never have I tasted a draught so delicious as this." So furious now becomes the war that even the just and mild Arjuna commits two breaches of Aryan chivalry,--killing an enemy while engaged with a third man, and shooting Karna dead while he is extricating his chariot-wheel and without a weapon. At last none are left of the chief Kauravas except Duryodhana, who retires from the field and hides in an island of the lake. The Pandavas find him out, and heap such reproaches on him that the surly warrior comes forth at length, and agrees to fight with Bhíma. The duel proves of a tremendous nature, and is decided by an act of treachery; for Arjuna, standing by, reminds Bhíma, by a gesture, of his oath to break the thigh of Duryodhana, because he had bidden Draupadí sit on his knee. The giant takes the hint, and strikes a foul blow, which cripples the Kaurava hero, and he falls helpless to earth. After this the Pandava princes are declared victorious, and Yudhishthira is proclaimed king.

The great poem soon softens its martial music into a pathetic strain. The dead have to be burned, and the living reconciled to their new lords; while afterwards King Yudhishthira is installed in high state with "chámaras, golden umbrellas, elephants, and singing." He is enthroned facing towards the east, and touches rice, flowers, earth, gold, silver, and jewels, in token of owning all the products of his realm. Being thus firmly seated on his throne, with his cousins round him, the Rajah prepares to celebrate the most magnificent of ancient Hindu rites,--the _Aswamedha_, or Sacrifice of the Horse. It is difficult to raise the thoughts of a modern and Western public to the solemnity, majesty, and marvel of this antique Oriental rite, as viewed by Hindus. The monarch who was powerful enough to perform it chose a horse of pure white colour, "like the moon," with a saffron tail, and a black right ear; or the animal might be all black, without a speck of colour. This steed, wearing a gold plate on its forehead, with the royal name inscribed, was turned loose, and during a whole year the king's army was bound to follow its wanderings. Whithersoever it went, the ruler of the invaded territory must either pay homage to the king, and join him with his warriors, or accept battle; but whether conquered or peacefully submitting, all these princes must follow the horse, and at the end of the year assist at the sacrifice of the consecrated animal. Moreover, during the whole year the king must restrain all passion, live a perfectly purified life, and sleep on the bare ground. The white horse could not be loosened until the night of the full moon in _Chaitra_, which answers to the latter half of March and the first half of April,--in fact, at Easter-time; and it may be observed here that this is not the only strange coincidence in the sacrifice. It was thus an adventure of romantic conquest, mingled with deep religion and arrogant ostentation; and the entire description of the _Aswamedha_ would prove most interesting. The horse is found, is adorned with the golden plate, and turned loose, wandering into distant regions; where the army of Arjuna--for it was he who led Yudhishthira's forces--goes through twelve amazing adventures. They come, for instance, to a land of Amazons, all of wonderful beauty, wearing armour of pearls and gold, and equally fatal either to love or to fight with. These dazzling enemies, however, finally submit, as also the Rajah of the rich city of Babhruváhan, which possessed high walls of solid silver, and was lighted with precious jewels for lamps. The serpent people, in the same way, who live beneath the earth in the city of Vasuki, yield, after combat, to Arjuna. A thousand million semi-human snakemen dwelt there, with wives of consummate loveliness, possessing in their realm gems which would restore dead people to life, as well as a fountain of perpetual youth. Finally, Arjuna's host marches back in great glory, and with a vast train of vanquished monarchs, to the city of Hastinapura, where all the subject kings have audience of Yudhishthira, and the immense preparations begin for the sacrifice of the snow-white horse.

After all these stately celebrations, it might be expected that the great poem would conclude with the established glories of the ancient dynasty. But if the martial part of the colossal epic is "Kshatriyan," and the religious episodes "Brahmanic," the conclusion breathes the spirit of Buddhism. Yudhishthira sits grandly on the throne; but earthly greatness does not content the soul of man, nor can riches render weary hearts happy. A wonderful scene, which reads like a rebuke from the dead addressed to the living upon the madness of all war, occurs in this part of the poem. The Pandavas and the old King Dhritarashtra being together by the banks of the Ganges, the great saint Vyása undertakes to bring back to them all the departed, slain in their fratricidal conflict. The spectacle is at once terrible and tender.

But this revealing of the invisible world deepens the discontent of the princes, and when the sage Vyása tells them that their prosperity is near its end, they determine to leave their kingdom to younger princes, and to set out with their faces towards Mount Meru, where is Indra's heaven. If, haply, they may reach it, there will be an end of this world's joys and sorrows, and "union with the Infinite" will be obtained. My translations from the Sanskrit of the two concluding parvas of the poem (of which the above is a swift summary) describe the "Last Journey" of the princes and their "Entry into Heaven;" and herein occurs one of the noblest religious apologues not only of this great Epic but of any creed,--a beautiful fable of faithful love which may be contrasted, to the advantage of the Hindu teaching, with any Scriptural representations of Death, and of Love, "which stronger is than Death." There is always something selfish in the anxiety of Orthodox people to save their own souls, and our best religious language is not free from that taint of pious egotism. The Parvas of the Mahábhárata which contain Yudhishthira's approach to Indra's paradise teach, on the contrary, that deeper and better lesson nobly enjoined by an American poet--

"The gate of heaven opens to none alone,
Save thou one soul, and it shall save thine own."

These prefatory remarks seemed necessary to introduce the subjoined close paraphrase of the "Book of the Great Journey,"--and the "Book of the Entry into Heaven;" being the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Parvas of the noble but, as yet, almost unknown Mahábhárata.

THE MAHAPRASTHÁNIKA PARVA OF THE MAHÁBHÁRATA.

"THE GREAT JOURNEY."

_To Narayen, Lord of lords, be glory given,
To sweet Saraswati, the Queen in Heaven,
To great Vyása, eke, pay reverence due,
So shall this story its high course pursue._

Then Janmejaya prayed: "Thou Singer, say,
What wrought the princes of the Pandavas
On tidings of the battle so ensued,
And Krishna, gone on high?"

Answered the Sage:
"On tidings of the wreck of Vrishni's race,
King Yudhishthira of the Pandavas
Was minded to be done with earthly things,
And to Arjuna spake: 'O noble Prince,
Time endeth all; we linger, noose on neck,
Till the last day tightens the line, and kills.
Let us go forth to die, being yet alive,'
And Kunti's son, the great Arjuna, said:
'Let us go forth to die!--Time slayeth all;
We will find Death, who seeketh other men.'
And Bhimasena, hearing, answered: 'Yea!
We will find Death!' and Sahadev cried: 'Yea!'
And his twin brother Nakula: whereat
The princes set their faces for the Mount.

"But Yudhishthira--ere he left his realm,
To seek high ending--summoned Yuyutsu,
Surnamed of fights, and set him over all,
Regent, to rule in Parikshita's name
Nearest the throne; and Parikshita king
He crowned, and unto old Subhadra said:
'This, thy son's son, shall wear the Kuru crown,
And Yadu's offspring, Vajra, shall be first
In Yadu's house. Bring up the little prince
Here in our Hastinapur, but Vajra keep
At Indraprasth; and let it be thy last
Of virtuous works to guard the lads, and guide.'

"So ordering ere he went, the righteous king
Made offering of white water, heedfully,
To Vasudev, to Rama, and the rest,--
All funeral rites performing; next he spread
A funeral feast, whereat there sate as guests
Narada, Dwaipayana, Bharadwaj,
And Markandeya, rich in saintly years,
And Tajnavalkya, Hari, and the priests.
Those holy ones he fed with dainty meats
In kingliest wise, naming the name of Him
Who bears the bow: and--that it should be well
For him and his--gave to the Brahmanas
Jewels of gold and silver, lakhs on lakhs.
Fair broidered cloths, gardens and villages,
Chariots and steeds and slaves.

"Which being done,--
O Best of Bhârat's line!--he bowed him low
Before his Guru's feet,--at Kripa's feet,
That sage all honoured,--saying, 'Take my prince;
Teach Parikshita as thou taughtest me;
For hearken, ministers and men of war!
Fixed is my mind to quit all earthly state.'
Full sore of heart were they, and sore the folk
To hear such speech, and bitter spread the word
Through town and country, that the king would go;
And all the people cried, 'Stay with us, Lord!'
But Yudhishthira knew the time was come,
Knew that life passes and that virtue lasts,
And put aside their love.

"So--with farewells
Tenderly took of lieges and of lords--
Girt he for travel, with his princely kin,
Great Yudhishthira, Dharma's royal son.
Crest-gem and belt and ornaments he stripped
From off his body, and, for broidered robe
A rough dress donned, woven of jungle-bark;
And what he did--O Lord of men!--so did
Arjuna, Bhíma, and the twin-born pair,
Nakula with Sahadev, and she--in grace
The peerless--Draupadí. Lastly these six,
Thou son of Bhârata! in solemn form
Made the high sacrifice of Naishtiki,
Quenching their flames in water at the close;
And so set forth, 'midst wailing of all folk
And tears of women, weeping most to see
The Princess Draupadí--that lovely prize
Of the great gaming, Draupadí the Bright--
Journeying afoot; but she and all the Five
Rejoiced, because their way lay heavenwards.

"Seven were they, setting forth,--princess and king,
The king's four brothers, and a faithful dog.
Those left Hastinapur; but many a man,
And all the palace household, followed them
The first sad stage; and, ofttimes prayed to part,
Put parting off for love and pity, still
Sighing 'A little farther!'--till day waned;
Then one by one they turned, and Kripa said,
'Let all turn back, Yuyutsu! These must go.'
So came they homewards, but the Snake-King's child,
Ulùpi, leapt in Ganges, losing them;
And Chitranâgad with her people went
Mournful to Munipoor, whilst the three queens
Brought Parikshita in.

"Thus wended they,
Pandu's five sons and loveliest Draupadí,
Tasting no meat, and journeying due east;
On righteousness their high hearts bent, to heaven
Their souls assigned; and steadfast trode their feet,
By faith upborne, past nullah, ran, and wood,
River and jheel and plain. King Yudhishthir
Walked foremost, Bhíma followed, after him
Arjuna, and the twin-born brethren next,
Nakula with Sahadev; in whose still steps--
O Best of Bhârat's offspring!--Draupadí,
That gem of women, paced; with soft, dark face,--
Beautiful, wonderful!--and lustrous eyes,
Clear-lined like lotus-petals; last the dog,
Following the Pandavas.

"At length they reach
The far Lauchityan Sea, which foameth white
Under Udayachâla's ridge.--Know ye
That all this while Nakula had not ceased
Bearing the holy bow, named Gandiva,
And jewelled quiver, ever filled with shafts
Though one should shoot a thousand thousand times.
Here--broad across their path--the heroes see
Agni, the god. As though a mighty hill
Took form of front and breast and limb, he spake.
Seven streams of shining splendour rayed his brow,
While the dread voice said: 'I am Agni, chiefs!
O sons of Pandu, I am Agni! Hail!
O long-armed Yudhishthira, blameless king,--
O warlike Bhíma,--O Arjuna, wise,--
O brothers twin-born from a womb divine,--
Hear! I am Agni, who consumed the wood
By will of Narayan for Arjuna's sake.
Let this your brother give Gandiva back--
The matchless bow: the use for it is o'er.
That gem-ringed battle-discus which he whirled
Cometh again to Krishna in his hand
For avatars to be; and need is none
Henceforth of this most excellent bright bow,
Gandiva, which I brought for Partha's aid
From high Varuna. Let it be returned.
Cast it herein!'

"And all the princes said,
'Cast it, dear brother!' So Arjuna threw
Into that sea the quiver ever-filled,
And glittering bow. Then led by Agni's light,
Unto the south they turned, and so south-west,
And afterwards right west, until they saw
Dwaraka, washed and bounded by a main
Loud-thundering on its shores; and here--O Best!--
Vanished the God; while yet those heroes walked,
Now to the north-west bending, where long coasts
Shut in the sea of salt, now to the north,
Accomplishing all quarters, journeyed they;
The earth their altar of high sacrifice,
Which these most patient feet did pace around
Till Meru rose.

"At last it rose! These Six,
Their senses subjugate, their spirits pure,
Wending alone, came into sight--far off
In the eastern sky--of awful Himavan;
And, midway in the peaks of Himavan,
Meru, the Mountain of all mountains, rose,
Whose head is Heaven; and under Himavan
Glared a wide waste of sand, dreadful as death.

"Then, as they hastened o'er the deadly waste,
Aiming for Meru, having thoughts at soul
Infinite, eager,--lo! Draupadí reeled,
With faltering heart and feet; and Bhíma turned
Gazing upon her; and that hero spake
To Yudhishthira: 'Master, Brother, King
Why doth she fail? For never all her life
Wrought our sweet lady one thing wrong, I think.
Thou knowest, make us know, why hath she failed?'

"Then Yudhishthira answered: 'Yea, one thing.
She loved our brother better than all else,--
Better than heaven: that was her tender sin,
Fault of a faultless soul; she pays for that'
'So spake the monarch, turning not his eyes,
Though Draupadí lay dead--striding straight on
For Meru, heart-full of the things of heaven,
Perfect and firm. But yet a little space,
And Sahadev fell down, which Bhíma seeing,
Cried once again: 'O King, great Madri's son
Stumbles and sinks. Why hath he sunk?--so true,
So brave and steadfast, and so free from pride!'

"'He was not free,' with countenance still fixed,
Quoth Yudhishthira; 'he was true and fast
And wise, yet wisdom made him proud; he hid
One little hurt of soul, but now it kills.'

"So saying, he strode on--Kunti's strong son--
And Bhíma, and Arjuna followed him,
And Nakula, and the hound; leaving behind
Sahadev in the sands. But Nakula,
Weakened and grieved to see Sahadev fall--
His loved twin-brother--lagged and stayed; and next
Prone on his face he fell, that noble face
Which had no match for beauty in the land,--
Glorious and godlike Nakula! Then sighed
Bhíma anew: 'Brother and Lord! the man
Who never erred from virtue, never broke
Our fellowship, and never in the world
Was matched for goodly perfectness of form
Or gracious feature,--Nakula has fallen!'

"But Yudhishthira, holding fixed his eyes,--
That changeless, faithful, all-wise king,--replied:
'Yea, but he erred. The godlike form he wore
Beguiled him to believe none like to him,
And he alone desirable, and things
Unlovely to be slighted. Self-love slays
Our noble brother. Bhíma, follow! Each
Pays what his debt was.'

"Which Arjuna heard,
Weeping to see them fall; and that stout son
Of Pandu, that destroyer of his foes,
That prince, who drove through crimson waves of war,
In old days, with his chariot-steeds of milk,
He, the arch-hero, sank! Beholding this,--
The yielding of that soul unconquerable,
Fearless, divine, from Sákra's self derived,
Arjuna's,--Bhíma cried aloud: 'O king!
This man was surely perfect. Never once,
Not even in slumber when the lips are loosed,
Spake he one word that was not true as truth.
Ah, heart of gold, why art thou broke? O King!
Whence falleth he?'

"And Yudhishthira said,
Not pausing: 'Once he lied, a lordly lie!
He bragged--our brother--that a single day
Should see him utterly consume, alone,
All those his enemies,--which could not be.
Yet from a great heart sprang the unmeasured speech.
Howbeit, a finished hero should not shame
Himself in such wise, nor his enemy,
If he will faultless fight and blameless die:
This was Arjuna's sin. Follow thou me!'

"So the king still went on. But Bhíma next
Fainted, and stayed upon the way, and sank;
Yet, sinking cried, behind the steadfast prince:
'Ah, brother, see! I die! Look upon me,
Thy well-beloved! Wherefore falter I,
Who strove to stand?'

"And Yudhishthira said:
'More than was well the goodly things of earth
Pleased thee, my pleasant brother! Light the offence,
And large thy virtue; but the o'er-fed flesh
Plumed itself over spirit. Pritha's son,
For this thou failest, who so near didst gain.'

"Thenceforth alone the long-armed monarch strode,
Not looking back,--nay! not for Bhíma's sake,--
But walking with his face set for the Mount:
And the hound followed him,--only the hound.

"After the deathly sands, the Mount! and lo!
Sákra shone forth,--the God, filling the earth
And heavens with thunder of his chariot-wheels.
'Ascend,' he said, 'with me, Pritha's great son!'
But Yudhishthira answered, sore at heart
For those his kinsfolk, fallen on the way:
'O Thousand-eyed, O Lord of all the Gods,
Give that my brothers come with me, who fell!
Not without them is Swarga sweet to me.
She too, the dear and kind and queenly,--she
Whose perfect virtue Paradise must crown,--
Grant her to come with us! Dost thou grant this?'

"The God replied: 'In heaven thou shalt see
Thy kinsmen and the queen--these will attain--
With Krishna. Grieve no longer for thy dead,
Thou chief of men! their mortal covering stripped,
They have their places; but to thee the gods
Allot an unknown grace: thou shalt go up
Living and in thy form to the immortal homes.'

"But the king answered: 'O thou Wisest One,
Who know'st what was, and is, and is to be,
Still one more grace! This hound hath ate with me,
Followed me, loved me: must I leave him now?'

"'Monarch,' spake Indra, 'thou art now as We,--
Deathless, divine; thou art become a god;
Glory and power and gifts celestial,
And all the joys of heaven are thine for aye:
What hath a beast with these? Leave here thy hound.'

"Yet Yudhishthira answered: 'O Most High,
O Thousand-eyed and Wisest! can it be
That one exalted should seem pitiless?
Nay, let me lose such glory: for its sake
I would not leave one living thing I loved.'

"Then sternly Indra spake: 'He is unclean,
And into Swarga such shall enter not.
The Krodhavasha's hand destroys the fruits
Of sacrifice, if dogs defile the fire.
Bethink thee, Dharmaraj, quit now this beast!
That which is seemly is not hard of heart.'

"Still he replied: ''Tis written that to spurn
A suppliant equals in offence to slay
A twice-born; wherefore, not for Swarga's bliss
Quit I, Mahendra, this poor clinging dog,--
So without any hope or friend save me,
So wistful, fawning for my faithfulness,
So agonized to die, unless I help
Who among men was called steadfast and just.'

"Quoth Indra: 'Nay! the altar-flame is foul
Where a dog passeth; angry angels sweep
The ascending smoke aside, and all the fruits
Of offering, and the merit of the prayer
Of him whom a hound toucheth. Leave it here!
He that will enter heaven must enter pure.
Why didst thou quit thy brethren on the way,
Quit Krishna, quit the dear-loved Draupadí,
Attaining, firm and glorious, to this Mount
Through perfect deeds, to linger for a brute?
Hath Yudhishthira vanquished self, to melt
With one poor passion at the door of bliss?
Stay'st thou for this, who didst not stay for them,--
Draupadí, Bhíma?'

"But the king yet spake:
''Tis known that none can hurt or help the dead.
They, the delightful ones, who sank and died,
Following my footsteps, could not live again
Though I had turned,--therefore I did not turn;
But could help profit, I had turned to help.
There be four sins, O Sákra, grievous sins:
The first is making suppliants despair,
The second is to slay a nursing wife,
The third is spoiling Brahmans' goods by force,
The fourth is injuring an ancient friend.
These four I deem not direr than the sin,
If one, in coming forth from woe to weal,
Abandon any meanest comrade then.'

"Straight as he spake, brightly great Indra smiled;
Vanished the hound;--and in its stead stood there
The Lord of Death and Justice, Dharma's self!
Sweet were the words which fell from those dread lips,
Precious the lovely praise: 'O thou true king,
Thou that dost bring to harvest the good seed
Of Pandu's righteousness; thou that hast ruth
As he before, on all which lives!--O Son,
I tried thee in the Dwaita wood, what time
The Yaksha smote them, bringing water; then
Thou prayedst for Nakula's life--tender and just--
Not Bhíma's nor Arjuna's, true to both,
To Madrî as to Kuntî, to both queens.
Hear thou my word! Because thou didst not mount
This car divine, lest the poor hound be shent
Who looked to thee, lo! there is none in heaven
Shall sit above thee, King!--Bhârata's son,
Enter thou now to the eternal joys,
Living and in thy form. Justice and Love
Welcome thee, Monarch! thou shalt throne with us!'

"Thereat those mightiest Gods, in glorious train,
Mahendra, Dharma,--with bright retinue
Of Maruts, Saints, Aswin-Kumãras, Nats,
Spirits and Angels,--bore the king aloft,
The thundering chariot first, and after it
Those airy-moving Presences. Serene,
Clad in great glory, potent, wonderful,
They glide at will,--at will they know and see,
At wish their wills are wrought; for these are pure,
Passionless, hallowed, perfect, free of earth,
In such celestial midst the Pandu king
Soared upward; and a sweet light filled the sky
And fell on earth, cast by his face and form,
Transfigured as he rose; and there was heard
The voice of Narad,--it is he who sings,
Sitting in heaven, the deeds that good men do
In all the quarters,--Narad, chief of bards,
Narad the wise, who laudeth purity,--
So cried he: 'Thou art risen, unmatched king,
Whose greatness is above all royal saints.
Hail, son of Pandu! like to thee is none
Now or before among the sons of men,
Whose fame hath filled the three wide worlds, who com'st
Bearing thy mortal body, which doth shine
With radiance as a god's.'

"The glad king heard
Narad's loud praise; he saw the immortal gods,--
Dharma, Mahendra; and dead chiefs and saints,
Known upon earth, in blessed heaven he saw;
But only those. 'I do desire,' he said,
'That region, be it of the Blest as this,
Or of the Sorrowful some otherwhere,
Where my dear brothers are, and Draupadí.
I cannot stay elsewhere! I see them not!'

"Then answer made Purandará, the God:
'O thou compassionate and noblest One,
Rest in the pleasures which thy deeds have gained.
How, being as are the Gods, canst thou live bound
By mortal chains? Thou art become of Us,
Who live above hatred and love, in bliss
Pinnacled, safe, supreme. Sun of thy race.
Thy brothers cannot reach where thou hast climbed:
Most glorious lord of men, let not thy peace
Be touched by stir of earth! Look! this is Heaven.
See where the saints sit, and the happy souls,
Siddhas and angels, and the gods who live
For ever and for ever.'

"'King of gods,'
Spake Yudhishthira, 'but I will not live
A little space without those souls I loved.
O Slayer of the demons! let me go
Where Bhíma and my brothers are, and she,
My Draupadí, the princess with the face
Softer and darker than the Vrihat-leaf,
And soul as sweet as are its odours. Lo!
Where they have gone, there will I surely go,'"

_THE ILIAD OF INDIA._

THE SWARGAROHANA PARVA OF THE MAHÁBHARATA; OR, "THE ENTRY INTO HEAVEN."

_To Narayen, Lord of lords, be glory given,
To Queen Saraswati be praise in heaven;
Unto Vyâsa pay the reverence due,--
So may this story its high course pursue._

Then Janmejaya said: "I am fain to learn
How it befell with my great forefathers,
The Pandu chiefs and Dhritarashtra's sons,
Being to heaven ascended. If thou know'st,--
And thou know'st all, whom wise Vyâsa taught--
Tell me, how fared it with those mighty souls?"

Answered the Sage: "Hear of thy forefathers--
Great Yudhishthira and the Pandu lords--
How it befell. When thus the blameless king
Was entered into heaven, there he beheld
Duryodhana, his foe, throned as a god
Amid the gods; splendidly sate that prince,
Peaceful and proud, the radiance of his brows
Far-shining like the sun's; and round him thronged
Spirits of light, with Sádhyas,--companies
Goodly to see. But when the king beheld
Duryodhana in bliss, and not his own,--
Not Draupadí, nor Bhíma, nor the rest,--
With quick-averted face and angry eyes
The monarch spake: 'Keep heaven for such as these
If these come here! I do not wish to dwell
Where he is, whom I hated rightfully,
Being a covetous and witless prince,
Whose deed it was that in wild fields of war
Brothers and friends by mutual slaughter fell,
While our swords smote, sharpened so wrathfully
By all those wrongs borne wandering in the woods:
But Draupadí's the deepest wrong, for he--
He who sits there--haled her before the court,
Seizing that sweet and virtuous lady--he!--
With grievous hand wound in her tresses. Gods,
I cannot look upon him! Sith 'tis so,
Where are my brothers? Thither will I go!'

"Smiling, bright Narada, the Sage, replied:
'Speak thou not rashly! Say not this, O King!
Those who come here lay enmities aside.
O Yudhishthira, long-armed monarch, hear!
Duryodhana is cleansed of sin; he sits
Worshipful as the saints, worshipped by saints
And kings who lived and died in virtue's path,
Attaining to the joys which heroes gain
Who yield their breath in battle. Even so
He that did wrong thee, knowing not thy worth,
Hath won before thee hither, raised to bliss
For lordliness, and valour free of fear.
Ah, well-beloved Prince! ponder thou not
The memory of that gaming, nor the griefs
Of Draupadí, nor any vanished hurt
Wrought in the passing shows of life by craft
Or wasteful war. Throne happy at the side
Of this thy happy foeman,--wiser now;
For here is Paradise, thou chief of men!
And in its holy air hatreds are dead.'

"Thus by such lips addressed the Pandu king
Answered uncomforted: 'Duryodhana,
If he attains, attains; yet not the less
Evil he lived and ill he died,--a heart
Impious and harmful, bringing woes to all,
To friends and foes. His was the crime which cost
Our land its warriors, horses, elephants;
His the black sin that set us in the field,
Burning for rightful vengeance. Ye are gods,
And just; and ye have granted heaven to him.
Show me the regions, therefore, where they dwell,
My brothers, those, the noble-souled, the loyal,
Who kept the sacred laws, who swerved no step
From virtue's path, who spake the truth, and lived
Foremost of warriors. Where is Kunti's son,
The hero-hearted Karna? Where are gone
Sátyaki, Dhrishtadyumna, with their sons?
And where those famous chiefs who fought for me.
Dying a splendid death? I see them not.
O Narada, I see them not! No King
Draupada! no Viráta! no glad face
Of Dhrisktaketu! no Shikandina,
Prince of Panchála, nor his princely boys!
Nor Abhimanyu the unconquerable!
President Gods of heaven! I see not here
Radha's bright son, nor Yudhamanyu,
Nor Uttamanjaso, his brother dear!
Where are those noble Maharashtra lords,
Rajahs and rajpoots, slain for love of me?
Dwell they in glory elsewhere, not yet seen?
If they be here, high Gods! and those with them
For whose sweet sakes I lived, here will I live,
Meek-hearted; but if such be not adjudged
Worthy, I am not worthy, nor my soul
Willing to rest without them. Ah, I burn,
Now in glad heaven, with grief, bethinking me
Of those my mother's words, what time I poured
Death-water for my dead at Kurkshetra,--
"Pour for Prince Karna, Son!" but I wist not
His feet were as my mother's feet, his blood
Her blood, my blood. O Gods! I did not know,--
Albeit Sákra's self had failed to break
Our battle, where _he_ stood. I crave to see
Surya's child, that glorious chief who fell
By Saryasáchi's hand, unknown of me;
And Bhíma! ah, my Bhíma! dearer far
Than life to me; Arjuna, like a god,
Nakla and Sahadev, twin lords of war,
With tenderest Draupadí! Show me those souls!
I cannot tarry where I have them not.
Bliss is not blissful, just and mighty Ones!
Save if I rest beside them. Heaven is there
Where Love and Faith make heaven. Let me go!'

"And answer made the hearkening heavenly Ones:
'Go, if it seemeth good to thee, dear Son!
The King of gods commands we do thy will.'"

So saying [the Bard went on] Dharma's own voice
Gave ordinance, and from the shining bands
A golden Deva glided, taking hest
To guide the king there where his kinsmen were.
So wended these, the holy angel first,
And in his steps the king, close following.
Together passed they through the gates of pearl,
Together heard them close; then to the left
Descending, by a path evil and dark,
Hard to be traversed, rugged, entered they
The 'SINNERS' ROAD.' The tread of sinful feet
Matted the thick thorns carpeting its slope;
The smell of sin hung foul on them; the mire
About their roots was trampled filth of flesh
Horrid with rottenness, and splashed with gore
Curdling in crimson puddles; where there buzzed
And sucked and settled creatures of the swamp,
Hideous in wing and sting, gnat-clouds and flies,
With moths, toads, newts, and snakes red-gulleted,
And livid, loathsome worms, writhing in slime
Forth from skull-holes and scalps and tumbled bones.
A burning forest shut the roadside in
On either hand, and 'mid its crackling boughs
Perched ghastly birds, or flapped amongst the flames,--
Vultures and kites and crows,--with brazen plumes
And beaks of iron; and these grisly fowl
Screamed to the shrieks of Prets, lean, famished ghosts,
Featureless, eyeless, having pin-point mouths,
Hungering, but hard to fill,--all swooping down
To gorge upon the meat of wicked ones;
Whereof the limbs disparted, trunks and heads,
Offal and marrow, littered all the way.
By such a path the king passed, sore afeared
If he had known of fear, for the air stank
With carrion stench, sickly to breathe; and lo!
Presently 'thwart the pathway foamed a flood
Of boiling waves, rolling down corpses. This
They crossed, and then the Asipatra wood
Spread black in sight, whereof the undergrowth
Was sword-blades, spitting, every blade, some wretch;
All around poison trees; and next to this,
Strewn deep with fiery sands, an awful waste,
Wherethrough the wicked toiled with blistering feet,
'Midst rocks of brass, red hot, which scorched, and pools
Of bubbling pitch that gulfed them. Last the gorge
Of Kutashála Mali,--frightful gate
Of utmost Hell, with utmost horrors filled.
Deadly and nameless were the plagues seen there;
Which when the monarch reached, nigh overborne
By terrors and the reek of tortured flesh,
Unto the angel spake he: 'Whither goes
This hateful road, and where be they I seek,
Yet find not?' Answer made the heavenly One:
'Hither, great King, it was commanded me
To bring thy steps. If thou be'st overborne,
It is commanded that I lead thee back
To where the Gods wait. Wilt thou turn and mount?'

"Then (O thou Son of Bhárat!) Yudhishthir
Turned heavenward his face, so was he moved
With horror and the hanging stench, and spent
By toil of that black travel. But his feet
Scarce one stride measured, when about the place
Pitiful accents rang: 'Alas, sweet King!--
Ah, saintly Lord!--Ah, Thou that hast attained
Place with the Blessed, Pandu's offspring!--pause
A little while, for love of us who cry!
Nought can harm _thee_ in all this baneful place;
But at thy coming there 'gan blow a breeze
Balmy and soothing, bringing us relief.
O Pritha's son, mightiest of men! we breathe
Glad breath again to see thee; we have peace
One moment in our agonies. Stay here
One moment more, Bhárata's child! Go not,
Thou Victor of the Kurus! Being here,
Hell softens and our bitter pains relax.'

"These pleadings, wailing all around the place,
Heard the King Yudhishthira,--words of woe
Humble and eager; and compassion seized
His lordly mind. 'Poor souls unknown!' he sighed,
And hellwards turned anew; for what those were.
Whence such beseeching voices, and of whom,
That son of Pandu wist not,--only wist
That all the noxious murk was filled with forms,
Shadowy, in anguish, crying grace of him.
Wherefore he called aloud,'Who speaks with me?
What do ye here, and what things suffer ye?'
Then from the black depth piteously there came
Answers of whispered suffering: 'Karna I,
O King!' and yet another,'O my Liege,
Thy Bhíma speaks!' and then a voice again,
'I am Arjuna, Brother!' and again,
'Nakla is here and Sahadev!' and last
A moan of music from the darkness sighed,
'Draupadí cries to thee!' Thereat broke forth
The monarch's spirit,--knowing so the sound
Of each familiar voice,--'What doom is this?
What have my well-beloved wrought to earn
Death with the damned, or life loathlier than death
In Narak's midst? Hath Karna erred so deep,
Bhíma, Arjuna, or the glorious twins,
Or she, the slender-waisted, sweetest, best,
My princess,--that Duryodhana should sit
Peaceful in Paradise with all his crew,
Throned by Mahendra and the shining gods?
How should these fail of bliss, and he attain?
What were their sins to his, their splendid faults?
For if they slipped, it was in virtue's way
Serving good laws, performing holy rites,
Boundless in gifts and faithful to the death.
These be their well-known voices! Are ye here,
Souls I loved best? Dream I, belike, asleep,
Or rave I, maddened with accursed sights
And death-reeks of this hellish air?'