II. The Curse

Alone towards the Table of the dead,
Kehama mov'd; there on the altar-stone
Honey and rice he spread,
There with collected voice and painful tone
He call'd upon his son.
Lo! Arvalan appears.
Only Kehama's powerful eye beheld
The thin etherial spirit hovering nigh;
Only the Rajah's ear
Receiv'd his feeble breath.
And is this all? the mournful spirit said,
This all that thou canst give me after death?

This unavailing pomp,
These empty pageantries that mock the dead!

In bitterness the Rajah heard,
And groan'd, and smote his breast, and o'er his face
Cowl'd the white mourning vest.

ARVALAN.
Art thou not powerful, . . . even like a God?
And must I, through my years of wandering,
Shivering and naked to the elements,
In wretchedness await
The hour of Yamen's wrath?
I thought thou wouldst embody me anew.
Undying as I am, . . .
Yea, re-create me! . . . Father, is this all!
This all! and thou Almighty!

But in that wrongful and upbraiding tone,
Kehama found relief,
For rising anger half supprest his grief.
Reproach not me! he cried;

Had I not spell-secur'd thee from disease,
Fire, sword, . . . all common accidents of man, . . .
And thou! . . . fool, fool, . . . to perish by a stake!
And by a peasant's arm! . . .
Even now, when from reluctant Heaven
Forcing new gifts and mightier attributes,
So soon I should have quell'd the Death-God's power.

Waste not thy wrath on me, quoth Arvalan,
It was my hour of folly! Fate prevail'd,
Nor boots it to reproach me that I fell.
I am in misery, Father! Other souls
Predoom'd to Indra's Heaven, enjoy the dawn
Of bliss: . . . to them the tempered elements
Minister joy, genial delight the sun
Sheds on their happy being, and the stars
Effuse on them benignant influencies;
And thus o'er earth and air they roam at will,
And when the number of their days is full,
Go fearlessly before the awful throne.
But I, . . . all naked feeling and raw life, . . .
What worse than this hath Yamen's hell in store?
If ever thou didst love me, mercy, Father!

Save me, for thou canst save: . . . the Elements
Know and obey thy voice.

KEHAMA.
The Elements
Shall torture thee no more; even while I speak
Already dost then feel their power is gone.
Fear not! I cannot call again the past,
Fate hath made that its own; but Fate shall yield
To me the future; and thy doom be fix'd
By mine, not Yamen's will. Meantime, all power
Whereof thy feeble spirit can be made
Participant, I give. Is there aught else
To mitigate thy lot?

ARVALAN.
Only the sight of vengeance. Give me that!
Vengeance, full, worthy vengeance! . . . not the stroke
Of sodden punishment, . . . no agony
That spends itself and leaves the wretch at rest,
But lasting long revenge.

KEHAMA.
What, boy? is that cup sweet? then take thy fill!

So as he spake, a glow of dreadful pride
Inflam'd his cheek: with quick and angry stride
He mov'd toward the pile,
And rais'd his hand to hush the crowd, and cried
Bring forth the murderer! At the Rajah's voice,
Calmly, and like a man whom fear had stunn'd,
Ladurlad came, obedient to the call.
But Kailyal started at the sound,
And gave a womanly shriek, and back she drew,
And eagerly she roll'd her eyes around,
As if to seek for aid, albeit she knew
No aid could there be found.

It chanced that near her, on the river-brink,
The sculptur'd form of Marriataly stood;
It was an idol roughly hewn of wood,
Artless, and poor, and rude.
The Goddess of the poor was she;
None else regarded her with piety.
But when that holy image Kailyal view'd,
To that she sprung, to that she clung,
On her own goddess with close-clasping arms,

For life the maiden hung.
They seiz'd the maid; with unrelenting grasp
They bruis'd her tender limbs;
She, nothing yielding, to this only hope
Clings with the strength of frenzy and despair.
She screams not now, she breathes not now,
She sends not up one vow,
She forms not in her soul one secret prayer,
All thought, all feeling, and all powers' of life
In the one effort centering. Wrathful they
With tug and strain would force the maid away. . . .
Didst thou, O Marriataly, see their strife?
In pity didst thou see the suffering maid?
Or was thine anger kindled, that rude hands
Assail'd thy holy image? . . . for behold
The holy image shakes!
Irreverently bold, they deem the maid
Relax'd her stubborn hold,
And now with force redoubled drag their prey;
And now the rooted idol to their sway
Bends, . . . yields, . . . and now it falls. But then they scream,
For lo! they feel the crumbling bank give way,
And all are plunged into the stream.

She hath escap'd my will, Kehama cried,
She hath escap'd, . . . but thou art here,
I have thee still,
The worser criminal!
And on Ladurlad, while he spake, severe
He fix'd his dreadful frown.
The strong reflection of the pile
Lit his dark lineaments,
Lit the protruded brow, the gathered front,
The steady eye of wrath.

But while the fearful silence yet endur'd,
Ladurlad rous'd his soul;
Ere yet the voice of destiny
Which trembled on the Rajah's lips was loos'd,
Eager he interpos'd,
As if despair had waken'd him to hope;
Mercy! oh mercy! only in defence . . .
Only instinctively, . . .
Only to save my child, I smote the Prince.
King of the world, be merciful!
Crush me, . . . but torture not!

The Man-Almighty deign'd him no reply,
Still he stood silent; in no human mood
Of mercy, in no hesitating thought
Of right and justice. At the length he rais'd
His brow yet unrelax'd, . . . his lips unclos'd,
And utter'd from the heart,
With the whole feeling of his soul enforced,
The gather'd vengeance came.

I charm thy life
From the weapons of strife,
From stone and from wood,
From fire and from flood,
From the serpent's tooth,
And the beasts of blood:
From Sickness I charm thee,
And Time shall not harm thee;
But Earth, which is mine,
Its fruits shall deny thee;
And Water shall hear me,
And know thee and fly thee;
And the Winds shall not touch thee

When they pass by thee,
And the Dews shall not wet thee,
When they fall nigh thee:
And thou shalt seek Death
To release thee, in vain;
Thou shalt live in thy pain,
While Kehama shall reign,
With a fire in thy heart,
And a fire in thy brain;
And sleep shall obey me,
And visit thee never,
And the Curse shall be on thee
For ever and ever.

There where the Curse had stricken him,
There stood the miserable man,
There stood Ladurlad, with loose-hanging arms,
And eyes of idiot wandering.
Was it a dream? alas,
He heard the river flow,
He heard the crumbling of the pile,
He heard the wind which shower'd
The thin white ashes round.

There motionless he stood,
As if he hop'd it were a dream,
And fear'd to move, lest he should prove
The actual misery;
And still at times he met Kehama's eye,
Kehama's eye that fasten'd on him still.