Canto XVI: The Reign of Kuça:—how he returned to Ayodhyâ, and wedded Kumudvati

Now did the heroes seven of Raghu's line
Raise Kuça, eldest-born and most renowned
Of all their race for virtue, to the throne
Of sovereign power;—for, ever in their house
Ruled love fraternal. All alike far-famed
For commerce and bridge-building, skilled to tame
The mighty elephant, they wisely ruled;
Nor sought to overstep their mutual bounds,
As Ocean's waves encroach not on the shore.
So smoothly flowed the current of their blood,
Eight-fold divided, sprung from Vishṇu's heart,—
The God four-armed,—who showered on men their gifts
Ungrudging, like the Guardian Elephants,
Sprung from the Sâma-Veda's holy verse.
One dark midnight, while burned with steady flame
The chamber-lamps, and all the palace slept
Save only he, to Kuça there appeared
A woman's form, unknown before, and robed
As one who mourns a husband far away.
So stood that shape before him, mighty Prince,
As Indra splendid, victor o'er his foes,
Dear to his friends, not prizing Kingly state
Beyond its worth,—then, clasping suppliant hands,
She hailed him, "King!" Whereat, half-starting up
From where he lay, the Prince, amazed to see
How, like a shadow falling on a glass,
Through bolted doors she passed,—now questioned thus:
"How, Lady, couldst thou to my chamber come
Through fast-barred doors? no Hermit-dame thou seem'st,
But rather wearest garb of those that mourn,
Like lotus-clusters withered by the frost.
Who art thou, Fair one? who thy Lord? to me
Why com'st thou thus? Speak freely: yet beware,
For Raghu's noble race, self-disciplined,
Abhors all thought of sin!" She gravely spake:—
"I am, my Lord, that mourning City's Queen,
Blameless, deserted, since thy Father passed,
And took His subjects to the home above.
So I, more splendid once than Alakâ
For Royal festival, now in thy days,
Prince of the high Sun-race! lie desolate,
By thee neglected. Myriad empty homes,
With halls all silent, couches bare, are seen
Like sunset-skies, when at the death of day
Winds rend the clouds. Now jackals fiery-mouthed
Haunt the roads howling, seeking prey,—where girls
With gleam of tuneful anklets lately thronged.
Once did the water of my lakelets, struck
By dainty fingers, mock the lute's deep tone:
Now, wounded by the buffalo's sharp horn,
It shrinks sore hurt. And where pet peacocks homed
The trees are broken, silent is the lute;
They, terrified, scarce 'scaping forest-fires,
Have turned to wildness. Blood-stained tigers couch,
And mark with traces of late-slaughtered deer
Stairways once painted by fair ladies' feet,
Bound for the bath. And pictured elephants,
That haunt the lotus-groves, and by their mates
Are fed with tender blossoms, lions tear
With crookèd claws; the marble forms of sylphs,
Grey through the loss of paint, wear squalid robes
Of slimy cobra-sloughs. The fair Moon's beams,
Though pure as virgin-pearl, get back no ray
From tiles time-blackened of the palace-roof,
Now flecked with grass-tufts. Where sweet women plucked
With careful hands the garden-creeper flowers,
Foul apes and savage tear the boughs. At night
Unlighted now the windows, nor by day
Shine they with fairy faces; spiders' webs
Defile the chambers, and the hearths are cold.
"All scentless flows Sarâyû: tender forms
Bathe there no longer, nor do altars rise
Upon its islets,—nay, the hermits' huts
Deserted fall to ruin. Oh, my King!
Return, revive thy City's old renown!
Here is no home for thee: in me thy Sire
His mortal form resigned, and soared to Heaven!"
So prayed the City: then the gracious King,
Well-pleased, consented: she with lightened heart
Departed. Soon as morning dawned, the King
Told to his Brâhman councillors what passed
In that strange nightly vision: when they knew
His stately Capital had sought his love,
They blessed him highly. When a day was come
Auspicious for his march, to holy Priests
He gave Kuçâvatî: then with his Queens
He sought Ayodhyâ, followed by his hosts,
As showers of rain attend a cooling breeze.

The marching host a moving city seemed,
Its banners waving groves that spread around,
Its elephants like mounds for pleasure formed,
Like palaces its stately chariots.
The mighty army, sent to clear the way
To his ancestral home by that great King,
O'er whom alone Imperial ensigns waved,
Seemed like majestic Ocean urged to shore
By lunar impulses. The solid earth,
Unfit to bear the chariots' crushing weight,
As on he marched, fled in a cloud of dust
And filled the sky. Complete that army showed,
Where'er 'twas seen,—preparing for the march,
Or moving stately on, or when encamped,
Not lacking aught. As on the Monarch swept,
So mighty was the trampling of his steeds,
Such plenteous ichor-streams his elephants
Rained from their brows,—that dust was turned to mud,
And mud to dust again. That host of men,
To thread its way through Vindhya's strait defiles,
Divided into bands, which, with their shouts
Like loudly-roaring Revâ, taught the caves
Resounding music. Through the Vindhya chain
The Monarch passed: crushed metal gilt his wheels,
His trumpets mingled with the myriad shouts
Of trampling hosts, and graciously he touched
The hillmen's offerings. Gangâ's sacred stream
At its most holy place he bridged, and crossed
With mighty elephants: the conscious waves
In awe flowed backward, while the snowy swans
Swift gliding through the air were royal fans.
The Triple River's waters he adored,
Now thronged with stately ships, on whose bright waves
Of yore his Fathers passed to Heavenly seats,
When Kapila in fury burnt them up,—
And those pure waters cleansed them from all stain.
At length the King reached clear Sarâyû's bank
By rapid marches, marked by monuments
Set up in hundreds by his mighty Sires,
In memory of continuous Sacrifice.
Now, as with wearied hosts he neared his goal,
Forth came to welcome them reviving airs,
Fresh from green groves round his ancestral home,
With pollen laden of bright-blossoming trees,
Cooled by Sarâyû's waves. The mighty King,
His people's darling, chief of all his race,
His foes all humbled, made the bannered hosts
Camp in his City's outskirts:—that fair town,
So captured, swarms of workmen from the King
Renewed in splendour, as with plenteous rain
Clouds cheer the earth, long parched by summer heat.
By his command the craftsmen skilled to build
First fasted, then did sacrifice, and paid
Due honour to the City, far-renowned
As home of sacred images. Himself
Thereafter occupied the palace-home
Ancestral, as a bridegroom claims his bride,
And gave his followers, as beseemed their rank,
To each a noble dwelling. So the town,
Its stables filled with steeds, great elephants
Tied in its courts, its market-places thronged,
Shone glorious as a bride whose every limb
With gems is laden. In his Father's home,
Its olden splendour all revived, the King—
Pure Sîtâ's son,—dwelt happy, nor desired
The state of Swarga's Lord or Alakâ's!

Now Summer's heat came on,—and taught the fair
To don fine, jewel-studded robes, while hung
On radiant breasts their necklets, over stuff
So thin it yielded to the softest sigh.
When from the region which Canopus rules
The Sun returned, the North a shower of snow
Sent from Himâlaya, like rain of tears—
Cool from a joyful heart. The days were long,
As swoln by heat, night like a shadow seemed,
Or both like spouses showed, whom angry words
Had parted, now relenting. Pleasure-ponds,
Whose waters daily shrinking left the steps
With moss and lichen clothed, while lotus-stems
Waved on the surface, like a fair one's waist.
Now through the groves of scented Mallikâs
Bees, lighting with a flutter on the blooms
That opening flung their sweets abroad,—one bee
To every blossom,—numbered them. Now dropped
From amorous maidens' ears Çirîsha flowers,
Yet slowly fell to earth adown their cheeks,
Fresh-marked with scars of love and damp with sweat,
To which the petals clung. The rich, reclined
On marble couches, safe in darkened halls,
Where cooling streams were forced and scented spray
Thrown on them, shunned the heat. Love gathered strength,
Relaxed when Spring went by, in ringlets hid
That after bathing hung down limp, or twined
(To charm the eye) with flowers of Mallikâ.
The Arjun-tree's long shoot, with pollen grey,
Seemed like Love's bowstring, smashed by Çiva's wrath,
Not satisfied with burning up the God.
Now all that lovers lacked the season gave,—
Sweet-scented mango-blossoms, strong rice-wine,
And fresh Pâtâla flowers. The burning heat
Made two delights most precious, Soma's beams
That cooled men's throbbing limbs, and their mild Prince
Whose goodness soothed their hearts:—both now were high.
Then longed the King in pure Sarâyû's stream,
More grateful for the heat,—whose dancing waves
Bore gladsome swans and dropping creeper-blooms
On their clear breasts,—to sport with his fair Queens.
So in fit pomp and splendour for the Bath
The King set forth, like Vishṇu in his might,
To where by placid waters tents were pitched,
While skilful arms had swept the river clear
Of scaly monsters. Maidens tripped in haste
Down by the stairways to the bank, and scared
With clanging of their armlets gliding swans,—
Their anklets tinkling as they moved. The King
Looked on approving while they bathed and splashed
In full delight; then with a handmaid skilled
To ply the oar embarked in pleasure-skiff,
And thus addressed her, as with yâk-tail fan
She gently cooled his brow:—"See, maiden, see!
Sarâyû's stream, where bathe my happy Queens,
Tinged with the varied colours from their limbs,
Shows like a sunset-cloud with rainbow streaked.
"Now from fair ladies' eyes the wavelets, stirred
By passage of our boat, have washed away
The healing unguents, soon again laid on
As joyous blushes mantle in their cheeks.
The languorous beauties, whose luxuriant charms
Impede their motions, yet in pure delight
Forget their weakness, spread their jewelled hands,
And nimbly cleave the waves. Çirîsha flowers,
Their brilliant ear-drops, as they swim fall off,
Float on the current, lure for silvery fish
In quest of water-weeds. Absorbed in play
They strike the stream, while on their bosoms bright
The pearly necklets rest, and drops of foam
Between them falling mock their silvery sheen.
Here may we see whate'er the poet's mind
Compares with women's beauties: eddying waves
Like rounded navels, ripples for their brows,
And ruddy geese show like their shapely breasts.
"Now on the ear a gladsome murmur strikes
Of tuneful waters, blending with their songs,
Like note of drum, while peacocks on the banks
Spread wide their tails and answer with soft notes.
Tight cling their garments to their waists, the belts
Are limp and wet, nor tinkle now their gems
But sparkle silent, as through darksome night
The still stars shine. In joyous sport they splash
Each one her fellow, each in turn shakes out
From her damp tresses drops with sandal red,
A ruby shower. Disordered are their locks,
The skin washed clear of paint, the pearl-nets fall'n,—
As in the waves they sport; yet round men's hearts
Those winsome tresses twine!"
So spake the King:
Then leaped among them sporting in the tide;
His necklace shook around his mighty throat,
As when a noble elephant disports
Among the herd, and lotus-clusters cling
About his shoulders. When the stately King
Appeared among them, brighter shone his Queens,—
As pearls that charm the eye show doubly fair
When matched with gleaming emeralds. Sportively
With coloured water shot from golden tubes
They splashed the King, whose beauty excellent
Shone more for this, as high Himâlaya's slopes
With streamlets trickling down vermilion-stained.
Now while amid his lovely Queens the King
Plunged in that Queen of rivers, rivalling
Great Indra sporting with the Nymphs of Heaven
In godlike Gangâ,—all unmarked there slipped
And sank beneath the waves that priceless gem
Which, sign of lordship, erst Agastya gave
To Râma, he to Kuça, when he gave
The Kingdom also. When their sport was done,
And—sated with their merriment—the King
Had got him to his tent, ere yet he donned
His royal robes, he saw his arm was bare,
And knew the bracelet lost. Sore grieved was he:
For much he prized it, gift of his great Sire
And pledge of victory, not for sordid greed:—
For light as worthless flowers he held mere gauds.
Then straight he ordered fishers, boatmen, all
Who haunt the stream, to seek the gem they toiled,
And dived untiring, but in vain: then told,—
Their faces marred and troubled,—how they sped:—
"We spared no toil, great King! but thy rich gem,
Sunk in the wave, we found not: much we fear
That mighty Kumuda, the Nâga-Prince,
Who dwells beneath the waters, coveted
And stole the jewel." Flashed his eyes with rage,
He strung his war-bow, strode in fury down
Straight to the river-bank, and fixed the shaft
Unerring, named from Garuḍa, to slay
The Serpent-Prince. But scarce the shaft was laid,
When, panic-struck, the stream raised quivering waves
As suppliant hands, and smote the banks, and roared—
As from a pit a captured elephant.
In terror fled its scaly monsters too,
And from the waters swift the Serpent-Prince
Rose, with his virgin Sister:—so of yore
Sprang from the churnèd Ocean Indra's tree
With fairest Lakshmî. On they came, with hands
Outstretched the gem restoring: his keen bolt
The King held back,—for good men quickly quench
Their fury when entreated. Kumuda,
Bold warrior, did obeisance to the King,
Son of the Mightiest, scourge of all his foes,
Anointed Monarch; bowed his haughty head,
And thus addressed him:—"Well I know thee, Lord!
Great Vishṇu's Son, His other self, thou art,
Begotten when He came to work for men
The great Deliv'rance! How should I oppose
Thy mighty will, who rather seek thy grace?
"Twas this my sister who, in eager play,
Her ball was seeking driven from her hand,
And saw and caught, as meteor-like it fell,
Thy precious bracelet, emblem of success.
Restore it to thy long and potent arm,
Scarred by the bowstrong's use, which like a shield
Protects the worlds! Disdain not now, O King!
Kumudvatî, my sister, who would serve
Before thy feet, and from thy mind erase
The memory of her crime!"
The Nâga-Prince
Then ceasing humbly offered back the gaud,
To whom the King made answer:—"Joyfully
I hail thee brother!" Then with all his train
Kumuda joined by solemn marriage-rite
His sister, pride of all her kin, to him,
High Chief of Raghu's line; who, when he took
The maiden's hand before the sacred Fire,
Bound with auspicious knot of purest wool,
Heard through the skiey realms Celestial songs
With Heavenly music joined, while wondrous clouds
Poured down soft, copious rain of sweetest flowers.
When now alliance firm that King had made,
Whom Sîtâ bore to Râma, mighty Lord
Of all Three Worlds, with royal Kumuda,
Fifth son of Takshaka, the Serpent-King—
Two Worlds rejoiced:—since fear of Vishṇu's Bird,
Who ever rages for his father's death,
The Nâgas now dismissed; and over Earth,
No more by Serpents vexed, loved Kuça reigned.