Canto VI: The Wooing of Indumatî, and her Choice of Aja

Then fair as Gods who mount celestial cars,
In royal robes arrayed, and seated high
On thrones, refulgent, raised on dais-steps,
The noble range of suitor-kings he saw.
These looked dismayed on Aja, for he seemed
A second Love, at Rati's prayer restored
To that bright form which Çiva's wrath burnt up,—
Nor longer hoped to win Indumatî.
By carven stair he mounted to the throne
The King assigned him, as a lion stalks
O'er rocks to gain a mighty mountain-peak.
Then sat he down on diamond-sparkling seat,
With costliest cushions spread, that glorious Prince,
As Kârtikeya mounts his favourite bird.
His beauty much enhanced his stately mien,
A dazzling lustre which perplexed men's eyes,
Like lightning-flash o'er gloomy banks of cloud:—
So by his flawless grace high Raghu's son,
Amid their gorgeous thrones and splendid robes,
In simple vesture shone as 'mongst Heaven's trees
Famed Pârijâta shines. The eyes of men
Forsook all other Kings to gaze on him:
So, leaving woodland blossoms, wild bees swarm
To streaming brows of elephants. As they sat,
Their royal lineage, drawn from Sun and Moon,
Bards skilled in olden story fitly praised;
Rose from the smouldering aloes fragrant smoke,
Which all-pervasive round the banners curled;
Auspicious music floated from the conchs
In ambient air, and through the city-groves
Glad peacocks madly danced. The Princess came,
In wedding-vesture clad, on litter borne
With solemn pomp, to choose herself a Lord,—
And down the eager rows of suitors passed.
That perfect woman, Brahmâ's last best work,
The goal of countless hearts, drew all their souls
Out through their eyes,—the lumpish clay alone
Remained behind. When Spring reviving comes,
It decks in varied charms the forest-trees:—
So showed those Kings by various arts their love.
One toying twirled a lotus, sportive struck
The clustering bees with petals, balling so
The golden pollen. Smiling playfully,
Another turned his beaming face askant;
His flower-wove necklet fall'n, a moment caught
On jewelled bracelet, careless he replaced.
One, sidelong glancing, with his lotus-foot
Traced lines on golden footstool, where the nails
Like summer lightning gleamed. Another prince
In seeming earnest talk his neighbour held,
His left arm resting on his chair, that so
His shoulder raised and back broke through his wreath.
Of Ketaka one fashioned with his hands,—
Those hands that lately clasped his queen in love,—
An earring blossom apt to win the heart
Of that fair Princess. One tossed dice in sport,
The while his jewelled bracelets gleamed on hands
Light-brown as lotus, seamed with banner-lines.
One fixed his coronet with nervous hand,
Ablaze with diamonds,—though it had not fall'n.
Then eloquent Sunandâ, high-born dame
Who ruled the palace, led the royal Maid
To where the mighty Lord of Magadha
Sat gorgeous; then with clear, deep voice proclaimed
His worth,—well-taught the name and fame of each:—
"Deep are his thoughts, and strong his arm to save!
In Magadha he rules, his people's joy,
Whose blazing wrath burns up his stubborn foes.
Alone he's Spouse of Earth, though thousand Kings
Usurp the style; as Soma rules the night
'Mid stars and planets, pale beside his throne,
So rules he Earth. By constant rites devout,
Where Indra still appears, he pales the cheek
Of Çachî, while her curls hang limply down
Undecked with Svarga's flowers,—a mourning bride,
Her husband absent, Give, O give thy hand
To him in wedlock: charm bright, loving eyes
By festal entry to his noble town,
Whose dames expectant wait!" She spake, and paused:
The Princess slightly bowed, thus silently
Rejecting him, her wreath of fragrant flowers
With dûrva intertwined, a shade displaced.
Then to a second King she led the Maid,
As wind-stirred, rippling wave on Mânasa
To second lotus brings a graceful swan,—
And praised him thus:—"Behold great Anga's Lord,
Whom heavenly brides themselves have vainly wooed,
Such youth and beauty his: his elephants,
Trained by skilled masters, match Airâvata:
He rules like Indra. Pearl-like tears were shed
By his foes' brides,—a necklace all unstrung.
Fair speech and noble presence dwell apart,
Except in him; with Fame and Eloquence
Thou mayst be third, if thou wilt choose this mate."
"Go forward!" said the Maiden, turning so
Her eyes from Anga's Lord, though well she knew
Him worthy of all love, save only hers.
Then, passing onward with her fair Princess,
The Lady praised another noble King,
Renowned for virtue, terrible to foes,
Fair as new-risen moon:—"Avanti's Lord
Behold, long-armed, broad-chested, thin of flank,
With doubled radiance shining, like the Sun
By Viçvakarma polished and refined.
When he in dauntless might goes forth to war,
The gems that flash from rivals' crowns are dimmed
By dust his steed casts up, as evening clouds
Obscure the Sun. Hard by that mighty God,
Whose brow the Moon adorns, this noble King
Dwells in great Kâla, so through all the months
He with his queens takes joy in lightsome nights.
O slender-waisted Maid, wilt thou not yield,
And find thy bliss in wandering through fair groves,
That wave 'neath Sipra's breeze, with this great King?"
But not on him the peerless Maiden fixed
Her tender love, though lily-like he charmed
Friends, scorching foes as Sun dries up a marsh:—
So close at dawn those flowers which love the Moon.
Sunandâ next before Anûpa's Lord
Led her fair Lady, Brahmâ's loveliest child,
For virtues eminent, whose teeth like pearls
Flashed white; then spake once more her winning words:—
"In days of old great Kârtavîrya, King
And Saint, whose thousand arms in battle swayed
His rivals crushed, till all alone he ruled,
And triumph-pillars planted through the worlds.
So holy he, that even thought of sin,—
Appearing with his Bow to tempted souls,
He smote through all his realm. He kept in bonds
Proud Lankâ's Lord, to whom e'en Indra bowed,
Who languished, sighing through his many mouths,
Till he released him, humbled. In his line
Pratâpa rules, devout, firm friend of Saints,
Whom Fortune loves, not fickle—as the world
Defames her. Blazing fire he wields in fight,
Nor fears the mighty Axe which Râma bore,
To Warriors fatal, more than lotus-leaf.
Be thou this Hero's bride! so shalt thou gaze
Enraptured from the palace on soft curves
Seductive of fair Revâ, where she clasps
The mighty loins of strong Mahishmatî."
Nor he, for all his beauty, favour found
In her pure fancy, as the silvery Moon,
Dispersing Autumn's clouds, can win no grace
From lotuses that woo the Sun. The Maid
Next heard Sunandâ praise Sushena's worth,
Of Surasena Lord, whom heavenly choirs
Hymn ever, light of both his high descents:—
"This King devout is flower of Nîpa's race,
To whom the Virtues sought, as timorous deer
Seek Hermits' peaceful grove, and waive the strife
That Nature sets between them. Calmly brave
He ever guards his palace, moon-like bright,
And blazing smites his foes,—o'er whose blank roofs
Grass grows. His lovely queens, who frequent sport
In waves of Yamunâ, so tinge the stream
With fragrant sandal from their breasts, 'twould seem
That Gangâ's yellow waters mingled there
Ere Mathurâ was reached. The gem he wears
Upon his chest, was lost by Kâliya
Who fled from Garuḍa, and almost shames
Kaustubha, Krishṇa's pride. Ah, Maiden, choose
That noble Prince for mate! then pass thy youth
Rejoicing in Brindâban, not less fair
Than Chaitraratha, couched on soft flower-sprays,
Reclining on smooth rocks with foam-drops wet,
With salt too pungent: feast thine eyes, Fair Maid,
On peacocks of Govardhan, dancing free
In Autumn rains among the hollow rocks!"
Him too the Maiden passed with stately mien,
Another's destined bride, as rivers pass
Great mountains on their way to Ocean's breast.
Then came the Princess to Kalinga's King,
Hemângada,—and then Sunandâ spake,—
While beamed like full fair moon the peerless Maid,—
Designing him whose wrists were clasped with gems,
From foes fit tribute:—"See Mahendra's King,
Lord too of Ocean, mighty as the hill
That seems to lead his host, an elephant
In pride of youth! Of archers chief is he,
With long strong arms all rough with bowstring-scars,
Like streams of brackish tears from pain-dimmed eyes
Of foemen's brides. Great Ocean's thunderous roar,
Whose boisterous waves he from his palace marks,
A fitting time-drum, wakes him at day-dawn
With voice o'erpowering all his martial strains.
Choose him thy Lord! and walk by Ocean's shore,
Where palm-trees whisper, where moist breezes fan
The wearied brow, and waft from distant isles
The clove's rich scent!" Vidarbha's sister turned,
Nor heeded all her praise, unloving, loved,
As royal Fortune turns, though wooed with skill,
If Fate be adverse. Next to Nâgpur's King
The Lady passed, and thus proclaimed his worth:—
"O bright-eyed Princess! see this generous King,
The Pândus' Lord: wreaths from his shoulders hang,
His arms sweet sandal stains, a mountain-lord
He seems, amid whose crests the rising Sun
Glows, while the roaring torrents dash and foam.
Him great Agastya greeted,—he who bowed
The pride of Vindhya, who wide Ocean drained,—
And of his welfare asked, when he had bathed
When the Great Rite was over. Lankâ's King,
For Janasthâna fearing when he led
His serried hosts to conquer Indra's world,
Was fain to make him friend,—for he had won
The Bow of Çiva. Give to him thy hand
In happy wedlock! Steadfast as the world,
Be co-wife with the sunny Southern land,
Which Ocean rich in pearls clasps lovingly;
And joyous ever sport where Malaya
Slopes terraced, where the dark-green betel-boughs
Are intertwined, where creepers clasp smooth trunks.
Dark is he, thou art fair: let each enhance
By union other's beauty, as do cloud
And lightning-flash!" Unmoved the royal Maid
Passed on: the lotus waits the rising Sun,
Nor heeds the Moon's pale beams, but stays close shut.
Now as the Maid went by, each suitor-King,
Lit for a moment by her dazzling eyes,
Like wayside tower by passing lamp, sank back
In deepest gloom. Then Aja's heart was stirred,
Who questioned with himself, "Shall I find grace,
Or fail like them?" His right arm throbbing checked
The rising doubt, and well-nigh snapped the cords
That bound his wrist; but him the bright Princess
Found faultless, yielded him her love, and stopped—
Nor further passed—as rests a swarm of bees
Contented on the mango in full flower,
Nor seeks beyond it. Then Sunandâ skilled
To know the rank of men, perceiving soon
How all her heart the royal Maid had set,—
That fair, full Moon,—on him, took up her tale:—
"In high Ikshvâku's line Kakutstha sprang,
'Mong Kings a King, for virtue eminent,
Whose royal race still rules North Koçala,
And bears his famous name. That King renowned,
As Çiva swift in fight, ascended high
On Mount Mahendra, made the Demons' wives
To spoil their cheeks of unguents, weeping loud;
And, with his bracelet touching Indra's own,
Loosed by the rubbing of Airâvata,
In dignity possessed an equal seat
With him, when even in most dazzling shape.
More splendid shone the fame of that proud race,
When bright Dilîpa rose, its radiant lamp,
Who—wanting one of his full tale of Rites,—
One hundred,—calmed the fears of Svarga's Lord,
Nor further laboured. 'Neath his calm, strong rule
The very breeze disturbed not lovers' skirts
As through the groves they strayed, or sank to rest,
Far less dared rude men's hands. Dilîpa's throne
His son, unconquered Raghu, fills, who late
Made sacrifice for Empire Won: bestowed
His treasure wholly, all he'd gathered up
From Earth's four quarters and increased, nor kept
Aught save an earthen vessel. His renown
Cannot be measured, weighed, or told in words:
It scaled high mountains, crossed wide seas, and passed
The portals of Pâtâla,—yea, has risen
To Heaven, immortal. From his kingly loins
Prince Aja sprang, as fair Jayanta sprang
From Indra. Now this Prince bears half the weight
Of that high charge his Sire erst bore alone,
Unwearied, as a mighty bull-calf bears
One half the yoke. Choose him, bright Maid! thy peer
He only is in beauty, lineage, youth,
In virtues all, with modesty the chief:—
Ah, let the pearl be set in finest gold!"
When now Sunandâ ceased, the royal Maid
Dropped veil of coyness, by her favouring glance,
Bright with pure love, proclaiming blameless choice,
As 'twere with fateful wreath: but modesty
Restrained her tongue, though o'er her slender form
The hair upstanding showed her ardent love.
Then smiling spake Sunandâ, when she marked
The Maid's confusion:—"Gracious Lady, now
Pass we to others!" She from angry eye
Flashed fire, indignant. Graceful as a swan,
Helped by her handmaid, laid she then the wreath,
With golden sandal scented, on the neck
Of mighty Raghu's son,—a present Love.
Clasped by that wreath, where all auspicious flowers—
And they alone—were woven, Raghu's child,
The dauntless Prince, such rapture felt as though
Already he were clasped in love's embrace
By that bright Princess. "Here the cloudless Moon
Wins clear effulgence! Gangâ's self unites
With her fit mate, wide Ocean!" Loud rejoiced
In shouts like these, harsh to the rival Kings,
The happy people, who delighted saw
Their virtues, else unmatched, now fitly joined
In perfect union. Then the Bridegroom's friends
Beamed bright for gladness: gloomy ranks of Kings,
Their hopes dashed down, opposed a hostile front.
So, when the Sun has risen, his glorious beams
Expand the flowers that love him, but seal up
Those other flowers that open to the Moon.