Canto VII: Aja's Wedding; and how he smote his treacherous Rivals on his Way Home

Vidarbha's King then led the joyous train
To wed his sister to that worthy Lord,—
Like Skanda mating with the Heavenly Host.
As morning-planets when the day begins,
Went to their camps the rival-Kings chagrined,
Scorned by Indumatî. Both mien and dress
Revealed their angry mood; but Çachi's power
Prevailed, and none disturbed the marriage-rite.
Then with her Bridegroom went the royal Bride,
Where o'er their way fresh garlands stretched, and where
Like Indra's bow flashed paintings on the gates,
While shading banners kept away the heat.
Bright maids at golden lattices looked out,
To see the Prince, nor heeded other work,
But lit with glancing motions all the house.
Thus shone they various:—one in hot haste ran
To reach the lattice, while her hand held up
Her clustered locks, from which the loosened wreath
Had well-nigh fall'n, nor stayed to bind her hair.
Another changed her mincing gait, and sped
To gaze, her footsteps marking with red lac,
Still dripping liquid from that dainty foot
Her handmaid stained; a third one held the brush,
One brow well-darkened and the other bare,—
Yet so she went to gaze; her dress one maid
Held up, which down had slipped and left unclad
Her form irradiate by the bracelet's gleam,
Nor tied her zone,—so hurried was her pace.
And one with crampèd toes kept up the belt,
Where half its gems were strung, and limping ran
To see the wondrous sight. Most brilliant shone
Those windows lit within by glancing eyes,
That swam with joy, as scented with red wine,
And keen to know the least detail, like bees
They swarmed. Their eyes, fixed full on him alone,
Drank in the Prince's charms, as though their hearts
And senses all were merged and lost in sight.
The Princess, worthy of her suitor-Kings,
Deemed well her Choice had ended: only so
Could she have found an equal mate, as found
Fair Lakshmî hers,—the mighty Lord of all.
Like Love they were and Springtime; she had found
'Mong myriad Kings the soul that halved her own,
And claimed her beauty,—for the soul re-born
Knows of its former fates. The Prince, rejoiced
To hear sweet strains which city-matrons sang,
Passed to the palace, where with welcoming wreath,
His royal brother waited. There the Priest
Revered of Bhoja, having duly served
The fire with butter clear, and set it forth
As witness of the wedding, joined that pair,
Pure bridegroom with pure bride. Prince Aja clasped
Her hand in his, and greater lustre gained,
As when a mango clasps with answering sprout
The Açoka's tendril. On his limbs the hair
Stood stiff for joy, while tender love made her
Glow radiant 'twas as though their joinèd hands
Shared passion's fire between them; pleasing pain
Shone in their meeting eyes, where mutual love
Stood self-revealed. Then round the blazing fire
They circled to the left, as day and night
Course round Mount Meru, and conjunctive beamed.
Next at the Priest's command, great Brahmâ's peer,
With love-lorn partridge-eyes the modest Bride
Threw on the fire her offering of rice,
While,—fed with cassia-shoots, fried grain, and oil,—
Auspicious rose the flame, and round her cheek
Its tongue curled gently, winning for a space
Such lustre as the lotus in her ear
That trembled,—while her face grew rosy-red,
And ointment melted round her eyes diffused,
And barley-ears hung on her, at the Fire
That sanctified the rite. The princely pair
Sate on their golden throne, and glad received
What moist rice-grains the King, most noble host,
And householders, and matrons, threw on them.
That Monarch, mighty, lamp of his high race
(When now his sister's marriage was complete),
Sent to each suitor-King befitting gifts
By honoured hands, which they with feignèd joy
Received; but hid deep anger, as a lake
Whose quiet face hides many a scaly foe.
They thanked their host, requiting him with gifts
Of treacherous import; then departing, planned
A conjoint subtle scheme to seize the Bride,—
Which to work out they close beset the road
Whereby the Prince must go. Rich dowry gave,
As well beseemed, King Bhoja to the Maid,
And convoyed Aja on his journey home.
Three nights he camped with that world-famous Prince,
Then left him,—as the Moon deserts the Sun,
When fades her borrowed light. The rival-Kings,
Recalling earlier grievance 'gainst his Sire,
For tribute taken, now combined in wrath
To smite the Prince, who won from them the Pearl
Of women, Bhoja's sister. Bride and Prince
The haughty band of Kings stayed, as they drove,
As when Prahlâda Vishṇu's steps opposed,
When Bali's boon was given. The mighty Prince
Consigned his Bride for safety to the care
Of one both warrior tried and counsellor sage,
Then dashed impetuous on the hostile ranks,
As Çoṇa's waves smite Gangâ. Armies met
In equal shock of battle: foot to foot
Fought warriors, horse to horse, and car to car,
While clarions brayed. No tribal war-cry rose,
But famous names were known by hurtling shafts,
That smote the foe reluctant. Dust of strife,
By horses stirred and chariots, veiled the Sun
(Spread by the flapping ears of elephants),
And tempered heat; the while rich pennons waved,
Which, rent by rushing wind, devoured the dust
Raised by the hosts, as fish drink eagerly
Fresh Autumn's pools though muddy. Through thick clouds
The noise of wheels proclaimed a chariot, bells
Betrayed huge elephants, while friend and foe
Were only known from shouted names of chiefs.
Blood streamed from horses, elephants, and men,
By weapons wounded, shining as the Sun
New-risen, ruddy, o'er a field obscured
By dust-born darkness, hemming in men's sight.
That dust, whose root the blood had cut, streamed up
As smoke from fire new-kindled, while the wood
Lies in the hearth, blown sideways by the wind.
Now car-borne heroes, waking from their swoon
Sore-wounded, angry at their steeds' retreat,
Rebuked the drivers, turned their cars, dealt death
To those who gave them wounds,—by pennon known.
Now skilful archers' shafts, split in mid flight
By darts opposing, kept their onward course,
Infixing deadly barbs: in battle-shock
Met elephants, whose drivers' heads—smit off
By keen-edged quoits,—kites snatched with eager claw,
And lingering dropped. A horseman spared his foe
(Ev'n in the attack) if bruised by shock of horse,
And stayed his leisure. Like Death's banquet-hall
Showed that dread field,—with dead men's skulls for fruit,
For beakers fallen helmets, blood for wine.
But wounded elephants, whose mighty trunks
Sharp swords of mailèd warriors half cut through,
High-frenzied, quenched with water-streams the sparks
Struck from the flashing steel:—so raged the fight.
One broken arm, which swooping vultures seized,
A greedy jackal caught, and hurt his jaw
On bracelet-buckle. Where a foeman's sword
Had cut the neck, straight to his Heavenly car
The warrior rose, and clasped his bride divine,
While still his lifeless trunk danced on the plain.
In mutual slaughter other two had fall'n,
Drivers and fighters; leaping from their cars,
With clubs they first engaged; when these were broke,
Close-locked in fiercest strife, by mutual wounds
At once they died:—then, suitors in the skies
To one fair Nymph, forthwith renewed the fight.
Now conquering, now defeated, swayed the hosts
Like Ocean's waves, that winds drive to and fro,
By dust-clouds veiled, as through damp morning-mist
The rising Sun shows dimly. Last the Prince,
Fair as the God of Love, unwearied still,
Launched at his foes that sleep-compelling dart,
Which—heaven-derived—Priyamvada had given.
Then, struck to sleep, the Kings' whole armèd host
Stood motionless: no strength to draw the bow
Was in their hands, while on their shoulders drooped
The helmet-chains; they leaned against the staves
That bore the flags. Then raised he to his lips,
Whose sweets his Bride had tasted,—only she,—
And blew the conch-shell, drinking (so it seemed)
Embodied glory, by his right hand won.
His warriors knew the note, faced round, and saw
Where slept his foes around him, as the Moon
Shines o'er closed lotuses on quiet lakes.
Then on their banners with his blood-stained shafts
Thus wrote the Prince,—"Your glory Raghu's son
Has taken from you, but your lives he spares
Of his mere mercy!" Resting on his bow,
The garland breaking as he raised his helm,
His brow with sweat-drops moist,—his trembling Bride
He then approached, and spoke:—"Vidarbha's Child!
Behold our foes, I bid thee: infant hands
Might seize their weapons now. Could such as they,
So fighting, win thee from me?" Then her face,
Recovering from alarm the foe had caused,
Shone brightly, as a mirror when damp breath
Is wiped away. Rejoicing, yet for shame
She praised him not herself, but by the lips
Of handmaids,—as the fallow thanks the rain,
When early sprinkled, by the peacocks' song.
Then set he his left foot upon the crowns
Of those proud Kings; this done, that faultless Prince
Bore off his blooming Bride, whose ringlets bright
The dust from hoofs and wheels had stirred and tinged,—
While like incarnate Victory she shone!
Now came he home, whom with his lovely wife
King Raghu welcomed, knowing all the news
And what had chanced. He then transferred the yoke
Of Kingship to his son, and eager turned
To tread himself the quiet way of Peace:
'Such in the Solar line is ever use
For Monarchs when their sons have come to age.