Canto VIII: Aja's early Happiness; Death of Inumati, and his Lament

Thus mighty Raghu gave Prince Aja Earth,
A second bride with fair Indumatî,
While still he wore the sacred marriage-ring.
What others seek by wrong to make their own,
He took submissive from his father's hand,
Not lusting after power. Then Earth with him,
By water hallowed and Vaçishṭha's spells,
In wedlock joined, by exhalations dense
Showed joy untold. The King, anointed such
By Saint deep-learnèd in Atharva texts,
Foes could not hope to vanquish. Sacred Lore
And warlike glory twinned resistless work,
Like Wind and Fire: the people deemed their King
Was Raghu's self restored to second youth;
For with the Royal State all Kingly grace
He had received. Two things with other two
Shone doubly-bright: his father's fame revived
By Aja, prudent age by vigorous youth.
The newly-subject Earth like virgin-bride
He used with tender love, and curbed his strength,
Lest she should be dismayed. His subjects all
Thought each,—"'Tis me the King loves best!" for none
He scorned, as Ocean, wived with countless streams,
Meets all with equal love. Not over-harsh,
Nor yet too lenient, still the golden mean
He followed, causing neighbouring Kings to bow
Without uprooting, as the tender grass
Inclines before the wind. King Raghu then,
Who saw the Kingdom stablished in his son,
As he himself had ruled it, ceased from care
Of all things earthly, nay, of Heavenly joys:—
Such still the wont of great Dilîpa's race,
Who in their green old age make o'er the realm
To sons of equal virtue, while themselves,
Self-centred, tread the bark-clad Hermits' path.
But when the father sought to take his place
Among the pious band, his new-crowned son,
With head bowed low before him, prayed his Sire
Not so to leave him orphaned. Then the King
Vouchsafed the boon—for well he loved his son,
But took not up again his former state,
As snakes resume not sloughs once cast away.
So Raghu entered on life's latest stage,
And, freed from every care, in safe retreat
Hard by the City dwelt, while daughter-like
The Royal State performed her duteous part.
Now in that Kingly house the reverend Sire
Had chosen Peace; the Son in vigour ruled.
Bright as is Heav'n when day's great orb mounts high
And sinks the moon: so Sire alike and Son
Were both supreme,—one in the realm of war,
And one of pious work: each wore the dress
Which best befitted either, in the quest
Of earthly glory or of Final Bliss.
Then Aja, who was moved to conquer realms
Not yet subdued, took counsel sage with men
Deep-versed in statecraft: Raghu companied
With holy hermits, seeking joys Supreme.
On throne of justice Aja sat to watch
His people's weal; his Sire, with senses quelled,
Slept on pure Kuça, far from haunts of men,
And weaned his thoughts from earth. By warlike might
That smote the Kings around him, this—by thought
On sacred subjects fixed—smote down the lusts
Which mortals feel. The younger King burnt up
The fruits his foes most longed for, while his Sire
With flame of Holy Lore consumed the deeds
Which else might bar Salvation. Seeking fruit
By earthly wisdom, Aja truces made,
Used other crafts of statesmen:—Ignorance,
Wrath, Virtue, Raghu stemmed to reach calm Bliss,
And gold he viewed as clods. The new-set King
Assiduous worked, nor ceased from worthy acts
Till dawned success; while plunged in thought his Sire,
Detached from every earthly bond or wish,
Sent forth his soul to join the Soul Supreme.
Thus in his sphere each watched to quell his foes:—
The one proud Kings, the other worldly thoughts,
(One glory sought, the other Final Bliss,)
And each obtained his end. So Raghu passed,
That loving father, years of calm repose:
Then, breaking from the gloomy chains of life,
Devotion joined him to the Changeless Soul.
When this was told to Aja, long he wept,
Then summoned pious hermits, sacred Fire
Laid on the altar, and placed him in earth,
Untouched by fire: then Offerings to the Shades
He from mere love presented,—for 'tis known
That Saints departed need no funeral cake,
Nor claim it from their sons. By Ṛishis schooled,
In Holy Learning perfect, overmuch
He grieved not for that father passed to Heaven;
But strung his conquering bow, and smiting down
All rival Kings, alone he ruled the World.
Him Earth had won and fond Indumatî
For spouse, the glorious Hero: many gems
Earth gave him, and his mortal bride one son,
Whom, bright as sunshine, famous through the worlds
As Daçaratha, after ages knew
The Sire of Râma, ten-necked Râvaṇ's foe.
So paid the King by study, sacrifice,
And fatherhood, that triple debt which men
Owe to the Saints, the Gods, the Blessed Shades,—
And like the Sun shone glorious when he 'scapes
From misty halo. War's array he used
To free the oppressed from fear, his Sacred Lore
Served but to honour Saints, his wealth alike
He used and virtue for his people's good.

Thus in unclouded happiness he lived,
But grief lay ambushed. One sad, fatal day,
With loved Indumatî the King, who watched
His people like a flock, through pleasant groves
That girt the City strayed, as Çachi's Lord
And lover, Lord of Maruts, haunts the groves
That spread round Nandana. Then Nârada,
Minstrel Divine, who sought Gokarṇa's Lord
To praise him with his lute, passed through the South
To northern climes,—while, greedy of the scent,
The rushing wind bore off the flowery crown
That decked the lute celestial. Like a tear
From painted eye those flowers shone as they fell
By bees attended, ravished by the breeze.
That Heavenly wreath, before whose potent scent
Shrank shamed the blooming creepers, lighted soft
Down on the Queen's broad breasts,—which when she felt
A moment only on her ample chest,
The King's Beloved paled, and tottering swooned,
As fails the moonlight when the Moon is hid:
She lifeless fell, and his life followed hers,
As lamp-spark falling takes the burning wick
Fed with rich oil. Scared by the loud laments
Their followers raised, the lotus-haunting birds
Screamed sympathetic; they with fans revived
The King, but lifeless lay the Queen: unless
The vital spark be left all help is vain,
All tendance useless. He his Spouse raised up
Like lute untuned, and laid her in his lap,
Fit resting-place: she pale in death reclined,
As in grey dawn the Moon shows weird and wan.
Deep mourned he, tears nigh choked him, his firm mind
Was broken—even as heat intense will melt
The rigid iron; ah! how much the more
Grief melts men's hearts! Thus wailed the stricken King:—
"If Fate by touch of flowers can kill, what dart
May not be deadly when He seeks to slay?
Or haply Death, to take a tender life
Chose shaft as tender: so, soft flakes of snow
Destroy the yielding lotus. Death perchance
To slay me launched his arrow; while the tree
Yet stands unharmed, the creeper smitten falls.
Ah, why—who oft forgavest wrong I did—
Dost thou unwarning shut those lips from me,
Who now have done no wrong? Thou doubt'st my love,
O smiling Lady! wherefore, scorning fraud,
(My leave unasked) thou took'st thy way to Heaven.
My maimèd life pursued thee, but alone
Has now returned; why can not I alone
Bear all the grief? Still on thy face, fair Spouse,
Tired love has left its trace, but soul is fled:
Alas, how transient are the lives of men!
"No thought had I to vex thee,—why hast thou
Left me forlorn? Thee only have I loved,
Though Earth too calls me Lord,—Lord but in name.
Ah, stately Lady, now thy rippling curls,
Bee-coloured, wreathed with flowers, wave in air,
And bid me hope that yet thou wilt return
Again to bless my life:—wake soon, O Love!
Soon bid my sorrow cease! the Snowy Mount
Has caves lit up by plants that nightly shed
Light through them: so return to melt my gloom!
I grieve to see thy face, which locks dispersed
Disfigure, mute—once eloquent, as when
A lonely lotus slumbers, stilled the hum
Of bees that sleep there. Night regains her Moon,
The Cuckoo finds his mate, and parting's pangs
Are cured by meeting:—how canst thou, O Love,
Destroy my life by leaving me for aye?
"Thy slender limbs scarce rested as they lay
On couch of freshest leaves:—how wilt thou then,
Fair Lady, bear the roughness of the pyre,
All bristling? See! this zone, which first received
The tones of love, is mute, since thou liest still,
As 'twere a sorrowing friend that ev'n in death
Attends a loved one,—if thou wake no more!
Thy dulcet tones the Cuckoos have assumed,
To Swans hath passed thy slow and languorous gait,
Thy glance of love Gazelles now use, thy grace
The Creepers waving in the wind:—these all
Thou leftest me when soaring up to Heaven,
Yet soothe they not my heart, weighed down with woe
At thy departing. Didst not thou betrothe
This scented Mango to his Creeper-bride?
How leave them then unwed, deserting me
Untimely? Shall these hands weave funeral wreaths
Of that Açoka's blossoms, which thyself
Hast coaxed, made coy, and fostered lovingly,
To deck thy ringlets? Lady of fair limb!
The Açoka mourns thee, tearful shedding flowers,
To miss thy graceful steps, thy tinkling gait,
For ever lost. O sweet-voiced Queen of Love!
That zone is yet unfinished, which with me
Thou half hast fashioned of these fragrant blooms,
Fresh-scented as thy breath: how canst thou sleep,
And leave thy task undone? In joy, in grief,
Thy maidens shared; and this, thy noble Child,
Shows like a waxing Moon; my constant love
Is for thee only;—stern and pitiless,
Thou leavest all, unloving. Joy is sped,
Endurance broken: cheerful songs have ceased;
Spring charms no longer, gauds are laid aside;
My couch henceforth is widowed, desolate.
House-mistress, Friend, Beloved, Counsellor,
In all Love's arts apt pupil! cruel Death,
Bereaving me of thee, bereaves of all!
O Liquid-eyed! to thee my loving lips
Gave all their sweetness; canst thou bear to drink
The lukewarm draughts, all troubled by my tears,
Wherewith we tempt the Sires? Now thou art gone,
No more has prosperous course my widowed life
Which owned no other joys, but all on thee
Was centred!" So the King with grieving words
Mourned for his Love, while sympathetic trees
Condoling shed their gums, like floods of tears.
Then hardly from his lap his loyal men
Removed the Queen, now dead, and reverent laid
On pyre of sandalwood with aloes mixed,
Clad rich for Death. His royal heart thought scorn
That men should say, "A King by private grief
Sank overwhelmed!" So, though he cared no more
To live his life, yet—fearing men's reproach—
He dared not mount the pyre that now consumed
His Spouse, but 'twas not love of life withheld.
Ten days he spent, given o'er to sorrow's sway,
Then in that grove for ever left his dear,—
Wise King, whom now her virtues only charm,
Since life was fled. Dejected, widowed, sad
(As when Night yields to Morning pale and wan),
He entered his fair City,—and beheld
The tears that ladies shed, as 'twere the floods
Of grief that overflowed his sorrowing heart.
Now to his Teacher in the Hermitage,
For sacrifice prepared, the grief was known
Which numbed his senses: pitying he sent
Wise words of comfort (since himself was stayed)
By well-taught pupil, who spake gravely thus:—
"Absorbed in sacrifice the perfect Saint,
Though well he knows thy grief, perforce must send,
Not come, to teach thee patience, and restore
The calm thou ownedst ere this heavy blow
Fell on thee. Me he sends to brace thy heart,
O pious King, and speak thee words of peace!
O much enduring Hero, lay to heart
His words of comfort! He whose perfect sight
Unchecked sees all that has been, all that is,
Or shall be in the fortunes of men's souls,
Bids tell thee how, when Tṛiṇabindu's toils
Of old made Indra fear, the God sent forth
To check his arduous penance Hariṇî,
The Nymph Celestial. Then the Saint, in wrath
That like world-whelming wave flowed o'er his soul,
Else patient, cursed her wanton charms, displayed
Delusive,—bidding her be born 'mongst men.
Then bowed she trembling, humbly sought his grace,
And pleaded the compulsion of her Lord
On her a servant,—till the Saint forgave,
And said:—'When thou shalt see Heaven's flowers once more,
The curse I spake shall end!' In Bhoja's house
The Nymph was born: her thou didst win for Bride,
Who long has made thee happy,—till at length
Those Heavenly flowers proclaimed the Curse's end:
Fate called her home, she could not choose but go!
"Oh, mourn her then no longer! Fate's decree
Brings grief for joy: let Earth have all thy love,
That regal Bride beloved of Kingly souls!
In prosperous times, O King, no vaunting words
E'er passed thy lips, while perfect Sacred Lore
Shone in thy patience; now that sorrow comes,
Be man and quell it! Though thou die with her,
Scarce shouldst thou find her more; for souls of men
Take fateful paths that vary with their deeds.
Quit then thy grief; prepare the funeral cake,
Nor weep preparing,—since the tears of friends
Disturb departed souls. Know, earthly life
Is bondage to the Soul, which Death sets free:
If then one breathe an instant, and depart,
His gain is highest only fools regard
As deadly darts infixed the death of friends;
The constant-minded know that Death draws out
Life's painful barb, and opens up for men
The gate of Bliss. Thou know'st the soul must meet,
Then leave the destined body: shall the wise
Grieve when the soul casts off those coils of sense
Which bind in life? Fall never, wisest King,
Before unreasoning grief, as fools may fall:
Trees bend, but rocks stand firm when tempests rage!"
"'Tis well!" he said assenting, bowed, and blessed
The Saint departing; but the words of peace
Took on his sorrow-laden heart no hold,
So to the Sage returned. The King bereaved,
To rear his son to manhood, hardly bore
Eight widowed years, which only dreams relieved
When she appeared, or marble forms that mocked
Her matchless beauty. Sorrow's dart had struck
Deep-rooted in his soul, as strikes a Fig
Deep roots in palace-roofs: when sickness came
To end his life, he welcomed its stern dint,
As one that set him free to join his Love.
First perfectly he trained his warrior-son
The folk to guard, to smite the stubborn foe:
Then, pining sore to quit the frame diseased
That fettered him, the pious King resolved,
Renouncing earthly food and drink, to win
Bliss Endless. Wherefore to that holy place
He went where Gangâ meets Sarâyû's stream,
There shed his body, and regained his Spouse,
More beauteous than on earth:—now in the groves
Of Nandana they love and live for aye!