The Kādambarī of Bāṇa

‘“She seemed from her whiteness to have taken a share from all the haṃsas; (261) or to have come from the heart of righteousness; or to have been fashioned from a shell; or drawn from a pearl; or formed from lotus-fibres; or made of flakes of ivory; or purified by brushes of moonbeams; or inlaid with lime; or whitened with foam-balls of ambrosia; or laved in streams of quicksilver; or rubbed with melted silver; or dug out from the moon’s orb; or decked with the hues of kuṭaja, jasmine, and sinduvāra flowers. She seemed, in truth, to be the very furthest bound of whiteness. Her head was bright with matted locks hanging on her shoulders, made, as it were, of the brightness of morning rays taken from the sun on the Eastern Mountain, tawny like the quivering splendour of flashing lightning, and, being wet from recent bathing, marked with the dust of Çiva’s feet clasped in her devotion; she bore Çiva’s feet marked with his name in jewels on her head, fastened with a band of hair; (262) and her brow had a sectarial mark of ashes pure as the dust of stars ground by the heels of the sun’s horses. (266) She was a goddess, and her age could not be known by earthly reckoning, but she resembled a maiden of eighteen summers.

‘“Having beheld her, Candrāpīḍa dismounted, tied his horse to a bough, and then, reverently bowing before the blessed Çiva, gazed again on that heavenly maiden with a steady unswerving glance. And as her beauty, grace, and serenity stirred his wonder, the thought arose in him: ‘How in this world each matter in its turn becomes of no value! For when I was pursuing the pair of Kinnaras wantonly and vainly I beheld this most beautiful place, inaccessible to men, and haunted by the immortals. (267) Then in my search for water I saw this delightful lake sought by the Siddhas. While I rested on its bank I heard a divine song; and as I followed the sound, this divine maiden, too fair for mortal sight, met my eyes. For I cannot doubt her divinity. Her very beauty proclaims her a goddess. And whence in the world of men could there arise such harmonies of heavenly minstrelsy? If, therefore, she vanishes not from my sight, nor mounts the summit of Kailāsa, nor flies to the sky, I will draw near and ask her, “Who art thou, and what is thy name, and why hast thou in the dawn of life undertaken this vow?” This is all full of wonder.’ With this resolve he approached another pillar of the crystal shrine, and sat there, awaiting the end of the song.

‘“Then when she had stilled her lute, like a moon-lotus bed when the pleasant hum of the bees is silenced, (268) the maiden rose, made a sunwise turn and an obeisance to Çiva, and then turning round, with a glance by nature clear, and by the power of penance confident, she, as it were, gave courage to Candrāpīḍa, as if thereby she were sprinkling him with merits, laving him with holy water, purifying him with penance, freeing him from stain, giving him his heart’s desire, and leading him to purity.

‘“‘Hail to my guest!’ said she. ‘How has my lord reached this place? Rise, draw near, and receive a guest’s due welcome.’ So she spake; and he, deeming himself honoured even by her deigning to speak with him, reverently arose and bowed before her. ‘As thou biddest, lady,’ he replied, and showed his courtesy by following in her steps like a pupil. And on the way he thought: ‘Lo, even when she beheld me she did not vanish! Truly a hope of asking her questions has taken hold of my heart. And when I see the courteous welcome, rich in kindness, of this maiden, fair though she be with a beauty rare in ascetics, I surely trust that at my petition she will tell me all her story.’

(269) ‘“Having gone about a hundred paces, he beheld a cave, with its entrance veiled by dense tamālas, showing even by day a night of their own; its edge was vocal with the glad bees’ deep murmur on the bowers of creepers with their opening blossoms; it was bedewed with torrents that in their sheer descent fell in foam, dashing against the white rock, and cleft by the axe-like points of the jagged cliff, with a shrill crash as the cold spray rose up and broke; it was like a mass of waving cowries hanging from a door, from the cascades streaming down on either side, white as Çiva’s smile, or as pearly frost. Within was a circle of jewelled pitchers; on one side hung a veil worn in sacred meditation; a clean pair of shoes made of cocoanut matting hung on a peg; one corner held a bark bed gray with dust scattered by the ashes the maiden wore; the place of honour was filled by a bowl of shell carved with a chisel, like the orb of the moon; and close by there stood a gourd of ashes.

‘“On the rock at the entrance Candrāpīḍa took his seat, and when the maiden, having laid her lute on the pillow of the bark bed, took in a leafy cup some water from the cascade to offer to her guest, and he said as she approached (270): ‘Enough of these thy great toils. Cease this excess of grace. Be persuaded, lady. Let this too great honour be abandoned. The very sight of thee, like the aghamarshaṇa hymn, stills all evil and sufficeth for purification. Deign to take thy seat!’ Yet being urged by her, he reverently, with head bent low, accepted all the homage she gave to her guest. When her cares for her guest were over, she sat down on another rock, and after a short silence he told, at her request, the whole story of his coming in pursuit of the pair of Kinnaras, beginning with his expedition of conquest. The maiden then rose, and, taking a begging bowl, wandered among the trees round the temple; and ere long her bowl was filled with fruits that had fallen of their own accord. As she invited Candrāpīḍa to the enjoyment of them, the thought arose in his heart: ‘Of a truth, there is nought beyond the power of penance. For it is a great marvel how the lords of the forest, albeit devoid of sense, yet, like beings endowed with sense, gain honour for themselves by casting down their fruits for this maiden. A wondrous sight is this, and one never seen before.’

‘“So, marvelling yet more, he brought Indrāyudha to that spot, unsaddled him, and tied him up hard by. (271) Then, having bathed in the torrent, he partook of the fruits, sweet as ambrosia, and drank the cool water of the cascade, and having rinsed his mouth, he waited apart while the maiden enjoyed her repast of water, roots, and fruit.

‘“When her meal was ended and she had said her evening prayer, and taken her seat fearlessly on the rock, the Prince quietly approached her, and sitting down near her, paused awhile and then respectfully said:

‘“‘Lady, the folly that besets mankind impels me even against my will to question thee, for I am bewildered by a curiosity that has taken courage from thy kindness. For even the slightest grace of a lord emboldens a weak nature: even a short time spent together creates intimacy. Even a slight acceptance of homage produces affection. Therefore, if it weary thee not, I pray thee to honour me with thy story. For from my first sight of thee a great eagerness has possessed me as to this matter. Is the race honoured by thy birth, lady, that of the Maruts, or Ṛishis, or Gandharvas, or Guhyakas, or Apsarases? And wherefore in thy fresh youth, tender as a flower, has this vow been taken? (272) For how far apart would seem thy youth, thy beauty, and thine exceeding grace, from this thy peace from all thoughts of earth! This is marvellous in mine eyes! And wherefore hast thou left the heavenly hermitages that gods may win, and that hold all things needful for the highest saints, to dwell alone in this deserted wood? And whereby hath thy body, though formed of the five gross elements, put on this pure whiteness? Never have I heard or seen aught such as this. I pray thee dispel my curiosity, and tell me all I ask.’

‘“For a little time she pondered his request in silence, and then she began to weep noiselessly, and her eyes were blinded by tears which fell in large drops, carrying with them the purity of her heart, showering down the innocence of her senses, distilling the essence of asceticism, dropping in a liquid form the brightness of her eyes, most pure, falling on her white cheeks like a broken string of pearls, unceasing, splashing on her bosom covered by the bark robe.

(273) ‘“And as he beheld her weeping Candrāpīḍa reflected: ‘How hardly can misfortune be warded off, if it takes for its own a beauty like this, which one might have deemed beyond its might! Of a truth there is none whom the sorrows of life in the body leave untouched. Strong indeed is the working of the opposed powers of pleasure and pain.[255 - Dvandva, a pair of opposites, as, e. g., pleasure and pain.] These her tears have created in me a further curiosity, even greater than before. It is no slight grief that can take its abode in a form like hers. For it is not a feeble blow that causes the earth to tremble.’

‘“While his curiosity was thus increased he felt himself guilty of recalling her grief, and rising, brought in his folded hand from the torrent some water to bathe her face. But she, though the torrent of her tears was in nowise checked by his gentleness, yet bathed her reddened eyes, and drying her face with the edge of her bark robe, slowly said with a long and bitter sigh:

(274) ‘“‘Wherefore, Prince, wilt thou hear the story of my ascetic life, all unfit for thy ears? for cruel has been my heart, hard my destiny, and evil my condition, even from my birth. Still, if thy desire to know be great, hearken. It has come within the range of our hearing, usually directed to auspicious knowledge, that there are in the abode of the gods maidens called Apsarases. Of these there are fourteen families: one sprung from the mind of Brahmā, another from the Vedas, another from fire, another from the wind, another from nectar when it was churned, another from water, another from the sun’s rays, another from the moon’s beams, another from earth, and another from lightning; one was fashioned by Death, and another created by Love; besides, Daksha, father of all, had among his many daughters two, Muni and Arishṭā, and from their union with the Gandharvas were sprung the other two families. These are, in sum, the fourteen races. But from the Gandharvas and the daughters of Daksha sprang these two families. Here Muni bore a sixteenth son, by name Citraratha, who excelled in virtues Sena and all the rest of his fifteen brothers. For his heroism was famed through the three worlds; his dignity was increased by the name of Friend, bestowed by Indra, whose lotus feet are caressed by the crests of the gods cast down before him; and even in childhood he gained the sovereignty of all the Gandharvas by a right arm tinged with the flashing of his sword. (275) Not far hence, north of the land of Bharata, is his dwelling, Hemakūṭa, a boundary mountain in the Kimpurusha country. There, protected by his arm, dwell innumerable Gandharvas. By him this pleasant wood, Caitraratha, was made, this great lake Acchoda was dug out, and this image of Çiva was fashioned. But the son of Arishṭā, in the second Gandharva family, was as a child anointed king by Citraratha, lord of the Gandharvas, and now holds royal rank, and with a countless retinue of Gandharvas dwells likewise on this mountain. Now, from that family of Apsarases which sprang from the moon’s nectar was born a maiden, fashioned as though by the grace of all the moon’s digits poured in one stream, gladdening the eyes of the universe, moonbeam-fair, in name and nature a second Gaurī.[256 - (a) Brilliant; (b) Durgā.] (276) Her Haṃsa, lord of the second family, wooed, as the Milky Ocean the Ganges; with him she was united, as Rati with Kāma, or the lotus-bed with the autumn; and enjoying the great happiness of such a union she became the queen of his zenana. To this noble pair I was born as only daughter, ill-omened, a prey for grief, and a vessel for countless sorrows; my father, however, having no other child, greeted my birth with a great festival, surpassing that for a son, and on the tenth day, with the customary rites he gave me the fitting name of Mahāçvetā. In his palace I spent my childhood, passed from lap to lap of the Gandharva dames, like a lute, as I murmured the prattle of babyhood, ignorant as yet of the sorrows of love; but in time fresh youth came to me as the honey-month to the spring, fresh shoots to the honey-month, flowers to the fresh shoots, bees to the flowers, and honey to the bees.

‘“‘[257 - Summary of p. 277.]And one day in the month of honey I went down with my mother to the Acchoda lake to bathe, when its beauties were spread wide in the spring, and all its lotuses were in flower.

(278) ‘“‘I worshipped the pictures of Çiva, attended by Bṛingiriṭi, which were carved on the rocks of the bank by Pārvatī when she came down to bathe, and which had the reverential attendance of ascetics portrayed by the thin footprints left in the dust. “How beautiful!” I cried, “is this bower of creepers, with its clusters of flowers of which the bees’ weight has broken the centre and bowed the filaments; this mango is fully in flower, and the honey pours through the holes in the stalks of its buds, which the cuckoo’s sharp claws have pierced; how cool this sandal avenue, which the serpents, terrified at the murmur of hosts of wild peacocks, have deserted; how delightful the waving creepers, which betray by their fallen blossoms the swinging of the wood-nymphs upon them; how pleasant the foot of the trees on the bank where the kalahaṃsas have left the line of their steps imprinted in the pollen of many a flower!” Drawn on thus by the ever-growing charms of the wood, I wandered with my companions. (279) And at a certain spot I smelt the fragrance of a flower strongly borne on the wind, overpowering that of all the rest, though the wood was in full blossom; it drew near, and by its great sweetness seemed to anoint, to delight, and to fill the sense of smell. Bees followed it, seeking to make it their own: it was truly a perfume unknown heretofore, and fit for the gods. I, too, eager to learn whence it came, with eyes turned into buds, and drawn on like a bee by that scent, and attracting to me the kalahaṃsas of the lake by the jangling of my anklets loudly clashed in the tremulous speed of my curiosity, advanced a few steps and beheld a graceful youthful ascetic coming down to bathe. He was like Spring doing penance in grief for Love made the fuel of Çiva’s fire, or the crescent on Çiva’s brow performing a vow to win a full orb, or Love restrained in his eagerness to conquer Çiva: by his great splendour he appeared to be girt by a cage of quivering lightning, embosomed in the globe of the summer sun, or encircled in the flames of a furnace: (280) by the brightness of his form, flashing forth ever more and more, yellow as lamplight, he made the grove a tawny gold; his locks were yellow and soft like an amulet dyed in gorocanā. The line of ashes on his brow made him like Ganges with the line of a fresh sandbank, as though it were a sandal-mark to win Sarasvatī,[258 - The Commentary says: ‘A house is whitened to welcome anyone. The face (or mouth) is the dwelling of Sarasvatī.’] and played the part of a banner of holiness; his eyebrows were an arch rising high over the abode of men’s curses; his eyes were so long that he seemed to wear them as a chaplet; he shared with the deer the beauty of their glance; his nose was long and aquiline; the citron of his lower lip was rosy as with the glow of youth, which was refused an entrance to his heart; with his beardless cheek he was like a fresh lotus, the filaments of which have not yet been tossed by the bees in their sport; he was adorned with a sacrificial thread like the bent string of Love’s bow, or a filament from the lotus grove of the pool of penance; in one hand he bore a pitcher like a kesara fruit with its stalk; in the other a crystal rosary, strung as it were with the tears of Rati wailing in grief for Love’s death. (281) His loins were girt with a muñja-grass girdle, as though he had assumed a halo, having outvied the sun by his innate splendour; the office of vesture was performed by the bark of the heavenly coral-tree,[259 - Mandāra, one of the trees of Paradise.] bright as the pink eyelid of an old partridge, and washed in the waves of the heavenly Ganges; he was the ornament of ascetic life, the youthful grace of holiness, the delight of Sarasvatī, the chosen lord of all the sciences, and the meeting-place of all divine tradition. He had, like the summer season,[260 - The month June–July.] his āshāḍha[261 - Staff.]; he had, like a winter wood, the brightness of opening millet, and he had like the month of honey, a face adorned with white tilaka.[262 - (a) A tilaka, or mark of ashes; (b) abundance of tilaka trees white with blossoms.] With him there was a youthful ascetic gathering flowers to worship the gods, his equal in age and a friend worthy of himself.

(282) ‘“‘Then I saw a wondrous spray of flowers which decked his ear, like the bright smile of woodland Çrī joying in the sight of spring, or the grain-offering of the honey-month welcoming the Malaya winds, or the youth of the Lakshmī of flowers, or the cowrie that adorns Love’s elephant; it was wooed by the bees; the Pleiads lent it their grace; and its honey was nectar. “Surely,” I decided, “this is the fragrance which makes all other flowers scentless,” and gazing at the youthful ascetic, the thought arose in my mind: “Ah, how lavish is the Creator who has skill[263 - Read Kauçalasya.] to produce the highest perfection of form, for he has compounded Kāma of all miraculous beauty, excelling the universe, and yet has created this ascetic even more fair, surpassing him, like a second love-god, born of enchantment. (283) Methinks that when Brahmā[264 - Cf. ‘Dulce rudimentum meditantis lilia quondam naturæ, cum sese opera ad majora pararet.’ – Rapin, on the convolvulus. V. Hallam, ‘Hist. of Lit.,’ Pt. iv., ch. v.] made the moon’s orb to gladden the world, and the lotuses to be Lakshmī’s palace of delight, he was but practising to gain skill for the creation of this ascetic’s face; why else should such things be created? Surely it is false that the sun with its ray Sushumnā[265 - Vishṇu Purāṇa, Wilson, 1865, vol. ii., p. 297.] drinks all the digits of the moon as it wanes in the dark fortnight, for their beams are cast down to enter this fair form. How otherwise could there be such grace in one who lives in weary penance, beauty’s destroyer?” As I thus thought, Love, beauty’s firm adherent, who knows not good from ill, and who is ever at hand to the young, enthralled me, together with my sighs, as the madness of spring takes captive the bee. Then with a right eye gazing steadily, the eyelashes half closed, the iris darkened by the pupil’s tremulous sidelong glance, I looked long on him. With this glance I, as it were, drank him in, besought him, told him I was wholly his, offered my heart, tried to enter into him with my whole soul, sought to be absorbed in him, implored his protection to save Love’s victim, showed my suppliant state that asked for a place in his heart; (284) and though I asked myself, “What is this shameful feeling that has arisen in me, unseemly and unworthy a noble maiden?” yet knowing this, I could not master myself, but with great difficulty stood firm, gazing at him. For I seemed to be paralyzed, or in a picture, or scattered abroad, or bound, or in a trance, and yet in wondrous wise upheld, as though when my limbs were failing, support was at the same moment given; for I know not how one can be certain in a matter that can neither be told nor taught, and that is not capable of being told, for it is only learnt from within. Can it be ascertained as presented by his beauty, or by my own mind, or by love, or by youth or affection, or by any other causes? I cannot tell. Lifted up and dragged towards him by my senses, led forward by my heart, urged from behind by Love, I yet by a strong effort restrained my impulse. (285) Straightway a storm of sighs went forth unceasingly, prompted by Love as he strove to find a place within me; and my bosom heaved as longing to speak earnestly to my heart, and then I thought to myself: “What an unworthy action is this of vile Kāma, who surrenders me to this cold ascetic free from all thoughts of love! Truly, the heart of woman is foolish exceedingly, since it cannot weigh the fitness of that which it loves. For what has this bright home of glory and penance to do with the stirrings of love that meaner men welcome? Surely in his heart he scorns me for being thus deceived by Kāma! Strange it is that I who know this cannot restrain my feeling! (286) Other maidens, indeed, laying shame aside, have of their own accord gone to their lords; others have been maddened by that reckless love-god; but not as I am here alone! How in that one moment has my heart been thrown into turmoil by the mere sight of his form, and passed from my control! for time for knowledge and good qualities always make Love invincible. It is best for me to leave this place while I yet have my senses, and while he does not clearly see this my hateful folly of love. Perchance if he sees in me the effects of a love he cannot approve, he will in wrath make me feel his curse. For ascetics are ever prone to wrath.” Thus having resolved, I was eager to depart, but, remembering that holy men should be reverenced by all, I made an obeisance to him with eyes turned to his face, eyelashes motionless, not glancing downwards, my cheek uncaressed by the flowers dancing in my ears, my garland tossing on my waving hair, and my jewelled earrings swinging on my shoulders.

‘“‘As I thus bent, the irresistible command of love, the inspiration of the spring, the charm of the place, the frowardness of youth, the unsteadiness of the senses, (287) the impatient longing for earthly goods, the fickleness of the mind, the destiny that rules events – in a word, my own cruel fate, and the fact that all my trouble was caused by him, were the means by which Love destroyed his firmness by the sight of my feeling, and made him waver towards me like a flame in the wind. He too was visibly thrilled, as if to welcome the newly-entering Love; his sighs went before him to show the way to his mind which was hastening towards me; the rosary in his hand trembled and shook, fearing the breaking of his vow; drops rose on his cheek, like a second garland hanging from his ear; his eyes, as his pupils dilated and his glance widened in the joy of beholding me, turned the spot to a very lotus-grove, so that the ten regions were filled by the long rays coming forth like masses of open lotuses that had of their own accord left the Acchoda lake and were rising to the sky.

‘“‘By the manifest change in him my love was redoubled, and I fell that moment into a state I cannot describe, all unworthy of my caste. “Surely,” I reflected, “Kāma himself teaches this play of the eye, though generally after a long happy love, else whence comes this ascetic’s gaze? (288) For his mind is unversed in the mingled feelings of earthly joys, and yet his eyes, though they have never learnt the art, pour forth the stream of love’s sweetness, rain nectar, are half closed by joy, are slow with distress, heavy with sleep, roaming with pupils tremulous and languid with the weight of gladness, and yet bright with the play of his eyebrows. Whence comes this exceeding skill that tells the heart’s longing wordlessly by a glance alone?”

‘“‘Impelled by these thoughts I advanced, and bowing to the second young ascetic, his companion, I asked: “What is the name of his Reverence? Of what ascetic is he the son? From what tree is this garland woven? For its scent, hitherto unknown, and of rare sweetness, kindles great curiosity in me.”

‘“‘With a slight smile, he replied: “Maiden, what needs this question? But I will enlighten thy curiosity. Listen!

‘“‘“There dwells in the world of gods a great sage, Çvetaketu; his noble character is famed through the universe; his feet are honoured by bands of siddhas, gods, and demons; (289) his beauty, exceeding that of Nalakūbara,[266 - Son of Kuvera.] is dear to the three worlds, and gladdens the hearts of goddesses. Once upon a time, when seeking lotuses for the worship of the gods, he went down to the Heavenly Ganges, which lay white as Çiva’s smile, while its water was studded as with peacocks’ eyes by the ichor of Airāvata. Straightway Lakshmī, enthroned on a thousand-petalled white lotus close by, beheld him coming down among the flowers, and looking on him, she drank in his beauty with eyes half closed by love, and quivering with weight of joyous tears, and with her slender fingers laid on her softly-opening lips; and her heart was disturbed by Love; by her glance alone she won his affection. A son was born, and taking him in her arms with the words, ‘Take him, for he is thine,’ she gave him to Çvetaketu, who performed all the rites of a son’s birth, and called him Puṇḍarīka, because he was born in a puṇḍarīka lotus. Moreover, after initiation, he led him through the whole circle of the arts. (290) This is Puṇḍarīka whom you see. And this spray comes from the pārijāta tree,[267 - The coral tree.] which rose when the Milky Ocean was churned by gods and demons. How it gained a place in his ear contrary to his vow, I will now tell. This being the fourteenth day of the month, he started with me from heaven to worship Çiva, who had gone to Kailāsa. On the way, near the Nandana Wood, a nymph, drunk with the juice of flowers, wearing fresh mango shoots in her ear, veiled completely by garlands falling to the knees, girt with kesara flowers, and resting on the fair hand lent her by the Lakshmī of spring, took this spray of pārijāta, and bending low, thus addressed Puṇḍarīka: ‘Sir, let, I pray, this thy form, that gladdens the eyes of the universe, have this spray as its fitting adornment; let it be placed on the tip of thy ear, for it has but the playfulness that belongs to a garland; let the birth of the pārijāta now reap its full blessing!’ At her words, his eyes were cast down in modesty at the praise he so well deserved, and he turned to depart without regarding her; but as I saw her following us, I said, ‘What is the harm, friend. Let her courteous gift be accepted!’ and so by force, against his will, the spray adorns his ear. Now all has been told: who he is, whose son, and what this flower is, and how it has been raised to his ear.” (291) When he had thus spoken, Puṇḍarīka said to me with a slight smile: “Ah, curious maiden, why didst thou take the trouble to ask this? If the flower, with its sweet scent, please thee, do thou accept it,” and advancing, he took it from his own ear and placed it in mine, as though, with the soft murmur of the bees on it, it were a prayer for love. At once, in my eagerness to touch his hand, a thrill arose in me, like a second pārijāta flower, where the garland lay; while he, in the pleasure of touching my cheek, did not see that from his tremulous fingers he had dropped his rosary at the same time as his timidity; but before it reached the ground I seized it, and playfully placed it on my neck, where it wore the grace of a necklace unlike all others, while I learnt the joy of having my neck clasped, as it were, by his arm.

‘“‘As our hearts were thus occupied with each other, my umbrella-bearer addressed me: “Princess, the Queen has bathed. It is nearly time to go home. Do thou, therefore, also bathe.” At her words, like a newly-caught elephant, rebellious at the first touch of the new hook, I was unwillingly dragged away, and as I went down to bathe, I could hardly withdraw my eyes, for they seemed to be drowned in the ambrosial beauty of his face, or caught in the thicket of my thrilling cheek, or pinned down by Love’s shafts, or sewn fast by the cords[268 - Or, virtue.] of his charms.

(292) ‘“‘Meanwhile, the second young ascetic, seeing that he was losing his self-control, gently upbraided him: “Dear Puṇḍarīka, this is unworthy of thee. This is the way trodden by common men. For the good are rich in self-control. Why dost thou, like a man of low caste, fail to restrain the turmoil of thy soul? Whence comes this hitherto unknown assault of the senses, which so transforms thee? Where is thine old firmness? Where thy conquest of the senses? Where thy self-control? Where thy calm of mind, thine inherited holiness, thy carelessness of earthly things? Where the teaching of thy guru, thy learning of the Vedas, thy resolves of asceticism, thy hatred of pleasure, thine aversion to vain delights, thy passion for penance, thy distaste for enjoyments, thy rule over the impulses of youth? Verily all knowledge is fruitless, study of holy books is useless, initiation has lost its meaning, pondering the teaching of gurus avails not, proficiency is worthless, learning leads to nought, since even men like thee are stained by the touch of passion, and overcome by folly. (293) Thou dost not even see that thy rosary has fallen from thy hand, and has been carried away. Alas! how good sense fails in men thus struck down. Hold back this heart of thine, for this worthless girl is seeking to carry it away.”

‘“‘To these words he replied, with some shame: “Dear Kapiñjala, why dost thou thus misunderstand me? I am not one to endure this reckless girl’s offence in taking my rosary!” and with his moonlike face beautiful in its feigned wrath, and adorned the more by the dread frown he tried to assume, while his lip trembled with longing to kiss me, he said to me, “Playful maiden, thou shalt not move a step from this place without giving back my rosary.” Thereupon I loosed from my neck a single row of pearls as the flower-offering that begins a dance in Kāma’s honour, and placed it in his outstretched hand, while his eyes were fixed on my face, and his mind was far away. I started to bathe, but how I started I know not, for my mother and my companions could hardly lead me away by force, like a river driven backwards, and I went home thinking only of him.

(294) ‘“‘And entering the maidens’ dwelling, I began straightway to ask myself in my grief at his loss: “Am I really back, or still there? Am I alone, or with my maidens? Am I silent, or beginning to speak? Am I awake or asleep? Do I weep or hold back my tears? Is this joy or sorrow, longing or despair, misfortune or gladness, day or night? Are these things pleasures or pains?” All this I understood not. In my ignorance of Love’s course, I knew not whither to go, what to do, hear, see, or speak, whom to tell, nor what remedy to seek. Entering the maidens’ palace, I dismissed my friends at the door, and shut out my attendants, and then, putting aside all my occupations, I stood alone with my face against the jewelled window. I gazed at the region which, in its possession of him, was richly decked, endowed with great treasure, overflowed by the ocean of nectar, adorned with the rising of the full moon, and most fair to behold, I longed to ask his doings even of the breeze wafted from thence, or of the scent of the woodland flowers, or of the song of the birds. (295) I envied even the toils of penance for his devotion to them. For his sake, in the blind adherence of love, I took a vow of silence. I attributed grace to the ascetic garb, because he accepted it, beauty to youth because he owned it, charm to the pārijāta flower because it touched his ear, delight to heaven because he dwelt there, and invincible power to love because he was so fair. Though far away, I turned towards him as the lotus-bed to the sun, the tide to the moon, or the peacock to the cloud. I bore on my neck his rosary, like a charm against the loss of the life stricken by his absence. I stood motionless, though a thrill made the down on my cheek like a kadamba flower ear-ring, as it rose from the joy of being touched by his hand, and from the pārijāta spray in my ear, which spoke sweetly to me of him.

‘“‘Now my betel-bearer, Taralikā, had been with me to bathe; she came back after me rather late, and softly addressed me in my sadness: “Princess, one of those godlike ascetics we saw on the bank of Lake Acchoda – (296) he by whom this spray of the heavenly tree was placed in thy ear – as I was following thee, eluded the glance of his other self, and approaching me with soft steps between the branches of a flowering creeper, asked me concerning thee, saying, ‘Damsel, who is this maiden? Whose daughter is she? What is her name? And whither goes she?’ I replied: ‘She is sprung from Gaurī, an Apsaras of the moon race, and her father Haṃsa is king of all the Gandharvas; the nails of his feet are burnished by the tips of the jewelled aigrettes on the turbans of all the Gandharvas; his tree-like arms are marked by the cosmetics on the cheeks of his Gandharva wives, and the lotus-hand of Lakshmī forms his footstool. The princess is named Mahāçvetā, and she has set out now for the hill of Hemakūṭa, the abode of the Gandharvas.’

‘“‘“When this tale had been told by me, he thought silently for a moment, and then looking long at me with a steady gaze, as if gently entreating me, he said: ‘Damsel, thy form, young as thou art, is of fair promise, and augurs truth and steadfastness. Grant me, therefore, one request.’ Courteously raising my hands, I reverently replied: (297) ‘Wherefore say this? Who am I? When great-souled men such as thou, meet for the honour of the whole universe, deign to cast even their sin-removing glance on one like me, their act wins merit – much more if they give a command. Say, therefore, freely what is to be done. Let me be honoured by thy bidding.’

‘“‘“Thus addressed, he saluted me with a kindly glance, as a friend, a helper, or a giver of life; and taking a shoot from a tamāla-tree hard by, he crushed it on the stones of the bank, broke off a piece from his upper bark garment as a tablet, and with the tamāla-juice, sweet as the ichor of a gandha elephant, wrote with the nail of the little finger of his lotus-hand, and placed it in my hand, saying, ‘Let this letter be secretly given by thee to that maiden when alone.’” With these words she drew it from the betel-box and showed it to me.

‘“‘As I took from her hand that bark letter, I was filled with this talk about him, which, though but a sound, produced the joy of contact, and though for the ears alone, had its pervading presence in all my limbs manifested by a thrill, as if it were a spell to invoke Love; and in his letter I beheld these lines:[269 - ‘In the āryā metre,’ in the Sanskrit.]

A haṃsa on the Mānas lake, lured by a creeper’s treacherous shine,
My heart is led a weary chase, lured by that pearly wreath of thine.[270 - Mānasijanmā = (a) born in the Mānasa lake; (b) born in the mind, i. e., love. Muktālatā = (a) a white creeper; (b) a pearl necklace.]

(298) ‘“‘By the reading of this, an even greater change for the worse was wrought in my lovesick mind, as in one who has lost his way, by also losing his bearings; as in a blind man, by a night of the dark fortnight; as in a dumb man, by cutting out the tongue; as in an ignorant man, by a conjuror’s waving fan; as in a confused talker, by the delirium of fever; as in one poisoned, by the fatal sleep; as in a wicked man, by atheistic philosophy; as in one distraught, by strong drink; or as in one possessed, by the action of the possessing demon; so that in the turmoil it created in me, I was tossed like a river in flood. I honoured Taralikā for having seen him again, as one who had acquired great merit, or who had tasted the joys of heaven, or had been visited by a god, or had her highest boon granted, or had drunk nectar, or had been anointed queen of the three worlds. I spoke to her reverently, as if, though always by me, she were a rare visitant, and though my familiar friend, she were hitherto unknown. I looked on her, though behind me, as above the world; I tenderly caressed the curls on her cheek, and entirely set at nought the condition of mistress and maid, again and again asking, (299) “How was he seen by thee? What did he say to thee? How long wert thou there? How far did he follow us?” And shutting out all my attendants, I spent the whole day with her in the palace, listening to that tale. The sun’s orb hanging in the sky became crimson, sharing my heart’s glow; the Lakshmī of sunlight longing for the sight of the flushed sun, and preparing her lotus-couch, turned pale as though faint with love; the sunbeams, rosy as they fell on waters dyed with red chalk, rose from the lotus-beds clustering like herds of woodland elephants; the day, with an echo of the joyous neighing of the steeds of the sun’s chariot longing to rest after their descent of the sky, entered the caves of Mount Meru; the lotus-beds, as the bees entered the folded leaves of the red lilies, seemed to close their eyes as though their hearts were darkened by a swoon at the sun’s departure; the pairs of cakravākas, each taking the other’s heart, safely hidden in the hollow lotus-stalks whereof they had eaten together, were now parted; and my umbrella-bearer approaching me, said as follows: (300) “Princess, one of those youthful hermits is at the door, and says he has come to beg for a rosary.” At the hermit’s name, though motionless, I seemed to approach the door, and suspecting the reason of his coming, I summoned another chamberlain, whom I sent, saying, “Go and admit him.” A moment later I beheld the young ascetic Kapiñjala, who is to Puṇḍarīka as youth to beauty, love to youth, spring to love, southern breezes to spring, and who is indeed a friend worthy of him; he followed the hoary chamberlain as sunlight after moonlight. As he drew near his appearance betrayed to me trouble, sadness, distraction, entreaty, and a yearning unfulfilled. With a reverence I rose and respectfully brought him a seat; and when he was reluctantly forced to accept it, I washed his feet and dried them on the silken edge of my upper robe; and then sat by him on the bare ground. For a moment he waited, as if eager to speak, when he cast his eyes on Taralikā close by. Knowing his desire at a glance, I said, “Sir, she is one with me. (301) Speak fearlessly.” At my words Kapiñjala replied: “Princess, what can I say? for through shame my voice does not reach the sphere of utterance. How far is the passionless ascetic who lives on roots in the woods from the illusion of passion that finds its home in restless souls, and is stained with longing for earthly pleasures, and filled with the manifold sports of the Love God. See how unseemly all this is! What has fate begun? God easily turns us into a laughing-stock! I know not if this be fitting with bark garments, or seemly for matted locks, or meet for penance, or consonant with the teaching of holiness! Such a mockery was never known! I needs must tell you the story. No other course is visible; no other remedy is perceived; no other refuge is at hand; no other way is before me. If it remains untold, even greater trouble will arise. A friend’s life must be saved even at the loss of our own; so I will tell the tale:

‘“‘“It was in thy presence that I sternly rebuked Puṇḍarīka, and after that speech I left him in anger and went to another place, leaving my task of gathering flowers. After thy departure, I remained apart a short time, (302) and then, becoming anxious as to what he was doing, I turned back and examined the spot from behind a tree. As I did not see him there, the thought arose within me, ‘His mind was enslaved by love, and perchance he followed her; and now that she is gone, he has regained his senses, and is ashamed to come within my sight; or he has gone from me in wrath, or departed hence to another place in search of me.’ Thus thinking, I waited some time, but, troubled by an absence I had never since my birth suffered for a moment, I again thought, ‘It may be that, in shame at his failure in firmness, he will come to some harm; for shame makes everything possible; he must not, then, be left alone.’ With this resolve, I earnestly made search for him. But as I could not see him, though I sought on all sides, made anxious by love for my friend, I pictured this or that misfortune, and wandered long, examining glades of trees, creeper bowers among the sandal avenues, and the banks of lakes, carefully glancing on every side. (303) At length I beheld him in a thicket of creepers near a lake, a very birthplace for spring, most fair, and in its close growth appearing to be made wholly of flowers, of bees, of cuckoos, and of peacocks. From his entire absence of employment, he was as one painted, or engraved, or paralyzed, or dead, or asleep, or in a trance of meditation; he was motionless, yet wandering from his right course; alone, yet possessed by Love; all aglow, yet raising a pallid face; absent-minded, yet giving his love a place within him; silent, and yet telling a tale of Love’s great woe; seated on a stone, yet standing in face of death. He was tormented by Kāma, who yet, in fear of many a curse, remained unseen. By his great stillness he appeared to be deserted by the senses which had entered into him to behold the love that dwelt in his heart, and had fainted in fear at its unbearable heat, or had left him in wrath at the tossing of his mind. From eyes steadily closed, and dimmed within by the smoke of Love’s keen fire, he ceaselessly poured forth a storm of tears trickling down through his eyelashes. (304) The filaments of the creepers near trembled in the sighs which rushed out, bearing the redness of his lips like the upstarting ruddy flame of Kāma burning his heart. As his hand rested on his left cheek, his brow, from the clear rays of his nails rising upwards, seemed to have a fresh mark of sandal very pure; from the late removal of his earring, the pārijāta flower, his ear was endowed with a tamāla shoot or a blue lotus by the bees that murmured a charm to bewitch love, under the guise of their soft hum as they crept up in longing for what remained of that fragrance. Under the guise of his hair rising in a passionate thrill he seemed to bear on his limbs a mass of broken points of the flowery darts of Love’s arrows discharged into his pores. With his right hand he bore on his breast a string of pearls that, by being interlaced with the flashing rays of his nails, seemed bristling in joy at the pleasure of touching his palm, and that was, as it were, a banner of recklessness. He was pelted by the trees with pollen, like a powder to subdue Love; he was caressed by açoka shoots tossed by the wind, and transferring to him their rosy glow; he was besprinkled by woodland Lakshmī with honey-dew from clusters of fresh flowers, like waters to crown Love; he was struck by Love with campak buds, which, as their fragrance was drunk in by bees, were like fiery barbs all smoking; (305) he was rebuked by the south wind, as if by the hum of the bees maddened by the many scents of the wood; he was bewildered by the honey-month, as by cries of ‘All hail!’ to Spring raised by the cuckoos in their melodious ecstasy. Like the risen moon, he was robed in paleness; like the stream of Ganges in summer, he had dwindled to meagreness; like a sandal-tree with a fire at its heart, he was fading away. He seemed to have entered on another birth, and was as another man, strange and unfamiliar; he was changed into another shape. As one entered by an evil spirit, ruled by a great demon, possessed by a strong devil, drunk, deluded, blind, deaf, dumb, all merged in joy and love, he had reached the climax of the mind’s slavery when possessed by Love, and his old self could no longer be known.

‘“‘“As with a steady glance I long examined his sad state, I became despondent, and thought in my trembling heart: ‘This is of a truth that Love whose force none can resist; for by him Puṇḍarīka has been in a moment brought to a state for which there is no cure. For how else could such a storehouse of learning become straightway unavailing? (306) It is, alas! a miracle in him who from childhood has been firm of nature and unswerving in conduct, and whose life was the envy of myself and the other young ascetics. Here, like a mean man, despising knowledge, contemning the power of penance, he has rooted up his deep steadfastness, and is paralyzed by Love. A youth which has never swerved is indeed rare!’ I went forward, and sitting down by him on the same stone, with my hand resting on his shoulder, I asked him, though his eyes were still closed: ‘Dear Puṇḍarīka, tell me what this means.’ Then with great difficulty and effort he opened his eyes, which seemed fastened together by their long closing, and which were red from incessant weeping and overflowing with tears as if shaken and in pain, while their colour was that of a red lotus-bed veiled in white silk. He looked at me long with a very languid glance, and then, deeply sighing, in accents broken by shame, he slowly and with pain murmured: ‘Dear Kapiñjala, why ask me what thou knowest?’ Hearing this, and thinking that Puṇḍarīka was suffering in this way a cureless ill, but that still, as far as possible, a friend who is entering a wrong course should be held back to the utmost by those who love him, I replied: ‘Dear Puṇḍarīka, I know it well. (307) I will only ask this question: Is this course you have begun taught by your gurus, or read in the holy books? or is this a way of winning holiness, or a fresh form of penance, or a path to heaven, or a mystic vow, or a means of salvation, or any other kind of discipline? Is this fitting for thee even to imagine, much less to see or tell? Like a fool, thou seest not that thou art made a laughing-stock by that miscreant Love. For it is the fool who is tormented by Love. For what is thy hope of happiness in such things as are honoured by the base, but blamed by the good? He truly waters a poison tree under the idea of duty, or embraces the sword plant for a lotus-wreath, or lays hold on a black snake, taking it for a line of smoke of black aloes, or touches a burning coal for a jewel, or tries to pull out the club-like tusk of a wild elephant, thinking it a lotus-fibre; he is a fool who places happiness in the pleasures of sense which end in sorrow. And thou, though knowing the real nature of the senses, why dost thou carry thy knowledge as the firefly his light,[271 - Scilicet, in the day.] only to be concealed, in that thou restrainest not thy senses when they start out of their course like streams turbid[272 - Turbid with (a) dust; (b) passion.] in their passionate onrush? Nor dost thou curb thy tossing mind. (308) Who, forsooth, is this Love-god? Relying on thy firmness, do thou revile this miscreant.’

‘“‘“As I thus spoke he wiped with his hand his eyes streaming with tears poured through his eyelashes, and while he yet leant on me, replied, rebuking my speech: ‘Friend, what need of many words? Thou at least art untouched! Thou hast not fallen within the range of Love’s shafts, cruel with the poison of snakes! It is easy to teach another! and when that other has his senses and his mind, and sees, hears, and knows what he has heard, and can discern good and evil, he is then fit for advice. But all this is far from me; all talk of stability, judgment, firmness, reflection, has come to an end. How do I even breathe but by strong effort? The time for advice is long past. The opportunity for firmness has been let slip; the hour for reflection is gone; the season for stability and judgment has passed away. Who but thee could give advice at this time, or could attempt to restrain my wandering? To whom but thee should I listen? or who else in the world is a friend like thee? What ails me that I cannot restrain myself? Thou sawest in a moment my wretched plight. The time, then, for advice is now past. (309) While I breathe, I long for some cure for the fever of love, violent as the rays of twelve suns[273 - The Vishṇu Purāṇa, Bk. vi., ch. iii., mentions seven suns.] at the end of the world. My limbs are baked, my heart is seething, my eyes are burning, and my body on fire. Do, therefore, what the time demands.’ He then became silent, and after this speech I tried again and again to rouse him; but as he did not listen even when tenderly and affectionately exhorted in the words of the pure teaching of the çāstras full of cases like his own, together with the legendary histories, I thought, ‘He is gone too far; he cannot be turned back. Advice is now useless, so I will make an effort just to preserve his life.’ With this resolve I rose and went, and tore up some juicy lotus-fibres from the lake; then, taking some lotus-petals marked by water, I plucked lotuses of all kinds, sweet with the fragrance of the aromatic pollen within, and prepared a couch on that same rock in the bower. And as he rested there at ease (310), I crushed soft twigs of the sandal-trees hard by, and with its juice, naturally sweet and cold as ice, made a mark on his brow, and anointed him from head to foot. I allayed the perspiration by camphor-dust powdered in my hand, broken from the interstices of the split bark of the trees near, and fanned him with a plantain-leaf dripping with pure water, while the bark robe he wore was moist with the sandal placed on his breast; and as I again and again strewed fresh lotus couches, and anointed him with sandal, and removed the perspiration, and constantly fanned him, the thought arose in my mind, ‘Surely nothing is too hard for Love! For how far apart would seem Puṇḍarīka, by nature simple and content with his woodland home, like a fawn, and Mahāçvetā, the Gandharva princess, a galaxy of graces: surely there is nothing for Love in the world hard, or difficult, or unsubdued, or impossible. He scornfully attempts the hardest tasks, nor can any resist him. For why speak of beings endowed with sense when, if it so please him, he can bring together even things without sense? For the night lotus-bed falls in love with the sun’s ray, and the day-lotus leaves her hatred of the moon, and night is joined to day, (311) and moonlight waits on darkness, and shade stands in the face of light, and lightning stays firm in the cloud, and old age accompanies youth; and what more difficult thing can there be than that one like Puṇḍarīka, who is an ocean of unfathomable depth, should thus be brought to the lightness of grass? Where is his former penance, and where his present state? Truly it is a cureless ill that has befallen him! What must I now do or attempt, or whither go, or what refuge or resource, or help or remedy, or plan, or recourse, is there by which his life may be sustained? Or by what skill, or device, or means, or support, or thought, or solace, may he yet live?’ These and other such thoughts arose in my downcast heart. But again I thought, ‘What avails dwelling on this useless thought? His life must be preserved by any means, good or bad, (312) and there is no other way to save it but by her union with him; and as he is timid by reason of his youth, and moreover thinks the affairs of love contrary to his vow, unseemly, and a mockery in himself, he certainly, even at his last breath, will not gratify his longing by himself approaching her. This his disease of love admits no delay. Good men always hold that a friend’s life must be saved even by a blameworthy deed; so that though this is a shameful and wrong action, it has yet become imperative for me. What else can be done? What other course is there? I will certainly go to her. I will tell her his state.’ Thus thinking, I left the place on some pretext, and came hither without telling him, lest perchance he should feel that I was engaged in an unseemly employment, and should in shame hold me back. This being the state of affairs, thou, lady, art the judge of what action is needful for the time, worthy of so great a love, fitting for my coming, and right for thyself.” With these words he became silent, fixing his eyes on my face to see what I should say. But I, having heard him, was plunged, as it were, into a lake of ambrosial joy, or immersed in an ocean of the sweets of love, floating above all joys, mounting to the pinnacle of all desires, resting at the utmost bound of gladness. I showed my happiness by joyful tears pouring clear, large, and heavy, because my eyelashes were not closed, strung like a garland by their unceasing succession, and not touching my cheek, because my face was somewhat bent in sudden shame; (313) and I thought at once: “0 joy, that Love entangles him as well as me, so that even while tormenting me, he has in part showed me kindness; and if Puṇḍarīka is indeed in such a plight, what help has not Love given me, or what has he not done for me, or what friend is like him, or how could a false tale, even in sleep, pass the lips of the calm-souled Kapiñjala? And if this be so, what must I do, and what must I say in his presence?” While I was thus deliberating, a portress hastily entered, and said to me: “Princess, the Queen has learnt from her attendants that thou art ill, and is now coming.” On hearing this, Kapiñjala, fearing the contact of a great throng, quickly rose, saying: “Princess, a cause of great delay has arisen. The sun, the crest-jewel of the three worlds, is now sinking, so I will depart. But I raise my hands in salutation as a slight offering for the saving of my dear friend’s life; that is my greatest treasure.” (314) Then, without awaiting my reply, he with difficulty departed, for the door was blocked by the entrance of the attendants that heralded my Lady Mother. There were the portresses bearing golden staves; the chamberlains with unguents, cosmetics, flowers, and betel, holding waving cowries; and in their train were humpbacks, barbarians, deaf men, eunuchs, dwarfs, and deaf mutes.

‘“‘Then the Queen came to me, and after a long visit, went home; but I observed nothing of what she did, said, or attempted while with me, for my heart was far away. When she went the sun, with his steeds bright as haritāla pigeons, lord of life to the lotuses, and friend of the cakravākas, had sunk to rest, and the face of the West was growing crimson, and the lotus-beds were turning green, and the East was darkening to blue; and the world of mortals was overcome by a blackness like a wave of the ocean of final destruction turbid with the mud of hell. I knew not what to do, and asked Taralikā, “Seest thou not, Taralikā, how confused is my mind? My senses are bewildered with uncertainty, and I am unable myself to see in the least what I should do. (315) Do thou tell me what is right to do, for Kapiñjala is now gone, and he told his tale in thy presence. What if, like a base-born maiden, I cast away shame, relinquish self-control, desert modesty, contemn the reproach of men, transgress good behaviour, trample on conduct, despise noble birth, accept the disgrace of a course blinded by love, and without my father’s leave, or my mother’s approval, I were to go to him myself and offer him my hand? This transgression against my parents would be a great wrong. But if, taking the other alternative, I follow duty, I shall in the first place accept death, and even so I shall break the heart of his reverence Kapiñjala, who loved him first, and who came hither of his own accord. And again, if perchance that man’s death is brought about by my deed in destroying his hopes, then causing the death of an ascetic would be a grave sin.” While I thus considered, the East became gray with the glimmering light of moonrise, like a line of woods in spring with the pollen of flowers. And in the moonlight the eastern quarter showed white as if with the powdered pearls from the frontal bone of the elephant of darkness torn open by the lion-moon, (316) or pale with sandal-dust falling from the breast of the nymphs of the eastern mountain, or light with the rising of sand in an island left by the tide, stirred by the wind on the waves of the ever-moving ocean. Slowly the moonlight glided down, and made bright the face of night, as if it were the flash of her teeth as she softly smiled at the sight of the moon; then evening shone with the moon’s orb, as if it were the circle of Çesha’s hoods breaking through the earth as it rose from hell; after that, night became fair with the moon, the gladdener of the world of mortals, the delight of lovers, now leaving its childhood behind and becoming the ally of Love, with a youthful glow arising within it, the only fitting light for the enjoyment of Love’s pleasures, ambrosial, climbing the sky like youth impersonate. Then I beheld the risen moon as if flushed with the coral of the ocean it had just left, crimsoned with the blood of its deer struck by the paw of the lion of the Eastern Mountain, marked with the lac of Rohiṇī’s[274 - The asterism Rohiṇī.] feet, as she spurned her lord in a love quarrel, (317) and ruddy with his newly-kindled glow. And I, though the fire of Love burnt within me, had my heart darkened; though my body rested on the lap of Taralikā, I was a captive in the hands of Love; though my eyes were fixed on the moon, I was looking on death, and I straightway thought, “There are the honey-month, the Malaya winds, and all other such things brought together, and in the same place to have this evil miscreant moon cannot be endured. My heart cannot bear it. Its rising now is like a shower of coals to one consumed by fever, or a fall of snow to one ill from cold, or the bite of a black snake to one faint with the swelling of poison.” And as I thus thought, a swoon closed my eyes, like the sleep brought by moonlight that withers the lotuses of the day. Soon, however, I regained consciousness by means of the fanning and sandal unguents of the bewildered Taralikā, and I saw her weeping, her face dimmed with ceaseless tears, pressing the point of a moist moonstone to my brow, and seeming possessed by despair impersonate. As I opened my eyes, she fell at my feet, and said, raising hands yet wet with the thick sandal ointment: “Princess, why think of shame or disrespect to parents? Be kind; send me, and I will fetch the beloved of thy heart; (318) rise, or go thither thyself. Henceforth thou canst not bear this Love that is an ocean whose manifold passionate waves[275 - Utkalikā = (a) wave; (b) longing.] are swelling at the rise of a strong moon.” To this speech I replied: “Mad girl, what is love to me? The moon it is, even the lord of the night lotuses, who removes all scruples, undermines all search for means of escape, conceals all difficulties, takes away all doubts, contemns all fears, roots out all shame, veils the sinful levity of going myself to my lover, avoids all delay, and has come merely to lead me either to Puṇḍarīka or to death. Rise, therefore; for while I have life I will follow him and honour him who, dear as he is, tortures my heart.” Thus saying, I rose, leaning on her, for my limbs were yet unsteady with the weakness of the swoon caused by Love, and as I rose my right eye throbbed, presaging ill, and in sudden terror I thought: “What new thing is this threatened by Destiny?”

(319) ‘“‘The firmament was now flooded with moonlight, as if the moon’s orb, which had not yet risen far, was, like the waterpipe of the temple of the universe, discharging a thousand streams of the heavenly Ganges, pouring forth the waves of an ambrosial ocean, shedding many a cascade of sandal-juice, and bearing floods of nectar; the world seemed to learn what life was in the White Continent, and the pleasures of seeing the land of Soma; the round earth was being poured out from the depths of a Milky Ocean by the moon, which was like the rounded tusk of the Great Boar; the moonrise offerings were being presented in every house by the women with sandal-water fragrant with open lotuses; the highways were crowded with thousands of women-messengers sent by fair ladies; girls going to meet their lovers ran hither and thither, veiled in blue silk and fluttered by the dread of the bright moonlight as if they were the nymphs of the white day lotus groves concealed in the splendours of the blue lotuses; the sky became an alluvial island in the river of night, with its centre whitened by the thick pollen of the groves of open night lotuses; while the night lotus-beds in the house-tanks were waking, encircled by bees which clung to every blossom; (320) the world of mortals was, like the ocean, unable to contain the joy of moonrise, and seemed made of love, of festivity, of mirth, and of tenderness: evening was pleasant with the murmur of peacocks garrulous in gladness at the cascade that fell from the waterpipes of moonstone.

‘“‘Taralikā accompanied me, holding powders, perfumes, unguents, betel, and various flowers, and I had also that napkin, wet with the sandal ointment which had been applied in my swoon, and which had its nap slightly disordered and gray with the partly-dried mark of sandalwood clinging to it; the rosary was on my neck; the pārijāta spray was kissing the tip of my ear; veiled in red silk that seemed fashioned from rays of rubies, I went down from the top of that palace, unseen by any of my devoted attendants. On my way I was pursued by a swarm of bees, which hastened, leaving lotus-beds and deserting gardens, drawn by the scent of the pārijāta spray, sportively forming a blue veil round me. I departed through the door of the pleasure-grove and set out to meet Puṇḍarīka. (321) As I went, I thought, seeing myself attended by Taralikā only: “What needs pomp of retinue when we seek our dearest! Surely our servants then but play a mockery of attendance, for Love follows me with shaft fitted to the strung bow; the moon, stretching out a long ray,[276 - Or, hand.] draws me on like a hand; passion supports me at every step from fear of a fall; my heart rushes on with the senses, leaving shame behind; longing has gained certainty, and leads me on.” Aloud I said: “Oh, Taralikā, would that this miscreant moon would with its beams seize him by the hair and draw him forward like myself!” As I thus spoke, she smilingly replied: “Thou art foolish, my princess! What does the moon want with Puṇḍarīka? Nay, rather, he himself, as though wounded by Love, does all these things for thee; for under the guise of his image he kisses thy cheeks marked with drops of perspiration; with trembling ray he falls on thy fair breast; he touches the gems of thy girdle; entangled in thy bright nails, he falls at thy feet; moreover, the form of this lovesick moon wears the pallor of a sandal unguent dried by fever; (322) he stretches out his rays[277 - Hands.] white as lotus-fibres; under the guise of his reflection he falls on crystal pavements; with rays[278 - Feet.] gray as the dust from the filaments inside the ketakī, he plunges into lotus-pools; he touches with his beams[279 - Hands.] the moonstones wet with spray; he hates the day lotus-groves with their pairs of cakravākas once severed.” With such discourse fitting for the time I approached that spot in her company. I then bathed my feet, gray with pollen from the creeper flowers on our path, in a spot near Kapiñjala’s abode which had a stream of moonstone, liquefied by moonrise, flowing from Kailāsa’s slope; and there, on the left bank of the lake, I heard the sound of a man’s weeping, softened by distance. Some fear had arisen within me at first, from the quivering of my right eye, and now that my heart was yet more torn by this cry, as if my downcast mind were telling some dreadful tidings within, I cried in terror: “Taralikā, what means this?” And with trembling limbs I breathlessly hastened on.

‘“‘Then I heard afar a bitter cry, clear in the calm of night: “Alas, I am undone! I am consumed! I am deceived! What is this that has befallen me? What has happened? I am uprooted! (323) Cruel demon Love, evil and pitiless, what shameful deed hast thou brought to pass? Ah, wicked, evil, wanton Mahāçvetā, how had he harmed thee? Ah, evil, wanton, monstrous[280 - Candracaṇḍāla (lit., ‘base-born moon’) is intended as an assonance.] moon, thou hast gained thy desire. Cruel soft breeze of the South, thy softness is gone, and thy will is fulfilled. That which was to be done is done. Go now as thou wilt! Ah, venerable Çvetaketu, tender to thy son, thou knowest not that thy life is stolen from thee! Dharma, thou art dispossessed! Penance, thou art protectorless! Eloquence, thou art widowed! Truth, thou art lordless! Heaven, thou art void! Friend, protect me! Yet I will follow thee! I cannot remain even a moment without thee, alone! How canst thou now suddenly leave me, and go thy way like a stranger on whom my eyes had never rested? Whence comes this thy great hardness? Say, whither, without thee, shall I go? Whom shall I implore? What refuge shall I seek? I am blinded! For me space is empty! Life is aimless, penance vain, the world void of joy! With whom shall I wander, to whom speak, with whom hold converse? Do thou arise! Grant me an answer. Friend, where is thine old love to me? Where that smiling welcome that never failed me?”

(324) ‘“‘Such were the words I heard Kapiñjala utter; and as I heard them I uttered a loud cry, while yet far off, as if my life had fallen; and with my silk cloak torn as it clung to the creepers by the lake’s bank, and my feet placed on the ground regardless of its being rough or even, and as hastily as I could, I went on to that place, stumbling at every step, and yet as if led on by one who lifted me up again.

‘“‘There I beheld Puṇḍarīka lying on a couch made on a slab of moonstone wet with showers of cool spray, close to the lake; it was made of lotus-fibres like a garland of tender flowers from all lilies, and seemed to be formed wholly of the points of Love’s arrows. Puṇḍarīka seemed from his great stillness to be listening for the sound of my step. He seemed to have gained a moment’s happiness in sleep, as if Love’s pain had been quenched by inward wrath; he seemed engaged in a yoga penance of holding his breath, as an atonement for his breach of ascetic duty; he seemed to murmur, with bright yet trembling lip: “By thy deed am I come to this pass.” He seemed pierced by the moonbeams which, under the guise of his bright finger-nails placed on a heart throbbing with Love’s fire, fell on his back as he lay averted in hatred of the moon. (325) He bore a mark on his brow of a line of sandal, which, by its being pale from dryness, was like a digit of Love’s waning moon portending his own destruction. Life seemed to leave him in anger, saying: “Fool, another is dearer to thee than I!” His eyes were not wholly closed; their pupils were slightly turned to look; they were red with ceaseless weeping; they seemed to drop blood, since by failure of breath his tears were exhausted; and they were partly curved in pain at Love’s darts. He now experienced the pain of unconsciousness, as if together with the torment of love he were also yielding life itself; he seemed to meditate a new version of Love’s mystery, and to practise an unwonted retention of breath. His life seemed to be carried off as a prize[281 - Pūrṇapātra, a basket of gifts to be scrambled for at a wedding.] by Love, who had in kindness arranged my coming. On his brow was a sandal tripuṇḍraka mark; he wore a sacrificial thread of juicy lotus-fibre; his dress clung to his shoulder beautiful as the leaf that ensheathes a plantain; his rosary had only the thickness of a single row;[282 - I.e., the row of pearls given by Mahāçvetā.] the ashes on his brow were of abundant white camphor-powder; he was fair with the string of lotus-fibre, bound on his arm as an amulet; he seemed to wear the garb of Love’s vow, as if completing a charm for my coming. With his eye he tenderly uttered the reproach: “Hard-hearted! I was but followed by one glance, and never again received thy favour.” (326) His lips were slightly open, so that his form gleamed white in the rays of his teeth, which came forth as if they were moonbeams that had entered him to take away his life; with his left hand placed on a heart breaking with the pain of love, he seemed to say: “Be kind, depart not with my life, thou that art dear as life!” and so to hold me firmly in his heart; his right hand, which from the uneven rays of his nails jutting forth seemed to drop sandal, was raised as if to ward off the moonlight; near him stood his pitcher, the friend of his penance, with neck upright, as if it gazed at the path by which his life was just rising; the garland of lotus-fibres which adorned his neck bound him as if with a rope of moonbeams to lead him to another world; and when, at the sight of me, Kapiñjala, with a cry of “Help, help!” raised his hands, and crying aloud with redoubled tears, fell on his neck, at that very moment I, wicked and ill-fated as I was, beheld that noble youth yield up his life. The darkness of a swoon came upon me, and I descended into hell; nor knew I anything of whither I then went, or what I did or said. Neither knew I why my life did not at that moment leave me; (327) whether from the utter hardness of my stupefied heart, or from the callousness to bear thousands of troubles of my wretched body, or from being fated to endure a long grief, or from being a vessel of evil earned in another birth, or from the skill of my cruel destiny in bestowing sorrow, or from the singular perversity of malign accursed love. Only this I know: that when at length in my misery I regained consciousness, I found myself writhing on the ground, tortured, as if I had fallen on a fire, by a grief too hard to bear. I could not believe aught so impossible as that he should die and I yet live, and rising with a bitter cry of “Alas, what is this – mother, father, friends?” I exclaimed: “Ah, my Lord, thou who upholdest my life, speak to me! Whither goest thou, pitilessly leaving me alone and protectorless? Ask Taralikā what I have suffered for thy sake. Hardly have I been able to pass the day, drawn out into a thousand ages. Be gracious! Utter but one word! Show tenderness to her that loves thee! Look but a little on me! Fulfil my longing! I am wretched! I am loyal! I am thine in heart! I am lordless! I am young! I am helpless! I am unhappy! I am bereft of other refuge! I am vanquished by Love! Why showest thou no pity? Say what I have done or left undone, what command I have neglected, or in what thing pleasing to thee I have not shown affection, that thou art wroth. (328) Fearest thou not the reproach of men in that thou goest, deserting me, thy handmaid, without cause? Yet why think of me, perverse and wicked, and skilled to deceive by false shows of love! Alas, I yet live! Alas, I am accursed and undone! For why? I have neither thee, nor honour, nor kinsfolk, nor heaven. Shame on me, a worker of evil deeds, for whose sake this fate hath befallen thee. There is none of so murderous a heart as I who went home, leaving one so peerless as thou. What to me were home, mother, father, kinsfolk, followers? Alas, to what refuge shall I flee? Fate, show pity to me! I entreat thee. Lady of destiny, give me a boon of mercy! Show compassion! Protect a lordless lady! Ye woodland goddesses, be kind! Give back his life! Help, Earth, that bringest favours to all! Night, showest thou no mercy? Father Kailāsa, thy protection I implore. Show thy wonted pity!” Such were my laments, so far as I remember, and I murmured incoherently as one held by a demon, or possessed or mad, or struck down by an evil spirit. In the tears that fell in torrents upon me I was turned to water, I melted away, I took upon me a shape of water; my laments, followed by the sharp rays of my teeth, fell as if with showers of tears; (329) my hair, with its flowers ever falling, seemed to shed teardrops, and my very ornaments by the tears of pure gemlight that sprang from them seemed to raise their lament. I longed for my own death as for his life; I yearned to enter his heart with my whole soul, dead though he were; with my hand I touched his cheeks, and his brow with the roots of his hair, white with dry sandal, and his shoulders with the lotus-fibres on them, and his heart covered with lotus-leaves and flecks of sandal-juice. With the tender reproach, “Thou art cruel, Puṇḍarīka! Thou carest nought that I am thus wretched!” I again sought to win him back. I again embraced him, I again clasped his neck, and wept aloud. Then I rebuked that string of pearls, saying: “Ah, wicked one, couldst not even thou have preserved his life till my coming?” Then again I fell at Kapiñjala’s feet with the prayer, “Be kind, my lord; restore him to life!” and again, clinging to Taralikā’s neck, I wept. Even now, when I think of it, I know not how these piteous, tender words came forth from my ill-fated heart – words all unthought, unlearnt, untaught, unseen before; nor whence these utterances arose; nor whence these heart-rending cries of despair. My whole being was changed. (330) For there rose a deluge wave of inward tears, the springs of weeping were set loose, the buds of wailing came forth, the peaks of sorrow grew lofty and a long line of madness was begun.’ And so, as she thus told her own tale, she seemed again to taste the bitterness of that former plight, so cruel, and so hardly endured, and a swoon bereft her of sense. In the force of her swoon she fell on the rock, and Candrāpīḍa hastily stretched out his hand, like her servant, and supported her, full of sorrow. At length he brought her back to consciousness by fanning her with the edge of her own bark garment, wet with tears. Filled with pity, and with his cheeks bathed in tears, he said to her, as she came to life: ‘Lady, it is by my fault that thy grief has been brought back to its first freshness, and that thou hast come to this pass. Therefore no more of this tale. Let it be ended. Even I cannot bear to hear it. For the story even of past sorrow endured by a friend pains us as if we ourselves were living through it.[283 - Omit, priyajanaviçvāsavacanāni.] Thou wilt not therefore surely place on the fire of grief that life so precious and so hardly preserved?’ (331) Thus addressed, with a long, hot sigh and eyes dissolved in tears, she despairingly replied: ‘Prince, even in that dreadful night my hated life did not desert me;[284 - Read, parityaktā.] it is not likely that it will leave me now. Even blessed Death turns away his eyes from one so ill-fated and wicked. Whence could one so hard-hearted feel grief? all this can be but feigned in a nature so vile. But be that as it may, that shameless heart has made me chief among the shameless. For to one so adamantine as to have seen love in all his power, and yet to have lived through this, what can mere speaking of it matter?

‘“‘Or what could there be harder to tell than this very thing, which is supposed to be impossible to hear or say? I will at least briefly tell the marvel that followed on that thunderbolt, and I will tell, too, what came as a tiny dim cause of my prolonging my life, which by its mirage so deludes me that I bear about a hated body, almost dead, alien to me, burdensome, unfitted to my needs, and thankless for my care. That shall suffice. Afterwards, in a sudden change[285 - Read, antare.] of feeling, with resolve firmly set on death, lamenting bitterly, I cried to Taralikā: “Rise, cruel-hearted girl; how long wilt thou weep? Bring together wood and make a pile. I will follow the lord of my life.”

(332) ‘“‘Straightway a being swiftly left the moon’s orb and descended from the sky. Behind him he trailed a silken vesture hanging from his crest, white as the foam of nectar, and waving in the wind; his cheeks were reddened with the bright gems that swayed in his ears; on his breast he bore a radiant necklace, from the size of its pearls like a cluster of stars; his turban was tied with strips of white silk; his head was thick with curling locks, and dark as bees; his earring was an open moon lotus; on his shoulder was the impress of the saffron lines that adorned his wives; he was white as a moon lotus, lofty in stature, endowed with all the marks of greatness, and godlike in form; he seemed to purify space by the light shed round him clear as pure water, and to anoint it as by a thick frost with a dewy ambrosial shower that created a chill as he shed it from his limbs, cool and fragrant, and to besprinkle it with a rich store of goçīrsha[286 - Goçīrsha, a kind of fragrant sandal.] sandal-juice.

‘“‘With arms sturdy as the trunk of Airāvata, and fingers white as lotus-fibres and cool to the touch, he lifted my dead lord, (333) and, in a voice deep as a drum, he said to me: “Mahāçvetā, my child, thou must not die; for thou shalt again be united with him!” And with these words, tender as a father’s, he flew into the sky with Puṇḍarīka.

‘“‘But this sudden event filled me with fear, dismay, and eager anxiety, and with upraised face I asked Kapiñjala what it might mean. He, however, started up hastily without replying, and with the cry, “Monster, whither goest thou with my friend?” with uplifted eyes and sudden wrath he hastily girt up his loins, and following him in his flight, in hot pursuit he rose into the sky; and while I yet gazed they all entered amongst the stars. But the departure of Kapiñjala was to me like a second death of my beloved, and it redoubled my grief, so that my heart was rent asunder. Bewildered what to do, I cried to Taralikā: “Knowest thou not? Tell me what this means!” But she, with all a woman’s timidity at the sight, was at that very moment trembling in all her limbs, overcome by a fear stronger than her grief, and was frightened, moreover, by the dread of my death; and so with downcast heart she piteously replied: “Princess, wretch that I am, I know not! Yet this is a great miracle. The man is of no mortal mould, and thou wert pityingly comforted by him in his flight as by a father. Such godlike beings are not wont to deceive us, even in sleep, much less face to face; and when I think it over I cannot see the least cause for his speaking falsely. (334) It is meet, therefore, that thou shouldst weigh it, and restrain thy longing for death. In thy present state it is in truth a great ground for comfort. Moreover, Kapiñjala has gone in pursuit of Puṇḍarīka. From him thou canst learn whence and who this being is, and why Puṇḍarīka on his death was by him raised and carried off, and whither he is carried, and wherefore thou wert consoled by him with the boon of a hope of reunion that exceeds thought; then thou canst devote thyself either to life or death. For when death is resolved upon, it is easy to compass. But this can wait; for Kapiñjala, if he lives, will certainly not rest without seeing thee; therefore let thy life be preserved till his return.” Thus saying, she fell at my feet. And I, from the thirst for life that mortals find so hard to overcome, and from the weakness of woman’s nature, and from the illusion his words had created, and from my anxiety for Kapiñjala’s return, thought that that plan was best for the time, and did not die. For what will not hope achieve?

‘“‘That night I spent in Taralikā’s company on the bank of the lake. To my wretchedness it was like a night of doom,[287 - V. Vishṇu Purāṇa, Bk. i., ch. iii. (For the description of Brahmā’s night.)] drawn out to a thousand years, all torment, all grief, all hell, all fire. (335) Sleep was rooted out, and I tossed on the ground; my face was hidden by the loosened and dishevelled tresses that clung to my cheeks, wet with tears and gray with dust, and my throat was weak, for my voice failed, broken with piteous weeping.

‘“‘At dawn I arose and bathed in the lake, and having formed my resolve, I took, for love of Puṇḍarīka, his pitcher and his bark garments and his rosary; for I clearly knew the worthlessness of the world. I perceived my own lack of merit; I pictured to myself the remediless cruelty of the blows of fate; I pondered the inevitableness of grief; I beheld the harshness of destiny; I meditated the course of love, rich in sorrow; I learnt the inconstancy of earthly things; I considered the frailness of all joys. Father and mother were disregarded; kinsfolk and followers abandoned; the joys of earth were banished from my mind; the senses held in firm restraint.

‘“‘I took the ascetic vow, and sought the protection of Çiva, lord of the three worlds and helper of the helpless. Next day my father came, having somehow learnt my story, bringing with him my mother and kinsfolk. Long he wept, and strove with all his might and by every means – prayers, admonitions, and tender words of every kind – to lead me home. (336) And when he understood my firm resolve, and knew that I could not be turned from that infatuation, he could not, even though without hope, part with his love for his child; and though I often bade him go, he stayed for some days, and went home at length full of grief, and with his heart hot within him.

‘“‘After his going, it was only by empty tears that I could show my gratitude to my lord; by many a penance I wasted my hated body, worn away by love of him, rich in ill, devoid of shame, ill-omened, and the home of a thousand tortures of grief; I lived but on water and the roots and fruits of the wood; under the guise of telling my beads I counted his virtues; thrice a day I bathed in the lake; I daily worshipped Çiva, and in this cell I dwelt with Taralikā, tasting the bitterness of a long grief. Such am I, evil, ill-omened, shameless, cruel, cold, murderous, contemptible, useless, fruitless, helpless, and joyless. (337) Why should one so noble as thou deign to look on or speak with me, the doer of that monstrous crime, the slaughter of a Brahman?’ Thus saying, she covered her face with the white edge of her bark garment, as if veiling the moon with a fleck of autumn cloud, and, unable to quell the irresistible torrent of her tears, she gave way to her sobs, and began to weep loud and long.

‘“From the very first Candrāpīḍa had been filled with reverence by her beauty, modesty, and courtesy; by the charm of her speech, her unselfishness and her austerity; and by her serenity, humility, dignity, and purity. But now he was carried away both by the story of her life, which showed her noble character, and by her devoted spirit, and a fresh tenderness arose in him. With softened heart he gently said: ‘Lady, those may weep who fear pain, and are devoid of gratitude, and love pleasure, for they are unable to do anything worthy of love, and show their affection merely by vain tears. But thou who hast done all rightly, what duty of love hast thou left undone, that thou weepest? For Puṇḍarīka’s sake, thy kinsfolk who from thy birth have been around thee, dear as they were, have been forsaken as if they were strangers. (338) Earthly pleasures, though at thy feet, have been despised and reckoned light as grass. The joys of power, though their riches excelled the empire of Indra, have been resigned. Thy form has been emaciated by dread penances, even though by nature it was slender as a lotus-stalk. Thou hast taken the ascetic vow. Thy soul has been devoted to great penance. Thou hast dwelt in the woods, hard though it be for a woman. Moreover, life is easily resigned by those whom sorrow has overwhelmed, but it needs a greater effort not to throw away life in heavy grief. This following another to death is most vain! It is a path followed by the ignorant! It is a mere freak of madness, a path of ignorance, an enterprise of recklessness, a view of baseness, a sign of utter thoughtlessness, and a blunder of folly, that one should resign life on the death of father, brother, friend, or husband. If life leaves us not of itself, we must not resign it. For this leaving of life, if we examine it, is merely for our own interest, because we cannot bear our own cureless pain. To the dead man it brings no good whatever. For it is no means of bringing him back to life, or heaping up merit, or gaining heaven for him, or saving him from hell, or seeing him again, or being reunited with him. (339) For he is led helplessly, irresistibly to another state meet for the fruits of his own deeds. And yet he shares in the guilt of the friend who has killed himself. But a man who lives on can help greatly, by offerings of water and the like, both the dead man and himself; but by dying he helps neither. Remember how Rati, the sole and beloved wife of Love, when her noble husband, who won the hearts of all women, was burnt up by the fire of Çiva, yet did not yield her life; and remember also Kuntī, of the race of Vṛishṇi, daughter of Sūrasena, for her lord was Pāṇḍu the wise; his seat was perfumed by the flowers in the crests of all the kings whom he had conquered without an effort, and he received the tribute of the whole earth, and yet when he was consumed by Kindama’s curse she still remained alive. Uttarā, too, the young daughter of Virāṭa, on the death of Abhimanyu, gentle and heroic, and joyful to the eyes as the young moon, yet lived on. And Duḥçalyā, too, daughter of Dhṛitarāshṭra, tenderly cared for by her hundred brothers; when Jayadratha, king of Sindhu, was slain by Arjuna, fair as he was and great as he had become by Çiva’s[288 - Tataḥ Saindhavako rājā kshudras, tāta, Jayadrathaḥ,Varadānena Rudrasya sarvān naḥ samavārayat.(‘Then the vile Sindh kinglet, Jayadratha, through the boon conferred by Rudra, O my son, kept us all back.’) – Mahābhārata, vii., 2574.] gift, yet made no resignation of her life. (340) And others are told of by thousands, daughters of Rākshasas, gods, demons, ascetics, mortals, siddhas and Gandharvas, who when bereft of their husbands yet preserved their lives. Still, where reunion is doubtful, life might be yielded. But for thee, thou hast heard from that great being a promise of reunion. What doubt can there be in a matter of thine own experience, and how could falsehood find a place in the words of such noble truth-speaking saints, even when there might be greater cause? And what union could there be between the dead and the living? Therefore of a surety that wondrous being was filled with pity and carried away Puṇḍarīka to heaven solely to bring him back to life. For the power of great men transcends thought. Life has many aspects. Destiny is manifold. Those skilled in penance are fitted for wondrous miracles. Many are the forms of power gained by previous actions. Moreover, however subtly we may consider the matter, what other cause can we imagine for Puṇḍarīka’s being taken away, but the gift of fresh life. And this, thou must know, is not impossible. It is a path often trodden. (341) For Pramadvarā, daughter of Viçvāvasu, king of the Gandharvas and Menakā, lost her life through a poisonous snake at the hermitage of Sthūlakeça, and the young ascetic Ruru, son of Pramati and grandson of the Bhṛigu Cyavana, provided her with half his own life. And when Arjuna was following the Açvamedha steed, he was pierced in the van of the battle by an arrow from his own son Babhruvāhana, and a Nāga maiden, Ulūpā, brought him back to life. When Parīkshit, Abhimanyu’s son, was consumed by Açvatthāma’s fiery dart, though he had already died at birth, Kṛishṇa, filled with pity by Uttarā’s lament, restored his precious life. And at Ujjayinī, he whose steps are honoured by the three worlds, carried off from the city of death the son of Sandīpani the Brahman, and brought him back.[289 - Harivaṃça, 4906.] And in thy case, too, the same will somehow come to pass. For by thy present grief, what is effected or what won? Fate is all-powerful. Destiny is strong. We cannot even draw a breath at our own will. The freaks of that accursed and most harsh destiny are exceeding cruel. A love fair in its sincerity is not allowed long to endure; for joys are wont to be in their essence frail and unlasting, while sorrows by their nature are long-lived. (342) For how hardly are mortals united in one life, while in a thousand lives they are separated. Thou canst not surely then blame thyself, all undeserving of blame. For these things often happen to those who enter the tangled path of transmigration, and it is the brave who conquer misfortune.’ With such gentle and soothing words he consoled her, and made her, albeit reluctantly, bathe her face with water brought in his joined hands from the cascade.