Canto Third
Who angers thee, &c.] To understand properly this speech of Káma, it is necessary to be acquainted with some of the Hindú notions regarding a future state. “The highest kind of happiness is absorption into the divine essence, or the return of that portion of spirit which is combined with the attributes of humanity to its original source. This happiness, according to the philosopher, is to be obtained only by the most perfect abstraction from the world and freedom from passion, even while in a state of terrestrial existence.... Besides this ultimate felicity, the Hindús have several minor degrees of happiness, amongst which is the enjoyment of Indra’s Swarga, or, in fact, of a Muhammadan Paradise. The degree and duration of the pleasures of this paradise are proportioned to the merits of those admitted to it; and they who have enjoyed this lofty region of Swarga, but whose virtue is exhausted, revisit the habitation of mortals.”—Prof. Wilson’s Megha Dúta. Compare also “The Lord’s Song.”—Specimens of Old Indian Poetry, pp. 67, 68.
Indra, therefore, may be supposed to feel jealous whenever a human being aspires to something higher than that heaven of which he is the Lord.
The “chain of birth” alluded to is of course the metempsychosis, or transmigration of souls, a belief which is not to be looked upon (says Prof. Wilson in the preface to his edition of the Sánkhya Káriká) as a mere popular superstition. It is the main principle of all Hindú metaphysics; it is the foundation of all Hindú philosophy. The great object of their philosophical research in every system, Brahminical or Buddhist, is the discovery of the means of putting a stop to further transmigration; the discontinuance of corporeal being; the liberation of soul from body.
As on that Snake.] Sesha, the Serpent King, is in the Hindú mythology the supporter of the earth, as, in one of the fictions of the Edda,—
“That sea-snake, tremendous curled,
Whose monstrous circle girds the world.”
He is also the couch and canopy of the God Vishṇu, or, as he is here called, Krishṇa,—that hero being one of his incarnations, and considered identical with the deity himself.
The threefold world.] Earth, heaven, and hell.
His fearful Rati.] The wife of Káma, or Love.
To where Kuvera &c.] The demi-god Kuvera was regent of the north.
Nor waited for the maiden’s touch.] Referring to the Hindú notion that the Aśoka blossoms at the touch of a woman’s foot. So Shelley says,
“I doubt not, the flowers of that garden sweet
Rejoiced in the sound of her gentle feet.”
Sensitive Plant.
Grouping the syllables.] This comparison seems forced rather too far to suit a European taste. Kálidás is not satisfied with calling the mango-spray the Arrow of Love; he must tell us that its leaves are the feathers, and that the bees have marked it with the owner’s name.
That loveliest flower.] The Karnikára.
His flowery Tilaka.] The name of a tree; it also means a mark made with coloured earths or unguents upon the forehead and between the eyebrows, either as an ornament or a sectarial distinction; the poet intends the word to convey both ideas at once here. In this passage is another comparison of the mango-spray: it is called the lip of Love; its rouge is the blush of morning, and its darker beautifying powder the clustering bees. From the universal custom of dying the lips, the Sanskrit poets are constantly speaking of their “vermeil tints,” &c., as will be sufficiently evident in the course of this work.
The Hermit’s servant.] By name Nandi.
His neck of brightly-beaming blue.] An ancient legend tells us that after the deluge the ocean was churned by Gods and demons, in order to recover the Amrit and other treasures that had been lost in it:—
“Then loud and long a joyous sound
Rang through the startled sky:
‘Hail to the Amrit, lost and found!’
A thousand voices cry.
But from the wondrous churning streamed
A poison fierce and dread,
Burning like fire: where’er it streamed
Thick noisome mists were spread.
The wanting venom onwards went,
And filled the Worlds with fear,
Till Brahmá to their misery bent
His gracious pitying ear;
And Śiva those destroying streams
Drank up at Brahmá’s beck.
Still in thy throat the dark flood gleams,
God of the azure neck!”
Specimens of Old Indian Poetry—Churning of the Ocean.
Gates of sense.] The eyes, ears, &c.