Canto Seventh
Canto Seventh Umá’s Bridal
In light and glory dawned the expected day
Blest with a kindly star’s auspicious ray,
When gaily gathered at Himálaya’s call
His kinsmen to the solemn festival.
Through the broad city every dame’s awake
To grace the bridal for her monarch’s sake;
So great their love for him, this single care
Makes one vast household of the thousands there.
Heaven is not brighter than the royal street
Where flowers lie scattered ’neath the nobles’ feet,
And banners waving to the breeze unfold
Their silken broidery over gates of gold.
And she, their child, upon her bridal day
Bears her dear parents’ every thought away.
So, when from distant shores a friend returns,
With deeper love each inmost spirit burns.
So, when grim Death restores his prey again
Joy brighter shines from memory of pain.
Each noble matron of Himálaya’s race
Folds his dear Umá in a long embrace,
Pours blessings on her head, and prays her take
Some priceless jewel for her friendship’s sake.
With sweetest influence a star of power
Had joined the spotted moon: at that blest hour
To deck fair Umá many a noble dame
And many a gentle maid assiduous came.
And well she graced their toil, more brightly fair
With feathery grass and wild flowers in her hair.
A silken robe flowed free below her waist;
Her sumptuous head a glittering arrow graced.
So shines the young unclouded moon at last,
Greeting the sun, its darksome season past.
Sweet-scented Lodhra dust and Sandal dyed
The delicate beauties of the fair young bride,
Veiled with a soft light robe. Her tiring-girls
Then led her to a chamber decked with pearls
And paved with sapphires, where the lulling sound
Of choicest music breathed divinely round.
There o’er the lady’s limbs they poured by turns
Streams of pure water from their golden urns.
Fresh from the cooling bath the lovely maid
In fairest white her tender form arrayed.
So opens the Kása all her shining flowers
Lured from their buds by softly falling showers.
Then to a court with canopies o’erhead
A crowd of noble dames the maiden led—
A court for solemn rites, where gems and gold
Adorn the pillars that the roof uphold.
There on a couch they set her with her face
Turned toward the east. So lovely then the grace
Of that dear maid, so ravishing her smile,
E’en her attendants turned to gaze awhile;
For though the brightest gems around her lay,
Her brighter beauty stole their eyes away.
Through her long tresses one a chaplet wound,
And one with fragrant grass her temples crowned,
While o’er her head sweet clouds of incense rolled
To try and perfume every shining fold.
Bright dyes of saffron and the scented wood
Adorned her beauty, till the maiden stood
Fairer than Gangá when the Love-birds play
O’er sandy islets in her silvery bay.
To what rare beauty shall her maids compare
Her clear brow shaded by her glossy hair?
Less dazzling pure the lovely lotus shines
Flecked by the thronging bees in dusky lines.
Less bright the moon, when a dark band of cloud
Enhances beauties which it cannot shroud.
Behind her ear a head of barley drew
The eye to gaze upon its golden hue.
But then her cheek, with glowing saffron dyed,
To richer beauty called the glance aside.
Though from those lips, where Beauty’s guerdon lay,
The vermeil tints were newly washed away,
Yet o’er them, as she smiled, a ray was thrown
Of quivering brightness that was all their own.
“Lay this dear foot upon thy lover’s head
Crowned with the moon,” the laughing maiden said,
Who dyed her lady’s feet—no word spake she,
But beat her with her wreath in playful glee.
Then tiring-women took the jetty dye
To guard, not deck, the beauty of her eye,
Whose languid half-shut glances might compare
With lotus leaves just opening to the air;
And as fresh gems adorned her neck and arms,
So quickly changing grew the maiden’s charms,
Like some fair plant where bud succeeding bud
Unfolds new beauty; or a silver flood
Where gay birds follow quickly; or like night,
When crowding stars come forth in all their light.
Oft as the mirror would her glance beguile
She longed to meet her Lord’s approving smile.
Her tasteful skill the timid maid essays
To win one smile of love, one word of praise.
The happy mother took the golden dye
And raised to hers young Umá’s beaming eye.
Then swelled her bosom with maternal pride
As thus she decked her darling for a bride.
Oh, she had longed to trace on that fair brow
The nuptial line, yet scarce could mark it now.
On Umá’s rounded arm the woollen band
Was fixt securely by the nurse’s hand.
Blind with the tears that filled her swimming eye,
In vain the mother strove that band to tie.
Spotless as curling foam-flakes stood she there,
As yielding soft, as graceful and as fair:
Or like the glory of an autumn night
Robed by the full moon in a veil of light.
Then at her mother’s hest, the maid adored
The spirit of each high ancestral lord,
Nor failed she next the noble dames to greet,
And give due honour to their reverend feet.
They raised the maiden as she bowed her head:
“Thine be the fulness of his love!” they said.
Half of his being, blessing high as this
Can add no rapture to her perfect bliss.
Well-pleased Himálaya viewed the pomp and pride
Meet for his daughter, meet for Śiva’s bride;
Then sought the hall with all his friends to wait
The bridegroom’s coming with a monarch’s state.
Meanwhile by heavenly matrons’ care displayed
Upon Kuvera’s lofty mount were laid
The ornaments of Śiva, which of yore
At his first nuptials the bridegroom wore.
He laid his hand upon the dress, but how
Shall robes so sad, so holy, grace him now?
His own dire vesture took a shape as fair
As gentle bridegroom’s heart could wish to wear.
The withering skull that glazed the eye with dread,
Shone a bright coronal to grace his head.
That elephant’s hide the God had worn of old
Was now a silken robe inwrought with gold.
Ere this his body was with dust besprent:
With unguent now it shed delightful scent;
And that mid-eye which glittering like a star
Shot the wild terror of its glance afar—
So softly now its golden radiance beamed—
A mark of glory on his forehead seemed.
His twining serpents, destined still to be
The pride and honour of the deity,
Changed but their bodies: in each sparkling crest
The blazing gems still shone their loveliest.
What need of jewels on the brow of Him
Who wears the crescent moon? No spot may dim
Its youthful beauty, e’en in light of day
Shedding the glory of its quenchless ray.
Well-pleased the God in all his pride arrayed
Saw his bright image mirrored in the blade
Of the huge sword they brought; then calmly leant
On Nandi’s arm, and toward his bull he went,
Whose broad back covered with a tiger’s hide
Was steep to climb as Mount Kailása’s side.
Yet the dread monster humbly shrank for fear,
And bowed in reverence as his Lord drew near.
The matrons followed him, a saintly throng,
Their ear-rings waving as they dashed along:
Sweet faces, with such glories round them shed
As made the air one lovely lotus bed.
On flew those bright ones: Káli came behind,
The skulls that decked her rattling in the wind:
Like the dark rack that scuds across the sky,
With herald lightning and the crane’s shrill cry.
Hark! from the glorious bands that lead the way,
Harp, drum, and pipe, and shrilling trumpet’s bray,
Burst through the sky upon the startled ear
And tell the Gods the hour of worship’s near.
They came; the Sun presents a silken shade
Which heaven’s own artist for the God had made,
Gilding his brows, as though bright Gangá rolled
Adown his holy head her waves of gold.
She in her Goddess-shape divinely fair,
And Yamuná, sweet river-Nymph, were there,
Fanning their Lord, that fancy still might deem
Swans waved their pinions round each Lady of the Stream.
E’en Brahmá came, Creator, Lord of Might,
And Vishṇu glowing from the realms of light.
“Ride on,” they cried, “thine, thine for ever be
The strength, the glory, and the victory.”
To swell his triumph that high blessing came
Like holy oil upon the rising flame.
In those Three Persons the one God was shown,
Each first in place, each last,—not one alone;
Of Śiva, Vishṇu, Brahmá, each may be
First, second, third, among the Blessed Three.
By Indra led, each world-upholding Lord
With folded hands the mighty God adored.
In humble robes arrayed, the pomp and pride
Of glorious deity they laid aside.
They signed to Nandi, and the favourite’s hand
Guided his eye upon the suppliant band.
He spake to Vishṇu, and on Indra smiled,
To Brahmá bowed—the lotus’ mystic child.
On all the hosts of heaven his friendly eye
Beamed duly welcome as they crowded nigh.
The Seven Great Saints their blessings o’er him shed,
And thus in answer, with a smile, he said:
“Hail, mighty Sages! hail, ye Sons of Light!
My chosen priests to celebrate this rite.”
Now in sweet tones the heavenly minstrels tell
His praise, beneath whose might Tripura fell.
He moves to go: from his moon-crest a ray
Sheds quenchless light on his triumphant way.
On through the air his swift bull bore him well,
Decked with the gold of many a tinkling bell;
Tossing from time to time his head on high,
Enwreathed with clouds as he flew racing by,
As though in furious charge he had uptorn
A bank of clay upon his mighty horn.
Swiftly they came where in its beauty lay
The city subject to Himálaya’s sway.
No foeman’s foot had ever trod those halls,
No foreign bands encamped around the walls.
Then Śiva’s glances fixed their eager hold
On that fair city as with threads of gold.
The God whose neck still gleams with cloudy blue
Burst on the wondering people’s upturned view,
And on the earth descended, from the path
His shafts once dinted in avenging wrath.
Forth from the gates a noble army poured
To do meet honour to the mighty Lord.
With all his friends on elephants of state
The King of Mountains passed the city gate,
So gaily decked, the princes all were seen
Like moving hills inwrapt in bowery green.
As the full rushing of two streams that pour
Beneath one bridge with loud tumultuous roar,
So through the city’s open gate streamed in
Mountains and Gods with tumult and with din.
So glorious was the sight, wonder and shame,
When Śiva bowed him, o’er the Monarch came;
He knew not he had bent his lofty crest
In reverent greeting to his heavenly guest
Himálaya, joying in the festive day,
Before the immortal bridegroom led the way
Where heaps of gay flowers burying half the feet
Lay breathing odours through the crowded street.
Careless of all beside, each lady’s eye
Must gaze on Śiva as the troop sweeps by.
One dark-eyed beauty will not stay to bind
Her long black tresses, floating unconfined
Save by her little hand; her flowery crown
Hanging neglected and unfastened down.
One from her maiden tore her foot away
On which the dye, all wet and streaming, lay,
And o’er the chamber rushing in her haste,
Where’er she stepped, a crimson footprint traced.
Another at the window takes her stand;
One eye is dyed,—the pencil in her hand.
Here runs an eager maid, and running, holds
Loose and ungirt her flowing mantle’s folds,
Whilst, as she strives to close the parting vest,
Its brightness gives new beauty to her breast.
Oh! what a sight! the crowded windows there
With eager faces excellently fair,
Like sweetest lilies, for their dark eyes fling
Quick glances quivering like the wild bee’s wing.
Onward in peerless glory Śiva passed;
Gay banners o’er his way their shadows cast,
Each palace dome, each pinnacle and height
Catching new lustre from his crest of light.
On swept the pageant: on the God alone
The eager glances of the dames were thrown;
On his bright form they fed the rapturous gaze,
And only turned to marvel and to praise:
“Oh, well and wisely, such a lord to gain
The Mountain-Maid endured the toil and pain.
To be his slave were joy; but Oh, how blest
The wife—the loved one—lying on his breast!
Surely in vain, had not the Lord of Life
Matched this fond bridegroom and this loving wife,
Had been his wish to give the worlds a mould
Of perfect beauty! Falsely have they told
How the young flower-armed God was burnt by fire
At the red flash of Śiva’s vengeful ire.
No: jealous Love a fairer form confessed,
And cast away his own, no more the loveliest.
How glorious is the Mountain King, how proud
Earth’s stately pillar, girt about with cloud!
Now will he lift his lofty head more high,
Knit close to Śiva by this holy tie.”
Such words of praise from many a bright-eyed dame
On Śiva’s ear with soothing witchery came.
Through the broad streets ’mid loud acclaim he rode,
And reached the palace where the King abode.
There he descended from his monster’s side,
As the sun leaves a cloud at eventide.
Leaning on Vishṇu’s arm he passed the door
Where mighty Brahmá entered in before.
Next Indra came, and all the host of heaven,
The noble Saints and those great Sages seven.
Then led they Śiva to a royal seat;
Fair gifts they brought, for such a bridegroom meet:
With all due rites, the honey and the milk,
Rich gems were offered and two robes of silk.
At length by skilful chamberlains arrayed
They led the lover to the royal maid.
Thus the fond Moon disturbs the tranquil rest
Of Ocean glittering with his foamy crest,
And leads him on, his proud waves swelling o’er,
To leap with kisses on the clasping shore.
He gazed on Umá. From his lotus eyes
Flashed out the rapture of his proud surprise.
Then calm the current of his spirit lay
Like the world basking in an autumn day.
They met; and true love’s momentary shame
O’er the blest bridegroom and his darling came.
Eye looked to eye, but, quivering as they met,
Scarce dared to trust the rapturous gazing yet.
In the God’s hand the priest has duly laid
The radiant fingers of the Mountain-Maid,
Bright, as if Love with his dear sprays of red
Had sought that refuge in his hour of dread.
From hand to hand the soft infection stole,
Till each confessed it in the inmost soul.
Fire filled his veins, with joy she trembled; such
The magic influence of that thrilling touch.
How grows their beauty, when two lovers stand
Eye fixt on eye, hand fondly linkt in hand!
Then how, unblamed, may mortal minstrel dare
To paint in words the beauty of that pair!
Around the fire in solemn rite they trod,
The lovely lady and the glorious God;
Like day and starry midnight when they meet
In the broad plains at lofty Meru’s feet.
Thrice at the bidding of the priest they came
With swimming eyes around the holy flame.
Then at his word the bride in order due
Into the blazing fire the parched grain threw,
And toward her face the scented smoke she drew,
Which softly wreathing o’er her fair cheek hung,
And round her ears in flower-like beauty clung.
As o’er the incense the sweet lady stooped,
The ear of barley from her tresses drooped,
And rested on her cheek, beneath the eye
Still brightly beaming with the jetty dye.
“This flame be witness of your wedded life:
Be just, thou husband, and be true, thou wife!”
Such was the priestly blessing on the bride.
Eager she listened, as the earth when dried
By parching summer suns drinks deeply in
The first soft droppings when the rains begin.
“Look, gentle Umá,” cried her Lord, “afar
Seest thou the brightness of yon polar star?
Like that unchanging ray thy faith must shine.”
Sobbing, she whispered, “Yes, for ever thine.”
The rite is o’er. Her joyful parents now
At Brahmá’s feet in duteous reverence bow.
Then to fair Umá spake the gracious Power
Who sits enthroned upon the lotus flower:
“O beautiful lady, happy shalt thou be,
And hero children shall be born of thee;”
Then looked in silence: vain the hope to bless
The bridegroom, Śiva, with more happiness.
Then from the altar, as prescribed of old,
They turned, and rested upon seats of gold;
And, as the holy books for men ordain,
Were sprinkled duly with the moistened grain.
High o’er their heads sweet Beauty’s Queen displayed
Upon a stem of reed a cool green shade,
While the young lotus-leaves of which ’twas made
Seemed, as they glistened to the wondering view,
All richly pearled with drops of beady dew.
In twofold language on each glorious head
The Queen of Speech her richest blessings shed;
In strong, pure, godlike utterance for his ear,
To her in liquid tones, soft, beautifully clear.
Now for awhile they gaze where maids divine
In graceful play the expressive dance entwine;
Whose eloquent motions, with an actor’s art,
Show to the life the passions of the heart.
The rite was ended; then the heavenly band
Prayed Śiva, raising high the suppliant hand:
“Now, for the dear sake of thy lovely bride,
Have pity on the gentle God,” they cried,
“Whose tender body thy fierce wrath has slain:
Give all his honour, all his might again.”
Well pleased, he smiled, and gracious answer gave:
Śiva himself now yields him Káma’s slave.
When duly given, the great will ne’er despise
The gentle pleading of the good and wise.
Now have they left the wedded pair alone;
And Śiva takes her hand within his own
To lead his darling to the bridal bower,
Decked with bright gold and all her sumptuous dower.
She blushes sweetly as her maidens there
Look with arch smiles and glances on the pair;
And for one moment, while the damsels stay,
From him she loves turns her dear face away.
Notes
Canto First
The Hindú Deity of War, the leader of the celestial armies, is known by the names Kártikeya and Skanda. He is represented with six faces and corresponding arms, and is mounted upon a peacock.
Himálaya.] Mansion of Snow; from hima, snow, and álaya, mansion. The accent is on the second syllable.
Prithu.] It is said that in the reign of this fabulous monarch, gods, saints, demons, and other supernatural beings, drained or milked from the earth various treasures, appointing severally one of their own class as the recipient, or Calf, to use the word of the legend. Himálaya was thus highly favoured by the sacred Mount Meru, and the other hills. The story is found in the sixth chapter of the Harivansa, which forms a supplement to the Mahabhárat.
Still the fair pearls, &c.] It was the belief of the Hindús that elephants wore these precious jewels in their heads.
Till heavenly minstrels, &c.] A class of demi-gods, the songsters of the Hindú Paradise, or Indra’s heaven.
There magic herbs, &c.] Frequent allusion is made by Kálidás and other Sanskrit poets to a phosphoric light emitted by plants at night.
E’en the wild kine, &c.] The Chouri, or long brush, used to whisk off insects and flies, was with the Hindús what the sceptre is with us. It was usually made of the tail-hairs of the Yak, or Bos Grunniens. Thus the poet represents these animals as doing honour to the Monarch of Mountains with these emblems of sovereignty.
That the bright Seven.] The Hindús call the constellation Ursa Major the seven Rishis, or Saints. They will appear as actors in the course of the poem.
And once when Indra’s might.] We learn from the Rámáyana that the mountains were originally furnished with wings, and that they flew through the air with the speed of the wind. For fear lest they should suddenly fall in their flight, Indra, King of the Gods, struck off their pinions with his thunderbolt; but Maináka was preserved from a similar fate by the friendship of Ocean, to whom he fled for refuge.
Born once again, &c.] The reader will remember the Hindú belief in the Transmigration of Souls. The story alluded to by the poet is this:—“Daksha was the son of Brahmá and father of Satí, whom, at the recommendation of the Rishis, or Sages, he espoused to Śiva, but he was never wholly reconciled to the uncouth figure and practices of his son-in-law. Having undertaken to celebrate a solemn sacrifice, he invited all the Gods except Śiva, which so incensed Satí, that she threw herself into the sacrificial fire.”—(Wilson, Specimens of Hindú Theatre, Vol. II. p. 263.) The name of Satí, meaning good, true, chaste woman, is the modern Suttee, as it is corruptly written.
As the blue offspring of the Turquois Hills.] These hills are placed in Ceylon. The precious stone grows, it is said, at the sound of thunder in the rainy season.
At her stern penance.] This is described in the fifth canto. The meaning of the name Umá is “Oh, do not.”
The Gods’ bright river.] The celestial Ganges, which falls from heaven upon Himálaya’s head, and continues its course on earth.
Young Káma’s arrow.] Káma, the Hindú Cupid, is armed with a bow, the arrows of which are made of flowers.
And brighter than Aśoka’s rich leaves.] Nothing, we are told, can exceed the beauty of this tree when in full bloom. It is, of course, a general favourite with the poets of India.
“Then, too, the pearl from out its shell
Unsightly, in the sunless sea
(As ’twere a spirit, forced to dwell
In form unlovely) was set free,
And round the neck of woman threw
A light it lent and borrowed too.”
Moore—Loves of the Angels.
Moore is frequently the best interpreter, unconsciously, of an Indian poet’s thought. It is worth remarking, that the Sanskrit word muktá, pearl (literally freed), signifies also the spirit released from mundane existence, and re-integrated with its divine original.
The sweetest note that e’er the Köil poured.] The Kokila, or Köil, the black or Indian cuckoo, is the bulbul or nightingale of Hindústan. It is also the herald of spring, like its European namesake, and the female bird is the especial messenger of Love.
When holy Nárad.] A divine sage, son of Brahmá.
The holy bull.] The animal on which the God Śiva rides, as Indra on the elephant.
Who takes eight various forms.] Śiva is called Wearer of the Eight Forms, as being identical with the Five Elements, Mind, Individuality, and Crude Matter.
Where the pale moon on Śiva’s forehead.] Śiva’s crest is the new moon, which is sometimes described as forming a third eye in his forehead. We shall find frequent allusions to this in the course of the poem.
Canto Second
While impious Tárak.] A demon who, by a long course of austerities, had acquired power even over the Gods. This Hindú notion is familiar to most of us from Southey’s “Curse of Keháma.”
Whose face turns every way.] Brahmá is represented with four faces, one towards each point of the compass.
The mystic Three.] “The triad of qualities,” a philosophical term familiar to all the systems of Hindú speculation. They are thus explained in the Tattwa Samása, a text-book of the Sánkhya school:—“Now it is asked, What is the ‘triad of qualities’? It is replied, The triad of qualities consists of ‘Goodness,’ ‘Foulness,’ and ‘Darkness.’ By the ‘triad of qualities’ is meant the ‘three qualities.’ Goodness is endlessly diversified, accordingly as it is exemplified in calmness, lightness, complacency, attainment of wishes, kindliness, contentment, patience, joy, and the like; summarily, it consists of happiness. ‘Foulness’ is endlessly diversified, accordingly as it is exemplified in grief, distress, separation, excitement, anxiety, fault-finding, and the like; summarily, it consists of pain. ‘Darkness’ is endlessly diversified, accordingly as it is exemplified in envelopment, ignorance, disgust, abjectness, heaviness, sloth, drowsiness, intoxication, and the like; summarily, it consists of delusion.”
Thou, when a longing, &c.] “Having divided his own substance, the mighty power became half male, half female, or nature active and passive.”—Manu, Ch. I.
So also in the old Orphic hymn it is said,
[Greek: Zeus arsꮠgeneto, Zeus ambrotos epleto numphꮝ
“Zeus was a male; Zeus was a deathless damsel.”
The sacred hymns.] Contained in the Vedas, or Holy Scriptures of the Hindús.
The word of praise.] The mystic syllable OM, prefacing all the prayers and most of the writings of the Hindús. It implies the Indian triad, and expresses the Three in One.
They hail thee, Nature.] The object of Nature’s activity, according to the Sánkhya system, is “the final liberation of individual soul.” “The incompetency of nature, an irrational principle, to institute a course of action for a definite purpose, and the unfitness of rational soul to regulate the acts of an agent whose character it imperfectly apprehends, constitute a principal argument with the theistical Sánkhyas for the necessity of a Providence, to whom the ends of existence are known, and by whom Nature is guided.... The atheistical Sánkhyas, on the other hand, contend that there is no occasion for a guiding Providence, but that the activity of nature, for the purpose of accomplishing soul’s object, is an intuitive necessity, as illustrated in the following passage:—As it is a function of milk, an unintelligent (substance), to nourish the calf, so it is the office of the chief principle (nature) to liberate the soul.”—Prof. Wilson’s Sánkhya Káriká.
Hail Thee the stranger Spirit, &c.] “Soul is witness, solitary, bystander, spectator, passive.”—Sánkh. Kár. verse xix.
See, Varun’s noose.] The God of Water.
Weak is Kuvera’s hand.] The God of Wealth.
Yama’s sceptre.] The God and Judge of the Dead.
The Lords of Light.] The Ádityas, twelve in number, are forms of the sun, and appear to represent him as distinct in each month of the year.
The Rudras.] A class of demi-gods, eleven in number, said to be inferior manifestations of Śiva, who also bears this name.
E’en as on earth, &c.] Thus the commandment,—Thou shalt not kill, is abrogated by the injunction to kill animals for sacrifice.
The heavenly Teacher.] Vrihaspati, the son of Angiras.
His own dear flower.] The lotus, on which Brahmá is represented reclining.
Their flashing jewels.] According to the Hindú belief, serpents wear precious jewels in their heads.
Chakra.] A discus, or quoit, the weapon of Vishṇu.
As water bears to me.] “HE, having willed to produce various beings from his own divine substance, first with a thought created the waters, and placed in them a productive seed.”—Manu, Ch. I.
Mournful braids.] As a sign of mourning, especially for the loss of their husbands, the Hindústáni women collect their long hair into a braid, called in Sanskrit veṇi.
The mango twig.] We shall meet with several allusions to this tree as the favourite of Love and the darling of the bees.