# Sarangadhara

Sarangadhara
Part - I
The labouring dawn gave out the child of light Whose infant became played O'er the river's breast And woke the bees asleep in lotus bowers, While from Godavary's bank in merry whirls A thousand pigeons starred the morning sky. "Mine that, that farthest speck," one cries; "And mine Is out of sight," another; but a third, "Mine surely wheels the best"; and many so Scanned with their weary eyes, like flying hopes Their favourite birds. The prince at last as if He said, "let all that be, now see now mine Doth wheel," with one warm kiss left his. At once Rose over the air one deafening cheer; all eyes Were up, when lo ! no flight, no merry whirl, The frightened bird rushed onward as if mad And perched himself upon the palace heights.
The prince, concerned, his min'ster comrade called, And said, "Didst thou not mark my pigeon perch Upon those spires gilt by the morning sun ? They are the Queen's; and shall fetch it back." But, then the boy-dewan held by the robe Prince Saranga, and whispered in his ear
"The King's abroad to hunt and thou art fair." "Fool!" thought the prince as on he rushed, "to breed
Such thought like this.
But at his sight up rose Chittrangi, once his bride destined but whom A father's love his mother made, and said, "O Sir what favour this ! sooner we though Could sampang blooms invite the bee, than thee These mansions poor. Pray seat thyself upon This silken throne." She slowly washed his feet With waters pure in golden vessels held, And washing, "Many a way the presence here This day, gives bundless joy to me. They sire To try his aged strength in youthful sports, To hunt is gone; and in thy beauteous form I see the king to lusty youth transformed." Then softly pressing dry with robes she wore His feet, with smile on lip and blush on cheek, "What interest one may feel in these, that once Was bride destined?"
Then flashed through the Prince's mind. "The King's abroad to hunt and art fair." But yet he thought "That may not be." And she went on, "To whom but one beloved I pride would feel to show my pleasure groves The talk of the world ? Pray rise and come. And thou shalt see a hundred fountains leap Bright in the morning sun, and Nature fair All night in calm repose now gives herself To mirth and jollity."
"Another time. Good mother ? for me it would ill-become To tarry long, while all my comrades wait Upon the river's bank, whereas we flew Our pigeons, mine" - "Tis safe," she interposed, And dragged him by the arm through several gates And left him at bright pool's brink and shut A gate or two and slipt.1
And he like one From midnight slumbers snatched to moonlight bowers In Persian values, by some love-sick Peri, With wonder looked around at seenes the like He never saw before. All over the park A hundred fountains flew with rainbows decked And full of golden foam; a Jessamine sea About him spread, and at his feet a pond Now one by one her colored lilies closed. More varied lay the scene beyond, where spread As far as eye could reach an endless grove. With raptured eve the prince surveyed the scene And took his way to where one water broad Shone in the morning sun, and stood reclined To a youthful tree that kissed the water's face He was a learned youth' and not to him Unknown the magic realms that poets trod Before; and spake to him each bird and bloom Some poetic tale or moral sweet. He mused And musing stood, lost in a world of charms.
But lo ! Presently at his side the queeen, Her ringlets flying to the morning breeze, Like water nymph or forest Drayd stepped; And looked steadfast with eye unlided like Some modern mesmerist over his subject, At that fair prince. But he like one in trance Mesmeric, stood absorbed. And she advantaged by his absent mood, Stole softly round his neck her snowy arm And softly thus began, "Makest thou prince How now the Lord of Day from every bud Kisses the sleep away, that blushing wakes And opens her fairy lids ? The butterfly Robbed in his gandy silks wooes every bloom, But Wooes to quit - reckless wanton he ! And lo ! that Malati twinning as it does The Kulaya's tall and aged trunk hold up Her odorous blossms to frolic Zephyr's kiss, In nature all his playful, all his mirth, And beauteous things to beauteous things are linked." And here a meaning look she cast at him, But he ghastly look returned, and slipped From her side as if to pluck a lotus That at the margin below.
"Softly my prince! Disturb not so the amours of the pair Of ruddy geese, from nights' separation sore, That lately met. 'Tis but a dreary waste
This mortal world, unless Love strew the scene With freshening flowers. And O ! the pain one feels, That feverish flame that creeps through every nerve... Not soothed but fanned by Nature's cooling hand... That anguish deep for one beloved ! Worse than A brute is he that having power to soothe Lends not his tender aid! O! Save me dear From yonder black bee puzzing over the bloom That thou hast pluckt. "She drew behind him close As if for fear, and threw her arms around His neck, like frightened fawn behind from bush Of stately growth. I "tremble Prince", she said In accents choked within an ivory throat, "There crept into the hollow of that trunk A frightful snake. Then carry me secure To yonder summer house that skirts that lake." She hung upon his arm, and he led on. At that gate she looked relieved, held firm The Prince's hand, and in her turn played guide. "Lo ! Prince," she said a into a room they stepped, "Upon these walls, a master pencil's work, It was a smith of learning great, who was Much favoured at our court. Him brahmins feared; And once my sire in whimsied mood bade him Draw these. Become they not a bridal gift ?
The art of love is there laid bare, and if You read it to the end, why, then, thou learn'st- Where love is strong there hearts may wed. You mark the amours of that shephered God
Of million wives ! Did ever a women love And he not yield to her wish !" 'Mother! wrongly You read the sense of all those wondrous works Of great Gopal. Didst thou not hear it said That spirit of good husbands the human souls ?" As if not hearing, she, "Thoeoe in those panes The amorous God a worthy lesson teach And saints ! Well ! well ! if there is a heart that burns With love for thee, respect you not examples They have set ?" "I ? Certainly not. One e'en May read the mystic meaning of the stars; Make out with daring aim the maker's writ On naked skulls, or peep through linkless words At prophets' hearts; but who, however great Of learning, can presume to read the sense Of acts divine ? On commonest things, doubt stamps Her dismal mark. Why then should one with feet Unhallowed tread the realms divine?' "Well, Prince! If logic strange like this, befitting more The broken hearts of forest bowers should come From youthfull beauty, why then, may not our sex Petition the Gods against the marks of toys Useless like us! The sprightly shape belies These monkish texts. But I shall preach
Thee now upon a different theme, that must. If thou art the rock that mocks the iron's edge- Go home directly to the heart." This then, She said, removing a screen that careful hung Upon a drawing drawn to human size, "This than the text on which was vileness played- Vileness and grim perfidy by a king- One, not less worthy than thy sire," He started back, like one that meets at night- some frightful shape, while from his lips escaped, "Undone ! Undone !" The image over the wall To echo seemed Speechless he stood, and not The motion least his form betrayed, as if The picture walked out of its frame, So like Were they; for it was his. And knowest thou prince" She said, "the story of this piece which striges thee dumb Wich such a perfect beauty that, except Within thy glass, I trow, you never met ? At least I didn't; and so when first my eyes Lighted upon this drawing, which thy sire Sent as the bridegroom's and falsely sent- My very heart did weep for joy, and took The image in. Since then the vision sweet Haunted my thoughts, till last brought to this Court. Whom did I meet within the bridal room ? Oh ! Vilely done-they sire ! and at his sight Failed joy from me for ever. They say thou art A man of tender heart; now make amends For sins thy sire has done, or else no more
Can I endure the pangs of fruitless flame For thee." He tried to speak, bue auger choked His breath, and, muttering something, "Die than slip From right." He moved to walk away; but she Caught Sarang by his cloak, which he, in haste To fly, left in her grasp, and through the park Over flower and plant like whirlwind passed and climbed The garden wall and jumped down. And there With sweep majestic flowed Godavary's streem. He stood a moment on its bank, while rolled Within his brain, like to a horrid dream, The events late. A moment cast a crazy look Upon the stream below, and, as if it were Oblivion's flood, dashed in to the river and reached The other shore.
Part - 2
The noon was far advanced; the monarch left The tents, and sought where freshening to the eye The forest trees a shady bower made. Wearied with morning's mirth, all nature sank to rest And not the slightest stir was there, save where The streamlet gurgled over the distant slope, And butterflies, like the spirits of the wood, among The foliage moved. And there he laid him down Upon the grass, and wearied with the chase Soon sunk to sleep and dreamt. "It was moonlight
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This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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