# The Birth of the War-God/Canto 3

Canto Third
THE DEATH OF LOVE.
In eager gaze the Sovereign of the Skies
Looked full on Káma with his thousand eyes— E'en such a gaze as trembling suppliants bend,
When danger threatens, on a mighty friend.
Close by his side, where Indra bade him rest,
The Love-God sate, and thus his Lord addressed:
"All-knowing Indra, deign, my prince, to tell
Thy heart's desire in Earth, or Heaven, or Hell:
Double the favour, mighty sovereign, thou
Hast thought on Káma, O, command him now!
Who angers thee by toiling for the prize,
By penance, prayer, or holy sacrifice?
What mortal being dost thou count thy foe?
Speak, I will tame him with my darts and bow.
Has some one feared the endless change of birth.
And sought the path that leads the soul from earth?
Slave to a glancing eye thy foe shall bow.
And own the witchery of a woman's brow;
E'en though the object of thine envious rage
Were taught high wisdom by the Immortal Sage,
With billowy passions will I whelm his soul, Like rushing waves that spurn the bank's control. Or has the ripe full beauty of a spouse, Too fondly faithful to her bridal vows. Ravished thy spirit from thee?—thine, all thine Around thy neck her loving arms shall twine; Thy dearest, jealous of another's charms, Spurned thee in wrath when flying to her arms? I'll rack her yielding bosom with such pain, Soon shall she be all love and warmth again, And wildly fly in fevered haste to rest Her aching heart close, close to thy dear breast.
Lay, Indra, lay thy threatening bolt aside, My gentle darts shall tame the haughtiest pride, And all that war with Heaven and thee shall know The magic influence of thy Káma's bow; For Woman's curling lip shall bow them down, Fainting in terror at her threatening frown. Flowers are my arms, mine only warrior Spring, Yet in thy favour am I strong, great King; What can their strength who draw the bow avail Against my matchless power when I assail? Strong is the Trident-bearing God, yet he. The mighty Siva, e'en, must yield to me."
Then Indra answered with a dawning smile,— Resting his foot upon a stool the while: — "Dear God of Love, thou truly hast displayed The power unrivalled of thy promised aid; My hope is all in thee—my weapons are The thunderbolt, and thou more mighty far—
But vain, all vain the bolt of Heaven to fright Those holy Saints whom Penance arms aright; Thy power knows no bound—thou, only thou. All-conquering Deity, canst help me now! Full well I know thy nature, and assign This toil to thee, which needs a strength like thine: As on that Snake alone will Krishna rest. That bears the Earth upon his haughty crest. Our task is well-nigh done—thy boasted dart Has power to conquer even Siva's heart; Hear what the Gods, oppressed with woe, would fain From mighty Siva through thine aid obtain; He may beget—and none in Heaven but he— A chief to lead our hosts to victory; But all his mind with holiest lore is fraught. Bent on the Godhead is his every thought; Thy darts, Love, alone can reach him now. And lure his spirit from the hermit vow. Go, seek Himálaya's Mountain-child, and aid With all thy loveliest charms the lovely Maid, So may she please his fancy—only she May wed with Siva—such the fixed decree.
E'en now my bands of Heavenly Maids have spied Fair Uma dwelling by the Hermit's side— There by her father's bidding rests she still, Sweet minister, upon the cold bleak hill. Go, Káma, go! perform this great emprise, And free from fear the Rulers of the Skies; We need thy favour, as the new-sown grain Calls for the influence of the gentle rain.
Go, Káma, go I thy flowery darts shall be Crowned with success o'er this great Deity; Yea, and thy task is e'en already done. For praise and glory are that instant won When a bold heart dares manfully essay The deed which others shrink from in dismay, Gods are thy suppliants, Kama, and on thee Depends the triple World's security; No cruel deed will stain thy flowery bow, With all thy gentlest, mightiest valour, go! And now. Disturber of the Spirit, see Spring, thy beloved, will thy comrade be. And gladly aid thee Siva's heart to tame— None bids the whispering Wind, and yet he fans the flame."
He spake, and Kama bowed his bright head down, And took his bidding like a flowery crown— Above his wavy curls great Indra bent. And fondly touched his soldier ere he went. With that hard hand—but, O, how gentle now!— That fell so heavy on his elephant's brow. Then for that snow-crowned hill he turned away. Where all alone the heavenly Hermit lay— His fearful Reti and his comrade Spring Followed the guidance of Love's mighty King— There will he battle in unwonted strife. Return a conqueror or be reft of life.
How fair was Spring!—to fill the heart with love, And lure the Hermit from his thoughts above. In that pure grove he grew so heavenly bright That Káma's envy wakened at the sight.
Now the bright Day-God turned his burning ray
To where Kuvera holds his royal sway,
While the sad South in whispering breezes sighed
And mourned his absence like a tearful bride.
Then from its stem the red Asoka threw
Full buds and flowerets of celestial hue,
Nor waited for the Maiden's touch, the sweet
Beloved pressure of her tinkling feet;
There grew Love's an-ow, his dear Mango spray,
Winged with young leaves to speed its airy way,
And at the call of Spring the wild bees came.
Grouping the syllables of Káma's name.
How sighed the spirit o'er that loveliest flower
That boasts no fragrance to enrich its dower!
For Nature, wisest mother, oft prefers
To part more fairly those good gifts of hers—
There from the tree Palasa blossoms spread,
Curved like the crescent Moon, their rosiest red.
With opening buds that looked as if young Spring
Had pressed his nails there in his dallying—
Sweet wanton Spring, to whose enchanting face
His flowery Tilaka gave fairer grace—
Who loves to tint his lip, the Mango spray,
With the fresh colours of the early day.
And powder its fine red with many a bee
That sips the oozing nectar rapturously.
The cool gale speeding o'er the shady lawns
Shook down the sounding leaves, while startled fawns
Ran wildly at the viewless foe, all blind
With pollen wafted by the fragrant wind.
Sweet was the Koil's voice—his neck still red
With Mango buds on which he just had fed—
'Twas as the voice of Love to bid the dame Spurn her cold pride, nor quench the gentle flame. What though the heat has stained the tints that dyed With marvellous bloom the Heavenly Minstrel's bride? Neither her smile nor sunny glances fail, Bright is her lip, although her cheek be pale. E'en the pure Hermits owned the secret power Of warm Spring coming in unwonted hour, While Love's delightful witchery gently stole With strong sweet influence o'er the saintly soul.
On came the Archer-God, and at his side The timid Reti, his own darling bride. While breathing Nature showed how deep it felt, 'Neath Passion's glowing touch, the senses melt— For there in eager love the wild bee dipp'd In the dark flower-cup where his mistress sipp'd; There with his horn the goat touched lovingly His gentle mate, who closed her melting eye; There from her trunk the elephant had poured A lily-scented stream to cool her lord. While the fond love-bird by the silver flood Gave to his hen the tasted Lotus bud. Full in his song the Minstrel stayed to sip The heavenlier nectar of his darling's lip— Pure pearls of heat had just distained the dye. But flowery wine was sparkling in her eye. How the young creeper's beauty charmed the view. Fair as the fairest maid, as playful too! Here some bright blossoms, lovelier than the rest. In full round beauty matched her swelling breast;
Here in a thin bright line, some delicate spray, Red as her lip, ravished the soul away— And then how loving, and how close they hung To the tall trees that fondly o'er them hung! Bright, heavenly wantons poured the witching strain, Quiring for Siva's ear, but all in vain— No charmer's spell may check the firm control, "Won by the Holy, o'er the impassioned soul.
The Hermit's servant hasted to the door. In his left hand a branch of gold he bore— He touched his lip for silence—Peace! be still! Nor mar the quiet of this holy hill,— He spake—no dweller of the forest stirred, No wild bee murmured, hushed was every bird— Still and unmoved, as in a picture stood All life that breathed within the waving wood. As some great Monarch when he goes to war Shuns the fierce aspect of a baleful star, So Káma hid him from the Hermit's eye, And sought a path that led unnoticed by. Where tangled flowers and clustering trailers spread Their grateful canopy o'er Siva's head. Bent on his hardy enterprise, with awe The Three-eyed Lord—great Penitent—he saw: Where on a mound a tiger's skin was laid. Sate the stern God beneath a pine-tree's shade. Absorbed in holiest thought, erect and still, The Hermit rested on the gentle hill; His shoulders drooping down—each foot was bent Beneath the body of the Penitent;
With open palms the hands were firmly pressed, As though a Lotus lay upon his breast: A double rosary in each ear—behind With wreathing serpents were his locks entwined; His coat of hide shone blacker to the view Against his neck of brightly beaming blue; How wild the look, how terrible the frown Of his dark eyebrows bending sternly down! How fiercely glared his eyes, unmoving blaze Fixed in Devotion's meditating gaze! Calm as a full cloud resting on a hill, A waveless lake when every breeze is still, Like a torch burning in a sheltered spot — So still was He, unmoving, breathing not. So full the stream of marvellous glory poured From the bright forehead of that mighty Lord, Pale seemed the crescent Moon upon his head, And slenderer than a slender Lotus thread. At all the body's nine-fold gates of sense He had barred in the pure Intelligence, To ponder on the Soul which sages call Eternal Spirit, highest, over all.
How sad was Káma at the awful sight. How failed his courage in a swoon of fright! As near and nearer to the God he came Whom wildest thought could never hope to tame, Unconsciously his hands in fear and woe. Dropped the sweet arrows and his flowery bow. But Uma came with all her maiden throng. And Káma's fainting heart again was strong;
Bright flowers of Spring, in every lovely hue, Around the Lady's form rare beauty threw, Some clasped her neck like strings of purest pearls, Some shot their glory through her wavy curls. Bending her graceful head as half-oppressed With swelling charms even too richly blest, Fancy might deem that beautiful young maiden Some slender tree with its sweet flowers o'erladen. From time to time her gentle hand replaced The flowery girdle slipping from her waist: It seemed that Love could find no place more fair. So hung his newest, dearest bowstring there. A greedy bee kept hovering round to sip
The fragrant nectar of her blooming lip— She closed her eyes in terror of the thief. And beat him from her with a Lotus leaf. The angry curl of Reti's lip confessed The shade of envy that stole o'er her breast, Through Káma's soul fresh hope and courage flew, As that sweet vision blessed his eager view— So bright, so fair, so winning soft was she, Who could not conquer in such company?
Now Uma came, fair Maid, his destined bride, With timid steps approaching Siva's side; In contemplation will he brood no more, He sees the Godhead, and his task is o'er; He breathes, he moves, the Earth begins to rock, The Snake, her bearer, trembling at the shock. Due homage then his own dear servant paid, And told him of the coming of the Maid;
He learnt his Master's pleasure by the nod, And led Himálaya's daughter to the God; Before his feet her young companions spread Fresh leaves and blossoms as they bow the head, While Uma stooped so low, that from her hair Dropped the bright flower that starred the midnight there; To him whose ensign bears the Bull she bent, Till each spray fell, her ear's rich ornament. "Sweet Maid," cried Siva, "surely thou shalt be Blessed with a husband who loves none but thee!" Her fear was banished, and her hope was high, — A God had spoken, and Gods cannot lie.
Rash as some giddy moth that wooes the flame, Love seized the moment, and prepared to aim, Close by the daughter of the Mountain-King, He looked on Siva, and he eyed his string. While with her radiant hand fair Uma gave A rosary, of the Lotuses that lave Their beauties in the heavenly Ganga's wave,—— And the great Three-Eyed God was fain to take The offering for the well-loved suppliant's sake, On his bright bow Love placed the unerring dart, The soft beguiler of the stricken heart. Like the Moon's influence on the Sea at rest. Came Passion stealing o'er the Hermit's breast, While on the Maiden's lip that mocked the dye Of ripe red fruit, he bent his melting eye; And oh! how showed the Lady's love for him. The heaving bosom, and each quivering limb! Like young Kadambas, when the leaf-buds swell. At the warm touch of Spring they love so well;
But still, with downcast eyes, she sought the ground, And durst not turn their burning glances round. Then with strong effort, Siva lulled to rest, The storm of passion in his troubled breast. And seeks, with angry eyes that round him roll, Whence came the tempest o'er his tranquil soul. He looked, and saw the bold young Archer stand, His bow bent ready in his skilful hand. Drawn towards the eye—his shoulder well depressed, And the left foot thrown forward as a rest.
Then was the Hermit-God to madness lashed, Then from his eye red flames of fury flashed— So changed the beauty of that glorious brow. Scarce could the gaze support its terror now. Hark! heavenly voices sighing through the air: Be calm, great Siva, be calm and spare!— Alas! that angry eye's resistless flashes Have scorched the gentle King of Love to ashes! But Reti saw not, for she swooned away, Senseless and breathless on the earth she lay; Sleep while thou mayst, unconscious Lady, sleep! Soon wilt thou rise to sigh and wake to weep. E'en as the red bolt rives the leafy bough Did Siva blast the hinderer of his vow. Then fled with all his train to some lone place Far, far from Woman and her witching face.
{{gap}Sad was Himálaya's daughter,—grief and shame O'er the young spirit of the Maiden came; — Grief—for she loved, and all her love was vain, Shame—she was spurned before her youthful train;
She turned away, with fear and woe oppressed, To hide her sorrow on her father's breast; Then, in the fond arms of her pitying sire, Closed her sad eyes for fear of Siva's ire— Still in his grasp the weary maiden lay, While he sped swiftly on his homeward way. Thus have I seen the elephant stoop to drink, And lift the lilies from the fountain's brink— Thus, when he rears his mighty head on high. Across his tusks I've seen those lilies lie.