Classic Poem

I

Sent to Kuru-land to fathom
How Duryodhan ruled his men,
He, — a dweller of the forest, —
Came once more to Dwaita's glen.
Freely to the King Yudhishthir,
He, Duryodhan's glories told,
For they love not fulsome lying,
Those who serve the true and bold.
Strong of heart, the exiled monarch
Urged thy spy his tale to tell,
Rich in language, deep in import,
Clear the words that from him fell!

II

" Who by King of men is trusted
Loves not to deceive his lord,
Pardon, then, if free my accents, —
Seldom true is honeyed word!
False the friend who basely flatters,
False the king who brooks a lie,
Only those who join in virtue
Conquer Fortune's favours high.
I, a dweller of the woodlands,
Deep designs but dimly trace,
If I comprehend thy foeman,
'Tis, O monarch, by thy grace!
Seated on the throne of nations,
Still he dreads thee, exiled lord,
Realm, by trick of dice he conquered,
Rules by righteous deed and word;
And with seeming virtue vested
Still he apes thy inborn grace, —
Better war with open foeman
Than communion with the base!
Veiling well his pride and passion
Manu's path he seeks to tread,
Toiling noon and dewy evening
Kuru's glories strives to spread.
And he treats as friends his menials,
Treats his friends as nearest kin,
While a semblance of affection
Darkly hides his thoughts within!
Still with equal love the monarch
Courts each kingly virtue well, —
Varying graces sought and conquered
In his heart harmonious dwell!
Bounty speaks his royal kindness,
Gifts with royal favours flow,
And his presents, never ceasing,
Only men of virtue know.
Nor for profit, nor in anger,
But to guard the righteous cause,
On his foe or on his children
Visits sins with equal laws.
Trusty are his palace soldiers,
Dauntless are his brow and face,
Bounteous are his sacrifices,
Endless is his royal grace.
And his plans devised by wisdom,
And pursued with silent toil,
Spread for him a happy future,
Bless the children of the soil!

III

" Cars and steeds of warrior-chieftains
Throng his palace halls around,
Tuskers sent by friendly monarchs
With their perfume fill the ground.
Kuru-lands are rich in harvests,
Ripening without tillers' toil,
Ask no rain, since Kuru's monarch
Showers his blessings on the soil.
And his rule of peace and plenty
Blesses towns and fertile fields,
And impregnate with his bounty
Earth her ample produce yields!
Chieftains from each town and castle,
Warriors famed in toil and strife,
Muster, not against their monarch,
But to guard him with their life.
And his spies can darkly fathom
Deep device of rival kings,
His device, — like work of Nature, —
Is revealed by fruit it brings!
Never bends his bow in battle,
Frowns his forehead never shade,
For his rule his subjects cherish
Like a garland on their head.
Aye, upon his gallant younger
He hath placed his regal might,
Saint-like, from the world retiring,
He performs each holy rite!
Conqueror of all his foemen,
Lord of earth begirt by sea,
Master of a rule unbounded, —
Still Duryodhan quakes at thee;
Let his courtiers name Yudhishthir,
Speak of Arjun's might of arm,
And the monarch bends his forehead
Like a snake subdued by charm!
Bent is he to do thee battle,
Be prepared thy foe to meet, —
This, O King, my humble message,
Such, I lay it at thy feet. "

IV

Then the woodsman, honoured duly,
Went his way o'er hill and dale,
And Yudhishthir to his consort
Told once more the wond'rous tale.
Dark remembrance of her insults
In her heaving bosom woke,
And, to rouse her husband's anger,
Drupad's daughter proudly spoke.

V

" Counsel to a sapient monarch
Is rebuke from woman weak,
But ignoring wifely duty,
Pardon, if my feelings speak.
Mighty warriors, thy forefathers,
Held their rule o'er Kuru's land,
But, as tuskers cast their garlands,
Thou hast hurled it from thy hand!
Weak are they who with the wily
Deal not with responsive wile,
For like darts on mail-less warriors
Artful foemen on them steal.
Weak art thou who hast forsaken
Glory of thy ancient house, —
More than life by warriors cherished,
Dearer than their wedded spouse!

VI

" Godlike man! Now sadly treading
Paths despised by proud and free,
Doth not rising wrath consume thee
As the flames consume the tree?
Men spontaneous yield to heroes
Who have will to face their foes,
But for faint, forgiving creatures
Love nor friend nor foeman knows!
Sandal-graced was royal Bhima, —
Dust-besmeared he roams the hills,
Scarce I know, O soul of virtue,
If thy heart with pity thrills.
Conqueror of northern nations,
Arjun scattered wealth and gold, —
Mark him now, O saintly hermit,
Bark-clad, sleeping on the wood.
And the twins, thy youngest brothers,
Princes born and great and good, —
Mark them roaming in the jungle,
Even like tuskers of the wood!
Scarce I guess thy feelings, monarch,
Strange and diverse are our hearts,
But reflection on thy sorrow
Cruel grief to me imparts.
Erst my lord from royal slumber
Waked to hear the song of praise,
Now outstretched on jungle heather
Hears the cry the jackals raise.
Erst on food by Brahmans tasted
Lived my king of mighty name,
Now he feeds on forest berries
Pale and lightless, — like his fame!
On thy feet, on jewels resting,
Vassal kings their blossoms dropped,
Now they range the thorny woodlands
By the deer or hermit cropped.
Most I grieve, — insulting foemen
Mock thy low dejected state, —
Heroes win a higher glory
If they strive with adverse fate!

VII

Conquer back thy glory,
Vengeful schemes devise,
Anchorites, not heroes,
Meek forbearance prize.
For if kings and chieftains
Bore their insults tame,
Lost were worth of warriors
Lost were monarch's fame!
Or if patient suffering
Still for thee hath charms,
Prate thy hymns like hermits,
Leave these kingly arms!
But a higher duty
Fits thy royal fame,
Break this plighted treaty, —
Treaty of our shame.
Monarchs bent on conquests
Fasten on their foe
Blame for breach of treaty, —
Blame for war and woe.
Pale from loss of glory,
Weak from loss of might,
Rise like sun in splendour, —
Quell this darksome night!