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Translated by W. E. Aytoun
WATER from the sacred Ganges, | |
| To bring water from the river, | |
| Goes the noble Brahmin’s wife. | |
| She was chaste and pure and lovely; | |
| High, immaculate, and honored, | 5 |
| And of sternest justice he. | |
| Daily from the sacred river | |
| Does she fetch the pleasant water; | |
| Not in pitcher nor in vessel, | |
| For she hath no need of these. | 10 |
| Rises of itself the water, | |
| Rolled into a ball of crystal, | |
| To the stainless heart and hand | |
| (Such the power of perfect virtue, | |
| Innocence without a shadow), | 15 |
| And she bears it to her home. | |
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| This day comes she in the morning, | |
| Praying, to the flood of Ganges, | |
| Bending lightly o’er the stream; | |
| There she sees, as in a mirror, | 20 |
| From the heaven above reflected, | |
| Floating in the liquid ether, | |
| Such a glorious apparition! | |
| Image of a youth, created | |
| By the thought of the Almighty, | 25 |
| As a form of perfect beauty. | |
| On the wondrous vision gazing, | |
| Feels she straight a new sensation | |
| Thrill throughout her inmost being; | |
| Fascinated still she lingers, | 30 |
| Lingers with a secret longing; | |
| Wishes it would pass, but ever | |
| Floats the image back again. | |
| In amazement, in confusion, | |
| Stoops she to the flowing Ganges, | 35 |
| Trying, with her trembling fingers, | |
| From the stream a ball to fashion. | |
| But, alas! the spell is broken! | |
| For the holy water shuns her, | |
| Seems to shrink as she approaches, | 40 |
| Whirling swiftly from her hands. | |
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| Nerveless drop her arms, she totters; | |
| Scarce her fainting limbs can bear her, | |
| Scarce she knows the pathway homewards; | |
| Shall she fly, or shall she tarry? | 45 |
| Thought forsakes her; help and counsel | |
| Are to her that day denied. | |
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| So she comes before her husband. | |
| And he looks,—his look is judgment! | |
| Silently the sword he seizes, | 50 |
| Leads her to the hill of terrors, | |
| Where adulterers meet their doom. | |
| How can she, the wife, resist him? | |
| What extenuation offer, | |
| Guilty, knowing not her crime? | 55 |
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| With the bloody sword yet dripping, | |
| Homeward to his silent dwelling | |
| Went the inexorable man. | |
| Then his son came forth to meet him. | |
| “Whose that blood? O father, father!” | 60 |
| “Blood of an adulteress!” “Never! | |
| On the blade it has not stiffened, | |
| As adulterous blood would do. | |
| Fresh as from the wound ’t is running. | |
| Mother, mother! Oh, come hither! | 65 |
| Unjust was my father never, | |
| What is this that he hath done?” | |
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| “Boy, be silent! hers the blood is!” | |
| “Whose?” “Be silent!” “O my mother! | |
| Is it then my mother’s blood? | 70 |
| What ’s her crime? I will be answered! | |
| Say, what evil hath she done? | |
| Here,—the sword!—Lo, now I grasp it! | |
| Thou mightst slay thy wife unchallenged, | |
| But my mother shalt thou not! | 75 |
| Wives through fire their husbands follow, | |
| Children must avenge their mothers! | |
| As the flames unto the widow, | |
| Is the sword unto the son!” | |
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| “Hold thy hand!” exclaimed the father, | 80 |
| “Yet there ’s time; oh, hasten, hasten; | |
| Join the head unto the body, | |
| Touch it with the sword of vengeance, | |
| And she ’ll follow thee alive!” | |
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| Rushing, breathless, what beholds he, | 85 |
| Stretched upon the hill of terror? | |
| Bodies of two slaughtered women, | |
| And their heads are lying near. | |
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| Half distracted, blind, and dizzy, | |
| His dear mother’s head he seizes, | 90 |
| Does not even stay to kiss it, | |
| Joins it to the nearest body: | |
| Pointing then the sword of vengeance, | |
| Piously completes the spell. | |
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| Riseth straight a ghastly figure! | 95 |
| From the dear lips of his mother, | |
| Sweet as ever, nowise altered, | |
| Comes this terrible bewail: | |
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| “Son, O son! what fatal rashness! | |
| Yonder lies thy mother’s body, | 100 |
| Near it is the head polluted | |
| Of a wretched woman, victim | |
| To the just avenging sword. | |
| Me hast thou in hideous union | |
| Blent forever with her body! | 105 |
| Wise in will, but wild in doing, | |
| Must I move among the spirits. | |
| Yea, that godlike apparition, | |
| Which the eye might blameless look on, | |
| Which the brain might blameless think on, | 110 |
| To the heart becomes a torment, | |
| Stirring passionate desire! | |
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| “Still that image must beset me! | |
| Sometimes rising, sometimes falling, | |
| Sometimes bright, and sometimes darkened, | 115 |
| Such is mighty Brahma’s will. | |
| He it was who sent the vision, | |
| Floating on its angel pinions, | |
| Radiant face and form so graceful, | |
| God-created in its beauty, | 120 |
| For my trial and temptation; | |
| Since from heaven we may be tempted, | |
| If the gods decree it so. | |
| So must I, a sad Brahmina, | |
| With my head to heaven pertaining, | 125 |
| Feel the gross and earthly passion | |
| Of the Pariah evermore! | |
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| “Go, my son, unto thy father! | |
| Be of comfort! Let no penance, | |
| Dull remorse, or hope of merit, | 130 |
| Through a weary expiation, | |
| Drive him to the wilderness. | |
| Go ye forth among the people, | |
| And, so long as speech remaineth, | |
| Tell, oh, tell the meanest creature | 135 |
| That him also Brahma hears! | |
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| “For with him there is no meanness, | |
| In his sight are all men equal. | |
| Be he leper, be he outcast, | |
| Be he sunk in want and sorrow, | 140 |
| Be he desolate, heart-broken, | |
| Be he Brahmin, be he Pariah,— | |
| Whosoever prays for mercy, | |
| He shall have it, he shall find it, | |
| When he turns his face to heaven. | 145 |
| Thousand eyes are watching yonder, | |
| Thousand ears are ever listening, | |
| Everything to God is known. | |
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| “When I pass before his footstool, | |
| Me beholding, thus distorted | 150 |
| By a vile transfiguration, | |
| Surely will the Father pity. | |
| Yet my curse may be a blessing | |
| Unto you, my son, and many. | |
| For, in humble adoration, | 155 |
| Meekly shall I strive to utter | |
| What the higher sense inspires; | |
| Then, in frenzied adjuration, | |
| Shall I tell him all the passion | |
| That is raging in this bosom. | 160 |
| Thought and impulse, will and weakness,— | |
| Mystery of mysteries!” | |
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