Remember
me, when under thy shade other
students chant their lessons to an accompaniment of bees humming and leaves
rustling.
students chant their lessons to an accompaniment of bees humming and leaves
rustling.
Tagore - Creative Unity
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Title: The Fugitive
Author: Rabindranath Tagore
Posting Date: November 4, 2012 [EBook #7971]
Release Date: April, 2005
First Posted: June 8, 2003
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FUGITIVE ***
Produced by Eric Eldred, Christine De Ryck, Charles Franks,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
THE FUGITIVE
BY
RABINDRANATH TAGORE
TO
W. W. PEARSON
CONTENTS
THE FUGITIVE--I.
KACHA AND DEVAYANI
TRANSLATIONS
THE FUGITIVE--II.
AMA AND VINAYAKA
THE MOTHER'S PRAYER
TRANSLATIONS
THE FUGITIVE--III.
SOMAKA AND RITVIK
KARNA AND KUNTI
TRANSLATIONS
1
Darkly you sweep on, Eternal Fugitive, round whose bodiless rush stagnant
space frets into eddying bubbles of light.
Is your heart lost to the Lover calling you across his immeasurable
loneliness?
Is the aching urgency of your haste the sole reason why your tangled
tresses break into stormy riot and pearls of fire roll along your path as
from a broken necklace?
Your fleeting steps kiss the dust of this world into sweetness, sweeping
aside all waste; the storm centred with your dancing limbs shakes the
sacred shower of death over life and freshens her growth.
Should you in sudden weariness stop for a moment, the world would rumble
into a heap, an encumbrance, barring its own progress, and even the least
speck of dust would pierce the sky throughout its infinity with an
unbearable pressure.
My thoughts are quickened by this rhythm of unseen feet round which the
anklets of light are shaken.
They echo in the pulse of my heart, and through my blood surges the psalm
of the ancient sea.
I hear the thundering flood tumbling my life from world to world and form
to form, scattering my being in an endless spray of gifts, in sorrowings
and songs.
The tide runs high, the wind blows, the boat dances like thine own desire,
my heart!
Leave the hoard on the shore and sail over the unfathomed dark towards
limitless light.
2
We came hither together, friend, and now at the cross-roads I stop to bid
you farewell.
Your path is wide and straight before you, but my call comes up by ways
from the unknown.
I shall follow wind and cloud; I shall follow the stars to where day breaks
behind the hills; I shall follow lovers who, as they walk, twine their days
into a wreath on a single thread of song, "I love. "
3
It was growing dark when I asked her, "What strange land have I come to? "
She only lowered her eyes, and the water gurgled in the throat of her jar,
as she walked away.
The trees hang vaguely over the bank, and the land appears as though it
already belonged to the past.
The water is dumb, the bamboos are darkly still, a wristlet tinkles against
the water-jar from down the lane.
Row no more, but fasten the boat to this tree,--for I love the look of this
land.
The evening star goes down behind the temple dome, and the pallor of the
marble landing haunts the dark water.
Belated wayfarers sigh; for light from hidden windows is splintered into
the darkness by intervening wayside trees and bushes. Still that wristlet
tinkles against the water-jar, and retreating steps rustle from down the
lane littered with leaves.
The night deepens, the palace towers loom spectre-like, and the town hums
wearily.
Row no more, but fasten the boat to a tree.
Let me seek rest in this strange land, dimly lying under the stars, where
darkness tingles with the tinkle of a wristlet knocking against a
water-jar.
4
O that I were stored with a secret, like unshed rain in summer clouds--a
secret, folded up in silence, that I could wander away with.
O that I had some one to whisper to, where slow waters lap under trees that
doze in the sun.
The hush this evening seems to expect a footfall, and you ask me for the
cause of my tears.
I cannot give a reason why I weep, for that is a secret still withheld from
me.
5
For once be careless, timid traveller, and utterly lose your way;
wide-awake though you are, be like broad daylight enticed by and netted in
mist.
Do not shun the garden of Lost Hearts waiting at the end of the wrong road,
where the grass is strewn with wrecked red flowers, and disconsolate water
heaves in the troubled sea.
Long have you watched over the store gathered by weary years. Let it be
stripped, with nothing remaining but the desolate triumph of losing all.
6
Two little bare feet flit over the ground, and seem to embody that
metaphor, "Flowers are the footprints of summer. "
They lightly impress on the dust the chronicle of their adventure, to be
erased by a passing breeze.
Come, stray into my heart, you tender little feet, and leave the
everlasting print of songs on my dreamland path.
7
I am like the night to you, little flower.
I can only give you peace and a wakeful silence hidden in the dark.
When in the morning you open your eyes, I shall leave you to a world a-hum
with bees, and songful with birds.
My last gift to you will be a tear dropped into the depth of your youth; it
will make your smile all the sweeter, and bemist your outlook on the
pitiless mirth of day.
8
Do not stand before my window with those hungry eyes and beg for my secret.
It is but a tiny stone of glistening pain streaked with blood-red by
passion.
What gifts have you brought in both hands to fling before me in the dust?
I fear, if I accept, to create a debt that can never be paid even by the
loss of all I have.
Do not stand before my window with your youth and flowers to shame my
destitute life.
9
If I were living in the royal town of Ujjain, when Kalidas was the king's
poet, I should know some Malwa girl and fill my thoughts with the music of
her name. She would glance at me through the slanting shadow of her
eyelids, and allow her veil to catch in the jasmine as an excuse for
lingering near me.
This very thing happened in some past whose track is lost under time's dead
leaves.
The scholars fight to-day about dates that play hide-and-seek.
I do not break my heart dreaming over flown and vanished ages: but alas and
alas again, that those Malwa girls have followed them!
To what heaven, I wonder, have they carried in their flower-baskets those
days that tingled to the lyrics of the king's poet?
This morning, separation from those whom I was born too late to meet weighs
on and saddens my heart.
Yet April carries the same flowers with which they decked their hair, and
the same south breeze fluttered their veils as whispers over modern roses.
And, to tell the truth, joys are not lacking to this spring, though Kalidas
sing no more; and I know, if he can watch me from the Poets' Paradise, he
has reasons to be envious.
10
Be not concerned about her heart, my heart: leave it in the dark.
What if her beauty be of the figure and her smile merely of the face? Let
me take without question the simple meaning of her glances and be happy.
I care not if it be a web of delusion that her arms wind about me, for the
web itself is rich and rare, and the deceit can be smiled at and forgotten.
Be not concerned about her heart, my heart: be content if the music is
true, though the words are not to be believed; enjoy the grace that dances
like a lily on the rippling, deceiving surface, whatever may lie beneath.
11
Neither mother nor daughter are you, nor bride, Urvashi. [1] Woman you are,
to ravish the soul of Paradise.
[Footnote 1: The dancing girl of Paradise who rose from the sea. ]
When weary-footed evening comes down to the folds whither the cattle have
returned, you never trim the house lamps nor walk to the bridal bed with a
tremulous heart and a wavering smile on your lips, glad that the dark hours
are so secret.
Like the dawn you are without veil, Urvashi, and without shame.
Who can imagine that aching overflow of splendour which created you!
You rose from the churned ocean on the first day of the first spring, with
the cup of life in your right hand and poison in your left. The monster
sea, lulled like an enchanted snake, laid down its thousand hoods at your
feet.
Your unblemished radiance rose from the foam, white and naked as a jasmine.
Were you ever small, timid or in bud, Urvashi, O Youth everlasting?
Did you sleep, cradled in the deep blue night where the strange light of
gems plays over coral, shells and moving creatures of dreamlike form, till
day revealed your awful fulness of bloom?
Adored are you of all men in all ages, Urvashi, O endless wonder!
The world throbs with youthful pain at the glance of your eyes, the ascetic
lays the fruit of his austerities at your feet, the songs of poets hum and
swarm round the perfume of your presence. Your feet, as in careless joy
they flit on, wound even the heart of the hollow wind with the tinkle of
golden bells.
When you dance before the gods, flinging orbits of novel rhythm into space,
Urvashi, the earth shivers, leaf and grass, and autumn fields heave and
sway; the sea surges into a frenzy of rhyming waves; the stars drop into
the sky--beads from the chain that leaps till it breaks on your breast; and
the blood dances in men's hearts with sudden turmoil.
You are the first break on the crest of heaven's slumber, Urvashi, you
thrill the air with unrest. The world bathes your limbs in her tears; with
colour of her heart's blood are your feet red; lightly you poise on the
wave-tossed lotus of desire, Urvashi; you play forever in that limitless
mind wherein labours God's tumultuous dream.
12
You, like a rivulet swift and sinuous, laugh and dance, and your steps sing
as you trip along.
I, like a bank rugged and steep, stand speechless and stock-still and
darkly gaze at you.
I, like a big, foolish storm, of a sudden come rushing on and try to rend
my being and scatter it parcelled in a whirl of passion.
You, like the lightning's flash slender and keen, pierce the heart of the
turbulent darkness, to disappear in a vivid streak of laughter.
13
You desired my love and yet you did not love me.
Therefore my life clings to you like a chain of which clank and grip grow
harsher the more you struggle to be free.
My despair has become your deadly companion, clutching at the faintest of
your favours, trying to drag you away into the cavern of tears.
You have shattered my freedom, and with its wreck built your own prison.
14
I am glad you will not wait for me with that lingering pity in your look.
It is only the spell of the night and my farewell words, startled at their
own tune of despair, which bring these tears to my eyes. But day will dawn,
my eyes will dry and my heart; and there will be no time for weeping.
Who says it is hard to forget?
The mercy of death works at life's core, bringing it respite from its own
foolish persistence.
The stormy sea is lulled at last in its rocking cradle; the forest fire
falls to sleep on its bed of ashes.
You and I shall part, and the cleavage will be hidden under living grass
and flowers that laugh in the sun.
15
Of all days you have chosen this one to visit my garden.
But the storm passed over my roses last night and the grass is strewn with
torn leaves.
I do not know what has brought you, now that the hedges are laid low and
rills run in the walks; the prodigal wealth of spring is scattered and the
scent and song of yesterday are wrecked.
Yet stay a while; let me find some remnant flowers, though I doubt if your
skirt can be filled.
The time will be short, for the clouds thicken and here comes the rain
again!
16
I forgot myself for a moment, and I came.
But raise your eyes, and let me know if there still linger some shadow of
other days, like a pale cloud on the horizon that has been robbed of its
rain.
For a moment bear with me if I forget myself.
The roses are still in bud; they do not yet know how we neglect to gather
flowers this summer.
The morning star has the same palpitating hush; the early light is enmeshed
in the branches that overbrow your window, as in those other days.
That times are changed I forget for a little, and have come.
I forget if you ever shamed me by looking away when I bared my heart.
I only remember the words that stranded on the tremor of your lips; I
remember in your dark eyes sweeping shadows of passion, like the wings of a
home-seeking bird in the dusk.
I forget that you do not remember, and I come.
17
The rain fell fast. The river rushed and hissed. It licked up and swallowed
the island, while I waited alone on the lessening bank with my sheaves of
corn in a heap.
From the shadows of the opposite shore the boat crosses with a woman at the
helm.
I cry to her, "Come to my island coiled round with hungry water, and take
away my year's harvest. "
She comes, and takes all that I have to the last grain; I ask her to take
me.
But she says, "No"--the boat is laden with my gift and no room is left for
me.
18
The evening beckons, and I would fain follow the travellers who sailed in
the last ferry of the ebb-tide to cross the dark.
Some were for home, some for the farther shore, yet all have ventured to
sail.
But I sit alone at the landing, having left my home and missed the boat:
summer is gone and my winter harvest is lost.
I wait for that love which gathers failures to sow them in tears on the
dark, that they may bear fruit when day rises anew.
19
On this side of the water there is no landing; the girls do not come here
to fetch water; the land along its edge is shaggy with stunted shrubs; a
noisy flock of _saliks_ dig their nests in the steep bank under whose frown
the fisher-boats find no shelter.
You sit there on the unfrequented grass, and the morning wears on. Tell me
what you do on this bank so dry that it is agape with cracks?
She looks in my face and says, "Nothing, nothing whatsoever. "
On this side of the river the bank is deserted, and no cattle come to
water. Only some stray goats from the village browse the scanty grass all
day, and the solitary water-hawk watches from an uprooted _peepal_ aslant
over the mud.
You sit there alone in the miserly shade of a _shimool,_ and the morning
wears on.
Tell me, for whom do you wait?
She looks in my face and says, "No one, no one at all! "
20
KACHA AND DEVAYANI
KACHA AND DEVAYANI
_Young Kacha came from Paradise to learn the secret of immortality from a
Sage who taught the Titans, and whose daughter Devayani fell in love with
him. _
KACHA
The time has come for me to take leave, Devayani; I have long sat at your
father's feet, but to-day he completed his teaching. Graciously allow me to
go back to the land of the Gods whence I came.
DEVAYANI
You have, as you desired, won that rare knowledge coveted by the Gods;--but
think, do you aspire after nothing further?
KACHA
Nothing.
DEVAYANI
Nothing at all! Dive into the bottom of your heart; does no timid wish lurk
there, fearful lest it be blighted?
KACHA
For me the sun of fulfilment has risen, and the stars have faded in its
light. I have mastered the knowledge which gives life.
DEVAYANI
Then you must be the one happy being in creation. Alas! now for the first
time I feel what torture these days spent in an alien land have been to
you, though we offered you our best.
KACHA
Not so much bitterness! Smile, and give me leave to go.
DEVAYANI
Smile! But, my friend, this is not your native Paradise. Smiles are not so
cheap in this world, where thirst, like a worm in the flower, gnaws at the
heart's core; where baffled desire hovers round the desired, and memory
never ceases to sigh foolishly after vanished joy.
KACHA
Devayani, tell me how I have offended?
DEVAYANI
Is it so easy for you to leave this forest, which through long years has
lavished on you shade and song? Do you not feel how the wind wails through
these glimmering shadows, and dry leaves whirl in the air, like ghosts of
lost hope;--while you alone, who part from us, have a smile on your lips?
KACHA
This forest has been a second mother to me, for here I have been born
again. My love for it shall never dwindle.
DEVAYANI
When you had driven the cattle to graze on the lawn, yonder banyan tree
spread a hospitable shade for your tired limbs against the mid-day heat.
KACHA
I bow to thee, Lord of the Forest!
Remember me, when under thy shade other
students chant their lessons to an accompaniment of bees humming and leaves
rustling.
DEVAYANI
And do not forget our Venumati, whose swift water is one stream of singing
love.
KACHA
I shall ever remember her, the dear companion of my exile, who, like a busy
village girl, smiles on her errand of ceaseless service and croons a simple
song.
DEVAYANI
But, friend, let me also remind you that you had another companion whose
thoughts were vainly busy to make you forget an exile's cares.
KACHA
The memory of her has become a part of my life.
DEVAYANI
I recall the day when, little more than a boy, you first arrived. You stood
there, near the hedge of the garden, a smile in your eyes.
KACHA
And I saw you gathering flowers--clad in white, like the dawn bathed in
radiance. And I said, "Make me proud by allowing me to help you! "
DEVAYANI
I asked in surprise who you were, and you meekly answered that you were the
son of Vrihaspati, a divine sage at the court of the God Indra, and desired
to learn from my father that secret spell which can revive the dead.
KACHA
I feared lest the Master, the teacher of the Titans, those rivals of the
Gods, should refuse to accept me for a disciple.
DEVAYANI
But he could not refuse me when I pleaded your cause, so greatly he loves
his daughter.
KACHA
Thrice had the jealous Titans slain me, and thrice you prevailed on your
father to bring me back to life; therefore my gratitude can never die.
DEVAYANI
Gratitude! Forget all--I shall not grieve. Do you only remember benefits?
Let them perish! If after the day's lessons, in the evening solitude, some
strange tremor of joy shook your heart, remember that--but not gratitude.
If, as some one passed, a snatch of song got tangled among your texts or
the swing of a robe fluttered your studies with delight, remember that when
at leisure in your Paradise. What, benefits only! --and neither beauty nor
love nor. . . ?
KACHA
Some things are beyond the power of words.
DEVAYANI
Yes, yes, I know. My love has sounded your heart's deepest, and makes me
bold to speak in defiance of your reserve. Never leave me! remain here!
fame gives no happiness. Friend, you cannot now escape, for your secret is
mine!
KACHA
No, no, Devayani.
DEVAYANI
How "No"? Do not lie to me! Love's insight is divine. Day after day, in
raising your head, in a glance, in the motion of your hands, your love
spoke as the sea speaks through its waves. On a sudden my voice would send
your heart quivering through your limbs--have I never witnessed it? I know
you, and therefore you are my captive for ever. The very king of your Gods
shall not sever this bond.
KACHA
Was it for this, Devayani, that I toiled, away from home and kindred, all
these years?
DEVAYANI
Why not? Is only knowledge precious? Is love cheap? Lay hold on this
moment. Have the courage to own that a woman's heart is worth all as much
penance as men undergo for the sake of power, knowledge, or reputation.
KACHA
I gave my solemn promise to the Gods that I would bring them this lore of
deathless life.
DEVAYANI
But is it true you had eyes for nothing save your books? That you never
broke off your studies to pay me homage with flowers, never lay in wait for
a chance, of an evening, to help me water my flower-beds? What made you sit
by me on the grass and sing songs you brought hither from the assembly of
the stars, while darkness stooped over the river bank as love droops over
its own sad silence? Were these parts of a cruel conspiracy plotted in your
Paradise? Was all for the sake of access to my father's heart? --and after
success, were you, departing, to throw some cheap gratitude, like small
coins, to the deluded door-keeper?
KACHA
What profit were there, proud woman, in knowing the truth? If I did wrong
to serve you with a passionate devotion cherished in secret, I have had
ample punishment. This is no time to question whether my love be true or
not; my life's work awaits me. Though my heart must henceforth enclose a
red flame vainly striving to devour emptiness, still I must go back to that
Paradise which will nevermore be Paradise to me. I owe the Gods a new
divinity, hard won by my studies, before I may think of happiness. Forgive
me, Devayani, and know that my suffering is doubled by the pain I
unwillingly inflict on you.
DEVAYANI
Forgiveness! You have angered my heart till it is hard and burning like a
thunderbolt! You can go back to your work and your glory, but what is left
for me? Memory is a bed of thorns, and secret shame will gnaw at the roots
of my life. You came like a wayfarer, sat through the sunny hours in the
shade of my garden, and to while time away you plucked all its flowers and
wove them into a chain. And now, parting, you snap the thread and let the
flowers drop on the dust! Accursed be that great knowledge you have
earned! --a burden that, though others share equally with you, will never be
lightened. For lack of love may it ever remain as foreign to your life as
the cold stars are to the un-espoused darkness of virgin Night!
21
I
"Why these preparations without end? "--I said to Mind--"Is some one to
come? "
Mind replied, "I am enormously busy gathering things and building towers. I
have no time to answer such questions. "
Meekly I went back to my work.
When things were grown to a pile, when seven wings of his palace were
complete, I said to Mind, "Is it not enough? "
Mind began to say, "Not enough to contain--" and then stopped.
"Contain what? " I asked.
Mind affected not to hear.
I suspected that Mind did not know, and with ceaseless work smothered the
question.
His one refrain was, "I must have more. "
"Why must you? "
"Because it is great. "
"What is great? "
Mind remained silent. I pressed for an answer.
In contempt and anger, Mind said, "Why ask about things that are not? Take
notice of those that are hugely before you,--the struggle and the fight,
the army and armaments, the bricks and mortar, and labourers without
number. "
I thought "Possibly Mind is wise. "
II
Days passed. More wings were added to his palace--more lands to his domain.
The season of rains came to an end. The dark clouds became white and thin,
and in the rain-washed sky the sunny hours hovered like butterflies over an
unseen flower. I was bewildered and asked everybody I met, "What is that
music in the breeze? "
A tramp walked the road whose dress was wild as his manner; he said, "Hark
to the music of the Coming! "
I cannot tell why I was convinced, but the words broke from me, "We have
not much longer to wait. "
"It is close at hand," said the mad man.
I went to the office and boldly said to Mind, "Stop all work! "
Mind asked, "Have you any news? "
"Yes," I answered, "News of the Coming. " But I could not explain.
Mind shook his head and said, "There are neither banners nor pageantry! "
III
The night waned, the stars paled in the sky. Suddenly the touchstone of the
morning light tinged everything with gold. A cry spread from mouth to
mouth--
"Here is the herald! "
I bowed my head and asked, "Is he coming? "
The answer seemed to burst from all sides, "Yes. "
Mind grew troubled and said, "The dome of my building is not yet finished,
nothing is in order. "
A voice came from the sky, "Pull down your building! "
"But why? " asked Mind.
"Because to-day is the day of the Coming, and your building is in the way. "
IV
The lofty building lies in the dust and all is scattered and broken.
Mind looked about. But what was there to see?
Only the morning star and the lily washed in dew.
And what else? A child running laughing from its mother's arms into the
open light.
"Was it only for this that they said it was the day of the Coming? "
"Yes, this was why they said there was music in the air and light in the
sky. "
"And did they claim all the earth only for this? "
"Yes," came the answer. "Mind, you build walls to imprison yourself. Your
servants toil to enslave themselves; but the whole earth and infinite space
are for the child, for the New Life. "
"What does that child bring you? "
"Hope for all the world and its joy. "
Mind asked me, "Poet, do you understand? "
"I lay my work aside," I said, "for I must have time to understand. "
22
TRANSLATIONS
VAISHNAVA SONGS
1
Oh Sakhi,[1] my sorrow knows no bounds.
[Footnote 1: The woman friend of a woman. ]
August comes laden with rain clouds and my house is desolate.
The stormy sky growls, the earth is flooded with rain, my love is far away,
and my heart is torn with anguish.
The peacocks dance, for the clouds rumble and frogs croak.
The night brims with darkness flicked with lightning.
Vidyapati[2] asks, "Maiden, how are you to spend your days and nights
without your lord? "
[Footnote 2: The name of the poet. ]
2
Lucky was my awakening this morning, for I saw my beloved.
The sky was one piece of joy, and my life and youth were fulfilled.
To-day my house becomes my house in truth, and my body my body.
Fortune has proved a friend, and my doubts are dispelled.
Birds, sing your best; moon, shed your fairest light!
Let fly your darts, Love-God, in millions!
I wait for the moment when my body will grow golden at his touch.
Vidyapati says, "Immense is your good fortune, and blessed is your love. "
3
I feel my body vanishing into the dust whereon my beloved walks.
I feel one with the water of the lake where he bathes.
Oh Sakhi, my love crosses death's boundary when I meet him.
My heart melts in the light and merges in the mirror whereby he views his
face.
I move with the air to kiss him when he waves his fan, and wherever he
wanders I enclose him like the sky.
Govindadas says, "You are the gold-setting, fair maiden, he is the
emerald. "
4
My love, I will keep you hidden in my eyes; I will thread your image like a
gem on my joy and hang it on my bosom.
You have been in my heart ever since I was a child, throughout my youth,
throughout my life, even through all my dreams.
You dwell in my being when I sleep and when I wake.
Know that I am a woman, and bear with me when you find me wanting.
For I have thought and thought and know for certain that all that is left
for me in this world is your love, and if I lose you for a moment I die.
Chandidas says, "Be tender to her who is yours in life and death. "
5
"Fruit to sell, Fruit to sell," cried the woman at the door.
The Child came out of the house.
"Give me some fruit," said he, putting a handful of rice in her basket.
The fruit-seller gazed at his face and her eyes swam with tears.
"Who is the fortunate mother," she cried, "that has clasped you in her arms
and fed you at her breast, and whom your dear voice called 'Mother'? "
"Offer your fruit to him," says the poet, "and with it your life. "
II
1
Endlessly varied art thou in the exuberant world, Lady of Manifold
Magnificence. Thy path is strewn with lights, thy touch thrills into
flowers; that trailing skirt of thine sweeps the whirl of a dance among the
stars, and thy many-toned music is echoed from innumerable worlds through
signs and colours.
Single and alone in the unfathomed stillness of the soul, art thou, Lady of
Silence and Solitude, a vision thrilled with light, a lonely lotus
blossoming on the stem of love.
2
Behind the rusty iron gratings of the opposite window sits a girl, dark and
plain of face, like a boat stranded on a sand-bank when the river is
shallow in the summer.
I come back to my room after my day's work, and my tired eyes are lured to
her.
She seems to me like a lake with its dark lonely waters edged by moonlight.
She has only her window for freedom: there the morning light meets her
musings, and through it her dark eyes like lost stars travel back to their
sky.
3
I remember the day.
The heavy shower of rain is slackening into fitful pauses, renewed gusts of
wind startle it from a first lull.
I take up my instrument. Idly I touch the strings, till, without my
knowing, the music borrows the mad cadence of that storm.
I see her figure as she steals from her work, stops at my door, and
retreats with hesitating steps. She comes again, stands outside leaning
against the wall, then slowly enters the room and sits down. With head
bent, she plies her needle in silence; but soon stops her work, and looks
out of the window through the rain at the blurred line of trees.
Only this--one hour of a rainy noon filled with shadows and song and
silence.
4
While stepping into the carriage she turned her head and threw me a swift
glance of farewell.
This was her last gift to me. But where can I keep it safe from the
trampling hours?
Must evening sweep this gleam of anguish away, as it will the last flicker
of fire from the sunset?
Ought it to be washed off by the rain, as treasured pollens are from
heart-broken flowers?
Leave kingly glory and the wealth of the rich to death. But may not tears
keep ever fresh the memory of a glance flung through a passionate moment?
"Give it to me to keep," said my song; "I never touch kings' glory or the
wealth of the rich, but these small things are mine for ever. "
5
You give yourself to me, like a flower that blossoms at night, whose
presence is known by the dew that drips from it, by the odour shed through
the darkness, as the first steps of Spring are by the buds that thicken the
twigs.
You break upon my thought like waves at the high tide, and my heart is
drowned under surging songs.
My heart knew of your coming, as the night feels the approach of dawn. The
clouds are aflame and my sky fills with a great revealing flood.
6
I was to go away; still she did not speak. But I felt, from a slight
quiver, her yearning arms would say: "Ah no, not yet. "
I have often heard her pleading hands vocal in a touch, though they knew
not what they said.
I have known those arms to stammer when, had they not, they would have
become youth's garland round my neck.
Their little gestures return to remembrance in the covert of still hours,
like truants they playfully reveal things she had kept secret from me.
7
My songs are like bees; they follow through the air some fragrant
trace--some memory--of you, to hum around your shyness, eager for its
hidden store.
When the freshness of dawn droops in the sun, when in the noon the air
hangs low with heaviness and the forest is silent, my songs return home,
their languid wings dusted with gold.
8
I believe you had visited me in a vision before we ever met, like some
foretaste of April before the spring broke into flower.
That vision must have come when all was bathed in the odour of _sal_
blossom; when the twilight twinkle of the river fringed its yellow sands,
and the vague sounds of a summer afternoon were blended; yes, and had it
not laughed and evaded me in many a nameless gleam at other moments?
9
I think I shall stop startled if ever we meet after our next birth, walking
in the light of a far-away world.
I shall know those dark eyes then as morning stars, and yet feel that they
have belonged to some unremembered evening sky of a former life.
I shall know that the magic of your face is not all its own, but has stolen
the passionate light that was in my eyes at some immemorial meeting, and
then gathered from my love a mystery that has now forgotten its origin.
10
Lay down your lute, my love, leave your arms free to embrace me.
Let your touch bring my overflowing heart to my body's utmost brink.
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Title: The Fugitive
Author: Rabindranath Tagore
Posting Date: November 4, 2012 [EBook #7971]
Release Date: April, 2005
First Posted: June 8, 2003
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FUGITIVE ***
Produced by Eric Eldred, Christine De Ryck, Charles Franks,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
THE FUGITIVE
BY
RABINDRANATH TAGORE
TO
W. W. PEARSON
CONTENTS
THE FUGITIVE--I.
KACHA AND DEVAYANI
TRANSLATIONS
THE FUGITIVE--II.
AMA AND VINAYAKA
THE MOTHER'S PRAYER
TRANSLATIONS
THE FUGITIVE--III.
SOMAKA AND RITVIK
KARNA AND KUNTI
TRANSLATIONS
1
Darkly you sweep on, Eternal Fugitive, round whose bodiless rush stagnant
space frets into eddying bubbles of light.
Is your heart lost to the Lover calling you across his immeasurable
loneliness?
Is the aching urgency of your haste the sole reason why your tangled
tresses break into stormy riot and pearls of fire roll along your path as
from a broken necklace?
Your fleeting steps kiss the dust of this world into sweetness, sweeping
aside all waste; the storm centred with your dancing limbs shakes the
sacred shower of death over life and freshens her growth.
Should you in sudden weariness stop for a moment, the world would rumble
into a heap, an encumbrance, barring its own progress, and even the least
speck of dust would pierce the sky throughout its infinity with an
unbearable pressure.
My thoughts are quickened by this rhythm of unseen feet round which the
anklets of light are shaken.
They echo in the pulse of my heart, and through my blood surges the psalm
of the ancient sea.
I hear the thundering flood tumbling my life from world to world and form
to form, scattering my being in an endless spray of gifts, in sorrowings
and songs.
The tide runs high, the wind blows, the boat dances like thine own desire,
my heart!
Leave the hoard on the shore and sail over the unfathomed dark towards
limitless light.
2
We came hither together, friend, and now at the cross-roads I stop to bid
you farewell.
Your path is wide and straight before you, but my call comes up by ways
from the unknown.
I shall follow wind and cloud; I shall follow the stars to where day breaks
behind the hills; I shall follow lovers who, as they walk, twine their days
into a wreath on a single thread of song, "I love. "
3
It was growing dark when I asked her, "What strange land have I come to? "
She only lowered her eyes, and the water gurgled in the throat of her jar,
as she walked away.
The trees hang vaguely over the bank, and the land appears as though it
already belonged to the past.
The water is dumb, the bamboos are darkly still, a wristlet tinkles against
the water-jar from down the lane.
Row no more, but fasten the boat to this tree,--for I love the look of this
land.
The evening star goes down behind the temple dome, and the pallor of the
marble landing haunts the dark water.
Belated wayfarers sigh; for light from hidden windows is splintered into
the darkness by intervening wayside trees and bushes. Still that wristlet
tinkles against the water-jar, and retreating steps rustle from down the
lane littered with leaves.
The night deepens, the palace towers loom spectre-like, and the town hums
wearily.
Row no more, but fasten the boat to a tree.
Let me seek rest in this strange land, dimly lying under the stars, where
darkness tingles with the tinkle of a wristlet knocking against a
water-jar.
4
O that I were stored with a secret, like unshed rain in summer clouds--a
secret, folded up in silence, that I could wander away with.
O that I had some one to whisper to, where slow waters lap under trees that
doze in the sun.
The hush this evening seems to expect a footfall, and you ask me for the
cause of my tears.
I cannot give a reason why I weep, for that is a secret still withheld from
me.
5
For once be careless, timid traveller, and utterly lose your way;
wide-awake though you are, be like broad daylight enticed by and netted in
mist.
Do not shun the garden of Lost Hearts waiting at the end of the wrong road,
where the grass is strewn with wrecked red flowers, and disconsolate water
heaves in the troubled sea.
Long have you watched over the store gathered by weary years. Let it be
stripped, with nothing remaining but the desolate triumph of losing all.
6
Two little bare feet flit over the ground, and seem to embody that
metaphor, "Flowers are the footprints of summer. "
They lightly impress on the dust the chronicle of their adventure, to be
erased by a passing breeze.
Come, stray into my heart, you tender little feet, and leave the
everlasting print of songs on my dreamland path.
7
I am like the night to you, little flower.
I can only give you peace and a wakeful silence hidden in the dark.
When in the morning you open your eyes, I shall leave you to a world a-hum
with bees, and songful with birds.
My last gift to you will be a tear dropped into the depth of your youth; it
will make your smile all the sweeter, and bemist your outlook on the
pitiless mirth of day.
8
Do not stand before my window with those hungry eyes and beg for my secret.
It is but a tiny stone of glistening pain streaked with blood-red by
passion.
What gifts have you brought in both hands to fling before me in the dust?
I fear, if I accept, to create a debt that can never be paid even by the
loss of all I have.
Do not stand before my window with your youth and flowers to shame my
destitute life.
9
If I were living in the royal town of Ujjain, when Kalidas was the king's
poet, I should know some Malwa girl and fill my thoughts with the music of
her name. She would glance at me through the slanting shadow of her
eyelids, and allow her veil to catch in the jasmine as an excuse for
lingering near me.
This very thing happened in some past whose track is lost under time's dead
leaves.
The scholars fight to-day about dates that play hide-and-seek.
I do not break my heart dreaming over flown and vanished ages: but alas and
alas again, that those Malwa girls have followed them!
To what heaven, I wonder, have they carried in their flower-baskets those
days that tingled to the lyrics of the king's poet?
This morning, separation from those whom I was born too late to meet weighs
on and saddens my heart.
Yet April carries the same flowers with which they decked their hair, and
the same south breeze fluttered their veils as whispers over modern roses.
And, to tell the truth, joys are not lacking to this spring, though Kalidas
sing no more; and I know, if he can watch me from the Poets' Paradise, he
has reasons to be envious.
10
Be not concerned about her heart, my heart: leave it in the dark.
What if her beauty be of the figure and her smile merely of the face? Let
me take without question the simple meaning of her glances and be happy.
I care not if it be a web of delusion that her arms wind about me, for the
web itself is rich and rare, and the deceit can be smiled at and forgotten.
Be not concerned about her heart, my heart: be content if the music is
true, though the words are not to be believed; enjoy the grace that dances
like a lily on the rippling, deceiving surface, whatever may lie beneath.
11
Neither mother nor daughter are you, nor bride, Urvashi. [1] Woman you are,
to ravish the soul of Paradise.
[Footnote 1: The dancing girl of Paradise who rose from the sea. ]
When weary-footed evening comes down to the folds whither the cattle have
returned, you never trim the house lamps nor walk to the bridal bed with a
tremulous heart and a wavering smile on your lips, glad that the dark hours
are so secret.
Like the dawn you are without veil, Urvashi, and without shame.
Who can imagine that aching overflow of splendour which created you!
You rose from the churned ocean on the first day of the first spring, with
the cup of life in your right hand and poison in your left. The monster
sea, lulled like an enchanted snake, laid down its thousand hoods at your
feet.
Your unblemished radiance rose from the foam, white and naked as a jasmine.
Were you ever small, timid or in bud, Urvashi, O Youth everlasting?
Did you sleep, cradled in the deep blue night where the strange light of
gems plays over coral, shells and moving creatures of dreamlike form, till
day revealed your awful fulness of bloom?
Adored are you of all men in all ages, Urvashi, O endless wonder!
The world throbs with youthful pain at the glance of your eyes, the ascetic
lays the fruit of his austerities at your feet, the songs of poets hum and
swarm round the perfume of your presence. Your feet, as in careless joy
they flit on, wound even the heart of the hollow wind with the tinkle of
golden bells.
When you dance before the gods, flinging orbits of novel rhythm into space,
Urvashi, the earth shivers, leaf and grass, and autumn fields heave and
sway; the sea surges into a frenzy of rhyming waves; the stars drop into
the sky--beads from the chain that leaps till it breaks on your breast; and
the blood dances in men's hearts with sudden turmoil.
You are the first break on the crest of heaven's slumber, Urvashi, you
thrill the air with unrest. The world bathes your limbs in her tears; with
colour of her heart's blood are your feet red; lightly you poise on the
wave-tossed lotus of desire, Urvashi; you play forever in that limitless
mind wherein labours God's tumultuous dream.
12
You, like a rivulet swift and sinuous, laugh and dance, and your steps sing
as you trip along.
I, like a bank rugged and steep, stand speechless and stock-still and
darkly gaze at you.
I, like a big, foolish storm, of a sudden come rushing on and try to rend
my being and scatter it parcelled in a whirl of passion.
You, like the lightning's flash slender and keen, pierce the heart of the
turbulent darkness, to disappear in a vivid streak of laughter.
13
You desired my love and yet you did not love me.
Therefore my life clings to you like a chain of which clank and grip grow
harsher the more you struggle to be free.
My despair has become your deadly companion, clutching at the faintest of
your favours, trying to drag you away into the cavern of tears.
You have shattered my freedom, and with its wreck built your own prison.
14
I am glad you will not wait for me with that lingering pity in your look.
It is only the spell of the night and my farewell words, startled at their
own tune of despair, which bring these tears to my eyes. But day will dawn,
my eyes will dry and my heart; and there will be no time for weeping.
Who says it is hard to forget?
The mercy of death works at life's core, bringing it respite from its own
foolish persistence.
The stormy sea is lulled at last in its rocking cradle; the forest fire
falls to sleep on its bed of ashes.
You and I shall part, and the cleavage will be hidden under living grass
and flowers that laugh in the sun.
15
Of all days you have chosen this one to visit my garden.
But the storm passed over my roses last night and the grass is strewn with
torn leaves.
I do not know what has brought you, now that the hedges are laid low and
rills run in the walks; the prodigal wealth of spring is scattered and the
scent and song of yesterday are wrecked.
Yet stay a while; let me find some remnant flowers, though I doubt if your
skirt can be filled.
The time will be short, for the clouds thicken and here comes the rain
again!
16
I forgot myself for a moment, and I came.
But raise your eyes, and let me know if there still linger some shadow of
other days, like a pale cloud on the horizon that has been robbed of its
rain.
For a moment bear with me if I forget myself.
The roses are still in bud; they do not yet know how we neglect to gather
flowers this summer.
The morning star has the same palpitating hush; the early light is enmeshed
in the branches that overbrow your window, as in those other days.
That times are changed I forget for a little, and have come.
I forget if you ever shamed me by looking away when I bared my heart.
I only remember the words that stranded on the tremor of your lips; I
remember in your dark eyes sweeping shadows of passion, like the wings of a
home-seeking bird in the dusk.
I forget that you do not remember, and I come.
17
The rain fell fast. The river rushed and hissed. It licked up and swallowed
the island, while I waited alone on the lessening bank with my sheaves of
corn in a heap.
From the shadows of the opposite shore the boat crosses with a woman at the
helm.
I cry to her, "Come to my island coiled round with hungry water, and take
away my year's harvest. "
She comes, and takes all that I have to the last grain; I ask her to take
me.
But she says, "No"--the boat is laden with my gift and no room is left for
me.
18
The evening beckons, and I would fain follow the travellers who sailed in
the last ferry of the ebb-tide to cross the dark.
Some were for home, some for the farther shore, yet all have ventured to
sail.
But I sit alone at the landing, having left my home and missed the boat:
summer is gone and my winter harvest is lost.
I wait for that love which gathers failures to sow them in tears on the
dark, that they may bear fruit when day rises anew.
19
On this side of the water there is no landing; the girls do not come here
to fetch water; the land along its edge is shaggy with stunted shrubs; a
noisy flock of _saliks_ dig their nests in the steep bank under whose frown
the fisher-boats find no shelter.
You sit there on the unfrequented grass, and the morning wears on. Tell me
what you do on this bank so dry that it is agape with cracks?
She looks in my face and says, "Nothing, nothing whatsoever. "
On this side of the river the bank is deserted, and no cattle come to
water. Only some stray goats from the village browse the scanty grass all
day, and the solitary water-hawk watches from an uprooted _peepal_ aslant
over the mud.
You sit there alone in the miserly shade of a _shimool,_ and the morning
wears on.
Tell me, for whom do you wait?
She looks in my face and says, "No one, no one at all! "
20
KACHA AND DEVAYANI
KACHA AND DEVAYANI
_Young Kacha came from Paradise to learn the secret of immortality from a
Sage who taught the Titans, and whose daughter Devayani fell in love with
him. _
KACHA
The time has come for me to take leave, Devayani; I have long sat at your
father's feet, but to-day he completed his teaching. Graciously allow me to
go back to the land of the Gods whence I came.
DEVAYANI
You have, as you desired, won that rare knowledge coveted by the Gods;--but
think, do you aspire after nothing further?
KACHA
Nothing.
DEVAYANI
Nothing at all! Dive into the bottom of your heart; does no timid wish lurk
there, fearful lest it be blighted?
KACHA
For me the sun of fulfilment has risen, and the stars have faded in its
light. I have mastered the knowledge which gives life.
DEVAYANI
Then you must be the one happy being in creation. Alas! now for the first
time I feel what torture these days spent in an alien land have been to
you, though we offered you our best.
KACHA
Not so much bitterness! Smile, and give me leave to go.
DEVAYANI
Smile! But, my friend, this is not your native Paradise. Smiles are not so
cheap in this world, where thirst, like a worm in the flower, gnaws at the
heart's core; where baffled desire hovers round the desired, and memory
never ceases to sigh foolishly after vanished joy.
KACHA
Devayani, tell me how I have offended?
DEVAYANI
Is it so easy for you to leave this forest, which through long years has
lavished on you shade and song? Do you not feel how the wind wails through
these glimmering shadows, and dry leaves whirl in the air, like ghosts of
lost hope;--while you alone, who part from us, have a smile on your lips?
KACHA
This forest has been a second mother to me, for here I have been born
again. My love for it shall never dwindle.
DEVAYANI
When you had driven the cattle to graze on the lawn, yonder banyan tree
spread a hospitable shade for your tired limbs against the mid-day heat.
KACHA
I bow to thee, Lord of the Forest!
Remember me, when under thy shade other
students chant their lessons to an accompaniment of bees humming and leaves
rustling.
DEVAYANI
And do not forget our Venumati, whose swift water is one stream of singing
love.
KACHA
I shall ever remember her, the dear companion of my exile, who, like a busy
village girl, smiles on her errand of ceaseless service and croons a simple
song.
DEVAYANI
But, friend, let me also remind you that you had another companion whose
thoughts were vainly busy to make you forget an exile's cares.
KACHA
The memory of her has become a part of my life.
DEVAYANI
I recall the day when, little more than a boy, you first arrived. You stood
there, near the hedge of the garden, a smile in your eyes.
KACHA
And I saw you gathering flowers--clad in white, like the dawn bathed in
radiance. And I said, "Make me proud by allowing me to help you! "
DEVAYANI
I asked in surprise who you were, and you meekly answered that you were the
son of Vrihaspati, a divine sage at the court of the God Indra, and desired
to learn from my father that secret spell which can revive the dead.
KACHA
I feared lest the Master, the teacher of the Titans, those rivals of the
Gods, should refuse to accept me for a disciple.
DEVAYANI
But he could not refuse me when I pleaded your cause, so greatly he loves
his daughter.
KACHA
Thrice had the jealous Titans slain me, and thrice you prevailed on your
father to bring me back to life; therefore my gratitude can never die.
DEVAYANI
Gratitude! Forget all--I shall not grieve. Do you only remember benefits?
Let them perish! If after the day's lessons, in the evening solitude, some
strange tremor of joy shook your heart, remember that--but not gratitude.
If, as some one passed, a snatch of song got tangled among your texts or
the swing of a robe fluttered your studies with delight, remember that when
at leisure in your Paradise. What, benefits only! --and neither beauty nor
love nor. . . ?
KACHA
Some things are beyond the power of words.
DEVAYANI
Yes, yes, I know. My love has sounded your heart's deepest, and makes me
bold to speak in defiance of your reserve. Never leave me! remain here!
fame gives no happiness. Friend, you cannot now escape, for your secret is
mine!
KACHA
No, no, Devayani.
DEVAYANI
How "No"? Do not lie to me! Love's insight is divine. Day after day, in
raising your head, in a glance, in the motion of your hands, your love
spoke as the sea speaks through its waves. On a sudden my voice would send
your heart quivering through your limbs--have I never witnessed it? I know
you, and therefore you are my captive for ever. The very king of your Gods
shall not sever this bond.
KACHA
Was it for this, Devayani, that I toiled, away from home and kindred, all
these years?
DEVAYANI
Why not? Is only knowledge precious? Is love cheap? Lay hold on this
moment. Have the courage to own that a woman's heart is worth all as much
penance as men undergo for the sake of power, knowledge, or reputation.
KACHA
I gave my solemn promise to the Gods that I would bring them this lore of
deathless life.
DEVAYANI
But is it true you had eyes for nothing save your books? That you never
broke off your studies to pay me homage with flowers, never lay in wait for
a chance, of an evening, to help me water my flower-beds? What made you sit
by me on the grass and sing songs you brought hither from the assembly of
the stars, while darkness stooped over the river bank as love droops over
its own sad silence? Were these parts of a cruel conspiracy plotted in your
Paradise? Was all for the sake of access to my father's heart? --and after
success, were you, departing, to throw some cheap gratitude, like small
coins, to the deluded door-keeper?
KACHA
What profit were there, proud woman, in knowing the truth? If I did wrong
to serve you with a passionate devotion cherished in secret, I have had
ample punishment. This is no time to question whether my love be true or
not; my life's work awaits me. Though my heart must henceforth enclose a
red flame vainly striving to devour emptiness, still I must go back to that
Paradise which will nevermore be Paradise to me. I owe the Gods a new
divinity, hard won by my studies, before I may think of happiness. Forgive
me, Devayani, and know that my suffering is doubled by the pain I
unwillingly inflict on you.
DEVAYANI
Forgiveness! You have angered my heart till it is hard and burning like a
thunderbolt! You can go back to your work and your glory, but what is left
for me? Memory is a bed of thorns, and secret shame will gnaw at the roots
of my life. You came like a wayfarer, sat through the sunny hours in the
shade of my garden, and to while time away you plucked all its flowers and
wove them into a chain. And now, parting, you snap the thread and let the
flowers drop on the dust! Accursed be that great knowledge you have
earned! --a burden that, though others share equally with you, will never be
lightened. For lack of love may it ever remain as foreign to your life as
the cold stars are to the un-espoused darkness of virgin Night!
21
I
"Why these preparations without end? "--I said to Mind--"Is some one to
come? "
Mind replied, "I am enormously busy gathering things and building towers. I
have no time to answer such questions. "
Meekly I went back to my work.
When things were grown to a pile, when seven wings of his palace were
complete, I said to Mind, "Is it not enough? "
Mind began to say, "Not enough to contain--" and then stopped.
"Contain what? " I asked.
Mind affected not to hear.
I suspected that Mind did not know, and with ceaseless work smothered the
question.
His one refrain was, "I must have more. "
"Why must you? "
"Because it is great. "
"What is great? "
Mind remained silent. I pressed for an answer.
In contempt and anger, Mind said, "Why ask about things that are not? Take
notice of those that are hugely before you,--the struggle and the fight,
the army and armaments, the bricks and mortar, and labourers without
number. "
I thought "Possibly Mind is wise. "
II
Days passed. More wings were added to his palace--more lands to his domain.
The season of rains came to an end. The dark clouds became white and thin,
and in the rain-washed sky the sunny hours hovered like butterflies over an
unseen flower. I was bewildered and asked everybody I met, "What is that
music in the breeze? "
A tramp walked the road whose dress was wild as his manner; he said, "Hark
to the music of the Coming! "
I cannot tell why I was convinced, but the words broke from me, "We have
not much longer to wait. "
"It is close at hand," said the mad man.
I went to the office and boldly said to Mind, "Stop all work! "
Mind asked, "Have you any news? "
"Yes," I answered, "News of the Coming. " But I could not explain.
Mind shook his head and said, "There are neither banners nor pageantry! "
III
The night waned, the stars paled in the sky. Suddenly the touchstone of the
morning light tinged everything with gold. A cry spread from mouth to
mouth--
"Here is the herald! "
I bowed my head and asked, "Is he coming? "
The answer seemed to burst from all sides, "Yes. "
Mind grew troubled and said, "The dome of my building is not yet finished,
nothing is in order. "
A voice came from the sky, "Pull down your building! "
"But why? " asked Mind.
"Because to-day is the day of the Coming, and your building is in the way. "
IV
The lofty building lies in the dust and all is scattered and broken.
Mind looked about. But what was there to see?
Only the morning star and the lily washed in dew.
And what else? A child running laughing from its mother's arms into the
open light.
"Was it only for this that they said it was the day of the Coming? "
"Yes, this was why they said there was music in the air and light in the
sky. "
"And did they claim all the earth only for this? "
"Yes," came the answer. "Mind, you build walls to imprison yourself. Your
servants toil to enslave themselves; but the whole earth and infinite space
are for the child, for the New Life. "
"What does that child bring you? "
"Hope for all the world and its joy. "
Mind asked me, "Poet, do you understand? "
"I lay my work aside," I said, "for I must have time to understand. "
22
TRANSLATIONS
VAISHNAVA SONGS
1
Oh Sakhi,[1] my sorrow knows no bounds.
[Footnote 1: The woman friend of a woman. ]
August comes laden with rain clouds and my house is desolate.
The stormy sky growls, the earth is flooded with rain, my love is far away,
and my heart is torn with anguish.
The peacocks dance, for the clouds rumble and frogs croak.
The night brims with darkness flicked with lightning.
Vidyapati[2] asks, "Maiden, how are you to spend your days and nights
without your lord? "
[Footnote 2: The name of the poet. ]
2
Lucky was my awakening this morning, for I saw my beloved.
The sky was one piece of joy, and my life and youth were fulfilled.
To-day my house becomes my house in truth, and my body my body.
Fortune has proved a friend, and my doubts are dispelled.
Birds, sing your best; moon, shed your fairest light!
Let fly your darts, Love-God, in millions!
I wait for the moment when my body will grow golden at his touch.
Vidyapati says, "Immense is your good fortune, and blessed is your love. "
3
I feel my body vanishing into the dust whereon my beloved walks.
I feel one with the water of the lake where he bathes.
Oh Sakhi, my love crosses death's boundary when I meet him.
My heart melts in the light and merges in the mirror whereby he views his
face.
I move with the air to kiss him when he waves his fan, and wherever he
wanders I enclose him like the sky.
Govindadas says, "You are the gold-setting, fair maiden, he is the
emerald. "
4
My love, I will keep you hidden in my eyes; I will thread your image like a
gem on my joy and hang it on my bosom.
You have been in my heart ever since I was a child, throughout my youth,
throughout my life, even through all my dreams.
You dwell in my being when I sleep and when I wake.
Know that I am a woman, and bear with me when you find me wanting.
For I have thought and thought and know for certain that all that is left
for me in this world is your love, and if I lose you for a moment I die.
Chandidas says, "Be tender to her who is yours in life and death. "
5
"Fruit to sell, Fruit to sell," cried the woman at the door.
The Child came out of the house.
"Give me some fruit," said he, putting a handful of rice in her basket.
The fruit-seller gazed at his face and her eyes swam with tears.
"Who is the fortunate mother," she cried, "that has clasped you in her arms
and fed you at her breast, and whom your dear voice called 'Mother'? "
"Offer your fruit to him," says the poet, "and with it your life. "
II
1
Endlessly varied art thou in the exuberant world, Lady of Manifold
Magnificence. Thy path is strewn with lights, thy touch thrills into
flowers; that trailing skirt of thine sweeps the whirl of a dance among the
stars, and thy many-toned music is echoed from innumerable worlds through
signs and colours.
Single and alone in the unfathomed stillness of the soul, art thou, Lady of
Silence and Solitude, a vision thrilled with light, a lonely lotus
blossoming on the stem of love.
2
Behind the rusty iron gratings of the opposite window sits a girl, dark and
plain of face, like a boat stranded on a sand-bank when the river is
shallow in the summer.
I come back to my room after my day's work, and my tired eyes are lured to
her.
She seems to me like a lake with its dark lonely waters edged by moonlight.
She has only her window for freedom: there the morning light meets her
musings, and through it her dark eyes like lost stars travel back to their
sky.
3
I remember the day.
The heavy shower of rain is slackening into fitful pauses, renewed gusts of
wind startle it from a first lull.
I take up my instrument. Idly I touch the strings, till, without my
knowing, the music borrows the mad cadence of that storm.
I see her figure as she steals from her work, stops at my door, and
retreats with hesitating steps. She comes again, stands outside leaning
against the wall, then slowly enters the room and sits down. With head
bent, she plies her needle in silence; but soon stops her work, and looks
out of the window through the rain at the blurred line of trees.
Only this--one hour of a rainy noon filled with shadows and song and
silence.
4
While stepping into the carriage she turned her head and threw me a swift
glance of farewell.
This was her last gift to me. But where can I keep it safe from the
trampling hours?
Must evening sweep this gleam of anguish away, as it will the last flicker
of fire from the sunset?
Ought it to be washed off by the rain, as treasured pollens are from
heart-broken flowers?
Leave kingly glory and the wealth of the rich to death. But may not tears
keep ever fresh the memory of a glance flung through a passionate moment?
"Give it to me to keep," said my song; "I never touch kings' glory or the
wealth of the rich, but these small things are mine for ever. "
5
You give yourself to me, like a flower that blossoms at night, whose
presence is known by the dew that drips from it, by the odour shed through
the darkness, as the first steps of Spring are by the buds that thicken the
twigs.
You break upon my thought like waves at the high tide, and my heart is
drowned under surging songs.
My heart knew of your coming, as the night feels the approach of dawn. The
clouds are aflame and my sky fills with a great revealing flood.
6
I was to go away; still she did not speak. But I felt, from a slight
quiver, her yearning arms would say: "Ah no, not yet. "
I have often heard her pleading hands vocal in a touch, though they knew
not what they said.
I have known those arms to stammer when, had they not, they would have
become youth's garland round my neck.
Their little gestures return to remembrance in the covert of still hours,
like truants they playfully reveal things she had kept secret from me.
7
My songs are like bees; they follow through the air some fragrant
trace--some memory--of you, to hum around your shyness, eager for its
hidden store.
When the freshness of dawn droops in the sun, when in the noon the air
hangs low with heaviness and the forest is silent, my songs return home,
their languid wings dusted with gold.
8
I believe you had visited me in a vision before we ever met, like some
foretaste of April before the spring broke into flower.
That vision must have come when all was bathed in the odour of _sal_
blossom; when the twilight twinkle of the river fringed its yellow sands,
and the vague sounds of a summer afternoon were blended; yes, and had it
not laughed and evaded me in many a nameless gleam at other moments?
9
I think I shall stop startled if ever we meet after our next birth, walking
in the light of a far-away world.
I shall know those dark eyes then as morning stars, and yet feel that they
have belonged to some unremembered evening sky of a former life.
I shall know that the magic of your face is not all its own, but has stolen
the passionate light that was in my eyes at some immemorial meeting, and
then gathered from my love a mystery that has now forgotten its origin.
10
Lay down your lute, my love, leave your arms free to embrace me.
Let your touch bring my overflowing heart to my body's utmost brink.
