No More Learning

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.

Do not bend your neck and turn away your face, but offer up a kiss to me,
which has been like some perfume long closed in a bud.

Do not smother this moment under vain words, but let our hearts quake in a
rush of silence sweeping all thoughts to the shoreless delight.



11


You have made me great with your love, though I am but one among the many,
drifting in the common tide, rocking in the fluctuant favour of the world.

You have given me a seat where poets of all time bring their tribute, and
lovers with deathless names greet one another across the ages.

Men hastily pass me in the market,--never noting how my body has grown
precious with your caress, how I carry your kiss within, as the sun carries
in its orb the fire of the divine touch and shines for ever.



12


Like a child that frets and pushes away its toys, my heart to-day shakes
its head at every phrase I suggest, and says, "No, not this. "

Yet words, in the agony of their vagueness, haunt my mind, like vagrant
clouds hovering over hills, waiting for some chance wind to relieve them of
their rain.


But leave these vain efforts, my soul, for the stillness will ripen its own
music in the dark.

My life to-day is like a cloister during some penance, where the spring is
afraid to stir or to whisper.

This is not the time, my love, for you to pass the gate; at the mere
thought of your anklet bells tinkling down the path, the garden echoes are
ashamed.

Know that to-morrow's songs are in bud to-day, and should they see you walk
by they would strain to breaking their immature hearts.



13


Whence do you bring this disquiet, my love?

Let my heart touch yours and kiss the pain out of your silence.

The night has thrown up from its depth this little hour, that love may
build a new world within these shut doors, to be lighted by this solitary
lamp.

We have for music but a single reed which our two pairs of lips must play
on by turns--for crown, only one garland to bind my hair after I have put
it on your forehead.

Tearing the veil from my breast I shall make our bed on the floor; and one
kiss and one sleep of delight shall fill our small boundless world.



14


All that I had I gave to you, keeping but the barest veil of reserve.

It is so thin that you secretly smile at it and I feel ashamed.

The gust of the spring breeze sweeps it away unawares, and the flutter of
my own heart moves it as the waves move their foam.

My love, do not grieve if I keep this flimsy mist of distance round me.

This frail reserve of mine is no mere woman's coyness, but a slender stem
on which the flower of my self-surrender bends towards you with reticent
grace.



15


I have donned this new robe to-day because my body feels like singing.

It is not enough that I am given to my love once and for ever, but out of
that I must fashion new gifts every day; and shall I not seem a fresh
offering, dressed in a new robe?

My heart, like the evening sky, has its endless passion for colour, and
therefore I change my veils, which have now the green of the cool young
grass and now that of the winter rice.

To-day my robe is tinted with the rain-rimmed blue of the sky. It brings to
my limbs the colour of the boundless, the colour of the oversea hills; and
it carries in its folds the delight of summer clouds flying in the wind.



16


I thought I would write love's words in their own colour; but that lies
deep in the heart, and tears are pale.

Would you know them, friend, if the words were colourless?

I thought I would sing love's words to their own tune, but that sounds only
in my heart, and my eyes are silent.

Would you know them, friend, if there were no tune?



17


In the night the song came to me; but you were not there.

It found the words for which I had been seeking all day. Yes, in the
stillness a moment after dark they throbbed into music, even as the stars
then began to pulse with light; but you were not there. My hope was to sing
it to you in the morning; but, try as I might, though the music came, the
words hung back, when you were beside me.



18


The night deepens and the dying flame flickers in the lamp.

I forgot to notice when the evening--like a village girl who has filled her
pitcher at the river a last time for that day--closed the door on her
cabin.

I was speaking to you, my love, with mind barely conscious of my
voice--tell me, had it any meaning? Did it bring you any message from
beyond life's borders?

For now, since my voice has ceased, I feel the night throbbing with
thoughts that gaze in awe at the abyss of their dumbness.



19


When we two first met my heart rang out in music, "She who is eternally
afar is beside you for ever. "

That music is silent, because I have grown to believe that my love is only
near, and have forgotten that she is also far, far away.

Music fills the infinite between two souls. This has been muffled by the
mist of our daily habits.

On shy summer nights, when the breeze brings a vast murmur out of the
silence, I sit up in my bed and mourn the great loss of her who is beside
me. I ask myself, "When shall I have another chance to whisper to her words
with the rhythm of eternity in them? "

Wake up, my song, from thy languor, rend this screen of the familiar, and
fly to my beloved there, in the endless surprise of our first meeting!



20


Lovers come to you, my Queen, and proudly lay their riches at your feet:
but my tribute is made up of unfulfilled hopes.

Shadows have stolen across the heart of my world and the best in me has
lost light.

While the fortunate laugh at my penury, I ask you to lend my failings your
tears, and so make them precious.


I bring you a voiceless instrument.

I strained to reach a note which was too high in my heart, and the string
broke.

While masters laugh at the snapped cord, I ask you to take my lute in your
hands and fill its hollowness with your songs.



21


The father came back from the funeral rites.

His boy of seven stood at the window, with eyes wide open and a golden
amulet hanging from his neck, full of thoughts too difficult for his age.

His father took him in his arms and the boy asked him, "Where is mother? "

"In heaven," answered his father, pointing to the sky.


At night the father groaned in slumber, weary with grief.

A lamp dimly burned near the bedroom door, and a lizard chased moths on the
wall.

The boy woke up from sleep, felt with his hands the emptiness in the bed,
and stole out to the open terrace.

The boy raised his eyes to the sky and long gazed in silence. His
bewildered mind sent abroad into the night the question, "Where is heaven? "

No answer came: and the stars seemed like the burning tears of that
ignorant darkness.



22


She went away when the night was about to wane.

My mind tried to console me by saying, "All is vanity. "

I felt angry and said, "That unopened letter with her name on it, and this
palm-leaf fan bordered with red silk by her own hands, are they not real? "

The day passed, and my friend came and said to me, "Whatever is good is
true, and can never perish. "

"How do you know? " I asked impatiently; "was not this body good which is
now lost to the world? "


As a fretful child hurting its own mother, I tried to wreck all the
shelters that ever I had, in and about me, and cried, "This world is
treacherous. "

Suddenly I felt a voice saying--"Ungrateful! "

I looked out of the window, and a reproach seemed to come from the
star-sprinkled night,--"You pour out into the void of my absence your faith
in the truth that I came! "



23


The river is grey and the air dazed with blown sand.

On a morning of dark disquiet, when the birds are mute and their nests
shake in the gust, I sit alone and ask myself, "Where is she? "

The days have flown wherein we sat too near each other; we laughed and
jested, and the awe of love's majesty found no words at our meetings.

I made myself small, and she trifled away every moment with pelting talk.

To-day I wish in vain that she were by me, in the gloom of the coming
storm, to sit in the soul's solitude.



24


The name she called me by, like a flourishing jasmine, covered the whole
seventeen years of our love. With its sound mingled the quiver of the light
through the leaves, the scent of the grass in the rainy night, and the sad
silence of the last hour of many an idle day.

Not the work of God alone was he who answered to that name; she created him
again for herself during those seventeen swift years.

Other years were to follow, but their vagrant days, no longer gathered
within the fold of that name uttered in her voice, stray and are scattered.

They ask me, "Who should fold us? "

I find no answer and sit silent, and they cry to me while dispersing, "We
seek a shepherdess! "

Whom should they seek?

That they do not know. And like derelict evening clouds they drift in the
trackless dark, and are lost and forgotten.



25


I feel that your brief days of love have not been left behind in those
scanty years of your life.

I seek to know in what place, away from the slow-thieving dust, you keep
them now. I find in my solitude some song of your evening that died, yet
left a deathless echo; and the sighs of your unsatisfied hours I find
nestled in the warm quiet of the autumn noon.

Your desires come from the hive of the past to haunt my heart, and I sit
still to listen to their wings.



26


You have taken a bath in the dark sea. You are once again veiled in a
bride's robe, and through death's arch you come back to repeat our wedding
in the soul.

Neither lute nor drum is struck, no crowd has gathered, not a wreath is
hung on the gate.

Your unuttered words meet mine in a ritual unillumined by lamps.



27


I was walking along a path overgrown with grass, when suddenly I heard from
some one behind, "See if you know me? "

I turned round and looked at her and said, "I cannot remember your name. "

She said, "I am that first great Sorrow whom you met when you were young. "

Her eyes looked like a morning whose dew is still in the air.

I stood silent for some time till I said, "Have you lost all the great
burden of your tears? "

She smiled and said nothing. I felt that her tears had had time to learn
the language of smiles.

"Once you said," she whispered, "that you would cherish your grief for
ever.