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."

I blushed and said, "Yes, but years have passed and I forget."

Then I took her hand in mine and said, "But you have changed."

"What was sorrow once has now become peace," she said.

28


Our life sails on the uncrossed sea whose waves chase each other in an
eternal hide-and-seek.

It is the restless sea of change, feeding its foaming flocks to lose them
over and over again, beating its hands against the calm of the sky.

Love, in the centre of this circling war-dance of light and dark, yours is
that green island, where the sun kisses the shy forest shade and silence is
wooed by birds' singing.

29

AMA AND VINAYAKA


AMA AND VINAYAKA

_Night on the battlefield:_ AMA _meets her father_ VINAYAKA.


AMA

Father!



VINAYAKA

Shameless wanton, you call me "Father"! you who did not shrink from a
Mussulman husband!


AMA

Though you have treacherously killed my husband, yet you are my father; and
I hold back a widow's tears, lest they bring God's curse on you. Since we
have met on this battlefield after years of separation, let me bow to your
feet and take my last leave!


VINAYAKA

Where will you go, Ama? The tree on which you built your impious nest is
hewn down. Where will _you_ take shelter?


AMA

I have my son.


VINAYAKA

Leave him! Cast never a fond look back on the result of a sin expiated with
blood! Think where to go.


AMA

Death's open gates are wider than a father's love!


VINAYAKA

Death indeed swallows sins as the sea swallows the mud of rivers. But you
are to die neither to-night nor here. Seek some solitary shrine of holy
Shiva far from shamed kindred and all neighbours; bathe three times a day
in sacred Ganges, and, while reciting God's name, listen to the last bell
of evening worship, that Death may look tenderly upon you, as a father on
his sleeping child whose eyes are still wet with tears. Let him gently
carry you into his own great silence, as the Ganges carries a fallen flower
on its stream, washing every stain away to render it, a fit offering, to
the sea.


AMA

But my son----


VINAYAKA

Again I bid you not to speak of him. Lay yourself once more in a father's
arms, my child, like a babe fresh from the womb of Oblivion, your second
mother.


AMA

To me the world has become a shadow. Your words I hear, but cannot take to
heart. Leave me, father, leave me alone! Do not try to bind me with your
love, for its bands are red with my husband's blood.


VINAYAKA

Alas! no flower ever returns to the parent branch it dropped from. How can
you call him _husband_ who forcibly snatched you from Jivaji to whom you
had been sacredly affianced? I shall never forget that night! In the
wedding hall we sat anxiously expecting the bridegroom, for the auspicious
hour was dwindling away. Then in the distance appeared the glare of
torches, and bridal strains came floating up the air. We shouted for joy:
women blew their conch-shells. A procession of palanquins entered the
courtyard: but while we were asking, "Where is Jivaji?" armed men burst out
of the litters like a storm, and bore you off before we knew what had
happened. Shortly after, Jivaji came to tell us he had been waylaid and
captured by a Mussulman noble of the Vijapur court. That night Jivaji and I
touched the nuptial fire and swore bloody death to this villain. After
waiting long, we have been freed from our solemn pledge to-night; and the
spirit of Jivaji, who lost his life in this battle, lawfully claims you for
wife.


AMA

Father, it may be that I have disgraced the rites of your house, but my
honour is unsullied; I loved him to whom I bore a son. I remember the night
when I received two secret messages, one from you, one from my mother;
yours said: "I send you the knife; kill him!" My mother's: "I send you the
poison; end your life!" Had unholy force dishonoured me, your double
bidding had been obeyed. But my body was yielded only after love had given
_me_--love all the greater, all the purer, in that it overcame the
hereditary recoil of our blood from the Mussulman.

_Enter_ RAMA, AMA'S _mother_


AMA

Mother mine, I had not hoped to see you again. Let me take dust from your
feet.


RAMA

Touch me not with impure hands!


AMA

I am as pure as yourself.


RAMA

To whom have you surrendered your honour?


AMA

To my husband.


RAMA

Husband? A Mussulman the husband of a Brahmin woman?


AMA

I do not merit contempt: I am proud to say I never despised my husband
though a Mussulman. If Paradise will reward your devotion to your husband,
then the same Paradise waits for your daughter, who has been as true a
wife.


RAMA

Are you indeed a true wife?


AMA

Yes.


RAMA

Do you know how to die without flinching?


AMA

I do.


RAMA

Then let the funeral fire be lighted for you! See, there lies the body of
your husband.


AMA

Jivaji?


RAMA

Yes, Jivaji. He was your husband by plighted troth. The baffled fire of the
nuptial God has raged into the hungry fire of death, and the interrupted
wedding shall be completed now.


VINAYAKA

Do not listen, my child. Go back to your son, to your own nest darkened
with sorrow. My duty has been performed to its extreme cruel end, and
nothing now remains for you to do.--Wife, your grief is fruitless. Were the
branch dead which was violently snapped from our tree, I should give it to
the fire. But it has sent living roots into a new soil and is bearing
flowers and fruits. Allow her, without regret, to obey the laws of those
among whom she has loved. Come, wife, it is time we cut all worldly ties
and spent our remainder lives in the seclusion of some peaceful pilgrim
shrine.


RAMA

I am ready: but first must tread into dust every sprout of sin and shame
that has sprung from the soil of our life. A daughter's infamy stains her
mother's honour. That black shame shall feed glowing fire to-night, and
raise a true wife's memorial over the ashes of my daughter.


AMA

Mother, if by force you unite me in death with one who was not my husband,
then will you bring a curse upon yourself for desecrating the shrine of the
Eternal Lord of Death.


RAMA

Soldiers, light the fire; surround the woman!


AMA

Father!


VINAYAKA

Do not fear. Alas, my child, that you should ever have to call your father
to save you from your mother's hands!


AMA

Father!


VINAYAKA

Come to me, my darling child! Mere vanity are these man-made laws,
splashing like spray against the rock of heaven's ordinance. Bring your son
to me, and we will live together, my daughter. A father's love, like God's
rain, does not judge but is poured forth from an abounding source.


RAMA

Where would you go? Turn back!--Soldiers, stand firm in your loyalty to
your master Jivaji! do your last sacred duty by him!


AMA

Father!


VINAYAKA

Free her, soldiers! She is my daughter.


SOLDIERS

She is the widow of our master.


VINAYAKA

Her husband, though a Mussulman, was staunch in his own faith.


RAMA

Soldiers, keep this old man under control!


AMA

I defy you, mother!--You, soldiers, I defy!--for through death and love I
win to freedom.

30


A painter was selling pictures at the fair; followed by servants, there
passed the son of a minister who in youth had cheated this painter's father
so that he had died of a broken heart.

The boy lingered before the pictures and chose one for himself. The painter
flung a cloth over it and said he would not sell it.

After this the boy pined heart-sick till his father came and offered a
large price. But the painter kept the picture unsold on his shop-wall and
grimly sat before it, saying to himself, "This is my revenge."


The sole form this painter's worship took was to trace an image of his god
every morning.

And now he felt these pictures grow daily more different from those he used
to paint.

This troubled him, and he sought in vain for an explanation till one day he
started up from work in horror, the eyes of the god he had just drawn were
those of the minister, and so were the lips.

He tore up the picture, crying, "My revenge has returned on my head!"

31


The General came before the silent and angry King and saluting him said:
"The village is punished, the men are stricken to dust, and the women cower
in their unlit homes afraid to weep aloud."

The High Priest stood up and blessed the King and cried: "God's mercy is
ever upon you."

The Clown, when he heard this, burst out laughing and startled the court.
The King's frown darkened.

"The honour of the throne," said the minister, "is upheld by the King's
prowess and the blessing of Almighty God."

Louder laughed the Clown, and the King growled,--"Unseemly mirth!"

"God has showered many blessings upon your head," said the Clown; "the one
he bestowed on me was the gift of laughter."

"This gift will cost you your life," said the King, gripping his sword with
his right hand.

Yet the Clown stood up and laughed till he laughed no more.

A shadow of dread fell upon the Court, for they heard that laughter echoing
in the depth of God's silence.

32

THE MOTHER'S PRAYER


THE MOTHER'S PRAYER

_Prince Duryodhana, the son of the blind Kaurava King Dhritarashtra, and of
Queen Gandhari, has played with his cousins the Pandava Kings for their
kingdom, and won it by fraud._


DHRITARASHTRA

You have compassed your end.


DURYODHANA

Success is mine!


DHRITARASHTRA

Are you happy?


DURYODHANA

I am victorious.


DHRITARASHTRA

I ask you again, what happiness have you in winning the undivided kingdom?


DURYODHANA

Sire, a Kshatriya thirsts not after happiness but victory, that fiery wine
pressed from seething jealousy. Wretchedly happy we were, like those
inglorious stains that lie idly on the breast of the moon, when we lived in
peace under the friendly dominance of our cousins. Then these Pandavas
milked the world of its wealth, and allowed us a share, in brotherly
tolerance. Now that they own defeat and expect banishment, I am no longer
happy but exultant.


DHRITARASHTRA

Wretch, you forget that both Pandavas and Kauravas have the same
forefathers.


DURYODHANA

It was difficult to forget that, and therefore our inequalities rankled in
my heart. At midnight the moon is never jealous of the noonday sun. But the
struggle to share one horizon between both orbs cannot last forever. Thank
heaven, that struggle is over, and we have at last won solitude in glory.


DHRITARASHTRA

The mean jealousy!


DURYODHANA

Jealousy is never mean--it is in the essence of greatness. Grass can grow
in crowded amity, not giant trees. Stars live in clusters, but the sun and
moon are lonely in their splendour. The pale moon of the Pandavas sets
behind the forest shadows, leaving the new-risen sun of the Kauravas to
rejoice.


DHRITARASHTRA

But right has been defeated.


DURYODHANA

Right for rulers is not what is right in the eyes of the people. The people
thrive by comradeship: but for a king, equals are enemies. They are
obstacles ahead, they are terrors from behind. There is no place for
brothers or friends in a king's polity; its one solid foundation is
conquest.


DHRITARASHTRA

I refuse to call a conquest what was won by fraud in gambling.


DURYODHANA

A man is not shamed by refusing to challenge a tiger on equal terms with
teeth and nails. Our weapons are those proper for success, not for suicide.
Father, I am proud of the result and disdain regret for the means.


DHRITARASHTRA

But justice----


DURYODHANA

Fools alone dream of justice--success is not yet theirs: but those born to
rule rely on power, merciless and unhampered with scruples.


DHRITARASHTRA

Your success will bring down on you a loud and angry flood of detraction.


DURYODHANA

The people will take amazingly little time to learn that Duryodhana is king
and has power to crush calumny under foot.


DHRITARASHTRA

Calumny dies of weariness dancing on tongue-tips. Do not drive it into the
heart to gather strength.


DURYODHANA

Unuttered defamation does not touch a king's dignity. I care not if love is
refused us, but insolence shall not be borne. Love depends upon the will of
the giver, and the poorest of the poor can indulge in such generosity. Let
them squander it on their pet cats, tame dogs, and our good cousins the
Pandavas. I shall never envy them. Fear is the tribute I claim for my royal
throne. Father, only too leniently you lent your ear to those who slandered
your sons: but if you intend still to allow those pious friends of yours to
revel in shrill denunciation at the expense of your children, let us
exchange our kingdom for the exile of our cousins, and go to the
wilderness, where happily friends are never cheap!


DHRITARASHTRA

Could the pious warnings of my friends lessen my love for my sons, then we
might be saved. But I have dipped my hands in the mire of your infamy and
lost my sense of goodness. For your sakes I have heedlessly set fire to the
ancient forest of our royal lineage--so dire is my love. Clasped breast to
breast, we, like a double meteor, are blindly plunging into ruin. Therefore
doubt not my love; relax not your embrace till the brink of annihilation be
reached. Beat your drums of victory, lift your banner of triumph. In this
mad riot of exultant evil, brothers and friends will disperse till nothing
remain save the doomed father, the doomed son and God's curse.


_Enter an Attendant_

Sire, Queen Gandhari asks for audience.


DHRITARASHTRA

I await her.


DURYODHANA

Let me take my leave. [_Exit._


DHRITARASHTRA

Fly! For you cannot bear the fire of your mother's presence.


_Enter_ QUEEN GANDHARI, _the mother of_ DURYODHANA


GANDHARI

At your feet I crave a boon.


DHRITARASHTRA

Speak, your wish is fulfilled.


GANDHARI

The time has come to renounce him.


DHRITARASHTRA

Whom, my queen?


GANDHARI

Duryodhana!


DHRITARASHTRA

Our own son, Duryodhana?


GANDHARI

Yes!


DHRITARASHTRA

This is a terrible boon for you, his mother, to crave!


GANDHARI

The fathers of the Kauravas, who are in Paradise, join me in beseeching
you.


DHRITARASHTRA

The divine Judge will punish him who has broken His laws. But I am his
father.


GANDHARI

Am I not his mother? Have I not carried him under my throbbing heart? Yes,
I ask you to renounce Duryodhana the unrighteous.


DHRITARASHTRA

What will remain to us after that?


GANDHARI

God's blessing.


DHRITARASHTRA

And what will that bring us?


GANDHARI

New afflictions. Pleasure in our son's presence, pride in a new kingdom,
and shame at knowing both purchased by wrong done or connived at, like
thorns dragged two ways, would lacerate our bosoms. The Pandavas are too
proud ever to accept back from us the lands which they have relinquished;
therefore it is only meet that we draw some great sorrow down on our heads
so as to deprive that unmerited reward of its sting.


DHRITARASHTRA

Queen, you inflict fresh pain on a heart already rent.


GANDHARI

Sire, the punishment imposed on our son will be more ours than his. A judge
callous to the pain that he inflicts loses the right to judge. And if you
spare your son to save yourself pain, then all the culprits ever punished
by your hands will cry before God's throne for vengeance,--had they not
also their fathers?


DHRITARASHTRA

No more of this, Queen, I pray you. Our son is abandoned of God: that is
why I cannot give him up. To save him is no longer in my power, and
therefore my consolation is to share his guilt and tread the path of
destruction, his solitary companion. What is done is done; let follow what
must follow!                            [_Exit._


GANDHARI

Be calm, my heart, and patiently await God's judgment. Oblivious night
wears on, the morning of reckoning nears, I hear the thundering roar of its
chariot. Woman, bow your head down to the dust! and as a sacrifice fling
your heart under those wheels! Darkness will shroud the sky, earth will
tremble, wailing will rend the air and then comes the silent and cruel
end,--that terrible peace, that great forgetting, and awful extinction of
hatred--the supreme deliverance rising from the fire of death.