The Sanskrit Epics, page 941
6. On this one of the women, unable to bear the sight of her grief and tears, suddenly burst into weeping and drummed with her feet on the palace stairs.
7. As soon as she heard the noise the woman made on the stairs, Sundari quickly jumped up again and thrilled, once more transported with ecstasy; for she thought her lover had returned.
8. She rushed to the head of the stairway, regardless in her joy of the end of her mantle which had fallen down, and scaring the pigeons on the tiles of the roof with the sound of her anklets.
9. Disappointed at seeing only the woman, she sighed and returned to her couch and with her face turned pale she grew all haggard like the sky at the approach of winter when the moon turns pale.
10. Sorrowing at not seeing her lord and inflamed with love and wrath, she sat down with her face resting on one hand and descended into the river of care whose water is grief.
11. That rival of the lotus, her face, appeared, as it rested on her hand coloured red as a bud, like a lotus bent over the reflection of a lotus in the water.
12. Turning everything over in her feminine way, the real state of affairs never occurred to her that, although her husband’s affection for her was well proved and although he was still devoted to her, he had turned to the Law; and imagining all sorts of things she uttered many lamentations: —
5 — 13. ‘My lover promised that he would return before the paint was dry on me; why then is he, usually so faithful to his word, so faithless to it to-day?
14. He is noble, virtuous, compassionate, ever fearful of me, very courteous. Whence comes this change of feeling, hitherto unknown? From aversion on his part? From some offence of mine?
15. My lover is so fond of love and so affectionate to me that surely his heart has become estranged; for apart from that, if his passion for me still continued he would certainly have returned in fulfilment of my wishes.
16. My lover must then certainly have seen someone else superior to me in beauty and feeling; for, having soothed me thus uselessly, he has gone away, deserting me, who am so attached to him.
17. As for his devotion to the Buddha which he talked about, that was merely an excuse for going away from me; for, if he believed in the Sage, surely he would have been as afraid of falsity as of fearsome Death.
18. If, when holding the mirror to serve me as I decorated myself, he was thinking of someone else and if he is now holding the mirror for someone else, bravo to his fickle love!
19. Women who do not wish to endure such grief should never trust men. How can one reconcile his former complaisance for me and his present desertion of me in an instant like any low fellow?’
20. So she spake and more, parted from her beloved and surmising some thing or other in him; and the waiting woman, hurriedly mounting to the pavilion, spoke to her thus with tears: —
21. ‘You are oversuspicious and misjudge your beloved, who never did you any wrong, although he is young, handsome and endowed with charm, fortune and high birth.
22. Do not, mistress, blame your beloved master, who is worthy of affection and ever acted out of love to you. He never looks at any woman except you, like the ruddy sheldrake with its mate.
23. But he whose one wish is to dwell at home for your sake, who wishes to live only to please you, has, so it is said, been initiated with face streaming with tears into the mendicant’s life by his noble brother, the Tathàgata.’
24. Then on hearing what had happened to her husband, she jumped up straightway trembling, and, throwing her arms into the air, screamed loudly like a cow-elephant stricken to the heart with a poisoned dart.
25. With eyes reddened with the salve of tears and slender body shaken with anguish she fell down, breaking and scattering her ropes of pearls, like the bough of a mango-tree breaking from the excessive weight of its fruit.
26. Wearing lotus-coloured clothes, with lotus-face and eyes long like the petal of a lotus, lotus-coloured like a fallen (statue of) Laksmi without her lotus, she withered like a lotus-garland in the sun.
27. And ever reflecting on the virtues of her lord, she heaved deep sighs and swooned; she flung her forearms about, the depositaries of glorious ornaments, and her reddened fingers.
28. ‘I have no need now for ornaments so saying she threw them about in all directions. As she lay without ornaments, she looked like a creeper with its clusters of flowers torn off.
29. She embraced the gold-handled mirror, saying ‘It was held by my lover for me’, and, as if angry, she vigorously rubbed her cheeks, on which the tamala leaves had been disposed with such difficulty.
30. She moaned like a shelduck when its mate has had the tip of its wing broken by a hawk, and vied as it were (with her moans) with the pigeons on the palace roof, when their throats heave with cooing.
31. Though lying on a costly couch, which was covered with soft many-coloured rugs and decorated with beryl and diamonds and had golden feet, she tossed about and could obtain no relief.
32. And seeing her lord’s ornaments, clothes, vlna and other diversions, she entered the dark house of grief and wailed aloud and sank down as if fallen into a bog.
33. For Sundari, with her bosom straining with sobs like a cave whose opening has been split by the fiery thunderbolt and with her heart burning with the fire of grief, seemed then as if out of her senses.
34. She wept, she became languid, she howled, she grew exhausted, she paced up and down, she stood still, she wailed, she brooded, she grew angry, she scattered her garlands about, she scratched her face, she rent her garments.
35. The waiting women, hearing the stormy weeping of that beauteous one, climbed in great distress from inside the house to the pavilion, like frightened Kinnara women climbing the side of a mountain.
36. Much troubled, and with downcast faces streaming with tears as if they were lotus-ponds when the lotuses are dripping with rain, they sat down beside her according to their position and rank.
37. Surrounded by those women on the palace roof that slender beauty, wasted with anxiety, seemed like the crescent moon in an autumn cloud encircled by lightning flashes.
38. But the oldest of the women there, who was the most respected by her and the most gifted in speech, embraced her from behind and wiping away her tears said: —
39. ‘You are the wife of a royal seer and it is not at all fitting for you to grieve when your lord has taken refuge in the Law. For the groves of asceticism are the hereditary possessions of the Iksvâku race and sought after by them.
40. You know that for the most part the wives of those mighty Sakyas who go off in search of salvation treat their homes as groves of asceticism, taking on themselves the vow of chastity as if it were the same as love.
41. Let your tears flow if your husband is captivated by another because of her greater beauty and qualities; for who, possessed of spirit and beauty and rich in qualities, would not shed tears, when her heart is broken?
42. Or if he had come by some misfortune — but may that never happen! — tears would be in place; for there is no sorrow heavier than that to a woman of good family whose husband is her god.
43. But now he has betaken himself to the Law, blissfully joyful, master of himself, assured of the reward, with desire quelled and unacquainted with misfortune. Why do you weep in distress? It is rather the time for merrymaking.’
“. — Though spoken to much in this way lovingly by her, she did not regain self-control; then another woman spoke to her affectionately what was pleasing to her mind and was suited to the occasion: —
45. ‘I declare the absolutely certain truth to you when I say that you will see your beloved coming here very soon. He can no more remain there without you than an animate body can exist without consciousness.
46. He would not be happy even in the lap of luxury if you were not there at his side, and whatever dire calamities fell on him, he would not feel distress so long as he could see you.
47. Be of good cheer, restrain your sobs, keep your eyes from shedding hot tears; such is his feeling and such his passion towards you that without you he will find no pleasure in following the Law.
48. It may be argued that, having taken the mendicant’s robe, he will not abandon it because high birth and resolution are combined in him; but what can there be wrong in leaving it again, when he took it against his will, thinking only of returning home?’
49. Thus Sundari, robbed of her heart by her lover and soothed by her maidens, went to her palace, just as Rambhà of old, accompanied by the Apsarases, descended to earth seeking Dramida.
CANTO VII. NANDA’S LAMENTATIONS
1. BEARING WITH his body, but not of his will, the insignia prescribed by the Master’s ordinance, Nanda was dejected through the embarrassment of the thoughts of his mind which kept turning on his wife.
2. He was living in a pleasaunce with the glory of flowers in the month of flowers, with the flower-bannered god assailing him on all sides and with the feelings customary to youth, and so, though that pleasaunce was a cloister, he felt no peace.
3. Brooding on his mistress as he stood in misery beneath a row of mango-trees beset with humming bees, he stretched himself repeatedly as if he were drawing a bow with his fathom-long arms.
4. Receiving from the mango-trees a rain of tiny flowers like saffron powder, he was reminded of his wife and sighed deeply, like a newly caught elephant in confinement.
5. He who was accustomed to relieve the grief of those who came to him for help and to cause grief to the proud, was now himself subject to grief; he leant against an asoka tree and grieved for his mistress, to whom an asoka grove was so dear, and who was the grove of delight to her lover.
6. Perceiving a delicate priyangu tree, his mistress’ favourite, that emerged from the trees as if in terror, he remembered with sobs his mistress with her tear-strewn face and pale as the flowers of the priyangu.
7. Seeing a cuckoo sitting on the flower-covered crown of a tilaka tree, he pictured it as the coils of hair of his beloved on her white robe as she leant against the parapet of the palace.
8. When he noticed a blossoming atimuktaka creeper growing up a mango-tree and clinging to it, he reflected, ‘When will Sundari embrace me thus?’
9. The nâga trees there, though studded with flowers with yellow interiors as if with gold-filled caskets of ivory, no more drew the eyes of Nanda in his sorrow than desert trees would have.
10. Though the gandhaparna trees were wafting odours and were full of fragrance like the mistresses of the Gandharvas, they failed to delight his sense of smell, but rather made his heart burn; for he was compact of grief and ever thinking of another.
11. The forest, resounding with bees sipping honey, and with merry and joyful cuckoos and with peacocks with passionate voices, merely made his mind the more distraught.
12. With his heart burning there with the tire of passion, which had his wife for the firestick from which it originated, his thoughts for its smoke and his grief for its flames, he departed from steadfastness and uttered many laments: —
13. ‘Now I realise how hard the task those have accomplished, are accomplishing and will accomplish who, deserting their weeping mistresses, have practised, are practising and will practise austerities.
14. There are no bonds in the world, whether made of wood, cord or iron, so strong as a bright-eyed face and a sweet voice.
15. For the former can be cut or broken by one’s own might or the strength of friends, but the snare of love cannot be loosed except by true knowledge or hardheartedness.
16. I have neither the knowledge that leads to peace nor, being kindly by nature, can I be hardhearted. On the one hand I am passionate by nature and on the other the Buddha is my Guru. I am placed as it were between the two wheels of a cart.
17. For, though I have accepted the mendicant’s badge and am taught by One Who as my brother and spiritual guide is my Guru in two senses: in no circumstances, like a sheldrake separated from its mate, can I obtain peace.
18. And now too my thoughts run on what, when I clouded the mirror, she said to me, pretending to be angry but laughing roguishly ‘What a sight you are!’
19. Now too those words of hers, which the damsel spoke to me weeping, with eyes swimming with tears, ‘See that you come back before the paint is dry on me’, oppress my mind.
20. Surely that mendicant there by the mountain torrent, meditating at ease in the Yogin’s posture, is not attached to anyone as I am; he sits calm and as if all his desires had been fulfilled.
21. I suspect no mistress attracts his feelings, since he studies the doctrine absorbedly, regardless of the cuckoos’ calls and not letting his gaze wander over the beauty of spring.
22. Bravo to him who walks up and down free from yearning! His resolution is strong, he is free from curiosity and arrogance, his soul is tranquil and his mind turned inward.
23. Who would have such strength of mind in the first flush of youth as he saw in the month of Madhu, that enemy of the religious life, the water covered with lotuses and the flowering groves frequented by cuckoos?
24. For women have captivated crowds of divine and royal seers by their passion, pride, gait, beauty, smiles, anger, intoxication and voices. How then should they not attract a man like me?
25. For instance, overcome by love, Hiranyaretas followed Svâhà and Indra Ahalyâ; how much more then should I, a mere man, lacking their courage and resolution, be conquered by a woman?
26. The Sun, conceiving a passion for Saranyü, had his orb whittled away for love of her, according to the legend. He took the shape of a horse to have intercourse with her in the shape of a mare, whence sprang the two Asvins.
27. For the sake of a woman Vaivasvata and Agni, abandoning self-control and informing their minds with enmity, waged war on each other for many years. Who else then in this world would not go astray over a woman?
28. The sage Vasistha, best of the virtuous, consorted with Aksamâlâ, a low-caste woman; and she bore him a son Kapinjalâda, who lived on earth and water just as the sun sucks up water from the earth.
29. So too the seer Paràsara, master of the weapon of the curse, associated with Kali, the daughter of a fish, of whom a son was born, the illustrious Dvaipâyana, who classified the Vedas.
30. And Dvaipâyana, who was devoted to religion, dallied with a harlot in Kàsi, who struck him with her foot with its jingling anklet, just as a cloud is struck by a flash of lightning.
31. So too Angiras, son of Brahman, with his mind overwhelmed by passion, cohabited with Sarasvatl; she bore him a son, Sârasvata, who promulgated again the lost Vedas.
32. Thus at the sacrifice of the royal seer Dilipa, Kasyapa, inflamed by a divine damsel, took a sacrificial ladle and threw his seed into the fire, whence Asita was born.
33. Though Angada had reached the end of his austerities, he was overcome by love and lay with Yamuna, on whom he begat the very wise Rathltara, beloved of antelopes (?).
34. The sage Rsyaérnga, though living in the forest in holy peace, swerved from steadfastness, like a high-peaked mountain in an earth-quake, at the sight of the king’s daughter, Santa.
35. The son of Gàdhin, who threw away a kingdom to become a Brahman seer and went to the forest, indifferent to material things, was captivated by Ghrtâci and deemed ten years with her but a single day.
36. So too at the prick of Kandarpa’s arrows Sthülasiras became infatuated with Rambhà and, when not accepted by her, cursed her in the recklessness of his passionate and wrathful nature.
37. And when Ruru’s mistress, Pramadvarâ, was robbed of her senses by a serpent, he killed all serpents wherever he saw them and in his wrath failed to preserve his self-respect or to continue his austerities.
38. So the royal seer, the son of Budha and I la, who possessed the power of a god and bore the marks of his fame and virtue as his grandfather the mark of the hare, became frantic as he thought of the Apsaras Urvasi.
39. And the passionate Tàlajangha, enamoured of Menakà on the top of the mountain, was struck in wrath by Visvâvasu with his foot, like a hintala palm by the thunderbolt.
40. And when his dearest wife was drowned in the waters of the Ganges, king Jahnu, with his mind overcome by the disembodied god, blocked the river with his arms, just as Mainaka, lord of mountains, held up the Ganges.
41. And king Santanu, the son of Pratipa, the light of his family and glorious in body, lost all self-control when Gangâ left him, and tossed about like a tala tree torn up by the roots by the waters of the Ganges.
42. When Somavarman also, who wore the armour of good conduct was robbed by Saunandakin of his wife Urvaéï, as of the sovereignty of the earth which he had obtained, he roamed about, it is said, lamenting her, with his armour pierced by the mind-born god.
43. And king Bhlmaka, whose power on earth was terrible and who was known as Senâka because of his hosts like the divine lord of Senâ when he received his army, followed his dead wife in death.
“. — And Janamejaya, desiring to marry Kali when her husband Santanu had gone to heaven, met death at the hands of Bhïsma rather than give up his love for her.
45. And though Pându was cursed by Madana that he would die if he united himself with a woman, yet he had intercourse with Mâdrï and recked nought of the death that would ensue out of the great seers curse by doing what was forbidden.
46. Such numbers of divine and royal seers were dominated by women under the power of love; how much more then should I, who am weak in intelligence and energy, be miserable when I do not see my mistress?
47. I will therefore go home again and practise love at my will in due form; for the mendicant’s symbols are not suited to one who in the restlessness of his senses ever thinks of another and has lapsed from the path of the Law.
48. He who, taking the beggar s bowl in his hand, shaving his head, laying aside his pride and wearing the sad-coloured robes, is prone to excitement and devoid of self-restraint and tranquillity, is a mendicant in appearance only and not in reality, like a lamp in a picture.
