గురుజాడలు/కవితలు/Sarangadhara

వికీసోర్స్ నుండి

Sarangadhara

Part - 1

The labouring dawn gave out the child of light
Whose infant became played O'er the river's breast
And woke the bees asleep in lotus bowers,
While from Godavary's bank in merry whirls
A thousand pigeons starred the morning sky.
"Mine that, that farthest speck," one cries ; "And mine
Is out of sight," another ; but a third,
"Mine surely wheels the best"; and many so
Scanned with their weary eyes, like flying hopes
Their favourite birds. The prince at last as if
He said, "Let all that be, now see how mine
Doth wheel," with one warm kiss left his. At once
Rose over the air one deafening cheer; all eyes
Were up, when lo! no flight, no merry whirl,
The frightened bird rushed onwards as if mad
And perched himself upon the palace heights.

The prince concerned his min'ster comrade called,
And said, "Didst thou not mark my pigeon perch
Upon those spires gilt by the morning sun?
They are the Queen's; and I shall fetch it back."
But, then, the boy - dewan held by the robe
Prince Saranga, and whispered in his ear,

"The King's abroad to hunt and thou art fair."
"Fool!" thought the prince as on he rushed, "to breed
Such thought like this.
But at his sight up rose
Chittrangi, once bride destined but whom
A father's love, his mother made, and said,
"O Sir what favour this! Sooner we thought
Could Sampang blooms invite the bee, than (then?) thee
These mansions poor. Pray seat thyself upon
This silken throne." She slowly washed his feet
With waters pure in golden vessels held,
And washing, "Many a way thy presence here
This day, gives boundless joy to me. Thy sire
To try his aged strength in youthful sports,
To hunt is gone; and in thy beauteous form
I see the king to lusty youth transformed."
Then softly pressing dry with robes she wore
His feet, with smile on lip and blush on cheek,
"What interest one may feel in thee, that once
Was bride destined?"
Then flashed through the Prince's mind,
"The king's abroad to hunt and thou art fair."
But yet he thought, "That may not be."
And she went on, "To whom but one beloved
I pride would feel to show my pleasure groves –
The talk of the world? Pray rise and come.
And thou shalt see a hundred fountains leap
Bright in the morning sun, and Nature fair
All night in calm repose now gives herself
To mirth and jollity."

"Another time,
Good mother ! for me it would ill - become
To tarry long, while all my comrades wait
Upon the river's bank, whereas we flew
Our pigeons, mine" – "Tis safe," she interposed,
And dragged him by the arm through several gates
And left him at a bright pool's brink and shut
A gate or two and slipt.1

And he, like one
From midnight slumbers snatched to moonlight bowers
In Persian vales, by some love-sick Peri,
With wonder looked around at scenes the like
He never saw before. All over the park
A hundred fountains flew, with rainbows decked
And full of golden foam; a Jessamine sea
About him spread, and at his feet a pond
Now one by one her colored lilies closed.
More varied lay the scene beyond, where spread
As far as eye could reach an endless grove.
With raptured eye the prince surveyed the scene
And took his way to where one water broad
Shone in the morning sun, and stood reclined
To a youthful tree that kissed the water's face.
He was a learned youth and not to him
Unknown the magic realms that poets trod
Before ; and spake to him each bird and bloom
Some poetic tale or moral sweet. He mused
And musing stood, lost in a world of charms.

But lo ! Presently at his side, the queen,
Her ringlets flying to the morning breeze,
Like water nymph or forest Dryad stepped;
And looked steadfast with eye unlided like
Some modern mesmerist over his subject,
At that fair prince. But he, like one in trance
Mesmeric, stood absorbed.
And she advantaged by his absent mood.
Stole softly round his neck her snowy arm
And softly thus began, "Marketh thou prince
How now the Lord of Day from every bud
Kisses the sleep away, that blushing wakes
And opens her fairy lids? The butterfly
Robbed in his gaudy silks wooes every bloom,
But wooes to quit – reckless wanton he !
And lo ! that malati twining as it does
The Kulaya's tall and aged trunk holds up
Her odorous blooms to frolic Zephyr's kiss.
In nature all his playful, all his mirth,
And beauteous things to beauteous things are linked."
And here a meaning look she cast at him,
But he a ghastly look returned, and slipped
From her side as if to pluck a lotus
That at the margin blew.

"Softly my prince !
Disturb not so the amours of the pair
Of ruddy geese, from nights' separation sore,
That lately met. 'Tis but a dreary waste

This mortal world, unless Love strew the scene
With freshening flowers. And O ! the pain one feels.
That feverish flame that creeps through every nerve –
Not soothed but fanned by Nature's cooling hand –
That anguish deep for one beloved ! Worse than
A brute is he, that having power to soothe,
Lends not his tender aid ! O ! save me dear
From yonder black-bee buzzing over the bloom
That thou hast pluckt." She drew behind him close
As if for fear, and threw her arms around
His neck, like frightened fawn behind from bush
Of stately growth. "I tremble Prince", she said
In accents choked within an ivory throat,
"There crept into the hollow of that trunk
A frightful snake. Then carry me secure
To yonder summer house that skirts that lake."
She hung upon his arm, and he led on.
At that gate she looked relieved, held firm
The prince's hand, and in her turn played guide.
"Lo! Prince," she said as into a room they stepped,
"Upon these walls, a master pencil's work,
It was a smith of learning great, who was
Much favoured at our court. Him brahmins1 feared;
And once my sire in whimsied mood fade him
Draw these. Become they not a bridal gift?
The art of Love is there laid bare, and if
You read it to the end, why, then, thou learn'st,
Where love is strong there hearts may wed,
You mark the amours of that shepherd God

Of million wives ! Did ever a woman love
And he not yield to her wish?"
'Mother ! wrongly
You read the sense of all those wondrous works
Of great Gopal. Didst thou not hear it said
That spirit of God husbands the human souls?
As if not hearing, she, "There in those panes
The amorous God a worthy lesson teach.
And saints! Well, well! if there is a heart that burns
With love for thee, respect you not examples
They have set?"
"I? Certainly not. One e'en
May read the mystic meaning of the stars;
Make out with daring aim the Maker's writ
On naked skulls, or peep through linkless words
At prophets' hearts; but who, however great
Of learning, can presume to read the sense
Of acts divine? On commonest things, doubt stamps
Her dismal mark. Why then should one with feet
Unhallowed tread the realms divine?"
"Well, prince !
If logic strange like this, befitting more
The broken hearts of forest bowers, should come
From youthful beauty, why then, may not our sex
Petition the gods against the mark (make?) of toys
Useless like us! The sprightly shape belies
These monkish texts. But I shall preach

Thee now upon a different theme, that must –
If thou art the rock that mocks the iron's edge –
Go home directly to the heart." "This then,"
She said, removing a screen that careful hung
Upon a drawing drawn to human size,
"This then the text on which was vileness played –
Vileness and grim perfidy by a king –
One, not less worthy than thy sire,"
He started back like one that meets at night
Some frightful shape, while from his lips escaped,
"Undone! Undone!" The image over the wall
To echo seemed. Speechless he stood, and not
The motion least his form betrayed, as if
The picture walked out of its frame. So like
Were they; for it was his. "And knowest thou prince,"
She said, "the story of this piece which strikes thee dumb
With such a perfect beauty that, except
Within thy glass, I throw, you never met?
At least I didn't ; and so when first my eyes
Lighted upon this drawing, which thy sire
Sent as the bridegroom's – and falsely sent–
My very heart did weep for (with) joy, and took
The image in. Since then the vision sweet
Haunted my thoughts, till last brought to this Court.
Whom did I meet within the bridal room?
Oh! Vilely done – thy sire! – and at his sight
Failed joy from me for ever. They say thou art
A man of tender heart; now make amends
For sins thy sire has done, or else no more

Can I endure the pangs of fruitless flame
For thee."
He tried to speak, but anger choked
His breath, and, muttering something, "Die than slip
From right." He moved to walk away; but she
Caught Sarang by his cloak, which he, in haste
To fly, left in her grasp, and through the park
Over the flower and plant like whirlwind passd and climbed
The garden wall and jumped he down. And there
With sweep majestic flowed Godavary's stream.
He stood a moment on its bank, while rolled
Within his brain, like to a horrid dream,
The events late. A moment cast a crazy look
Upon the stream below, and, as if it were
Oblivion's flood, dashed into the river and reached
The other shore.

Part - 2


The noon was far advanced; the monarch left
The tents, and sought where freshening to the eye
The forest trees a shady bower made.
Wearied with morning's mirth, all nature sank to rest
And not the slightest stir was there, save where
The streamlet gurgled over the distant slope,
And butterflies, like the spirits of the wood, among
The foliage moved. And there he laid him down
Upon the grass, and wearied with the chase
Soon sunk to sleep and dreamt.
                                 "It was moonlight

And with his queen beloved, long through the park
He walked in converse sweet, till when he reached
The summer house, and like a baby held
Her in his arms, a hideous shape came O'er her
And he dropped her in fright; and there was blood,
And broken limbs lay strewn upon the floor."
He woke in fright, and passing hastily
On to the tents, he cried, "to horse" and rode
Away.

            But how was she, the object dear
Of all his anxious thoughts? She when the prince
Ran roughshed over the park like a wild colt
And left the cloak behind, felt like a lover who
In dream obtains his lady's wished embrace,
But waking, feels the pillow in his arms.
Sorely distressed she felt and from her eyes
Rolled down big drops. In silent grief awhile
She stood, and in her heart the feelings changed
To wounded worth, and anger next followed;
But revenge last took possession of her heart.
She leaned upon the gate and thought on what
To do; cried, "He shall rue;" and tore as mad
Her costly robe, and broke her bangles O'er
A post, and, as to lock her thoughts in sleep
'Gainst every feeling soft, emptied a glass
And lay upon the floor.
                             But when she woke
It was night. She rose not, but still with face

Pillowed on crossed arms, she brought to mind
The events of the morn, till coming where
The prince with countenance stern contemptuous looked
On her and turned away, her bosom burned
Once more with dire revenge, and in the fit
She like a fury lifted up her head; and saw
The king seated beside her, anxiously
Looking over the prostrate form before.
The Queen at once withdrew her face and dropped
It over again upon her crossed arms.
"What means this girl," he said, "this torn robe
And broken bangles strewn upon the floor!
And why withdraw thy face in haste, as if
You saw some hateful fiend in me? Is there
No better bedding than a floor? Arise
And speak! For me the riddle is hard to read."
But when he held her arm to lift her up,
O' touch me not my lord," she cried, I'm fouled,
Fouled by a stranger's touch within thy house,
Like harlot slighted. Ah! 'tis woman's fate
To bide by every ill" "Slighted and fouled!
And who the wretch that touched? For by my life
Tomorrow's morning shall not see him whole!"

"Vow not so, King ! for why should one be blamed
That fate decreed me this? First brought by guile,
I have to brook indignity in thy Court.
This morn, thy son, knowing you gone to hunt,
Came with the story of a pigeon fled ;

Desired to see my park, and in this place,
This very place, laid violent hands on me;
Said I was once his bride destined, and spoke
Of love, but when I, drawing yonder sword,
Prepared to die rather than yield to his wish,
He like a coward fled, and left me here
Distressed. I am defiled and thee but ill
Befit ! Henceforth an ascetic shall I live
In forest caves secluded from the world,
But harm him not, thy son, for it is my fate
And not his fault." "Enough," he said, and walked
With haughty step away.

                                    It was the time
When, from their haunts, deities to shrines return;
And stars slip out from heaven's azure vault
Where on their silver thrones through all the night
A heavenly choir they keep; and beasts of prey
Completely wearied with their fruitless search
Homeward retrace their cautious steps. 'Twas then
Upon a rock beneath a forest lime
That with a thousand eyes her fragrance wept,
Loud wailing lay, in agony deep, a prince
With severed legs and arms; and none was near
Except the workers of the deed who watched
With heavy hearts from distance over the scene,
But who yon shape that like a shadow walks

The nighted wood? Some ghost whose haunts disturbed
The prince's wail? Oh no ! it is the saint
Whom oft at early morn the woodman meets
Crossing with speed of wind the forest tracts.
Has he then heard the prince's cry? He did,
And is presently at his side. "Alas !
Innocent prince", he cried, and from his pot
Sprinkled the holy water over his form.
At once the bleeding stopped, and, in his arms
Holding the swooning prince, the holy saint
Windswift over forest flew.

Conclusion



The sun has set; but, linger yet his rays
Over the odorous heights of eastern peaks,
Where, stopping in her thoughtless speed, the fawn
With baby-wonder eyes the setting day,
That, twitching now his mantle bright, walked down
The slopes of the western mount. The forest lay
In all its twilight grandeur robed in shades.

But who be she that like a goddess sat
Upon a rock that edged a noiseless stream
And shiplike rose amidst a leafy sea?
All clad in purest white : one diamond lace
Alone adorned her neck and dangling rested
Over her fairy breast. Long did she trace
With thoughtful eye the evening evolutions
Of earth and sky, while each image that graced

Her orbs wooed back some relic of the past
Or golden thoughts that blossomed in her breast.
Softly she rose from reverie and withdrew
Her palm from 'neath her rosy cheek, and touched
A VIN with flowerets decked, and charmed the wood :
            Chorus
With power and pelf so falsely fair,
The world is all to thee;
O speak no more; O speak no more,
The world is not for me.

With tempting hues the lilies blow
       Upon the Lake of Life;
But all below, unseen they grow
       The weeds of sin and strife.

The plant of wealth on guile is grown
        And watered is with sin;
The craft of power on blood is built
        Its sails are puffed with din.

O not to me that power and wealth,
        O not to me the world;
In muddied streams there life doth flow
        And vapours dim are curled.

Mine be these woods, these hills, these dales,
        Mine be the crystal stream,
Like wild bird in these happy vales
        A happy heart I roam.

The prince that was by me undone
        Lives in the cave below;
His limbs would all be whole again
        In dozen moons or so.

I tend him like a mother true
        It is a joy to me;
The holy saint of wonderous powers
        Says, "Gods have forgiven me."

And when the prince is strong and whole
        And to his Raj shall he;
My loved lord the king of kings
        Will come and live with me.
And here beside this pleasant stream
        A home we'll build of straw;
And bright blue-eyed and rosy-smiled
        Shall creepers deck it ah!.

And here relieved from worldly cares
        His easy head shall rest;
Though spurred by fate from faith it's strayed
        Upon this dear breast.

And in the noon the gentle winds,
        Shall make us flower beds meet,
And little fawns with fishy eyes
        Shall frolic at our feet.

As oft I pass the twilight lake
        I spy the naiad fair;
Like lightning over the dark-blue skies
        She sinks her then and there.

But I shall hide behind some brake
        When moon is shining bright,
When she to ripples walks the lake
        With tread so airy light.

Then half above the water's face
        The naiad glides along
Planting among the furrowed waves
        Her lilies bright and young.

(This poem was first printed in a Vizianagarm local journal "Indian Leisure Hour" in 1883. Later it was published in Reis and Rayyet. (Sambha Chandra Mukherji's letter to the G.Venketesh Ramanaiah, dated 14.8.1883). The publishers of Unilit who retrieved the poem from Reis and Rayyet files and published in Unilit, "Homage to Gurajada" special issue, 1963 edition. Eds.) 

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రాగము, సురట, - తాళము, ఆది.

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   విచ్చలవిడి చను - నచ్చపు మొగుళుల|
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