Kaalidaasa - Translations of Shakuntala and Other Works
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Kaalidaasa >> Translations of Shakuntala and Other Works
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XXVI
Fly on refreshed; and sprinkle buds that fade
On jasmine-vines in gardens wild and rare
By forest rivers; and with loving shade
Caress the flower-girls' heated faces fair,
Whereon the lotuses droop withering from their hair.
XXVII
_The famous old city of Ujjain, the home of the poet, and dearly
beloved by him_;
Swerve from thy northern path; for westward rise
The palace balconies thou mayst not slight
In fair Ujjain; and if bewitching eyes
That flutter at thy gleams, should not delight
Thine amorous bosom, useless were thy gift of sight.
XXVIII
_and the river, personified as a loving woman, whom the cloud will
meet just before he reaches the city_.
The neighbouring mountain stream that gliding grants
A glimpse of charms in whirling eddies pursed,
While noisy swans accompany her dance
Like a tinkling zone, will slake thy loving thirst--
A woman always tells her love in gestures first.
XXIX
Thou only, happy lover! canst repair
The desolation that thine absence made:
Her shrinking current seems the careless hair
That brides deserted wear in single braid,
And dead leaves falling give her face a paler shade.
XXX
_The city of Ujjain is fully described_,
Sufficed, though fallen from heaven, to bring down heaven on earth!
XXXI
Where the river-breeze at dawn, with fragrant gain
From friendly lotus-blossoms, lengthens out
The clear, sweet passion-warbling of the crane,
To cure the women's languishing, and flout
With a lover's coaxing all their hesitating doubt.
XXXII
Enriched with odours through the windows drifting
From perfumed hair, and greeted as a friend
By peacock pets their wings in dances lifting,
On flower-sweet balconies thy labour end,
Where prints of dear pink feet an added glory lend.
XXXIII
_especially its famous shrine to Shiva, called Mahakala_;
Black as the neck of Shiva, very God,
Dear therefore to his hosts, thou mayest go
To his dread shrine, round which the gardens nod
When breezes rich with lotus-pollen blow
And ointments that the gaily bathing maidens know.
XXXIV
Reaching that temple at another time,
Wait till the sun is lost to human eyes;
For if thou mayest play the part sublime
Of Shiva's drum at evening sacrifice,
Then hast thou in thy thunders grave a priceless prize.
XXXV
The women there, whose girdles long have tinkled
In answer to the dance, whose hands yet seize
And wave their fans with lustrous gems besprinkled,
Will feel thine early drops that soothe and please,
And recompense thee from black eyes like clustering bees.
XXXVI
_and the black cloud, painted with twilight red, is bidden to serve as
a robe for the god, instead of the bloody elephant hide which he
commonly wears in his wild dance_.
Clothing thyself in twilight's rose-red glory,
Embrace the dancing Shiva's tree-like arm;
He will prefer thee to his mantle gory
And spare his grateful goddess-bride's alarm,
Whose eager gaze will manifest no fear of harm.
XXXVII
_After one night of repose in the city_
Where women steal to rendezvous by night
Through darkness that a needle might divide,
Show them the road with lightning-flashes bright
As golden streaks upon the touchstone's side--
But rain and thunder not, lest they be terrified.
XXXVIII
On some rich balcony where sleep the doves,
Through the dark night with thy beloved stay,
The lightning weary with the sport she loves;
But with the sunrise journey on thy way--
For they that labour for a friend do not delay.
XXXIX
The gallant dries his mistress' tears that stream
When he returns at dawn to her embrace--
Prevent thou not the sun's bright-fingered beam
That wipes the tear-dew from the lotus' face;
His anger else were great, and great were thy disgrace.
XL
_the cloud is besought to travel to Deep River_.
Thy winsome shadow-soul will surely find
An entrance in Deep River's current bright,
As thoughts find entrance in a placid mind;
Then let no rudeness of thine own affright
The darting fish that seem her glances lotus-white.
XLI
But steal her sombre veil of mist away,
Although her reeds seem hands that clutch the dress
To hide her charms; thou hast no time to stay,
Yet who that once has known a dear caress
Could bear to leave a woman's unveiled loveliness?
XLII
_Thence to Holy Peak_,
The breeze 'neath which the breathing acre grants
New odours, and the forest figs hang sleek,
With pleasant whistlings drunk by elephants
Through long and hollow trunks, will gently seek
To waft thee onward fragrantly to Holy Peak.
XLIII
_the dwelling-place of Skanda, god of war, the
child of Shiva and Gauri, concerning whose
birth more than one quaint tale is told_.
There change thy form; become a cloud of flowers
With heavenly moisture wet, and pay the meed
Of praise to Skanda with thy blossom showers;
That sun-outshining god is Shiva's seed,
Fire-born to save the heavenly hosts in direst need.
XLIV
God Skanda's peacock--he whose eyeballs shine
By Shiva's moon, whose flashing fallen plume
The god's fond mother wears, a gleaming line
Over her ear beside the lotus bloom--
Will dance to thunders echoing in the caverns' room.
XLV
_Thence to Skin River, so called because it flowed forth from a
mountain of cattle carcasses, offered in sacrifice by the pious
emperor Rantideva_.
Adore the reed-born god and speed away,
While Siddhas flee, lest rain should put to shame
The lutes which they devoutly love to play;
But pause to glorify the stream whose name
Recalls the sacrificing emperor's blessed fame.
XLVI
Narrow the river seems from heaven's blue;
And gods above, who see her dainty line
Matched, when thou drinkest, with thy darker hue,
Will think they see a pearly necklace twine
Round Earth, with one great sapphire in its midst ashine.
XLVII
_The province of the Ten Cities_.
Beyond, the province of Ten Cities lies
Whose women, charming with their glances rash,
Will view thine image with bright, eager eyes,
Dark eyes that dance beneath the lifted lash,
As when black bees round nodding jasmine-blossoms flash.
XLVIII
_The Hallowed Land, where were fought the awful battles of the ancient
epic time_.
Then veil the Hallowed Land in cloudy shade;
Visit the field where to this very hour
Lie bones that sank beneath the soldier's blade,
Where Arjuna discharged his arrowy shower
On men, as thou thy rain-jets on the lotus-flower.
XLIX
_In these battles, the hero Balarama, whose weapon was a plough-share,
would take no part, because kinsmen of his were fighting in each army.
He preferred to spend the time in drinking from the holy river
Sarasvati, though little accustomed to any other drink than wine_.
Sweet friend, drink where those holy waters shine
Which the plough-bearing hero--loath to fight
His kinsmen--rather drank than sweetest wine
With a loving bride's reflected eyes alight;
Then, though thy form be black, thine inner soul is bright.
L
_The Ganges River, which originates in heaven.
Its fall is broken by the head of Shiva, who
stands on the Himalaya Mountains;
otherwise the shock would be too great for
the earth. But Shiva's goddess-bride is
displeased_.
Fly then where Ganges o'er the king of mountains
Falls like a flight of stairs from heaven let down
For the sons of men; she hurls her billowy fountains
Like hands to grasp the moon on Shiva's crown
And laughs her foamy laugh at Gauri's jealous frown.
LI
_The dark cloud is permitted to mingle with the clear stream of
Ganges, as the muddy Jumna River does near the city now called
Allahabad_.
If thou, like some great elephant of the sky,
Shouldst wish from heaven's eminence to bend
And taste the crystal stream, her beauties high--
As thy dark shadows with her whiteness blend--
Would be what Jumna's waters at Prayaga lend.
LII
_The magnificent Himalaya range_.
Her birth-place is Himalaya's rocky crest
Whereon the scent of musk is never lost,
For deer rest ever there where thou wilt rest
Sombre against the peak with whiteness glossed,
Like dark earth by the snow-white bull of Shiva tossed.
LIII
If, born from friction of the deodars,
A scudding fire should prove the mountain's bane,
Singeing the tails of yaks with fiery stars,
Quench thou the flame with countless streams of rain--
The great have power that they may soothe distress and pain.
LIV
If mountain monsters should assail thy path
With angry leaps that of their object fail,
Only to hurt themselves in helpless wrath,
Scatter the creatures with thy pelting hail--
For who is not despised that strives without avail?
LV
Bend lowly down and move in reverent state
Round Shiva's foot-print on the rocky plate
With offerings laden by the saintly great;
The sight means heaven as their eternal fate
When death and sin are past, for them that faithful wait.
LVI
The breeze is piping on the bamboo-tree;
And choirs of heaven sing in union sweet
O'er demon foe of Shiva's victory;
If thunders in the caverns drumlike beat,
Then surely Shiva's symphony will be complete.
LVII
_The mountain pass called the Swan-gate_.
Pass by the wonders of the snowy slope;
Through the Swan-gate, through mountain masses rent
To make his fame a path by Bhrigu's hope
In long, dark beauty fly, still northward bent,
Like Vishnu's foot, when he sought the demon's chastisement.
LVIII
_And at Mount Kailasa, the long journey is ended_;
Seek then Kailasa's hospitable care,
With peaks by magic arms asunder riven,
To whom, as mirror, goddesses repair,
So lotus-bright his summits cloud the heaven,
Like form and substance to God's daily laughter given.
LIX
Like powder black and soft I seem to see
Thine outline on the mountain slope as bright
As new-sawn tusks of stainless ivory;
No eye could wink before as fair a sight
As dark-blue robes upon the Ploughman's shoulder white.
LX
Should Shiva throw his serpent-ring aside
And give Gauri his hand, go thou before
Upon the mount of joy to be their guide;
Conceal within thee all thy watery store
And seem a terraced stairway to the jewelled floor.
LXI
I doubt not that celestial maidens sweet
With pointed bracelet gems will prick thee there
To make of thee a shower-bath in the heat;
Frighten the playful girls if they should dare
To keep thee longer, friend, with thunder's harshest blare.
LXII
Drink where the golden lotus dots the lake;
Serve Indra's elephant as a veil to hide
His drinking; then the tree of wishing shake,
Whose branches like silk garments flutter wide:
With sports like these, O cloud, enjoy the mountain side.
LXIII
_for on this mountain is the city of the Yakshas_.
Then, in familiar Alaka find rest,
Down whom the Ganges' silken river swirls,
Whose towers cling to her mountain lover's breast,
While clouds adorn her face like glossy curls
And streams of rain like strings of close-inwoven pearls.
LATTER CLOUD
I
_The splendid heavenly city Alaka_,
Where palaces in much may rival thee--
Their ladies gay, thy lightning's dazzling powers--
Symphonic drums, thy thunder's melody--
Their bright mosaic floors, thy silver showers--
Thy rainbow, paintings, and thy height, cloud-licking towers.
II
_where the flowers which on earth blossom at different seasons, are
all found in bloom the year round_.
Where the autumn lotus in dear fingers shines,
And lodh-flowers' April dust on faces rare,
Spring amaranth with winter jasmine twines
In women's braids, and summer siris fair,
The rainy madder in the parting of their hair.
III
_Here grows the magic tree which yields whatever is desired_.
Where men with maids whose charm no blemish mars
Climb to the open crystal balcony
Inlaid with flower-like sparkling of the stars,
And drink the love-wine from the wishing-tree,
And listen to the drums' deep-thundering dignity.
IV
Where maidens whom the gods would gladly wed
Are fanned by breezes cool with Ganges' spray
In shadows that the trees of heaven spread;
In golden sands at hunt-the-pearl they play,
Bury their little fists, and draw them void away.
V
Where lovers' passion-trembling fingers cling
To silken robes whose sashes flutter wide,
The knots undone; and red-lipped women fling,
Silly with shame, their rouge from side to side.
Hoping in vain the flash of jewelled lamps to hide.
VI
Where, brought to balconies' palatial tops
By ever-blowing guides, were clouds before
Like thee who spotted paintings with their drops;
Then, touched with guilty fear, were seen no more,
But scattered smoke-like through the lattice' grated door.
VII
_Here are the stones from which drops of water
ooze when the moon shines on them_.
Where from the moonstones hung in nets of thread
Great drops of water trickle in the night--
When the moon shines clear and thou, O cloud, art fled--
To ease the languors of the women's plight
Who lie relaxed and tired in love's embraces tight.
VIII
_Here are the magic gardens of heaven_.
Where lovers, rich with hidden wealth untold,
Wander each day with nymphs for ever young,
Enjoy the wonders that the gardens hold,
The Shining Gardens, where the praise is sung
Of the god of wealth by choirs with love-impassioned tongue.
IX
Where sweet nocturnal journeys are betrayed
At sunrise by the fallen flowers from curls
That fluttered as they stole along afraid,
By leaves, by golden lotuses, by pearls,
By broken necklaces that slipped from winsome girls.
X
_Here the god of love is not seen, because of
the presence of his great enemy, Shiva.
Yet his absence is not severely felt_.
Where the god of love neglects his bee-strung bow,
Since Shiva's friendship decks Kubera's reign;
His task is done by clever maids, for lo!
Their frowning missile glances, darting plain
At lover-targets, never pass the mark in vain.
XI
_Here the goddesses have all needful ornaments.
For the Mine of Sentiment declares:
"Women everywhere have four kinds of
ornaments--hair-ornaments, jewels, clothes,
cosmetics; anything else is local_."
Where the wishing-tree yields all that might enhance
The loveliness of maidens young and sweet:
Bright garments, wine that teaches eyes to dance,
And flowering twigs, and rarest gems discrete,
And lac-dye fit to stain their pretty lotus-feet.
XII
_And here is the home of the unhappy Yaksha_,
There, northward from the master's palace, see
Our home, whose rainbow-gateway shines afar;
And near it grows a little coral-tree,
Bending 'neath many a blossom's clustered star,
Loved by my bride as children of adoption are.
XIII
_with its artificial pool_;
A pool is near, to which an emerald stair
Leads down, with blooming lotuses of gold
Whose stalks are polished beryl; resting there,
The wistful swans are glad when they behold
Thine image, and forget the lake they loved of old.
XIV
_its hill of sport, girdled by bright hedges, like
the dark cloud girdled by the lightening_;
And on the bank, a sapphire-crested hill
Round which the golden plantain-hedges fit;
She loves the spot; and while I marvel still
At thee, my friend, as flashing lightnings flit
About thine edge, with restless rapture I remember it.
XV
_its two favourite trees, which will not blossom
while their mistress is grieving_;
The ashoka-tree, with sweetly dancing lines,
The favourite bakul-tree, are near the bower
Of amaranth-engirdled jasmine-vines;
Like me, they wait to feel the winning power
Of her persuasion, ere they blossom into flower.
XVI
_its tame peacock_;
A golden pole is set between the pair,
With crystal perch above its emerald bands
As green as young bamboo; at sunset there
Thy friend, the blue-necked peacock, rises, stands,
And dances when she claps her bracelet-tinkling hands.
XVII
_and its painted emblems of the god
of wealth_.
These are the signs--recall them o'er and o'er,
My clever friend--by which the house is known,
And the Conch and Lotus painted by the door:
Alas! when I am far, the charm is gone--
The lotus' loveliness is lost with set of sun.
XVIII
Small as the elephant cub thou must become
For easy entrance; rest where gems enhance
The glory of the hill beside my home,
And peep into the house with lightning-glance,
But make its brightness dim as fireflies' twinkling dance.
XIX
_The Yaksha's bride_.
The supremest woman from God's workshop gone--
Young, slender; little teeth and red, red lips,
Slight waist and gentle eyes of timid fawn,
An idly graceful movement, generous hips,
Fair bosom into which the sloping shoulder slips--
XX
Like a bird that mourns her absent mate anew
Passing these heavy days in longings keen,
My girlish wife whose words are sweet and few,
My second life, shall there of thee be seen--
But changed like winter-blighted lotus-blooms, I ween.
XXI
Her eyes are swol'n with tears that stream unchidden;
Her lips turn pale with sorrow's burning sighs;
The face that rests upon her hand is hidden
By hanging curls, as when the glory dies
Of the suffering moon pursued by thee through nightly skies.
XXII
_The passion of love passes through ten stages,
eight of which are suggested in this stanza
and the stanzas which follow. The first
stage is not indicated; it is called Exchange
of Glances_.
Thou first wilt see her when she seeks relief
In worship; or, half fancying, half recalling,
She draws mine image worn by absent grief;
Or asks the caged, sweetly-singing starling:
"Do you remember, dear, our lord? You were his darling."
XXIII
_In this stanza and the preceding one is
suggested the second stage: Wistfulness_.
Or holds a lute on her neglected skirt,
And tries to sing of me, and tries in vain;
For she dries the tear-wet string with hands inert,
And e'er begins, and e'er forgets again,
Though she herself composed it once, the loving strain.
XXIV
_Here is suggested the third stage: Desire_.
Or counts the months of absence yet remaining
With flowers laid near the threshold on the floor,
Or tastes the bliss of hours when love was gaining
The memories recollected o'er and o'er--
woman's comforts when her lonely heart is sore.
XXV
_Here is suggested the fourth stage: Wakefulness_.
Such daytime labours doubtless ease the ache
Which doubly hurts her in the helpless dark;
With news from me a keener joy to wake,
Stand by her window in the night, and mark
My sleepless darling on her pallet hard and stark.
XXVI
_Here is suggested the fifth stage: Emaciation_.
Resting one side upon that widowed bed,
Like the slender moon upon the Eastern height,
So slender she, now worn with anguish dread,
Passing with stifling tears the long, sad night
Which, spent in love with me, seemed but a moment's flight.
XXVII
_Here is suggested the sixth stage: Loss of
Interest in Ordinary Pleasures_.
On the cool, sweet moon that through the lattice flashes
She looks with the old delight, then turns away
And veils her eyes with water-weighted lashes,
Sad as the flower that blooms in sunlight gay,
But cannot wake nor slumber on a cloudy day.
XXVIII
_Here is suggested the seventh stage: Loss of
Youthful Bashfulness_.
One unanointed curl still frets her cheek
When tossed by sighs that burn her blossom-lip;
And still she yearns, and still her yearnings seek
That we might be united though in sleep--
Ah! Happy dreams come not to brides that ever weep.
XXIX
_Here is suggested the eighth stage: Absent-mindedness.
For if she were not absent-minded,
she would arrange the braid so
as not to be annoyed by it_.
Her single tight-bound braid she pushes oft--
With a hand uncared for in her lonely madness--
So rough it seems, from the cheek that is so soft:
That braid ungarlanded since the first day's sadness,
Which I shall loose again when troubles end in gladness.
XXX
_Here is suggested the ninth stage: Prostration.
The tenth stage, Death, is not suggested_.
The delicate body, weak and suffering,
Quite unadorned and tossing to and fro
In oft-renewing wretchedness, will wring
Even from thee a raindrop-tear, I know--
Soft breasts like thine are pitiful to others' woe.
XXXI
I know her bosom full of love for me,
And therefore fancy how her soul doth grieve
In this our first divorce; it cannot be
Self-flattery that idle boastings weave--
Soon shalt thou see it all, and seeing, shalt believe.
XXXII
_Quivering of the eyelids_
Her hanging hair prevents the twinkling shine
Of fawn-eyes that forget their glances sly,
Lost to the friendly aid of rouge and wine--
Yet the eyelids quiver when thou drawest nigh
As water-lilies do when fish go scurrying by.
XXXIII
_and trembling of the limbs are omens of
speedy union with the beloved_.
And limbs that thrill to thee thy welcome prove,
Limbs fair as stems in some rich plantain-bower,
No longer showing marks of my rough love,
Robbed of their cooling pearls by fatal power,
The limbs which I was wont to soothe in passion's hour.
XXXIV
But if she should be lost in happy sleep,
Wait, bear with her, grant her but three hours' grace,
And thunder not, O cloud, but let her keep
The dreaming vision of her lover's face--
Loose not too soon the imagined knot of that embrace.
XXXV
As thou wouldst wake the jasmine's budding wonder,
Wake her with breezes blowing mistily;
Conceal thy lightnings, and with words of thunder
Speak boldly, though she answer haughtily
With eyes that fasten on the lattice and on thee.
XXXVI
_The cloud is instructed how to announce himself_
"Thou art no widow; for thy husband's friend
Is come to tell thee what himself did say--
A cloud with low, sweet thunder-tones that send
All weary wanderers hastening on their way,
Eager to loose the braids of wives that lonely stay."
XXXVII
_in such a way as to win the favour of his auditor_.
Say this, and she will welcome thee indeed,
Sweet friend, with a yearning heart's tumultuous beating
And joy-uplifted eyes; and she will heed
The after message: such a friendly greeting
Is hardly less to woman's heart than lovers' meeting.
XXXVIII
_The message itself_.
Thus too, my king, I pray of thee to speak,
Remembering kindness is its own reward;
"Thy lover lives, and from the holy peak
Asks if these absent days good health afford--
Those born to pain must ever use this opening word.
XXXIX
With body worn as thine, with pain as deep,
With tears and ceaseless longings answering thine,
With sighs more burning than the sighs that keep
Thy lips ascorch--doomed far from thee to pine,
He too doth weave the fancies that thy soul entwine.
XL
He used to love, when women friends were near,
To whisper things he might have said aloud
That he might touch thy face and kiss thine ear;
Unheard and even unseen, no longer proud,
He now must send this yearning message by a cloud.
XLI
_According to the treatise called "Virtues
Banner," a lover has four solaces in separation:
first, looking at objects that remind
him of her he loves_;
'I see thy limbs in graceful-creeping vines,
Thy glances in the eyes of gentle deer,
Thine eyebrows in the ripple's dancing lines,
Thy locks in plumes, thy face in moonlight clear--
Ah, jealous! But the whole sweet image is not here.
XLII
_second, painting a picture of her_;
And when I paint that loving jealousy
With chalk upon the rock, and my caress
As at thy feet I lie, I cannot see
Through tears that to mine eyes unbidden press--
So stern a fate denies a painted happiness.
XLIII
_third, dreaming of her_;
And when I toss mine arms to clasp thee tight,
Mine own though but in visions of a dream--
They who behold the oft-repeated sight,
The kind divinities of wood and stream,
Let fall great pearly tears that on the blossoms gleam.
XLIV
_fourth, touching something which she
has touched_.
Himalaya's breeze blows gently from the north,
Unsheathing twigs upon the deodar
And sweet with sap that it entices forth--
I embrace it lovingly; it came so far,
Perhaps it touched thee first, my life's unchanging star!
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