Shakuntala

by Kalidasa

  This plan is slight and fanciful. A demigod, in consequence of some transgression against his master, the god of wealth, is condemned to leave his home in the Himalayas, and spend a year of exile on a peak in the Vindhya Mountains, which divide the Deccan from the Ganges basin. He wishes to comfort and encourage his wife, but has no messenger to send her. In his despair, he begs a passing cloud to carry his words. He finds it necessary to describe the long journey which the cloud must take, and, as the two termini are skilfully chosen, the journey involves a visit to many of the spots famous in Indian story. The description of these spots fills the first half of the poem. The second half is filled with a more minute description of the heavenly city, of the home and bride of the demigod, and with the message proper. The proportions of the poem may appear unfortunate to the Western reader, in whom the proper names of the first half will wake scanty associations. Indeed, it is no longer possible to identify all the places mentioned, though the general route followed by the cloud can be easily traced. The peak from which he starts is probably one near the modern Nagpore. From this peak he flies a little west of north to the Nerbudda River, and the city of Ujjain; thence pretty straight north to the upper Ganges and the Himalaya. The geography of the magic city of Alaka is quite mythical.

  The Cloud-Messenger contains one hundred and fifteen four-line stanzas, in a majestic metre called the "slow-stepper." The English stanza which has been chosen for the translation gives perhaps as fair a representation of the original movement as may be, where direct imitation is out of the question. Though the stanza of the translation has five lines to four for the slow-stepper, it contains fewer syllables; a constant check on the temptation to padding.

  The analysis which accompanies the poem, and which is inserted in Italics at the beginning of each stanza, has more than one object. It saves footnotes; it is intended as a real help to comprehension; and it is an eminently Hindu device. Indeed, it was my first intention to translate literally portions of Mallinatha's famous commentary; and though this did not prove everywhere feasible, there is nothing in the analysis except matter suggested by the commentary.

  One minor point calls for notice. The word Himálaya has been accented on the second syllable wherever it occurs. This accent is historically correct, and has some foothold in English usage; besides, it is more euphonious and better adapted to the needs of the metre.

  FORMER CLOUD

  I

  A Yaksha, or divine attendant on Kubera, god of wealth, is exiled for a year from his home in the Himalayas. As he dwells on a peak in the Vindhya range, half India separates him from his young bride .

  On Rama's shady peak where hermits roam,

  Mid streams by Sita's bathing sanctified,

  An erring Yaksha made his hapless home,

  Doomed by his master humbly to abide,

  And spend a long, long year of absence from his bride.

  II

  After eight months of growing emaciation, the first cloud warns him of the approach of the rainy season, when neglected brides are wont to pine and die .

  Some months were gone; the lonely lover's pain

  Had loosed his golden bracelet day by day

  Ere he beheld the harbinger of rain,

  A cloud that charged the peak in mimic fray,

  As an elephant attacks a bank of earth in play.

  III

  fore this cause of lovers' hopes and fears

  Long time Kubera's bondman sadly bowed

  In meditation, choking down his tears—

  Even happy hearts thrill strangely to the cloud;

  To him, poor wretch, the loved embrace was disallowed.

  IV

  Unable to send tidings otherwise of his health and unchanging love, he resolves to make the cloud his messenger .

  Longing to save his darling's life, unblest

  With joyous tidings, through the rainy days,

  He plucked fresh blossoms for his cloudy guest,

  Such homage as a welcoming comrade pays,

  And bravely spoke brave words of greeting and of praise.

  V

  Nor did it pass the lovelorn Yaksha's mind

  How all unfitly might his message mate

  With a cloud, mere fire and water, smoke and wind—

  Ne'er yet was lover could discriminate

  'Twixt life and lifeless things, in his love-blinded state.

  VI

  He prefers his request ,

  I know, he said, thy far-famed princely line,

  Thy state, in heaven's imperial council chief,

  Thy changing forms; to thee, such fate is mine,

  I come a suppliant in my widowed grief—

  Better thy lordly "no" than meaner souls' relief.

  VII

  O cloud, the parching spirit stirs thy pity;

  My bride is far, through royal wrath and might;

  Bring her my message to the Yaksha city,

  Rich-gardened Alaka, where radiance bright

  From Shiva's crescent bathes the palaces in light.

  VIII

  hinting at the same time that the' cloud will find his kindly labour rewarded by pleasures on the road ,

  When thou art risen to airy paths of heaven,

  Through lifted curls the wanderer's love shall peep

  And bless the sight of thee for comfort given;

  Who leaves his bride through cloudy days to weep

  Except he be like me, whom chains of bondage keep?

  IX

  and by happy omens .

  While favouring breezes waft thee gently forth,

  And while upon thy left the plover sings

  His proud, sweet song, the cranes who know thy worth

  Will meet thee in the sky on joyful wings

  And for delights anticipated join their rings.

  X

  He assures the cloud that his bride is neither dead nor faithless ;

  Yet hasten, O my brother, till thou see—

  Counting the days that bring the lonely smart—

  The faithful wife who only lives for me:

  A drooping flower is woman's loving heart,

  Upheld by the stem of hope when two true lovers part.

  XI

  further, that there will be no lack of travelling companions .

  And when they hear thy welcome thunders break,

  When mushrooms sprout to greet thy fertile weeks,

  The swans who long for the Himalayan lake

  Will be thy comrades to Kailasa's peaks,

  With juicy bits of lotus-fibre in their beaks.

  XII

  One last embrace upon this mount bestow

  Whose flanks were pressed by Rama's holy feet,

  Who yearly strives his love for thee to show,

  Warmly his well-beloved friend to greet

  With the tear of welcome shed when two long-parted meet.

  XIII

  He then describes the long journey ,

  Learn first, O cloud, the road that thou must go,

  Then hear my message ere thou speed away;

  Before thee mountains rise and rivers flow:

  When thou art weary, on the mountains stay,

  And when exhausted, drink the rivers' driven spray.

  XIV

  beginning with the departure from Rama's peak, where dwells a company of Siddhas, divine beings of extraordinary sanctity .

  Elude the heavenly elephants' clumsy spite;

  Fly from this peak in richest jungle drest;

  And Siddha maids who view thy northward flight

  Will upward gaze in simple terror, lest

  The wind be carrying quite away the mountain crest.

  XV

  Bright as a heap of flashing gems, there shines

  Before thee on the ant-hill, Indra's bow;

  Matched with that dazzling rainbow's glittering lines,

  Thy sombre form shall find its beauties grow,

  Like the dark herdsman
Vishnu, with peacock-plumes aglow.

  XVI

  The Mala plateau .

  The farmers' wives on Mala's lofty lea,

  Though innocent of all coquettish art,

  Will give thee loving glances; for on thee

  Depends the fragrant furrow's fruitful part;

  Thence, barely westering, with lightened burden start.

  XVII

  The Mango Peak .

  The Mango Peak whose forest fires were laid

  By streams of thine, will soothe thy weariness;

  In memory of a former service paid,

  Even meaner souls spurn not in time of stress

  A suppliant friend; a soul so lofty, much the less.

  XVIII

  With ripened mango-fruits his margins teem;

  And thou, like wetted braids, art blackness quite;

  When resting on the mountain, thou wilt seem

  Like the dark nipple on Earth's bosom white,

  For mating gods and goddesses a thrilling sight.

  XIX

  The Reva, or Nerbudda River, foaming against the mountain side ,

  His bowers are sweet to forest maidens ever;

  Do thou upon his crest a moment bide,

  Then fly, rain-quickened, to the Reva river

  Which gaily breaks on Vindhya's rocky side,

  Like painted streaks upon an elephant's dingy hide.

  XX

  and flavoured with the ichor which exudes from the temples of elephants during the mating season .

  Where thick rose-apples make the current slow,

  Refresh thyself from thine exhausted state

  With ichor-pungent drops that fragrant flow;

  Thou shalt not then to every wind vibrate—

  Empty means ever light, and full means added weight.

  XXI

  Spying the madder on the banks, half brown,

  Half green with shoots that struggle to the birth,

  Nibbling where early plantain-buds hang down,

  Scenting the sweet, sweet smell of forest earth,

  The deer will trace thy misty track that ends the dearth.

  XXII

  Though thou be pledged to ease my darling's pain,

  Yet I foresee delay on every hill

  Where jasmines blow, and where the peacock-train

  Cries forth with joyful tears a welcome shrill;

  Thy sacrifice is great, but haste thy journey still.

  XXIII

  The Dasharna country ,

  At thine approach, Dasharna land is blest

  With hedgerows where gay buds are all aglow,

  With village trees alive with many a nest

  Abuilding by the old familiar crow,

  With lingering swans, with ripe rose-apples' darker show.

  XXIV

  and its capital Vidisha, on the banks of Reed River .

  There shalt thou see the royal city, known

  Afar, and win the lover's fee complete,

  If thou subdue thy thunders to a tone

  Of murmurous gentleness, and taste the sweet,

  Love-rippling features of the river at thy feet.

  XXV

  A moment rest on Nichais' mountain then,

  Where madder-bushes don their blossom coat

  As thrilling to thy touch; where city men

  O'er youth's unbridled pleasures fondly gloat

  In caverns whence the perfumes of gay women float.

  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 ,

  Oh, fine Ujjain! Gem to Avanti given,

  Where village ancients tell their tales of mirth

  And old romance! Oh, radiant bit of heaven,

  Home of a blest celestial band whose worth

  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