and all were given betel leaves.*
Then all the astrologers were sent for
and seated in the wedding pavilion.
Tārācand was put on a special stool,
and offerings were made in the sacred fire.
The beautiful bride, Princess Pemā,
was brought to stand on his left side.
She stood there looking as though
she had been carved out of the moon itself.
Mantras were uttered for Tārācand and Pemā.
The marriage knot was tied and the couple
circled the sacred fire seven times.*
Apprehensively, hesitantly, lovely Pemā placed a garland round the Prince’s neck.
Then Tārācand took a necklace of flowers and garlanded the lovely maiden.
The Bridal Chamber
491. Sandal and saffron were crushed together,
mixed with perfume and the chamber anointed.
Inside and out and all around,
lengths of red silk were draped.
Then the wedding bed was brought in.
The Prince joyfully came in and sat down.
Then her handmaidens fetched Pemā,
who had been finely adorned,
and seated her on the bed of love.
The hair on her body became erect,
she perspired, trembled and sighed deeply.
Desire for first union awoke in both of them.
But the maiden would not abandon her pride, though her lover tried to persuade her.
Her veil guarded her like a proud fortress, so that no one
could get near her.
492. Anger left, and passion stood proud;
her haughtiness vanished as love engulfed her.
That maiden who had been adamantine
melted in the heat of the rising sun.
The Prince took her hand and,
as he pressed on her fingers,
she trembled just as lightning appears
to quiver against the lowering clouds.
When his hands began to squeeze her breasts,
the maiden’s hesitant breath began to quicken.
Their love was new, their bodies filled with youth.
They passed the night sunk in passion.
For Tārācand every single instant of that night passed in the bliss of love,
and Pemā, restless with desire, was crying out again and again for her hero.
493. They spent the night on the bed of joy.
Come the dawn, handmaidens brought in
water for washing. The Prince arose
and went out to the gateway
while Madhumālatī came in to visit Pemā.
‘Tell me the truth, dear friend,’ she said,
‘how was your union with your lover?’
Pemā replied, ‘When I asked you about this,
you did not tell me anything at all.
What went on between us during the night
I too can find no words to express.
When an adoring husband makes love to you, and two souls are in communion,
what happens then, dear friend, my tongue cannot describe out of shyness!’
494. The two Princesses were very familiar,
and laughed and joked together easily.
These two remained inseparably together,
their youthful bodies awake to desire.
Living in royal pleasure and budding with youth,
not for a moment were these sweethearts apart.
Likewise, the two Princes were as familiar
as if they had been bosom friends since childhood.
Words cannot describe their mutual love,
like that between the lovely lily and the moon.*
Madhumālatī and Pemā, and the two Princes who were close as brothers,
spent the rainy season in delight, while water and clouds engulfed the world.
495. They spent the rainy season in pleasure and delight,
until the star Canopus* began to shine
in the autumn nights of the month of Kuṃvār.
The heavens became radiant and clear.
The sun shone with a thousand rays
and the moon waxed full in all sixteen parts.
The clouds which covered the heavens lifted.
The ponds which were overflowing with water
could now be easily fathomed.
These two Princes sat down together
to discuss that the water had lessened
and the earth had become bright again.
Reflecting on this they went to the King,
and Citrasena called them into the palace.
Both the Princes folded their hands, and stood there entreating the King:
‘If you will grant your permission, we will return to our own countries.’
The Rite of Departure*
496. ‘We would be happy to get your permission,
to seek an auspicious time and to set off.
If you grant it, we shall perform
the ceremony of the brides’ departure
and set out for the lands of our birth.
Let us make all the preparations for the rite,
and then take Madhumālatī away with us.
We shall depart swiftly and not delay,
and perhaps we’ll find our parents still alive.
Now is the time when we should serve them,
for the moon of their lives is positioned
in the twenty-seventh, the last station.
As the lamp dies down at dawn and the sun shines pale in the evening,
so are their lives nearing their end, maybe in months, maybe fortnights or days.’
497. Hearing of the rite of departure,
King Citrasena became silent.
Lowering his head, he gazed at the ground.
He was stunned, as if thunderstruck.
His eyes stared downward without blinking,
and his soul took flight from his body.
Awareness only returned after a long time.
They beseeched him, ‘Go to King Vikram Rāi,
entreat him to allow the ceremony.
If King Vikram gives his permission,
we will perform the rite of departure and leave for home with all our possessions.’
King Citrasena’s heart was heavy with worry, but he
thought to himself,
‘Though a daughter may stay in her mother’s house
forever, in the end she is someone else’s.’
498. With gentle words he sent the Princes back,
then went himself to Vikram Rāi.
He explained to the King that the Princes
had requested the rite of departure.
Hearing this King Vikram became silent
then said to King Citrasena,
‘The very day God sends you a daughter,
she becomes the property of another.
It is no use keeping them here.
Go and prepare for the ceremony.’
Dismayed at heart and amazed at the turn of events, Citrasena returned.
He reported to the Princes all the things that Vikram Rāi had said.
499. Someone who had been listening outside
went and told Madhurā everything.
She was astonished to hear the news
and said: ‘O God, what has happened?
I almost died crying when the demon took Pemā—
where has this thunderbolt fallen from now?
Now her departure will weigh heavy on me.
It would be better if she had never married,
but remained still an unwed virgin.’
Madhurā’s eyes filled with tears,
and she burst into tears, saying,
‘Parting is more painful than death!
The first time the demon took her, the Creator brought her back and reunited us.
Once she leaves now, we shall never meet again while
I am alive on this earth.’
500. Hearing the bad news of the Princesses’ departure,
both the royal palaces were deeply saddened.
The moment that Rūpamañjarī heard,
she swooned and fell unconscious on the ground.
King Vikram sat by her to console her.
He said, ‘Can a girl remain forever
living in her mother’s house?
It is only in her in-laws’ house
that a girl has to spend her life.
There is no use for her in her mother’s home.’
With tears in her eyes and a heavy heart,
the Queen then went to Madhumālatī.
She explained things to Madhumālatī and told her what was to happen.
‘O Princess, you are going to that country from which nobody returns.’
Some Motherly Advice
501. Rāpamañjarī then sent for Pemā
and seated her with Madhumālatī.
With tears in her eyes, Madhurā
joined the Princesses and the Queen.
They began to explain things to the girls,
‘Daughters, you are leaving your families
and going now to a foreign land.
Your husbands will carry you off to a place
from which no person ever returns.
Your lords will take you to an alien country
where you cannot even receive a message.
Separated from you, however will we keep our souls in our bodies?
Now, in just a few days’ time, your lovers will take you away forever.’
502. ‘You must serve your lords wholeheartedly.*
Do not let your minds wander from their service.
The male sex is extremely tyrannical.
You must divine their wishes day and night.
Serve them in the daytime as best you understand
and massage their feet all night long.
When your husband takes your arm
and bids you lie down with him,
lie with him on the bed and enjoy yourself.
Do not be too proud with your husband,
but use pride in the game of love.
The wife who is very arrogant and sulks too much with her husband
will force him, whether he will or no, to take another to wife.
503. ‘If you see that your lord is very angry,
go and serve him, by force if necessary.
Win your husband round through service.
By serving your lord like this
you will be granted great happiness.
In the two worlds, both now and hereafter,
only she is the truly blessed wife
who has delighted her lord through service.
If you do not capture your husband’s heart,
his mind and face will turn away from you.
Your lord’s service will bring you happiness
in this life, and salvation in the next.
Even at the cost of your own life, you should serve your lord faithfully.
She whose life is at the service of her lord will be the Queen of both the worlds.
504. ‘Protect the honour of your family.
Serve your husband above everything else.
Do not answer back to his mother,
and wash her feet yourself twice a day.
Suffer her insults with a smile,
and do not retort sharply to them.
Be obedient to her every word.
Never raise your voice to her in response.
Be friendly to your husband’s other wives,
and live with them as if you were sisters.
Never raise your voice when you speak, and keep your anger under control.
Always maintain your honour so that no slight falls on your family’s good name.’
The Handmaidens
505. When her friends heard Madhumālatī was leaving
the fire of affection was kindled in their hearts.
They ran to her just as they were
and took her weeping into their arms.
All her handmaidens were in tears
as they embraced her, recalling the times
they had played together happily.
‘All the joy we had in childhood’,
they cried, ‘has returned to us now as grief.
How can we live with this sorrow,
after the sweet happiness we enjoyed together?
With you we enjoyed all the colourful pleasures of childhood together,
how are we to survive now you are leaving with your darling lover?
506. ‘Had we known of this pain of separation,
would we have loved you in our childhood?
Now you are setting out for a foreign land,
how are we to keep our lives in our bodies?
If we had never known you, this great sorrow
would never have fallen on us.
Now your lord will take you off to a place
from where we shall not even hear about you.
As we remember again all our memories
of how we played together as children,
this pain of separation grows difficult,
no, even impossible to bear.
You are leaving for a foreign land, though we have to continue to survive here.
Our sinful souls put love to shame, since they cannot leave our bodies!
507. ‘If youth were not blossoming in all our limbs,
our childhood friendship could continue forever.
It would have been better if the Creator
had kept us always as children,
but he forced this youthfulness upon us.
If youth had remained hidden in our bodies,
we would not be parted for the rest of our lives.
Dear friend, you leave as a married woman—
come tomorrow we also have to face that day.
Being young is good only if one finds a lover.
Otherwise youth and life are pointless.
If God would offer us childhood back again in return for being young,
a girl would exchange her youth a hundred times to have her childhood back.’
508. ‘Dear friends, embrace me,’ said Madhumālatī,
‘the fire of love for you burns in my heart.
Tomorrow my love will take me by the arm.
My lord will deliver me to his own land.
I shall leave my family, my people
and go now to another’s country.
Then, if the Creator makes it happen,
we shall meet again some day.
Put your arms around my neck and hug me.
Who knows if we will meet in this life again?’
Faced with parting from Madhumālatī,
her friends cried out aloud and wept.
Many of them fell at her feet crying piteously, others embraced her close.
Some lay on the ground in tears, burning with affection and love.
The Long Goodbye
509. When dawn came and the sun grew bright,
a disturbance was heard in the royal quarters.
Everyone raised their hands and asked
what the tumult was in the palace.
Those who knew explained to the others
that Madhumālatī was setting off
for her father-in-law’s house.
Hearing there was upheaval in the palace,
everyone went there and crowded in.
Whether they were family or not,
they all came to the royal palace
when they heard the dreadful news.
Since Madhumālatī was leaving home, the city of Mahāras was in an uproar.
The Princess wept as she bade farewell to all the members of her family.
510. Madhumālatī said goodbye to her family
and retainers. She returned again and again
to take her leave of the doors to the main gates.
Clinging to the palace she said farewell.
She said goodbye to all her silken clothes
and her wardrobe. With tears in her eyes
she bade farewell to the gates and ramparts.
Falling down in the picture-pavilion,
she said goodbye to where she used to sleep.
Her spirits were low, her voice tired with speaking,
but she went and hugged her swing
and took her leave of it forever.
Having said her farewells to her home, she said goodbye to her family.
Then, as was customary, she took her leave of all the servants and retainers.
511. Madhumālatī was leaving her home,
her dear family and relatives forever.
She was leaving her baskets full of dolls
and all her constant companions.
She was leaving all her childhood friends,
with whom she had always played.
She had given up all illusory attachments,*
but still she hated to leave her home.
When she reflected on the truth in her heart,
then she was able to get up and leave her home.
She was abandoning all her family, all her relatives and servants, everybody,
as Vibhīaa left Lakā, fair city of illusion, untroubled by what might happen.*
512. The Queens beseeched the two Princes,
‘When you go you take away our souls, our lives.
The fire of love in our wombs entreats you—
these two are your true soul-mates.
They have no other well-wishers but you,
so love them throughout your lives.
Mothers and fathers do not control destiny.
One must endure what fate has written
in the lines on one’s forehead at birth.
Parents can only do so much:
bring up their sons and daughters
and arrange for their marriages.
After that, one suffers what God decrees for one’s life, based on previous actions.
One must endure one’s own good or evil, and answer for one’s past behaviour.’
513. Madhumālatī ran to touch her mother’s feet,
and the Queen raised her up and embraced her.
Love for the girl born from her womb flared up.
She could not endure this parting,
but beat her breast and wept copiously.
Madhumālatī, too, embraced her mother;
so tightly out of her love for her
that the Queen could not have escaped.
She would not let her mother go,
but hugged her tight again and again.
Realizing the extent of her daughter’s love,
the Queen blessed her, saying,
‘May you always be happily married
and may you be the Queen of the royal house!
Madhumalati Page 26
