As long as the Gangā flows on the earth, and sun, moon and stars shine in the sky,
So long may the Creator keep your married happiness and your kingdom intact!’
514. Then the Princess touched her father’s feet
and he lovingly embraced her.
Streams of tears flowed from his eyes,
and she asked, ‘Why, O God?
Why did you send daughters into the world?
If no daughters were ever born,
no one would have to suffer such pain.’
The King replied, ‘Do not despair,
for God has arranged a dwelling place
for my daughter in another land.
My people and retainers will always visit
and bring me news of how you are.’
In no way could the royal Princess stop embracing her father closely.
The more that people prised them apart, the closer they came together.
515. Seeing her saying goodbye to her family,
all the people of the town lamented.
Each of the city’s thirty-six castes wept,
the young and the old cried for her
and the married women were all in tears.
It was as if she had taken out the city’s heart and made the city
and kingdom lifeless.
While Madhumālatī was bidding farewell
to her own family, Pemā likewise
was saying goodbye to everyone.
Her entire family stood weeping,
but who could stop her husband
from taking her away forever?
Her family, relatives, and retainers wept helplessly, all to no avail.
For who can prevent a husband from taking his beloved wife with him?
516. Then the royal Princess, a married woman,
ran weeping to touch Madhurā’s feet.
‘Mother,’ she said, ‘hug me, say goodbye to me, for today I become a foreigner
and belong to someone else.
Rüpamañjara” only gave me birth,
it is you who really brought me up.
I am leaving father, brother, home, and family,
today I depart for a foreign country.’
Madhurā wept, wrenched with grief,
as if she would wash away her sorrow with tears.
The two Princesses bade farewell to their families and mounted their palanquins.
They left behind all their loved ones, whom they were never to see again.
517. Meanwhile the two Princes went over
to where the Kings were standing
and fell down at their feet.
They embraced the two Princes and said,
‘We are left here with only our sorrows.
We have entrusted to you the souls which are the support of our lives.
We have few requests to make,
but you do know of the prestige of our lines.
We bow our heads at your feet.
Do now as you deem fit.
We have taken out the very souls of our families and sent them off with you.
Please protect our honour carefully, and do as destiny demands.’
518. When they heard this, the Princes
took hold of their ears humbly* and said:
‘Fathers, how can you think like this?
Our mothers and fathers gave us birth,
but you brought us up as parents.
In your families the Queens are nurtured
whose pious offerings of water
bring salvation to our ancestors.
These shining moons add lustre to our clans.
They are the glittering jewels,
we the jewellers who accept them.
Just as gold leaves a shining line
when tested for purity on a touchstone,
they are the true adornment
on the brows of our respective houses.
So do not let your hearts be concerned on their
account, your royal majesties;
just grant us your permission, lords, that we may set out
for our native lands.’
The Couples Separate
519. The two maidens began their journey
accompanied by the two Princes.
All the dowry they had been given
was loaded up and sent off with them.
They travelled four stations together,
and then they were at their separate paths.
Tārācand, with tears in his eyes,
came to Manohar and Madhumālatī and said,
‘Brother, arise and bid me farewell.
Let me embrace you and say goodbye.
Everyone in the world knows that the pain of parting is unbearable.
May no one have to endure separation’s sorrow, the greatest suffering of all.’
520. When he heard this, Prince Manohar
ran and touched Tārācand’s feet.
They hugged each other with love,
and as they did so they cried.
‘On the day God brought us together,
we did not know this grief would befall us.’
The two Princes embraced and wept,
asking why fate was separating them.
Such love abounded in their hearts
that they could not bear to let each other go.
They wept and wept, embracing each other, and their tears became a torrent,
for they knew with certainty they’d never meet again while they lived in this world.
521. The two Princes, embracing and weeping,
could not bear to part out of love.
Madhumālatī went and pulled them apart,
separating the still weeping Princes.
‘You are masters of men, of vassals,
how can you weep like women?
Men who are truly brave and resolute,
never grieve over such a small matter.
We are helpless women, with far less intelligence—
we go crazy over the slightest thing.’
Madhumālatī separated them gently, with compassion
for their great grief.
Still their tears flowed like torrents, as they recalled the love they had known.
522. ‘Look at us. We are helpless women,
steeling ourselves to bear this separation.
Never in our lives had we known suffering,
but when it fell on our heads suddenly
we learnt full well how to suffer.
We even used to cry, on lighting a fire,
when smoke welled up from the flames.
Our mothers and fathers gave us birth,
but still we have to endure
whatever destiny has written for us.
You are men, crying like this,
then how can we weak women be brave?
You are lords of the earth, and your hearts must be resolute and strong.
Just see how we helpless women have coped with the infinite pain of separation!’
523. Madhumālatī’s eyes filled with tears.
She fell at Prince Tārācand’s feet.
The Prince raised her up affectionately,
and, mindful of their parting, embraced her.
Madhumālatī said through her tears,
‘You restored me to life in this birth.
My parents gave me birth and rejected me;
but you, my brother, protected me.
I had given up all hope of meeting Manohar,
but you brought us together again,
and delivered me safe to my home.
For my sake you abandoned your kingdom—now where can I find the water
to extinguish the fire of love for you that burns in my heart at this parting?’
524. ‘How can I drag out my long life,
when you are slaying my soul
by leaving for your own city?
The moment I was given wings,
I should have flown aw
ay somewhere
and died unhappily in my madness.
I wouldn’t have returned to my parents’ home,
but lost my life somewhere or other.
It was you, my brave brother,
who brought me to my home again
and changed me from a bird to a human.
My soul remained in my body
because I used to see you.
Today the world seems a wasteland to me.
I have abandoned all my family, my brother, and now I travel to a foreign land.
You and I must bid farewell, without hope of ever meeting again.
525. ‘It was my mother who transformed me
into a bird and banished me.
At that point I saw you, and my former love
was rekindled in my soul.
Then, with hope awake again,
I flew to the earth and sat down
tangling myself by force in your snare.
You showed great courage on my behalf,
gave me back my kingdom and former beauty,
and bestowed on me my blessed married state.
My heart had given up all hope,
but through your courage, my brother,
I have now achieved success.’
Crying piteously, Madhumālatī turned to fall at the Prince’s feet.
Tārācand embraced her and said goodbye to her as a brother does a sister.
526. Pemā’s heart was burning with love.
She wept as she hugged Manohar.
‘Brother,’ she said, ‘you should know
how great is my pain at parting from you.
How can I pass my life without you?
From the day Rūpamañjarī banished you,
I spent the whole time weeping.
Still, I had hoped we would meet again,
and we were indeed reunited
while breath remained in my body.
Now at this parting I have no such hope.
We shall not meet again in this life.
I did not know grief when I parted from my family, since I saw you were by me.
But now, my dear brother, you are parting from me, and I feel total despair.
527. ‘Why did the Creator make today the day
on which I have to hear of your leaving?
The day when friends and dear ones part
is a day not to be lived in this life.
I was separated from family and retainers,
but I survived, dear brother,
because I had you in my heart.
Now you are going and leaving me,
I don’t see how, even for a moment,
life can remain in my body.
Seeing you near by strengthened my soul.
Today, giving you up fills me with despair.
Everyone in the world knows well that being separated is to die every instant.
O God, don’t give anyone separation’s agony while they are living on this earth!
528. ‘The flesh-eating demon abducted me.
He took me to a wood, dark and enigmatic,
where even the day was black as night.
For my sake you took on this great burden
and slaughtered that mighty demon.
You killed the night-crawling demon
and brought me to be with my family
from whom I had been severed.
Brother, you are going off and leaving me.
For me, just to live will be a heavy burden.
With you and me parted, dear brother,
whom shall I look to for consolation?’
Saying this she left the Prince, and moved on to
embrace Madhumālatī close.
Love’s fire was burning in her heart as she said goodbye to her lifelong friend.
529. Crying, the two Princesses hugged each other.
As they parted, their former love reawakened.
They said, ‘Today we have finished with meeting,
and now our boats will sail alone in the ocean.
Today destiny has placed us apart.
We leave our families, and now belong to another.
God, who kept us together as children,
throws us in different directions in our youth.
No sooner than we were united,
one is now going east, the other west.
Dear friend, those days of play, of childhood love and happiness have gone.
We part today, and I can’t see how we shall ever meet again as long as we live.
530. ‘We used to meet one day a month.
From today we cannot even hope for that.
Our lives were attached, each with the other,
and we used to long to be together.
Sometimes we played on the palace roof,
and sometimes in the picture-pavilion.
How hard is the human soul that it can bear
this harsh separation between you and me?’
The Princes came and drew them apart,
and seated them weeping in their palanquins.
Then Madhumālatī departed for Kanaigiri and Pemā
set off for Pavaneri.
With their new lords they left their parental homes, and
went to their parents-in-law.
The Arrival
531. Tārācand looked towards Pavaneri.
Manohar turned his caravan to Kanaigiri.
He was two years on the path
before his journey neared its end
and he approached the fortress of Kanaigiri.
Its palaces were all adorned with gold leaf
and shone and sparkled most beautifully.
The castle had fifty-two thousand battlements,
each studded and inset with jewels.
When the rays of the sun fell on them,
they glittered and shone even more brightly.
The fort wall enclosed twenty four miles, an expanse which was fully populated.
The torches burning bright on the palaces could be seen ten yojanas* away.
532. Meanwhile the King’s Chief Provisioner,
a treasure-house of virtues called Tivārī”,
had taken leave of King Sūarajbhānu.
He was making a trip to the Gagā
to bathe on the occasion of a festival.
He was going down the very road
on which the Prince was arriving.
As soon as they saw one another,
each recognized the other instantly.
They both dismounted and embraced.
The Prince enquired how his parents were,
and asked after the welfare of the whole family.
Hearing that his mother and father were well, his heart exulted with happiness.
He was so happy to hear the good news that no other desire remained in his heart.
533. The Chief said to the Prince:
‘Since you left for foreign lands,
the King has ceased to rule the kingdom.
He has had nothing to do with royal affairs,
and those of us in authority have run everything.
The King now dresses in black clothes,
and all his subjects and retainers remain sad.
The whole city has been dejected,
and nobody listens to music any more!
From the day you left the kingdom, no musical instruments have been played. From the very day, O royal Prince, you departed for foreign lands,
the King, Sūarajbhānu, has completely forgotten he rules this realm.’
534. The Chief stayed there that night.
In the morning he addressed the Prince,
‘With your leave, I shall go to the King
and tell him that you are safe and well.’
The Chief took his leave and went at once,
speedily covering seven yojanas
in just one watch of the day.
He went in to the King and announced
that the Prince was
well and on his way.
The King and Queen heard this news,
and revived like fish in agony in the air
who had just returned to water.
He also told them that the Prince had married and brought home with him
Madhumālatī, the lovely daughter of the Queen of Mahāras and King Vikram.
535. Hearing the news of the Prince’s arrival,
there was joy and celebration
in each and every house of the city.
Musical instruments were brought
and placed at the palace doors.
Kettle-drums were beaten everywhere.
When the drums rang out loudly,
they sounded like clouds thundering in the sky.
Queen Kamalā could not sleep,
but spent the night in games and laughter.
Sūrajbhānu, in anticipation of seeing his son,
was like a parched and thirsty man
looking forward to a drink of water.
The best singers with the sweetest voices were singing at the palace doors.
Dancers, accomplished actors, and mimics gave fine poetic performances.
536. The royal elephants were adorned
and brought to the palace doors,
with seats on their backs studded with gold.
Horses worth a fortune were made ready,
looking as if they were set to run
with the speed of the wind.
All was decorated by the town’s people,
each according to his own responsibility.
All the palaces were freshly whitewashed.
Sandalwood incense was burned in each one.
Inside and outside, on gates and ramparts,
silken hangings made everything colourful.
All Manohar’s palaces were inlaid with gold, and studded with shining gems.
Each was polished and cleaned to be fit for the royal Prince to live in.
537. As morning broke, the Prince came home,
bearing with him all the presents
he had been given by his father-in-law.
With him was Madhumālatī in her palanquin,
with priceless jewels hanging down all around.
The Prince ran and fell at his father’s feet,
who was like a blind man recovering his sight.
Then Manohar went to touch his mother’s feet,
and the Queen embraced her darling son.
She kept the Prince in her embrace,
like a fish in torment finding water again.
When Kamalā hugged Prince Manohar and held him close to her chest,
spontaneously, a stream of milk gushed out from the Queen’s breasts.
538. In this world no one can become immortal,
but death cannot destroy the one
who has died himself before his death.*
Whoever suffers the burning fire of love,
escapes from death in his life on earth.
Madhumalati Page 27
