<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=428271" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Birth of The War-God (Canto Fifth ) - Uma's Reward</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now woe to Umá, for young Love is slain,<br>Her Lord hath left her, and her hope is vain.<br>Woe, woe to Umá! how the Mountain-Maid<br>Cursed her bright beauty for its feeble aid!<br>'Tis Beauty's guerdon which she loves the best,<br>To bless her lover, and in turn be blest.<br>Penance must aid her now—or how can she<br>Win the cold heart of that stern deity?<br>Penance, long penance: for that power alone<br>Can make such love, so high a Lord, her own.<br>But, ah! how troubled was her mother's brow<br>At the sad tidings of the mourner's vow!<br>She threw her arms around her own dear maid,<br>Kissed, fondly kissed her, sighed, and wept, and prayed:<br>'Are there no Gods, my child, to love thee here?<br>Frail is thy body, yet thy vow severe.<br>The lily, by the wild bee scarcely stirred,<br>Bends, breaks, and dies beneath the weary bird.'<br>Fast fell her tears, her prayer was strong, but still<br>That prayer was weaker than her daughter's will.<br>Who can recall the torrent's headlong force,<br>Or the bold spirit in its destined course?<br>She sent a maiden to her sire, and prayed<br>He for her sake would grant some bosky shade,<br>That she might dwell in solitude, and there<br>Give all her soul to penance and to prayer.<br>In gracious love the great Himálaya smiled,<br>And did the bidding of his darling child.<br>Then to that hill which peacocks love she came,<br>Known to all ages by the lady's name.<br>Still to her purpose resolutely true,<br>Her string of noble pearls aside she threw,<br>Which, slipping here and there, had rubbed away<br>The sandal dust that on her bosom lay,<br>And clad her in a hermit coat of bark,<br>Rough to her gentle limbs, and gloomy dark,<br>Pressing too tightly, till her swelling breast<br>Broke into freedom through the unwonted vest.<br>Her matted hair was full as lovely now<br>As when 'twas braided o'er her polished brow.<br>Thus the sweet beauties of the lotus shine<br>When bees festoon it in a graceful line;<br>And, though the tangled weeds that crown the rill<br>Cling o'er it closely, it is lovely still.<br>With zone of grass the votaress was bound,<br>Which reddened the fair form it girdled round:<br>Never before the lady's waist had felt<br>The ceaseless torment of so rough a belt.<br>Alas! her weary vow has caused to fade<br>The lovely colours that adorned the maid.<br>Pale is her hand, and her long finger-tips<br>Steal no more splendour from her paler lips,<br>Or, from the ball which in her play would rest,<br>Made bright and fragrant, on her perfumed breast.<br>Rough with the sacred grass those hands must be,<br>And worn with resting on her rosary.<br>Cold earth her couch, her canopy the skies,<br>Pillowed upon her arm the lady lies:<br>She who before was wont to rest her head<br>In the soft luxury of a sumptuous bed,<br>Vext by no troubles as she slumbered there,<br>But sweet flowers slipping from her loosened hair.<br>The maid put off, but only for awhile,<br>Her passioned glances and her witching smile.<br>She lent the fawn her moving, melting gaze,<br>And the fond creeper all her winning ways.<br>The trees that blossomed on that lonely mount<br>She watered daily from the neighbouring fount:<br>If she had been their nursing mother, she<br>Could not have tended them more carefully.<br>Not e'en her boy—her own bright boy—shall stay<br>Her love for them: her first dear children they.<br>Her gentleness had made the fawns so tame,<br>To her kind hand for fresh sweet grain they came,<br>And let the maid before her friends compare<br>Her own with eyes that shone as softly there.<br>Then came the hermits of the holy wood<br>To see the votaress in her solitude;<br>Grey elders came; though young the maid might seem,<br>Her perfect virtue must command esteem.<br>They found her resting in that lonely spot,<br>The fire was kindled, and no rite forgot.<br>In hermit's mantle was she clad; her look<br>Fixt in deep thought upon the Holy Book.<br>So pure that grove: all war was made to cease,<br>And savage monsters lived in love and peace.<br>Pure was that grove: each newly built abode<br>Had leafy shrines where fires of worship glowed.<br>But far too mild her penance, Umá thought,<br>To win from heaven the lordly meed she sought.<br>She would not spare her form, so fair and frail,<br>If sterner penance could perchance prevail.<br>Oft had sweet pastime wearied her, and yet<br>Fain would she match in toil the anchoret.<br>Sure the soft lotus at her birth had lent<br>Dear Umá's form its gentle element;<br>But gold, commingled with her being, gave<br>That will so strong, so beautifully brave.<br>Full in the centre of four blazing piles<br>Sate the fair lady of the winning smiles,<br>While on her head the mighty God of Day<br>Shot all the fury of his summer ray;<br>Yet her fixt gaze she turned upon the skies,<br>And quenched his splendour with her brighter eyes.<br>To that sweet face, though scorched by rays from heaven,<br>Still was the beauty of the lotus given,<br>Yet, worn by watching, round those orbs of light<br>A blackness gathered like the shades of night.<br>She cooled her dry lips in the bubbling stream,<br>And lived on Amrit from the pale moon-beam,<br>Sometimes in hunger culling from the tree<br>The rich ripe fruit that hung so temptingly.<br>Scorched by the fury of the noon-tide rays,<br>And fires that round her burned with ceaseless blaze,<br>Summer passed o'er her: rains of Autumn came<br>And throughly drenched the lady's tender frame.<br>So steams the earth, when mighty torrents pour<br>On thirsty fields all dry and parched before.<br>The first clear rain-drops falling on her brow,<br>Gem it one moment with their light, and now<br>Kissing her sweet lip find a welcome rest<br>In the deep valley of the lady's breast;<br>Then wander broken by the fall within<br>The mazy channels of her dimpled skin.<br>There as she lay upon her rocky bed,<br>No sumptuous roof above her gentle head,<br>Dark Night, her only witness, turned her eyes,<br>Red lightnings flashing from the angry skies,<br>And gazed upon her voluntary pain,<br>In wind, in sleet, in thunder, and in rain.<br>Still lay the maiden on the cold damp ground,<br>Though blasts of winter hurled their snows around,<br>Still pitying in her heart the mournful fate<br>Of those poor birds, so fond, so desolate,—<br>Doomed, hapless pair, to list each other's moan<br>Through the long hours of night, sad and alone.<br>Chilled by the rain, the tender lotus sank:<br>She filled its place upon the streamlet's bank.<br>Sweet was her breath as when that lovely flower<br>Sheds its best odour in still evening's hour.<br>Red as its leaves her lips of coral hue:<br>Red as those quivering leaves they quivered too.<br>Of all stern penance it is called the chief<br>To nourish life upon the fallen leaf.<br>But even this the ascetic maiden spurned,<br>And for all time a glorious title earned.<br>Aparná—Lady of the unbroken fast—<br>Have sages called her, saints who knew the past.<br>Fair as the lotus fibres, soft as they,<br>In these stern vows she passed her night and day.<br>No mighty anchoret had e'er essayed<br>The ceaseless penance of this gentle maid.<br>There came a hermit: reverend was he<br>As Bráhmanhood's embodied sanctity.<br>With coat of skin, with staff and matted hair,<br>His face was radiant, and he spake her fair.<br>Up rose the maid the holy man to greet,<br>And humbly bowed before the hermit's feet.<br>Though meditation fill the pious breast,<br>It finds a welcome for a glorious guest:<br>The sage received the honour duly paid,<br>And fixed his earnest gaze upon the maid.<br>While through her frame unwonted vigour ran,<br>Thus, in his silver speech, the blameless saint began:<br>'How can thy tender frame, sweet lady, bear<br>In thy firm spirit's task its fearful share?<br>Canst thou the grass and fuel duly bring,<br>And still unwearied seek the freshening spring?<br>Say, do the creeper's slender shoots expand,<br>Seeking each day fresh water from thy hand,<br>Till like thy lip each ruddy tendril glows,<br>That lip which, faded, still outreds the rose?<br>With loving glance the timid fawns draw nigh:<br>Say dost thou still with joy their wants supply?<br>For thee, O lotus-eyed, their glances shine,<br>Mocking the brightness of each look of thine.<br>O Mountain-Lady, it is truly said<br>That heavenly charms to sin have never led,<br>For even penitents may learn of thee<br>How pure, how gentle Beauty's self may be.<br>Bright Gangá falling with her heavenly waves,<br>Himálaya's head with sacred water laves,<br>Bearing the flowers the seven great Sages fling<br>To crown the forehead of the Mountain-King.<br>Yet do thy deeds, O bright-haired maiden, shed<br>A richer glory round his awful head.<br>Purest of motives, Duty leads thy heart:<br>Pleasure and gain therein may claim no part.<br>O noble maid, the wise have truly said<br>That friendship soon in gentle heart is bred.<br>Seven steps together bind the lasting tie:<br>Then bend on me, dear Saint, a gracious eye.<br>Fain, lovely Umá, would a Bráhman learn<br>What noble guerdon would thy penance earn.<br>Say, art thou toiling for a second birth,<br>Where dwells the great Creator? O'er the earth<br>Resistless sway? Or fair as Beauty's Queen,<br>Peerless, immortal, shall thy form be seen?<br>The lonely soul bowed down by grief and pain,<br>By penance' aid some gracious boon may gain.<br>But what, O faultless one, can move thy heart<br>To dwell in solitude and prayer apart?<br>Why should the cloud of grief obscure thy brow,<br>'Mid all thy kindred, who so loved as thou?<br>Foes hast thou none: for what rash hand would dare<br>From serpent's head the magic gem to tear?<br>Why dost thou seek the hermit's garb to try,<br>Thy silken raiment and thy gems thrown by?<br>As though the sun his glorious state should leave,<br>Rayless to harbour 'mid the shades of eve.<br>Wouldst thou win heaven by thy holy spells?<br>Already with the Gods thy father dwells.<br>A husband, lady? O forbear the thought,<br>A priceless jewel seeks not, but is sought.<br>Maiden, thy deep sighs tell me it is so;<br>Yet, doubtful still, my spirit seeks to know<br>Couldst thou e'er love in vain? What heart so cold<br>That hath not eagerly its worship told?<br>Ah! could the cruel loved one, thou fair maid,<br>Look with cold glances on that bright hair's braid?<br>Thy locks are hanging loosely o'er thy brow,<br>Thine ear is shaded by no lotus now.<br>See, where the sun hath scorched that tender neck<br>Which precious jewels once were proud to deck.<br>Still gleams the line where they were wont to cling,<br>As faintly shows the moon's o'ershadowed ring.<br>Now sure thy loved one, vain in beauty's pride,<br>Dreamed of himself when wandering at thy side,<br>Or he would count him blest to be the mark<br>Of that dear eye, so soft, so lustrous dark.<br>But, gentle Umá, let thy labour cease;<br>Turn to thy home, fair Saint, and rest in peace.<br>By many a year of penance duly done<br>Rich store of merit has my labour won.<br>Take then the half, thy secret purpose name;<br>Nor in stern hardships wear thy tender frame.'<br>The holy Bráhman ceased: but Umá's breast<br>In silence heaved, by love and fear opprest.<br>In mute appeal she turned her languid eye,<br>Darkened with weeping, not with softening dye,<br>To bid her maiden's friendly tongue declare<br>The cherished secret of her deep despair:<br>'Hear, holy Father, if thou still wouldst know,<br>Why her frail form endures this pain and woe,<br>As the soft lotus makes a screen to stay<br>The noontide fury of the God of Day.<br>Proudly disdaining all the blest above,<br>With heart and soul she seeks for Śiva's love.<br>For him alone, the Trident-wielding God,<br>The thorny paths of penance hath she trod.<br>But since that mighty one hath Káma slain,<br>Vain every hope, and every effort vain.<br>E'en as life fled, a keen but flowery dart<br>Young Love, the Archer, aimed at Śiva's heart.<br>The God in anger hurled the shaft away,<br>But deep in Umá's tender soul it lay;<br>Alas, poor maid! she knows no comfort now,<br>Her soul's on fire, her wild locks hide her brow.<br>She quits her father's halls, and frenzied roves<br>The icy mountain and the lonely groves.<br>Oft as the maidens of the minstrel throng<br>To hymn great Śiva's praises raised the song,<br>The lovelorn lady's sobs and deep-drawn sighs<br>Drew tears of pity from their gentle eyes.<br>Wakeful and fevered in the dreary night<br>Scarce closed her eyes, and then in wild affright<br>Rang through the halls her very bitter cry,<br>'God of the azure neck, why dost thou fly?'<br>While their soft bands her loving arms would cast<br>Hound the dear vision fading all too fast.<br>Her skilful hand, with true love-guided art,<br>Had traced the image graven on her heart.<br>'Art thou all present? Dost thou fail to see<br>Poor Umá's anguish and her love for thee?'<br>Thus oft in frenzied grief her voice was heard,<br>Chiding the portrait with reproachful word.<br>Long thus in vain for Śiva's love she strove,<br>Then turned in sorrow to this holy grove.<br>Since the sad maid hath sought these forest glades<br>To hide her grief amid the dreary shades,<br>The fruit hath ripened on the spreading bough;<br>But ah! no fruit hath crowned her holy vow.<br>Her faithful friends alone must ever mourn<br>To see that beauteous form by penance worn,<br>But oh! that Śiva would some favour deign,<br>As Indra pitieth the parching plain!'<br>The maiden ceased: his secret joy dissembling,<br>The Bráhman turned to Umá pale and trembling:<br>'And is it thus, or doth the maiden jest?<br>Is this the darling secret of thy breast?'<br>Scarce could the maid her choking voice command,<br>Or clasp her rosary with quivering hand:<br>'O holy Sage, learned in the Vedas' lore,<br>'Tis even thus. Great Śiva I adore.<br>Thus would my steadfast heart his love obtain,<br>For this I gladly bear the toil and pain.<br>Surely the strong desire, the earnest will,<br>May win some favour from his mercy still.'<br>'Lady,' cried he, 'that mighty Lord I know;<br>Ever his presence bringeth care and woe.<br>And wouldst thou still a second time prepare<br>The sorrows of his fearful life to share?<br>Deluded maid, how shall thy tender hand,<br>Decked with the nuptial bracelet's jewelled band,<br>Be clasped in his, when fearful serpents twine<br>In scaly horror round that arm divine?<br>How shall thy robe, with gay flamingoes gleaming,<br>Suit with his coat of hide with blood-drops streaming?<br>Of old thy pathway led where flowerets sweet<br>Made pleasant carpets for thy gentle feet.<br>And e'en thy foes would turn in grief away<br>To see these vermeil-tinted limbs essay,<br>Where scattered tresses strew the mournful place,<br>Their gloomy path amid the tombs to trace.<br>On Śiva's heart the funeral ashes rest,<br>Say, gentle lady, shall they stain thy breast,<br>Where the rich tribute of the Sandal trees<br>Sheds a pure odour on the amorous breeze?<br>A royal bride returning in thy state,<br>The king of elephants should bear thy weight.<br>How wilt thou brook the mockery and the scorn<br>When thou on Śiva's bull art meanly borne?<br>Sad that the crescent moon his crest should be:<br>And shall that mournful fate be shared by thee?<br>His crest, the glory of the evening skies,<br>His bride, the moonlight of our wondering eyes!<br>Deformed is he, his ancestry unknown;<br>By vilest garb his poverty is shown.<br>O fawn-eyed lady, how should Śiva gain<br>That heart for which the glorious strive in vain<br>No charms hath he to win a maiden's eye:<br>Cease from thy penance, hush the fruitless sigh!<br>Unmeet is he thy faithful heart to share,<br>Child of the Mountain, maid of beauty rare!<br>Not 'mid the gloomy tombs do sages raise<br>The holy altar of their prayer and praise.'<br>Impatient Umá listened: the quick blood<br>Rushed to her temples in an angry flood.<br>Her quivering lip, her darkly-flashing eye<br>Told that the tempest of her wrath was nigh.<br>Proudly she spoke: 'How couldst thou tell aright<br>Of one like Śiva, perfect, infinite?<br>'Tis ever thus, the mighty and the just<br>Are scorned by souls that grovel in the dust.<br>Their lofty goodness and their motives wise<br>Shine all in vain before such blinded eyes.<br>Say who is greater, he who strives for power,<br>Or he who succours in misfortune's hour?<br>Refuge of worlds, O how should Śiva deign<br>To look on men enslaved to paltry gain?<br>The spring of wealth himself, he careth naught<br>For the vile treasures that mankind have sought.<br>His dwelling-place amid the tombs may be,<br>Yet Monarch of the three great worlds is he.<br>What though no love his outward form may claim,<br>The stout heart trembles at his awful name.<br>Who can declare the wonders of his might?<br>The Trident-wielding God, who knows aright?<br>Whether around him deadly serpents twine,<br>Or if his jewelled wreaths more brightly shine;<br>Whether in rough and wrinkled hide arrayed,<br>Or silken robe, in glittering folds displayed;<br>If on his brow the crescent moon he bear,<br>Or if a shrunken skull be withering there;<br>The funeral ashes touched by him acquire<br>The glowing lustre of eternal fire;<br>Falling in golden showers, the heavenly maids<br>Delight to pour them on their shining braids.<br>What though no treasures fill his storehouse full,<br>What though he ride upon his horned bull,<br>Not e'en may Indra in his pride withhold<br>The lowly homage that is his of old,<br>But turns his raging elephant to meet<br>His mighty Lord, and bows before his feet,<br>Right proud to colour them rich rosy red<br>With the bright flowers that deck his prostrate head.<br>Thy slanderous tongue proclaims thy evil mind,<br>Yet in thy speech one word of truth we find.<br>Unknown thou call'st him: how should mortal man<br>Count when the days of Brahmá's Lord began?<br>But cease these idle words: though all be true,<br>His failings many and his virtues few,<br>Still clings my heart to him, its chosen lord,<br>Nor fails nor falters at thy treacherous word.<br>Dear maiden, bid yon eager boy depart:<br>Why should the slanderous tale defile his heart?<br>Most guilty who the faithless speech begins,<br>But he who stays to listen also sins.'<br>She turned away: with wrath her bosom swelling,<br>Its vest of bark in angry pride repelling:<br>But sudden, lo, before her wondering eyes<br>In altered form she sees the sage arise;<br>'Tis Śiva's self before the astonished maid,<br>In all his gentlest majesty displayed.<br>She saw, she trembled, like a river's course,<br>Checked for a moment in its onward force,<br>By some huge rock amid the torrent hurled<br>Where erst the foaming waters madly curled.<br>One foot uplifted, shall she turn away?<br>Unmoved the other, shall the maiden stay?<br>The silver moon on Śiva's forehead shone,<br>While softly spake the God in gracious tone:<br>'O gentle maiden, wise and true of soul,<br>Lo, now I bend beneath thy sweet control.<br>Won by thy penance, and thy holy vows,<br>Thy willing slave Śiva before thee bows.'<br>He spake, and rushing through her languid frame,<br>At his dear words returning vigour came.<br>She knew but this, that all her cares were o'er,<br>Her sorrows ended, she should weep no more!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Kalidasa">Kalidasa</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=428271" data-title="The Birth of The War-God (Canto Fifth ) - Uma's Reward de Kalidasa" data-description="Now woe to Umá, for young Love is slain, Her Lord hath left her, and her hope is vain. Woe, woe to Umá! how the Mountain-Maid Cursed her bright beauty for its feeble aid! 'Tis Beauty's guerdon which she loves the best, To bless her lover, and in..."></div> </div> </div>

solid border dashed border dotted border double border groove border ridge border inset border outset border no border blue green red purple cyan gold silver black