death's pangs

Are most severe when life is plucked, and from

Sere age, when all is ready for the end,

Life unperceived goes as from one that sleeps.

The gentlest wind brings down the serest leaf.

To sever from the parent stem by force

The freshest must be plucked, and so with man.

And by the righteous and the just, when sore

Oppressed with grief, dear death is welcomed most.

When the eruptions on the skin pain most,

By cutting them relief at once is sought;

E'en so, if noble Timmaraj is killed,

Court instant death, thy dagger hurl, and bare

Thy breast and lifeless by thy husband fall,

Like that same bird that, full up to the throat,

Swallows the little pebbles of the sand,

And, soaring high aloft upon her wings,

Suddenly closes them and drops down dead

Near her dead lover, where the body bursts.

But this, if you find hard, run with thy life

To this our safe abode, where willingly

The fun'ral pyre we, with our hands, will raise

And feed the flames thy body to consume.

Hence soon depart and Krishna will help thee."

The morrow came, and Chandra sallied forth

And, as directed by her Brahmin sage,

Went with a hundred of her armèd men,

All veiled, surprised the foe, who, flushed with hope,

Unguarded waited but to welcome her:

Then safely rescued her lost Timmaraj;

The fatal jav'lin wrung from Bukka's hands,

And himself too a prisoner brought in chains.

Then in the spacious palace hall, amidst

Her faithful men, the noble queen sat veiled

With Timmaraj, long absent from the throne,

And spake to Bukka, standing in the front

With folded hands, in angry words like these:

"By treach'ry thrice thou triedst to win, and thrice

Hast failed, and, when my noble Timmaraj

Went singly forth to bring the maddened beast,

Concealed thou didst aim at his life and failed.

The hand of God had otherwise decreed.

And when upon the bridal seat we sat,

And all were merry in my father's home,

Thou camest with a story, false and base,

And for our lives we had to flee, and now

Are strangers here, and when upon thy steed

Unjustly thou pursuedst us both, it was

My hand that stayed my husband killing thee,

Else long ago the worms had eaten thee;

Thy bones the jackals of the earth had tak'n;

And nothing left of thee but thine own sins.

It was thy charger innocent that paid

For them the penalty instead. Once more

You came, and, like a lawless thief concealed,

Carried my lord, when helpless and alone,

And for his freedom vile proposals made,

And for so many days these troubles wrought

On me and these my faithful loyal men.

Know well, 'tis virtue that is sure to win,

And truth and justice will prevail at last.

This very jav'lin will put thine eyes out;

But pity for thy present state prompts me

To let thee now alone—go safely home,

And henceforth never even sin in thought."

And like a criminal who, by pity freed,

At once goes forth worse sins to perpetrate,

So Bukka, vowing vengeance, left the hall,

And henceforth love and hate alternate played

In his dark breast—hate for this grave insult,

And by a woman offered, and love too,

A bestial passion for her wondrous charms;

And from that selfsame moment various plans

His head devised her pride to humble and

Her purity to sully, when alas!

The Moslems' greed of power gave him sure hopes

At last her Timma's ruin to complete.

Unto the agèd king of Vijiapore

His only warrior's and his only child's

Escape brought many toils and endless woe.

That Bukka, with a perjured tale, came on

The day of marriage was made known to all,

Soon after they had left their native home.

The agèd monarch knew not where they lived,

But sent his faithful servants far and wide

To bring them home; the cruel Moslems, too,

Aware that Timma's absence weakened him,

Combined a sudden rush to make upon

The royal city, kill her ruler, and

Divide the spoils and take his vast domains.

And now the wily Bukka with those foes

Of foreign faith conspired; what though he fought

As usual in the ranks of Vijiapore,

Under the banner of her Hindu king!

To them he would run in the thickest of

The fight and sudden turn the tide of war,

And, from the conquered spoils, for his own share,

He wanted neither lands nor riches, but

Demanded Chandra and her lord alive.

And news of instant war had travelled far

And wide, the princes and the chieftains poured

Their loyal forces, ready to avenge

Their Moslem foes, who, for no cause, thus dared

Their city to invade so suddenly.

And Timma hastened with his wife at last,

And was with joy received by all, who lost

All hopes of ever seeing them alive.

And soon a council in the royal hall

Was held, to name a leader and decide

How best to strike at once th' advancing foes.

Many felt proud by Timma to be led

To victory in the field or glorious death,

And many too in that assembly said

That Bukka should not join their Hindu ranks,

For he would, in the midst of battle, join

The Moslem ranks and surely bring defeat

And ruin too upon their agèd king,

The noble Ramaraj of Vijiapore,

And cause their ancient kingdom's overthrow.

But said one counted high for wisdom there:

"Do good, and so chide him that evil does,

Is the oft-quoted saying of our true

And ancient faith, and this is but the war

For mastery 'tween different creeds and faiths,

And hence let Bukka forthwith come to fight

Against the common foes, who thus combined

To mar our ancient faith and change our lives,

And let our Ramaraj himself go forth

And lead, and everlasting glory win,

And in defence of our old Hindu faith,

Or, if he falls, let him to Swarga go

To join th' immortals there; and one word more

To thee, O Timma,—bury all the past,

And Bukka for his sins forgive, and both

Go hand in hand to fight the Moslem foes.

To pardon is the spirit of our faith."

To this consent was gladly giv'n by all,

And the propitious day and hour to march

Was soon named by the holy Brahmin priest,

So deeply versed in all the starry lore.

Brave Timma sought his anxious wife ere he

Went forth to fight, and thus took leave of her.

"Dear wife! the day to march is named at last.

Your agèd sire and our dear monarch leads

The war, and Bukka, as a Hindu true,

Joins us to fight against the Moslem horde,

And doubly glad I am that in this war,

With Bukka vying in the field with me,

And in the very presence of our king,

Who well rewards the val'rous and the brave,

The place of honour I will there attain

For courage true, and prove once more before

The world I am a worthy husband of

A noble wife; so let me now depart."

She made reply—"Some evil it forebodes

That Bukkaraj should thus be madly told

To join our ranks, for what is truth and God

To one so steeped in sin? And sad it is

My agèd father goes with him to fight.

Trust not in him and keep a steady eye

On him, e'en if within the thickest of

The fight thou art, for any moment he

May turn the tide of war; fight till the last,

And, if thou comest back victorious from

The field, I'll be the first to welcome thee,

But, if thou fallest fighting in the field,

Or if, perhaps, it chances otherwise,

Thou art left helpless and alone, here is

Our ever ready jav'lin to kill thee.

Thy body forthwith shall be nobly borne

Unto the pyre by thine own faithful men,

And I will gladly leap upon the flames.

But if thou comest routed and alive,

Then Chandra nevermore shall see thy face."

At early morn, upon th' appointed day,

The king his faithful servants summoned, and

Before them all his only brother named

To rule the kingdom and confided all

His subjects to his care; then, at the head

Of his brave troops, out of the city marched,

Amidst the royal bards recounting in

Sweet tones the glories of his kingdom's past,

His holy priests invoking Krishna's help

And chanting sacred hymns, and in the midst

Of maidens of the martial Kshatrya race,

Proceeding to the very city gates,

And singing to their fathers, brothers, and

Their husbands in shrill notes heard far and wide,

That Swarga's gates are ever ready to

Receive the faithful if they bravely fall,

The flames are ready to take their proud wives,

But burning hell gapes wide for to devour

The cowards that run routed and alive;

Their maidens' sweet embrace awaits them not.

At last, upon the plains of Tálicót,

The armies met, fierce raged the battle, and

Old Ramaraj fought nobly in the field;

And Timma too wrought dreadful havoc on

The Moslems and their ranks oft shattered, but

Alas! the ever treach'rous Bukka pounced

Sudden on his own ranks; the king was slain;

His ghastly head upon a pole was shown,

And helpless and forlorn the Hindus stood;

But, ere perfidious Bukka could run with

The Moslem foes, to capture him alive,

A faithful soldier Timma called, gave him

His Chandra's jav'lin, in his steady grip

To hold, then boldly ran his body through

And instantly fell lifeless to the ground.

A faithful few the body bore, and laid

Before the orphaned and the widowed maid

Their precious charge, and soon the pyre was raised.

Then, near the flames that brightened her bright face,

Her uncle and her people shedding tears,

Her noble husband lying cold and still,

The story of her father's cruel death

Still ringing in her ears, she took farewell.

"Dear uncle and my faithful men! grieve not:

I see a cloud, now looming yonder there,

No bigger than the hand of man, that shall

Expand and rain and water to purge all

The land of th' innocent blood shed on it,

For mother India's cup of woe is full,

And but three decades more,—there will come from

The far-off ends of this vast globe of ours,—

A little island planted in the sea,—

A handful of a noble race to trade,

And shall from thee ask for a plot of land,

And they shall prosper for their valour and

Shall be exalted for their righteousness.

They shall befriend the helpless and the poor,

And like the streams that seek the ocean broad,

The chickens that run to their mothers wings,

The maidens helpless and forlorn, that court

The succour of the chivalrous and the brave,

The orphans poor, the bounty of the kind,

All men of Ind, all races and all creeds

Shall to their banner flock, to live in peace

And amity; the tiger and the lamb

Their thirst shall quench both from the selfsame brook.

The giant brute before the weakly sage

Shall bow, and men shall fear to even gaze

Upon the maidens that go forth alone,

Adorned with naught but chastity, and from

All lands the wisest shall revere our faith.

He that desires our homes to plunder and

Sully the honour of our women, him

Punishment terrible shall sure await.

Three hundred years more and the little plot

Of land thou gavest shall grow and expand

Into an empire huge, unwritten yet

On hist'ry's page, and shall surpass the dreams

Of warriors bold in times of old, and like

The creepers that, entwined around the oak,

Luxuriant grow, safe from the storms that blow,

And flow'rs give forth to beautify the scene,

Her sons shall everlasting peace enjoy,

And blessings, hitherto unknown to man—

The grandest scene for God to ever cast

His loving eyes upon, and for the world

Of man to wonder at, and there shall be

One sway, the sway of reason and of truth;

One creed, the creed of righteousness and love;

And mercy for all living things on earth;

One brotherhood, the brotherhood of man;

One fatherhood, the fatherhood of God.

But hark! there comes a shout, and yonder runs

Exulting Bukka to seize me alive.

But these kind flames are ready to save me.

Run, uncle, run at once to far-off lands

And continue thy sway in safer climes."

So saying, she leapt on the fun'ral pyre,

And speedily to ashes were consumed

The faithful wife and her departed lord.

The monarch, who thus from the Moslem ran,

In honour of this noble maiden, reared

A princely town,^[5] and here the Saxon came,

And mother India was for ever blest.