Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50) (184 page)

The Curse
of Kehama: I. Th
e Funeral

1

                 
Midnight, and yet no eye
Through all the Imperial City closed in sleep!
                 
Behold her streets a-blaze
With light that seems to kindle the red sky,
     
Her myriads swarming through the crowded ways!
Master and slave, old age and infancy,
                 
All, all abroad to gaze;
                 
House-top and balcony
Clustered with women, who throw back their veils
     
With unimpeded and insatiate sight
To view the funeral pomp which passes by,
                 
As if the mournful rite
Were but to them a scene of joyance and delight.

2

Vainly, ye blessed twinklers of the night,
                 
Your feeble beams ye shed,
Quench’d in the unnatural light which might out-stare
                 
Even the broad eye of day;
           
And thou from thy celestial way
     
Pourest, O Moon, an ineffectual ray!
For lo! ten thousand torches flame and flare
                       
Upon the midnight air,
                 
Blotting the lights of heaven
                       
With one portentous glare.
Behold the fragrant smoke in many a fold
     
Ascending, floats along the fiery sky,
           
And hangeth visible on high,
                 
A dark and waving canopy.

3

Hark! ’tis the funeral trumpet’s breath!
                       
’Tis the dirge of death!
     
At once ten thousand drums begin,
With one long thunder-peal the ear assailing;
     
Ten thousand voices then join in,
     
And with one deep and general din
                       
Pour their wild wailing.
                 
The song of praise is drown’d
                 
      
Amid the deafening sound;
     
You hear no more the trumpet’s tone,
You hear no more the mourner’s moan,
     
Though the trumpet’s breath, and the dirge of death,
Swell with commingled force the funeral yell.
     
But rising over all in one acclaim
Is heard the echoed and re-echoed name,
           
From all that countless rout;
                       
“Arvalan! Arvalan!
                       
Arvalan! Arvalan!”
     
Ten times ten thousand voices in one shout
Call “Arvalan!” The overpowering sound,
     
From house to house repeated rings about,
           
From tower to tower rolls round.

4

     
The death-procession moves along;
Their bald heads shining to the torches’ ray,
                 
The Bramins lead the way,
                 
Chaunting the funeral song.
           
And now at once they shout,
                             
“Arvalan! Arvalan!”
           
With quick rebound of sound,
                       
All in accordance cry,
                             
“Arvalan! Arvalan!”
         
  
The universal multitude reply.
In vain ye thunder on his ear the name;
                 
Would ye awake the dead?
           
Borne upright in his palankeen,
                       
There Arvalan is seen!
     
A glow is on his face,... a lively red;
  
                     
It is the crimson canopy
Which o’er his cheek a reddening shade hath shed;
           
He moves,... he nods his head,...
But the motion comes from the bearers’ tread,
           
As the body, borne aloft in state,
Sways with the impulse of its own dead weight.

5

Close following his dead son, Kehama came,
                 
Nor joining in the ritual song,
                       
Nor calling the dear name;
     
With head deprest and funeral vest,
           
And arms enfolded on his breast,
Silent and lost in thought he moves along.
King of the World, his slaves, unenvying now,
     
Behold their wretched Lord; rejoiced they see
                 
The mighty Rajah’s misery;
That Nature in his pride hath dealt the blow,
     
And taught the Master of Mankind to know
Even he himself is man, and not exempt from woe.

6

O sight of grief! the wives of Arvalan,
Young Azla, young Nealliny, are seen!
                 
Their widow-robes of white,
                 
With gold and jewels bright,
       
          
Each like an Eastern queen.
     
Woe! woe! around their palankeen,
                       
As on a bridal day,
With symphony, and dance, and song,
Their kindred and their friends come on.
The dance of sacrifice! the funeral song!
And next the victim slaves in long array,
     
Richly bedight to grace the fatal day,
                 
Move onward to their death;
                       
The clarions’ stirring breath
     
Lifts their thin robes in every flowing fold,
                       
And swells the woven gold,
                             
That on the agitated air
Flutters and glitters to the torch’s glare.

7

A man and maid of aspect wan and wild,
Then, side by side, by bowmen guarded, came;
O wretched father! O unhappy child!
Them were all eyes of all the throng exploring...
                       
Is this the daring man
Who raised his fatal hand at Arvalan?
     
Is this the wretch condemn’d to feel
                 
Kehama’s dreadful wrath?
Then were all hearts of all the throng deploring;
 
    
For not in that innumerable throng
Was one who loved the dead; for who could know
                 
What aggravated wrong
           
Provoked the desperate blow!

8

     
Far, far behind, beyond all reach of sight,
In order’d files the torches flow along,
     
One ever-lengthening line of gliding light:
                             
Far... far behind,
Rolls on the undistinguishable clamour,
     
Of horn, and trump, and tambour;
                       
Incessant as the roar
     
Of streams which down the wintry mountain pour,
And louder than the dread commotion
                 
Of breakers on a rocky shore,
     
When the winds rage over the waves,
           
And Ocean to the Tempest raves.

9

           
And now toward the bank they go,
           
Where winding on their way below,
                 
Deep and strong the waters flow.
                 
Here doth the funeral pile appear
     
With myrrh and ambergris bestrew’d,
           
And built of precious sandal wood.
They cease their music and their outcry here,
                       
Gently they rest the bier;
                 
They wet the face of Arvalan,
No sign of life the sprinkled drops excite;
They feel his breast,... no motion there;
           
They feel his lips,... no breath;
For not with feeble, nor with erring hand,
     
The brave avenger dealt the blow of death.
Then with a doubling peal and deeper blast,
The tambours and the trumpets sound on high,
           
And with a last and loudest cry,
                       
They call on Arvalan.

10

     
Woe! woe! for Azla takes her seat
                       
Upon the funeral pile!
                 
Calmly she took her seat,
Calmly the whole terrific pomp survey’d;
                       
As on her lap the while
     
The lifeless head of Arvalan was laid.

11

                       
Woe! woe! Nealliny,
                             
The young Nealliny!
           
They strip her ornaments away,
Bracelet and anklet, ring, and chain, and zone;
                 
Around her neck they leave
   
              
The marriage knot alone,...
           
That marriage band, which when
                 
Yon waning moon was young,
                       
Around her virgin neck
                 
With bridal joy was hung.
Then with white flowers, the coronal of death,
                 
Her jetty locks they crown.

12

                             
O sight of misery!
You cannot hear her cries,... their sound
     
In that wild dissonance is drown’d;...
                       
But in her face you see
          
 
The supplication and the agony,...
See in her swelling throat the desperate strength
That with vain effort struggles yet for life;
     
Her arms contracted now in fruitless strife,
                 
Now wildly at full length
     
Towards the crowd in vain for pity spread,...
They force her on, they bind her to the dead.

13

                 
Then all around retire;
     
Circling the pile, the ministering Bramins stand,
Each lifting in his hand a torch on fire.
Alone the Father of the dead advanced
     
            
And lit the funeral pyre.

14

                             
At once on every side
                       
The circling torches drop,
                             
At once on every side
                       
The fragrant oil is pour’d,
       
                      
At once on every side
                       
The rapid flames rush up.
     
Then hand in hand the victim band
Roll in the dance around the funeral pyre;
                 
Their garments’ flying folds
                       
Float inward to the fire;
In drunken whirl they wheel around;
           
One drops,... another plunges in;
                 
And still with overwhelming din
The tambours and the trumpets sound;
And clap of hand, and shouts, and cries,
                 
From all the multitude arise;
While round and round, in giddy wheel,
                 
Intoxicate they roll and reel,
     
Till one by one whirl’d in they fall,
And the devouring flames have swallow’d all.

15

     
Then all was still; the drums and clarions ceased;
The multitude were hush’d in silent awe;
     
Only the roaring of the flames was heard.

List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

The Curse of Kehama: II. The Curse

1

Alone towards the Table of the Dead
     
Kehama moved; there on the alter-stone
                 
Honey and rice he spread.
There with collected voice and painful tone
                       
He call’d upon his son.
                       
Lo! Arvalan appears;
     
Only Kehama’s powerful eye beheld
The thin ethereal spirit hovering nigh;
                             
Only the Rajah’s ear
                 
Received his feeble breath.
“And is this all?” the mournful Spirit said,
     
“This all that thou canst give me after death?
                       
This unavailing pomp,
These empty pageantries that mock the dead!”

2

                 
In bitterness the Rajah heard,
And groan’d, and smote his breast,and o’er his face
           
Cowl’d the white mourning vest.

3

                       
ARVALAN
     
“Art thou not powerful,... even like a God?
           
And must I, through my years of wandering,
Shivering and naked to the elements,
                       
In wretchedness await
                 
The hour of Yamen’s wrath?
I thought thou wouldst embody me anew,
                             
Undying as I am,...
Yea, re-create me!... Father, is this all?
                 
This all? and thou Almighty!”

4

     
But in that wrongful and upbraiding tone,
       
                      
Kehama found relief,
For rising anger half supprest his grief.
           
“Reproach not me!” he cried,
“Had I not spell-secured thee from disease,
     
Fire, sword,... all common accidents of man,...
And thou!... fool, fool... to perish by a stake!
           
And by a peasant’s arm!...
Even now, when from reluctant Heaven,
     
Forcing new gifts and mightier attributes,
So soon I should have quell’d the Death-God’s power.”

5

     
“Waste not thy wrath on me,” quoth Arvalan,
“It was my hour of folly! Fate prevail’d,
Nor boots it to reproach me that I fell.
     
I am in misery, Father! Other souls
           
Predoom’d to Indra’s Heaven, enjoy the dawn
Of bliss,... to them the temper’d elements
     
Minister joy: genial delight the sun
Sheds on their happy being, and the stars
     
Effuse on them benignant influences;
And thus o’er earth and air they roam at will,
     
And when the number of their days is full,
     
Go fearlessly before the aweful throne.
But I,... all naked feeling and raw life,...
What worse than this hath Yamen’s hell in store?
           
If ever thou didst love me, mercy, Father!
     
Save me, for thou canst save... the Elements
                       
Know and obey thy voice.”

6

                       
KEHAMA
                             
“The Elements
Shall sin no more against thee; whilst I speak
Already dost thou feel their power is gone.
     
Fear not! I cannot call again the past,
Fate hath made that its own; but Fate shall yield
     
To me the future; and thy doom be fix’d
By mine, not Yamen’s will. Meantime all power
     
Whereof thy feeble spirit can be made
Participant, I give. Is there aught else
                       
To mitigate thy lot?”

                       
ARVALAN
“Only the sight of vengeance. Give me that!
     
Vengeance, full, worthy, vengeance!... not the stroke
           
Of sudden punishment,... no agony
That spends itself and leaves the wretch at rest,
                       
But lasting long revenge.”

                       
KEHAMA
     
“What, boy? is that cup sweet? then take thy fill!”

7

So as he spake, a glow of dreadful pride
     
Inflamed his cheek, with quick and angry stride
                 
He moved toward the pile,
And raised his hand to hush the crowd, and cried,
    
 
“Bring forth the murderer!” At the Rajah’s voice
Calmly, and like a man whom fear had stunn’d,
     
Ladurlad came, obedient to the call;
           
But Kailyal started at the sound,
And gave a womanly shriek, and back she drew,
And eagerly she roll’d her eyes around,
     
As if to seek for aid, albeit she knew
                 
No aid could there be found.

8

It chanced that near her on the river brink,
           
The sculptured form of Marriataly stood;
     
It was an Idol roughly hewn of wood,
     
            
Artless, and mean, and rude;
           
The Goddess of the poor was she;
           
None else regarded her with piety.
     
But when that holy Image Kailyal view’d,
     
To that she sprung, to that she clung,
On her own Goddess, with close-clasping arms,
                       
For life the maiden hung.

9

They seized the maid; with unrelenting grasp
           
They bruised her tender limbs;
She, nothing yielding, to this only hope
     
Clings with the strength of frenzy and despair.
She screams not now, she breathes not now,
She sends not up one vow,
     
She forms not in her soul one secret prayer,
All thought, all feeling, and all powers of life
In the one effort centering. Wrathful they
     
With tug and strain would force the maid away;...
Didst thou, O Marriataly, see their strife,
In pity didst thou see the suffering maid?
     
Or was thine anger kindled, that rude hands
Assail’d thy holy Image?... for behold
                       
The holy image shakes!

10

     
Irreverently bold, they deem the maid
                 
Relax’d her stubborn hold,
And now with force redoubled drag their prey;
And now the rooted Idol to their sway
     
Bends,... yields,... and now it falls.
                       
But then they scream,
For lo! they feel the crumbling bank give way,
     
And all are plunged into the stream.

11

“She hath escaped my will,” Kehama cried,
     
“She hath escaped,... but thou art here,
                             
I have thee still,
                       
The worser criminal!”
And on Ladurlad, while he spake, severe
                 
He fix’d his dreadful frown.
           
The strong reflection of the pile
                       
Lit his dark lineaments,
     
Lit the protruded brow, the gathered front,
                  
     
The steady eye of wrath.

12

But while the fearful silence yet endured,
                       
Ladurlad roused himself;
                 
Ere yet the voice of destiny
Which trembled on the Rajah’s lips was loosed,
                             
Eager he interposed,
           
As if despair had waken’d him to hope;
     
“Mercy! oh mercy! only in defence...
                             
Only instinctively,...
           
Only to save my child, I smote the Prince;
                 
King of the world, be merciful!
                       
Crush me,... but torture not!”

13

The Man-Almighty deign’d him no reply,
Still he stood silent; in no human mood
           
Of mercy, in no hesitating thought
Of right and justice. At the length he raised
           
His brow yet unrelax’d,... his lips unclosed,
                       
And uttered from the heart,
With the whole feeling of his soul enforced,
                 
The gathered vengeance came.

14

                             
“I charm thy life
                 
From the weapons of strife,
                 
From stone and from wood,
                       
From fire and from flood,
                       
From the serpent’s tooth,
                       
And the beasts of blood:
                 
From Sickness I charm thee,
           
And Time shall not harm thee;
                       
But Earth which is mine,
                       
Its fruits shall deny thee;
                       
And Water shall hear me,
                 
And know thee and fly thee;
     
And the Winds shall not touch thee
                       
When they pass by thee,
           
And the Dews shall not wet thee,
                       
When they fall nigh thee:
                 
And thou shalt seek Death
                       
To release thee, in vain;
                 
Thou shalt live in thy pain
                 
While Kehama shall reign,
                       
With a fire in thy heart,
                       
And a fire in thy brain;
                       
And Sleep shall obey me,
   
                          
And visit thee never,
                 
And the Curse shall be on thee
                             
For ever and ever.”

15

There where the Curse had stricken him,
           
There stood the miserable man,
There stood Ladurlad, with loose-hanging arms;
                 
And eyes of idiot wandering.
                       
Was it a dream? alas,
                       
He heard the river flow,
     
He heard the crumbling of the pile,
     
He heard the wind which shower’d
        
         
The thin white ashes round.
                       
There motionless he stood,
           
As if he hoped it were a dream,
And feared to move, lest he should prove
                       
The actual misery;
And still at times he met Kehama’s eye,
Kehama’s eye that fastened on him still.

* * *

List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

List of Poets in Alphabetical Order