ANONYMOUS. XCII. A SONG TYPICAL OF THE ABUNDANT AND (AS IN THIS CASE) OFTEN ANONYMOUS ĀGĀMANĪ LITERATURE OF BENGAL VILLAGES

XCII. A SONG TYPICAL OF THE ABUNDANT AND (AS IN THIS CASE) OFTEN ANONYMOUS ĀGĀMANĪ LITERATURE OF BENGAL VILLAGES

Menakā sends for Her Daughter.

Go, Giri, go bring my Gaurī; stricken with grief is she, my Umā. In my dreams I saw Nārada;[270] he told me that Umā was weeping most bitterly and calling 'Mother, Mother.'

Your son-in-law is a beggar and drugs himself with hemp. My Gaurī is an image, all of gold.[271]

I hear that he has sold all Umā's clothes and ornaments and with the money bought hemp for himself.

FOOTNOTES:

[270] The minstrel of Swarga (Indra's Heaven). Traditionally, he performs two functions: he sings eternally the name of Hari, and he foments quarrels everywhere.

[271] Gaurī means bright-complexioned, with the brightness of gold.

 

[93]

RĀMPRASĀD SEN

XCIII. THE JOY AT THE COMING OF UMĀ;

Now has the happy night ended in dawn; behold thy daughter comes. Go, greet her entrance home again. Come, see her face beauteous as the moon! Your sorrows all will disappear. What stores of honey fall from the moon-beams[272] that are her smiles!

The welcome story heard, the queen hastes off, her hair dishevelled, her clothes all disarranged. Her streaming eyes are filled with tears of joy that well up from the floods of her emotion. She outruns Giribara, and, sobbing, falls upon her daughter's neck. Again she sets her on her lap, she gazes on that face most beautiful, and kisses her red lips. Says the mother: 'The mountains are your father, but your husband was a beggar from his birth. To think that I should give so fair a maid to Digambara!'[273]

Her girl friends come, their minds aflame with joy, and laughing take her hands and say: 'What have you done with that great love for us, that for a year you could forget us so? Come, lift your face and talk with us. Our life would soon have slipped away.'

Happy indeed at heart is Rāmprasād Dāsa[274] the poet. He swims in a great sea of joy. At the advent of the Mother all men rejoice. So lost are they in happiness that day and night are both alike to them.

FOOTNOTES:

[272] The moon is supposed to drop nectar. Cf. old English folklore; for example, Macbeth III, 5, 11, 23-25:

'Upon the corner of the moon There hangs a vaporous drop profound; I'll catch it ere it comes to ground.'

[273] 'One who wears no cloth' (because Śiva wears a tigerskin).

[274] Literally, servant.

 

[94]

RAJANIKĀNTA SEN

XCIV. A NEIGHBOUR GIVES TIDINGS OF UMĀ'S APPROACH

Arise, arise, O Giri's Queen, happy is the news I bring you, Mother; for, as I came, upon the road I met your Īśānī.[275]

Her grace illuminates the grove, she holds her two sons in her arms; a girl comes riding on a lion![276] More beautiful than countless moons are her twin feet. Her conch shell bracelets and her vermilion sign[277] alone adorn her radiant form. What need has she of ornament, who is herself as waves of light? Lest she suffer from the heat of the sun, a cloud overshadows her; the trees all bow their heads and, bending low their branches, fan her.

Along her path the flowers are bursting forth in ordered rows; the kōkilas are beside themselves as they sing their happy songs of the Mother's advent. From the trees the sweet fruits are falling at her feet. Saints and-sages and the wise all are prostrate before her, and call to her 'Mother, Mother.'

O Queen, O Mother, I have hastened to bring you this glad news; now wipe away your tears and possess yourself in patience.

Kānta says: At the glad news Menakā is overcome with weeping. The holy water of such happiness purifies life from all its stains.

FOOTNOTES:

[275] Durgā. Feminine of Īśā;—'Lord,' a name of Śiva.

[276] Girl and lion are almost the same word, the play on their sound assisting the antithesis.

[277] In the forehead, at the parting of the hair; the sign that a Woman is married, and that her husband is alive. Conch shell bracelets also mark the married woman.

 

[95]

RĀMPRASĀD SEN

XCV. THE ARRIVAL OF UMĀ;

'The City's all excitement, Queen, up and away, thy daughter comes to thee. Away, and welcome her and bring her home. Come, I say, come with me.'

'Jayā,[278] so happy is the news that you have brought, that you have made of me your purchased slave. All that I have you maidens may command. Come, come to me, and I will give my life to pay my debt to you.'

With quickening steps the Queen has gone, her hair all loose about her. Love bears her on, as water one who swims. All who approach she questions thus: 'How far off now is Gaurī, canst thou say?' On, on she goes, when in her path the chariot appears. She looks upon Umā's face and says to her: 'Thou art come, thou art come, little Mother. Hast thou, who art mother to me, forgotten me who am thy mother?[279] Surely that could not be, my love.'

Śaṅkarī steps from the chariot, bowing before her mother, and hastens in oft-repeated ways to bring her consolation.

Says Kavirañjana Dāsa in tender tones: Whoever else has known a day so fortunate?

FOOTNOTES:

[278] One of Umā's companions, who has come as herald of her mistress.

[279] This song is sung by the lady of the house playing a triple part; She is worshipping Durgā, is acting the part of Menakā, and is often remembering her own daughter, gone from her to a strange house, when but a child.

 

[96]

RAJANIKĀNTA SEN

XCVI. UMĀ'S MOTHER SPEAKS

Come, Guha[280] and Gaṇapati,[281] come to my arms. Still have these arms the strength to hold you both, a brother on each hip?

Long is the way that you have come, and you are spent. The radiance of your faces has been lost, as though behind a cloud two full moons lay hidden.

Then, too, among the mountains lay your path, a lion was your steed. Whenever was seen such suffering as this?

You know I send the chariot for you every year; I wonder what my mad son-in-law was thinking of to send it back. Alas, does any other let so fair a girl, such lovely boys, travel in such a way?

Let me kiss those soft cheeks of yours. Now let me feed you and your Mother, and give you clotted milk and butter to your hearts' content. I weep to think of all you must endure from want of food at Kailāsa.

Gaṇeśa, may you have wisdom in your speech! Kumara,[282] of your great strength may the asuras, the foes, become afraid!

Kānta says: Śiva will live for ever, Mother, at your word.

Umā on her lion has brought her two sons.

FOOTNOTES:

[280] Guha (protector) is Kārttikeya, son of Umā and Śiva, and Commander-in-Chief of the celestial armies; the Hindu type of manly beauty.

[281] Gaṇeśa, the elephant-headed god of wisdom; in the popular legend (there are others), the son of Śiva by Umā.

[282] Prince (Kārttikeya).

 

[97]

VAIKUNTHA OF MĀLIĀRĀ[283]

XCVII. UMĀ REPROACHES HER MOTHER FOR THE YEAR'S NEGLECT

Pain is awake within my heart; what can I say, Mother? Am I no more as Umā in your thoughts? It must be so, for all this year that's past you have not sent to find out how I fared. Is it because of my unhappy lot that you have so neglected me? Day and night, Mother, I think about you; and, as I meditate, what anguish fills my mind! I would open wide my mind and show it you, were it a thing that you could see. See how constant grieving has robbed my body of its radiance. Is it because of my unhappy lot that you have no pity for me, your daughter? So it appears to me, my Mother.

Whom shall I blame? All know it was to a beggar's care that my Father and Mother gave me.

They who live in Kailāsa say to me, Mother: 'Have you no Father and no Mother, Umā?'

O I die with shame. What pretexts I have made! What stories I have told, to give the people some excuse![284] 'My Father Himāchala came to take me home.' Such are the lies with which I sing your praises!

I say to them: 'None of my own are with me here, with whom then could I leave my mad Digambara? Tell me with whom?'

Hear the word of Vaikuṇṭha, O Giri's Queen: 'What more can I say to bring consolation to the girl? Take your offended daughter to your arms: and as I gaze upon her beauty, my two eyes will be satisfied.'

FOOTNOTES:

[283] A village in the Bankura district.

[284] It is considered a shameful thing for a married woman never to be allowed to revisit her parents' home.

 

[98]