Madhumalati
Page 21
and brought her home with great honour and celebrations.
She spoke then of how the Creator allowed them to meet in Pemā ‘s pavilion,
how their eyes had closed just for a moment—in that instant they were separated.
370. ‘O Prince, no sin has passed between us.
I do not know why this calamity befell us.
Where have they taken the Prince and thrown him?
I know not whether my love lives or dies.
When my body grew wings I could not stay,
but crazed with love, I flew away.
I have searched all over the world,
from the sun’s rising to its setting place,
but nowhere could I find my darling.
My first love has turned to painful sorrow.
I was innocent then but am a woman now.
I have looked all over creation in the form of a winged bird—
I found no one who could give me a message from my Prince Manohar.
371. ‘O Prince, I have set shame aside
and told you all my heart’s secrets.
When I did not find him in my search,
I found the strength to ensnare myself
in your net. I saw in your form
the likeness of my darling, and flew down
to your roof hoping that it was my Prince.
If now, O King, you will release me
I will again become a traveller on love’s path.
Either I shall find my beloved in my search,
or I shall give up my life on that path.’
Manjhan says, ‘Whoever climbs on the pyre of love does not care for life.
The life that is lost for the beloved’s sake brings glory both now and hereafter.’
Tārācand’s Resolve
372. As the Prince heard the bird’s sad tale,
tears of compassion filled his eyes.
He said to her, ‘Listen, O woman
who yearns to sacrifice her life,
your grief has set my heart on fire.
Do not worry in your heart any more.
I’ll accomplish what is necessary to save you.
For you, O maiden, I would do the impossible,
that the fire in your heart may be quenched.
With my strength and your good fortune,
O maiden, the Creator will make you as one again.
I will renounce my kingdom and throne, and embrace all sorrows for your sake.
Perhaps through courage I may attain success, and your heart’s fire be quenched.
373. ‘As far as life and my nature permit, I’ll strive
to reunite you with the one you love so much.
First, I shall go to the city of Mahāras,
then in quest to Citbisarāu.
Maybe God will grant me fame
and you will meet the object of your love.
My heart will find no peace at all
until you meet your beloved again.
But you will be of no use to your Prince
till you assume your former beauty.
First I shall proceed to the city of Mahāras, to give you your previous form again.
Then I’ll search for the Prince and reunite you, provided that God doesn’t end my life.
374. ‘There are few people in this Kali age
who suffer in their hearts the grief of others.
A thousand lives should be sacrificed to him
who destroys himself to make a home for another.
One should be like the generous tree
which showers fruit even on the man
who pelts it with clods of earth.
The oyster shell loves those
who trouble it with grains of sand,
and gives handfuls of pearls in return.
And the man who digs up a gold mine
is granted gold, pure in all twelve parts.
Look at the poor fire-cracker* who endures sorrow so that others may be happy:
blood in its heart and fire at its mouth, only to give pleasure to others.’
375. Speaking sweet words he consoled the bird,
and set off with it to foreign lands
putting his own life in danger.
His heart was pleased to accept grief
for the sake of another’s happiness.*
Embracing suffering, he renounced comfort.
He abandoned his kingly desires and joys,
and shaded his royal head happily
with the parasol of sadness instead.
I dedicate myself at the feet of those
whose hearts take on others’ sorrows.
Everyone suffers for their own sake,
but the one who suffers for another is rare.
Prince Tārācand burdened himself with grief to bring another happiness.
Count those who suffer for others’ joys as truly human in this world!
The Great Task
376. Then the Prince sent for his childhood friend.
When he heard the summons, his boon companion
came running in the middle of the night.
Tārācand said, ‘I have a great task to perform.
I shall leave my homeland and wander abroad.
If you are still the friend of my childhood,
and still keep your old affection for me,
accompany me on this venture.
Help me to complete it for the sake of the love
we shared when we were children together.
No one in this world could call you worthy,
if you did not accompany me to this station.
You are my only childhood companion, and also a brother to me.
Help me this time, I beg you, for the sake of our childhood friendship.’
377. When the Prince’s friend heard this,
his body trembled from head to foot.
He said, ‘Had I a hundred lives,
I would sacrifice them all for you.
If I do not accompany you today,
what use would I be to you in the future?
If my life is not offered to you,
what use can it ever have for me?
If I do not go with you now
whatever would I do remaining here?
You are leaving your kingdom and your army and going to a foreign land.
Were I to abandon you now and stay here, who would ever speak well of me?’
378. At midnight the Prince sent a summons
for Budhrāj of the royal guard.
He obeyed the Prince’s command,
came before him and salaamed low.
Tārācand told him, ‘Go and saddle
a hundred horses, but bring only those
which the farrier tells you are fit.
Equip and bring here only those steeds,
chosen from among thousands of horses,
who know the meaning of every command.’
Then about a hundred horses were fitted out
with golden armour on their backs
and brought before Prince Tārācand.
So swift were they that the wind was not equal to the rising dust from their feet.
They became furious if they even saw their own shadows near them as they ran.
379. He took ten wagons loaded with provisions.
Choosing an auspicious moment, he set off
on his journey. He renounced his people,
his family and his fellow countrymen.
The Prince became a traveller abroad
only to bring happiness to others.
All his friends and companions left with him,
and became detached from this world.
The Prince distributed mounts to the nobles.
So swift were the royal steeds
that the wind could not surpass them.
Nor could their feet be seen as they ran,
as if they kept up with the mind’s pace.
They set off on Saturday the seve
nth, an auspicious day in the bright half of the month.
The Prince took Madhumālatī’s cage with him and rode on until they made camp.
380. Tārācand went along asking for Mahāras,
thinking all the while in his mind
that when Madhumālatī had assumed her form,
he would go in search of her lover.
Clasping Madhumālatī’s cage to his chest,
he rode on thinking of giving joy to others.
The more he heard news of Mahāras,
the more his heart leapt with excitement.
Finally, when he saw the fair city of Mahāras,
it was as if nectar had quenched his burning heart.
Prince Tārācand dismounted when he arrived at the garden of Jaunā the florist.
She took a branch full of blossoms as an offering and came forward to welcome him.
381. Tārācand asked Jaunā, ‘Tell me
why the city seems so gloomy.
There is no one at all who looks happy.
Why does everyone appear so sad?’
Jaunā said, ‘Listen, O lord of men,
let me tell you why the city grieves.
Vikram Rāi is the King of this city,
and the Queen’s name is Rūpamañjarī.
Vikram’s glory burns bright as a flame,
and he is of the solar dynasty,
come to redeem this Kali age.
As the dynasty was coming to an end, a daughter was born in this family.
Her name was Madhumālatī, and her beauty was radiant in all the three worlds.
382. ‘Through the actions of the Creator
she became possessed by madness.
Her mother lost her through her powers.
She left her family in the form of a bird.
From that day the King and Queen
have not taken food or drink out of grief.
They ruined their eyesight by weeping
and searched all over the world,
but could not find her anywhere.
With this distress in the royal house,
no one in the city could be happy.
Madhumālatī was the soul in the body of everyone who lived in this city.
When that soul left this body and went away, the city came to a halt.’
383. Jaunā continued, ‘Listen, O protector of men,
since the day that Madhumālatī left
great sadness descended on the city.
All joy and pleasure left every heart.
Her parents were very distraught.
They were like bodies without any souls.
Since then I have not threaded any flowers.
If I did put flower garlands together,
on whose head would I tie them?
For whom should I make garlands
of blossoms, since God has taken away
the one who would wear them?’
When the beautiful Madhumālatī heard these words from Jaunā, she said,
‘O Prince, if you give me permission, I would make myself known to her.’
384. The Prince said, ‘Do you know her?’
She replied, ‘She is a childhood friend.’
Then Jaunā came near the Prince,
and he introduced her to Madhumālatī.
Jaunā embraced the golden cage,
and tears overflowed from her eyes.
Madhumālatī too wept tears of joy,
though she had lost her former beauty
and was parted from her family.
Streams of tears flowed from her eyes,
weeping she recounted her previous sorrows.
Then that royal Prince made them stop crying by saying, ‘Why do you weep now?
The night of your sorrow has passed now; the radiant sun of happiness has risen.’
385. The Prince called Jaunā to him and said,
‘Go to the King and bring him this news.
Go and give her parents the glad news,
and tell all the members of her family.’
When the florist received this order,
she went rejoicing to the royal door.
Jaunā went to where the King and Queen sat,
and told them the happy news.
Vikram Rāi and Rūpamañjarī were overjoyed
when they heard the florist’s good news.
Their faces, which had been eclipsed by grief like the moon by the demon Rāhu,
shone brilliantly now like the full moon, as they heard news of Madhumālatī.
Prince Tārācand Comes to Mahāras
386. The Queen fell at the feet of the florist
when she heard the news, and said:
‘O Lord, when will the hour come?
When, O God, will that day dawn
when this mother shall see her daughter’s face?
Did you see her yourself before you came?’
she asked, ‘Or did you run here
having only heard the news of her return?’
Jaunā replied, ‘What news do you mean?
O Queen, I speak only of things
that I have seen with my own eyes.
She is in the form of a bird,
not an ounce of flesh on her body.
She recognized my voice, called me to her.
When she told me her own name, I ran to embrace her at once.
Not to mention our friends, even our enemies would feel pity if they saw her.
387. ‘O Queen, the Princess Madhumālatī
is with a prince who is learned and wise.
He is fortunate and from a stainless family,
like the full moon of the dynasty of Soma.
He has many friends and retainers with him.
I cannot describe his wealth and riches.
This is their second day staying with me,
and today they have sent me to you.
They told me, “Go and tell her mother
that in this world even a witch
does not devour her children.”
They commanded me so I came. Put aside your sorrow and come.
Come and see the condition of the girl who is wholly without sin!’
388. The Queen ran as soon as she heard
and arrived at Jaunā ‘s house on foot.
After her was the King, Vikram Rāi,
running behind with both feet bare.
When Tārācand saw the King in front,
he came forward to greet him with respect.
Behind the King was Rūpamañjarī,
whose soul had left her body behind.
She seemed like a body without life,
a mere shadow of her former self.
When she wept the whole city wept, distraught in their hearts as they saw her.
Even the Prince’s eyes filled with tears when he realized Rūpamañjarī’s love.
389. He said, ‘Mother, do not cry.
Listen to what I have to tell you.
I managed to catch a wondrous bird
that spoke marvellously pleasing words.
She remained silent and did not speak
for three whole days but then she told me
about all her sorrows openly.
She said that her name was Madhumālatī.
Her father was Vikram Rāi of Mahāras,
and her mother was Rūpamañjarī,
exceedingly cruel and hard of heart.
Telling me all the sufferings she had undergone, she wept piteously before me.
When I heard her tale of grief, I lost all my senses and my presence of mind.
390. ‘When I heard of her sorrows,
my heart was filled with compassion.
I abandoned all my own people,
my family, my kingdom, and my wealth.
I said to her, “Do not worry any more,
for I shall do what I can to save you.
I have renounced my kingdom and throne
and all the comforts and plea
sures I enjoy,
for the great path of dharma* I have entered
out of my compassion for you.
I shall follow the path of righteousness
so that you may obtain liberation.”
I gave her my solemn promise
and put her cage on my head.
Leaving my royal throne, I set off.’
Then the Prince placed the cage directly in front of the Queen, who saw it
and cried out aloud, as if her womb had been engulfed in a roaring fire.
Madhumālatī Restored
391. Rūpamañjarī rushed to embrace the cage.
When she saw her daughter’s condition,
she could not help but weep piteously.
Every moment she looked at the maiden,
streams of tears flowed from her eyes, unabated.
Her maids said, ‘O Queen, do not be sad.
Be happy your heart’s desire is fulfilled.’
Then the Queen, who had been in despair
and burning with grief, blossomed
like a lotus with the rising sun.
When that grievous sorrow,
so like a fierce sun, passed out of her body,
the peacock of joy climbed aloft
and called out, signalling the happy rains.
Every house in the city celebrated, and every family was blissfully happy:
it was as if the Princess Madhumālatī had been born a second time.
392. Every house in the city heard the news
that Madhumālatī, who had gone away,
had been found again. The city was happy,
and everyone was filled with excitement,
whether they were related to her or not.
The city which had been distraught with grief
blossomed like a forest in the springtime.
The Queen bowed down before the Prince
and put the dust of his feet on her head.
She said, ‘O Prince, through your great effort
my departing life has remained in my body.’
Then the Queen took the Prince and all his party away with her.
They left the garden of the florist and proceeded to the royal palace.
393. All her family and relatives were happy,
as if the girl had been born that very day.
Sandalwood was ground into a fine paste
and applied all over the royal palace,
and red silken drapes were hung up everywhere.
Marvellous beds were brought and spread out,
colourful, attractive, and scented with perfume.
The Prince was made to sit on a throne,
and the Queen herself stood by his head
and fanned him with a royal whisk.
Then the Queen brought Madhumālatī
and seated her before the Prince.
Rūpamañjarī” uttered a magic spell and sprinkled water over Madhumālatī‘s face.