Madhumalati
Page 23
and entreating them, gave them the order to start.
Her messenger travelled for four days
until he reached Pemā’s gateway.
The doorkeeper took the news to Pemā,
that a courier from Madhumālatī had arrived.
When the Princess heard Madhumālatī’s name,
she came to the doorway to meet the messenger.
The courier advanced to face Pemā and saluted her in royal fashion.
He gave her the letter, then told her by word of mouth all the news from there.
A Message is Delivered
419. Pemā wept so much as she read the letter
she washed her dark eyes white with tears.
Then she said to the messenger,
‘From the day they bore the Prince away,
I have found not a trace of him.
I do not know whether he lives or is dead.
Madhumālatī’s own mother felt no pity
when she banished her child to the forest.
If she did not even pity her daughter,
what pity could she feel over killing others?
If on that day his life was saved and Prince Manohar still lives,
he will certainly come back—if he did not fall into the river of Death.
420. ‘Why does her mother send to ask me,
when she should ask herself where she flung him?
But if the Prince still lives in this world,
he cannot continue without coming to see me.’
The Princess wept as though her soul
were being drawn out of her body
as she stood speaking to the messenger.
Just then a serving girl ran up to her
and said, ‘Princess, your brother has come.
A yogi who looks like the Prince has arrived.
Come to the door that you may recognize him.
When I saw his resemblance to the prince, I came running straight to you.
I’m sure it must be Prince Manohar, in the guise of a wandering ascetic.’
421. The moment that she heard the Prince’s name,
Pemā began to run. Filled with affection,
she came rushing to the doorway.
Then, when her gaze fell on the Prince,
a fire set the heart in her breast ablaze.
She ran and embraced the Prince,
her heart burning with pity and love.
Anyone would have felt pity for him,
for he was just a shadow without a body.
Not a ratti of flesh remained on his body—
separation’s knife had pared him to the bone.
Seized by sorrow, burnt by separation, only the hope of reunion kept him alive.
May God grant that no one born into the world should suffer separation in love!
422. When that royal Prince’s name was heard,
celebrations rang out throughout Citbisarāun.
Then Pemā took the Prince with her,
and led him to the royal palace.
She said, ‘O brave warrior,
take off your patchwork cloak!*
You have attained success on Gorakh’s path.*
Advance now and embrace joy with honour.
Sprinkle a handful of water on your grief!
The dark night of sorrows has passed,
and brilliant happiness will put an end to grief.
If one crosses the unfathomable ocean of love, swimming with one’s life at stake,
and reaches safely the farther shore, courageous perfection will attend one’s efforts.
423. Then Pemā told the Prince all the news,
and read out aloud to him the message
that Madhumālatī had written and dispatched.
Then the maiden sent for ink and paper
and began to write an appropriate reply.
She started with the name of the Creator,
then told her of the Prince’s welfare.
She said she was deliberately not writing
any other news, for her messengers
could report directly on what they saw.
She added to herself, ‘How could I write of how the Prince arrived at my house?
He had scarcely a scrap of flesh on him, nor a ratti of blood in his body.’
The Reply
424. Pemā then wrote a letter to the Queen,
‘I thought you had killed him that day
and had his body thrown away
on some mountain side or in the sea.
I had given up all hope for the Prince
when all of a sudden he came to me.
When I saw him alive, it was as if
I had found a great treasure.
At that moment your letter arrived.
It was as if rain had begun to fall
on the head of a poor creature
burning up in a raging fire.
The Prince heard your letter with such joy,
I feared his heart might burst from happiness.
If you are sure and determined in your mind to carry out this wedding
then come here and alight nearby, bringing all the trappings of ceremony.
425. ‘If we are certain about your intentions,
then we can begin to make arrangements here.
If you are sure about the wedding,
the King should come to us forthwith.
In this age of Kali, true wisdom lies
in doing today the tasks of tomorrow.’
Pemā thus wrote her letter in reply.
She gave it to the messenger
with a token of recognition for Madhumālatī.
The Prince then wrote the tale of his sorrows
and gave it to be delivered to Madhumālatī.
The Prince, hands folded in entreaty and touching the courier’s feet, told him,
‘Give this letter of my sorrows in secret to the Princess Madhumālatī.’
426. ‘First I call upon the Lord
who pervades all parts of the universe.
Second, I call on the name of Muḥammad
whose ship will take me to life’s farther shore.
Now listen to my entreaty.
You took in the palm of your hand
the soul that was in my body.
You told me that I could see you
if I were ready to sacrifice my life.
I am in the condition you required
so you must keep the promise you gave.
One’s beloved should never leave one, though the soul may leave the body.
A million deaths do not equal the pain of one moment of separation.
427. ‘All that is most beautiful in creation
I brought and showed my soul.
It rejected everything and devoted itself to you,
finding you superior to all of creation.
My mind was fixed in meditation
on your beauty, and my breath
lost its way through my body.
My soul was so absorbed in you
I forgot even to recite your name.
How can your soul learn from you
the secrets of my heart’s condition?
What does your soul know of others’ sorrows—how can it learn them from you?
Only they can know this terrible pain who have looked upon your face.
428. ‘All the immovable objects of the world,
are made of stone, O most alluring maiden!
Your heart is just like a stone, sweetheart,
else how could it constantly be without love?
You have no pity in your heart, nor compassion.
Princess, though your speech is sweet,
your heart is hard. You should cultivate love
like the coconut which is hard outside,
but has a tender and juicy heart.
Since grief for you became my companion,
I was able to bear this terrible suffering.
If I found tha
t my soul was with you in a dream, when I awoke
it would not return to me for it knew that your body was its resting place.
429. ‘O maiden, if you take a mirror and look into it,
you will begin to suffer grief for yourself.
When you see yourself in the mirror,
pain will pervade your body.
The fire of love will consume you utterly.
Your sickness will worsen with your own medicine.
The flames of love-in-separation
will blaze up and burn your own body.
Your own noose will fall around your neck.
When you see yourself, you will faint.
If you look at your own face, O maiden,
then you will know how others suffer.
Reveal your face and take a mirror and look carefully at yourself
so that you may see clearly how the whole world suffers for you.’
430. The messengers took back the written reply,
and happily announced the good news.
When they heard that Manohar was well,
the people of Mahāras celebrated joyfully.
The Queen sent for Prince Tārācand
and read the letter out to him.
When he heard the letter through,
the Prince said, ‘God has brought about
that which was my heart’s desire.
Let us swiftly prepare to leave.
We must not delay in matters of duty.’
The five musical instruments were loudly sounded and the whole family was invited.
King Vikram Rāi picked a good moment and they set off on the journey.
The Royal Procession
431. King Vikram Rāi assembled his party and set off
with kettle-drums resounding all around.
The sound of the drums caused such a tumult
that Śea the serpent was frightened
and drew back his thousand hoods.
Prince Tārācand rode with the party.
The syces* led the horses from the front.
The Queens, for whom palanquins were readied,
set off happily, laughing and joking.
Madhumālatī sat calmly in her mother’s lap
like the full moon of Caita sits
among the stars of the constellations
of Jarad: Viśākhā, Anurādhā, Jyehā.*
The whole party left together, kinsmen, subjects, and retainers.
The sun was hidden by the dust of the army of elephants and horses.
432. They were travelling for ten days,
and then alighted by the shore of a sea.
Here they erected a mighty pavilion
and let the kettle-drums ring out loudly.
It would make this tale too long
if I were to praise the royal camp they built.
The King sent for all his ministers,
all the wise men and elders of state.
Tārācand was made to sit in their midst.
Once they were all together in assembly
they began their deliberations.
The ministers were all of one mind and, approaching the King,
they suggested that he send for both Pemā and King Citrasena.
433. The King was pleased to hear their opinion
and dispatched couriers to Citrasena.
Madhumālatī wrote a secret letter
with a great many entreaties for Pemā.
She then wrote openly the requests
made by Queen Rūpamañjarī,
‘O Pemā, I want you to be here tomorrow.
Please come as quickly as possible
so that I may fulfil my purpose.’
The messengers took the letter
to where Pemā was staying,
the royal darling of her father’s house.
The doorkeeper went to Pemā and salaamed, bringing her the news
that emissaries from King Vikram Rāi stood at the gate with a letter.
The Welcome
434. The Princess called in the messengers
and asked them everything in full detail.
They gave the letter into her hand
and told her the situation in words.
She called for Prince Manohar to come
and read the good news aloud to him.
Pemā then went to tell her father,
‘Couriers from King Vikram Rāi have come.
The King has invited us to visit him,
and his camp is not very far from here.’
As soon as Citrasena heard this, he set out in response to Vikram’s invitation.
Pemā herself, together with all her friends, was borne there by palanquin.
435. King Citrasena set out on his way
accompanied by a thousand nobles.
Ministers, lords, worthy kinsmen,
pandits and astrologers—all went with him.
Along with Pemā went her girlfriends,
many youthful buds with swelling breasts.
When Citrasena arrived at the entrance,
the guards went to inform the King.
When he heard, King Vikram rushed
and came all the way to the doorway.
The two kings embraced affectionately.
Vikram Rāi offered King Citrasena the pavilion next to his own royal tent.
Pemā went in to the Queen’s palace, where all the women were staying.*
436. King Vikram Rāi then summoned
all his retinue, his priests and astrologers.
Men of divers skills assembled there.
Tārācand was also invited there
and given a seat of honour in the assembly.
Then Citrasena told Vikram Rāi
what he had heard from the pandits,
that if a task were undertaken
after thinking carefully about it,
then it would be certain of success.
Harigun the astrologer was sent for
and told, ‘Calculate and compare the horoscopes.
Consider the auspicious and inauspicious configurations, and determine a date and time
such that the couple will be able to maintain their love and devotion forever.’
The Auspicious Moment
437. The astrologers drew up the horoscopes
and wrote in the twelve signs of the Zodiac
in their respective places. Then they filled in,
after due reckoning, the positions of the nine planets.
They considered the lovers’ natal situations,
and also any adverse influences between them.
They settled, after careful consideration,
on the ninth day of the bright half
of the month of Jeth, in the sign of Aquarius.
The auspicious moment and day they fixed
was a Wednesday, the constellation, Anurādhā.*
Considering good fortune, prosperity and progeny, and a long and happy life together,
thus the astrologers fixed on the right day for the marriage of Madhumālatī.
438. The pandits had settled on the right configuration
after assessing all the planetary influences.
They had found it to be auspicious
and had chosen the hour for the ceremony.
Then King Vikram Rāi arose and went within
to tell the Queen what had transpired.
When the Queen heard, she arranged festivities.
The drum of joy was beaten at every door.
All the handmaidens who had come with Pemā
were dressed by the Queen in coloured silken robes.
Then the King requested Citrasena to go
to make all the arrangements on his side.
The Queen affectionately embraced Pemā, clasping her to her breast.
King Vikram Rāi sent Citrasena off with all due honour and respect.
439. The Queen explained to Pemā carefully
which day
and moment had been chosen.
The maiden mounted her palanquin and left
with her father Citrasena, protector of the earth.
They entered the city to the sounds of music
and arranged the Prince’s wedding celebration.
By the King’s decree, all the markets were adorned.
The shops were hung with orange* silks.
A bracelet of thread was tied around Manohar’s wrist
to ward off evil spirits and influences.
All the retinue was made ready for the ceremony.
They anointed Prince Manohar’s body with a fragrant unguent* mixed with saffron.
Even though the wedding was seven days away, to the Prince it seemed an age.
The Wedding Procession
440. On Wednesday, the ninth day of the month,
King Citrasena’s party set off at his order.
As they proceeded, the omens were good:
a deer and a crow were seen to the right,
a woman came towards them
with a child at her breast, and a brahmin appeared
anointed with twelve marks on his forehead.
On the right, there appeared a rabbit
and a donkey was seen on the left.
A milkmaid with curds on her head
was crying out her wares loudly.
Fish were seen leaping above the water.
Young women appeared before them
walking with pots filled with water.
The white kite* and the fox appeared, showing themselves as auguries.
With omens such as these, any enterprise will meet with sure success.
441. The wedding party moved on like an army,
with instruments playing and music resounding.
Many wondrous models were made of paper—flowering trees, splendid houses and roads.
Boats were seen, draped with saffron cloth,
on which dancing puppets were shown performing.
Divers instruments made delightful music,
and there were other marvels beyond counting.
Many fruit trees had been planted at intervals
and camps and resting places set up along the way.
By Citrasena’s order, all the thirty-six serving castes accompanied the Prince.
For seven leagues in all directions, torches lit up the world like blazing sunlight.
442. They brought fireworks with them—
Catherine wheels and countless Roman candles,
while the rockets, like arrows of fire,
dispelled the darkness of the night
and spread brilliance in the heavens.
It was impossible to tell day and night apart
to call one day and the other night.
Bards mounted on horseback went along,
calling out fair words, and the Prince,
wearing a garland of diamonds and pearls,
was borne along seated in a palanquin.