VIDULA
Hearken to the ancient converse of which old
traditions tell,
Of the youthful Sunjoy with his mother the
indomitable
Vidula, the passionate princess, royal in
her mood and form,
Fiery-souled, the resolute speaker with her
tameless heart of storm,
High her fame in kingly senates where the
nations’ princes met,
Eloquent and proud and learned, with a soul
foreseeing fate.
Conquered by the King of Sindhu^ hurled down
from his lofty throne,
As he lay unnerved and abject, came she to
her warlike son,
Vidula, the passionate princess, and she
spoke with burning eyes,
Scourging him with words like flakes of
fire, bidding him arise.
“Son,” she cried, “no son of mine to make
thy mother’s hearth rejoice!
Hark, thy foemen mock and triumph, yet to
live is still thy choice.
Nor thy hero father got thee, nor I bore
thee in my womb,
Random changeling from some world of petty
souls and coward gloom!
Passionless and abject nature, stripped and
void of bold desire,
Nerveless of all masculine endeavour,
without force and fire,
Reckon not thy name midst men who liest
flinging manhood far.
Rise and bear thy yoke, thou warhorse,
neighing for the crash of war!
Make not great thy foemen with thy terrors,
panic eyes behind. ‘
Thou, a king’s son, canst thou tremble ? be
a king indeed in mind,
Soar up like a sudden eagle beating high
against the wind.
Out, arise, thou coward! lie not thus upon
the ground o’erthrown,
Shorn of pride, thy foes’ delight, thy
friends’ shame, making fruitless moan.
Easily a paltry river with the meagre floods
o’erflows,
Easily the field-mouse with her mite of
grain contented goes,
Easily the coward ceases fainting from his
great emprise.
Break the serpent’s fangs between thy hands
and perish, not as dies
Impotent a whining dog, go deathward, but as
circles o’er his prey,
But as wheels an angry falcon through the
wide and azure day
Watching for his moment, thou in fearless
silence wait thy time
Or with resonant and far-voiced challenge
waken war sublime.
Wherefore like a dead thing thunder-blasted
liest thou on the ground ?
Rise, thou coward, seek not slumber while
the victors jeer around.
Turn not miserably to thy set, but smiting
with the sword
Make the world re-echo! deem that thou wast
born to be its lord,
Not with middle place content nor abject;
all subjection spurn.
Page – 63
Stand erect, whate’er befall thee, roaring
on thy hunters turn.
Blaze out like a fireband even if for a
moment burning high,
Not like the poor fire of husks that
smoulders long, afraid to die.
Better is the swift and glorious flame that
mounting dies of power,
Not to smoke in squalid blackness, hour on
wretched futile hour.
Out to battle, do thy man’s work, falter not
in high attempt;
So a man is quit before his God and saved
from self-contempt.
For the great heart grieves not though he
lose the glorious crown of strife,
But he does the work before him, holding
cheap his body’s life.
Show thy prowess, be the hero thou wast
born, with flashing glaive
Hew thy way with God before thee to the
heaven of the brave.
All the wells that thou hast dug, the beasts
that thou hast offered, all
Fame is gone to wrack; thy roots of pleasure
cut, the tree must fall.
Eunuch, wherefore dost thou live? if thou
must sink, with thy last breath
Seize thy foeman by the thigh and drag him
with thee down to death.
Though his roots be cut, the strong man
stands up stiff, he sinks not prone.
Mark the warhorse in the battle with the
sunken car o’erthrown,
Up he struggles, full of pride and rage.
Thou too like him exalt
Thy low fortunes, lift thy great house
shamed and ruined through thy fault,
He whose perfect deeds as of a demigod in
strength and mind
Make not up the daily talk and glory of
amazed mankind,
What is he but one more clod to feed the
fire and help the soil?
He is neither man nor woman. Man is he whose
fire and toil,
Turned to wealth or turned to wisdom, truth
or piety of soul,
Travel through the spacious world renowned
from pole to ringing pole,
Or in austere works or knowledge or in
valour quick and high
He outdoes his fellow-creatures scaling the
immortals’ sky.
Be not as the vagrant beggar seeking food
from door to door,
Shameless with his skull and rosary wretched
handfuls to implore.
Cowardly, ignoble and unfeeling is the life
they lead,
Equal to the houseless street-dog whom
compassionate hands must feed,
Let not ever son of mine be such an one as
all men scorn,
Without throne and without purple, weak,
emaciate and forlorn,
Mean and with mean things content and
vaunting o’er a little gain.
Such an one his foes delight in, but his
friends are joyless men.
We shall perish, exiles from our country,
plagued with wretched want,
All obscure who were so glorious, doomed to
petty things and scant
Wandering in loveless places, dreaming at an
alien door
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Of delightful things and pleasant in our
joyous lives of yore.
Death and shame in thee I bore and fondly
deemed I had a son.
Better were a woman barren than to bear with
labour one
Sluggish, weak and hopeless, without noble
wrath and warlike fire.
Sunjoy. Sunjoy. waste not thou thy flame in
smoke! Impetuous, dire,
Leap upon thy foes for havoc as a famished
lion leaps,
Storming through thy vanquished victors till
thou fall on slaughtered heaps.
This is manhood to refuse defeat and insult
not to bear.
He who suffers and forgives, who bows his
neck the yoke to wear,
Is too weak for man, too base to be a woman.
Loiterings
Clog a mounting fortune, low contentment
fetters, fear unwings,
And a fainting over-pitiful heart she scorns
for her abode.
In thy strength reject these poisons, tread
not vile subjection’s road.
Make thy man’s heart hard like iron to
pursue and take thy own.
Out to battle! let not woman’s weakness
shame thy manhood, son.
Fortune dogs the hero’s goings who like,
Ocean in his pride
Walks through life with puissant footsteps
as a lion the hill-side.
Even when he has gone where fate shall lead
him, still his people climb
On the wave of his great actions to a joy
and strength sublime.
For a King must exile pleasure, turn from
safety to waylay
Fortune for his nation like a hunter
tracking down his prey.
Wise and fortunate ministers shall help him,
thousands share his joy.”
But to Vidula, amazed and angry answered
swift the boy.
“Where shall be thy bliss, my mother, though
the whole wide earth were thine,
If thine eyes of me are vacant? the delight
of raiment fine,
Food and gems and rich enjoyments, what were
these without thy son?”
But the mother in her surge of passion
answered rushing on.
“Be that Hell my foeman’s where the loiterer
and the coward climb,
Who avoid occasion, murmuring, ‘Why today?
‘tis not the time,’
May my friends go flocking to that world
where the high-crested go,
Who respect the self within them and its
noble value know.
But who, stripped of mastery, eat the bitter
bread that others give,
Miserable souls and strengthless, is it life
that such men live?
Live not with such abject living, be a
prince and chief of men.
Let the Brahmins look toward thee even as to
the King of Rain
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All this world of creatures turns for
sustenance with expectant eyes.
Mighty Gods to mightier Indra from their
golden thrones arise.
Lo, his hands to whom all creatures for
their bliss come crowding fast,
As to a ripe-fruited tree the birds
innumerably haste,
And his life indeed is counted, for he reaps
the earth with deeds
And on friend and fere and kinsman showers
unasked their princely needs, —
Living by his arm’s strength, taking only
what his hand has won,
Gathering here an earthly glory, shining
there like Indra’s sun.”
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II
“Evil is thy state, O Sunjoy; lose the
manhood from thy soul
And thou treadst the path of vilest spirits
with their Hell for goal.
Shall a warrior born of warriors to whom
Heaven gave fire divine,
Spend it not in mighty actions lavish of the
God within?
Shall he hug his life for ever? He is then a
thief to Heaven;
For to swell the days of earth with glorious
deeds that strength was given.
Hear me, Sunjoy! Sindhu’s monarch rules in
might the conquered folk,
But their hearts bend not before him, they
abhor me foreign yoke.
They from weakness sit with minds
bewildered, full of hate and grief,
Waiting sullenly a sea of miseries, hopeless
of relief.
Gather faithful friends and get thee valiant
helpers; through our lands
Working with a fierce persistence,
strengthening still thy mighty hands.
Others when they see thy daring shall be
stirred to noble strife,
Catch thy fire and rise in strong rebellion
scorning goods and life.
Make with these a close and mighty
following, seek the pathless hills,
Region difficult and strong and sullen
passes walled with ills
For the rash invader; there in arms expect
the tyrant’s hour;
He is not a god to be immortal, not for ever
lasts his power.
Knowst thou not the ancient Brahmin with his
deep and inward eye
That beholds the ages, told of thee that
lowly thou shouldst lie,
Yet again arise and prosper! Victor1
named, a victor be.
Therefore have I chidden and urged thee, to
awake thy destiny.
O my son, believe me, he whose victory
brings the common gain
And a nation conquers with him, cannot fail;
his goal is plain
And his feet divinely guided, for his steps
to Fate belong.
O my son, think this whilst thou art
fighting: ‘Generations long
Of my fathers walk beside me and a nation’s
mighty dead
Watch me; for my greatness is their own, my
slavery bows their head.’
In this knowledge turn thy thoughts to
battle; Sunjoy, draw not back!
Eviller plight is not nor sinfuller, this
day’s bread to lack
Nor to know from whence shall come the
bitter morrow’s scanty meal.
It is worse than death of spouse or child
such indigence to feel.
That’s a grief that strikes and passes, this
a long and living death.
In a house of mighty monarchs I derived my
earliest breath;
As from ocean into ocean sails a ship in
bannered pride,
¹
“Sunjoy”. Sanskrit
“Sanjaya”, means “Victory”.
Page – 67
To a house of mighty monarchs came I in my
marriage-tide,
Queen and Empress, filled with joys and
blessings, worshipped by my lord,
And my kin rejoiced to see me rich in wealth
and jewelled hoard,
Clothed in smooth and splendid raiment, girt
with friends and nobly stored.
When thou seest me weak and abject and the
weeping of thy wife,
Wilt thou in thy breath take pleasure, wilt
thou love thy shameful life?
Wouldst thou see thy household priests and
holy teachers leave our side,
Our retainers hopeless of their sustenance
who had served thy pride?
In thy proud aspiring actions, son, I lived;
if these are past,
Peace can dwell not in my bosom and my heart
shall break at last.
Must I then turn back the Brahmin when he
sues for gold or lands?
Shame would tear my heart-strings; never,
Sunjoy, went with empty hands
From thy father’s seat or from thy mother’s
presence suppliant men.
We were ever all men’s refuge; shall we sue
to others then?
Life shall leave me rather, I will seek that
house of nether calms.
Never will I tread a stranger’s floor and
live upon his insolent alms.
Lo! we toss in shoreless waters, be the
haven to our sail!
Lo! we drown in monstrous billows, be our
boat with kindly hail!
Save our hopeless fortunes! We are dead men
drawing empty breath,
Be a hero and deliverer, raise us from this
living death.
Dare to die, O hero! Where is then the
foeman half so strong
As to overcome thy onset? Who would choose
to suffer long
Years of sad despondent weakness? sudden
death is better far.
Single out their mightiest, let thy fame
o’ertop the surge of war.
Indra by the death of Vritra seized the
monarchy of Heaven;
Lord of teeming worlds, to him the largest
sovereign part is given.
Calling to his armoured foes defiance, lo,
the hero proud
Shouts his name across the roar of battle
like a lion loud
And he breaks their foremost, and they fall
apart like scattered spray,
Till he slays their leader and mightiest
winning glory wide as day.
Then his haters’ hearts are troubled, then
they bow reluctant heads.
For he hurls his life into the battle and on
death he treads
Towards victory; all the cowards and the
tremblers of the earth
Come with gifts and incense crowding to
provide his ease and mirth,
Is it death thou fleest from? Sunjoy, savage
is the fall of Kings,
For a wise foe leaves no remnants, hands to
stab or fugitive wings.
To be King is heaven, O Sunjoy^ sweet as
nectar to the lip
Power is to the mighty. Son of Kings, thou
boldest in thy grip
Page – 68
Heaven or empire; rush then like a meteor on
the vaunting foe!
Reaper in the battle! kinglike lay their
armed thousands low.
Sunjoy, terror of thy foemen, let me see not
in thy close
A poor crouching coward girt with weeping
friends and shouting foes.
Vail not thou thy crest to be a mock for
Sindhu’s laughing girls:
Take her highborn damsels for thy handmaids,
with her conquered pearls
Wreathe thy queen, be strong and splendid as
of yore in youthful pride.
Young and shaped to princely beauty,
cultured, to great Kings allied,
Such a man as thou to deviate from thy bold
and radiant mood!
Thou to bow thy neck to other yoke than
Earth’s, for alien food
Speaking sweet to strangers, following with
a meek inclined head!
If I see thee thus degraded, I shall think
my son is dead.
But I know this country’s mighty princes and
their lordly race
Firmer-rooted than the mountains in eternal
kingliness.
In our fathers and forefathers ‘twas the
same and in our sons
Shall be and their progeny for ever while
the Ganges runs.
It was made by God a grandeur! Never prince
of the ancient seed,
Never prince who did the deeds of princehood
in this land was bred,
Who would crouch and gaze for sustenance,
who in fear would bow his neck.
Like a giant tree he has no joints to bend
with, though he break;
Break he may, but bends not. If he bows, to
holy men in awe
Bows he;
if he yields, it is to justice and religion’s law,
Not to
equal or inferiors: them he holds with sternest hand,
Smiting still the strong ill-doer and the
troublers of the land,
Mightily like a maddened elephant through
the world he storms abroad
Conquering fate through high adventure,
kneeling not to bear the load —
Little recks if he has helpers or stands
lonely, dispossessed;
He is what he is and will not alter, lowers
not his crest.”
Page – 69
III
“Mother, mother stony-natured, ore of
pitiless iron black
Heaven collected and together forged thy
dreadful heart to make.
Mother mine, heroic-minded, high-disdaining
common mould,
Dreadful is the warrior code of ethics that
our princes hold,
Harsh, devoid of love and sweetness; thou my
mother driv’st me on
To the battle like a stranger, like another
woman’s son!
Am I not thy child? has any other in thy
love a part?
Yet thy words are harsh and ruthless. Will
it please thy fiery heart
If I lie in battle cold and in my stead thou
own the earth?
What were all life’s splendour, what were
bright and fair things worth?
When thine eyes seek me in vain, will these
things soothe their sad desire?”
But the mother answered still with words
that breathed her soul of fire.
“Dear my son, for joy or sorrow twofold is
the great life’s scope,
To be righteous in our actions, to fulfil
each human hope.
Private welfare, high religion, both alike
should urge thee on.
It has come at last, the mightiest hour of
all thy life, O son.
Now if thou shouldst spurn occasion from
vile fear or pitifulness,
All thy beauty were dishonoured and thy
strength grows thy disgrace.
When dishonour stains thee, should I shape
my words to soothe thy mind?
Like a she-mule’s were my mother’s love, a
brutish impulse blind.
Leave the path of fools and cowards,
vileness hated by the wise.
Strange the sorcery of affection sealing up
this people’s eyes!
But not mine! While only thou art noble, art
thou dear and loved.
But a graceless son or grandchild by
aspiring thoughts unmoved,
Crude and brutish-brained with unformed
soul, revolts a father’s mind,
Knowing he had all in vain his labour to
create his kind.
Shrink not from a noble action, stoop not to
unworthy deed!
Vile are they who stoop, they gain not
Heaven’s doors, nor here succeed,
Kshtriyas on this world were loosed for
battle by their Maker high,
Sunjoy, for the strife and victory, and they
conquer or they die.
Ever by their doom of Nature to a labour
unrevoked
And a fierce hard-hearted action for the
people’s safety yoked,
Conquering or dying, glorious Indra’s
radiant world they share:
Yet his heavenly mansions to a warrior’s
heart are not so dear
As to dare and triumph, as the gust and
glory of the strife,
As to set his foes beneath his feet and
drink the joy of life.
Page – 70
When the thinking soul of manhood is
insulted and oppressed,
Deep he burns with fire for ever and revenge
is in his breast,
Till he’s strong to hurl disfigured self
away and nobly cease
Or to crush the proud wrongdoer; other way
is none to peace.
Wilt thou faint for difficulty and sorrow?
they but strengthen men.
Even a little pleasure comes not here
without a little pain,
Without struggle no delight is and without
delight the soul
Cannot live, but ceases like the Ganges in
the ocean’s roll.”
Then King Sunjoy answered, faintly now, but
making once more moan.
“Not such counsel thou shouldst give me.
Mother, still I am thy son.
Be as dumb men are, my mother, be as dull
and joyless things;
Look to pity and softness only, not the iron
moods of Kings.”
“Greatest were my joy then if thy thoughts
like mine grew eagle-eyed.
Thou bidst me to woman’s softness ? I bid
thee to masculine pride.
When the men of Sindhu are not, blotted by
thy hands from life,
When thou winnest difficult victory from the
clutch of fearful strife,
I shall know thou art my offspring and shall
love my son indeed.”
But King Sunjoy, “Where have I a single
helper in my need?
All alone what man can struggle? Without
means who groweth great?
I have neither friends nor treasure; when I
view my dreadful state,
Fallen, helpless, wretched, all my sick
heart turns from useless toil
As a sinner lost despairs of heaven for a
thing so vile.
But, O mother, if thy wisdom find an issue
from this net,
Tell me, mother; I may do thy lofty bidding
even yet.”
“Never scorn thyself for past defeat; be
bold and proud of heart.
Fortune goes and comes again; she seeks us
only to depart.
Foolish are those careful thinkers who would
ponder all their days,
Thinking this and that, and leap not to
their crown, ask perfect ways.
Where is in the world an action whose result
is wholly sure ?
Here uncertainty’s the one thing certain. To
a noble lure
Man puts forth his manhood, wins and is or
dies in the attempt.
They who act not, try not, they are nothing
and their crown contempt.
Single is inaction’s nature to forego Fate’s
mighty call:
Double-edged high aspiration wins life’s
throne or loses all.
Page – 71
Knowing that his life is transient, sure of
its uncertainties
Swift the hero clashing with adversity
jostles for increase.
All you who are men, awake and rise and
struggle; free and great
Now resolve to be and shrink not from the
dangerous face of Fate.
Be you resolute for victory; this shall drag
her to your side,
For the iron will takes Fortune captive like
a vanquished bride.
Call the gods to bless thy purpose; set the
Brahmin’s subtle brain
And the nation’s princes in thy vanguard;
fight! thou shalt attain.
There are angered bold ambitious natures,
many a breast
Arrogant and active, there are men insulted
and disgraced
By the foreign tyrant, there are soaring
spirits that aspire,
Minds of calm courageous wisdom, quiet
strengths and souls of fire,
Desperate men with broken fortunes; link
thyself to these and dare.
Care not for his giant armies, care not for
his tools of war.
With these native flames to help thee, those
shall break like piles of cloud
When a mighty storm awakes in heaven and the
winds grow loud.
Give them precedence, rise to yield them
courtesy, speak them ever fair:
They shall make thee then their leader and
for thee shall do and dare.
When the tyrant sees his conquered foeman
careless grown of death,
Bent on desperate battle, he will tremble,
he will hold his breath
Like a man who sees a Python lashing forward
for the grip.
Doubtless he will strive to soothe or tame
thee, but if thou escape
His deceit and violence, he will parley,
give and take for peace.
So at least there’s gained a respite and
good terms for thy increase.
Respite and a footing gained, then gather
wealth to swell thy force.
Friends and helpers crowd around him who has
money and resource,
But the poor man they abandon and they shun
his feeble state,
Losing confidence, saying, ‘Where are then
his means and favouring fate?’
When thy foe shall grow thy helper, sessions
new and treaties make,
Then thou’lt understand how easy ‘twas to
win thy kingdom back.”
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IV
“Never should a prince and leader bow his
haughty head to fear,
Let his fortune be however desperate, death
however near.
If his soul grow faint, let him imprison
weakness in his heart,
Keep a bold and open countenance and play on
a hero’s part.
If the leader fear and faint, then all
behind him faint and fear.
So a king of men should keep a dauntless
look and forehead clear.
Now this nation and this army and the
statesmen of the land,
All are torn by different counsels and they
part to either hand.
Some affect as yet the foreign tyrant, many
leave his side,
Others yet shall leave him, frowning, for
his insults and his pride.
Some there are, thy friends who love thee,
but they serve and eat his bread,
Weak, though praying for thy welfare, like
poor cattle bound and led,
Like a cow that sees her calf tied, so they
serve reluctantly,
Yet they sorrow in thy sorrow, weeping as
for kin that die.
Some there are whom thou hast loved and
honoured, loyal friends of old,
Who believe yet in the nation though its
king grow faint and cold.
Yield not to thy fear, O Sunjoy; let not
such thy side forsake
Scorning thy poor terrors. Wake for victory,
Sunjoy! Warrior, wake!
I have laboured to provoke the will, the
strength thy heart within.
All is truth I’ve uttered and thou knowst
it; thy despair was sin.
Know that thou hast still great treasure,
know that I have funds concealed,
Mighty stores that I alone know; thou shalt
have them for the field.
Know that thou hast numerous secret helpers,
friends who wait their hour,
Daring to endure privation and disaster’s
utmost power.
They shall turn not backward from the
battle, they are helpers, friends
Such as daring souls aspirant need for their
gigantic ends.”
So she spoke with words of varied splendour
urging him to dare
Till his gloom and shadow left him and his
foolish weak despair.
“O thou strong and resolute speaker, even
the feeblest fainting soul
Would put darkness from him, listening, for
thy words would make him whole.
I will high uphold my country in its swift
precipitous fate,
Having thee to lead me on whose vision past
and future wait.
My denial and my silence were but craft;
consent deferred
Drew thee on to speak lest I should lose
even one inspiring word.
Page – 73
It is sudden nectar to the desolate to find
a friend!
Now I rise to smite the foe and cease not
till I make an end.”
On he rushed to desperate battle burning in
his pride and might,
As a noble war-horse wounded rushes faster
to the fight.
Stung with arrows of her speech he did his
mother’s high command
Driving out the foe and stranger, freeing
all the conquered land.
Lo, this strong and famous poem that shall
make men gods for might,
Kindling fiery joy of battle. When a King
has lost the fight
By his foemen whelmed and broken, let his
well-wishers and friends
Read to him this poem. All who need high
strength for noble ends,
Let them read it daily; for the warrior
hearing turns to flame,
Tramples down a hundred foemen and acquires
a deathless name.
And the pregnant woman who shall hear it day
by day
Bears a hero or a strong man dowered with
strength to help or slay,
Or a soul of grandiose virtues, or a helper
of the Light,
Or a glorious giver blazing with the
spirit’s radiance bright.
But a daughter of high princes and a
fighter’s wife shall bear
Splendid like a flame and swift and
fortunate, strong to dare,
Unapproachable in battle and invincible in
war,
Armed champion of the right, injustice’
scourge, some human star.
Page – 74
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