Book-10-Study-Canto-2

Book Ten: Canto 2

The Gospel of Death and vanity of the Ideal

Summary
Death speaks:

O prisoner of Nature, this is the unsubstantial world from which thy hopes come. This is how man’s thought erects illusions and ideals come to be formed. Actually the ideal is neither in heaven nor on earth. Love is a ferment of thy body and it must die with the body. Thy mind vainly tries to lend eternity to perishing things.

All here emerges from Nothingness and crumbles back into Nothingness. There is no such thing as lasting love nor an ideal made real. If there is Truth, it shines far above the world.

The legend that is love is only a desire of the flesh. It is soon spent out and its short-lived glory fades away. Death has saved thee and Satyavan from this disillusionment. Do not call back Satyavan. Go back to thy frail world. Open thy eyes and see the transitoriness of things. Forget all this struggle and pain, forget this vain Quest for the spirit.

Savitri Replies:
Thy falsehoods mixed with strains of truth are dangerous. I forbid thee to slay my soul. My love is not of the flesh, it comes from God. It is a voice of the eternal Ecstasy. One day we shall near the Great Mother’s face; the gods shall gain their fulfilment and the darkened deities their deliverance. The Eternal comes ever in the guise of Love and tastes both the joy and the pain of life. He named himself as Satyavan for me.

Satyavan and I have been the twin man and woman from the beginning of time. We have met and loved each other in many worlds. If there is a greater god, let him wear the face of Satyavan before I desire him.

O Death, advance beyond the phantom beauty of this world. I care not for this world of Dream. I cherish God the Fire.

Death speaks once again:
Thy thoughts are only bright hallucinations. Vain is thy bid to build heaven on earth. Mind, the artificer of Ideal and Idea, is but a child of Matter in the womb of Life. Matter is the first-born, a solid image of reality. If it ends all ends, mind and soul including. Besides, even Matter turns out to be a form of Energy and its shapes, steps of Energy’s dance. Finally even this movement of Energy ends in Nothing.

This is the stuff of which thou and thy world are made. Out of an inconscient Void has this movingworld sprang forth. When all was unconscious, all was well, calm, moving according to my unerring plan. But Thought came and spoilt the harmony of my creation. Matter began to hope, think and feel; joy and pain strove. Nature lost her wide calm and the tangled paths woven by the mind came into existence. Where is the soul and where is God in this immensity of a machine? Thou claimest immortality for thy spirit, but immortality for imperfect man is dangerous. Knowledge is a phenomenon of ignorance, love a secretion from erotic glands. Mind and life are tricks of Matter’s force. How shall the Ideal’s unsubstantial hues be painted on the earth’s crimson blur? O soul, do not be misled by the splendour of thy thoughts; obey the earthly law; take what thou canst of life’s permitted joy; suffer what thou must, till my long and calm night of sleep claims thee.

Inexorable Voice

Then pealed the calm inexorable voice:
Abolishing hope, cancelling life’s golden truths,
Fatal its accents smote the trembling air.

That lovely world swam thin and frail, most like
Some pearly evanescent farewell gleam
On the faint verge of dusk in moonless eves.

Then peals a calm, relentless voice cancelling all hope, cancelling all the bright truths of life. Its fatal accents strike the shuddering air. The lovely twilit world begins to thin and fade away like some pearl-like, momentary gleam vanishing on the faint brink of dusk in a darkening evening, when there is no moon.

Unsubstantial Immortality

“Prisoner of Nature, many-visioned spirit,
Thought’s creature in the ideal’s realm enjoying
Thy unsubstantial immortality
The subtle marvellous mind of man has feigned,
This is the world from which thy yearnings came.

"O prisoner of Nature, spirit with many visions, O creature of thought enjoying in the heavens of the Ideal thy baseless immortality which is only an imagination of the subtle and marvellous human mind, this world which thou hast now beheld the twilight World of the Ideal — is the real source of thy yearnings.

Eternity from Dust

When it would build eternity from the dust,
Man’s thought paints images illusion rounds;
Prophesying glories it shall never see,
It labours delicately among its dreams.

"When this thought of the human mind, wishes to erect eternity from out of mere dust, it paints images bordered by illusion; it forecasts glories which it will never see; it works finely amidst its dreamings.

Rapture and Hope

Behold this fleeing of light-tasselled shapes,
Aerial raiment of unbodied gods;
A rapture of things that never can be born,
Hope chants to hope a bright immortal choir;
Cloud satisfies cloud, phantom to longing phantom
Leans sweetly, sweetly is clasped or sweetly chased.

"Look at these fleeting shapes, the aerial vestures of unembodied gods; there is a rapture of things that cannot hope to be born; hope sings to hope an immortal song; cloud satisfies cloud, phantom leans sweetly to desiring phantom and is dearly embraced or dearly chased.

Ideal only a Bright Delirium

This is the stuff from which the ideal is formed:
Its builder is thought, its base the heart’s desire,
But nothing real answers to their call.

The ideal dwells not in heaven, nor on the earth,
A bright delirium of man’s ardour of hope
Drunk with the wine of its own phantasy.

It is a brilliant shadow’s dreamy trail.

"This is the substance out of which the ideal is formed. Its artisan is the thought in the mind, its base is the desire in the heart. But nothing real responds to the call of either the thought or the desire; it is only a picture of fleeting shapes. Neither in heaven nor on earth does the ideal exist; it is only a bright delirium of man’s ardent hope intoxicated by the wine of its own imagination. It is only the unsubstantial trail of a bright shadow.

Love Born in Body’s Ferment

Thy vision’s error builds the azure skies,
Thy vision’s error drew the rainbow’s arch;
Thy mortal longing made for thee a soul.

This angel in thy body thou callst love,
Who shapes his wings from thy emotion’s hues,
In a ferment of thy body has been born
And with the body that housed it it must die.

"It is an error of thy vision that builds the blue skies even as it draws the beautiful arch of the rainbow. Neither exists in fact. Similarly there is no soul as such. Thy human longing shapes for thee what thou callest a soul. Neither does this angel in thy body whom thou callest love, exist by itself. It shapes its wings from the hues of thy emotion; it is born from some tumult in thy body and when the body that lodges it dies, it too must die.

Love is a Cover

It is a passion of thy yearning cells,
It is flesh that calls to flesh to serve its lust;
It is thy mind that seeks an answering mind
And dreams awhile that it has found its mate;
It is thy life that asks a human prop
To uphold its weakness lonely in the world
Or feeds its hunger on another’s life.

"What thou callest love is only a passionate longing of the cells in thy body, a call of flesh to flesh; it is the seeking of thy mind for a companion mind, its dreaming that it has found its mate; it is again thy life that looks for a human support to uphold its solitary precarious existence in the world or satisfies its hunger by drawing upon another’s life.

Beast of Prey

A beast of prey that pauses in its prowl,
It crouches under a bush in splendid flower
To seize a heart and body for its food:
This beast thou dreamst immortal and a god.

"This love that thou dreamest to be immortal and a god is nothing but a beast, a beast of prey that prowls about and crouches under a beautifully flowering bush in order to seize unawares some heart and body for its food.

An Hour’s Delight

O human mind, vainly thou torturest
An hour’s delight to stretch through infinity’s
Long void and fill its formless, passionless gulfs,
Persuading the insensible Abyss
To lend eternity to perishing things,
And trickst the fragile movements of thy heart
With thy spirit’s feint of immortality.

"O human mind, in vain dost thou torture the brief delight of an hour to stretch itself through the long void of infinity and fill its bare, passionless gulfs, persuading the insensible Abyss to lend permanence to perishing things; thou deceivest the tender movements of thy heart with thy spirit’s pretence of immortality.

All from Nothingnes

All here emerges born from Nothingness;
Encircled it lasts by the emptiness of Space,
Awhile upheld by an unknowing Force,
Then crumbles back into its parent Nought:
Only the Mute alone can ever be.

"All here comes out from Nothingness. Bounded by the emptiness of Space, it lasts for a while supported by an insensible Force and then breaks down disappearing into the Nought that is its source.

Only the mute Alone lasts.

No Room for Love

In the Alone there is no room for love.

In vain to clothe love’s perishable mud
Thou hast woven on the Immortal’s borrowed loom
The ideal’s gorgeous and unfading robe.

"There can be no room for love in this Alone. In vain hast thou woven on the borrowed loom of the Immortal the splendid and bright robe of the Ideal to cover the perishable earthy stuff of love. Thou hast sought in vain to clothe transient love with the vesture of the Ideal.

Ideal is never Real

The ideal never yet was real made.

Imprisoned in form that glory cannot live;
Into a body shut it breathes no more.

"The ideal has never been made real; it lives only as long as it remains an ideal. The moment it is imprisoned in a form, the glory that is the ideal cannot live; cabined in a body, it can breathe no more.

Ideal rejected by Life

Intangible, remote, for ever pure,
A sovereign of its own brilliant void,
Unwillingly it descends to earthly air
To inhabit a white temple in man’s heart:
In his heart it shines rejected by his life.

"Impalpable, far-off, ever pure white, the ideal is supreme in its own brilliant void. It descends unwillingly to the earth-regions to dwell as a cherished idol in the pure temple of man’s heart. It shines in his heart though it is rejected as impractical by his life.

Ideal is Dumb

Immutable, bodiless, beautiful, grand and dumb,
Immobile on its shining throne it sits;
Dumb it receives his offering and his prayer.

It has no voice to answer to his call,
No feet that move, no hands to take his gifts:

"Immutable, formless, beautiful, grand and mute, the ideal sits immobile on its glittering throne. It receives dumbly man’s offering and prayer. For it has no speech to answer his call, it has no feet to move with, no hands wherewith to receive his gifts.

The ideal is grand and royal, but ineffective.

Aerial Statue of nude Idea

Aerial statue of the nude Idea,
Virgin conception of a bodiless god,
Its light stirs man the thinker to create
An earthly semblance of diviner things.

"The ideal is an airy form of the bare Idea. It is a pure conception — as yet untouched, untried — of a bodiless god seeking expression. Its light impels the thinker in man to create some earthly likeness of things of a diviner kind.

Hued Reflection of Ideal

Its hued reflection falls upon man’s acts;
His institutions are its cenotaphs,
He signs his dead conventions with its name;
His virtues don the Ideal’s skiey robe
And a nimbus of the outline of its face:
He hides their littleness with the divine Name.

“Some coloured reflection of the ideal falls upon man’s actions; his cherished institutions are monuments in its memory; his stale and dead conventions pass under its name; his virtues are clothed in the unsubstantial robe of the ideal and haloed by a vague appearance of its face; he gives a divine Name to his virtues and conceals their littleness thereby.

Bright Pretence Insufficient

Yet insufficient is the bright pretence
To screen their indigent and earthy make:
Earth only is there and not some heavenly source.

"But, this bright pretence is not enough to cover the poor and earthy origin of these movements of man. Earth and not any heaven is their source.

Truth Shines far above

If heavens there are they are veiled in their own light,
If a Truth eternal somewhere reigns unknown,
It burns in a tremendous void of God;
For truth shines far from the falsehoods of the world;
How can the heavens come down to unhappy earth
Or the eternal lodge in drifting time?

"If truly there are heavens around, they are effectively screened by their own light; if truly some eternal Truth reigns somewhere unknown, then it must be aflame in a huge Void of God — not on earth. For truth shines far above the falsehoods of the world. How can the heavens of felicity come down to this unhappy earth? How can the Eternal stay in passing time?

Earth’s Dolorous Soil

How shall the Ideal tread earth’s dolorous soil
Where life is only a labour and a hope,
A child of Matter and by Matter fed,
A fire flaming low in Nature’s grate,
A journey’s toilsome trudge with death for goal?

"How indeed shall the Ideal walk on the sorrowful soil of the earth where life is only a struggle and a hope, a product of Matter, nourished by Matter, a low fire burning in the furnace of Nature, a laborious tread in a journey that has death for its goal?

In Vain

The Avatars have lived and died in vain,
Vain was the sage’s thought, the prophet’s voice;
In vain is seen the shining upward Way.

“The Avatars-Divine Incarnations-have lived, worked and died,-but all in vain. The thought of the sage, the voice of the prophet, have fared no better; they have been in vain; the bright upward path of ascent that shows itself to man is also in vain. Nothing ever changes for the better.

Earth lies Unchanged

Earth lies unchanged beneath the circling sun;
She loves her fall and no omnipotence
Her mortal imperfections can erase,
Force on man’s crooked ignorance Heaven’s straight line
Or colonise a world of death with gods.

"Earth ever lies unchanged below the revolving sun. Earth loves her fall and no omnipotent God can wipe away her mortal imperfections, nor can he impose the straight movement of Heaven’s Knowledge on the crooked ignorance of man; nor can he colonise this mortal world with immortal gods.

Love a Sacred Legend

O traveller in the chariot of the Sun,
High priestess in the holy fancy’s shrine
Who with a magic ritual in earth’s house
Worshippest ideal and eternal love,
What is this love thy thought has deified,
This sacred legend and immortal myth?

"Savitri, traveller in the bright chariot of the Sun, august priestess in a holy temple of fancy who worshippest with magic ritual this so-called ideal and eternal love, in the house that is earth, what after all is this love that has. been deified by thy thought, this love which is truly a legend though sacred, a myth though undying?

Yearning of Flesh

It is a conscious yearning of thy flesh,
It is a glorious burning of thy nerves,
A rose of dream-splendour petalling thy mind,
A great red rapture and torture of thy heart.

"What thou callest love is only a conscious desire, an intense longing of thy flesh, a splendid flaming of thy nerves, a veritable rose of dream-splendour forming around thy mind, a mighty, intense rapture — which is also a torture — of thy heart.

Seems Divine

A sudden transfiguration of thy days,
It passes and the world is as before.

A ravishing edge of sweetness and of pain,
A thrill in its yearning makes it seem divine,
A golden bridge across the roar of the years,
A cord tying thee to eternity.

"This love may bring a sudden transforming change for a brief period, but soon it passes, leaving things as before. Its intensity of sweetness, its sharpness of pain, its thrill of longing make it appear divine; it seems like a golden bridge across the turbulent waters of time, a cord linking thee to eternity.

How brief and Frail!

And yet how brief and frail! how soon is spent
This treasure wasted by the gods on man,
This happy closeness as of soul to soul,
This honey of the body’s companionship,
This heightened joy, this ecstasy in the veins,
This strange illumination of the sense!

"And still, how brief and frail is all this love! How soon is it spent out, this treasure wasted by the gods on man, this happy closeness as of souls, this sweetness of body’s companionship with body, this enhanced joy, this ecstasy in the nerves, this strange irradiation of the senses!

Other faces come

If Satyavan had lived, love would have died;
But Satyavan is dead and love shall live
A little while in thy sad breast, until
His face and body fade on memory’s wall
Where other bodies, other faces come.

"Surely, if Satyavan had lived, this love would have tired and ebbed away; but Satyavan is dead and thy love will yet last for a while in thy sad heart until the memories of his face, his body, fade away and other faces, other bodies occupy their place.

When first Love Breaks

When love breaks suddenly into the life
At first man steps into a world of the sun;
In his passion he feels his heavenly element:
But only a fine sunlit patch of earth
The marvellous aspect took of heaven’s outburst.

"When love first breaks into a man’s life, he steps into a veritable world of golden light; he feels a heavenly element awake in him in the coursing of his fresh passion. But only a small, sunlit patch of his body takes on this marvellous hue of heaven’s outburst of light and joy.

Precarious

The snake is there and the worm in the heart of the rose.

A word, a moment’s act can slay the god;
Precarious is his immortality,
He has a thousand ways to suffer and die;
Love cannot live by heavenly food alone,
Only on sap of earth can it survive.

"Also this felicity does not last. The snake is there and there is the unexpected worm in the heart of the beautiful rose. A single word, a hasty act can slay this god of love; his immortality is precarious. He has innumerable ways in which he suffers and ends.

Love cannot live and survive on a heavenly diet alone, on idealistic stuff only. It needs the raw sap of the earth to do so; it needs to draw upon the flesh.

A Hunger of Body

For thy passion was a sensual want refined;
A hunger of the body and the heart;
Thy want can tire and cease or turn elsewhere
Or love may meet a dire and pitiless end
By bitter treason, or wrath with cruel wounds
Separate, or thy unsatisfied will to others
Depart when first love’s joy lies stripped and slain:

"For, after all, thy passion was only a refined form of a sensual desire; a hunger of the body and heart; so thy desire can easily get bored and cease or turn to other sources of a satisfaction, also love may be betrayed and meet a bitter end, wrath may inflict wounds and separate the lovers, or thy unsatisfied will may depart to other persons when the first love’s joy is exposed (as inadequate or unworthy) and slain

Imitation of Love

A dull indifference replaces fire
Or an endearing habit imitates love:
An outward and uneasy union lasts
Or the routine of a life’s compromise.

"The first intensity of passion is soon replaced by a dull indifference; or a pleasant mechanical habit may continue to imitate the movements of love. What lasts is only an outer and uneasy union, not a true union of hearts; or a compromise is accepted and life settles into a routine once the charm of love has faded.

Two Strive

Where once the seed of oneness had been cast
Into a semblance of spiritual ground
By a divine adventure of heavenly powers
Two strive, constant associates without joy,
Two egos straining in a single leash,
Two minds divided by their jarring thoughts,
Two spirits disjoined, for ever separate.

"Where the heavenly powers in a sublime adventure had thrown the seed of love, of oneness, on a soil that appeared to be spiritually ready, now the two parties strive with each other — constant companions without joy in their association; they are two egos straining to outbeat each other under one driving impulse, two minds separated by their conflicting thoughts, two spirits set apart, separate. In all ways there is a division of the two in the wake of love; instead of the growth of oneness there comes the conflict of the two.

Ideal Falsified

Thus is the ideal falsified in man’s world;
Trivial or sombre, disillusion comes,
Life’s harsh reality stares at the soul:
Heaven’s hour adjourned flees into bodiless Time.

This is how an ideal is traduced in the world of men. Petty or grave the situation may be, disillusionment is sure to come; the harsh reality of life confronts the soul, pulling down the ideal. The hour of the heavenly ideal gets postponed and recedes into some unembodied future.

Death Saves

Death saves thee from this and saves Satyavan:
He now is safe, delivered from himself;
He travels to silence and felicity.

Call him not back to the treacheries of earth
And the poor petty life of animal Man.

In my vast tranquil spaces let him sleep
In harmony with the mighty hush of death
Where love lies slumbering on the breast of peace.

"Death saves thee and Satyavan from such a disillusionment. He is now safe, absolved; he proceeds to silence and felicity. Do not call him back to the betrayals of earth and to the poor small rounds of the animal life of man. Let him rest in my vast, quiet spaces in harmony with the great hush of death where love sleeps at last on the bosom of peace.

Go back alone

And thou, go back alone to thy frail world:
Chastise thy heart with knowledge, unhood and see
Thy nature raised into clear living heights,
The heaven-bird’s view from unimagined peaks.

For when thou givest thy spirit to a dream
Soon hard necessity will smite thee awake:
Purest delight began and it must end.

"And thou, return alone to thy fragile world. Correct thy heart with knowledge; remove the veil from thy eyes and see, with thy nature lifted up to clear, vivid heights, from a new summit-view. When thou allowest thy spirit to be lost in dreaming, hard necessity will soon strike thee awake. Even the purest bliss has had a beginning and so it must have an end.

Forget and Rest

Thou too shall know thy heart no anchor swinging
Thy cradled soul moored in eternal seas.

Vain are the cycles of thy brilliant mind.

Renounce, forgetting joy and hope and tears
Thy passionate nature in the bosom profound
Of a happy Nothingness and wordless Calm,
Delivered into my mysterious rest.

One with my fathomless Nihil all forget.

"Thou too shalt know, with thy heart free from all attachments, thy infant soul moored in seas eternal. Vain are the whirling thoughts of thy brilliant mind. Renounce all; forget joy, hope and suffering; let thy restless nature lie in the profound bosom of a happy Nothingness and silent Calm; deliver it into my mysterious rest. Become one with my endless Nihil and forget all.

Forget the Quest

Forget thy fruitless spirit’s waste of force,
Forget the weary circle of thy birth,
Forget the joy and the struggle and the pain,
The vague spiritual quest which first began
When worlds broke forth like clusters of fire-flowers,
And great burning thoughts voyaged through the sky of mind
And Time and its aeons crawled across the vasts
And souls emerged into mortality.”

"Forget this vain waste of thy spirit’s force, forget the endless rounds of thy birth, forget its joy, struggle and pain; forget the vague spiritual quest that first started when these worlds burst forth like so many bunches of fire-flowers and great intense thoughts passed through the mind, and Time and its aeons rolled across the vasts and souls emerged into this state of mortality."

Dangerous Music of Death

But Savitri replied to the dark Power:
“A dangerous music now thou findst, O Death,
Melting thy speech into harmonious pain,
And flut’st alluringly to tired hopes
Thy falsehoods mingled with sad strains of truth.

But I forbid thy voice to slay my soul.

Savitri replies:"O Death, thou findst now a dangerous music. Turning thy speech softly into rhythmic pain, thou intonest temptingly to tired hopes. Thy falsehoods are mixed with sad strains of truth. But I forbid thy voice to thus slay my soul.

My Love not a Craving

My love is not a hunger of the heart,
My love is not a craving of the flesh;
It came to me from God, to God returns.

Even in all that life and man have marred,
A whisper of divinity still is heard,
A breath is felt from the eternal spheres.

"Mine is not a love that is a hunger of the heart —as thou callest it; nor is it a desire of the flesh. My love has come to me from God and it climbs back to God. Even in all that life and man have spoiled, a whisper of God is still heard, a breath is still felt from the realms of the Eternal.

Voice of Eternal Ecstasy

Allowed by Heaven and wonderful to man
A sweet fire-rhythm of passion chants to love.

There is a hope in its wild infinite cry;
It rings with callings from forgotten heights,
And when its strains are hushed to high-winged souls
In their empyrean, its burning breath
Survives beyond, the rapturous core of suns
That flame for ever pure in skies unseen,
A voice of the eternal Ecstasy.

"Sanctioned by Heaven and wonderful to man, a sweet flaming rhythm of passion chants to love. In the wild boundless cry of this passion there is a hope; it rings with calls from summits that are forgotten. And when its strains reach and ebb away into the high heavens of up-soaring souls, its burning breath still survives beyond in the rapturous core of the ever-flaming, pure, unseen suns, as a voice of unending Ecstasy.

Near our Mother’s Face

One day I shall behold my great sweet world
Put off the dire disguises of the gods,
Unveil from terror and disrobe from sin.

Appeased we shall draw near our Mother’s face,
We shall cast our candid souls upon her lap;

"One day I shall see my great, sweet world cast aside the present dreadful disguises forced on it by the gods, see it put off the veil of terror and remove the robe of sin. Calmed, we shall draw near the face of our Divine Mother,’ we shall throw our sincere souls upon her lap.

Hope for all

Then shall we clasp the ecstasy we chase,
Then shall we shudder with the long-sought god,
Then shall we find Heaven’s unexpected strain.

Not only is there hope for godheads pure;
The violent and darkened deities
Leaped down from the one breast in rage to find
What the white gods had missed: they too are safe;
A Mother’s eyes are on them and her arms
Stretched out in love desire her rebel sons.

"Then will we be able to embrace the ecstasy that we have till now unsuccessfully chased; then will we thrill with the long-sought God of Love; then will we find the unexpected quality of Heaven. There is hope not only for the pure godheads, but equally for the violent and darkened powers who have leaped down in rage and revolt from the common Source — the heart of the Creative Divine — to find in this adventure what the pure gods have missed. These dark deities too are safe. On these rebel sons of hers are the Divine Mother’s eyes and to them her arms are stretched out in love. She desires them back.

Eternal’s Field

One who came, love and lover and beloved
Eternal, built himself a wondrous field
And wove the measures of a marvellous dance.

There in its circles and its magic turns
Attracted he arrives, repelled he flees.

"The Eternal who is at once the lover, the beloved and the love, came and formed for himself a wonderful field; he wove the patterns of a marvellous dance therein. Within its enchanting circles and magic turns, when attracted he arrives; when repelled, he flees.

Laughter and Wrath

In the wild devious promptings of his mind
He tastes the honey of tears and puts off joy
Repenting, and has laughter and has wrath,
And both are a broken music of the soul
Which seeks out, reconciled, its heavenly rhyme.

"In the unregulated devious movements of his mind, he enjoys the sweet taste of tears, putting aside joy in repentance; he has laughter, he has wrath, both of which are broken notes of the music of the soul which, reconciling itself to the dualities, seeks for its celestial rhythms.

Concealed call of Love

Ever he comes to us across the years
Bearing a sweet new face that is the old.

His bliss laughs to us or it calls concealed
Like a far-heard unseen entrancing flute
From moonlit branches in the throbbing woods,
Tempting our angry search and passionate pain.

“He comes again and again, each time with a sweet new face which, however, is the old. His bliss breaks, attracts us with its laughter or calls us from its concealed place, like the magic notes of a flute from far-off throbbing forests in the moonlight, tempting us to search for it in impatience and passionate pain.

Twin Souls

Disguised the Lover seeks and draws our souls.

He named himself for me, grew Satyavan.

For we are man and woman from the first,
The twin souls born from one undying fire.

The Divine Lover in disguise seeks and draws our souls to him. To me he came under the name of Satyavan. Satyavan and I are man and woman, the lover and the beloved, from the beginning; we are the two inseparable souls that have issued from the one immortal fire of the Spirit.

He has Pursued me

Did he not dawn on me in other stars?

How has he through the thickets of the world
Pursued me like a lion in the night
And come upon me suddenly in the ways
And seized me with his glorious golden leap!

"Has he not met me in other worlds as well? Through the maze of the world he has pursued me like a lion in the dark, descending upon me suddenly and seizing me with his glorious golden leap.

His Yearning for Me

Unsatisfied he yearned for me through time,
Sometimes with wrath and sometimes with sweet peace,
Desiring me since first the world began.

He rose like a wild wave out of the floods
And dragged me helpless into seas of bliss.

"He was never satisfied; he longed for me across the ages, at times wrathfully with impatience, at times with sweet peace, always desiring me since the birth of the world.Like a wild, impetuous wave from the floods he shot up and dragged me helpless into the seas of bliss.

His Arms

Out of my curtained past his arms arrived;
They have touched me like the soft persuading wind,
They have plucked me like a glad and trembling flower,
And clasped me happily burned in ruthless flame.

"From out of my veiled past his arms have come. They have touched me with the softness of a gentle wind; they have plucked me like a consenting flower thrilled and happy to be plucked; and they have clasped me happy to be consumed in the relentless flame of love.

I have run Delighted

I too have found him charmed in lovely forms
And run delighted to his distant voice
And pressed to him past many dreadful bars.

"I have also found him attractive in many lovely forms, I have run in delight to his voice coming from afar, I have pressed forward to seek him despite many dreadful obstructions. If there is a god happier and greater than him whom I have known, let him first wear the face of Satyavan before seeking me, let his soul become one with Satyavan’s whom I love, if I am to desire him.

Advance, O Death

For only one heart beats within my breast
And one god sits there throned. Advance, O Death,
Beyond the phantom beauty of this world;
For of its citizens I am not one.

I cherish God the Fire, not God the Dream.”

For in my breast beats only one heart and that is given to Satyavan; only one god sits there enthroned and that is Satyavan. O Death, proceed ahead, advance beyond the unsubstantial beauty of this world, for I am not one of its denizens. I cherish God in the form of the flaming Fire, not in the form of a phantom dream. Advance.

Death’s Dreadful Voice

But Death once more inflicted on her heart
The majesty of his calm and dreadful voice:
“A bright hallucination are thy thoughts.

But Death speaks once again and inflicts on her heart his majestic voice, calm and fearful.

Thy thoughts are truly a bright hallucination. Thou deceivest thyself.

Ardent Slave of Sensuous Will

A prisoner haled by a spiritual cord,
Of thy own sensuous will the ardent slave,
Thou sendest eagle-poised to meet the sun
Words winged with the red splendour of thy heart.

But knowledge dwells not in the passionate heart;
The heart’s words fall back unheard from Wisdom’s throne.

A captive dragged by a spiritual cord, thou art an eager slave of thy own passionate will. Thou sendest words hued with the red passion of thy heart soaring to the sun. But know that true knowledge does not dwell in the passionate heart; the heart’s words fall back unheard from the high throne of Wisdom.

Mind, Artificer of Ideal and Idea

Vain is thy longing to build heaven on earth.

Artificer of Ideal and Idea,
Mind, child of Matter in the womb of Life,
To higher levels persuades his parents’ steps,
Inapt, they follow ill the daring guide.

"Thy hope to build heaven on earth is in vain. Mind, the inventor of the Ideal, the craftsman of the Idea, is a child of Matter and Life. Mind persuades his parents — Matter and Life — to move upwards to higher levels of existence; but they are unfit and can hardly follow in the footsteps of this daring guide.

Mind Lame on Earth

But Mind, a glorious traveller in the sky,
Walks lamely on the earth with footsteps slow;
Hardly he can mould the life’s rebellious stuff,
Hardly can he hold the galloping hooves of sense:
His thoughts look straight into the very heavens;
They draw their gold from a celestial mine,
His acts work painfully a common ore.

"Though the Mind is a splendid voyager in the skies of thought, his steps on the earth are slow and he walks there haltingly; he finds it difficult to manage unruly life; he finds it hard to control the running senses. His thoughts peer into lofty heavens and the gold they draw comes from a celestial mine on high; but his actions are painfully engaged in the common stuff of everyday life — the Mind is rich in the realm of thought, but poor in the field of action.

Solid Image of Reality

All thy high dreams were made by Matter’s mind
To solace its dull work in Matter’s jail,
Its only house where it alone seems true.

A solid image of reality
Carved out being to prop the works of Time;
Matter on the firm earth sits strong and sure.

"All the high dreams that thou dreamest are in fact constructions of the material mind made in order to comfort itself in its dull routine in the prison of Matter; this prison is its only house where Matter alone seems true — and everything else unreal.

Matter is a solid image of reality created to support the works of Time. On the firm foundations of earth, Matter sits strong and secure.

Matter First-Born

It is the first-born of created things,
It stands the last when mind and life are slain,
And if it ended all would cease to be.

"Matter is the first to be created; Matter is also the last to remain when mind and life are gone. If Matter ended, all would end.

All Outcome of Matter

All else is only its outcome or its phase:
Thy soul is a brief flower by the gardener Mind
Created on thy Matter’s terrain plot;
It perishes with the plant on which it grows,
For from earth’s sap it draws its heavenly hue:
Thy thoughts are gleams that pass on Matter’s verge,
Thy life a lapsing wave on Matter’s sea.

"All else is only a result or a state of Matter. Thy soul is but a flower of brief span created by Mind the gardener on the terrain of Matter; it ends with the death of the body, the plant on which it grows. Its celestial hue is drawn from the sap of the earth. Thy thoughts are flashes that move on the borders of Matter, thy life is a falling wave on the sea of Matter.

Careful Steward

A careful steward of Truth’s limited means,
Treasuring her founded facts from the squandering Power,
It tethers mind to the tent-posts of sense,
To a leaden grey routine clamps Life’s caprice
And ties all creatures with the cords of Law.

"Matter is a careful custodian managing the limited resources of Truth, guarding her well-established facts from the wasteful Nature-Power. It ties down the mind to the limits of the senses, it clamps the whims and fancies of Life to a dull, hard routine and subjects all creatures to the rule of Law.

Matter a Rock

A vessel of transmuting alchemies,
A glue that sticks together mind and life,
If Matter fails, all crumbling cracks and falls.

All upon Matter stands as on a rock.

"Matter holds the magic alchemies that transmute things out of their nature; it is the glue that binds mind and life together. If Matter fails, all else crumbles and falls. Matter is the veritable rock upon which all stands firm.

Heat of Substance

Yet this security and guarantor
Pressed for credentials an impostor proves:
A cheat of substance where no substance is,
An appearance and a symbol and a nought,
Its forms have no original right to birth:

"And yet, this Matter which is taken to be the security and guarantee for the existence of forms and creatures, turns out to be an impostor when examined closely. It is found to be a seeming substance doing duty for a non-existent substance, a mere appearance, a symbol, a nothing. Its forms have no intrinsic right to exist.

Stability Cover for Motion

Its aspect of a fixed stability
Is the cover of a captive motion’s swirl,
An order of the steps of Energy’s dance
Whose footmarks leave for ever the same signs,
A concrete face of unsubstantial Time,
A trickle dotting the emptiness of Space:
A stable-seeming movement without change,
Yet change arrives and the last change is death.

Its appearance of a fixed stability is only a cover, a front of the whirl of an imprisoned energy in motion, a sequence in the dance movements of Energy whose footmarks leave always the same impressions, a substantial appearance of Time that is itself unsubstantial, a trickle marking dots in empty Space, a movement that seems stationary without change. And yet change does come and the final change is death.

Nihil’s show

What seemed most real once, is Nihil’s show.

Its figures are snares that trap and prison the sense;
The beginningless void was its artificer:
Nothing is there but aspects limned by Chance
And seeming shapes of seeming Energy.

"What appeared most real at one time turns out to be a show of a Nihil, a Nothing. Its patterns are nets of snares that trap and capture the senses. An eternal Void contrived its appearance. There is truly nothing there but some phenomena sketched out by Chance, and some seeming shapes — not real — of an Energy that also only seems to be.

All by Death’s Mercy

All by Death’s mercy breathe and live awhile,
All think and act by the Inconscient’s grace.

Addict of the roseate luxury of thy thoughts,
Turn not thy gaze within thyself to look
At visions in the gleaming crystal, Mind,
Close not thy lids to dream the forms of Gods.

"All breathe and live as long as Death allows them to do so. All think and act as far as the pervading Inconscient permits them.

Addicted as thou art to luxuriating in thy thoughts, do not turn thy gaze into thyself to peer into the bright crystal of thy mind for flattering visions; do not shut thy eyes to dream of the forms of the gods.

Inconscient World Springs Forth

At last to open thy eyes consent and see
The stuff of which thou and the world are made.

Inconscient in the still inconscient Void
Inexplicably a moving world sprang forth:
Awhile secure, happily insensible,
It could not rest content with its own truth.

"Consent at last to open thy eyes and see the real stuff of which thou and the world are made. In the still, inconscient Void, art inconscient moving world sprang up inexplicably. For a while it was secure, undisturbed and happy in its insensibility. But it could not long stay content with its own truth.

Something born from Nescience

For something on its nescient breast was born
Condemned to see and know, to feel and love,
It watched its acts, imagined a soul within;
It groped for truth and dreamed of Self and God.

"It could not rest content because from its nescience something was born which was compelled to see, to know, to feel and love. This element of consciousness that emerged from the nescience watched its acts, imagined that there was a soul within; it searched for truth and dreamed of Self and God.

Death the King

When all unconscious was, then all was well.

I, Death, was king and kept my regal state,
Designing my unwilled, unerring plan,
Creating with a calm insentient heart.

"When all was unconscious — prior to the birth of Consciousness — all was well. I, Death, was the monarch of all and I ruled everywhere shaping my spontaneous, perfect plan, creating with a calm, unfeeling heart.

Bizarrerie

In my sovereign power of unreality
Obliging nothingness to take a form,
Infallibly my blind unthinking force
Making by chance a fixity like fate’s,
By whim the formulas of Necessity,
Founded on the hollow ground of the Inane
The sure bizarrerie of Nature’s scheme.

"Working in my sovereign power of unreality I made nothingness to take shape. My blind, mechanical force acting infallibly, made by chance a fixity — a determinism — as of fate, and by its whim erected the formulas of Necessity. Thus was founded the concrete fantasy of Nature’s scheme on the hollow ground of the unfeeling Void.

Death the Creator

I curbed the vacant ether into Space;
A huge expanding and contracting breath
Harboured the fires of the universe:
I struck out the supreme original spark
And spread its sparse ranked armies through the Inane,
Manufactured the stars from the occult radiances,
Marshalled the platoons of the invisible dance;
I formed earth’s beauty out of atom and gas,
And built from chemic plasm the living man.

"I formed the fire elements.I pressed empty ether to constitute Space and the vibrating air, expanding and contracting in its movements, provided the base for fire. It was I who lighted the first spark and cast its issues through the insensible emptiness. I manufactured the stars — the light —from the occult, unseen radiances. I marshalled together the infinitesimal particles in their invisible gyrations; out of atoms and gas I built the earth in its beauty and from the chemical plasm I formed the living man.

Nature loses her Calm

Then Thought came in and spoilt the harmonious world:
Matter began to hope and think and feel,
Tissue and nerve bore joy and agony.

The inconscient cosmos strove to learn its task;
An ignorant personal god was born in Mind
And to understand invented reason’s law,
The impersonal Vast throbbed back to man’s desire,
A trouble rocked the great world’s blind still heart
And Nature lost her wide immortal calm.

"It was a harmonious world that I had built till Thought came in and spoilt things; Matter began to hope and think and feel; tissue and nerve became sensitive to joy and pain. The inconscient world strove hard to learn its task. An ignorant individual power took shape in the Mind and in order to understand things, reason and its law were invented. The impersonal Vast of the Universe responded to man’s desire and in consequence the great world’s blind, still heart was thrown into agitation. Nature lost her wide immortal calm.

Warped Scene

Thus came this warped incomprehensible scene
Of souls enmeshed in life’s delight and pain
And Matter’s sleep and Mind’s mortality,
Of beings in Nature’s prison waiting death
And consciousness left in seeking ignorance.

"Thus has come about this twisted, ununderstandable scene of souls caught up in the delight and pain of life, in the sleep of Matter and the mortality of Mind; of beings imprisoned by Nature, awaiting death; of consciousness in the hold of an ignorance seeking to know.

Stray Wanderings

This is the world in which thou movst, astray
In the tangled pathways of the human mind,
In the issueless circling of thy human life,
Searching for thy soul and thinking God is here.

"Such is the world in which thou livest and movest, going astray in the confused ways and byways of the human mind, absorbed in the mechanical rounds of thy life, vainly looking for thy soul and imagining God is here.

Where is Room for Soul or God?

But where is room for soul or place for God
In the brute immensity of a machine?

A transient Breath thou takest for thy soul,
Born from a gas, a plasm, a sperm, a gene,
A magnified image of man’s mind for God,
A shadow of thyself thrown upon Space.

"But where can there be any room for soul or God in this brute immensity of a machine that is the world? Thou takest for thy soul a fleeting Breath in thy physical body; thou takest for God a magnified image of thy mind, a shadow of thyself cast. in Space.

Distorting Mirror of Ignorance

Interposed between the upper and nether Void,
Thy consciousness reflects the world around
In the distorting mirror of Ignorance
Or upwards turns to catch imagined stars.

"Placed between the Void above and the Void below, thy Consciousness merely reflects the world around it in the distorting mirror of the pervading Ignorance; or it soars upwards to grasp the stars which are only products of its imagination.

Luminous Smudge

Or if a half Truth is playing with the earth
Throwing its light on a dark shadowy ground,
It touches only and leaves a luminous smudge.

"Or if some partial Truth is at play with the earth, casting its light on the dark shadowy ground, then it only touches the earth and leaves behind it a shining blot.

Immortality not for Imperfect Man

Immortality thou claimest for thy spirit,
But immortality for imperfect man,
A god who hurts himself at every step,
Would be a cycle of eternal pain.

"Thou claimest immortality for thy spirit; but for man, an imperfect creature, a god who is prone to hurt himself at every step, immortality would only result in an endless cycle of continuous pain.

Knowledge and Love on Earth (1)

Wisdom and love thou claimest as thy right;
But knowledge in this world is error’s make,
A brilliant procuress of Nescience
And human love a posturer on earth-stage
Who imitates with verve a faery dance.

"Thou claimest wisdom and love as thy right; but in this world, knowledge is a product of error, a brilliant agent of Nescience. And human love is but a poseur on the earth-stage imitating a supernatural dance with gusto.

Knowledge and Love on Earth (2)

An extract pressed from hard experience,
Man’s knowledge casked in the barrels of Memory
Has the harsh savour of a mortal draught:
A sweet secretion from the erotic glands
Flattering and torturing the burning nerves,
Love is a honey and poison in the breast
Drunk by it as the nectar of the gods.

"Man’s knowledge is an extract drawn from hard experience and stored in the barrels of Memory; it has the crude flavour of a mortal drink.

Love is only a sweet secretion from the erotic glands, now causing pleasure, now pain to the excited nerves; drunk by man as the nectar of the gods, it is both honey and poison to the human breast.

Unnatural Flight

Earth’s human wisdom is no great-browed power,
And love no gleaming angel from the skies.

If they aspire beyond earth’s dullard air,
Arriving sunwards with frail waxen wings
How high could reach that forced unnatural flight?

"Earth’s human wisdom is no exalted power; neither is love a shining angel from the heavens. Their wings are frail and artificial. If they aspire to soar beyond the dull air of earth and go sunwards, how high could that unnatural flight reach?

Love and Wisdom are not of Earth

But not on earth can divine wisdom reign
And not on earth can divine love be found;
Heaven-born, only in heaven can they live,
Or else there too perhaps they are shining dreams.

"But divine wisdom cannot reign on earth, nor can divine love be found here. They are both born in heaven and they can live only in heaven. Or perhaps, there too they do not truly exist, but are only glittering dreams.

All a Dream

Nay, is not all thou art and doest a dream?

Thy mind and life are tricks of Matter’s force.

If thy mind seems to thee a radiant sun,
If thy life runs a swift and glorious dream,
This is the illusion of thy mortal heart
Dazzled by a ray of happiness or light.

"Art not thou thyself and thy doings a mere dream, after all? Thy mind and life are just brief stratagems of Matter’s force, they do not really exist on their own. If thy mind appears to thee a bright sun, if thy life flows like a swift and splendid dream, that is only an illusion of thy mortal heart which is dazzled by a ray of happiness or light. It is not reality.

Motion of old Nought

Impotent to live by their own right divine,
Convinced of their brilliant unreality,
When their supporting ground is cut away,
These children of Matter into Matter die.

Even Matter vanishes into Energy’s vague
And Energy is a motion of old Nought.

"Mind and life cannot live by their own natural right; they know well that they have no existence of their own and that they are unreal — albeit brilliantly so. And when their supporting base of Matter is shorn away, these products of Matter naturally lapse into Matter.Even Matter is seen to disappear into the vagueness of Energy. And what is Energy but a motion of the ancient Nothing?

Ideal’s Unsubstantial Hues

How shall the Ideal’s unsubstantial hues
Be painted stiff on earth’s vermilion blur,
A dream within a dream come doubly true?

How shall the will-o’-the-wisp become a star?

"How indeed is it possible to paint the vague hues of the Ideal on the brilliant red blur of the earth? That will be like making a dream and a dream within that dream come true. How shall a seeming phosphorescent gleam become a real star?

Ideal a Malady of Mind

The Ideal is a malady of thy mind,
A bright delirium of thy speech and thought,
A strange wine of beauty lifting thee to false sight.

A noble fiction of thy yearnings made,
Thy human imperfection it must share:
Its forms in Nature disappoint the heart,
And never shall it find its heavenly shape
And never can it be fulfilled in Time.

"The Ideal is a disease of thy mind, a bright delirium of thy speech and thought in fever, a strange heady wine of beauty wafting thee to a false vision. It is a fiction — noble perhaps — created by thy intense desires and hence it must share thy human imperfection. Its forms of expression in Nature come as a disappointment to the heart. It can never find its own heavenly shape on earth. It can never be fulfilled in Time.

Submit and Suffer

O soul misled by the splendour of thy thoughts,
O earthly creature with thy dream of heaven,
Obey, resigned and still, the earthly law.

Accept the light that falls upon thy days;
Take what thou canst of Life’s permitted joy,
Submitting to the ordeal of Fate’s scourge
Suffer what thou must of toil and grief and care.

"O soul who art misled by the splendour of thy thoughts, O earthly creature who dreamest of heaven, be resigned, be still, and obey the law of the earth. Accept the little light that falls on thy days, snatch from Life what thou cant of the joy permitted to thee. Submit to the whip of Fate, suffer thy share of toil, grief and care.

Long Night of Sleep

There shall approach silencing thy passionate heart
My long calm night of everlasting sleep:
There into the hush from which thou cam’st retire.”

"At last shall approach thee, silencing the passionate throbbings of thy heart, my long, calm night of endless sleep. Retire into that silence from which thou camest originally."