Harishchandra (5)

5. The Trial

What man may have to do in future days

to sustain life is not for him to say;

so wisdom does not lie in saying that

one will or wont do such and such a thing.

Beside the burning pyre, mighty king

Harishchandra, for no true fault of his,

stood with his staff, his black beard pointed, long,

tanned and tempered with work and exposure

to the harsher elements of nature;

uncomplaining though, honest, dilligent

for the benefit of a chandala

in charge of all cremations at the ghat.

By night, Harishchandra awaited all

who brought dead bodies of near and dear ones,

assisted them to build the pyre and

consoled them too with words of wisdom great

so that he slowly gained their respect too;

by daylight, he, after the needed sleep,

assisted his master and errands ran

and so in honest earnings passed his days.

His wife and son had with the brahmin gone

to his poor dwelling near the river bank.

The brahmin's wife, a barrel-woman she,

with love for food, tolerance for the rest

and greater desire for rest than work,

welcomed all three with the same haughty smile

for she was queen though small her cottage poor.

The henpecked husband, sheep to shepherd he,

spoke with subdued words of love, "Servants yours !"

Did he include himself? I cannot say.

"Ha, ha ! Ho, ho !" she laughed. "I hope these stay."

She called Shaibya and caught her by the neck,

looked closely at her skin so soft and fair

and chiding husband spoke, "What have we here?

A woman fair and lovely does not work !

O what have you brought? Cohort? Cowife? Maid?

You men are all the same ! All moths to flame !

Beware my tigress nails that'll tear you up

should you but lift a bewitched eye to her.

I'll roughen up her features with hard work

so that such useless things as beauty will

find proper use in serving me, not you.

Now get you in ! Don't stand and stare at me !"

So saying, with a haughty march she went

into the poor abode, this brahmin's queen.

They followed the loud-spoken brahmin's wife,

a veritable Amazon, who used

her words only to command, not to please.

She showed their quarters to the newcomers,

a cold and humble corner dark where sun

never shone, infested by mould and mice,

a small lattice window for breathing air

and so little light that to be outside

working all the time would be better far

in broad daylight or under icy stars.

Early next morning before the cock crew

to anounce the first sight of soft daylight

way high up in the sky, before the stars

sunk in the sky, before the splendid dawn

could smile upon the weary sleepers late,

Shaibya felt a hand that shook her shoulder

to force a rude exit from happy dreams.

"Up ! Lazy bones !" the barrel-woman cried,

"Daylight brightens over the horizon.

There's work to do. The floor to sweep and smear

with red clay and cowdung mix, milk the cow,

fetch water, boil and serve, cull flowers fresh

for worship, then cut, peel, grind, cook and serve.

There's more as day proceeds. No time to sleep."

So, up she got and Rohitashwa too

and went about their work without a sound.

And thus her grinding-wheel of days,

in which had queenly ego been a stone

'twould have hurt the more, roughly grated on

without all hopes of change for better treat;

for, though the subdued brahmin pity took

on her and on the boy, he dared not look

straight in the eyes of his darling love

to tell her what he really thought of this.

And she was heartless, if that is correct

and signifies a monster inhuman,

demanding, cruel, harsh and hard to please.

Yet Shaibya kept her silent lips shut tight

and let not bitter tears drop from her eyes

knowing well that she did her duty by

her cherished husband who had vows to keep.

Though young Rohitashwa found it hard

to serve because as prince he only had

learnt to command others, not obey, him

she taught and trained to swallow bitterness,

to work hard until better days would come

when they would all unite under a home.

And so the days passed: one sturdily stood

by the cremation ground loyal to one

that hired him; the other two not less

loyal and obedient, although she

whom these two served seemed not to see at all

how hard they drudged and toiled just for her sake.

Instead, on another unlucky day,

when Rohitashwa, culling flowers fine

for early service of the Lord, was bit

by a poisonous snake, a cobra king,

he cried and fell, he held his leg, he called,

felt dizzy, numb and cold and passed away

even before his mother could lift him

to her loving lap and bid him not to go.

She clasped him to her bosom and she wailed,

her constricted heart felt like it would burst,

her tears were warm pools between blades of grass,

her sobs between her wails were tremours great;

now she was dizzy and the world collapsed

into dark oblivion, now again

it seemed to gather its fragments and rise

in such meaningless colours, shapes and forms

as were unable to console distress.

"You are cruel, God !" said Shaibya. "Cruel,

unjust, unfair ! For what is it that I

have done to offend you for which you

punish me, a feeble, innocent soul

that meekly shares her pious husband's fate?

And, O ! When even he is torn apart

from me by blind destiny, must my son

be thus snatched away from his mother's side?

O ! What is woman but a sufferer ! 

A weakling born to kitchen work and care,

robbed of her choice by social pressures and

looted by heaven, scattered in the winds.

If this is life, if this the true reward

of faith in divine justice, so be it.

I have no wish to live, O kill me too !"

Thus Shaibya cried, and tore her hair and breasts

and hit her head with fists and knuckles hard

as neighbours, master and her mistress flocked

around this tragic event silently.

The brahmin, wisest soul of all, addressed

the weeping mother with these gentle words:

"I'm sorry, woman, for this tragedy.

Your boy has unkindly been nipped in bud.

When old men die, we feel they lived their full;

when young men die, we feel the loss is great.

Though death is certain, may it never come

to those so young and budding, in their prime.

But you, you should be brave. Give not up hope

and blame not divine justice for your fate.

What gods brew in heaven can only be

for the ultimate good of everyone.

Weep not over what you no more control,

just do your duty, forsake not your faith."

"That's well said !" Chimed in the good brahmin's wife,

"'Just do your duty !' Oh ! Well-said indeed !

Of what avail is it to weep and cry

now that the soul has flown? The boy is dead.

Accept the fact and let the body lie

where it has fallen. Fall to household work

so that you forget sorrow and distress,

'tis better than to watch and weep and wail."

She spoke thus while kind neighbours gaped and stared;

some whispered, "What a monster have we here !"

But Shaibya pleadingly addressed her thus:

"I cannot leave the corpse of my dear son

out here to dry all day. Dogs and vultures

might snatch or pounce on it. Oh, let me take

his body to the ghat without delay."

The barrel-woman had a different view

which, though harsh and bitter, she thus expressed:

"I have been kind to you. No more will I

accept disobedience from a slave.

Now let the body lie and hie to work.

Tonight when all is done you may proceed

with it to the cremation ground, not now !"

Sweet Shaibya wondered what she served: woman,

demon, ghoul or elf? But choice she had none;

the mistress commanded thus; she obeyed

like one devoid of both her heart and head.

Never has time slowed more for mortal man

than when broken-hearted Shaibya moved slow,

like a zombie from out the grave, at work

for a cruel mistress. The sluggish sun

hung quite insensitive and motionless

from an immobile sky above fixed earth,

which itself froze in its diurnal round,

wind seemed not to blow, water not to flow,

the falling leaf nor fell nor rose but hung

suspended in mid air as all time stopped.

Nothing moved but wounded feelings that churned,

transforming themselves into million drops

that fell where'er she went despite herself

and spoke of grief that knew no bounds at all.

Somehow she spent a million seconds slow,

each a miserable span, each hard blow,

and, when the kindest night of all her life

once more united her with her dead child,

she did not weep again but took a course

straight to the ghat, hugging a beloved corpse.

There by the Ganges banks the northward flow

of holy water murmured a sad truth:

this aberration from a southern course,

this backward flow for a long stretch of space

arrested the human mind as quite rare

and, therefore, holy, sacred like sad death.

Indeed all those who renounce life and seek

the soul's final home travel to the north;

towards the north, they say, proceeds the path

to heaven. Mortal ash and cinder here

float northward in pursuit of soul that flies.

There by the Ganges banks her husband dear

built pyres and lit them and the golden flames

consumed so many each night and day

that the living swarms of humanity

could never guess how life here comes and goes;

for not unless a person dear to one

passes away does one feel painful bite

that leaves behind a blue-black sorrow stain

upon the ruffled human consciousness.

There by the Ganges banks this sad, dark night

with Rohitashwa in her weary arms

Shaibya came. She placed the body now cold

on colder slabs beside the pyre and wept,

for she did not have the means to procure

the needed firewood or priestly help

to perform her only child's obsequies.

"O Lord ! What shall I do?" she cried and sobbed.

A helpless woman by the river bank

this late at night and sobbing silently,

alone, without the normal crowd of men,

cousins, relatives, friends and neighbours too,

was not quite normal. Harishchandra guessed

she must be a truly forsaken soul,

deep in trouble, in need of succour kind,

and so he thither walked to calm her down.

Yet when he saw the likeness of his wife

beside the likeness of his son, he still

doubted what he perceived and, therefore, asked,

for it was pitch dark: "What ails you, woman?

Who is this on the ground? Your child perhaps?"

But Shaibya recognized her lord as soon

as she heard his gentle voice and burst out

through tears and sobs and suppressed misery:

"At last I've found you, lord ! At last ! Alas !

Too late, my lord ! Too late ! For he is gone !

Our son Rohitashwa has passed away."

Nor more could she speak for lumps in her throat

suffocated her; so she threw herself

at his dear feet and wept. 'Twas now his turn

to feel crab-claws clutch at his quickened heart.

"O merciful heaven !" he cried out loud,

"O Vishwanath ! You answer to all pains !

Support me now ! Give me the strength to bear

this sudden blow of evil fate, O Lord !"

And wiping nose and eyes he lifted up

the cold corpse in his arms and hugged it tight

as if by doing so the soul long flown

would briefly return, open eyes and smile.

After the darkest agony, a sense

returned to him and he then turned to wife

Shaibya whom he clasped close and spoke: "Calm down

dear Shaibya ! What is past is past. That which

Almighty Fate has written comes to pass

of necessity. Man is born to die.

'Tis better here than elsewhere, for Kashi,

the city of lights, Shiva's own city,

a spot of pilgrimage and bestower

of liberation, blesses even death."

"You speak wise words, my lord ! But wisdom has

no place in mother's foolish heart of love.

What you say is true, I know; but, O how

can feeble woman find the strength to bear

the miserable loss of one so dear?"

"I do not know, my dear !" he softly said.

"I do not know." And for a moment laid

his head on her shoulder. Thus stood these two

leaning on each other this blackest night

that seemed to swallow all but poignant pain.

The corpse had yet to be cremated here

and Shaibya told her husband to proceed;

but he stood silent, not a word spoke he.

And when she asked him why he so delayed

he stroked his bearded cheeks and pawed the ground,

then cleared his throat and made a stupid sound.

"We must cremate our son," sad Shaibya said.

"E'en for our own son taxes must be paid,

for that is why I stand to guard the ghats.

This is my job and I must do it well."

Oh, who among us living would say so

were wife to request the funeral rites

for our dead child; was Harishchandra mad?

Did he not have a heart? Was he a fool?

Or are we all, all stupid animals

that have no judgment when it comes to true

and honest dealings with those around us?

Can we uphold what we believe is right?

Hold it high over family and self

for social good? Untouched by pomp or pelf?

Man can; Harishchandra can; but, can we?