Harishchandra (4)

4. Journey to Kashi

"You are cruel, God!" weeping people cried

to see their king begin his southward march

with just a staff to ward all dangers off

for they with simple, honest minds could not

fathom divine workings on human life;

for them this was a thoughtless instance of

His indifference on human destiny.

"You are cruel, God!" says man when he feels

a pang of misfortune that comes his way

and judges God like does a growing child—

whose lack of ripeness and his fancies wild

together with a confidence that gives

the strength to uphold that which he believes—

his parents; but then such accusation,

a mixture of impatience and sorrow,

falls flat to the ground against divine will.

Knowing full well this truth, Harishchandra

accused no one, but praised the Lord that he

received a lovely chance for charity.

So, thankful to the Lord he trod along

the road that led the three further away

from rich palace, capital, kingdom, home,

to distant lands, through villages and towns.

The autumn sun that fell behind the trees

glowed like an ember, splintered into rays

that shot not towards the earth but away

and far into a mellow sky that turned

red like the tearful eyes of a lover

lost to hopes of any reunion.

The further they went, darker grew the town

they left behind in the evening gloam,

fawns on their haunches sat and brooded long

as they chewed the remaining grass which they

dangled from their mouth, sparrows did not sport,

canaries were silent in their cages

and smoke did not rise from roofs, not this night !

The golden ocean of rich paddy field

stirred by a cooling vesper wind surged up

with hopes of winning Harishchandra's heart

and subsided to saddest dejection,

then seemed to wave and call the travellers

back to where their sorry journey begun.

The forest darkened, darkened fields and plains,

the road-side river mumbled, grumbled on,

sharp grit and pebbles bit into the sole

of their soft feet as if to slow their march

if not to stop them from their dark exile.

Yet on they trod on weary legs as night

soon met them in the wilderness alone.

Although the argent moon with fullness shrunk

by a quarter perhaps still illumined

their coiling path, although the stars too shone

with brilliance in the vast nocturnal sky,

they stumbled, staggered, struggled, slipped and strode

with hopes to find a human dwelling near

where they could share the comfort of a porch.

But there were no huts or cottages near,

no village or hermit's abode, just vast

wilderness where roamed hungry, stealthy cats

and tigers that sought the sorry prey.

There was but little else to do but walk

against the squeaking flesh and melting bone,

so they plodded on until they arrived

at a road-side shelter erected by

a thoughtful merchant for the pilgrim's rest

by day a cooling spot, by night a nest.

There, thanking God, three tired travellers

found a dark, warm corner wherein to rest.

'Twas one small room, a ten by eight perhaps,

and another couple lay huddled where

the wind was less likely to wander free.

Without disturbing those who slumbered there

these lay upon the cold but safer floor,

nor wanted more for weary flesh was quick

to welcome healthy sleep, a blessing great;

but when early birds chirrupped in their nests,

when like a sleepless lover's eyes the sun

rose red through trees over the vast plain

that breathed a thick layer of vapour white,

the travellers were already up and out.

Harishchandra, having bathed himself

at the water-spout of well-carvèd rock,

said his morning prayers with folded palms,

sighted Adhitya through netted fingers

and wished joy and peace to all the world.

He then addressed his fellow sojourners

at the shelter and inquired of them

their source, their destination and their name.

"We come from distant northern hills that rise

like devoted aspirants that look up

to the highest snowy peak that supports

the whole blue dome like a central pillar

of exquisitely variegated earth.

Long have we travelled, covered distance great

and are thankful that we have almost reached

Ayodhya's gate, where Harishchandra rules.

Truthful king of generous soul, kind heart,

whose immense fame has travelled all the way

e'en to us, draws us now to him. We go

to seek his charity and find a home

in his industrious country where we

intend to make a living better than

at home where we were living less than man."

"Alas ! Good friends !" the pauper king, he cried,

on hearing such expectations from one

who was in no position now to give.

" Alas the day when I have not a thread

to give as charity to those who need.

I, Harishchandra, humbly ask of you

not to take offence at long travel's end

at one who has offered up all he had

to sage Vishwamitra. Friends, I travel

in the company of my wife and son

to distant lands where I must earn my bread.

We go to Kashi. Go, you two, ahead

and seek the sage, for he is kind and wise.

He will listen with compassion, provide

for you and grant you what you sorely need."

So saying he blessed their journey, took leave,

and started once again the long, long trek.

It certainly was a long, hard journey

for those who walked only among flowers,

on green, grassy lawns and carpeted halls;

yet their slow and steady progress, though hard

and physically demanding, brought them close

to the bright city of lights, Kashi called,

vast, fertile land of holy greenery.

'Twas here the newly wedded Mahadev

brought home his bride Parvati, for he thought

there was no better spot on earth beside

Kailash, his permanent residence,

so that Vishwanatha, phallus divine,

has found worship at the holy centre

that radiates to temples ten miles thence.

Sweetly flows the Ganges, fed by Asi

and Varuna, two rivers that here flank

a pilgrimmage, one of seven gateways

to salvation, now Varanasi called,

where the agèd and the wise, having left

domestic and worldly charges behind,

having raised children, done their social works,

next seek a spiritual salvation

even as they await their sure demise.

'Twas here Harishchandra with wife and son

came with great hopes of finding bread and home;

for they had received food and other aids

to travel from kind fellow pilgrims who

sought company to pass the distance long;

these too had found in wise Harishchandra

a learnèd man of great experience.

And now to Kashi they arrived with heart

joyous at having accomplished the march,

but miserable too, for they knew not

where to go or whom to seek for support.

Descending to the banks of Ganges fair,

they cleansed the dirt of travel and their sins

with holy ablution, and then they walked

towards the clustered habitation dense

surrounded by a landscape so immense

and unmolested that the human soul

could not forget that it was part of whole.

Yet in the sinuous lanes that tunnelled,

funnelled or opened out to wide bazaars,

they lost themselves although it mattered not

for they did not have a place to go.

Cows, bulls, calfs and buffaloes wandered free,

secure in that they had a shed to go;

hostile dogs barked at the small family

huddled in the shade of a small abode.

'Twas now the moment to act with wisdom.

Turning to his wife, Harishchandra spoke:

"Shaibya dear ! Our darker days have come.

We now have to part with each other too

for no one needs three servants in their house.

Rohitashwa is too young to be left

alone to his evil fate. Therefore, he

must remain with you wherever you go

and feel your love shine bright upon his night.

I will find some work, whatever it be,

but you shall work for a good family

until we both have earned enough to pay

the sage's dues. Let us seek work to do."

The queen was ready to work, not to part

from her belovèd husband dear to her;

so deeply did she feel this heavy blow

upon her heart that there she swooned away

and fell upon the ground. Rohitashwa cried.

Onlookers saw the fall and kindly ones

approached to understand the malady

but saw sad tears come tumbling down the eyes

of Harishchandra, brave man who now cried.

First they tended to Shaibya on the ground,

sprinkled water on her face and gave to sip

and when she sat up dizzy still with pang,

one asked, "What ails you, Sir? Your wife is sick

it seems, or has exhaustion o'ertaken

pilgrims from a distant land? Bless you ! Speak !"

"We are poor travellers come to Kashi bright

with brighter hopes of finding work to do.

And now we're here, I from my darling wife

must part, this parting almost takes our life.

My wife and child, kind Sir, will both serve you

while I another who will hire me.

We have nothing with us but what we wear,

yet must live through the darkest days of life.

Be kind, O holy dwellers of this town,

procure our service, let us serve you here."

To one who had throughout his life given

alms and charity to seekers it was

natural to expect that the world

would be just as charitable as he;

but no, the selfish ones abound like fish

and multiply as fast in this wide world,

and man is quicker to receive than give.

"I have a servant at home and don't need

another one to serve me," said this man.

This was the general answer given

by everyone whom he approached and none

would hire him or Shaibya; yet he called

to everyone passing by. Darker grew

the day and hopes of finding employment.

But then as if by destiny dispatched

a brahmin man came walking slowly by

when the darkling street was quite deserted

and the moon was already in the sky.

He seemed less to see than to hear a plea

that dropped from an able man hopelessly;

he stopped, he peered, then took a step ahead,

but turned around and peered again at one

who was indeed a queen of loveliness.

"Can you work?" he asked. "Cook, clean, sweep and wash?

And fetch and carry water from the well?

Maintain the garden? Bring the firewood?

And after the chores, feed the cattle too?

If so," said he, "follow me or else stay."

"I will do all that and more, kind Sir !"

replied Shaibya. "I have a son who will

stay with me too and help me do the work."

"One more mouth to feed," complained the brahmin.

"Will he do everything he can to help

and not just loiter and pass useless time?"

"I will," replied the boy and so they left.

And in the gloom sad Harishchandra felt

a prick of thousand thorns in tender heart

that throbbed madly inside his chest. His brow

upon his palm, his other hand on chest,

he stood and watched the night and unknown street

swallow wife and son, while his own future

was yet uncertain. Doors and windows closed

the cold outside and life went on inside

as if the whole humanity at large

remained secure from hunger, thirst and cold.

For who can know the pains he has not had?

For who in warm hearths ever feels the cold?

For who with meals two times a day can know

the vice-like grip of hunger in the guts

of those that seek to find an honest job

but go without both job and food for days?

Having nowhere to go he stood confused,

wondering how and where to pass the night;

sometimes he counted stars, at times he thought

to simply knock upon a door, a heart,

to test what human virtue would impart.

As night grew young, a tall and bearded man,

unkempt and coarse, with a thick staff in hand,

came walking out of darkness of the night

like a dreadful shade from another realm.

He was a chandala, most despised mix

of brahmin mother and sudra father,

a mere bedside product of loathsome lust

cast down the rungs of social hierarchy

right to the bottom bog whence never he

could rise to levels of humanity.

Yet he, a chandala, seeing a man

sitting with his back against the cold wall

this late at night, inquired of his fate,

and, learning it, quick replied, "If you please,

I'll hire you, for you look strong and brave,

to burn dead bodies at the holy ghat

by night so that I may rest. I will too

demand daylight service for board and food."

"God be thanked ! Good man ! For whatever work

it is, it still is work, for I must work

to raise the dues and make a livelihood.

So I will serve you willingly, give you

such satisfaction by my labour that

you'll not regret what you have done for me."

So saying, overjoyed with prospect new,

picking up his staff, Harishchandra stood

ready to serve his master all for good.

Harishchandra (3)

3. Exile

O, what a noble deed it is to give,

to shed the weight of all that drags us down

to the bog of course matter, to allow

the light spirit to rise above the self

that ever seeks itself through attachment

to something—name, fame, pelf, power or words.

It is mortal to seek, human to give;

by giving man ascends to human heights.

The seeking soul can only justify

through reasons queer to saintly sacrifice

the purpose of his material quest;

the giver foregoes all his claims upon

not just the thing he gives, but reason too,

and by devotion to another kind

lives not in the body but in the mind.

And so our reverend forefathers preached

and practiced rites of charity, for which

to be consummated an addition

though of a smaller quantity was thought

an utmost requirement. He who gave

had to accomplish the act of giving

by a second service though nominal.

This was what Vishwamitra asked of him

who now no longer was Ayodhya's king.

"I am pleased with the largeness of your heart,

Harishchandra. I now demand that you

supply the complementary alms to me

or else your charity remains undone."

"Allow me sage," replied the pauper king,

"to call my men and send them home to bring

the required sum from my treasury."

"No, no !" Cried the sage, "That you shall not do,

for what was yours is all mine, everything:

the royal coffer, crown and scepter all !

You may no longer touch these, and the men

no longer serve a man no longer king.

So, be done with your act of charity

and, leaving my kingdom, go somewhere else."

This poignant truth so struck his conscious mind

like hammer a smith's anvil that perplexed

he stood and looked around as if

he did not stand upon solid ground.

Poor charitable soul, he had no means

to accomplish his act of charity

and thus felt suspended like his father

between a heaven of virtue and a fall

to soul-shattering stones and cruel rocks.

He thought and thought but found himself at loss

of solution to his predicament;

speechless he gazed at earth and sky, ashamed,

his soul mortified, heavy heart weighed down.

Addressing this speechless king, spoke the sage:

"Speak up, man! Why do you thus stare at me?

Do you repent your act of charity

and wish you had not spoken so soon?

I am a hermit of the wilderness

who does not need your kingdom or your crown;

take it back, for I do not accept gifts

offered half-heartedly and with remorse,

such greed-stained gifts are better left alone."

Sable clouds on the sage's hoary brow

rich with the charge of anger, dripping too,

threatened to drown the virtue of one

who now came slowly out of self-defeat

through prolonged silence; he then slowly spoke:

"No, sage ! Curse me instead as you then were

about to do so rather than return

that which I have offered with all my heart;

mistake not my silence for selfishness,

my present plight that grips me like a vice

for irresponsible silence. Sweet sage,

since I have given all, I have no more

to give at this time and place. Allow me

a little time in which to earn and give,

for I will work like any citizen

to give you what is now your due. I will."

Condescending to such an earnest plea,

Vishwamitra replied with dignity:

"Six months you shall have, Harishchandra. Go !

When the sun returns with warmer rays,

return with my dues, no later, or else

you are not worth your words. With wife and child

leave this country and find a work elsewhere."

Grateful Harishchandra thanked the sage

and, doffing off his crown, his ornaments

of gold and ruby, topaz, silver, jade,

he placed these at the hermit's feet and left.

The curious stallion looked at him

and wondered why it was abandoned thus,

but the sage had sunk into the silence

of soul-deep meditation once again.

The ex-king hiked his homeward way alone,

but not quite alone for those who had come

to hunt with a king followed a beggar

they loved nevertheless with all their heart;

nor did they ride although each had a horse,

for how could they who felt their ex-king's plight

without any power to change its course?

Some rushed ahead to break the news at home,

not happy though to carry out this task

because they feared the queen might burst with grief

too heavy for the messenger to bear,

because they feared the prince might go insane

with sudden change of fortune untoward,

because they feared the courtiers would weep

to lose a loving king all just and wise,

because they feared the people would collect

into an unruly crowd and create

a hindrance on the path of virtue's march.

Yet on they rushed, the news spread fast and thick,

faster than winds that blow over the sea,

thicker than solid, sable clouds that hang

over a country struck with darkest grief.

'Twas late afternoon when Harishchandra

arrived at the city gate; people there

formed a silent, sullen mass of onlookers

whose eyes were reddening like the softening sun.

There stood his wife and son, attired now

not in regal splendour and ornaments

as befitted them, but, alas, in plain,

meagre length of as course a cotton cloth

as can humbly guard human decency.

Yet Shaibya looked as pure as fine, fresh rays

of primal sunshine on the fresh, wet earth

and Rohitashwa, rosy dew-drop he,

one the other's support. They awaited

Harishchandra's arrival to depart.

He looked at wife and son and knew that they

knew everything that he may have to say,

eyes spoke to eyes, soul to soul, and he then

addressed his wife and son: "I have given

the crown, the sceptre and the kingdom too

to sage Vishwamitra who now commands

that we leave his country. So, let us go."

But as they stept forth from the palace gate

onto the city's major public street,

the large crowd that gathered on both its sides

to witness the royal exile so sad

closed like a door against their forward march.

"Go not, king ! O stay ! Stay with us yet,"

cried one from the crowd, a heart-broken soul;

another cried, "Do not abandon us !

We will be orphaned by your departure.

Where will you go, truthful Harishchandra?

Like Aditya, the sun god, will you too

disappear behind the trees and let night

entomb us in the darkness of your absence?

O do not go ! Noble soul ! Stay with us !"

"I have to go, friends," said Harishchandra,

"for sage Vishwamitra has wished it so.

I have to go. This is my destiny.

Stop me not with sad tears and woeful cries

when painful parting from the ones I love

already weighs tons upon my heavy heart.

Yet joys and sorrows, simple ups and downs

in the topography of life, must not

deter the virtuous march of life itself

to destined goals of duties to fulfill.

I go to Kashi, sacred spot on earth,

where I will work and earn and save the dues

I owe to the sweet sage and must pay him

within these six months. Deter me not, friends,

for that would be indeed unfriendly act;

but give me leave and wish me well so that

even in foreign lands I do not lose

confidence in myself or faith in God."

"Truthful soul," yet another cried, dismayed

at the tragic turn of the king's fortune,

"you do not have to go to Kashi thus

to pay your dues, for we will raise it here."

"Thank you, friend," replied the king, "but, alas,

I cannot accept what you raise for me,

for alms are not given by raising alms;

when I offered the kingdom to the sage,

I offered him its people and their wealth,

I cannot dip my fingers here and then

pretend at charity. So give me leave.

The sun is 'bout to step upon the peak

and wolfish night with hungry jaws draws near,

a long and toilsome journey lies ahead

without a horse or hope to rest in bed."

So saying he stept forth and led the way

to make the best of distance in light of day.

Harischandra (2)

2. The Hunt

Have you seen heaven, O postmodern man,

you who waste your time in wise fooleries

deconstructing texts on nature's glory

expressed in breathlong phrases without rhyme?

A centreless self-centred world that moves

around the sun's gravitational force

forms your social paradise of grief,

while your greed pollutes rivers, cuts trees down,

poisons consumer's daily nourishment

and deadens the conscience of even those

who would otherwise not have gone astray.

If this is the only world you have known,

there's more reason to take this flight with me

to the wonderful past of tretayug

when unmolested nature, food enough

for body and soul, catered to man's needs.

He had only to take what he needed,

he needed not to hoard and boast of wealth.

The poor were provided for by the state,

the talented by the social system,

the educated by the mindful king;

none lacked, nor were they lazy, but disposed

to useful toil with which they built their dreams.

Ethics and etiquette were so observed

that—fie upon modern social ways

that traffic girls and wed the infant child—

there was no erring from sweet nature's course.

In such a time and place Harishchandra

ruled over a happy populace.

His palace gates were open to the poor,

to brahmins, to sages, in fact to all

who sought his help, kindness and charity

each early morning when prayers were said

and worship made to the great Lord. He then

would give alms and charity to seekers

and only thereafter sit in judgment

upon his kingly throne. When all was done,

he was a lover of the wooded wild

where he gamed fleet stags and fleeter deer

for sport that strengthened brawn and relaxed brain.

'Twas on a heaven connived occasion

that, mounted on a silver stallion, he

the king, with his selected able men,

excitement written on horse and rider

both stimulated by mere thought of chase,

rode through the forest seeking quarry

far and deep inside the dense sylvan womb

rich in life of various sorts on land

in water and in the green canopy.

Deep into the forest they rode, found tracks

of tigers, wild boars, elephants and deer,

but animal saw none, not even by

the pool where they were wont to quench their thirst.

The sun was past his zenith and the chase

had thus far proved futile; the leafy warmth

added to the exhaustion of the ride

produced only clammy moisture that stuck

clothes to skin and felt heavy in the breath.

Horses neighed pleadingly to return home

for even they thought luck was dry today.

But the determined king with royal blood

in his veins, a fighter he, loathe to quit,

leaving therefore the main body of men

behind, advancing with just a couple

of bodyguards who would not desert him,

arrived upon a higher ground from where

he espied a rich and luscious stretch of land

where grazed a herd of deer and antelopes.

Motioning with upraised palms a caution

lest the grazing herd sense a present death,

he advanced unobserved, unsensed, unheard

till he was within shaft-shot distance near.

From out his quiver he took a pointed shaft

and laid it gently on the string and bow

and pulled at shoulder level sighting well,

but before he could let fly the arrow

the herd was fleet in motion and he missed

his mark. Yet, failure is to a king

powerful prompting to action once again.

They raced, he raced; they fled through thickets dense,

he shot behind with whirling speed immense;

they thundered, he galloped; they rushed for life,

he rushed for victory; they foamed, he panted;

they scattered and he followed a special one.

How far the stallion's hoofs had drummed their way

there's none to tell; but, when he thought he won,

for he had a deer within his shaft's range

and was about to plunder life, he heard

another life seeking help with loud cries:

"O help! Help! Someone help me please! O help!"

His fingers froze, the arrow fell, hands dropped

with bow still clutched, the prey was lost to sight.

For just a moment the king was confused

for he did not know from which direction

the distress signal came. He looked around.

His stallion sensing something amiss

slowed to a trot, but Harishchandra took

the rein in hands as he now rightly judged

and followed the direction of the cry,

aroused to indignation, crying thus:

"Who dares victimize a weakling in this

my virtuous kingdom? Stop! Stop at once!

Dare you invoke my righteous ire so?

Beware! the flame of justice will so singe

the soul of female victimizer, he

will for ever suffer the racks of hell!"

The unseen female voice still shrilled through leaves

and thickets of the fearful wilderness

as, with best intentions of succoring

the needy, the chivalrous king rushed forth

in keeping with the duty of a king.

He turned around the thicket densely leaved

and to his utter surprise found no girl

or ravished female old or young, no one,

not even the ravisher, but, alas,

a holy hermit seated at the foot

of century-old trunk of pipal tree

newly aroused from soul-deep meditation

so that life and passion stirred the agèd limbs

to rude awakening from godful dream.

Up rose the irate sage; his eye-balls red

with anger sought the trespasser; his hand

reached for the kamandalu, water-pot

with which to cast a curse upon the king,

sad intruder into the sage's realm.

"How dare you, foolish man, disturb my peace

and rouse me from holy meditation

of the Lord? And now my anger has caused

a partial loss of virtue I have earned

over a long, hard period of time.

For this I will punish you with a curse."

So saying he poured some holy water

in the cup of his palm now fisted hard

and raised it like Indra his thunder bolt

that neither pities nor fears counter blow.

"Forgive me sage!" Cried the dismounted king,

now on his knees, his palms thick glued with fear,

but more with sincere remorse for having

with good intentions done an awful deed.

"Forebear a while ! I, Harishchandra, beg

a fair hearing before the sentence falls."

To such a plea for justice the kind sage

could certainly not have turned a deaf ear

even had it come from another man

than Harishchandra; but he spoke with rage:

"Harishchandra? The liar king who once

broke a sacred vow made to god of sea?

You are a wicked man, Harishchandra,

more wicked for disturbing my sweet peace.

Given your wicked past and present crime,

I see no reason why I should allow

you to go free; but, I will hear you out,

in the name of justice. So speak. Be brief."

The humble king explained his conduct thus:

"Sweet sage ! You give me hope no hunted deer

ever received from me as through the wild

I chased it without remorse. I have learnt

the meaning of mercy even as I,

with full knowledge of culpability,

humbly genuflect with deep reverence

before a soul of justice in good ire;

having lost prudence in the heat of chase,

I did not guard myself against the fact

that the wilderness is not just a place

for fun and game of royal hunting troops,

that great hermits and god-seeking souls

seek its silence and solitude and peace

for better things than princes ever do.

Kind sage, nor am I one to brawl in vain

and disturb a soul in meditation;

I heard a damsel's distressed cry for help,

and sought to find the wicked foe of man

who, forsaking virtue, chose to walk

the sure sinful path of destruction dread.

It is the duty of a noble king

to guard his people from all evil harms,

to protect the weak, succor those in need,

and maintain justice in the virtuous land.

Did I do wrong, wise sage? Abiding by

my royal duty? Seeking to punish

the criminal? To save the weak female?

Did I do wrong? O say, Vishwamitra,

sage of great renown ! Friend of mortal man !

Did I do wrong to challenge such a foe?

Had I been prudent, I would not have thus

voiced my anger and roused you from your trance.

Punish me for my imprudence, but not

for intended malice, holy sage."

The angry sage abetted a little,

relaxed his posture, but still frowned and spoke:

"You speak with wisdom. Your humility

and remorse have touched me. Yet your offence

must still be reckoned with. I will not cast

the curse I was about to cast; instead

I'll satisfy myself with recompense

like victims do in royal courts of law.

I too have heard of you, O king, as one

who is generous in alms and charity,

as one who keeps his words and never lies,

and, if only to test the truth of rumor,

I ask you to give me what I want."

"O heaven ! You are kind and just ! O sage,

ask and receive all that a king can give

and you shall have it: wealth, honor or rank.

Name it and 'tis yours as soon as spoken.

For what is there in this impermanence

that I can hold on to with life or love

except the grace of the Everlasting?

For what is there in this clay and matter

that I can hold on to with avid greed?

For what is there in this kingdom I rule

that I can hold on to as if I owned

what I've been assigned to keep for others?

My pleasure lies in giving, not hoarding,

in sharing with the world, not possessing.

When the needy seek, I give to sustain

their lives; but, when a sage seeks, I offer

all I have with great hopes of being blessed."

Harishchandra spoke from within his heart

where truth lay embedded like a jewel

in a snake's forehead, unseen but really there.

Still with folded hands, some distance from

the frothing stallion, awaited he

the pleasure of a sage's wish to know.

Vishwamitra smiled the faintest smile

that ever lips are able to design

and, transforming the fist into a palm,

he blessed the king inwardly, wished him well,

prayed that he succeed in upholding truth

and thereby human worth and dignity;

but spoke the sage, his voice still ringing hard:

"Give me your kingdom, king, no more I want."

"You have it sage !" Replied Harishchandra

without the briefest hesitation

or second thoughts about so rich an alms,

with deepest reverence and folded palms.