Dhruva

Sprung from great Brahma, Manu had two sons,Heroic and devout, as I have said,Pryavrata and Uttanapado,—namesKnown in legends; and of these the lastMarried two wives, Suruchee, his adored,The mother of a handsome petted boyUttama; and Suneetee, less beloved,The mother of another son whose nameWas Dhruva. Seated on his throne the kingUttanapado, on his knee one dayHad placed Uttama; Dhruva, who beheldHis brother in that place of honour, longedTo clamber up and by his playmate sit;Led on by Love he came, but found, alas!Scant welcome and encouragement; the kingSaw fair Suruchee sweep into the hallWith stately step,—aye, every inch a queen,

And dared not smile upon her co-wife's son.Observing him,—her rival's boy,—intentTo mount ambitious to his father's knee,Where sat her own, thus fair Suruchee spake:"Why hast thou, child, formed such a vain design?Why harboured such an aspiration proud,Born from another's womb and not from mine?Oh thoughtless! To desire the loftiest place,The throne of thrones, a royal father's lap!It is an honour to the destined given,And not within thy reach. What though thou artBorn of the king; those sleek and tender limbsHold of my blood no portion; I am queen.To be the equal of mine only sonWere in thee vain ambition. Know'st thou not,Fair prattler, thou art sprung,—not, not from mine.But from Suneetee's bowels? Learn thy place."

Repulsed in silence from his father's lap,Indignant, furious, at the words that fellFrom his step-mother's lips, poor Dhruva ranTo his own mother's chambers, where he stoodBeside her with his pale, thin, trembling lips,

(Trembling with an emotion ill-suppressed)And hair in wild disorder, till she tookAnd raised him to her lap, and gently said:"Oh, child, what means this? What can be the causeOf this great anger? Who hath given thee pain?He that hath vexed thee, hath despised thy sire,For in these veins thou hast the royal blood."

Thus conjured, Dhruva, with a swelling heartRepeated to his mother every wordThat proud Suruchee spake, from first to last,Even in the very presence of the king.

His speech oft broken by his tears and sobs,Helpless Suneetee, languid-eyed from care,Heard sighing deeply, and then soft replied:"Oh son, to lowly fortune thou wert born,And what my co-wife said to thee is truth;No enemy to Heaven's favoured ones may saySuch words as thy step-mother said to thee.Yet, son, it is not meet that thou shouldst grieveOr vex thy soul. The deeds that thou hast done,The evil, haply, in some former life,Long, long ago, who may alas! annul,

Or who the good works not done, supplement!The sins of previous lives must bear their fruit.The ivory throne, the umbrella of gold,The best steed, and the royal elephantRich caparisoned, must be his by rightWho has deserved them by his virtuous actsIn times long past. Oh think on this, my son,And be content. For glorious actions doneNot in this life, but in some previous birth,Suruchee by the monarch is beloved.Women, unfortunate like myself, who bearOnly the name of wife without the powers,But pine and suffer for our ancient sins.Suruchee raised her virtues pile on pile,Hence Uttama her son, the fortunate!Suneetee heaped but evil,—hence her sonDhruva the luckless! But for all this, child,It is not meet that thou shouldst ever grieveAs I have said. That man is truly wiseWho is content with what he has, and seeksNothing beyond, but in whatever sphere,Lowly or great, God placed him, works in faith;My son, my son, though proud Suruchee spakeHarsh words indeed, and hurt thee to the quick,Yet to thine eyes thy duty should be plain.

Collect a large sum of the virtues; thenceA goodly harvest must to thee arise.Be meek, devout, and friendly, full of love,Intent to do good to the human raceAnd to all creatures sentient made of God;And oh, be humble, for on modest worthDescends prosperity, even as water flowsDown to low grounds."

She finished, and her son,Who patiently had listened, thus replied:—

"Mother, thy words of consolation findNor resting-place, nor echo in this heartBroken by words severe, repulsing LoveThat timidly approached to worship. HearMy resolve unchangeable. I shall tryThe highest good, the loftiest place to win,Which the whole world deems priceless and desires.There is a crown above my father's crown,I shall obtain it, and at any costOf toil, or penance, or unceasing prayer.Not born of proud Suruchee, whom the kingFavours and loves, but grown up from a germ

In thee, O mother, humble as thou art,I yet shall show thee what is in my power.Thou shalt behold my glory and rejoice.Let Uttama my brother,—not thy son,—Receive the throne and royal titles,—allMy father pleases to confer on him.I grudge them not. Not with another's giftsDesire I, dearest mother, to be rich,But with my own work would acquire a name.And I shall strive unceasing for a placeSuch as my father hath not won,—a placeThat would not know him even,—aye, a placeFar, far above the highest of this earth."

He said, and from his mother's chambers past,And went into the wood where hermits live,And never to his father's house returned.

Well kept the boy his promise made that day!By prayer and penance Dhruva gained at lastThe highest heavens, and there he shines a star!Nightly men see him in the firmament.