Prehlad

A terror both of gods and menWas Heerun Kasyapu, the king;No bear more sullen in its den,No tiger quicker at the spring.In strength of limb he had not met,Since first his black flag he unfurled,Nor in audacious courage, yet,His equal in the wide, wide world.

The holy Veds he tore in shreds;Libations, sacrifices, rites,He made all penal; and the headsOf Bramins slain, he flung to kites,"I hold the sceptre in my hand,I sit upon the ivory throne,Bow down to me—'tis my command,And worship me, and me alone.

No god has ever me withstood,Why raise ye altars?—cease your pains!I shall protect you, give you food,If ye obey,—or else the chains."Fled at such edicts, self-exiled,The Bramins and the pundits wise,To live thenceforth in forests wild,Or caves in hills that touch the skies.

In secret there, they altars raised,And made oblations due by fire,Their gods, their wonted gods, they praised,Lest these should earth destroy in ire;They read the Veds, they prayed and mused,Full well they knew that Time would bringFor favours scorned, and gifts misused,Undreamt of changes on his wing.

Time changes deserts bare to meads,And fertile meads to deserts bare,Cities to pools, and pools with reedsTo towns and cities large and fair.Time changes purple into rags,And rags to purple. Chime by chime,Whether it flies, or runs, or drags—The wise wait patiently on Time.

Time brought the tyrant children four,Rahd, Onoorahd, Prehlad, Sunghrad,Who made his castle gray and hoar,Once full of gloom, with sunshine glad.No boys were e'er more beautiful,No brothers e'er loved more each other,No sons were e'er more dutiful,Nor ever kissed a fonder mother.

Nor less beloved were they of himWho gave them birth, Kasyapu proud,But made by nature stern and grim,His love was covered by a cloudFrom which it rarely e'er emerged,To gladden these sweet human flowers.They grew apace, and now Time urgedThe education of their powers.

Who should their teacher be? A manAmong the flatterers in the courtWas found, well-suited to the planThe tyrant had devised. ReportGave him a wisdom owned by few,And certainly to trim his sail,And veer his bark, none better knew,Before a changing adverse gale.

And Sonda Marco,—such his name,—Took home the four fair boys to teachAll knowledge that their years became,Science, and war, and modes of speech,But he was told, if death he feared,Never to tell them of the soul,Of vows, and prayers, and rites revered,And of the gods who all control.

The sciences the boys were taughtThey mastered with a quickness strange,But Prehlad was the one for thought,He soared above the lesson's range.One day the tutor unseen heardThe boy discuss forbidden themes,As if his inmost heart were stirred,And he of truth from heaven had gleams.

"O Prince, what mean'st thou?" In his frightThe teacher thus in private said—"Talk on such subjects is not right,Wouldst thou bring ruin on my head?There are no gods except the king,The ruler of the world is he!Look up to him, and do not bringDestruction by a speech too free.

Be wary for thy own sake, child,If he should hear thee talking so,Thou shalt for ever be exiled,And I shall die, full well I know.Worthy of worship, honour, praise,Is thy great father. Things unseen,What are they?—Themes of poets' lays!They are not and have never been."

Smiling, the boy, with folded hands,As sign of a submission meek,Answered his tutor. "Thy commandsAre ever precious. Do not seekTo lay upon me what I feelWould be unrighteous. Let me hearThose inner voices that revealLong vistas in another sphere.

The gods that rule the earth and sea,Shall I abjure them and adoreA man? It may not, may not be;Though I should lie in pools of goreMy conscience I would hurt no more;But I shall follow what my heartTells me is right, so I imploreMy purpose fixed no longer thwart.

The coward calls black white, white black,At bidding, or in fear of death;Such suppleness, thank God, I lack,To die is but to lose my breath.Is death annihilation? No.New worlds will open on my view,When persecuted hence I go,The right is right,—the true is true."

All's over now, the teacher thought,Now let this reach the monarch's ear!And instant death shall be my lot.They parted, he in abject fear.And soon he heard a choral songSung by young voices in the praiseOf gods unseen, who right all wrong,And rule the worlds from primal days.

"What progress have thy charges made?Let them be called, that I may see."And Sonda Marco brought as badeHis pupils to the royal knee.Three passed the monarch's test severe,The fourth remained: then spake the king,"Now, Prehlad, with attention hear,I know thou hast the strongest wing!

"What is the cream of knowledge, child,Which men take such great pains to learn?"With folded hands he answered mild:"Listen, O Sire! To speak I yearn.All sciences are nothing worth,—Astronomy that tracks the star,Geography that maps the earth,Logic, and Politics, and War,—

And Medicine, that strives to healBut only aggravates disease,All, all are futile,—so I feel,For me, O father, none of these.That is true knowledge which can showThe glory of the living gods,—Divest of pride, make men belowHumble and happy, though but clods.

That is true knowledge which can makeUs mortals, saintlike, holy, pure,The strange thirst of the spirit slakeAnd strengthen suffering to endure.That is true knowledge which can changeOur very natures, with its glow;The sciences whate'er their rangeFeed but the flesh, and make a show."

"Where hast thou learnt this nonsense, boy?Where live these gods believed so great?Can they like me thy life destroy?Have they such troops and royal state?Above all gods is he who rulesThe wide, wide earth, from sea to sea,Men, devils, gods,—yea, all but foolsBow down in fear and worship me!

And dares an atom from my loinsAgainst my kingly power rebel?Though heaven itself to aid him joins,His end is death—the infidel!I warn thee yet,—bow down, thou slave,And worship me, or thou shalt die!We'll see what gods descend to save—What gods with me their strength will try!"

Thus spake the monarch in his ire,One hand outstretched, in menace rude,And eyes like blazing coals of fire.And Prehlad, in unruffled moodStraight answered him; his head bent low,His palms joined meekly on his breastAs ever, and his cheeks aglowHis rock-firm purpose to attest.

"Let not my words, Sire, give offence,To thee, and to my mother, bothI give as due all reverence,And to obey thee am not loth.But higher duties sometimes clashWith lower,—then these last must go,—Or there will come a fearful crashIn lamentation, fear, and woe!

The gods who made us are the lifeOf living creatures, small and great;We see them not, but space is rifeWith their bright presence and their state.They are the parents of us all,'Tis they create, sustain, redeem,Heaven, earth and hell, they hold in thrall,And shall we these high gods blaspheme?

Blest is the man whose heart obeysAnd makes their law of life his guide,He shall be led in all his ways,His footsteps shall not ever slide;In forests dim, on raging seas,In certain peace shall he abide,What though he all the world displease,His gods shall all his wants provide!"

"Cease, babbler! 'tis enough! I knowThy proud, rebellious nature well.Ho! Captain of our lifeguards, ho!Take down this lad to dungeon-cell,And bid the executioner waitOur orders." All unmoved and calm,He went, as reckless of his fate,Erect and stately as a palm.

Hushed was the hall, as down he past,No breath, no whisper, not a sign,Through ranks of courtiers, all aghastLike beaten hounds that dare not whine.Outside the door, the Captain spoke,"Recant," he said beneath his breath;"The lion's anger to provokeIs death, O prince, is certain death."

"Thanks," said the prince,—"I have revolvedThe question in my mind with care,Do what you will,—I am resolved,To do the right, all deaths I dare.The gods, perhaps, may please to spareMy tender years; if not,—why, stillI never shall my faith forswear,I can but say, be done their will."

Whether in pity for the youth,The headsman would not rightly plyThe weapon, or the gods in truthHad ordered that he should not die,Soon to the king there came reportThe sword would not destroy his son,The council held thereon was short,The king's look frightened every one.

"There is a spell against cold steelWhich known, the steel can work no harm,Some sycophant with baneful zealHath taught this foolish boy the charm.It would be wise, O king, to dealSome other way, or else I fearMuch damage to the common weal."Thus spake the wily-tongued vizier.

Dark frowned the king.—"Enough of this,—Death, instant death, is my command!Go throw him down some precipice,Or bury him alive in sand."With terror dumb, from that wide hallDeparted all the courtier band,But not one man amongst them allDared raise against the prince his hand.

And now vague rumours ran around,Men talked of them with bated breath:The river has a depth profound,The elephants trample down to death,The poisons kill, the firebrands burn.Had every means in turn been tried?Some said they had,—but soon they learnThe brave young prince had not yet died

For once more in the Council-HallHe had been cited to appear,'Twas open to the public all,And all the people came in fear.Banners were hung along the wall,The King sat on his peacock throne,And now the hoary MarechalBrings in the youth,—bare skin and bone.

"Who shall protect thee, Prehlad, now?Against steel, poison, water, fire,Thou art protected, men avowWho treason, if but bold, admire.In our own presence thou art broughtThat we and all may know the truth—Where are thy gods?—I long have soughtBut never found them, hapless youth.

Will they come down, to prove their strength?Will they come down, to rescue thee?Let them come down, for once, at length,Come one, or all, to fight with me.Where are thy gods? Or are they dead,Or do they hide in craven fear?There lies my gage. None ever saidI hide from any,—far or near."

"My gracious Liege, my Sire, my King!If thou indeed wouldst deign to hear,In humble mood, my words would springLike a pellucid fountain clear,For I have in my dungeon darkLearnt more of truth than e'er I knew,There is one God,—One only,—mark!To Him is all our service due.

Hath He a shape, or hath He none?I know not this, nor care to know,Dwelling in light, to which the sunIs darkness,—He sees all below,Himself unseen! In Him I trust,He can protect me if He will,And if this body turn to dust,He can new life again instil.

I fear not fire, I fear not sword,All dangers, father, I can dare;Alone, I can confront a horde,For oh! my God is everywhere!""What! everywhere? Then in this hall,And in this crystal pillar bright?Now tell me plain, before us all,Is He herein, thy God of light?"

The monarch placed his steel-gloved handUpon a crystal pillar near,In mockful jest was his demand,The answer came, low, serious, clear:"Yes, father, God is even here,And if He choose this very hourCan strike us dead, with ghastly fear,And vindicate His name and power."

"Where is this God? Now let us see."He spurned the pillar with his foot,Down, down it tumbled, like a treeSevered by axes from the root,And from within, with horrid clangThat froze the blood in every vein,A stately sable warrior sprang,Like some phantasma of the brain.

He had a lion head and eyes,A human body, feet and hands,Colossal,—such strange shapes ariseIn clouds, when Autumn rules the lands!He gave a shout;—the boldest quailed,Then struck the tyrant on the helm,And ripped him down; and last, he hailedPrehlad as king of all the realm!

A thunder clap—the shape was gone!One king lay stiff, and stark, and dead,Another on the peacock throneBowed reverently his youthful head.Loud rang the trumpets; louder stillA sovereign people's wild acclaim.The echoes ran from hill to hill,"Kings rule for us and in our name."

Tyrants of every age and climeRemember this,—that awful shapeShall startle you when comes the time,And send its voice from cape to cape.As human, peoples suffer pain,But oh, the lion strength is theirs,Woe to the king when galls the chain!Woe, woe, their fury when he dares!