Classic and Contemporary Poetry
MAHABHARATA: NIGHT OF SLAUGHTER, by ANONYMOUS First Line: "to narayen, best of lords, be glory given" Last Line: Kripa and kritavarman Subject(s): Hinduism;india;religion; Theology | ||||||||
To Narayen, Best of Lords, be glory given, To great Saraswati, the Queen in heaven; Unto Vyása, too, be paid his meed, So shall this story worthily proceed. "Those vanquished warriors, then," Sanjaya said, "Fled southwards; and near sunset, past the tents Unyoked; abiding close in fear and rage. There was a wood beyond the camp,untrod, Quiet.and in its leafy harbor lay The Princes, some among them bleeding still From spear and arrow-gashes; all sore-spent, Fetching faint breath, and fighting o'er again In thought that battle. But there came the noise Of Pandavas pursuing,fierce and loud Outcries of victorywhereat those chiefs Sullenly rose, and yoked their steeds again, Driving due east; and eastward still they drave Under the night, till drouth and desperate toil Stayed horse and man; then took they lair again, The panting horses, and the Warriors, wroth With chilled wounds, and the death-stroke of their King "Now were the come, my Prince," Sanjaya said, "Unto a jungle thick with stems, whereon The tangled creepers coiled; here entered they Watering their horses at a streamand pushed Deep in the thicket. Many a beast and bird Sprang startled at their feet; the long grass stirred, With serpents creeping off; the woodland flowers Shook where the pea-fowl hid, and where frogs plunged The swamp rocked all its reeds and lotus-buds. A banian-tree, with countless dropping boughs Earth-rooted, spied they, and beneath its aisles A pool; hereby they stayed, tethering their steeds, And dipping water, made the evening-prayer. "But when the 'Day-maker' sank in the west And Night descendedgentle, soothing Night, Who comforts all, with silver splendor decked Of stars and constellations, and soft folds Of velvet darkness drawnthen those wild things, Which roam in darkness, woke, wandering afoot Under the gloom. Horrid the forest grew With roar, and yelp, and yell, around that place Where Kripa, Kritavarman, and the son Of Drona lay, beneath the banian-tree; Full many a piteous passage instancing In their lost battle-day of dreadful blood; Till sleep fell heavy on the wearied lids Of Bhoja's child and Kripa. Then these Lords To princely life and silken couches used Sought on the bare earth slumber, spent and sad, As houseless outcasts lodge. "But, oh, my King! There came no sleep to Drona's angry son, Great Aswatthâman. As a snake lies coiled And hisses, breathing, so his panting breath Hissed rage and hatred round him, while he lay Chin upper most, arm-pillowed, with fierce eyes Roving the wood, and seeing sightlessly. Thus chanced it that his wandering glances turned Into the fig-tree's shadows, where there perched A thousand crows, thick-roosting, on its limbs; Some nested, some on branchlets, deep asleep, Heads under wingsall fearless; nor, oh, Prince! Had Aswatthâman more than marked the birds Save that there fell out of the velvet night, Silent and terrible, an eagle-owl With wide, soft, deadly, dusky wings, and eyes Flame-colored, and long claws and dreadful beak; Like a winged sprite, or great Garood himself. Offspring of Bhârata! it lighted there Upon the banian's bough; hooted,but low The fury smothering in its throat;then fell With murd'rous beak and claws upon those crows, Rending the wings from this, the legs from that, From some the heads, of some ripping the crops; Till, tens and scores, the fowl rained down to earth Bloody and plucked, and all the ground waxed black With piled crow-carcases; whilst the great owl Hooted for joy of vengeance, and again Spread the wide, deadly, dusky wings. "Up sprang The son of Drona, 'Lo! this owl' quoth he, 'Teacheth me wisdom, lo! one slayoth so Insolent foes asleep. The Pandu Lords Are all too strong in arms by day to kill; They triumph, being many. Yet I swore Before the King, my Father, I would "kill" And "kill"even as a foolish fly should swear To quench a flame. It scorched, and I shall die If I dare open battle; but by art Men vanquish fortune and the mightiest odds, If there be two ways to a wise man's wish, But only one way sure, he taketh this; And if it be an evil way, condemned For Brahman's, yet the Kshattriya may do What vengeance bids against his foes. Our foes, The Pandavas, are furious, treacherous, base, Halting at nothing; and how say the wise In holy Shasters?"Wounded, wearied, fed, Or fasting; sleeping, waking, setting forth, Or new arriving; slay thine enemies;" And so again, "At midnight when they sleep, Dawn when they watch not; noon if leaders fall; Eve, should they scatter; all the times and hours Are times and hours good for killing foes.'" "So did the son of Drona steel his soul To break upon the sleeping Pandu chiefs And slay them in the darkness. Being set On this unlordly deed, and clear in scheme, He from their slumber roused the warriors twain, Kripa and Kritavarman." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MYSTIC BOUNCE by TERRANCE HAYES MATHEMATICS CONSIDERED AS A VICE by ANTHONY HECHT UNHOLY SONNET 11 by MARK JARMAN SHINE, PERISHING REPUBLIC by ROBINSON JEFFERS THE COMING OF THE PLAGUE by WELDON KEES A LITHUANIAN ELEGY by ROBERT KELLY TIS A LITTLE JOURNEY by ANONYMOUS |
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