Prehlad

=PREHLAD1=

A terror both of gods and men

Was Heerun Kasyapu,2 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 Veds3 he tore in shreds;

Libations, sacrifices, rites,

He made all penal; and the heads

Of Bramins4 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 bring

For 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 reeds

To 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,5

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 him

Who gave them birth, Kasyapu proud,

But made by nature stern and grim,

His love was covered by a cloud

From which it rarely e’er emerged,

To gladden these sweet human flowers.

They grew apace, and now Time urged

The education of their powers.

Who should their teacher be? A man

Among the flatterers in the court

Was found, well-suited to the plan

The tyrant had devised. Report

Gave 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,6—such his name,—

Took home the four fair boys to teach

All 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 taught

They mastered with a quickness strange,

But Prehlad was the one for thought,

He soared above the lesson’s range.

One day the tutor unseen heard

The 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 fright

The 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 bring

Destruction 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 commands

Are ever precious. Do not seek

To lay upon me what I feel

Would be unrighteous. Let me hear

Those inner voices that reveal

Long vistas in another sphere.

The gods that rule the earth and sea,

Shall I abjure them and adore

A man? It may not, may not be;

Though I should lie in pools of gore

My conscience I would hurt no more;

But I shall follow what my heart

Tells me is right, so I implore

My 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 song

Sung by young voices in the praise

Of 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 bade

His 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 heal

But only aggravates disease,

All, all are futile,—so I feel,

For me, O father, none of these.

That is true knowledge which can show

The glory of the living gods,—

Divest of pride, make men below

Humble and happy, though but clods.

That is true knowledge which can make

Us mortals saintlike, holy, pure,

The strange thirst of the spirit slake

And strengthen suffering to endure.

That is true knowledge which can change

Our very natures with its glow;

The sciences whate’er their range

Feed 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 rules

The wide, wide earth, from sea to sea,

Men, devils, gods,—yea, all but fools

Bow down in fear and worship me!

And dares an atom from my loins

Against 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 mood

Straight answered him; his head bent low,

His palms joined meekly on his breast

As ever, and his cheeks aglow

His rock-firm purpose to attest.

“Let not my words, Sire, give offence,

To thee, and to my mother, both

I give as due all reverence,

And to obey thee am not loth.

But higher duties sometimes clash

With lower,—then these last must go,—

Or there will come a fearful crash

In lamentation, fear, and woe!

The gods who made us are the life

Of living creatures, small and great;

We see them not, but space is rife

With 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 obeys

And 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 know

Thy proud, rebellious nature well.

Ho! Captain of our lifeguards, ho!

Take down this lad to dungeon-cell,

And bid the executioner wait

Our 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 aghast

Like beaten hounds that dare not whine.

Outside the door, the Captain spoke,

“Recant,” he said beneath his breath;

“The lion’s anger to provoke

Is death, O prince, is certain death.”

“Thanks,” said the prince,—“I have revolved

The 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 spare

My tender years; if not,—why, still

I never shall my faith forswear,

I can but say, be done their will.”

Whether in pity for the youth,

The headsman would not rightly ply

The weapon, or the gods in truth

Had ordered that he should not die,

Soon to the king there came report

The 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 steel

Which known, the steel can work no harm,

Some sycophant with baneful zeal

Hath taught this foolish boy the charm.

It would be wise, O king, to deal

Some other way, or else I fear

Much 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 hall

Departed all the courtier band,

But not one man amongst them all

Dared 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 learn

The brave young prince had not yet died.

For once more in the Council-Hall

He 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 Marechal

Brings in the youth,—bare skin and bone.

“Who shall protect thee, Prehlad, now?

Against steel, poison, water, fire,

Thou art protected, men avow

Who treason, if but bold, admire.

In our own presence thou art brought

That we and all may know the truth—

Where are thy gods?—I long have sought

But 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 said

I 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 spring

Like a pellucid fountain clear,

For I have in my dungeon dark

Learnt 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 sun

Is 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 hand

Upon 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 hour

Can 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 tree

Severed by axes from the root,

And from within, with horrid clang

That 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 arise

In 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 hailed

Prehlad 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 throne

Bowed reverently his youthful head.

Loud rang the trumpets; louder still

A 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 clime

Remember this,—that awful shape

Shall 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!

1 The legend of Prehlad (Prahlad, Prahlada), from the Vishnu Purana, is another tale told by Parasara (the sage who taught the Vishnu Purana to Maitreya). It spans Chapters 17-20 in Book One of the Vishnu Purana).

2 Heerun Kasyapu (Hiranyakasipu) was king of the daityas (demon-giants).

3 The holy Veds refers to the body of works that together constitute the sacred knowledge of Hinduism.

4 Hindu society was seen as divided into four main castes, or classes, determined by one’s birth. Bramins (Brahmins, Brahmans) are members of the highest caste, made up of holy sages and philosophers.

5 The names Dutt offers as that of Prehlad’s brothers (not found in the Vishnu Purana itself).

6 The name Dutt offers as that of Prehlad’s teacher (not found in the Vishnu Purana itself).