Former Cloud

A Yaksha, or divine attendant on Kubera, god of wealth, is exiled fora year from his home in the Himalayas. As he dwells on a peak in theVindhya range, half India separates him from his young bride.

On Rama's shady peak where hermits roam,Mid streams by Sita's bathing sanctified,An erring Yaksha made his hapless home,Doomed by his master humbly to abide,And spend a long, long year of absence from his bride.

Some months were gone; the lonely lover's painHad loosed his golden bracelet day by dayEre he beheld the harbinger of rain,A cloud that charged the peak in mimic fray,As an elephant attacks a bank of earth in play.

Before this cause of lovers' hopes and fearsLong time Kubera's bondman sadly bowedIn meditation, choking down his tears--Even happy hearts thrill strangely to the cloud;To him, poor wretch, the loved embrace was disallowed.

Longing to save his darling's life, unblestWith joyous tidings, through the rainy days,He plucked fresh blossoms for his cloudy guest,Such homage as a welcoming comrade pays,And bravely spoke brave words of greeting and of praise.

Nor did it pass the lovelorn Yaksha's mindHow all unfitly might his message mateWith a cloud, mere fire and water, smoke and wind--Ne'er yet was lover could discriminate'Twixt life and lifeless things, in his love-blinded state.

I know, he said, thy far-famed princely line,Thy state, in heaven's imperial council chief,Thy changing forms; to thee, such fate is mine,I come a suppliant in my widowed grief--Better thy lordly "no" than meaner souls' relief.

O cloud, the parching spirit stirs thy pity;My bride is far, through royal wrath and might;Bring her my message to the Yaksha city,Rich-gardened Alaka, where radiance brightFrom Shiva's crescent bathes the palaces in light.

When thou art risen to airy paths of heaven,Through lifted curls the wanderer's love shall peepAnd bless the sight of thee for comfort given;Who leaves his bride through cloudy days to weepExcept he be like me, whom chains of bondage keep?

While favouring breezes waft thee gently forth,And while upon thy left the plover singsHis proud, sweet song, the cranes who know thy worthWill meet thee in the sky on joyful wingsAnd for delights anticipated join their rings.

Yet hasten, O my brother, till thou see--Counting the days that bring the lonely smart--The faithful wife who only lives for me:A drooping flower is woman's loving heart,Upheld by the stem of hope when two true lovers part.

And when they hear thy welcome thunders break,When mushrooms sprout to greet thy fertile weeks,The swans who long for the Himalayan lakeWill be thy comrades to Kailasa's peaks,With juicy bits of lotus-fibre in their beaks.

One last embrace upon this mount bestowWhose flanks were pressed by Rama's holy feet,Who yearly strives his love for thee to show,Warmly his well-beloved friend to greetWith the tear of welcome shed when two long-parted meet.

Learn first, O cloud, the road that thou must go,Then hear my message ere thou speed away;Before thee mountains rise and rivers flow:When thou art weary, on the mountains stay,And when exhausted, drink the rivers' driven spray.

Elude the heavenly elephants' clumsy spite;Fly from this peak in richest jungle drest;And Siddha maids who view thy northward flightWill upward gaze in simple terror, lestThe wind be carrying quite away the mountain crest.

Bright as a heap of flashing gems, there shinesBefore thee on the ant-hill, Indra's bow;Matched with that dazzling rainbow's glittering lines,Thy sombre form shall find its beauties grow,Like the dark herdsman Vishnu, with peacock-plumes aglow.

The farmers' wives on Mala's lofty lea,Though innocent of all coquettish art,Will give thee loving glances; for on theeDepends the fragrant furrow's fruitful part;Thence, barely westering, with lightened burden start.