Mârkandeya Purâna, books 7, 8 | Page 7

of princely race thou seemest. He, my son,
Long lost to me through
my accursed fate,
Would have been even such as thou in age."
Then
raised the queen her voice, and thus she spoke:
"Alas! has some
unexpiated crime
Brought upon us, my child! this endless woe.
My
absent lord! since thou did'st not console
My grief in times gone by,
how can the pain
I suffer now assuage? Did'st thou not lose
Thy
kingdom? did'st thou not desert thy friends?
Did'st thou not sell thy
wife and child?" The king
Heard her lament, and as he heard, the wail

Fell from his eyes,--he recognized again
His wife and son--and
saying but the words,
"Ah! Saivya! Ah! my beloved child!"

He
fainting fell to earth. Then, too, the queen,
Hearing her husband's
voice, o'ercome with grief,
Insensate fell. Returning consciousness

Brought to them both affliction's heaviest weight
And mutual
lamentations. "Ah! my son!"
Thus mourned the king, "my inmost
heart is torn,
When I behold thy form so delicate:
My child!
embracing thee in tend'rest love,
Words of affection I will speak, that

rise
Unbidden to my lips. Alas! thy limbs
Will be defiled by my
embrace; the dust
That clings about my garments will pollute
Thy
lovely form! Alas! my child, thou had'st
An evil father! He who
should have kept
All dangers from thee, he it was who sold
Thee as
a slave! and yet in heart and mind
First of all things I love thee. Ah!
my child!
Thy father's realm--my heaped-up wealth--all this
By
lawful right was thine inheritance,
And now thou liest slain! Ah me!
the tears
Rise to my eyes in blinding force: thy form,
In grace and
beauty like the lotus flower,
Fades from my sight." He spoke, and
faltering
With grief embraced his son. The queen exclaimed:
"This
is indeed my lord--I know his voice!
I know his form! this is the
mighty king.
The wisest of all beings. But how changed!
What fate
is this? Ah what a dreadful place
For him, the lord of men. This grief
yet more
Is added to the mourning for my son--
My husband's
fate--for as a slave he serves
A base Cha.n.dâla. Curséd be that god,

Or demon foul, through whom a godlike king
Has fallen to this
degraded state; the lot
Of a Švapâka. Ah! most noble prince,
My
mind is filled with grief, when I recall
Thy regal state, thy past
magnificence.
No kingly ensigns go before thee now,
No captive
kings, brought down to slavery,
Humbly precede thee, casting in the
way
Their garments, lest the dust should soil thy feet.
But now! O
king! alas, thyself a slave,
Thou livest in this fearful place, begrimed

With filth; thy sacred cord concealed, thy hair
Tangled and long,
plunder of dead men's clothes
Thy livelihood. Ah! king! and is thy
life
Spent in this awful wise?" So spake the queen,
And falling on
his neck, embraced her lord:
While she, sprung from a king herself,
bewailed
Her sorrows endless. "King! I pray thee speak!
Is this a
dream? If it be real and true,
Then justice, truth, and righteousness
have fled
And gone from earth: nor aught avails mankind,
Of
sacrifice, or reverence, to gods
Or priests! 'Tis vain to follow
innocence
If thou, most perfect, purest of mankind,
Art brought to
such a depth of infamy."
Then spoke the king, and told his sorrowing
wife
How he had fallen to this wretched state,--
The state of a

Cha.n.dâla. She, in turn,
Weeping, with many sighs, poured out her
tale,
Telling him how the serpent's bite had killed
Their child.
"Beloved one! I suffer not
These evils," said the king, "by mine own
will--
Thou seest what I endure; my evil fate
Depends not on
myself. I am a slave,
And if I fly from the Cha.n.dâla's bonds,
The
fiery torment in the depths of hell
Will overtake me, and I shall
become
A slave again. My doom is fixed! lo! hell
Is my abode
hereafter; and in forms,
Creeping and loathsome, shall my soul abide.

Yet from this miserable life on earth
There is one only refuge. He!
my son!
My hope! my stay! is dead; drowned by the sea
Of my
misfortunes. But I am a slave!
I am dependent on another's will!

Can I give up my wife? Yes! even so!
For know thou this: one who is
steeped in woe
Cares not for evil chances; not the state
Of the most
loathsome beast, nor yet the wood
Of sword-leaved plants, nor even
hell's dread stream,
Could add the smallest fraction to the pain
I
have already borne. My son is dead!
Who then will make atonement
for my sins?
Yet listen to my words, beloved one,
If I have offered
sacrifice, and paid
Due reverence to the saints; if I have given
Alms
to the needy--may we meet again
Hereafter, in the world to come, and
find
The refuge for our woes denied us here.
Let us together follow
in the path
By which our son has gone. Our hopeless fate
Can never
alter here. Whatever words
I may have uttered, thoughtlessly, in jest,

These, when I pray for pardon, shall receive
Fullest forgiveness.
Thou must not despise
Thy lord: nor pride thee on thy queenly state

Now passed and gone." The prince's wife replied:
"I am prepared
to tread that path with thee,
O king, most saintly! and with thee that
world
To enter."