“A name thou sayest—never,
never would
Thy Rudra die unhonoured and unknown
And bear the evil name and the reproach
For ever with his sons and his sons’
sons,
That of his old illustrious family
He was the only one that feared to go
Upon the sea. The sun is going down,
And cruel darkness is invading fast
On us; and soon the ship will leave the
port.
Within a year thou shalt see me again.
But if ’tis ruled by God that I
should not
Return, to one thing listen ere I go.
To soothe thy spirits in a few short months
An infant will be lying on thy lap,
And if a daughter she should be, let her
Be married to one worthy of our race.
But if a son is born tend him with care;
When he grows old, let it be said of him
That he is his lost father’s worthy
son.”
And when the few last awful words were
spoke
The frighted wife that stood supported
by
Her lord at once grew pale and motionless.
As one that watched with anxious care
the growth
Of a young tendril slowly fixes it
Upon a new and stronger prop, e’en
so
Brave Rudra extricated himself from
Her grasp and gently placed her on the
couch;
Then gazed on her for a few moments with
His hands upon her throbbing temples,
kissed
Her brow, and straightway vanished from
the room.
And now the little ship in which he sailed
Safe bore the crew along the wat’ry
waste,
And after twenty days’ fast sailing
she
Encountered on the way a storm, was wrecked,
And all save Rudra perished in the waves.
The shipwrecked merchant lost all that
he had,
And wandered through a distant country
with
No friends, no money but his hands to
earn
For him his daily bread: the lonely
youth
Thus dragged for years his miserable life
With nothing to make it worth living save
The hope, the only hope, to see his wife;
Till at the end of twenty years a ship
Was sighted that was bound for Nundipore.
In it he sailed and safely landed in
His native port. It was the midday
noon;
He saw the selfsame fishing village that
Stood years ago upon the sandy beach,
And with a joyful heart he hastened to
His house which all deserted seemed; inside
With falt’ring steps he went, and
on the walls
Of the big hall were hanging pictures
of
His sire, of Krishna playing on the flute,
Of Rama, Siva, and the other gods
Whom in his childhood days his house adored,
And seemed as they were drawn but yesterday;
A thousand other old familiar scenes
In quick succession passed before his
eyes,
Then quickly passed into a room, where
lo!
There slept a youth and she for whom for
years
Life’s toils he patient bore.
As one born blind
Had after years of pray’r the gift
of sight
Vouchsafed to him by God, his Maker, to