[Pramāṇa](https://indike.org/pramana/) › [Indian literature](https://indike.org/pramana/in) › [Epic, Poetry, Drama & Narrative](https://indike.org/pramana/in.lit) › [Poetry (mahākāvya, lyric, messenger poems, stotra, Prakrit kāvya)](https://indike.org/pramana/in.lit.kavya) › [Court epics (sargabandha)](https://indike.org/pramana/in.lit.kavya.mahakavya) › [Śiva, Pārvatī, Skanda and Devī epics](https://indike.org/pramana/in.lit.kavya.mahakavya.saiva) › [The Birth of Kumāra](https://indike.org/pramana/in.lit.kavya.mahakavya.saiva.kumarasambhava) › 1.18\_2 # The Birth of Kumāra 1.18\_2 Kumārasaṃbhava 1.18\_2 - **Language:** Sanskrit ### [1.18\_2](https://indike.org/pramana/in.lit.kavya.mahakavya.saiva.kumarasambhava.1.18_2) sa mānasiṃ merusakhaḥ pitṝṇāṃ kanyāṃ kulasya sthitaye sthitijñaḥ | menāṃ munīnāmapi mānanīyāmātmānurupāṃ vidhinopayeme || > Far in the north, Himálaya lifting high > His towery summits till they cleave the sky, > Spans the wide land from east to western sea, > Lord of the Hills, instinct with Deity. > For him, when Prithu ruled in days of old > The rich Earth, teeming with her gems and gold, > The vassal Hills, and Meru drained her breast. > And decked Himálaya, for they loved him best, > While Earth, the mother, gave her store to fill > With herbs and sparkling ores the royal Hill. > Proud Mountain-king! his diadem of snow > Dims not the beauty of his gems below; > For who can gaze upon the Moon, and dare > To mark one spot less brightly glorious there?— > Who, mid a thousand virtues, dares to blame > One shade of weakness in a hero's fame? > Oft, when the gleamings of his mountain brass > Flash through the clouds and tint them as they pass, > Those glories mock the hues of closing day, > And Heaven's bright wantons hail their hour of play; > Try, ere the time, the magic of their glance, > And deck their beauty for the twilight dance. > Far spread the wilds where eager hunters roam, > Tracking the lion to his dreary home; > For though the melting snow has washed away > The crimson blood-drops of the wounded prey, > Still the fair pearls that graced his forehead tell > Where the strong elephant, o'ermastered, fell,— > Cling to the lion's talons, and betray, > Falling at every step, the mighty conqueror's way. > Dear to the Sylphs are the cool shadows thrown > By dark clouds wandering round the mountain's zone, > Till the big rain-drops fright them from the plains > To those high peaks where sunshine ever reigns. > There birch-trees wave, that lend their friendly aid > To tell the passion of the love-born maid. > So quick to learn with metal tints to mark > Her hopes and fears upon the tender bark. > > List! breathing from each cave, Himálaya leads > The glorious hymn with all his whispering reeds, > Till Heavenly Minstrels raise their voice in song > And swell his music as it floats along. > Where the fierce elephant wounds the scented bough > To ease the torment of his burning brow. > The bleeding pines their odorous gum distil, > And breathe rare fragrance o'er the sacred hill. > There magic herbs that pour their streaming light > From mossy caverns through the darksome night, > Lend a bright torch to guide the trembling maid > Where waits her lover in the leafy shade. > Yet hath he caves within whose inmost cells > In tranquil rest the murky Darkness dwells, > And, like the night-bird, spreads the brooding wing > Safe in the shelter of the Mountain-king, > Unscorned, uninjured—for the good and great > Spurn not the suppliant for his lowly state. > > Why lingers yet the Heavenly Minstrel's bride > On the wild path that skirts Himálaya's side?— > Cold to her tender feet—oh, cold—the snow, > Why are her steps—her homeward steps—so slow? > 'Tis that her slender ancles scarce can bear > The weight of beauty that impedes her there; > Each rounded limb, and all her peerless charms, > That broad full bosom, those voluptuous arms. > E'en the wild kine that roam his forests bring > The royal symbols to the Mountain-king,— > With tails outspread, their bushy streaming hair > Flashes like moonlight through the parted air; > What monarch's fan more glorious might there be, > More meet to wave before such majesty? > There, when the Nymphs, within the cave's recess, > In modest fear their gentle limbs undress. > Descending clouds hang fondly round to shade > The blushing beauties of each mountain maid. > With pearly dew-drops Ganga loads the gale, > That waves the dark pines towering o'er the vale, > And breathes in welcome freshness o'er the face > Of wearied hunters when they quit the chase. > Spread on the tranquil pool so sweetly sleep > The Lotus-flowers upon Himálaya's steep, > That the bright Seven who star the northern sky > Cull each a blossom from their seats on high; > And when the Sun pours forth his morning glow > In streams of glory from his path below, > They gain new beauty as his kisses break > His darlings' slumber on the mountain lake. > > Well might that ancient Hill by merit claim > The power and glory of a monarch's name— > Nurse of pure herbs that grace each holy rite, > Earth's meetest bearer of unyielding might; > The Lord of Life for this ordained him king, > And bade him share the sacred offering. > Gladly obedient to the law divine, > He chose a consort to prolong his line; > No child of earth, born of the Sages' will, > The fair nymph Mena pleased the sovran Hill; > To her he sued, nor was his prayer denied, > The Saints' beloved was the Mountain's bride; > Crowned with all bliss and beauty were the pair. > He passing glorious, she was heavenly fair; > Swiftly the seasons, winged with love, flew on, > And made her mother of a noble son— > The great Maináka, who in triumph led > His Serpent beauties to the bridal bed; > And once when Indra's might those pinions rent > That bare the swift Hills through the firmament. > (So fierce his rage, no Mountain could withstand > The wild bolt flashing from his red right hand,) > He fled to Ocean, powerful to save, > And hid his glory 'neath the friendly wave. > > A gentle daughter came at length to bless > The lady mother with her loveliness— > Born once again, for in an earlier life > High fame was hers, as Siva's faithful wife; > But her proud sire had dared the God to scorn. > Then was her tender soul with anguish torn, > And jealous for the Lord she loved so well > Her angered spirit left its mortal cell. > Now did the maid, a lovely blessing, spring > From that pure lady and the Mountain-king.— > When Industry and Virtue meet and kiss, > Holy their union, and the fruit is bliss. > Blest was that hour, and all the world was gay. > When Mena's daughter saw the light of day— > A rosy glow filled all the brightening sky. > An odorous breeze came sweeping softly by. > Breathed round the hill a sweet unearthly strain, > And the glad heavens poured down their flowery rain. > That fair young maiden diademmed with light > Made her dear mother's fame more sparkling bright, > As the blue offspring of the Turquoise Hills > The parent Mount with richer glory fills, > When the Cloud's voice has caused the gem to spring, > Responsive to its gentle thundering. > Then was it sweet, as days flew by, to trace > The dawning charm of every infant grace, > Even as the crescent Moons their glory pour > More full, more lovely than the eve before. > > As yet the maiden was unknown to fame, > And Mountain-lady was her only name; > But when her mother, filled with anxious care > At her stern penance, cried Forbear! Forbear! > To a new title was the warning; turned, > And Uma was the name the maiden earned. > Loveliest was she of all his lovely race, > And dearest to her father;—on her face > Looking with love he ne'er could satisfy > The thirsty glances of a parent's eye; > When spring-tide bids a thousand flowrets bloom > Loading the breezes with their rich perfume, > Though here and there the wandering bee may rest, > He loves his own—his darling Mango—best. > The Gods' bright river bathes with gold the skies, > And pure sweet eloquence adorns the wise; > The flambeau's glory is the shining fire.— > She was the pride, the glory of her sire. > Shedding new lustre on his old descent, > His loveliest child, his richest ornament. > The sparkling Ganga laved her heavenly home, > And o'er her islets would the maiden roam > Amid the dear companions of her play > With ball and doll to while the hours away. > As swans in autumn in assembling bands > Fly back to Ganga's well-remembered sands: > As herbs beneath the darksome shades of night > Collect again their scattered rays of light: > So dawned upon the maiden's waking mind > The far-off memory of her life resigned, > And all her former learning in its train, > Feelings, and thoughts, and knowledge came again. > Now beauty's prime, that craves from art no aid. > Ripened the loveliness of that young maid— > > That scorns the wine-cup's help to fire the heart, > The bow of Love without his flowery dart; > There was a glory beaming from her face, > With love's own light, and every youthful grace: > Ne'er pictured lily more divinely fair > Unclosed her beauty to the morning air. > Bright as a Lotus, springing where she trod, > Her glowing feet shed radiance o'er the sod: > That arching neck, the step, the glance aside. > The proud swans taught her as they stemmed the tide, > Whilst of the maiden they would fondly learn > Her anclets' pleasant music in return. > When the Almighty Maker first began > The marvellous beauty of that child to plan. > In full fair symmetry each rounded limb > Grew neatly fashioned and approved by Him: > The rest was faultless, for the Artist's care > Formed each young charm most excellently fair. > As if his moulding hand would fain express > The visible type of perfect loveliness. > What thing of beauty may the poet dare > With the smooth wonder of those limbs compare? > The young tree springing by the brooklet's side— > The rounded trunk, the forest-monarch's pride? > O no!—too cold, too chilling cold, the tree,— > This, too unyielding for such rivalry. > Her hidden beauties though no tongue may tell, > Yet Siva's love will aid the fancy well; > No other maid could deem her boasted charms > Worthy the clasp of such a husband's arms. > Between the partings of fair Uma's vest > Came hasty glimpses of a lovely breast: > So closely there the kissing hillocks rose, > Scarce could the Lotus in the vale repose; > > And if her loosened zone e'er slipped below, > All was so bright beneath the mantle's flow. > So dazzling bright, as if the maid had braced > A band of gems to sparkle round her waist; > While the dear dimples of her downy skin > Seemed fitting couch for Love to revel in. > Her arms were softer than the flowery dart, > Young Káma's arrow, that subdues the heart; > For vain his strife with Siva, till at last > He chose those chains to bind his conqueror fast. > E'en the new Moon poured down a paler beam > When her long fingers flashed their rosy gleam, > And brighter than Asoka's rich leaves threw > A glory round, like summer's evening hue. > The strings of pearl across her bosom thrown > Increased its beauty, and enhanced their own,— > Her breast, her jewels seeming to agree, > The adorner now, and now the adorned to be. > When Beauty gazes on the fair full Moon, > No Lotus charms her, for it blooms at noon: > If on that flower she feed her raptured eye, > No Moon is shining from the mid-day sky; > She looked on Uma's face, more heavenly fair, > And found their glories both united there. > The loveliest flower that ever opened yet > Laid in the fairest branch—a pearl that's set > In richest coral—with her smile might vie > Flashing through lips bright with their rosy dye. > And when she spoke—upon the maiden's tongue > Distilling nectar, such rare accents hung, > The sweetest note that e'er the Koil poured > Seemed harsh and tuneless as a jarring chord. > The melting glance of that soft Hquid eye, > > Tremulous like lilies when the breezes sigh, > Which learnt it first—so winning and so mild— > The gentle fawn, or Mena's gentler child? > And oh, the arching of her brow! so fine > Was the rare beauty of its pencilled line— > Love gazed upon her forehead in despair > And spurned the bow he once esteemed so fair: > Her long bright tresses too might shame the pride > Of envious antelopes on the mountain-side. > Surely the Maker's care had been to cull > From all that's lovely the most beautiful, > As if the world's Creator would behold > All beauty centred in a single mould. > > When holy Nárad—Saint who roams at will— > First saw the daughter of the royal Hill, > He hailed the bride whom Siva's love should own > Half of himself, and partner of his throne; > Himálaya listened, and the father's pride > Would yield the maiden for no other's bride; > To Fire alone of all bright things we raise > The holy hymn, the sacrifice of praise: > But still the Monarch durst not, could not brine: > His child, unsought, to Heaven's supremest King; > But as a good man fears his earnest prayer > Should rise unheeded, and with thoughtful care > Seeks for some friend his eager suit to aid— > Thus great Himálaya in his awe delayed. > > Since the sad moment when his gentle bride > In the full glory of her beauty died, > The mournful Siva in the holy grove > Had dwelt in solitude, and known not love: > High on that hill where musky breezes throw > Their balmy odours o'er eternal snow, > Where Heavenly Minstrels pour their notes divine > And rippling Ganga laves the mountain pine. > Clad in a coat of skin all rudely wrought > He lived for prayer and solitary thought; > The faithful band that served the Hermit's will > Lay in the hollows of the rocky hill. > Where from the clefts the dark bitumen flowed; > Tinted with mineral dyes their bodies glowed. > Their garb, rude mantles of the birch-tree's rind, > With bright red garlands was their hair entwined; > The holy Bull before his master's feet > Shook the hard-frozen earth with echoing feet. > And as he heard the lion's roaring swell > In distant thunder from the rocky dell. > In angry pride he raised his voice of fear > And from the mountain drove the startled deer. > Bright fire—a shape the God would sometimes wear > Who takes eight various forms—was glowing there; > Then the great Deity who gives the prize > Of penance, prayer, and holy exercise, > As though to earn the meed he grants to man, > Himself the penance and the pain began. > Now to that holy Lord, to whom is given > Honour and glory by the Gods in Heaven, > The worship of a gift Himálaya paid. > And towards his dwelling sent the lovely maid; > Her task, attended by her youthful train. > To woo his widowed heart to love again. > > The Hermit welcomed with a courteous brow > That gentle enemy of hermit vow— > The still pure breast where Contemplation dwells > Defies the charmer and the charmer's spells— > Calm and unmoved he dewed the wondrous maid, > And bade her all his pious duties aid; > She culled fresh blossoms at the God's command, > Sweeping the altar with a careful hand, > The holy grass for sacred rites she sought, > And day by day the fairest water brought; > And if the unwonted labour caused a sigh. > The fair-haired lady turned her languid eye > Where the pale Moon on Siva's forehead gleamed. > And swift through all her frame returninig vigour streamed. > — Ralph T. H. Griffith 1853, The Birth of the War-God (cantos 1–7) - [Previous: 1.18](https://indike.org/pramana/in.lit.kavya.mahakavya.saiva.kumarasambhava.1.18) - [Next: 1.19](https://indike.org/pramana/in.lit.kavya.mahakavya.saiva.kumarasambhava.1.19) - [Up: 1](https://indike.org/pramana/in.lit.kavya.mahakavya.saiva.kumarasambhava.1) ## Translations (1) - [The Birth of the War-God (cantos 1–7)](https://indike.org/pramana/in.lit.kavya.mahakavya.saiva.kumarasambhava~en-griffith.1) — Ralph T. H. Griffith 1853, English --- Source: [https://indike.org/pramana/in.lit.kavya.mahakavya.saiva.kumarasambhava.1.18_2](https://indike.org/pramana/in.lit.kavya.mahakavya.saiva.kumarasambhava.1.18_2) · Pramāṇa