Raja Rao - The Serpent and the Rope

‘Now league after league had gone, and day after day, and days turned into weeks, and weeks into many moon-months; and when he came to the banks of the Nerbuda, he saw an ascetic seated in firm meditation. And when he had approached the ascetic and offered many courtesies, Ishwara Bhatta said, “Venerable Sir, you are lonely. I have a daughter to marry. Please become my son-in-law.” And the venerable ascetic said, “What may I do with a wife? I have all my five austerities to perform.” To this Ishwara Bhatta made answer, “No, Venerable Sir, it is meet for a man to marry and found family and hearth, that sacrifice be made. Aye, Sir, fulfil the duties of a householder.” And the venerable man said, “So be it, so be it,” whereupon Ishwara Bhatta took tulasi leaf and water and gave the daughter unto the venerable ascetic. Then he said, “I go. Be happy, daughter and son-in-law,” and running towards the setting sun, he went. He went and he went, he went very far.

‘As he journeyed thus he came to a lonesome house, and knocked and said, “A pilgrim, Lady, a pilgrim.” And the inmate said, “Oh, what an auspicious thing! The master of the house has gone on pilgrimage, and has not returned this twelve-year or more, and I weep.” And she wept. “Oh, do not weep, Lady,” said Ishwara Bhatta, and when he was fed and had feasted and rested, he called her and told her the story of Rama. Then he went, just where the sun sets — there he went, did Ishwara Bhatta.

‘When he had gone on leagues and leagues, the day turned into the heat of summer, and the nights turned into the chill of winter, still he went, he went towards Benares.

‘And when he had gone far, very far, he came on a lonely wheat-field; and a voice said, “Traveller, stay.” And he stayed. The old man, the owner of the field, was blind; his son had gone on a journey, and no one had news of him for many round moons and suns. His wife and father waited for him to return, while the fields became full of weeds and parrots. Oh, the parrots, they were too many. “The old father sits on the perch-hut and shouts at them,” explained the daughter-in-law, “but they are so clever: they come from all sides, and he is blind. What can we do?” Then Ishwara Bhatta sat then and there, and told them the story of Rama. “Rama, Rama, give us wealth and give us splendour; give us the eight riches auspicious, give us an heir, give us a home and sanctuary, give us earth and gardens; those who go to towns distant, may they return, may the body be firm and innocent; give eyes to the blind, legs to the lame, give speech to the dumb. Rama, Sri Rama, give us Thy presence and Thy blessings. And Daughter,” said Ishwara Bhatta to the daughter-in-law of the house, “tell the story of Rama every Saturday — it will bring you things auspicious.” And with many and varied polite compliments he went.

‘When he had gone far, very far, he came upon an open sward in the forest. And as he stood there, They appeared amidst lightning and peals of thunder; there They stood, Rama and Sita, Lakshmana, Bharatha and Satrugnya, with the faithful Hanuman behind Them. There was such music, and so holy a look on the face of the Lord, and, flowers, petals upon petals sailing and raining on the earth, that Ishwara Bhatta fell on his eight-parts and arose. And when he stood, the Lord of Compassion vouchsafed him many a blessing, and said, “The pilgrimage is fulfilled; let the pilgrim return to hearth and home.” Then having contemplated the face of the Lord, Ishwara Bhatta turned southwards, with benediction in his heart. And the world looked holy and full of light and gentility.

‘Now when he returned, he came to the blind man and his fields. “O, Brahmin, sir, O, Brahmin, sir, how wondrous to behold your sacred looks again. No sooner had you told the story of Rama and left than my father-in-law, blind these two score years and more, had his eyes given back. ‘There, there, the parrots,’ he said; and now he flings his catapult at them, and they fly away.” “Sir, we kept guards at the north and the west that the returning pilgrim be brought home; and Guest, sir,” said the daughter-in-law, “please be seated.” And she laid leaf and silver vessels before him and gave him the meats of the pilgrim. Ishwara Bhatta said, “Wonderful, wonderful.” And when he had risen and had washed his hands, he sat on the veranda and told them the story of Rama again. He had hardly told them the story than the son, staff and satchel in hand, bare and bedraggled, so long gone a-travelling, returned. And as he entered he said, “Father, you can see!” and the father said, “Yes, I can see now, for I have heard the story of Rama.” After telling them the story again, Ishwara Bhatta wended his way homewards.

‘Going and still going along Ishwara Bhatta came — after nights and jungles, rivers and many wild spaces awesome to behold that make the hairs stand on end — to the country where the lonely woman was. “Now, sir, learned and auspicious Brahmin, hardly had you turned to the north, than my husband returned from the west.” And they both stood by Ishwara Bhatta, she serving many meats and sweet dishes, while the husband waved a peacock-feather fan to the pilgrim. Then when he had eaten and washed, and had partaken of the betel nuts and presents, as he started to go he told the story of Rama to the united couple. “Rama, Rama…”

‘And then he went, and the rains came, and he saw the new creepers of the autumnal woods, and the birds with fresh-washed plumage, and the fields rich with rippling harvests. He came nearer home, and when he entered the hermitage of his son-in- law, bright was the home with grandchildren and daughter. And having partaken of all the offerings of the daughter and son-in- law, and blessing the children as he rose to go, the daughter said, “Tell the cruel mother, I am happy,” and he said, “Nay, nay, not thus. After all, it was she who bore thee, Daughter, and one does not speak ill of that which bears one.” The daughter said, “So be it Father”; and he sat himself down by the pool of the hermitage and told them the story of Rama. “Rama, Rama…” Soon, very soon he would be home again, and would see with these God-seen eyes the son, Brahma Bhatta, and the wife and the cattle and the bright nine-pillared house.

‘But here after the traveller had first gone forth, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday came, and then Thursday, and auspicious Friday of the woman. And on Saturday Brahma Bhatta said, “Mother, come; it’s Saturday and we’ll tell the story of Rama.” But his mother said, “Son, wait; I will go and give rice- water to the cattle. Measure the grain for pounding.” And with this and that the morning went by, and the evening fell and the story of Rama was not said. The next day was Sunday and then came Monday, then Tuesday, and Wednesday, and Thursday… And on Saturday the mother said, “Come son, it’s Saturday, and we must tell the story of Rama.” And the son said, “Mother, I’ve to go to the fields, and look after the sowing and the manuring, and the repairing of canals.” And the day went and evening came and the son did not return. When he returned, he was so tired he had no breath, and his face was all covered with sweat and dust. Brahma Bhatta washed and came to the kitchen. “Poor child, he’s so tired,” said the mother; and the story of Rama was not told.

‘The Saturday went, and Sunday and Monday, and when Saturday came again the story was not said. Week after week went by, and there were always the cattle to look after, and the sowing to be done. The byre roof started falling and the pillars of the house, and cracks appeared on the walls; the fields became fallow, and yet the story of Rama was not told. Sickness came and old age, and the house fell and the lands were all sold; the cattle had died of this pest and that, and stubble beard had appeared on the face of the son — and the father did not return.