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Canto 1

The Word of Fate

The Descent of Narad

In silent bounds bordering the mortal’s plane

Crossing a wide expanse of brilliant peace

Narad the heavenly sage from Paradise

Came chanting through the large and lustrous air.

Attracted by the golden summer-earth

That lay beneath him like a glowing bowl

Tilted upon a table of the Gods,

Turning as if moved round by an unseen hand

To catch the warmth and blaze of a small sun,

He passed from the immortals’ happy paths

To a world of toil and quest and grief and hope,

To these rooms of the see-saw game of death with life.

VI.1.1-12

His Vision of the Future

He sang of the glory and marvel still to be born,

Of Godhead throwing off at last its veil,

Of bodies made divine and life made bliss,

Immortal sweetness clasping immortal might,

Heart sensing heart, thought looking straight at thought,

And the delight when every barrier falls,

And the transfiguration and the ecstasy.

And as he sang the demons wept with joy

Foreseeing the end of their long dreadful task

And the defeat for which they hoped in vain,

And glad release from their self-chosen doom

And return into the One from whom they came.

VI.1.63-74

The King’s Plea to Narad

“A flame of radiant happiness she was born

And surely will that flame set earth alight:

Doom surely will see her pass and say no word!

But too often here the careless Mother leaves

Her chosen in the envious hands of Fate:

The harp of God falls mute, its call to bliss

Discouraged fails mid earth’s unhappy sounds;

The strings of the siren Ecstasy cry not here

Or soon are silenced in the human heart.

Of sorrow’s songs we have enough: bid once

Her glad and griefless days bring heaven here.

Or must fire always test the great of soul?”...

But Narad answered not; silent he sat,

Knowing that words are vain and Fate is lord.

VI.1.289-306

Man’s Tragic Struggle

Abrupt, jagged hills only the mighty climb

Are here where few dare even think to rise;

Far voices call down from the dizzy rocks,

Chill, slippery, precipitous are the paths.

Too hard the gods are with man’s fragile race;

In their large heavens they dwell exempt from Fate

And they forget the wounded feet of man,

His limbs that faint beneath the whips of grief,

His heart that hears the tread of time and death.

............

The Mystery of Pain

The great Gods use the pain of human hearts

As a sharp axe to hew their cosmic road:

They squander lavishly men’s blood and tears

For a moment’s purpose in their fateful work.

This cosmic Nature’s balance is not ours

Nor the mystic measure of her need and use.

A single word lets loose vast agencies;

A casual act determines the world’s fate.

VI.1.522-29

Narad Describes Satyavan

“A sapphire cutting from the sleep of heaven,

Delightful is the soul of Satyavan,

A ray out of the rapturous Infinite,

A silence waking to a hymn of joy.

A divinity and kingliness gird his brow;

His eyes keep a memory from a world of bliss.

As brilliant as a lonely moon in heaven,

Gentle like the sweet bud that spring desires,

Pure like a stream that kisses silent banks,

He takes with bright surprise spirit and sense.

A living knot of golden Paradise,

A blue Immense he leans to the longing world,

Time’s joy borrowed out of eternity,

A star of splendour or a rose of bliss.

In him soul and Nature, equal Presences,

Balance and fuse in a wide harmony.”

VI.1.536-51

Savitri’s Resolute Will

“My spirit has glimpsed the glory for which it came,

The beating of one vast heart in the flame of things,

My eternity clasped by his eternity

And, tireless of the sweet abysms of Time,

Deep possibility always to love.

This, this is first, last joy and to its throb

The riches of a thousand fortunate years

Are poverty. Nothing to me are death and grief

Or ordinary lives and happy days.

And what to me are common souls of men

Or eyes and lips that are not Satyavan’s?...

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