THE MOUSE-GIRL
Nirmaldasan

But God it woot, ther may no man embrace
As to destreyne a thing, which that nature
Hath naturelly set in a creature. 
		- Geoffrey Chaucer,
		The Maunciple's Tale

PART I

An eagle flying toward her eyry,
Toward her eager eaglets,
To feed them with the babe-mouse
That she held in her clasp,
Was very weary that her prey		5
Down dropped as she flew on high
Over a stream at eventide.
	The distressed eagle thrice swooped,
Her lost prey to recover;
And thrice escaped the falling prey,		10
Escaped the eagle's talons to fall		
Down into a watery grave!
But right below, in the stream,
Was a sage at his evensong
With folded hands and closed eyes.		15
And when the sage oped his hands		
And began to ope his eyes,
The falling mouse startled fell
Right into his wrinkled hands,
And brought his hoary brows a frown.	20
	And the eagle, deprived of her prey,
With eyes gleaming fiery,
Flew toward the distant hills,
Toward the eager eaglets
Nestling, nestling in the eyry.		25

PART  II

The scorn in the sage's eyes
Soon changed to pity that he
Used his occult powers to change
The babe-mouse to a babe-girl;
And he gave her as a present		30
To his long-loved pious wife,		
Who mild sadness in her bosom had,
As to them was born no child.
	The sage's wife was very happy,
Happy to have a sweet babe		35
In whose being dwelt ever			
The spirit of innocence.
The sage, who till now had dwelt
Deep, deep in the dark woods,
In the neat and tidy ashram,		40
Dwelt in complete solitude,		
Save for his duteous wife,
Eke was pleased; and the thought,
That the babe was once a mouse,
Took no dwelling in his mind.		45

PART III

Under the sage and his wife's care
She grew into a pretty girl,
And played about the ashram;
Played in the sunshine;
Chased the rabbits and the fawn;		50
Chased them all around
And laughed with all her heart;
Watched the fishes swim;
Watched the butterflies flit,
Flit from flower to flower.			55
	Dark is fair! Dark is fair!
And she grew very fair!
And grew into a comely maid
Of ten and seven years.

PART IV

The sage holds council with his wife	60
To decide who would fit be
To win their daughter's hand.
They decide that the Sun
Would the fittest bridegroom be
To win their daughter's hand.		65
	So, in the season of spring,
He led his beloved daughter,
Away from her beloved mother,
Away from the ashram,
Away from the stream and woods,		70
Away from the things she loved,
Away to the land of the East,
Where the Sun is wont to begin
His ride across the azure sky,
In a dazzling chariot seated,		75
Drawn by his fiery steeds
In the early hours of the morn.

PART V

When the Sun, in all majesty,
From the chariot did alight
To greet the sage and his daughter, 		80
The sage to his daughter said,
To his beloved charming daughter,
"O, my daughter, behold the Sun!
Behold the mighty Sun!
Wilt thou have him as thy husband?"	85
"No, father, no!" aloud she cried,
"He is burning red and hot
That I should melt like snow
When he cometh to embrace me.
No, father, him will I not have."		90
	To this the sage no answer made,
Understood he his daughter's heart,
And thus to the Sun he spake:
"O Sun! thou art mighty indeed!
Yet my daughter thee not chooses.		95
O mighty Sun! can ye name,
Name one mightier than thee,
Mightier and temperate?"
	To which the mighty Sun: "O sage,
Who is mightier than the Cloud?		100
He at will my bright ray imprisons,
And shrouds me from mortal view.
He indeed is mightier than I."

PART VI

So the sage his daughter led
Through paths by flowers strewn, 		105
Flowers shed by trees at morn,
Scarlet flowers and yellow,
Till they to a valley came
Where high above them floated,
Floated the mighty Cloud -		110
Who at will shrouds the Sun.
	But when the mighty Cloud she saw,
Thus she spake to her father:
"Father, he seems gloomy and sad,
And wanders like a vagabond.		115
Father, him will I not have,-
Father, someone else for me find."
	To this the sage no answer made,
Understood he his daughter's heart,
And to the Cloud, which floated high -	120
Incumbent now at lower clime -
Spake he thus with voice so stern:
"O Cloud! say who be mighty,
Mightier than thee who shrouds the Sun;
For my daughter thinks thee sad,		125
Thinks thou art a vagabond,
And wilt not have thee, O Cloud,
Wilt not have thee for a husband.
Say who be mightier than thee."
	At this the sad Cloud sadder grew,	130
And spake he thus with choked voice:
"O sapient sage, I'm sad indeed;
For the Wind drives me to his will;
Drives me over sandy plains,
Drives me over hills and lakes,		135
Which make me seem a vagabond,
A vagabond to mortal view.
He indeed is mightier than I."

PART VII

And even as the Cloud replied,
From behind came the mighty Wind,	140
And drove him to an unknown clime;
For he sought to exhibit
His exceeding might to her,
To the sage's charming daughter,
And sought to woo her with his breath.	145
	But she seemed not pleased at all;
And as she smoothed her ruffled hair,
Thus she spake to her father:
"Father, restless seems he to me,
And will not have me happy.		150
Father, him will I not have,-
Father, someone else for me find."
	To this the sage no answer made,
Understood he his daughter's heart,
And addressed the Wind with stern voice:	155
"Who's mightier than thee, O Wind?"
	The restless Wind restless grew;
But soon, the sage's wrath fearing,
Answer made with half a heart:
"It is the Mountain, O sage;		160
For he bows not to my presence,
And my tempestuous breath withstands.
He indeed is mightier than I."

PART VIII

When the sage the Mountain found,
Him found in meditative stance,		165
An inward joy filled his heart,
For the noble sight him did please;
And a ray of hope filled his eyes,
As he his countenance turned,
Turned toward his charming daughter,	170
With thought she would the Mountain choose.
	"No, father, no!" aloud she cried,
Even as she understood,
Understood though her father's heart.
	A while she paused, and again:	175
"Idle seems he to me, father,
And will not have me happy,
But will his time in dreams spend.
Father, him will I not have,-
Father, someone else for me find."		180
	To this the sage no answer made,
Understood he his daughter's heart,
And addressed the Mountain with a sigh:  
"O say! who's mightier than thee?"
	To which the Mountain: "O sage,	185
Who is mightier than the mouse?
For he tunnels through my being,
And sets his kingdom therein.
He indeed is mightier than I."

PART IX

When the Mouse from his abode heard	190
His might by the Mountain extolled,
He made toward the Mountain's foot,
And glanced at the sage's daughter.
	And she too the Mouse did glance,
Glanced with love-light in her eyes		195
Which brought her charming face a blush.
And her lips failed to express,
Express her heart to her father.
But well the sage her silence knew,
Understood he his daughter's heart,		200
And seemed to hear it say,
"Father, father, let me have him.
Let me have him as my husband."
	Tears filled his eyes and laved his cheeks
As on her head his hands he laid		205
And thus to his daughter spake:
"O, my daughter, I will let thee,
Let thee have him as thy husband."
	So saying he used his powers,
Used again his occult powers,		210
And her to a mouse he changed,
Changed her to the mouse she was.
And them he blessed with sincere soul;
And he, with countenance sad,
Toward the ashram bent his way.		215

NOTE: The story upon which this poem is based occurs
in The Panchatantra. Its metre, sort of, resembles that 
of H.W. Longfellow's Hiawatha. This kind of trochaic 
metre is considered to be monotonous. But Longfellow 
in his long poem has really done a good job with it. And I 
think I have imitated the metre fairly well in The Mouse-Girl. 
Composed between June 19 and July 5 of 1987, it was 
dedicated to my friend P. Shalom with whom I have had many 
an interesting literary chat.