THE PLEASURES OF INDOLENCE

-- Webpublished March 2014 --

Prologue

The king summoned Maldas the poet and bade him sing the pleasures of indolence in order to celebrate the advent of spring. “Sing to us some songs of lust and combat,” said the king. And Maldas sighed. “I’ll first sing a song of combat,” he said and began to sing a ballad.

Battle Of Blefescu

In Lilliput a fair complexion’d race
Was ruled by a king
Who held imperialistic views
And cared not a thing.

“Let’s march against Blefescu,”
He address’d the kween,
The chief commander of the army
Whose like was never seen.

And so upon their own soil
The Lilliputans stride;
And when they reach’d the sea,
Upon the foam they ride.

The Lilliputan army was held
Under strong discipline;
For when they rode upon the sea,
They never touch’d wine.

The pawns by the kween’s order,
To while away the time
And also to please their king,
Began to sing a rhyme:

“Like as the star that led
Three wise men to Bethlehem,
So shall this sun hie us
Down to Blefescudem.”

They sang this — not once nor twice,
But three times more.
And soon the sinking red sun
Would be seen no more.

To where the sun was sinking
The fleet was set to sail;
But soon the sun did set,
Leaving them pale.

Yet they their hopes renewed
By the kween’s command;
And then the kween cried,
“I see — land!”

And out of the little fleet
The warriors downward pour,
When their fleet touch’d at last —
The Blefescudan shore.

Outside the Blefescudan fort
They set their camp;
And to light their night,
They set a solitary lamp.

Two sentries of Blefescu
Hie to their king,
And report to him of all
That has been happening.

The king when he heard this
Drew a grave face,
Since he was the keeper
Of a dark complexion’d race.

“At once get the army ready!”
The king heavily cries.
“We shall attack the enemies
When the sun shall rise.”

The army by the king’s order
Were all ready set;
But ask’d one with impatience,
“Hasn’t the sun risen yet?”

Both the armies for the sun did wait
To come out of the sea,
As a signal for them to battle —
And find victory!

And soon they saw the sun
From the sea rise;
And from both the battle camps
There rose war cries!

The Lilliputans came out array’d
In shimmering silver;
They enter’d the squar’d wooden field
Left behind by Gulliver.

In black suits of armour came
The Blefescudans dress’d;
This was their inner hatred
In symbolic manner express’d.

The Blefescudan pawns, after their foes,
Enter’d the battle field,
Each of those eight wielding
A sword matching their shield.

And then came the knights twain
Into the battle field:
On their nimble steeds they rode abreast
With flaming sword and shield.

Enter’d then the two bishops
Sidling all the way;
What they could with their spears,
None could guess or say.

Enter’d then the mighty kween
Stately to his place;
He had a sword in his scabbard
And held a weighty mace.

Then the king march’d towards the field
With the rooks on either side.
As he march’d he survey’d the foe,
But knew not what would betide.

He knew not what would betide
As they enter’d the checker’d field,
But knew that their fortunes lay
On how well their arms they wield.

Like as the pawns were armed,
So armed was the king,
Whose majestic appearance and praise
His people did sing.

In like manner the Lilliputans
Had enter’d the checker’d field;
For they had to keep the war-god’s laws
Or their fates would be sealed.

All arm’d the warriors stood:
But where the arrow and the bow?
Why it hath been disown’d,
In vain I sought to know.

So without the arrow and the bow
They wait to receive command;
Then each one of them could
Play his mighty hand.

When this wonderful array the birds see,
They cease their songs to sing;
For they know that such an array
Prophesied a wicked thing.

And they retreat from the aerial plain,
Leaving behind no trace;
And even the other creatures,
Retreat to some safe place.

The wind has stopp’d rustling
The leaves of the trees;
And the rocky waves reverberating —
Now they cease.

What Silence! What Silence in this clime!
How long shall she be?
Now the command hath been given,
Even she shall flee.

The pawns rush’d at each other
To rip the other’s frame;
And each one will’d to kill
Or have the other tame.

Each rais’d his sword and smote;
And defended with the shield;
The noise rang loud and clear
All around the field.

A black pawn, battling down the file,
Receiv’d a stunning meed;
Smitten by a snow-white pawn
That profusely made him bleed.

With a hue and cry a black bishop
Advanc’d from the rear;
And pinn’d this white pawn to the ground
With his point’d spear.

And all the war-gods peer’d
From the ethereal plain;
They saw the squar’d wooden field
Attain a crimson stain.

And then the four knights sprung
Like a spider upon its prey;
And here I think I come to
The middle of the lay.

The bishop that had pinn’d the pawn
Was hoof’d to the ground
By the knight whose shining shield
Reflect’d how he frown’d.

And then the knight raised his sword
To plant a deadly blow;
And though the bishop rais’d his shield —
He was rather too slow.

And though the other black bishop
Was closely in the rear,
So stunn’d by this deadly deed
That he fail’d to use his spear.

Then a black knight with sword held high
Leapt to kill a pawn;
But the brave pawn, to retaliate,
Had had his sword drawn.

So brave was the white pawn
To fight against such odds;
But soon he fell with a cry,
A cry to the gods.

The knight on his nimble steed
Had smote him thro’ and thro’;
And had caracol’d now with
Pride on his brow.

Meanwhile the white pawns storm’d
To draw the black king’s blood;
And towards the white king rush’d
The black pawns like a flood.

The kweens, to flanks on either side,
Each of them bound;
Yet they had left their places
Without making a sound.

And on the right flank
A white and a black knight
Were engag’d with each other
In a rather glorious fight.

The black knight at the other
Deftly swung a blow;
But there was no Sir Pellinore
To witness this show.

The blow dealt with all his might
Gash’d the other’s thigh;
But the white knight, in his turn,
Brought about a tie:

He had rais’d, not his sword alone,
But also a mighty cry;
And had gash’d the other’s thigh
When the other had leap’d nigh.

And even as the blood came
Gushing through the wound,
They fought and fought till
A knell their shields sound.

And both of them headlong fell
And kiss’d the ground like timber.
But who is living here at present
Their names to remember?

Now the rooks were all set
To rumble down the file;
And to trample their rivals all,
To exhaust their rile.

Two rooks rush’d at each other
And the black rook fell;
But soon the white rook being daz’d
Began his journey to hell.

And so the two mighty rooks
Lay in mirthless guile;
And no more can they ever
Rumble down the file.

Meanwhile the kweens were pacing
Right across the flanks;
Each awaiting a chance to
Penetrate the other’s ranks.

A black pawn, aided by the kween,
Tried to break the defence;
But the white pawns put up
A stiff resistance.

Three white pawns, shielding their king,
Fought and fought, brave and bold,
As did the dauntless three
Defending the bridge of old.

(If only had this lay been heard
By Thomas Maacaulay,
He surely would have sung this,
Leaving me no say.)

And a bishop dash’d across the ranks
Through all thick and thin,
And smote a black pawn with his shield
And used his spear to pin.

But this black king, standing behind,
The bishop’s blood he drew —
Not with an unsheath’d sword
But by bare hands slew.

It was like the very act
In which the lion was slain
By Samson the Danite strong
And Abel by Cain.

The vanquish’d bishop, by the pawn’s remove,
Had clearly oped a file
Which was utilized by the white rook
For quite a while.

And the king, unable to cross this file,
Requir’d succour at his place
Being attack’d by the white kween
Who threaten’d to use his mace.

And to his king the black kween bounded
With an hurried pace
And challeng’d the white kween
As he rais’d his mace.

He hurl’d it with all vital force
His body could provide;
But the white kween eyed its coming
And stepp’d a rank aside.

Then the white kween in his turn
Hurl’d his heavy mace;
But the black kween likewise
Vanish’d from that place.

Then the kweens rush’d at each other
With their swords drawn.
And in a spell, the black kween’s head
From his body was sawn.

The white kween having won the fight
A triumphant cry gave;
But the black rook, raving down the rank,
Sent him to the grave.

Meanwhile on the left-most flank
A black pawn was seen
Advancing rank by rank in constant file
To become the new kween.

The black knight and the bishop
Were both shielding the pawn
As he advanc’d on and on
With his sword drawn.

The white rook and the knight
Tried their best to hold the fle;
Yet the black pawn advanc’d
With lips twitching a smile.

And when the black rook came
To further clear the way,
The white bishop and the knight
Retreated from the fray.

Even the tarrying white rook
Was forc’d off the way,
When the pawn (to become the kween)
Was a rank or two away.

But the bishop seeing a goodly chance
Attack’d the black king,
By penetrating across the ranks
And rais’d his spear to fling.

The black king mov’d a rank aside
And escap’d the bishop’s spear;
But the white knight attack’d the king
By springing to his rear.

And though the black king’s men were
Held in a corner of the field,
He fearlessly drew his sword
And deftly did he wield.

And as he fought he retreated
To the battle field’s end,
But shelter’d himself behind a white pawn
Who now was like a friend.

For though the white pawn rais’d his sword,
He could not do a thing
As he was fighting, not his equal,
But an experienc’d king.

And then the gallant white knight sprung
And smote the king’s knee;
And though the black king return’d the blow,
Certain defeat he could see.

And so the black king threw his sword
Down with a distress’d frown;
And also from his head remov’d
His golden crown.

Thus ended the heroic battle
In the white king’s favour;
And all his men did shout:
“Hail, hail the emperor!”

And so won the king of Lilliput
In four hours and quarter;
And what happen’d afterwards
Would never seem to matter.

But had only this lay been heard
By Thomas Macaulay,
He surely would have sung this
Leaving me no say.

Interlude

There was a round of applause. The king enjoyed every line, but he said: “Maldas, O Maldas, there is a moral tone in your song.” And Maldas replied, “Nothing to worry, O king. We will only remember the pleasures of indolence and forget the moral.” There was another round of applause. Maldas sighed and then began to sing the second song.

Temptation of Viswamitra

Part I

Some two and twenty
Swans were sailing
On the lake of Manasa,
Where bloom’d in plenty
The lotus and the lily!

Stood a banyan tree
On the verdure shore
With a stately appearance,
In whose shade in penance
A sage on a deerskin sate,
In the golden days of yore.

His knotted locks appear’d
Not too dark and not too hoar;
His forehead was smear’d
With sacred ash!
His o’erflowing beard
Screen’d his chest from view.

His lips mutter’d “OM!”
He his mind in control held
And never let it roam.
To know the Self’s core
Was all his purview,
For what else should he sit so
Practising some mystic lore?

Part II

The king of gods, Indra,
Wielder of Vajra,
Vajra the thunder weapon!
A cunning web he spun
(to ensnare Viswamitra)
As he sat on his throne,
Quite unmov’d as a stone,
In the celestial city,
The city of Amaravati.

Turn’d he then his visage,
Turn’d towards Menaka,
The fairest of all nymphs
To be found in paradise,
And address’d her thus: “Ah!
Lovely one, thou canst presage
What thoughts haunt my brow.
Thou hast help’d me in the past;
Thou wilt while life shall last;
And thou needs must help me now.”

What help was sought of her,
Menaka knew from Indra’s tone:
Sage Viswamitra to enamour,
And him to entice
Away from his penance,
Lest he should enhance
His powers, and perchance
Ascend to paradise
And battle for Indra’s throne.

Part III

Evening came with footing slow,
As time pass’d hour by hour,
And the breeze began to blow,
When down to mortal plains
Menaka dropt, as a flower
From the tree to the ground.
Fair, fair Menaka! In robes clad
As in ancient paintings found.
Music issued from her anklets twain
When she made towards the lake
With steps as light as a feather.
Her lids kiss’d her lovely eyes,
Kiss’d once her eyes and twice,
And kiss’d again and again.
Like a stream from head to slender waist
Her dark, wave-like tresses flow’d;
Her arms seem’d smear’d with sandal paste,
And like a statue-fair she seem’d.

Part IV

Sage Viswamitra her espied,
But in him was no sense thought;
She too him espied
But seem’d as though she had not.
And as though to lave
In the sparkling lake,
She slowly began to take
Off her robes one by one.

The sage shut his eyes to save
His mind from sensual thoughts.
But then Kama, god of love,
Descending from above,
Aim’d his flowery dart
At Viswamitra’s heart.
The dart invok’d the subdued senses
And passion rock’d his breast.

He oped his eyes and found
Her beautiful and undrest.
He admiring sat a moment
And from his seat uprose
And toward her he bound.
She seem’d lke a frighted deer,
Only seem’d, when at her rear
She Viswamitra found.
Her eyes seem’d to plead
To him to let her be,
But in sooth they sow’d the seed
Of erotic revelry!

His eyes flam’d with desire,
And he took her by the wrist;
One arm went round her waist,
And to know her well he wist.
She as though unyielding yielded,
And so lock’d were they in embrace.
His breath vied with hers
And kindled a blush on her face.

He lifted her up and kiss’d her lips;
The piece of cloth round his waist
Loosen’d and dropt upon the ground.
He takes a step or two in haste
And on the tender grass her laid.
He kiss’d her again and she kiss’d too;
Her spine tingled when his flowing beard
Bristled her swelling breasts.
From mouth to bosom he mov’d his lips
And he press’d her thighs and hips:
Thus began their dalliance.

Part V

Alas, alas for Viswamitra!
The hours of twilight
Will yield to darkness and night;
And night will yield to day
And Menaka will away!
And Viswamitra all alone,
And King Indra found
Smiling on his throne...

Epilogue

There was a round of applause. The king enjoyed every line, but he said: “Maldas, O Maldas, there is a moral tone in your song.” And Maldas replied, “Nothing to worry, O king. We will only remember the pleasures of indolence and forget the moral.” There was another round of applause. Maldas sighed and lapsed into a profound silence.