Book Seven. The Book of Yoga
Canto I Canto II Canto III Canto IV Canto V Canto VI Canto VII
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Book Seven: Canto I The Joy of Union: the Ordeal of the Foreknowledge of Death and the Heart’s Grief
Once again Savitri sets out in her chariot. Accompanied by an armoured escort, she hastens across the fields, cities and rivers under the summer skies till they arrive at the forest border where she had first met Satvavan. Thence they take a narrow path to the hermitage of the blind king and queen row exiled. The retinue leave Savitri at her destination and return most reluctantly. Savitri is filled with great happiness in the company of her beloved Satyavan. Day and night they are one in their fiery love. But soon summer is followed by the rains. Under the darkened skies with storm and thunder raging, Savitri feels the grief of all the world coming to her and fear strikes her human heart, She is reminded of the fatal date set by Narad for Satyavan’s death. Savitri tries to forget her grief by flights into the bliss of love, but in vain. Each day that passes brings the peril nearer and increases her sorrow. She keeps the pain to herself and watches the world go happily by unconscious of its unknown doom. She goes through all her household duties gracefully and quietly, pressing back her grief when it surges up in her bosom. Her life is thus divided. She draws upon her conjugal love to its utmost, fusing body and soul together in ecstasy. Though she does not express her inner grief, Satyavan senses it in some way and gives himself freely to her. But her thirst is not quenched. Her secret sorrow gathers force as the days pass; her inner strength is not yet in evidence. An air of resignation comes over her being in grief. The allotted year approaches its end. Rain-clouds shut in the earth and the heavy clouds of her grief shut in her heart.
Fate followed her foreseen immutable road.
Man’s hopes and
longings build the journeying wheels And so things took their destined course. Pate followed her way that was foreseen, unchangeable. The destiny of man is worked out by his various hopes and desires. They form the moving wheels that lead his blind will towards a goal that is fixed but unknown to him,
His fate within him
shapes his acts and rules; Man’s fate rules from within and determines his acts. The shape and look—the special features—of his fate are, so to say, born with him. However, the true source of this fate is in his inner soul—not some alien force outside him. His fate is formed according to the choice of his soul. Here in earthly life it appears as if the life of the body is shaped and determined by Matter and the soul is led by its nature. It has no freedom of choice; its choice is mrhat Nature and Fate compel it to have.
But greater spirits
this balance can reverse
This is the mystic
truth our ignorance hides: However, this usual balance between soul and fate—fate dominating soul—can be reversed by those who are greater in status than the ordinary run of men. They have it in their power to make their soul decide whit its fate shall be. This is a spiritual truth that is hidden from us by our ignorance. What appears to be the final doom is really a passage for the self-effectuating force of our inner being; our ordeal is not something forced upon us, but the choice of our concealed spirit. What looks like stern Necessity imposed upon us from outside is really a decision of our own being.
What the soft-sweet but at the same time adamant heart of Savitri, passionate yet calm. has chosen is fulfilled. By her undeflecting strength she frees herself from the effect of the cosmic will.
Once more she sat
behind loud hastening hooves;
A couchant earth
wakened in its dumb muse Once again Savitri sets out from her father’s home in a speeding chariot. The dormant earth awakening with her mute musings looks up at her with a vast indolence.
Hills wallowing in a
bright haze, large lands Hills and tracts under the bright summer skies, shining cities under the blazing sun, streaming yellow rivers—all lead to the green forest belt of the Shaiwa region, fronting the great mountains with their severe peaks and vast solitudes.
Once more was near
the fair and fated place, Once again she nears the fair place of destiny—its borders glistening with the delight of the green groves where she had first encountered Satyavan and where, like a person awaking into a dream, Satyavan had first seen the eternal beauty and reality and the pure shining sweetness of Savitri, heaven’s child born o earth.
The past receded and
the future neared: The whole past recedes and the coming future nears. The beauties and delights of the palace and life in Niladra are left far behind, They are forgotten or remain a pale memory.
Left far behind were
now the faces known, Left behind are memories of familiar faces, of happy laughter, of intimate clasp, of adoration offered to her as the:4O1e sovereign of their lives by those who cherished her.
Nature’s primeval
loneliness was here: Here is the loneliness of primeval Nature, here is heard only the voice of bird and beast. Here is the retreat of the ascetic in the huge inhospitable forest far, far away from the cheerful bustle of men laughing and talking a.d Ev:ng their crowded, busy lives.
In a broad eve with
one red eye of cloud,
There onward led by
a faint brooding path Through a narrow opening in the woods Savitri and her party arrive. From the wide plains, they enter through a narrow opening into the sheltering green of the woods. Thence they proceed along an indistinct path among huge trees and thick arches till they espy the low thatched roofs of a hermitage.
Huddled beneath a
patch of azure hue The roofs of the hermitage are huddled together beneath a patch of azure sky, a bright clearing that appears like the outbreak of a happy smile in the monstrous heart of the forest. The hermitage strikes one as a rough retreat of the thought and will of man surrounded and watched by the giant trees of the forest.
Arrived in that
rough-hewn homestead they gave, On arriving at this roughly built homestead, the escorts forced to reconcile themselves to the strange fate of Savitri—their beloved princess, of whom they are so proud – leave her with the blind King Dyumatsena, a royal pillar of fallen glory, and the dignified but care-worn woman who, once a queen, now hopes nothing from life for herself but invokes all blessings for her only child, Satyavan, calling upon Fate—that has proved so severe in her own case—to shower upon him all the joy of earth, all the bliss of heaven.
Adoring wisdom and
beauty like a young god’s, The former queen adoring her child’s wisdom and beauty that are like those of a young god. feels that he is loved by the celestials as deeply as by herself. She rejoices in his brightness and believes in a great destiny for him, unaware of the doom that is approaching.
Lingering some days
upon the forest verge Savitri’s escorts, reluctant to leave her and depart, linger on for some days on the forest border. They are like men who go on prolonging the pain of departure, not willing to unclasp sorrowful hands that cling together, not willing to take of their eyes from the face that they are seeing for the last time. They are 1.veighed down by the sorrow of the coming tragedy and wonder at the callousness of Fate who undoes so casually her own supreme works. At last with heavy. pain-burdened hearts they part from Savitri.
Even as, forced by inescapable fate, we cart reluctantly from a dear one whom we are not going; to see ever again.
Driven by the
singularity of her fate, Driven by her peculiar fate, helpless against her own self-made choice, they leave Savitri to her joy and her doom, in the wild charge, as it were, of that overwhelming forest.
All put behind her
that was once her life, Savitri puts behind her all that formed her life before and welcomes all that is hereafter hers and Satyavan’s. She lives with Satyavan in the wild forest and cherishes as priceless her happiness that is so near to approaching death. Alone with love she lives for love alone.
As if self-poised
above the march of days, As though posed in its self above the succession of days, her immobile spirit, an embodiment of passion and unconquerable force, an acme of imperious yet sweet will, a being of a serenity yet of a godly violence, indomitable, immovable, watches the hurrying flow of time.
At first to her
beneath the sapphire heavens At first this solitude in the woods under the azure skies is a splendid dream-like experience for Savitri. The whole setting has the bright appearance of a veritable summer altar of light and fire, a unique palace of the gods hung with flowers with the sky for its roof, with all its scenes bringing rapturous smiles and all its voices singing anthems of felicity.
There was a chanting
in the casual wind, Even the casual wind bears music, even the least sunbeam sparkles with a glory. Night is a precious-soft darkness to rest in or a moonlit profound. Day is a splendid pageant, a rising hymn, a wave of golden laughter from morn to eve.
His absence was a
dream of memory,
A fusing of the joys
of earth and heaven, Satyavan’s brief absences from the hermitage, away in the woods, pass like dreams filled with a rush of memories. When he is present it is like a god’s domain. There is a union of the delights of heaven and of earth, a vibrant flame of nuptial rapture, a rushing of two spirits to fuse into one, a blaze of two bodies in one flame of love.
Opened were gates of
unforgettable bliss:
But soon now failed
the summer’s ardent breath Gates of unforgettable bliss are opened. Their two lives are locked together in a heaven on earth; fate and grief flee from this hour of intensity. But soon the ardent summer passes and the rains set in. Storm winds blow.
Then listening to
the thunder’s fatal crash In the crash of thunder, the patter of showers, the panting of the wind, the muttering of sorrow in the varied sounds of the night, the grief of the whole world comes to Savitri. The darkness of the pervading night looks as if it were the ominous face of her own future.
The shadow of her
lover’s doom arose
The moments swift
and ruthless raced; alarmed The shadow of Satyavan’s death arises and fear seizes her human heart—not her inner spiritual being. Time speeds on relentlessly. Her thoughts are filled with alarm and her mind remembers the date announced by the sage Narad when Satyavan is fated to die.
A trembling moved
accountant of her riches, Nervously Sayan begins to take stock of her riches and counts the number of days—hardly enough to satisfy—between now and the fateful date. A dreadful expectancy begins to agitate her; the passage of time is fearful. Grief—a passionate stranger—comes to her doors. When she is secure in the arms of Satyavan, grief stands banished; but when she wakes up alone in the mornings, it rises to stare into her face.
Vainly she fled into
abysms of bliss
The more she plunged
into love that anguish grew;
Remembrance was a
poignant pang, she felt She tries in vain to escape this pursuing spectre of the end by plunging into the bliss of love. Anguish, however, grows with her plunge into love; her deepest grief comes from her sweetest experience—for soon she is to lose it. Each remembrance of the bliss so lived brings a tearful pang; each day that passes is felt as a golden leaf heartlessly torn out of her book of !ove and joy which is too slender as it is.
Thus swaying in
strong gusts of happiness, Thus does she swing from high moments of happiness to dark waves of foreboJings. She pours her heart on the altar of sorrow and terror which are now her constant guests and move apart in her inner chamber. She stares blindly into the night that the future holds for her.
Out of her separate
self she looked and saw, But there is a part in her that is aloof from all that happens. Poised upon this separate self, while moving among her I.nved ones who are so utterly unconscious of themselves and, though near to her in heart, are strangers in mind, she watches the world go merrily hy, smiling in its ignorance of the dangers around and ahead, speeding towards a doom of which it is unaware, And she wonders at the careless way in which men spend away their lives.
As if in different
worlds they walked, though close, Though so close to her physically, her loved ones move as if they were in quite a different world from hers. They are wrapped up in their little, brief hopes and tasks; they are assured that though the sun sets today. it will return tomorrow; they are not worried in the least. Savitri is done fn her dreadful knowledge of the doom that is approaching.
The rich and happy
secrecy that once The profound and happy secrecy in which she was all along accustomed to live alone with her bright thoughts and dreams, now gives place to an unhappy solitude and a grief that she can share with none. Her body sees the premature end of joy and the all too slender happiness of its mortal love.
Her quiet visage
still and sweet and calm, Her normally quiet, calm and sweet face and her daily graceful acts are now only a cover to hide the agitation and the gathering grief within her. She tries again and again to find in the depths of her being her base in the stillness and peace of the soul, but it is in vain.
Still veiled from
her was the silent Being within A glimpse or flashes came, the Presence was hid. Still veiled from her is the silent, untouched Being within who watches the passing drama of life with a detached look, supports from within the sorrow of mind and heart, upbears in man the weight of the world and fate. She catches a few glimpses or flashes of it but the constant Presence of that Being is still concealed.
Only her violent
heart and passionate will It is only her violent heart and impetuous will that are pushed forward by her spirit to face and oppose the advancing, immutable doom. But they are bound to her human limitations, bare, without guard, and are unable to act effectively and save; they have neither the needed means to act, nor do they know a way to save her from her doom.
These she
controlled, nothing was shown outside: However, Savitri controls her violent heart and passionate will nothing of them is seen outside. To all around her, she is still the child they have known and loved; they do not see the woman in her silently suffering. There is no visible change in her usual beautiful movements. She, who was once an adored queen whom all competed to serve, now makes herself an attentive servitor of all; she does not spare herself whether it be in the routine menial jobs like sweeping or drawing water from the well or in gently tending to other household affairs or in keeping the sacrificial and the kitchen fires alit. She does not leave for others the slightest task that she in her woman’s strength can do.
In all her acts a
strange divinity shone:
All-love was hers
and its one heavenly cord, A unique divinity glows in all her actions. Into the most ordinary movement she brings a oneness with the shining light that covers the earth; she raises up even common acts by her love. She has love for all and she is the golden tie that binds all in a common love.
But when her grief
to the surface pressed too close, But when her inner grief presses too near to the surface, all these movements—normally such gracious means for the radiation of her joy—become meaningless to her, a mere shining shell; there is no life in them. They become an empty and mechanical round of routine. Her inner will is absent from the movements of her outer body.
Always behind this
strange divided life
All night she woke
through the slow silent hours Behind this strange life divided between grief within and love and sunshine without, her spirit is a heaving sea of passionate love possessing her lover, clinging to him in a tight embrace lest he be touched by the threatened danger. Throughout the long hours of the night she lies awake brooding over her priceless possession in the person of Satyavan, poring over the beauty of his face relaxed in sleep or laying her cheek burning with sorrow upon his feet.
Waking at morn her
lips endlessly clung to his, On waking up in the morning her lips cling to h’s; unwilling to separate from or lose their honeyed joy, unwilling to free his body from her embrace. These are the warm but inadequate signs that mortal love is obliged to use to express itself.
Intolerant of the
poverty of Time She feels acutely the poverty of time and the fleeting hours; her passion seeks to compress the excessive love and ecstasy of centuries into a day. Or she strives to gain a fo-othold on eternity in time by affecting a deep union of their two human lives, by merging her solitary Foul in his.
After all was given
she demanded still;
Imprint thyself for
every nerve to keep
For soon we part and
who shall know how long In spite of all the love that she receives, Savitri remains unsatisfied, She longs to cry to Satyavan. Give me more and yet more of love while thou canst. Impress thyself on every nerve of mine that thrills to thee my heart’s message of love. For soon we are to part and who knows when the great wheel of Time in its huge heartless round will restore us to each other and to our love!
Too well she loved
to speak a fateful word But she loves him far too much to reveal to him their fateful future and deliver herself of the burden weighing upon her by laying it upon her happy and carefree Satyavan. She presses the grief that pushes forward back into her heart to remain there silent, unshared and unhelped.
But Satyavan
sometimes half understood, But Satyavan half understands that something is wrong. The human heart, veiled though it is by the constant movement of thoughts, sometimes responds. instinctively, though uncertainly, to an unexpressed situation. Satyavan feels Savitri’s need though it is not uttered in words; he feels the profound depth of her intense want.
All of his speeding
days that he could spare Whatever little is left of his fleeting time after his chores of hewing wood, hunting food and serving his blind father, Satyavan gives to Savitri and thus helps to increase the sense of time by his presence, closeness, soft endearing speech and intimacy of heart.
All was too little for her bottomless need.
If in his presence
she forgot awhile, All this, however. proves too little to quench her endless thirst. She forgets the perq for a while when Satyavan is with her, hut in his absence grief returns and fills her with continuous pain. In each hour spent alone. she sees reflected the dreary desert of her approaching future.
Although with a vain
imaginary bliss
For those sad
parents still would need her here Savitri conjures up visions of immolating herself with Satyavan in the hour of his death and uniting with him in the bliss of the heavens beyond. But she knows she must not clutch at that Hellish happiness of following behind him into the regions beyond the earth—be they sweet or terrible. For the sad and bereaved parents of Satyavan would still need her here to help them as long as they lived.
Often it seemed to
her the ages’ pain
Thus in the silent
chamber of her soul Often she feels as if the pain of centuries has compressed itself into her single woe, concentrating as it were the whole tortured world in her single person, Thus in the silent depths of her soul disciplining her Love to accept her secret grief, she lives like a dumb priest serving veiled gods who are never satisfied with the mute offering of her days. To these gods she lifts her sorrow like incense; her life is the altar of her worship and she herself is the oblation.
Yet ever they grew
into each other more
For when he wandered
in the forest, oft Withal, both she and he grow more and more into each other till it looks as if they cannot be separated by any power; even the physical barriers of the body are not able to divide them into two. When he goes into the forest, her wakeful spirit accompanies him and knows his movements as if they took place in her own being. He is less conscious, yet his being vibrates in tune with her even when physically at a distance from her.
Always the stature
of her passion grew;
Increased by its
torment it filled the whole world, Her passion goes on increasing in its stature_ Her grief and fear only go to feed her mighty love. Growing on this torment, her love fills her whole world; it is not only her entire life but becomes for her the whole earth here and the heaven beyond. There is nothing beyond her mighty love.
Although life-born,
an infant of the hours, Though young in mortal life, her love is immortal, unslayable as the gods. Her spirit, divine in its strength, expands itself infinitely, a veritable anvil for the blows of Fate and Time. Though tired of the continuous intensity of sorrow, her being of grief remains calm and determined to resign itself to whatever issue may emerge from the struggle, either some deed in which it might cease for ever, or become victorious over itself, death and tears.
The year now paused upon the brink of change.
No more the storms
sailed with stupendous wings So her grief’s heavy sky shut in her heart. The one year is now about to end. Storm and thunder cease; rain drips slowly through the dismal air. Grey slow-sailing clouds enclose the earth. Even so the heavy skies of her grief shut in Savitri’s heart
A still self hid
behind but gave no light: Her still silent self is there behind, but it throws no light. Nor is any voice heard from the heights that are now forgotten in this hour of crisis. Only her human heart, in the solitude of its engrossing pain, communes with the fate of her physical body. Only her human part continues to be active.
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