 | The Tenth Muse |  |
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SOHNI
A TALE OF INDUS
Dub mûi—“Dead of drowning”—is the legend on the stone,
Standing grey, beneath the thorn-tree, by the river's brim, alone;
With a woman's name carved—“SOHNI”—and, below, cut, round and well,
Just a common water chatty! Know you what it means, Patel?
Standing grey, beneath the thorn-tree, by the river's brim, alone;
With a woman's name carved—“SOHNI”—and, below, cut, round and well,
Just a common water chatty! Know you what it means, Patel?
Yes! he knows—the village knows it! all those rags a-flutter see
On the branches, and those votive shards piled round the bâbul-tree.
None passes Sohni's death-place, but ties, for pious fear,
Strips from his cloth or girdle, or casts a pebble there.
On the branches, and those votive shards piled round the bâbul-tree.
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Strips from his cloth or girdle, or casts a pebble there.
For lovelier—so he tells us—all Indus' bank beside
Than Sohni, the Jât maiden, no maiden might be spied;
The cypress not so slim and straight, the musk-deer not so light
As Sohni with the milk-pots bringing home the goats at night.
Than Sohni, the Jât maiden, no maiden might be spied;
The cypress not so slim and straight, the musk-deer not so light
As Sohni with the milk-pots bringing home the goats at night.
He says—this village ancient—that for love and joy to see
Her dark eyes shining jewel-like, and footsteps passing free,
And to hear the bangles tattling pleasant music round her feet,
They changed her name of Sohni, to “Jungle-Honey Sweet.”
But ever by the river, growing up so fair and fine—
Daughter, besides, of Damadar, who owned a score of kine—
The great ones did desire her; and Sohni's youth and grace
Were sought by Govind, soucar, of evil soul and face.
Her dark eyes shining jewel-like, and footsteps passing free,
And to hear the bangles tattling pleasant music round her feet,
They changed her name of Sohni, to “Jungle-Honey Sweet.”
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Daughter, besides, of Damadar, who owned a score of kine—
The great ones did desire her; and Sohni's youth and grace
Were sought by Govind, soucar, of evil soul and face.
And all because that soucar held half the village bound
With debts at heavy usury, men trembled if he frowned;
So Sohni must be Govind's wife, the next new moon but three;
Yet Sohni—milking, singing—wist not that this would be.
With debts at heavy usury, men trembled if he frowned;
So Sohni must be Govind's wife, the next new moon but three;
Yet Sohni—milking, singing—wist not that this would be.
Her mind was with her Indian boy, beyond the yellow stream,
Who played the bansulî
so sweet he might God Krishna seem,
So had he piped her heart away, and when the moon grew dim
Sohni would swim the Indus, to find her heart, and him.
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So had he piped her heart away, and when the moon grew dim
Sohni would swim the Indus, to find her heart, and him.
To sit, before 'twas sunrise, under the peepal-tree
And listen to his songs of love upon the bansulî,
And make him better music yet, with sighs and whispered words,
Till time came they must sunder, and drive afield their herds.
And listen to his songs of love upon the bansulî,
And make him better music yet, with sighs and whispered words,
Till time came they must sunder, and drive afield their herds.
Then Sohni, with a last embrace, bound underneath her breasts
The round black chatty, stopped with grass, whereon the fisher rests
What time he spreads his river-nets; and, so, stemming the tide,
Came back upon the chatty safe once more to her side.
The round black chatty, stopped with grass, whereon the fisher rests
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Came back upon the chatty safe once more to her side.
Then to the cover of the reeds the friendly jar she drew,
And lightly tripped a-milking, till love's star gleamed anew;
Full many a glad and secret night, when Luximan did blow,
Sohni swam o'er the Indus, to meet her lover so.
And lightly tripped a-milking, till love's star gleamed anew;
Full many a glad and secret night, when Luximan did blow,
Sohni swam o'er the Indus, to meet her lover so.
But once it fell that Govind—too early gone abroad—
Saw Sohni with her chatty, breasting the watery road—
A lotus-blossom drifting! Ah! Govind's angry eyes
Marked; and his evil spirit an ill deed did devise.
Saw Sohni with her chatty, breasting the watery road—
A lotus-blossom drifting! Ah! Govind's angry eyes
Marked; and his evil spirit an ill deed did devise.
From out its place of keeping fair Sohni's jar he drags,
And hides another like it amidst the reeds and flags.
Oh! trick of cruel cunning! 'tis a pot of unbaked clay,
Will soften in the water-flood and swiftly melt away.
And hides another like it amidst the reeds and flags.
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Will soften in the water-flood and swiftly melt away.
And, when again the month grew dark, Luximan's bansulî
Sounds; and fond Sohni hears it, and hastens to her tree;
There clasps the traitorous chatty, and plunges from the brink,
But—half across—feels fatally the false clay yield and sink.
Sounds; and fond Sohni hears it, and hastens to her tree;
There clasps the traitorous chatty, and plunges from the brink,
But—half across—feels fatally the false clay yield and sink.
A little while, for love and life, her brown hands beat the wave;
But broad and strong runs Indus, and none is near to save:
Down in the dark swift river, her slender limbs are drawn—
The soucar and the jackals hear that dying scream! At dawn
But broad and strong runs Indus, and none is near to save:
Down in the dark swift river, her slender limbs are drawn—
The soucar and the jackals hear that dying scream! At dawn
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Yonder—upon the sandy spit—lies Sohni, stiff and cold,
The water-grasses tangled round the heart that was so bold;
Dub mûi—“drowned;” and so we set her deathstone by her tree
Cursing the soucar Govind, who wrought such villainy.
The water-grasses tangled round the heart that was so bold;
Dub mûi—“drowned;” and so we set her deathstone by her tree
Cursing the soucar Govind, who wrought such villainy.
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