Posted:
Once upon a time,
There lived an honest King.
By the glittering band of Yamuna
His glories did they sing.
Mathura, he called his land, Ugrasena was he to the world.
He had a son to fill his heart; a girl to keep him brave.
The princess, Devaki, was joyously loved.
The prince was but a knave.
When the blissful time did come,
The King called upon the groom.
Kansa, the prince did lead the way,
Alas! To certain doom.
For all went well till the time for leave,
When the Heavens did ring,
"Thy sister be thy death,"
Foretold the thunder-string.
"The eighth of lads begot from her,
Born of the Lord of truth
Shall see thee to thy very end.
He will, the holy youth!"
Enraged,
Kansa, blinded by the fear of death, stood to behead his sister.
Vasudeva, the groom fell at his feet, held his hand and said,
"Oh, Lord, the greatest of Yadav line,
Why would you malign your grace?
Look at the gentle woman; your sister,
The flower of your pure race!
"Spare her life for love's sake,
But, hark, for now an oath I take.
Fate of every child of mine.
Will be for you to make or break."
Kans,
remembered the renown his brother-in-law enjoyed for his veracity; he
lowered his sword. "But, you wouldn't put a step out of Mathura. I'll
make sure of that."
Thus they were led to the darkest prison cells,
To begin their lives under jesting knells.
Six years did pass from hence,
Each slaughtered by the Prince.
He jailed his father and thence
Called himself the King.
Every
time Devaki gave birth to a son, Vasudeva, chained by his own vow, did
hand the poor child to his brother-in-law, who wasted no time to terminate
its breath. The fool! He thought he would defeat death by destroying the
infants of the couple who were to bring the Saviour to this world.
Building on this belief, he went ahead a step. Proclamations were made, throughout his Kingdom, forbidding those subject to him from worshipping anyone but the King. Those that rose in denial, were either imprisoned, or murdered in cold blood.
In such troubled times, one miry Shraavana night,
The silver moon gave way to clouds,
Which rained with all their might,
Under the glittering welkin shower,
Nature prepared the night.
Flowers bloomed to wake the fowls,
Who sang the notes of care;
The ether blew the clouds away,
To reveal the starry zephyr.
Victory to Right!
By sweet midnight,
Was born the little Divine.
Credits:
Write-up: Radhikerani
Graphics: Radhikerani
comment:
p_commentcount