Savitri – Eine Legende und ein Symbol. Sri Aurobindo

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СКАЧАТЬ let pass into the mother’s unknowing breast,

      Slaying all happiness and need to live,

      A dire foreknowledge of the grief to come.

      Only the needed utterance passage found:

      All else she pressed back into her anguished heart

      And forced upon her speech an outward peace.

      “One year that I have lived with Satyavan

      Here on the emerald edge of the vast woods

      In the iron ring of the enormous peaks

      Under the blue rifts of the forest sky,

      I have not gone into the silences

      Of this great woodland that enringed my thoughts

      With mystery, nor in its green miracles

      Wandered, but this small clearing was my world.

      Now has a strong desire seized all my heart

      To go with Satyavan holding his hand

      Into the life that he has loved and touch

      Herbs he has trod and know the forest flowers

      And hear at ease the birds and the scurrying life

      That starts and ceases, rich far rustle of boughs

      And all the mystic whispering of the woods.

      Release me now and let my heart have rest.”

      She answered: “Do as thy wise mind desires,

      O calm child-sovereign with the eyes that rule.

      I hold thee for a strong goddess who has come

      Pitying our barren days; so dost thou serve

      Even as a slave might, yet art thou beyond

      All that thou doest, all our minds conceive,

      Like the strong sun that serves earth from above.”

      Then the doomed husband and the woman who knew

      Went with linked hands into that solemn world

      Where beauty and grandeur and unspoken dream,

      Where Nature’s mystic silence could be felt

      Communing with the secrecy of God.

      Beside her Satyavan walked full of joy

      Because she moved with him through his green haunts:

      He showed her all the forest’s riches, flowers

      Innumerable of every odour and hue

      And soft thick clinging creepers red and green

      And strange rich-plumaged birds, to every cry

      That haunted sweetly distant boughs replied

      With the shrill singer’s name more sweetly called.

      He spoke of all the things he loved: they were

      His boyhood’s comrades and his playfellows,

      Coevals and companions of his life

      Here in this world whose every mood he knew:

      Their thoughts which to the common mind are blank,

      He shared, to every wild emotion felt

      An answer. Deeply she listened, but to hear

      The voice that soon would cease from tender words

      And treasure its sweet cadences beloved

      For lonely memory when none by her walked

      And the beloved voice could speak no more.

      But little dwelt her mind upon their sense;

      Of death, not life she thought or life’s lone end.

      Love in her bosom hurt with the jagged edges

      Of anguish moaned at every step with pain

      Crying, “Now, now perhaps his voice will cease

      For ever.” Even by some vague touch oppressed

      Sometimes her eyes looked round as if their orbs

      Might see the dim and dreadful god’s approach.

      But Satyavan had paused. He meant to finish

      His labour here that happy, linked, uncaring

      They two might wander free in the green deep

      Primaeval mystery of the forest’s heart.

      A tree that raised its tranquil head to heaven

      Luxuriating in verdure, summoning

      The breeze with amorous wideness of its boughs,

      He chose and with his steel assailed the arm

      Brown, rough and strong hidden in its emerald dress.

      Wordless but near she watched, no turn to lose

      Of the bright face and body which she loved.

      Her life was now in seconds, not in hours,

      And every moment she economised

      Like a pale merchant leaned above his store,

      The miser of his poor remaining gold.

      But Satyavan wielded a joyous axe.

      He sang high snatches of a sage’s chant

      That pealed of conquered death and demons slain,

      And sometimes paused to cry to her sweet speech

      Of love and mockery tenderer than love:

      She like a pantheress leaped upon his words

      And carried them into her cavern heart.

      But as he worked, his doom upon him came.

      The violent and hungry hounds of pain

      Travelled through his body biting as they passed

      Silently, and СКАЧАТЬ