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ON FATE
Fate Masters the Gods
Brihuspathy1 his path of vantage shows, The red disastrous thunder leaves his hand Obedient, the high Gods in burning rows His battled armies make, high heaven’s his fort, Iravath swings his huge trunk for his sport, The Almighty’s guardian favours over him stand; That Indra with these strengths, this lordship proud Is broken by his foes in battle loud. Come then, bow down to Fate. Alas, the vain Heroisms, virtues, toils of glorious man!
A Parable of Fate
A serpent in a basket crushed despaired, His organs all with hunger weak and worn, While patiently at night the mouse prepared A hole in that self basket. Ere the morn By his own industry, such Nature’s law, The patient labourer fills the serpent’s maw. He with that food replenished, by the way The mouse had made escaped. 0 world, behold The mighty master of thy sad decay And fortunate rising. Fate, the godhead old.
1 Brihuspathy is counsellor to Indra, the King of Heaven, and spiritual guide of the Gods, Iravath is Indra’s elephant. Page– 196 Fate and Freewill
“The actions of our former life control This life’s sweet fruit or bitter; even the high Intellect follows where these point its eye.” All this is true, — 0 yet, be wise of soul, Think ere thou act, thou who wouldst reach the goal.
Ill Luck
A bald man, goes the story, when the noon Beat his plagued brows into a fiery swoon, Desiring dimness and cool place was led By subtle Fate into a high palm’s shade. There where he shelter hoped, a giant fruit Crashed on his pate and broke with horrid bruit. Wherever the unfortunate hides his head, Grief and disaster in his footprints tread.
Fate Masters All
I saw the brilliant moon eclipsed, the sun Baulked darkly of his radiant pilgrimage, And halter-bound the forest’s mighty one, The iron-coiled huge python in a cage; Then saw the wise skilled brain a pauper, and said “Fate only is strong whose hand on all is laid.” Page– 197 The Follies of Fate
Sometimes the gods build up a very man Whom genius, virtue, glory crowd to bless, And Earth with him adorned grows measureless. Then if death early spoil that noble plan, Ah, blind stupidity of Fate that throws From her brow the jewel, from her breast the rose!
The Script of Fate
When on the desert-bramble’s boughs you find Leafage nor flower, blame not the bounteous Spring! Is it the sun’s fault if the owlet blind Sees not by day so radiant-bright a thing? Though down the rain-lark’s throat no sweet drops flow, Yet for his falling showers the high cloud praise. What Fate has written in power upon the brow, Where is the hand so mighty it shall rase? Page– 198 |
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