SRI AUROBINDO
Translations
from Sanskrit and Other Languages
MAHABHARATA
This poem is based on a passage comprising four chapters (Adhyayas) in the Udyog-parva of the Mahabharata. It is not a close translation but a free poetic paraphrase of the subject-matter; it follows closely the sequence of the thoughts with occasional rearrangements, translates freely in parts, in others makes some departures or adds, develops and amplifies to bring out fully the underlying spirit and idea. The style of the original is terse, brief, packed and allusive, sometimes knotted into a pregnant obscurity by the drastic economy of word and phrase. It would have been impossible to preserve effectively in English such a style; a looser fullness of expression has been preferred sacrificing the letter to the spirit. The text of a Calcutta edition has been followed throughout. The whole passage with its envoi or self-laudatory close reads like an independent poem dovetailed into the vast epic.
There are few more interesting passages in the Mahabharata than the conversation of Vidula with her son. It comes into the main poem as an exhortation from Kunti to Yudhisthir to give up the weak spirit of submission, moderation, prudence, and fight like a true warrior and Kshatriya for right and justice and his own. But the poem bears internal evidence of having been written by a patriotic poet to stir his countrymen to revolt against the yoke of the foreigner. Sanjay, prince and leader of an Aryan people, has been defeated by the king of Sindhu and his Kingdom is in the possession of the invader. The fact of the king of Sindhu or the country around the Indus being named as the invader shows that the poet must have had in his mind one of the aggressive foreign powers, whether Persia, Graeco-Bactria, Parthia or the Scythians, which took possession one after the other of these regions and made them the base for inroads upon the North-West. The poet seeks to fire the spirit of the conquered and subject people and impel them to throw off the hated subjection. He personifies in Vidula the spirit of the motherland speaking to her degenerate son and striving to awaken in him the inherited Aryan manhood and the Kshatriya’s preference of death to servitude.
Hearken to the ancient converse of which old traditions tell,
Of the youthful Sunjoy with his mother the indomitable
Vidula, the passionate princess, royal in her mood and form,
Fiery-souled, the resolute speaker with her tameless heart of storm,
High her fame in kingly senates where the nations’ princes met,
Eloquent and proud and learned, with a soul foreseeing fate.
Conquered by the King of Sindhu, hurled down from his lofty throne,
As he lay unnerved and abject, came she to her warlike son,
Vidula, the passionate princess, and she spoke with burning eyes,
Scourging him with words like flakes of fire, bidding him arise.
“Son,” she cried, “no son of mine to make thy mother’s hearth rejoice!
Hark, thy foemen mock and triumph, yet to live is still thy choice.
Nor thy hero father got thee, nor I bore thee in my womb,
Random changeling from some world of petty souls and coward gloom!
Passionless and abject nature, stripped and void of bold desire,
Nerveless of all masculine endeavour, without force and fire,
Reckon not thy name midst men who liest flinging manhood far.
Rise and bear thy yoke, thou warhorse, neighing for the crash of war!
Make not great thy foemen with thy terrors, panic eyes behind.
Thou, a king’s son, canst thou tremble? be a king indeed in mind,
Soar up like a sudden eagle beating high against the wind.
Out, arise, thou coward! lie not thus upon the ground o’erthrown,
Shorn of pride, thy foes’ delight, thy friends’ shame, making fruitless moan.
Easily a paltry river with the meagre floods o’erflows,
Easily the field-mouse with her mite of grain contented goes,
Easily the coward ceases fainting from his great emprise.
Break the serpent’s fangs between thy hands and perish, not as dies
Impotent a whining dog, go deathward, but as circles o’er his prey,
But as wheels an angry falcon through the wide and azure day
Watching for his moment, thou in fearless silence wait thy time
Or with resonant and far-voiced challenge waken war sublime.
Wherefore like a dead thing thunder-blasted liest thou on the ground?
Rise, thou coward, seek not slumber while the victors jeer around.
Turn not miserably to thy set, but smiting with the sword
Make the world re-echo! deem that thou wast born to be its lord,
Not with middle place content nor abject; all subjection spurn. 
Stand erect, whate’er befall thee, roaring on thy hunters turn.
Blaze out like a fireband even if for a moment burning high,
Not like the poor fire of husks that smoulders long, afraid to die.
Better is the swift and glorious flame that mounting dies of power,
Not to smoke in squalid blackness, hour on wretched futile hour.
Out to battle, do thy man’s work, falter not in high attempt;
So a man is quit before his God and saved from self-contempt.
For the great heart grieves not though he lose the glorious crown of strife,
But he does the work before him, holding cheap his body’s life.
Show thy prowess, be the hero thou wast born, with flashing glaive
Hew thy way with God before thee to the heaven of the brave.
All the wells that thou hast dug, the beasts that thou hast offered, all
Fame is gone to wrack; thy roots of pleasure cut, the tree must fall.
Eunuch, wherefore dost thou live? if thou must sink, with thy last breath
Seize thy foeman by the thigh and drag him with thee down to death.
Though his roots be cut, the strong man stands up stiff, he sinks not prone.
Mark the warhorse in the battle with the sunken car o’erthrown,
Up he struggles, full of pride and rage. Thou too like him exalt
Thy low fortunes, lift thy great house shamed and ruined through thy fault.
He whose perfect deeds as of a demigod in strength and mind
Make not up the daily talk and glory of amazed mankind,
What is he but one more clod to feed the fire and help the soil?
He is neither man nor woman. Man is he whose fire and toil,
Turned to wealth or turned to wisdom, truth or piety of soul,
Travel through the spacious world renowned from pole to ringing pole,
Or in austere works or knowledge or in valour quick and high
He outdoes his fellow-creatures scaling the immortals’ sky.
Be not as the vagrant beggar seeking food from door to door,
Shameless with his skull and rosary wretched handfuls to implore.
Cowardly, ignoble and unfeeling is the life they lead,
Equal to the houseless street-dog whom compassionate hands must feed.
Let not ever son of mine be such an one as all men scorn,
Without throne and without purple, weak, emaciate and forlorn,
Mean and with mean things content and vaunting o’er a little gain.
Such an one his foes delight in, but his friends are joyless men.
We shall perish, exiles from our country, plagued with wretched want,
All obscure who were so glorious, doomed to petty things and scant,
Wandering in loveless places, dreaming at an alien door 
Of delightful things and pleasant in our joyous lives of yore.
Death and shame in thee I bore and fondly deemed I had a son.
Better were a woman barren than to bear with labour one
Sluggish, weak and hopeless, without noble wrath and warlike fire.
Sunjoy, Sunjoy, waste not thou thy flame in smoke! Impetuous, dire,
Leap upon thy foes for havoc as a famished lion leaps,
Storming through thy vanquished victors till thou fall on slaughtered heaps.
This is manhood to refuse defeat and insult not to bear.
He who suffers and forgives, who bows his neck the yoke to wear,
Is too weak for man, too base to be a woman. Loiterings
Clog a mounting fortune, low contentment fetters, fear unwings,
And a fainting over-pitiful heart she scorns for her abode.
In thy strength reject these poisons, tread not vile subjection’s road.
Make thy man’s heart hard like iron to pursue and take thy own.
Out to battle! let not woman’s weakness shame thy manhood, son.
Fortune dogs the hero’s goings who like Ocean in his pride
Walks through life with puissant footsteps as a lion the hill-side.
Even when he has gone where fate shall lead him, still his people climb
On the wave of his great actions to a joy and strength sublime.
For a King must exile pleasure, turn from safety to waylay
Fortune for his nation like a hunter tracking down his prey.
Wise and fortunate ministers shall help him, thousands share his joy.”
But to Vidula, amazed and angry answered swift the boy.
“Where shall be thy bliss, my mother, though the whole wide earth were thine,
If thine eyes of me are vacant? the delight of raiment fine,
Food and gems and rich enjoyments, what were these without thy son?”
But the mother in her surge of passion answered rushing on.
“Be that Hell my foeman’s where the loiterer and the coward climb,
Who avoid occasion, murmuring, ‘Why today? ’tis not the time,’
May my friends go flocking to that world where the high-crested go,
Who respect the self within them and its noble value know.
But who, stripped of mastery, eat the bitter bread that others give,
Miserable souls and strengthless, is it life that such men live?
Live not with such abject living, be a prince and chief of men.
Let the Brahmins look toward thee even as to the King of Rain
All this world of creatures turns for sustenance with expectant eyes.
Mighty Gods to mightier Indra from their golden thrones arise.
Lo, his hands to whom all creatures for their bliss come crowding fast,
As to a ripe-fruited tree the birds innumerably haste,
And his life indeed is counted, for he reaps the earth with deeds
And on friend and fere and kinsman showers unasked their princely needs,–
Living by his arm’s strength, taking only what his hand has won,
Gathering here an earthly glory, shining there like Indra’s sun.”
“Evil is thy state, O Sunjoy; lose the manhood from thy soul
And thou treadst the path of vilest spirits with their Hell for goal.
Shall a warrior born of warriors to whom Heaven gave fire divine,
Spend it not in mighty actions lavish of the God within?
Shall he hug his life for ever? He is then a thief to Heaven;
For to swell the days of earth with glorious deeds that strength was given.
Hear me, Sunjoy! Sindhu’s monarch rules in might the conquered folk,
But their hearts bend not before him, they abhor the foreign yoke.
They from weakness sit with minds bewildered, full of hate and grief,
Waiting sullenly a sea of miseries, hopeless of relief.
Gather faithful friends and get thee valiant helpers; through our lands
Working with a fierce persistence, strengthening still thy mighty hands.
Others when they see thy daring shall be stirred to noble strife,
Catch thy fire and rise in strong rebellion scorning goods and life.
Make with these a close and mighty following, seek the pathless hills,
Region difficult and strong and sullen passes walled with ills
For the rash invader; there in arms expect the tyrant’s hour;
He is not a god to be immortal, not for ever lasts his power.
Knowst thou not the ancient Brahmin with his deep and inward eye
That beholds the ages, told of thee that lowly thou shouldst lie,
Yet again arise and prosper! Victor2 named, a victor be.
Therefore have I chidden and urged thee, to awake thy destiny.
O my son, believe me, he whose victory brings the common gain
And a nation conquers with him, cannot fail; his goal is plain
And his feet divinely guided, for his steps to Fate belong.
O my son, think this whilst thou art fighting: ‘Generations long
Of my fathers walk beside me and a nation’s mighty dead
Watch me; for my greatness is their own, my slavery bows their head.’
In this knowledge turn thy thoughts to battle; Sunjoy, draw not back!
Eviller plight is not nor sinfuller, this day’s bread to lack
Nor to know from whence shall come the bitter morrow’s scanty meal.
It is worse than death of spouse or child such indigence to feel.
That’s a grief that strikes and passes, this a long and living death.
In a house of mighty monarchs I derived my earliest breath;
As from ocean into ocean sails a ship in bannered pride, 
To a house of mighty monarchs came I in my marriage-tide,
Queen and Empress, filled with joys and blessings, worshipped by my lord,
And my kin rejoiced to see me rich in wealth and jewelled hoard,
Clothed in smooth and splendid raiment, girt with friends and nobly stored.
When thou seest me weak and abject and the weeping of thy wife,
Wilt thou in thy breath take pleasure, wilt thou love thy shameful life?
Wouldst thou see thy household priests and holy teachers leave our side,
Our retainers hopeless of their sustenance who had served thy pride?
In thy proud aspiring actions, son, I lived; if these are past,
Peace can dwell not in my bosom and my heart shall break at last.
Must I then turn back the Brahmin when he sues for gold or lands?
Shame would tear my heart-strings; never, Sunjoy, went with empty hands
From thy father’s seat or from thy mother’s presence suppliant men.
We were ever all men’s refuge; shall we sue to others then?
Life shall leave me rather, I will seek that house of nether calms.
Never will I tread a stranger’s floor and live upon his insolent alms.
Lo! we toss in shoreless waters, be the haven to our sail!
Lo! we drown in monstrous billows, be our boat with kindly hail!
Save our hopeless fortunes! We are dead men drawing empty breath,
Be a hero and deliverer, raise us from this living death.
Dare to die, O hero! Where is then the foeman half so strong
As to overcome thy onset? Who would choose to suffer long
Years of sad despondent weakness? sudden death is better far.
Single out their mightiest, let thy fame o’ertop the surge of war.
Indra by the death of Vritra seized the monarchy of Heaven;
Lord of teeming worlds, to him the largest sovereign part is given.
Calling to his armoured foes defiance, lo, the hero proud
Shouts his name across the roar of battle like a lion loud
And he breaks their foremost, and they fall apart like scattered spray,
Till he slays their leader and mightiest winning glory wide as day.
Then his haters’ hearts are troubled, then they bow reluctant heads.
For he hurls his life into the battle and on death he treads
Towards victory; all the cowards and the tremblers of the earth
Come with gifts and incense crowding to provide his ease and mirth.
Is it death thou fleest from? Sunjoy, savage is the fall of Kings,
For a wise foe leaves no remnants, hands to stab or fugitive wings.
To be King is heaven, O Sunjoy, sweet as nectar to the lip
Power is to the mighty.
Son of Kings, thou holdest in thy grip 
Heaven or empire; rush then like a meteor on the vaunting foe!
Reaper in the battle! kinglike lay their armèd thousands low.
Sunjoy, terror of thy foemen, let me see not in thy close
A poor crouching coward girt with weeping friends and shouting foes.
Vail not thou thy crest to be a mock for Sindhu’s laughing girls:
Take her highborn damsels for thy handmaids, with her conquered pearls
Wreathe thy queen, be strong and splendid as of yore in youthful pride.
Young and shaped to princely beauty, cultured, to great Kings allied,
Such a man as thou to deviate from thy bold and radiant mood!
Thou to bow thy neck to other yoke than Earth’s, for alien food
Speaking sweet to strangers, following with a meek inclinèd head!
If I see thee thus degraded, I shall think my son is dead.
But I know this country’s mighty princes and their lordly race
Firmer-rooted than the mountains in eternal kingliness.
In our fathers and forefathers ’twas the same and in our sons
Shall be and their progeny for ever while the Ganges runs.
It was made by God a grandeur! Never prince of the ancient seed,
Never prince who did the deeds of princehood in this land was bred,
Who would crouch and gaze for sustenance, who in fear would bow his neck.
Like a giant tree he has no joints to bend with, though he break;
Break he may, but bends not. If he bows, to holy men in awe
Bows he; if he yields, it is to justice and religion’s law,
Not to equal or inferiors: them he holds with sternest hand,
Smiting still the strong ill-doer and the troublers of the land,
Mightily like a maddened elephant through the world he storms abroad
Conquering fate through high adventure, kneeling not to bear the load –
Little recks if he has helpers or stands lonely, dispossessed;
He is what he is and will not alter, lowers not his crest.”
“Mother, mother stony-natured, ore of pitiless iron black
Heaven collected and together forged thy dreadful heart to make.
Mother mine, heroic-minded, high-disdaining common mould,
Dreadful is the warrior code of ethics that our princes hold,
Harsh, devoid of love and sweetness; thou my mother driv’st me on
To the battle like a stranger, like another woman’s son!
Am I not thy child? has any other in thy love a part?
Yet thy words are harsh and ruthless. Will it please thy fiery heart
If I lie in battle cold and in my stead thou own the earth?
What were all life’s splendour, what were bright and fair things worth?
When thine eyes seek me in vain, will these things soothe their sad desire?”
But the mother answered still with words that breathed her soul of fire.
“Dear my son, for joy or sorrow twofold is the great life’s scope,
To be righteous in our actions, to fulfil each human hope.
Private welfare, high religion, both alike should urge thee on.
It has come at last, the mightiest hour of all thy life, O son.
Now if thou shouldst spurn occasion from vile fear or pitifulness,
All thy beauty were dishonoured and thy strength grows thy disgrace.
When dishonour stains thee, should I shape my words to soothe thy mind?
Like a she-mule’s were my mother’s love, a brutish impulse blind.
Leave the path of fools and cowards, vileness hated by the wise.
Strange the sorcery of affection sealing up this people’s eyes!
But not mine! While only thou art noble, art thou dear and loved.
But a graceless son or grandchild by aspiring thoughts unmoved,
Crude and brutish-brained with unformed soul, revolts a father’s mind,
Knowing he had all in vain his labour to create his kind.
Shrink not from a noble action, stoop not to unworthy deed!
Vile are they who stoop, they gain not Heaven’s doors, nor here succeed.
Kshatriyas on this world were loosed for battle by their Maker high,
Sunjoy, for the strife and victory, and they conquer or they die.
Ever by their doom of Nature to a labour unrevoked
And a fierce hard-hearted action for the people’s safety yoked,
Conquering or dying, glorious Indra’s radiant world they share:
Yet his heavenly mansions to a warrior’s heart are not so dear
As to dare and triumph, as the gust and glory of the strife,
As to set his foes beneath his feet and drink the joy of life. 
When the thinking soul of manhood is insulted and oppressed,
Deep he burns with fire for ever and revenge is in his breast,
Till he’s strong to hurl disfigured self away and nobly cease
Or to crush the proud wrongdoer; other way is none to peace.
Wilt thou faint for difficulty and sorrow? they but strengthen men.
Even a little pleasure comes not here without a little pain,
Without struggle no delight is and without delight the soul
Cannot live, but ceases like the Ganges in the ocean’s roll.”
Then King Sunjoy answered, faintly now, but making once more moan.
“Not such counsel thou shouldst give me. Mother, still I am thy son.
Be as dumb men are, my mother, be as dull and joyless things;
Look to pity and softness only, not the iron moods of Kings.”
“Greatest were my joy then if thy thoughts like mine grew eagle-eyed.
Thou bidst me to woman’s softness? I bid thee to masculine pride.
When the men of Sindhu are not, blotted by thy hands from life,
When thou winnest difficult victory from the clutch of fearful strife,
I shall know thou art my offspring and shall love my son indeed.”
But King Sunjoy, “Where have I a single helper in my need?
All alone what man can struggle? Without means who groweth great?
I have neither friends nor treasure; when I view my dreadful state,
Fallen, helpless, wretched, all my sick heart turns from useless toil
As a sinner lost despairs of heaven for a thing so vile.
But, O mother, if thy wisdom find an issue from this net,
Tell me, mother; I may do thy lofty bidding even yet.”
“Never scorn thyself for past defeat; be bold and proud of heart.
Fortune goes and comes again; she seeks us only to depart.
Foolish are those careful thinkers who would ponder all their days,
Thinking this and that, and leap not to their crown, ask perfect ways.
Where is in the world an action whose result is wholly sure?
Here uncertainty’s the one thing certain. To a noble lure
Man puts forth his manhood, wins and is or dies in the attempt.
They who act not, try not, they are nothing and their crown contempt.
Single is inaction’s nature to forego Fate’s mighty call:
Double-edged high aspiration wins life’s throne or loses all. 
Knowing that his life is transient, sure of its uncertainties
Swift the hero clashing with adversity jostles for increase.
All you who are men, awake and rise and struggle; free and great
Now resolve to be and shrink not from the dangerous face of Fate.
Be you resolute for victory; this shall drag her to your side,
For the iron will takes Fortune captive like a vanquished bride.
Call the gods to bless thy purpose; set the Brahmin’s subtle brain
And the nation’s princes in thy vanguard; fight! thou shalt attain.
There are angered bold ambitious natures, many a breast
Arrogant and active, there are men insulted and disgraced
By the foreign tyrant, there are soaring spirits that aspire,
Minds of calm courageous wisdom, quiet strengths and souls of fire,
Desperate men with broken fortunes; link thyself to these and dare.
Care not for his giant armies, care not for his tools of war.
With these native flames to help thee, those shall break like piles of cloud
When a mighty storm awakes in heaven and the winds grow loud.
Give them precedence, rise to yield them courtesy, speak them ever fair:
They shall make thee then their leader and for thee shall do and dare.
When the tyrant sees his conquered foeman careless grown of death,
Bent on desperate battle, he will tremble, he will hold his breath
Like a man who sees a Python lashing forward for the grip.
Doubtless he will strive to soothe or tame thee, but if thou escape
His deceit and violence, he will parley, give and take for peace.
So at least there’s gained a respite and good terms for thy increase.
Respite and a footing gained, then gather wealth to swell thy force.
Friends and helpers crowd around him who has money and resource,
But the poor man they abandon and they shun his feeble state,
Losing confidence, saying, ‘Where are then his means and favouring fate?’
When thy foe shall grow thy helper, sessions new and treaties make,
Then thou’lt understand how easy ’twas to win thy kingdom back.”
“Never should a prince and leader bow his haughty head to fear,
Let his fortune be however desperate, death however near.
If his soul grow faint, let him imprison weakness in his heart,
Keep a bold and open countenance and play on a hero’s part.
If the leader fear and faint, then all behind him faint and fear.
So a king of men should keep a dauntless look and forehead clear.
Now this nation and this army and the statesmen of the land,
All are torn by different counsels and they part to either hand.
Some affect as yet the foreign tyrant, many leave his side,
Others yet shall leave him, frowning, for his insults and his pride.
Some there are, thy friends who love thee, but they serve and eat his bread,
Weak, though praying for thy welfare, like poor cattle bound and led,
Like a cow that sees her calf tied, so they serve reluctantly,
Yet they sorrow in thy sorrow, weeping as for kin that die.
Some there are whom thou hast loved and honoured, loyal friends of old,
Who believe yet in the nation though its king grow faint and cold.
Yield not to thy fear, O Sunjoy; let not such thy side forsake
Scorning thy poor terrors. Wake for victory, Sunjoy! Warrior, wake!
I have laboured to provoke the will, the strength thy heart within.
All is truth I’ve uttered and thou knowst it; thy despair was sin.
Know that thou hast still great treasure, know that I have funds concealed,
Mighty stores that I alone know; thou shalt have them for the field.
Know that thou hast numerous secret helpers, friends who wait their hour,
Daring to endure privation and disaster’s utmost power.
They shall turn not backward from the battle, they are helpers, friends
Such as daring souls aspirant need for their gigantic ends.”
So she spoke with words of varied splendour urging him to dare
Till his gloom and shadow left him and his foolish weak despair.
“O thou strong and resolute speaker, even the feeblest fainting soul
Would put darkness from him, listening, for thy words would make him whole.
I will high uphold my country in its swift precipitous fate,
Having thee to lead me on whose vision past and future wait.
My denial and my silence were but craft; consent deferred
Drew thee on to speak lest I should lose even one inspiring word.
It is sudden nectar to the desolate to find a friend!
Now I rise to smite the foe and cease not till I make an end.”
On he rushed to desperate battle burning in his pride and might,
As a noble war-horse wounded rushes faster to the fight.
Stung with arrows of her speech he did his mother’s high command
Driving out the foe and stranger, freeing all the conquered land.
Lo, this strong and famous poem that shall make men gods for might,
Kindling fiery joy of battle. When a King has lost the fight
By his foemen whelmed and broken, let his well-wishers and friends
Read to him this poem. All who need high strength for noble ends,
Let them read it daily; for the warrior hearing turns to flame,
Tramples down a hundred foemen and acquires a deathless name.
And the pregnant woman who shall hear it day by day
Bears a hero or a strong man dowered with strength to help or slay,
Or a soul of grandiose virtues, or a helper of the Light,
Or a glorious giver blazing with the spirit’s radiance bright.
But a daughter of high princes and a fighter’s wife shall bear
Splendid like a flame and swift and fortunate, strong to dare,
Unapproachable in battle and invincible in war,
Armèd champion of the right, injustice’ scourge, some human star.
1 When the poem was first published in Bande Mataram in 1907 it was called The Mother to Her Son and prefixed with this note.
2 “Sunjoy”, Sanskrit “Sanjaya”, means “Victory”.
