THE SCULPTOR
DASARATHI
(Translated
from Telugu by N. V. R. SESHAGIRI RAO)
As
if into a golden wire thou drawest the lofty
mountains,
Hidden
are the great secrets of poesy in the edge of thy chisel
that pictures has graven in the caves of Ellora to their delight without limit.
Thou
great promoter of sculpture that hast to poetry given shape
Compressed
in thy chisel thou hast
the glory of turning common stones into
beauties,
On
temple tops artistic forms hast thou created
And
hast thou built halls of beauty for the nymphs to dance.
Into
maidens’ billowy bosoms and their charming cheeks,
Into
damsels’ brows and their darkest tresses
Do
hills everywhere turn in fine
Into
nymphs beautiful only to form themselves at thy sight,
While
nectar into them thou pourest with thy chisel, and
life to them thou givest,
Creator
art thou, thou sculptor of sculptors!
“Whatever
shapes thou commandest us to take
Shall
we assume, but O master sculptor, why dost thou beat us into powder?”
Cry
the mountains under the hammer-strokes of thy deft hand.
At
the touch of hand, do those pillars of stone
Resonate
like the steely strings of the been
But
tell me, master artist, how thou hast worked thy chisel on stone,
Oh,
didst thou for new tune’s sake infuse heart into the stone?
Oh,
what a manly man art thou
This
cluster of mounts like butter does melt
And
flows even as warm tears are shed
When
come into sight thy nimble fingers
That ply the chisel replete
with beauty great of thy art.
Changes
into statue well-cut even the ugly stone,
Charming
like a maiden does it excite love’s passion,
Lo,
appears there a maiden enchanting
in every stone that once was cold and
chilling,
What
is this if not the magic of thy hand divine?