by Toru Dutt · 1882
Poetry · Classics
Toru Dutt, who died at twenty-one, retells legends and epic stories of India in English verse. Her poems were published after her death.
Content note: Written long ago, this book reflects the views and language of its time.
Savitri was the only child Of Madra's wise and mighty king; Stern warriors, when they saw her, smiled, As mountains smile to see the spring. Fair as a lotus when the moon Kisses its opening petals red, After sweet showers in sultry June! With happier heart, and lighter tread, Chance strangers, having met her, past, And often would they turn the head A lingering second look to cast, And bless the vision ere it fled.
What was her own peculiar charm? The soft black eyes, the raven hair, The curving neck, the rounded arm, All these are common everywhere. Her charm was this—upon her face Childlike and innocent and fair, No man with thought impure or base Could ever look;—the glory there, The sweet simplicity and grace, Abashed the boldest; but the good God's purity there loved to trace, Mirrored in dawning womanhood.
In those far-off primeval days Fair India's daughters were not pent In closed zenanas. On her ways Savitri at her pleasure went Whither she chose,—and hour by hour With young companions of her age, She roamed the woods for fruit or flower, Or loitered in some hermitage, For to the Munis gray and old Her presence was as sunshine glad, They taught her wonders manifold And gave her of the best they had.
