Chapter VIII — The Burial Ground

The sun went down, while the two- women were still in the grove. The moon rose slowly in the east. It hung like a great lamp over the city of Kaveripatnam.. The city was beautiful beneath the golden sun. Fairer still it looked under the silver moon.

In the grove, the lotus flowers slowly folded their petals. The royal swans left their flower thrones, and flew into-the tops. of the cocoanut palms. There they rested’ for the night. The water-lilies opened out. Their delicate faces looked like _ stars, reflected in the water. The night-bird called aloud to her mate. The cows had grazed all day long. Their udders were heavy with sweet milk. That made them think of their calves. Lowing gently, they wended their way- homeward. Brahmans tended the: fire of sacrificein the temples. Pure maidens lit the holy lamps. On all sides, the flute and the lute made sweet music. Evening: entered the city, robed in grey twilight.

Higher and higher rose the moon. The: sky was clear and cloudless. Darker and darker grew the shadow of the moon. - Her-

rays streamed into the grove. They flowed through the little spaces between the leaves. They spilled upon the ground, and lay there like pools of white milk. The moon was a silver pitcher, spilling its precious contents.

Then it was that Manimekala-Devi entered the grove. She was the guardian spirit of the island of Manipallavam. She had assumed the form of a maiden. Radiant as a rainbow she was. She had come to worship at the lotus-seat within the crystal chamber.

As she came out, she stopped before Suthamathi and Manimekalai. ‘Tell me, pray, what has happened to your’ Why do you

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stand here?” she enquired.

Then Suthamathi told the goddess of the Prince’s pursuit. “Ah!” replied Mani- mekala-Devi, “The Prince will not give up his desire. He will surely wait for you outside the main*gate. Do not go that way. Depart by the wicket gate instead. You will find it in the western wall. The road will take you to Chakkaravala-kottam. Holy men dwell there. With them, you can pass the night in safety.”

Then spake Suthamathi, “You call it ‘Chakkaravala-kottam. The wicked gandharva gave it the same name. Why then, do the people of the city call it the burning- ground? I cannot understand it. Please explain-the mystery to me.”

Manimekala-Devi made answer, “AI- ready it is growing late. Yet will I tell you the story of Chakkaravala-kottam. Then your minds will be at peace.

* This burning-ground lies just outside the grove. Itis as old as the city itself. High walls surround it on every side. It has four main gates. In one gate is a flagstaff; by that gate only devas may enter. They leave their cars suspended in mid-air. They look just like painted pictures there. The second gate is adorned with pictures of paddy-fields, sugar-canes, tanks and groves. The third gate has only white washed walls. Before the fourth gate, stands the terrible image of a demoness. A fierce frown is on her brow; she bites ber lips with passion. In her hands she holds a fatal noose and spear. Soldiers stand on guard at _ that place. Devils haunt it. Within its walls are many strange sights. Terrible sounds

can be heard issuing from the burning- ground,

“Here is the great temple of Kali. Her altar stands in the front yard, surrounded by lofty trees. Their branches are bent to the earth with the weight of human skulls. These are the heads of men who have offered themselves as sacrifice to the goddess. There, too, are many mausoleums. They look like rocks thrown down in play by a giant. They are built of burnt bricks, in honour of kings and saints. Sometimes they honour the sathis who have died with their husbands. On every side, rise altars to: the gods. In thatched sheds, the watchmen eat and sleep. Columns of smoke ascend from the blazing pyres. The place is always. busy. All through the day, all through the night, mourners come and go. There are the men who burn the bodies. There are the men who expose them. There are the men who bury the corpses. There are the men who cover them with earthen pots. Never is Chakkaravala-kottam quiet and still. Loud and endless are its noises. The death-drum beats without ceasing. It tells the living that they too must die. Songs of praise ascend to heaven. Pious men and women:

are being carried to their long rest. Wailings tell of those who mourn their loved ones. Jackals whoop and owls hoot. Ravens croak and vultures screech as they pick the eyes and brains of the dead. All these noises mingle and combine, From afar, they sound like the roar of the mighty ocean.

“Nettles, prickly pear, and thorn bushes form dense thickets. Under their grim shade, foul demons gather their forces, Here they hold their wicked revels. Under the wood-apple tree is another assembly. They are vultures, crows and owls. In open spaces, gruesome creatures feast upon the corpses. Skulls are hung in garlands on the Jujube tree. Refuse and offal and bones are scattered all about the awful place. Death is the victor everywhere. He casts his victims in heaps. He takes the prince and the beggar. He seizes the babe and the bearded aged saint. He spares no one. None can escape him.

‘Foolish are they who forget his coming. Foolish are they who lose themselves in pleasure. Foolish all who love not their fellow-men, and do not the right.

“Let me tell you a story. There was once a boy named Sarngalan. One day he

was going home in the dark. He thought this gruesome place was part of the city. He passed through the gate. He was filled with terror. He became mad, Shrieking, he fled to his home. On the doorstep, he fell down. ‘Mother, mother,’ he screamed, ‘A devil in the burning-ground has struck me dead!’

*“Gothamai was the name of the poor boy’s mother. She was blind. Coming to the door, she lifted up the corpse in her arms, and wept. Slowly she made her way to the burning-ground. She cried aloud to the guardian spirit of the city, ‘O Sampapathy ! You guard and protect our streets and groves. But know you not that both my husband and I are blind? We have no one to help us but our boy. Now a demon has struck him dead. Is this your care for us? Were you not mighty enough to save our child?’

Thus she cried before the gates. In her arms lay the corpse of her only child. Sampapathy appeared before the poor woman. ‘Who calls me in the night? What is thy grief?’

*Gothamai cried again, ‘Look at my child. He lies here as though sunk in sleep. Yet a demon has slain him,’

* But Sampapathy answered sadly, ‘No ‘demon has power to take away life. Thy son’s time on earth was over. It had run its course. His fate was fear. It overtook him, and so he died. Cease thy grieving. ‘Cease thy tears.’

“+ Take mzy life,’ cried the stricken mother, “but give back the life of my son. He has eyes to see. He can tend his blind father. Take my life for his. Only let my boy live again !’

“Her words moved Sampapathy strange- ly. Her voice was tender as she spoke. ‘When the soul leaves the body, it is born again in another form. None can doubt this.’ How then can I recall the soul of your son to /his body? How can I relieve thy grief? It is impossible. Dry thy tears. It is foolish to offer a life for a life. Thousands of men would give their lives to save their king. Yet many many kings lie buried here.’

**Yet what say the Scriptures of the Brahmans ?’ pleaded the poor woman. ‘They tell us that the gods can grant boons as they please. Cannot you, great goddess, answer my prayer ? If you refuse, then shall I kill myself on this spot !’

“* This I cannot do for you,’ sighed the goddess. ‘Only One may do this. He

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is the Lord of Life. But thou shalt see what power is mine.’

“So saying, Sampapathy summoned all. the gods of the universe. At her command, came the seraphs who rule the stars. Came the bright Host of Heaven. Came the spirits of the nether world. All who had power to grant boons came at the word of Sampapathy. She told them the sad story. But none could offer help. None could grant the prayer of Gothamai. She saw that her prayer was foolish and vain. So: she burned the body of her child. Then she herself died.

“Maya resolved to keep bright the memory of this great assembly of the gods. On the walls of the burial-ground he carved a picture of the universe. All gods, and all men, all animals and all plants he pictured there. Right in the centre, rose the Chakkara- vala-giri mountains. That is why the ground is sometimes called Chakkaravala-kottam.”