More Vikram Seth stuff
Courtesy of a good friend who borrowed Vikram Seth's 'Beastly Tales: From Here and There' for me (who has a soft spot for dungbeetles after reading Gerald Durrell's books and watching Animal Planet). Enjoy the following:
The Eagle and the Beetle
A beetle loved a certain hare
And wandered with him everywhere:
They went to fairs and feasts together,
Took walks in any kind of weather,
Talked of the future and the past
On sunny days or overcast,
But, since their friendship was so pleasant,
Lived for the most part in the present.
One day, alas, an eagle flew
Above them, and before t hey knew
What cloud had shadowed them, the hare
Hung from her talons in mid-air.
‘Please spare my friend,’ the beetle cried.
But the great eagle sneered with pride:
‘You puny, servile, cloddish bug -
Go off and hide your ugly mug.
How do you dare assume the right
To meddle with my appetite?
This hare’s my snack. Have you not heard
I am the great god Zeus’s bird?
Nothing can harm me, least of all
A slow, pathetic, droning ball.
Here, keep your friend’s head -‘ And she tore
The hare’s head off, and swiftly bore
His bleeding torso to her nest,
Ripped off his tail, and ate the rest.
The beetle stared at her friend’s head,
And wished that she herself was dead.
She mixed her tears with his dark blood
And cloaked his face with clods of mud.
She swore that till her dying breath
She would avenge his cruel death,
That she would make the eagle pay
For what she had performed today.
Next day she slowly tracked the trail
From drop of blood to tuft of tail,
Till, high up on a mountain crest,
She found the huge unguarded nest,
And at the hour that yesterday
The bird had plunged towards her prey,
The beetle with her six short legs
Rolled out the mighty eagle’s eggs.
She left at once, but she could hear
The eagle’s screams of pain and fear
When later she returned and found
The broken eggshells on the ground.
Next day the eagle moved her nest
Ten miles or more towards the west,
But still the beetle’s scrutiny
Followed her flight from rock to tree.
When finally the eagle laid
Another clutch, the beetle made
Straight for the nest in which they lay,
And, when the bird was hunting prey,
With much fatigue but little sound
Rolled the great eggs onto the ground.
When this had gone on for a year
The eagle, crazed with rage and fear,
Would turn back, screeching, in mid-air
Whenever she would sight a hare.
The far drone of the beetle’s flight
Shattered her calm by day or night.
For weeks on end she scarcely slept.
She laid her eggs in grief, and wept
When what she’d feared had come to pass
And her smashed brood lay on the grass.
At last she cried: ‘What is the use
Of bearing your protection, Zeus -
When that small, evil clot of mud
Has massacred my flesh and blood?
King of the gods, where may I rest?
Where may I safely build my nest?
Where lay my eggs without mishap?’
‘Here -‘ said the god. ‘Here, in my lad.’
And so the eggs lay, more secure
Than they had ever lain before.
What in the universe could be
More safe than Zeus’s custody?
So thought the eagle, till one day
The beetle saw them where they lay -
And, aiming with precision, flung
A microscopic ball of dung
Into the lap of mighty Zeus -
Who, rising, spewed divine abuse,
And, shaking dirt from off his legs,
Unthinkingly tipped out the eggs.
Past hope, the eagle pined away
And died of grief - and to this day
They say that eagles will not nest
In months where beetles fly their best;
But others, not so superstitious,
Merely assert that Fate’s capricious,
And that the strong who crush the weak
May not be shown the other cheek.
The Eagle and the Beetle
A beetle loved a certain hare
And wandered with him everywhere:
They went to fairs and feasts together,
Took walks in any kind of weather,
Talked of the future and the past
On sunny days or overcast,
But, since their friendship was so pleasant,
Lived for the most part in the present.
One day, alas, an eagle flew
Above them, and before t hey knew
What cloud had shadowed them, the hare
Hung from her talons in mid-air.
‘Please spare my friend,’ the beetle cried.
But the great eagle sneered with pride:
‘You puny, servile, cloddish bug -
Go off and hide your ugly mug.
How do you dare assume the right
To meddle with my appetite?
This hare’s my snack. Have you not heard
I am the great god Zeus’s bird?
Nothing can harm me, least of all
A slow, pathetic, droning ball.
Here, keep your friend’s head -‘ And she tore
The hare’s head off, and swiftly bore
His bleeding torso to her nest,
Ripped off his tail, and ate the rest.
The beetle stared at her friend’s head,
And wished that she herself was dead.
She mixed her tears with his dark blood
And cloaked his face with clods of mud.
She swore that till her dying breath
She would avenge his cruel death,
That she would make the eagle pay
For what she had performed today.
Next day she slowly tracked the trail
From drop of blood to tuft of tail,
Till, high up on a mountain crest,
She found the huge unguarded nest,
And at the hour that yesterday
The bird had plunged towards her prey,
The beetle with her six short legs
Rolled out the mighty eagle’s eggs.
She left at once, but she could hear
The eagle’s screams of pain and fear
When later she returned and found
The broken eggshells on the ground.
Next day the eagle moved her nest
Ten miles or more towards the west,
But still the beetle’s scrutiny
Followed her flight from rock to tree.
When finally the eagle laid
Another clutch, the beetle made
Straight for the nest in which they lay,
And, when the bird was hunting prey,
With much fatigue but little sound
Rolled the great eggs onto the ground.
When this had gone on for a year
The eagle, crazed with rage and fear,
Would turn back, screeching, in mid-air
Whenever she would sight a hare.
The far drone of the beetle’s flight
Shattered her calm by day or night.
For weeks on end she scarcely slept.
She laid her eggs in grief, and wept
When what she’d feared had come to pass
And her smashed brood lay on the grass.
At last she cried: ‘What is the use
Of bearing your protection, Zeus -
When that small, evil clot of mud
Has massacred my flesh and blood?
King of the gods, where may I rest?
Where may I safely build my nest?
Where lay my eggs without mishap?’
‘Here -‘ said the god. ‘Here, in my lad.’
And so the eggs lay, more secure
Than they had ever lain before.
What in the universe could be
More safe than Zeus’s custody?
So thought the eagle, till one day
The beetle saw them where they lay -
And, aiming with precision, flung
A microscopic ball of dung
Into the lap of mighty Zeus -
Who, rising, spewed divine abuse,
And, shaking dirt from off his legs,
Unthinkingly tipped out the eggs.
Past hope, the eagle pined away
And died of grief - and to this day
They say that eagles will not nest
In months where beetles fly their best;
But others, not so superstitious,
Merely assert that Fate’s capricious,
And that the strong who crush the weak
May not be shown the other cheek.