THE POET-PRINCE
wouldst listen to true poetry, Norendra, go to some poor itinerant singer travelling from village to village with his harp, and missioned by High Heaven to transmit from age to age the thoughts and the sentiments of a nation. Such were the old Charans of Rajasthan; such was Kabir the Poet and Prophet; and such is Tulasi Das, whose verse will remain the national heritage of Northern India."
"Nathless, Prince, if I am not abusing the privileges of a host, I would fain hear from thy lips the Ballad of Pratap Singh, of which I heard so much at Agra. These hills which have witnessed the deeds of Pratap will listen to thy song, and the breezes of this mellow evening will carry it far on their unseen wings."
"'Tis time, Norendra, that thou hadst begun composing poetry, for poetry comes spontaneously from thy lips. But I will sing my ballad since thou wishest it, and a beggar boy, Jamshid, who has followed my camp with his stringed instrument, will bear me company. Ho, Jamshid! Art thou there?"
The boy, who had accompanied the Prince to Norendra's tent, appeared and bowed.
"Go and fetch thy harp, my child, for my host would like to hear the ballad which I have lately composed. Thou shalt play on thy instrument as thou hast done before."
The boy bowed and disappeared.
"That little urchin, homeless and poor, has the gift of music," said Prithwi Raj. "He understands little of the Rajput tongue yet, but he has an ear for music, and sitting on some lonely rock or by a village well he will draw from his rude instrument a soft, plaintive melody which a Charan of Rajasthan might envy."
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