Shapes of Clay

Cheeta Raibama Chunder Sen,

The wisest and the best of men,

Betook him to the place where sat

With folded feet upon a mat

Of precious stones beneath a palm,

In sweet and everlasting calm,

That ancient and immortal gent,

The God of Rational Content.

As tranquil and unmoved as Fate,

The deity reposed in state,

With palm to palm and sole to sole,

And beaded breast and beetling jowl,

And belly spread upon his thighs,

And costly diamonds for eyes.

As Chunder Sen approached and knelt

To show the reverence he felt;

Then beat his head upon the sod

To prove his fealty to the god;

And then by gestures signified

The other sentiments inside;

The god's right eye (as Chunder Sen,

The wisest and the best of men,

Half-fancied) grew by just a thought

More narrow than it truly ought.

Yet still that prince of devotees,

Persistent upon bended knees

And elbows bored into the earth,

Declared the god's exceeding worth,

And begged his favor. Then at last,

Within that cavernous and vast

Thoracic space was heard a sound

Like that of water underground—

A gurgling note that found a vent

At mouth of that Immortal Gent

In such a chuckle as no ear

Had e'er been privileged to hear!

Cheeta Raibama Chunder Sen,

The wisest, greatest, best of men,

Heard with a natural surprise

That mighty midriff improvise.

And greater yet the marvel was

When from between those massive jaws

Fell words to make the views more plain

The god was pleased to entertain:

"Cheeta Raibama Chunder Sen,"

So ran the rede in speech of men—

"Foremost of mortals in assent

To creed of Rational Content,

Why come you here to impetrate

A blessing on your scurvy pate?

Can you not rationally be

Content without disturbing me?

Can you not take a hint—a wink—

Of what of all this rot I think?

Is laughter lost upon you quite,

To check you in your pious rite?

What! know you not we gods protest

That all religion is a jest?

You take me seriously?—you

About me make a great ado

(When I but wish to be alone)

With attitudes supine and prone,

With genuflexions and with prayers,

And putting on of solemn airs,

To draw my mind from the survey

Of Rational Content away!

Learn once for all, if learn you can,

This truth, significant to man:

A pious person is by odds

The one most hateful to the gods."

Then stretching forth his great right hand,

Which shadowed all that sunny land,

That deity bestowed a touch

Which Chunder Sen not overmuch

Enjoyed—a touch divine that made

The sufferer hear stars! They played

And sang as on Creation's morn

When spheric harmony was born.

Cheeta Raibama Chunder Sen,

The most astonished man of men,

Fell straight asleep, and when he woke

The deity nor moved nor spoke,

But sat beneath that ancient palm

In sweet and everlasting calm.