Thus spoke the prince of boundless might,
And thus replied the anchorite:
‘Chief of the mighty arm, of yore
Lord Vishnu whom the Gods adore,
For holy thought and rites austere
Of penance made his dwelling here.
This ancient wood was called of old
Grave of the Dwarf, the mighty-souled,
And when perfection he attained
The grove the name of Perfect gained.
Bali of yore, Virochan’s son,
Dominion over Indra won,
And when with power his proud heart swelled,
O’er the three worlds his empire held.
When Bali then began a rite,
The Gods and Indra in affright
Sought Vishnu in this place of rest,
And thus with prayers the God addressed:
‘Bali, Virochan’s mighty son,
His sacrifice has now begun:
Of boundless wealth, that demon king
Is bounteous to each living thing.
Though suppliants flock from every side
The suit of none is e’er denied.
Whate’er, where’er, howe’er the call,
He hears the suit and gives to all.
Now with thine own illusive art
Perform, O Lord, the helper’s part:
Assume a dwarfish form, and thus
From fear and danger rescue us.’ [1]
Thus in their dread the Immortals sued:
The God a dwarflike shape indued: [2]
Before Virochan’s son he came,
Three steps of land his only claim.
The boon obtained, in wondrous wise
Lord Vishnu’s form increased in size;
Through all the worlds, tremendous, vast,
God of the Triple Step, he passed. [3]
The whole broad earth from side to side
He measured with one mighty stride,
Spanned with the next the firmament,
And with the third through heaven he went.
[ p. 44 ]
Thus was the king of demons hurled
By Vishnu to the nether world,
And thus the universe restored
To Indra’s rule, its ancient lord.
And now because the immortal God
This spot in dwarflike semblance trod,
The grove has aye been loved by me
For reverence of the devotee.
But demons haunt it, prompt to stay
Each holy offering I would pay.
Be thine, O lion-lord, to kill
These giants that delight in ill.
This day, beloved child, our feet
Shall rest within the calm retreat:
And know, thou chief of Raghu’s line,
My hermitage is also thine.’
He spoke; and soon the anchorite,
With joyous looks that beamed delight,
With Ráma and his brother stood
Within the consecrated wood.
Soon as they saw the holy man,
With one accord together ran
The dwellers in the sacred shade,
And to the saint their reverence paid,
And offered water for his feet,
The gift of honour and a seat;
And next with hospitable care
They entertained the princely pair.
The royal tamers of their foes
Rested awhile in sweet repose:
Then to the chief of hermits sued
Standing in suppliant attitude:
‘Begin, O best of saints, we pray,
Initiatory rites to-day.
This Perfect Grove shall be anew
Made perfect, and thy words be true.’
Then, thus addressed, the holy man,
The very glorious sage, began
The high preliminary rite.
Restraining sense and appetite.
Calmly the youths that night reposed,
And rose when morn her light disclosed,
Their morning worship paid, and took
Of lustral water from the brook.
Thus purified they breathed the prayer,
Then greeted Vis’vamítra where
As celebrant he sate beside
The flame with sacred oil supplied.
That conquering pair, of royal race,
Skilled to observe due time and place,
To Kús’ik’s hermit son addressed,
In timely words, their meet request:
‘When must we, lord, we pray thee tell,
Those Rovers of the Night repel?
Speak, lest we let the moment fly,
And pass the due occasion by.’
Thus longing for the strife, they prayed,
And thus the hermits answer made:
‘Till the fifth day be come and past,
O Raghu’s sons, your watch must last,
The saint his Dikshá [4] has begun,
And all that time will speak to none.’
Soon as the steadfast devotees
Had made reply in words like these,
The youths began, disdaining sleep,
Six days and nights their watch to keep.
The warrior pair who tamed the foe,
Unrivalled benders of the bow,
Kept watch and ward unwearied still
To guard the saint from scathe and ill.
‘Twas now the sixth returning day,
The hour foretold had past away.
Then Ráma cried: 'O Lakshman, now
Firm, watchful, resolute be thou.
The fiends as yet have kept afar
From the pure grove in which we are;
Yet waits us, ere the day shall close,
Dire battle with the demon foes.’
While thus spoke Ráma borne away
By longing for the deadly fray,
See! bursting from the altar came
The sudden glory of the flame.
Round priest and deacon, and upon
Grass, ladles, flowers, the splendour shone,
And the high rite, in order due,
With sacred texts began anew.
But then a loud and fearful roar
Re-echoed through the sky;
And like vast clouds that shadow o’er
The heavens in dark July,
Involved in gloom of magic might
Two fiends rushed on amain,
Máricha, Rover of the Night,
Suváhu, and their train.
As on they came in wild career
Thick blood in rain they shed;
And Ráma saw those things of fear
Impending overhead.
Then soon as those accursed two
Who showered down blood be spied,
Thus to his brother brave and true
Spoke Ráma lotus-eyed:
‘Now, Lakshman, thou these fiends shalt see,
Man-eaters, foul of mind,
Before my mortal weapon flee
Like clouds before the wind.’
He spoke. An arrow, swift as thought,
Upon his bow he pressed,
And smote, to utmost fury wrought,
Máricha on the breast.
Deep in his flesh the weapon lay
Winged by the mystic spell,
[ p. 45 ]
And, hurled a hundred leagues away,
In ocean’s flood he fell.
Then Ráma, when he saw the foe
Convulsed and mad with pain
‘Neath the chill-pointed weapon’s blow,
To Lakshman spoke again:
‘See, Lakshman, see! this mortal dart
That strikes a numbing chill,
Hath struck him senseless with the smart,
But left him breathing still.
But these who love the evil way,
And drink the blood they spill,
Rejoicing holy rites to stay,
Fierce plagues, my hand shall kill.’
He seized another shaft, the best,
Aglow with living flame;
It struck Suváhu on the chest,
And dead to earth he came.
Again a dart, the Wind-God’s own,
Upon his string he laid,
And all the demons were o’erthrown,
The saints no more afraid.
When thus the fiends were slain in fight,
Disturbers of each holy rite,
Due honour by the saints was paid
To Ráma for his wondrous aid:
So Indra is adored when he
Has won some glorious victory.
Success at last the rite had crowned,
And Visvámitra gazed around,
And seeing every side at rest,
The son of Raghu thus addressed:
‘My joy, O Prince, is now complete:
Thou hast obeyed my will:
Perfect before, this calm retreat
Is now more perfect still.’
Their task achieved, the princes spent
That night with joy and full content.
Ere yet the dawn was well displayed
Their morning rites they duly paid,
And sought, while yet the light was faint,
The hermits and the mighty saint.
They greeted first that holy sire
Resplendent like the burning fire,
And then with noble words began
Their sweet speech to the sainted man:
‘Here stand, O Lord, thy servants true:
Command what thou wouldst have us do.’
The saints, by Vis’vámitra led,
To Ráma thus in answer said:
‘Janak the king who rules the land
Of fertile Mithilá has planned
A noble sacrifice, and we
Will thither go the rite to see.
Thou, Prince of men, with us shalt go,
And there behold the wondrous bow,
Terrific, vast, of matchless might,
Which, splendid at the famous rite,
The Gods assembled gave the king.
No giant, fiend, or God can string
That gem of bows, no heavenly bard:
Then, sure, for man the task were hard.
When lords of earth have longed to know
The virtue of that wondrous bow,
The strongest sons of kings in vain
Have tried the mighty cord to strain.
This famous bow thou there shalt view,
And wondrous rites shalt witness too.
The high-souled king who lords it o’er
The realm of Mithilá of yore
Gained from the Gods this bow, the price
Of his imperial sacrifice.
Won by the rite the glorious prize
Still in the royal palace lies,
Laid up in oil of precious scent
With aloe-wood and incense blent.’
Then Ráma answering, Be it so,
Made ready with the rest to go.
The saint himself was now prepared,
But ere beyond the grove he fared,
He turned him and in words like these
Addressed the sylvan deities:
‘Farewell! each holy rite complete,
I leave the hermits’ perfect seat:
To Gangá’s northern shore I go
Beneath Himálaya’s peaks of snow.’
With reverent steps he paced around
The limits of the holy ground,
And then the mighty saint set forth
And took his journey to the north.
His pupils, deep in Scripture’s page,
Followed behind the holy sage,
And servants from the sacred grove
A hundred wains for convoy drove.
The very birds that winged that air,
The very deer that harboured there,
Forsook the glade and leafy brake
And followed for the hermit’s sake.
They travelled far, till in the west
The sun was speeding to his rest,
And made, their portioned journey o’er,
Their halt on S’ona’s [5] distant shore.
The hermits bathed when sank the sun,
And every rite was duly done,
Oblations paid to Fire, and then
Sate round their chief the holy men.
Ráma and Lakshman lowly bowed
In reverence to the hermit crowd,
And Ráma, having sate him down
Before the saint of pure renown,
[ p. 46 ]
With humble palms together laid
His eager supplication made:
‘What country, O my lord, is this,
Fair-smiling in her wealth and bliss?
Deign fully. O thou mighty Seer,
To tell me, for I long to hear.’
Moved by the prayer of Ráma, he
Told forth the country’s history.
‘A king of Brahmá’s seed who bore
The name of Kus’a reigned of yore.
Just, faithful to his vows, and true,
He held the good in honour due.
His bride, a queen of noble name.
Of old Vidarbha’s [6] monarchs came.
Like their own father, children four,
All valiant boys, the lady bore.
In glorious deeds each nerve they strained,
And well their Warrior part sustained.
To them most just, and true, and brave,
Their father thus his counsel gave:
“Beloved children, ne’er forget
Protection is a prince’s debt:
The noble work at once begin,
High virtue and her fruits to win.”
The youths to all the people dear,
Received his speech with willing ear;
And each went forth his several way,
Foundations of a town to lay.
Kus’án, a prince of high renown,
Was builder of Kaus’ámbí’s town,
And Kus’anábha, just and wise,
Bade high Mahodaya’s towers arise.
Amúrtarajas chose to dwell
In Dharmáranya’s citadel,
And Vasu bade his city fair
The name of Girivraja bear. [7]
This fertile spot whereon we stand
Was once the high-souled Vasu’s land.
Behold! as round we turn our eyes,
Five lofty mountain peaks arise.
See! bursting from her parent hill,
Sumágadhi, a lovely rill,
Bright gleaming as she flows between
The mountains, like a wreath is seen,
And then through Magadh’s plains and groves
With many a fair mæander roves.
And this was Vasu’s old domain,
The fertile Magadh’s broad champaign,
Which smiling fields of tilth adorn
And diadem with golden corn.
The queen Ghrítáchí, nymph most fair,
Married to Kus’anábha, bare
A hundred daughters, lovely-faced,
With every charm and beauty graced.
It chanced the maidens, bright and gay
As lightning-flashes on a day
Of rain time, to the garden went
With song and play and merriment,
And there in gay attire they strayed,
And danced, and laughed, and sang, and played.
The God of Wind who roves at will
All places, as he lists, to fill,
Saw the young maidens dancing there,
Of faultless shape and mien most fair,
‘I love you all, sweet girls,’ he cried,
And each shall be my darling bride.
Forsake, forsake your mortal lot,
And gain a life that withers not.
A fickle thing is youth’s brief span,
And more than all in mortal man.
Receive unending youth, and be
Immortal, O my loves, with me.’
The hundred girls, to wonder stirred,
The wooing of the Wind-God heard,
Laughed, as a jest, his suit aside,
And with one voice they thus replied.
‘O mighty Wind, free spirit who
All life pervadest, through and through,
Thy wondrous power we maidens know;
Then wherefore wilt thou mock us so?
Our sire is Kus’anábha, King;
And we, forsooth, have charms to bring
A God to woo us from the skies;
But honour first we maidens prize.
Far may the hour, we pray, be hence,
When we, O thou of little sense,
Our truthful father’s choice refuse,
And for ourselves our husbands choose.
Our honoured sire our lord we deem,
He is to us a God supreme,
And they to whom his high decree
May give us shall our husbands be.’
He heard the answer they returned,
And mighty rage within him burned.
On each fair maid a blast he sent:
Each stately form be bowed and bent.
Bent double by the Wind-God’s ire
Tliey sought the palace of their sire,
[ p. 47 ]
There fell upon the ground with sighs,
While tears and shame were in their eyes.
The king himself, with troubled brow,
Saw his dear girls so fair but now,
A mournful sight all bent and bowed,
And grieving thus he cried aloud:
‘What fate is this, and what the cause!
What wretch has scorned all heavenly laws?
Who thus your forms could curve and break?
You struggle, but no answer make.’
They heard the speech of that wise king
Of their misfortune questioning.
Again the hundred maidens sighed,
Touched with their heads his feet, and cried;
‘The God of Wind, pervading space,
Would bring on us a foul disgrace,
And choosing folly’s evil way
From virtue’s path in scorn would stray.
But we in words like these reproved
The God of Wind whom passion moved:
‘Farewell, O Lord! A sire have we,
No women uncontrolled and free.
Go, and our sire’s consent obtain
If thou our maiden hands wouldst gain.
No self-dependent life we live:
If we offend, our fault forgive.’
‘But led by folly as a slave,
He would not hear the rede we gave,
And even as we gently spoke
We felt the Wind-God’s crushing stroke.’
The pious king, with grief distressed,
The noble hundred thus addressed:
‘With patience, daughters, bear your fate,
Yours was a deed supremely great
When with one mind you kept from shame
The honour of your father’s name.
Patience, when men their anger vent,
Is woman’s praise and ornament;
Yet when the Gods inflict the blow
Hard is it to support the woe.
Patience, my girls, exceeds all price:
‘Tis alms, and truth, and sacrifice.
Patience is virtue, patience fame:
Patience upholds this earthly frame.
And now, I think, is come the time
To wed you in jour maiden prime.
Now, daughters, go where’er you will:
Thoughts for your good my mind shall fill.’
The maidens went, consoled, away:
The best of kings, that very day,
Summoned his ministers of state
About their marriage to debate.
Since then, because the Wind-God bent
The damsels’ forms for punishment,
That royal town is known to fame
By Kanyákubja’s [8] borrowed name.
There lived a sage called Chúli then,
Devoutest of the sons of men;
His days in penance rites he spent,
A glorious saint, most continent.
To him absorbed in tasks austere
The child of Urmilá drew near,
Sweet Somadá, the heavenly maid,
And lent the saint her pious aid.
Long time near him the maiden spent,
And served him meek and reverent,
Till the great hermit, pleased with her,
Thus spoke unto his minister:
‘Grateful am I for all thy care:
Blest maiden, speak, thy wish declare.’
The sweet-voiced nymph rejoiced to see
The favour of the devotee,
And to that eloquent old man,
Most eloquent she thus began:
‘Thou hast, by heavenly grace sustained,
Close union with the Godhead gained.
I long, O Saint, to see a son
By force of holy penance won.
Unwed, a maiden life I live:
A son to me, thy suppliant, give.’
The saint with favour heard her prayer,
And gave a son exceeding fair.
Him, Chúli’s spiritual child,
His mother Brahmadatta [9] styled.
King Brahmadatta, rich and great,
In Kámpilí maintained his state,
Ruling, like Indra in his bliss,
His fortunate metropolis.
King Kus’anábha planned that he
His hundred daughters’ lord should be.
To him, obedient to his call,
The happy monarch gave them all.
Like Indra then he took the hand
Of every maiden of the band.
Soon as the hand of each young maid
In Brahmadatta’s palm was laid,
Deformity and cares away,
She shone in beauty bright and gay.
Their freedom from the Wind-God’s might
Saw Kus’anábha with delight.
Each glance that on their forms he threw
Filled him with raptures ever new.
Then when the rites were all complete,
Witli highest marks of honour meet
The bridegroom with his brides he sent
To his great seat of government.
The nymph received with pleasant speech
Her daughters; and, embracing each,
Upon their forms she fondly gazed,
And royal Kus’anábha praised.
[ p. 48 ]
‘The rites were o’er, the maids were wed,
The bridegroom to his home was sped.
The sonless monarch bade prepare
A sacrifice to gain an heir.
Then Kus’a, Brahmá’s son, appeared,
And thus King Kus’anábha cheered:
‘Thou shalt, my child, obtain a son
Like thine own self, O holy one.
Through him for ever, Gádhi named,
Shalt thou in all the worlds be famed.’
‘He spoke, and vanished from the sight
To Brahmá’s world of endless light.
Time fled, and, as the saint foretold,
Gádhi was born, the holy-souled.
My sire was he; through him I trace
My line from royal Kus’a’s race.
My sister—elder-born was she—
The pure and good Satyavatí, [10]
Was to the great Richika wed.
Still faithful to her husband dead,
She followed him, most noble dame,
And, raised to heaven in human frame,
A pure celestial stream became.
Down from Himálaya’s snowy height,
In floods for ever fair and bright,
My sister’s holy waves are hurled
To purify and glad the world.
Now on Himálaya’s side I dwell
Because I love my sister well.
She, for her faith and truth renowned,
Most loving to her husband found,
High-fated, firm in each pure vow,
Is queen of all the rivers now.
Bound by a vow I left her side
And to the Perfect convent hied.
There, by the aid 'twas thine to lend,
Made perfect, all my labours end.
Thus, mighty Prince, I now have told
My race and lineage, high and old,
And local tales of long ago
Which thou, O Ráma, fain wouldst know.
As I have sate rehearsing thus
The midnight hour is come on us.
Now, Ráma, sleep, that nothing may
Our journey of to-morrow stay.
No leaf on any tree is stirred:
Hushed in repose are beast and bird:
Where’er you turn, on every side,
Dense shades of night the landscape hide,
The light of eve is fled: the skies,
Thick-studded with their host of eyes,
Seem a star-forest overhead,
Where signs and constellations spread.
Now rises, with his pure cold ray,
The moon that drives the shades away,
And with his gentle influence brings
Joy to the hearts of living things.
Now, stealing from their lairs, appear
The beasts to whom the night is dear.
Now spirits walk, and every power
That revels in the midnight hour.’
The mighty hermit’s tale was o’er,
He closed his lips and spoke no more.
The holy men on every side,
‘Well done! well done,’ with reverence cried;
‘The mighty men of Kus’a’s seed
Were ever famed for righteous deed.
Like Brahmá’s self in glory shine
The high-souled lords of Kus’a’s line,
And thy great name is sounded most,
O Saint, amid the noble host.
And thy dear sister—fairest she
Of streams, the high-born Kaus’ikí—
Diffusing virtue where she flows,
New splendour on thy lineage throws.’
Thus by the chief of saints addressed
The son of Gádhi turned to rest;
So, when his daily course is done,
Sinks to his rest the beaming sun.
Ráma with Lakshman, somewhat stirred
To marvel by the tales they heard,
Turned also to his couch, to close
His eyelids in desired repose.
The hours of night now waning fast
On S’ona’s pleasant shore they passed.
Then, when the dawn began to break,
To Ráma thus the hermit spake:
‘The light of dawn is breaking clear,
The hour of morning rites is near,
Rise, Ráma, rise, dear son, I pray,
And make thee ready for the way.’
Then Ráma rose, and finished all
His duties at the hermit’s call,
Prepared with joy the road to take,
And thus again in question spake:
‘Here fair and deep the S’ona flows,
And many an isle its bosom shows:
What way, O Saint, will lead us o’er
And land us on the farther shore?
The saint replied: 'The way I choose
Is that which pious hermits use.’
[ p. 49 ]
For many a league they journeyed on
Till, when the sun of mid-day shone,
The hermit-haunted flood was seen
Of Jáhnaví, [11] the Rivers’ Queen.
Soon as the holy stream they viewed,
Thronged with a white-winged multitude
Of sarases [12] and swans, [13] delight
Possessed them at the lovely sight:
And then prepared the hermit band
To halt upon that holy strand.
They bathed as Scripture bids, and paid
Oblations due to God and shade.
To Fire they burnt the offerings meet,
And sipped the oil, like Amrit sweet.
Then pure and pleased they sate around
Saint Vis’vámitra on the ground.
The holy men of lesser note,
In due degree, sate more remote,
While Raghu’s sons took nearer place
By virtue of their rank and race.
Then Ráma said: 'O Saint, I yearn
The three-pathed Gangá’s tale to learn.’
Thus urged, the sage recounted both
The birth of Gangá and her growth:
‘The mighty hill with metals stored,
Himálaya, is the mountains’ lord,
The father of a lovely pair
Of daughters fairest of the fair:
Their mother, offspring of the will
Of Meru, everlasting hill,
Mená, Himálaya’s darling, graced
With beauty of her dainty waist.
Gangá was elder-born: then came
The fair one known by Umá’s name.
Then all the Gods of heaven, in need
Of Gangá’s help their vows to speed,
To great Himálaya came and prayed
The mountain King to yield the maid.
He, not regardless of the weal
Of the three worlds, with holy zeal
His daughter to the Immortals gave,
Gangá whose waters cleanse and save,
Who roams at pleasure, fair and free,
Purging all sinners, to the sea.
The three-pathed Gangá thus obtained,
The Gods their heavenly homes regained.
Long time the sister Umá passed
In vows austere and rigid fast,
And the king gave the devotee
Immortal Rudra’s [14] bride to be,
Matching with that unequalled Lord
His Umá through the worlds adored.
So now a glorious station fills
Each daughter of the King of Hills:
One honoured as the noblest stream,
One mid the Goddesses supreme.
Thus Gangá, King Himálaya’s child,
The heavenly river, undefiled,
Rose bearing with her to the sky
Her waves that bless and purify.’
The saint in accents sweet and clear
Thus told his tale for Ráma’s ear,
And thus anew the holy man
A legend to the prince began:
‘There reigned a pious monarch o’er
Ayodhyá in the days of yore:
Sagar his name: no child bad he,
And children much he longed to see.
His honoured consort, fair of face,
Sprang from Vidarbha’s royal race,
Kes’ini, famed from early youth
For piety and love of truth.
Arishtanemi’s daughter fair,
With whom no maiden might compare
In beauty, though the earth is wide,
Sumati, was his second bride.
With his two queens afar he went,
And weary days in penance spent,
Fervent, upon Himálaya’s hill
Where springs the stream called Bhrigu’ rill.
Nor did he fail that saint to please
With his devout austerities,
And, when a hundred years had fled,
Thus the most truthful Bhrigu said:
‘From thee, O Sagar, blameless King,
A mighty host of sons shall spring,
And thou shalt win a glorious name
Which none, O Chief, but thou shall claim.
One of thy queens a son shall bear,
Maintainer of thy race and heir;
And of the other there shall be
Sons sixty thousand born to thee.’
Thus as he spake, with one accord,
To win the grace of that high lord,
The queens, with palms together laid,
In humble supplication prayed:
‘Which queen, O Bráhman, of the pair,
The many, or the one shall bear?
Most eager, Lord, are we to know,
And as thou sayest be it so.’
[ p. 50 ]
With his sweet speech the saint replied:
‘Yourselves, O Queens, the choice decide.
Your own discretion freely use
Which shall the one or many choose:
One shall the race and name uphold,
The host be famous, strong, and bold.
Which will have which?’ Then Kes’inî
The mother of one heir would be.
Sumati, sister of the king 1
Of all the birds that ply the wing,
To that illustrious Bráhman sued
That she might bear the multitude
Whose fame throughout the world should sound
For mighty enterprise renowned.
Around the saint the monarch went,
Bowing his head, most reverent.
Then with his wives, with willing feet,
Besought his own imperial seat.
Time passed. The elder consort bare
A son called Asamanj, the heir.
Then Sumati, the younger, gave
Birth to a gourd, 2 O hero brave,
Whose rind, when burst and cleft in two,
Gave sixty thousand babes to view.
All these with care the nurses laid
In jars of oil; and there they stayed,
Till, youthful age and strength complete,
Forth speeding from each dark retreat,
All peers in valour, years, and might,
The sixty thousand came to light.
Prince Asamanj, brought up with care,
Scourge of his foes, was made the heir.
But liegemen’s boys he used to cast
To Sarjû’s waves that hurried past,
Laughing the while in cruel glee
Their dying agonies to see.
This wicked prince who aye withstood
The counsel of the wise and good,
Who plagued the people in his hate,
His father banished from the state.
His son, kind-spoken, brave, and tall,
Was Ans’uman, beloved of all.
Long years flew by. The king decreed
To slay a sacrificial steed.
Consulting with his priestly band
He vowed the rite his soul had planned,
And, Veda skilled, by their advice
Made ready for the sacrifice.
The hermit ceased: the tale was done:
Then in a transport Raghu’s son
Again addressed the ancient sire
Resplendent as a burning fire:
‘O holy man, I fain would hear
The tale repeated full and clear
How he from whom my sires descend
Brought the great rite to happy end.’
The hermit answered with a smile:
‘Then listen, son of Raghu, while
My legendary tale proceeds
To tell of high-souled Sagar’s deeds.
Within the spacious plain that lies
From where Himálaya’s heights arise
To where proud Vindhya’s rival chain
Looks down upon the subject plain—
A land the best for rites declared— [16]
His sacrifice the king prepared.
And Ans’umán the prince—for so
Sagar advised—with ready bow
Was borne upon a mighty car
To watch the steed who roamed afar.
But Indra, monarch of the skies,
Veiling his form in demon guise,
Came down upon the appointed day
And drove the victim horde away.
Reft of the steed the priests, distressed,
The master of the rite addressed;
‘Upon the sacred day by force
A robber takes the victim horse.
Haste, King! now let the thief be slain;
Bring thou the charger back again:
The sacred rite prevented thus
Brings scathe and woe to all of us.
Rise, monarch, and provide with speed.
That naught its happy course impede.’
King Sagar in his crowded court
Gave ear unto the priests’ report.
He summoned straightway to his side
His sixty thousand sons, and cried:
‘Brave sons of mine, I knew not how
These demons are so mighty now:
The priests began the rite so well
All sanctified with prayer and spell.
If in the depths of earth he hide,
Or lurk beneath the ocean’s tide,
[ p. 51 ]
Pursue, dear sons, the robber’s track;
Slay him and bring the charger back.
The whole of this broad earth explore,
Sea-garlanded, from shore to shore:
Yea, dig her up with might and main
Until you see the horse again.
Deep let your searching labour reach,
A league in depth dug out by each.
The robber of our horse pursue,
And please your sire who orders you.
My grandson, I, this priestly train,
Till the steed comes, will here remain.’
Their eager hearts with transport burned
As to their task the heroes turned.
Obedient to their father, they
Through earth’s recesses forced their way.
With iron arms’ unflinching toil
Each dug a league beneath the soil.
Earth, cleft asunder, groaned in pain,
As emulous they plied amain
Sharp-pointed coulter, pick, and bar,
Hard as the bolts of Indra are.
Then loud the horrid clamour rose
Of monsters dying 'neath their blows,
Giant and demon, fiend and snake,
That in earth’s core their dwelling make.
They dug, in ire that naught could stay,
Through sixty thousand leagues their way,
Cleaving the earth with matchless strength
Till hell itself they reached at length.
Thus digging searched they Jambudvip 1
With all its hills and mountains steep.
Then a great fear began to shake
The heart of God, bard, fiend, and snake,
And all distressed in spirit went
Before the Sire Omnipotent.
With signs of woe in every face
They sought the mighty Father’s grace,
And trembling still and ill at ease
Addressed their Lord in words like these:
‘The sons of Sagar, Sire benign,
Pierce the whole earth with mine on mine,
And as their ruthless work they ply
Innumerable creatures die,
‘This is the thief,’ the princes say,
‘Who stole our victim steed away.
This marred the rite, and caused us ill.
And so their guiltless blood they spill.’
43:1 I omit, after this line, eight s’lokas which, as Schlegel allows, are quite out of place. ↩︎
43:2 This is the fifth of the avatárs, descents or incarnations of Vishnu. ↩︎
43:3 This is a solar allegory. Vishnu is the sun, the three steps being his rising, culmination, and setting. ↩︎
44:1 Certain ceremonies preliminary to sacrifice. ↩︎
45:1 A river which rises in Budelcund and falls into the Ganges near Patna. It is called also Hiranyabáhu, Golden-armed, and Hiranyaváha, Auriferous. ↩︎
46:1 The modern Berar. ↩︎
46:2 According to the Bengal recension the first (Kus’ámba) is called Kus’ás’va, and his city Kaus’ás’ví. This name does not occur elsewhere. The reading of the northern recension is confirmed by *Foê *Kouê Ki; p. 385, where the citv Kiaoshangmi is mentioned. It lay 500 lis to the south-west of Prayága, on the south bunk of the Jumna. Mahodaya is another name of Kanyakubja: Dharmáranya, the wood to which the God of Justice is said to have fled through fear of Soma the Moon-God, was in Magadh. Girivraja w s in the same neighbourhood, See Lasson’s I. A. Vol. I, p. 604. ↩︎
47:1 That is, the City of the Bent Virgins, the modern Kanauj or Canouge. ↩︎
47:1b Literally, Given by Brahma or devout contemplation. ↩︎
48:1 Now called Kos’í (Cosy) corrupted from Kaus’ikí, daughter of Kus’a.
‘This is one of those personifications of rivers so frequent in the Grecian mythology, but in the similar myths is seen the impress of the genius of each people, austere and profoundly religious in India, graceful and devoted to the worship of external beauty in Greece.’ GORRESIO. ↩︎
49:1 One of the names of the Ganges considered as the daughter of Jahnu. See Canto XLIV. ↩︎
49:2 The Indian Crane. ↩︎
49:3 Or, rather, geese. ↩︎
49:4 A name of the God S’iva. ↩︎
49:1b I am compelled to omit Cantos XXXVII and XXXVIII, THE GLORY OF UMÀ, and THE BIRTH OF KÁRTIKEYA, as both in subject and language offensive to modern taste. They will be found in Schlegel’s Latin translation. ↩︎
50:1b The region here spoken of is called in the Laws of Manu Madhyades’a or the middle region. 'The region situated between the Himálaya and the Vindhya Mountains … is called Madhyades’a, or the middle region; the space comprised between these two mountains from the eastern to the western sea is called by sages Áryávartta, the seat of honourable men.‘ (MANU, II, 21, 22.) The Sanskrit Indians called themselves Áryans, which means honourable, noble, to distinguish themselves from the surrounding nations of different origin.’ GORRESIO. ↩︎