The father lent a gracious ear
And listened to their tale of fear,
And kindly to the Gods replied
Whom woe and death had terrified;
‘The wisest Vasudeva, [1] who
The Immortals’ foe, fierce Madhu, slew,
Regards broad Earth with love and pride
And guards, in Kapil’s form, his bride. [2]
His kindled wrath will quickly fall
On the king’s sons and burn them all.
This cleaving of the earth his eye
Foresaw in ages long gone by:
He knew with prescient soul the fate
That Sagar’s children should await.’
The Three-and-thirty, [3] freed from fear.
Sought their bright homes with hopeful cheer.
Still rose the great tempestuous sound
As Sagar’s children pierced the ground.
When thus the whole broad earth was cleft,
And not a spot unsearched was left,
Back to their home the princes sped,
And thus unto their father said:
‘We searched the earth from side to side,
While countless hosts of creatures died.
Our conquering feet in triumph trod
On snake and demon, fiend and God;
But yet we failed, with all our toil,
To find the robber and the spoil.
What can we more? If more we can,
Devise, O King, and tell thy plan.’
His chidren’s speech King Sagar heard,
And answered thus, to anger stirred:
‘Dig on, and ne’er your labour stay
Till through earth’s depths you force your way.
Then smite the robber dead, and bring
The charger back with triumphing.’
[ p. 52 ]
The sixty thousand chiefs obeyed:
Deep through the earth their way they made.
Deep as they dug and deeper yet
The immortal elephant they met,
Famed Virúpáksha [4] vast of size,
Upon whose head the broad earth lies:
The mighty beast who earth sustains
With shaggy hills and wooded plains.
When, with the changing moon, distressed,
And longing for a moment’s rest,
His mighty head the monster shakes,
Earth to the bottom reels and quakes.
Around that warder strong and vast
With reverential steps they passed.
Nor, when the honour due was paid,
Their downward search through earth delayed.
But turning from the east aside
Southward again their task they plied.
There Mahápadma held his place,
The best of all his mighty race,
Like some huge hill, of monstrous girth,
Upholding on his head the earth.
When the vast beast the princes saw,
They marvelled and were tilled with awe.
The sons of high-souled Sagar round
That elephant in reverence wound.
Then in the western region they
With might unwearied cleft their way.
There saw they with astonisht eyes
Saumanas, beast of mountain size.
Round him with circling steps they went
With greetings kind and reverent.
On, on—no thought of rest or stay—
They reached the seat of Soma’s sway.
There saw they Bhadra, white as snow,
With lucky marks that fortune show,
Bearing the earth upon his head.
Round him they paced with solemn tread,
And honoured him with greetings kind,
Then downward yet their way they mined.
They gained the tract 'twixt east and north
Whose fame is ever blazoned forth, 1b
And by a storm of rage impelled,
Digging through earth their course they held.
Then all the princes, lofty-souled,
Of wondrous vigour, strong and bold,
Saw Vásudeva 2b standing there
In Kapil’s form he loved to wear,
And near the everlasting God
The victim charger cropped the sod.
They saw with joy and eager eyes
The fancied robber and the prize,
And on him rushed the furious band
Crying aloud, Stand, villain! stand!
‘Avaunt! avaunt!’ great Kapil cried,
His bosom flusht with passion’s tide;
Then by his might that proud array
All scorcht to heaps of ashes lay. 3b
Then to the prince his grandson, bright
With his own fame’s unborrowed light,
King Sagar thus began to say,
Marvelling at his sons’ delay:
‘Thou art a warrior skilled and bold,
Match for the mighty men of old.
Now follow on thine uncles’ course
And track the robber of the horse.
[ p. 53 ]
To guard thee take thy sword and bow,
for huge and strong are beasts below.
There to the reverend reverence pay,
And kill the foes who check thy way;
Then turn successful home and see
My sacrifice complete through thee.’
Obedient to the high-souled lord
Grasped Ans’umán his bow and sword,
Aud hurried forth the way to trace
With youth and valour’s eager pace.
On sped he by the path he found
Dug by his uncles underground,
The warder elephant he saw
Whose size and strength pass Nature’s law,
Who bears the world’s tremendous weight,
Whom God, fiend, giant venerate,
Bird, serpent, and each flitting shade.
To him the honour meet he paid
With circling steps and greeting due,
And further prayed him, if he knew,
To tell him of his uncles’ weal,
And who had dared the horse to steal.
To him in war and council tried
The warder elephant replied:
‘Thou, son of Asamanj, shalt lead
In triumph back the rescued steed.’
As to each warder beast he came
And questioned all, his words the same,
The honoured youth with gentle speech
Drew eloquent reply from each,
That fortune should his steps attend.
And with the horse he home should wend.
Cheered with the grateful answer, he
Passed on with step more light and free,
And reached with careless heart the place
Where lay in ashes Sagar’s race.
Then sank the spirit of the chief
Beneath that shock of sudden grief,
And with a bitter cry of woe
He mourned his kinsmen fallen so.
He saw, weighed down by woe and care,
The victim charger roaming there.
Yet would the pious chieftain fain
Oblations offer to the slain:
But, needing water for the rite,
He looked and there was none in sight.
His quick eye searching all around
The uncle of his kinsmen found,
King Garud, best beyond compare
Of birds who wing the fields of air.
Then thus unto the weeping man
The son of Vinatá [5] began:
Grieve not, O hero, for their fall
Who died a death approved of all.
Of mighty strength, they met their fate
By Kapil’s hand whom none can mate.
Pour forth for them no earthly wave,
A holier flood their spirits crave.
If, daughter of the Lord of Snow,
Gangá would turn her stream below,
Her waves that cleanse all mortal stain
Would wash their ashes pure again.
Yea, when her flood whom all revere
Rolls o’er the dust that moulders here,
The sixty thousand, freed from sin,
A home in Indra’s heaven shall win.
Go, and with ceaseless labour try
To draw the Goddess from the sky.
Return, and with thee take the steed;
So shall thy grandsire’s rite succeed.’
Prince Ans’umán the strong and brave
Followed the rede Suparna 1b gave.
The glorious hero took the horse,
And homeward quickly bent his course.
Straight to the anxious king he hied,
Whom lustral rites had purified,
The mournful story to unfold
And all the king of birds had told.
The tale of woe the monarch heard,
Nor longer was the rite deterred:
With care and just observance he
Accomplished all, as texts decree.
The rites performed, with brighter fame,
Mighty in counsel, home he came.
He longed to bring the river down,
But found no plan his wish to crown.
He pondered long with anxious thought
But saw no way to what he sought.
Thus thirty thousand years he spent,
And then to heaven the monarch went.
When Sagar thus had bowed to fate,
The lords and commons of the state
Approved with ready heart and will
Prince Ans’umán his throne to fill.
He ruled, a mighty king, unblamed,
Sire of Dilípa justly famed.
To him. his child and worthy heir,
The king resigned his kingdom’s care,
And on Himálaya’s pleasant side
His task austere of penance plied.
Bright as a God in clear renown
He planned to bring pure Gangá down.
There on his fruitless hope intent
Twice sixteen thousand years he spent,
And in the grove of hermits stayed
Till bliss in heaven his rites repaid.
Dilípa then, the good and great,
Soon as he learnt his kinsmen’s fate,
Bowed down by woe, with troubled mind,
[ p. 54 ]
Pondering long no cure could find.
‘How can I bring,’ the mourner sighed,
‘To cleanse their dust, the heavenly tide?
How can I give them rest, and save
Their spirits with the offered wave?’
Long with this thought his bosom skilled
In holy discipline was filled.
A son was born, Bhagirath named,
Above all men for virtue famed.
Dilipa many a rite ordained,
And thirty thousand seasons reigned.
But when no hope the king could see
His kinsmen from their woe to free,
The lord of men, by sickness tried,
Obeyed the law of fate, and died;
He left the kingdom to his son,
And gained the heaven his deeds had won.
The good Bhagirath, royal sage.
Had no fair son to cheer his age.
He, great in glory, pure in will,
Longing for sons was childless still.
Then on one wish, one thought intent,
Planning the heavenly stream’s descent,
Leaving his ministers the care
And burden of his state to bear,
Dwelling in far Gokarna [6] he
Engaged in long austerity.
With senses checked, with arms upraised,
Five fires [7] around and o’er him blazed.
Each weary month the hermit passed
Breaking but once his awful fast.
In winter’s chill the brook his bed,
In rain, the clouds to screen his head.
Thousands of years he thus endured
Till Brahmá’s favour was assured,
And the high Lord of living things
Looked kindly on his sufferings.
With trooping Gods the Sire came near
The king who plied his task austere:
‘Blest Monarch, of a glorious race,
Thy fervent rites have won my grace.
Well hast thou wrought thine awful task:
Some boon in turn, O Hermit, ask.’
Bhagirath, rich in glory’s light,
The hero with the arm of might,
Thus to the Lord of earth and sky
Raised suppliant hands and made reply:
‘If the great God his favour deigns,
And my long toil its fruit obtains,
Let Sagar’s sons receive from me
Libations that they long to see.
Let Gangá with her holy wave
The ashes of the heroes lave,
That so my kinsmen may ascend
To heavenly bliss that ne’er shall end.
And give, I pray, O God, a son,
Nor let my house be all undone.
Sire of the worlds! be this the grace
Bestowed upon Ikshváku’s race.’
The Sire, when thus the king had prayed,
In sweet kind words his answer made.
‘High, high thy thought and wishes are,
Bhagirath of the mighty car!
Ikshváku’s line is blest in thee,
And as thou prayest it shall be.
Gangá, whose waves in Swarga 1b flow,
Is daughter of the Lord of Snow.
Win S’iva that his aid be lent
To hold her in her mid descent,
For earth alone will never bear
Those torrents hurled from upper air;
And none may hold her weight but He,
The Trident wielding deity.’
Thus having said, the Lord supreme
Addressed him to the heavenly stream;
And then with Gods and Maruts 2b went
To heaven above the firmament.
The Lord of life the skies regained:
The fervent king a year remained
With arms upraised, refusing rest
While with one toe the earth he pressed,
Still as a post, with sleepless eye,
The air his food, his roof the sky.
Tho year had past. Then Umá’s lord, [8]
King of creation, world adored,
Thus spoke to great Bhagirath: ‘I
Well pleased thy wish will gratify,
And on my head her waves shalll fling
The daughter of the Mountains’ King!
He stood upon the lofty crest
That crowns the Lord of Snow,
And bade the river of the Blest
Descend on earth below.
Himálaya’s child, adored of all,
The haughty mandate heard,
And her proud bosom, at the call,
With furious wrath was stirred.
Down from her channel in the skies
With awful might she sped
With a giant’s rush, in a giant’s size.
On S’iva’s holy head.
‘He calls me,’ in her wrath she cried,
'And all my flood shall sweep
And whirl him in its whelming tide
To hell’s profoundest deep.
He held tne river on his head,
And kept her wandering, where,
Dense as Himalaya’s woods, were spread
The tangles of his hair.
[ p. 55 ]
No way to earth she found, ashamed,
Though long and sore she strove,
Condemned, until her pride were tamed,
Amid his locks to rove.
There, many lengthening seasons through,
The wildered river ran:
Bhagirath saw it, and anew
His penance dire began.
Then S’iva, for the hermit’s sake,
Bade her long wanderings end,
And sinking into Vindu’s lake
Her weary waves descend.
From Gangá, by the God set free,
Seven noble rivers came;
Hládiní, Pávaní, and she
Called Naliní by name:
These rolled their lucid waves along
And sought the eastern side.
Suchakshu, Sítá fair and strong,
And Sindhu’s mighty tide— [9]
These to the region of the west
With joyful waters sped:
The seventh, the brightest and the best,
Flowed where Bhagírath led.
On S’iva’s head descending first
A rest the torrents found:
Then down in all their might they burst
And roared along the ground.
On countless glittering scales the beam
Of rosy morning flashed,
Where flsh and dolphins through the stream
Fallen and falling dashed.
Then bards who chant celestial lays
And nymphs of heavenly birth
Flocked round upon that flow to gaze
That streamed from sky and earth.
The Gods themselves from every sphere,
Incomparably bright,
Borne in their golden cars drew near
To see the wondrous sight.
The cloudless sky was all aflame
With the light of a hundred suns
Where’er the shining chariots came
That bore those holy ones.
So flashed the air with crested snakes
And fish of every hue
As when the lightning’s glory breaks
Through fields of summer blue.
And white foam-clouds and silver spray
Were wildly tossed on high,
Like swans that urge their homeward way
Across the autumn sky.
Now ran the river calm and clear
With current strong and deep:
Now slowly broadened to a mere,
Or scarcely seemed to creep.
Now o’er a length of sandy plain
Her tranquil course she held:
Now rose her waves and sank again,
By refluent waves repelled.
So falling first on S’iva’s head,
Thence rushing to their earthly bed,
In ceaseless fall the waters streamed,
And pure with holy lustre gleamed.
Then every spirit, sage, and bard,
Condemned to earth by sentence hard,
Pressed eagerly around the tide
That S’iva’s touch had sanctified.
Then they whom heavenly doom had hurled,
Accursed, to this lower world,
Touched the pure wave, and freed from sin
Resought the skies and entered in
And all the world was glad, whereon
The glorious water flowed and shone,
For sin and stain were banished thence
By the sweet river’s influence.
First, in a car of heavenly frame,
The royal saint of deathless name,
Bhagírath, very glorious rode,
And after him fair Gangá flowed.
God, sage, and bard, the chief in place
Of spirits and the Nága race,
Nymph, giant, fiend, in long array
Sped where Bhagírath led the way;
And all the hosts the flood that swim
Followed the stream that followed him.
Where’er the great Bhagírath led,
There ever glorious Gangá fled,
The best of floods, the rivers’ queen,
Whose waters wash the wicked clean.
It chanced that Jahnu, great and good,
Engaged with holy offering stood;
The river spread her waves around
Flooding his sacrificial ground.
The saint in anger marked her pride,
And at one draught her stream he dried.
Then God, and sage, and bard, afraid,
To noble high-souled Jahnu prayed,
And begged that he would kindly deem
His own dear child that holy stream.
Moved by their suit, he soothed their fears
And loosed her waters from his ears.
Hence Gangá through the world is styled
Both Jáhnavi and Jahnu’s child.
Then onward still she followed fast,
And reached the great sea bank at last.
Thence deep below her way she made
To end those rites so long delayed.
The monarch reached the Ocean’s side,
And still behind him Gangá hied.
He sought the depths which open lay
Where Sagar’s sons had dug their way.
So leading through earth’s nether caves
The river’s purifying waves.
[ p. 56 ]
Over his kinsmen’s dust the lord
His funeral libation poured.
Soon as the flood their dust bedewed,
Their spirits gained beatitude,
And all in heavenly bodies dressed
Rose to the skies’ eternal rest.
Then thus to King Bhagírath said
Brahmá, when, coming at the head
Of all his bright celestial train,
He saw those spirits freed from stain:
‘Well done! great Prince of men, well done!
Thy kinsmen bliss and heaven have won.
The sons of Sagar mighty-souled,
Are with the Blest, as Gods, enrolled,
Long as the Ocean’s flood shall stand
Upon the border of the land,
So long shall Sagar’s sons remain,
And, godlike, rank in heaven retain.
Gangá thine eldest child shall be.
Called from thy name Bhágirathí;
Named also—for her waters fell
From heaven and flow through earth and hell—
Tripathagá, stream of the skies.
Because three paths she glorifies,
And, mighty King, ‘tis given thee now
To free thee and perform thy vow.
No longer, happy Prince, delay
Drink-offerings to thy kin to pay,
For this the holiest Sagar sighed,
But mourned the boon he sought denied.
Then Ans’umán, dear Prince! although
No brighter name the world could show,
Strove long the heavenly flood to gain
To visit earth, but strove in vain.
Nor was she by the sages’ peer,
Blest with all virtues, most austere,
Thy sire Dilipa, hither brought,
Though with fierce prayers the boon he sought.
But thou, O King, earned success,
And won high fame which God will bless.
Through thee, O victor of thy foes,
On earth this heavenly Gangá flows,
And thou hast gained the meed divine
That waits on virtue such as thine.
Now in her ever holy wave
Thyself, O best of heroes, lave:
So shalt thou, pure from every sin,
The blessed fruit of merit win.
Now for thy kin who died of yore
The meet libations duly pour.
Above the heavens I now ascend:
Depart, and bliss thy steps attend.’
Thus to the mighty king who broke
Hie foemens’ might, Lord Brahmá spoke,
And with his Gods around him rose
To his own heaven of blest repose.
The royal sage no more delayed,
But, the libation duly paid,
Home to his regal city hied
With water cleansed and purified.
There ruled he his ancestral state,
Best of all men, most fortunate.
And all the people joyed again
In good Bhagírath’s gentle reign.
Rich, prosperous, and blest were they,
And grief and sickness fled away.
Thus, Ráma, I at length have told
How Gangá came from heaven of old.
Now, for the evening passes swift,
I wish thee each auspicious gift.
This story of the flood’s descent
Will give—for’ tis most excellent—
Wealth, purity, fame, length of days,
And to the skies its hearers raise.’
High and more high their wonder rose
As the strange story reached its close,
And thus, with Lakshman, Ráma, best
Of Raghu’s sons, the saint addressed:
‘Most wondrous is the tale which thou
Hast told of heavenly Gangá, how
From realms above descending she
Flowed through the land and filled the sea.
In thinking o’er what thou hast said
The night has like a moment fled,
Whose hours in musing have been spent
Upon thy words most excellent:
So much, O holy Sage, thy lore
Has charmed us with this tale of yore.’
Day dawned. The morning rites were done
And the victorious Raghu’s son
Addressed the sage in words like these,
Rich in his long austerities:
‘The night is past: the morn is clear;
Told is the tale so good to hear:
Now o’er that river let us go,
Three-pathed, the best of all that flow.
This boat stands ready on the shore
To bear the holy hermits o’er,
Who of thy coming warned, in haste,
The barge upon the bank have placed.’
And Kas’ik’s son approved his speech,
And moving to the sandy beach,
Placed in the boat the hermit band,
And reached the river’s further strand.
On the north bank their feet they set,
And greeted all the (illegible) they met.
On Gangá’s shore they lighted down,
And saw Vis’ada’s lovely town.
Thither, the princes by his side,
The best of holy hermits hied.
It was a town exceeding fair
[ p. 57 ]
That might with heaven itself compare.
Then, suppliant palm to palm applied,
Famed Ráma asked his holy guide:
‘O best of hermits, say what race
Of monarchs rules this lovely place.
Dear master, let my prayer prevail,
For much I long to hear the tale.’
Moved by his words, the saintly man
Vis’álá’s ancient tale began:
‘List, Rama, list, with closest heed
The tale of Indra’s wondrous deed,
And mark me as I truly tell
What here in ancient days befell.
Ere Krita’s famous Age [10] had fled.
Strong were the sons of Diti [11] bred;
And Aditi’s brave children too
Were very mighty, good, and true.
The rival brothers fierce and bold
Were sons of Kas’yap lofty-souled.
Of sister mothers born, they vied,
Brood against brood, in jealous pride.
Once, as they say, band met with band,
And, joined in awful council, planned
To live, unharmed by age and time,
Immortal in their youthful prime.
Then this was, after due debate,
The counsel of the wise and great,
To churn with might the milky sea [12]
The life-bestowing drink to free.
This planned, they seized the Serpent King,
Vásuki, for their churning-string,
And Mandar’s mountain for their pole,
And churned with all their heart and soul.
As thus, a thousand seasons through,
This way and that the snake they drew,
Biting the rocks, each tortured head,
A very deadly venom shed.
Thence, bursting like a mighty flame,
A pestilential poison came,
Consuming, as it onward ran,
The home of God, and fiend, and man.
Then all the suppliant Gods in fear
To S’ankar [13], mighty lord, drew near.
To Rudra, King of Herds, dismayed,
‘Save us, O save us, Lord!’ they prayed.
Then Vishnu, bearing shell, and mace,
And discus, showed his radiant face,
And thus addressed in smiling glee
The Trident wielding deity:
What treasure first the Gods upturn
From troubled Ocean, as they churn,
Should—for thou art the eldest—be
Conferred, O best of Gods, on thee.
Then come, and for thy birthright’s sake,
This venom as thy firstfruits take.’
He spoke, and vanished from their sight.
When Siva saw their wild affright,
And heard his speech by whom is borne
The mighty bow of bending horn, [14]
The poisoned flood at once he quaffed
As 'twere the Amrit’s heavenly draught.
Then from the Gods departing went
S’iva, the Lord pre-eminent.
The host of Gods and Asurs still
Kept churning with one heart and will.
But Mandar’s mountain, whirling round.
Pierced to the depths below the ground.
Then Gods and bards in terror flew
To him who mighty Madhu slew.
‘Help of all beings! more than all,
The Gods on thee for aid may call.
Ward off, O mighty-armed! our fate,
And bear up Mandar’s threatening weight.’
Then Vishnu, as their need was sore,
The semblance of a tortoise wore,
And in the bed of Ocean lay
The mountain on his back to stay.
Then he, the soul pervading all,
Whose locks in radiant tresses fall,
One mighty arm extended still,
And grasped the summit of the hill.
So ranged among the Immortals, he
Joined in the churning of the sea.
A thousand years had reached their close,
When calmly from the ocean rose
The gentle sage [15] with staff and can,
Lord of the art of healing man.
Then as the waters foamed and boiled.
As churning still the Immortals toiled,
Of winning face and lovely frame,
Forth sixty million fair ones came.
Born of the foam and water, these
Were aptly named Apsarases. [16]
[ p. 58 ]
Each had her maids. The tongue would fail—
So vast the throng—to count the tale,
But when no God or Titan wooed
A wife from all that multitude,
Refused by all, they gave their love
In common to the Gods above.
Then from the sea still vext and wild
Rose Surá, [17] Varun’s maiden child.
A fitting match she sought to find:
But Diti’s sons her love declined.
Their kinsmen of the rival brood
To the pure maid in honour sued.
Hence those who loved that nymph so fair
The hallowed name of Suras bear.
And Asurs are the Titan crowd
Her gentle claims who disallowed.
Then from the foamy sea was freed
Uchchaihs’ravas, [18] the generous steed,
And Kaustubha, of gems the gem, [19]
And Soma, Moon God, after them.
At length when many a year had fled,
Up floated, on her lotus bed,
A maiden fair and tender-eyed,
In the young flush of beauty’s pride.
She shone with pearl and golden sheen,
And seals of glory stamped her queen.
On each round arm glowed many a gem,
On her smooth brows, a diadem,
Rolling in waves beneath her crown
The glory of her hair flowed down.
Pearls on her neck of price untold,
The lady shone like burnisht gold.
Queen of the Gods, she leapt to land,
A lotus in her perfect hand,
And fondly, of the lotus-sprung,
To lotus-bearing Vishnu clung.
Her Gods above and men below
As Beauty’s Queen and Fortune know. 1b
Gods, Titans, and the minstrel train
Still churned and wrought the troubled main.
At length the prize so madly sought,
The Amrit, to their sight was brought.
For the rich spoil,'twixt these and those
A fratricidal war arose,
And, host ‘gainst host in battle, set,
Aditi’s sons and Diti’s met.
United, with the giants’ aid,
Their fierce attack the Titans made,
And wildly raged for many a day
That universe-astounding fray.
When wearied arms were faint to strike,
And ruin threatened all alike,
Vishnu, with art’s illusive aid,
The Amrit from their sight conveyed.
That Best of Beings smote his foes
Who dared his deathless arm oppose:
Yea, Vishnu, all-pervading God,
Beneath his feet the Titans trod
Aditi’s race, the sons of light,
slew Diti’s brood in cruel fight.
Then town-destroying 2b Indra gained
His empire, and in glory reigned
O’er the three worlds with bard and sage
Rejoicing in his heritage.
But Diti, when her sons were slain,
Wild with a childless mother’s pain.
To Kas’yap spake, Marícha’s son,
Her husband: 'O thou glorious one!
[ p. 59 ]
Dead are the children, mine no more,
The mighty sons to thee I bore.
Long fervour’s meed, I crave a boy
Whose arm may Indra’s life destroy.
The toil and pain my care shall be:
To bless my hope depends on thee.
Give me a mighty son to slay
Fierce Indra, gracious lord, I pray.’
Then glorious Kas’yap thus replied
To Diti, as she wept and sighed:
‘Thy prayer is heard, dear saint! Remain
Pure from all spot, and thou shalt gain
A son whose arm shall take the life
Of Indra in the battle strife.
For full a thousand years endure
Free from all stain, supremely pure;
Then shall thy son and mine appear,
Whom the three worlds shall serve with fear.’
These words the glorious Kas’yap said,
Then gently stroked his consort’s head,
Blessed her, and bade a kind adieu,
And turned him to his rites anew.
Soon as her lord had left her side,
Her bosom swelled with joy and pride.
She sought the shade of holy boughs,
And there began her awful vows.
While yet she wrought her rites austere,
Indra, unbidden, hastened near,
With sweet observance tending her,
A reverential minister.
Wood, water, fire, and grass he brought,
Sweet roots and woodland fruit he sought,
And all her wants, the Thousand-eyed,
With never-failing care, supplied,
With tender love and soft caress
Removing pain and weariness.
When, of the thousand years ordained,
Ten only unfulfilled remained,
Thus to her son, the Thousand-eyed,
The Goddess in her triumph cried:
‘Best of the mighty! there remain
But ten short years of toil and pain;
These years of penance soon will flee,
And a new brother thou shalt see.
Him for thy sake I’ll nobly breed,
And lust of war his soul shall feed;
Then free from care and sorrow thou
Shalt see the worlds before him bow.’ 1
Thus to Lord Indra, Thousand-eyed,
Softly beseeching Diti sighed.
When but a blighted bud was left,
Which Indra’s hand in seven had cleft: [20]
‘No fault, O Lord of Gods, is thine;
The blame herein is only mine.
But for one grace I fain would pray,
As thou hast reft this hope away.
This bud, O Indra, which a blight
Has withered ere it saw the light—
From this may seven fair spirits rise
To rule the regions of the skies.
Be theirs through heaven’s unbounded space
On shoulders of the winds to race,
My children, drest in heavenly forms,
Far-famed as Maruts, Gods of storms.
One God to Brahmá’s sphere assign,
Let one, O Indra, watch o’er thine;
And ranging through the lower air,
The third the name of Vayu [21] bear.
Gods let the four remaining be,
And roam through space, obeying thee.’
The Town-destroyer, Thousand-eyed,
Who smote fierce Bali till he died,
Joined suppliant hands, and thus replied:
‘Thy children heavenly forms shall wear;
The names devised by thee shall bear,
And, Maruts called by my decree,
Shall Amrit drink and wait on me.
From fear and age and sickness freed.
Through the three worlds their wings shall speed.’
Thus in the hermits’ holy shade
Mother and son their compact made,
And then, as fame relates, content,
Home to the happy skies they went.
This is the spot—so men have told—
Where Lord Mahendra [22] dwelt of old,
This is the blessed region where
His votaress mother claimed his care.
Here gentle Alambúshá bare
To old Ikshváku, king and sage,
Vis’álá, glory of his age,
By whom, a monarch void of guilt,
Was this fair town Vis’álá built.
[ p. 60 ]
His son was Hemachandra, still
Renowned for might and warlike skill.
From him the great Suchandra came;
His son, Dhúmrás’va, dear to fame.
Next followed royal Srinjay; then
Famed Sahadeva, lord of men.
Next came Kus’ás’va, good and mild,
Whose son was Somadatta styled,
And Sumati, his heir, the peer
Of Gods above, now governs here.
And ever through Ikshváku’s grace,
Vis’álá’s kings, his noble race,
Are lofty-souled, and blest with length
Of days, with virtue, and with strength.
This night, O prince, we here will sleep;
And when the day begins to peep,
Our onward way will take with thee,
The king of Mithilá to see.’
Then Sumati, the king, aware
Of Vis’vámitra’s advent there
Came quickly forth with (illegible) meet
The lofty-minded sage to greet.
Girt with his priest and lords the king
Did low obeisance, worshipping.
With suppliant hands, with head inclined,
Thus spoke he after question kind;
‘Since thou hast deigned to bless my sight,
And grace awhile thy servant’s seat,
High fate is mine, great Anchorite,
And none may with my bliss compete.’
When mutual courtesies had past,
Vis’álá’s ruler spoke at last:
‘These princely youths, O Sage, who vie
In might with children of the sky,
Heroic, born for happy fate,
With elephants’ or lions’ gait,
Bold as the tiger or the bull,
With lotus eyes so large and full,
Armed with the quiver, sword, and bow,
Whose figures like the As’vins [23] show,
Like children of the deathless Powers,
Come freely to these shades of ours, [24]\—
How have they reached on foot this place?
What do they seek, and what their race?
As sun and moon adorn the sky,
This spot the heroes glorify.
Alike in stature, port, and mien,
The same fair form in each is seen,’
He spoke; and at the monarch’s call
The best of hermits told him all,
How in the grove with him they dwelt,
And slaughter to the demons dealt.
Then wonder filled the monarch’s breast,
Who tended well each royal guest.
Thus entertained, the princely pair
Remained that night and rested there,
And with the morn’s returning ray
To Mithilá pursued their way.
When Janak’s lovely city first
Upon their sight, yet distant, burst,
The hermits all with joyful cries
Hailed the fair town that met their eyes.
Then Ráma saw a holy wood,
Close, in the city’s neighbourhood,
O’ergrown, deserted, marked by age,
And thus addressed the mighty sage:
‘O reverend lord. I long to know
What hermit dwelt here long ago.’
Then to the prince his holy guide,
Most eloquent of men, replied:
‘O Ráma, listen while I tell
Whose was this grove, and what befell
When in the fury of his rage
The high saint cursed the hermitage.
This was the grove—most lovely then—
Of Gautam, O thou best of men,
Like heaven itself, most honoured by
The Gods who dwell above the sky.
Here with Ahalyá at his side
His fervid task the ascetic plied.
Years fled in thousands. On a day
It chanced the saint had gone away,
When Town-destroying Indra came,
And saw the beauty of the dame.
The sage’s form the God endued,
And thus the fair Ahalyá wooed:
‘Love, sweet! should brook no dull delay
But snatch the moments when he may.’
She knew him in the saint’s disguise,
Lord Indra of the Thousand Eyes,
But touched by love’s unholy fire,
She yielded to the God’s desire.
‘Now, Lord of Gods!’ she whispered, 'flee,
From Gautam save thyself and me.’
Trembling with doubt and wild with dread
Lord Indra from the cottage fled;
But fleeing in the grove he met
The home-returning anchoret,
Whose wrath the Gods and fiends would shun,
Such power his fervent rites had won.
Fresh from the lustral flood he came,
In splendour like the burning flame,
With fuel for his sacred rites,
And grass, the best of eremites.
The Lord of Gods was sad of cheer
To see the mighty saint so near,
And when the holy hermit spied
In hermit’s garb the Thousand-eyed,
[ p. 61 ]
He knew the whole, his fury broke
Forth on the sinner as he spoke:
Because my form thou hast assumed,
And wrought this folly, thou art doomed,
For this my curse to thee shall cling,
Henceforth a sad and sexless thing’
No empty threat that sentence came,
It chilled his soul and marred his frame,
His might and godlike vigour fled,
And every nerve was cold and dead.
Then on his wife his fury burst.
And thus the guilty dame he cursed:
‘For countless years, disloyal spouse,
Devoted to severest vows,
Thy bed the ashes, air thy food,
Here shalt thou live in solitude.
This lonely grove thy home shall be,
And not an eye thy form shall see.
When Ráma, Das’aratha’s child,
Shall seek these shades then drear and wild,
His coming shall remove thy stain,
And make the sinner pure again.
Due honour paid to him, thy guest,
Shall cleanse thy fond and erring breast,
Thee to my side in bliss restore,
And give thy proper shape once more.’ 1
Thus to his guiltv wife he said,
Then far the holy Gautam fled.
And on Himálaya’s lovely heights
Spent the long years in sternest rites.’
* * * * *
Then Ráma, following still his guide,
Within the grove, with Lakshman, hied.
Her vows a wondrous light had lent
To that illustrious penitent.
He saw the glorious lady, screened
From eye of man, and God, and fiend,
Like some bright portent which the care
Of Brahmá launches through the air,
Designed by his illusive art
To flash a moment and depart:
Or like the flame that leaps on high
To sink involved in smoke and die:
Or like the full moon shining through
The wintry mist, then lost to view:
Or like the sun’s reflection, cast
Upon the flood, too bright to last:
So was the glorious dame till then
Removed from Gods’ and mortals’ ken,
Till—such was Gautam’s high decree—
Prince Ráma came to set her free.
Then, with great joy that dame to meet,
The sons of Raghu clapped her feet;
And she, remembering Gautam’s oath,
With gentle grace received them both;
Then water for their feet she gave,
Guest-gift, and all that strangers crave.
The prince, of courteous rule aware,
Received, as meet, the lady’s care.
Then flowers came down in copious rain,
And moving to the heavenly strain
Of music in the skies that rang.
The nymphs and minstrels danced and sang:
And all the Gods with one glad voice
Praised the great dame, and cried, 'Rejoice!
Through fervid rites no more defiled,
But with thy husband reconciled.’
Gautam, the holy hermit knew—
For naught escaped his godlike view—
That Ráma lodged beneath that shade,
And hasting there his homage paid.
He took Ahalyá to his side.
From sin and folly purified,
And let his new-found consort bear
In his austerities a share.
Then Ráma, pride of Raghu’s race,
Welcomed by Gautam, face to face,
Who every highest honour showed,
To Mithilá pursued his road.
The sons of Raghu journeyed forth,
Bending their steps 'twixt east and north.
Soon, guided by the sage, they found,
Enclosed, a sacrificial ground.
Then to the best of saints, his guide,
In admiration Ráma cried:
The high-souled king no toil has spared,
But nobly for his rite prepared.
How many thousand Bráhmans here,
From every region, far and near,
Well read in holy lore, appear!
How many tents, that sages screen,
With wains in hundreds, here are seen!
Great Bráhman, let us find a place
Where we may stay and rest a space.’
The hermit did as Ráma prayed,
And in a spot his lodging made,
[ p. 62 ]
Far from the crowd, sequestered, clear,
With copious water flowing near.
Then Janak, best of kings, aware
Of Vis’vámitra lodging there,
With S’atánanda for his guide—
The priest on whom he most relied.
His chaplain void of guile and stain—
And others of his priestly train,
Bearing the gift that greets the guest,
To meet him with all honour pressed.
The saint received with gladsome mind
Each honour and observance kind:
Then of his health he asked the king,
And how his rites were prospering,
Janak, with chaplain and with priest,
Addressed the hermits, chief and least,
Accosting all, in due degree,
With proper words of courtesy.
Then, with his palms together laid,
The king his supplication made:
‘Deign, reverend lord, to sit thee down
With these good saints of high renown.’
Then sate the chief of hermits there,
Obedient to the monarch’s prayer.
Chaplain and priest, and king and peer,
Sate in their order, far or near.
Then thus the king began to say:
‘The Gods have blest my rite to-day,
And with the sight of thee repaid
The preparations I have made.
Grateful am I, so highly blest,
That thou, of saints the holiest,
Hast come, O Bráhman, here with all
These hermits to the festival.
Twelve days, O Bráhman Sage, remain—
For so the learned priests ordain—
And then, O heir of Kus’ik’s name,
The Gods will come their dues to claim.’
With looks that testified delight
Thus spake he to the anchorite,
Then with his suppliant hands upraised,
He asked, as earnestly he gazed:
‘These princely youths, O Sage, who vie
In might with children of the sky,
Heroic, born for happy fate,
With elephants’ or lions’ gait,
Bold as the tiger and the bull,
With lotus eyes so large and full,
Armed with the quiver, sword and bow,
Whose figures like the As’vins show,
Like children of the heavenly Powers,
Come freely to these shades of ours,—
How have they reached on foot this place?
What do they seek, and what their race?
As sun and moon adorn the sky,
This spot the heroes glorify:
Alike in stature, port, and mien,
The same fair form in each is seen.’ [25]
Thus spoke the monarch, lofty-souled.
The saint, of heart unfathomed, told
How, sons of Das’aratha, they
Accompanied his homeward way,
How in the hermitage they dwelt,
And slaughter to the demons dealt:
Their journey till the spot they neared
Whence fair Vis’álá’s towers appeared:
Ahalyá seen and freed from taint;
Their meeting with her lord the saint;
And how they thither came, to know
The virtue of the famous bow.
Thus Vis’vámitra spoke the whole
To royal Janak, great of soul.
And when this wondrous tale was o’er,
The glorious hermit said no more.
‘In this description of Lakshmi one thing only offends me, that she is said to have four arms. Each of Vishnu’s arms, single, as far as the elbow, there branches into two; but Lakshmi in all the brass seals that I possess or remember to have seen has two arms only. Nor does this deformity of redundant limbs suit the pattern of perfect beauty.’ SCHLEGEL. I have omitted the offensive epithet.
51:1b Here used as a name of Vishnu. ↩︎
51:2b Kings are called the husbands of their kingdoms or of the earth; ‘She and his kingdom were his only brides.’ Raghuvans’a.
‘Doubly divorced! Bad men, you violate
A double marriage, 'twixt my crown and me,
And then between me and my married wife.’
King Richard II. Act V. Sc. I. ↩︎
51:3b The thirty-three Gods are said in the Aitareya. Bráhmana.Book 1. ch. II. 10. to be the eight Vasus, the eleven Rudras, the twelve Àdityas, Prajápati, either Brahmá or Daksha, and Vashatkára or deitied oblation. This must have been the actual number at the beginning of the Vedic religion gradually increased by successive mythical and religious creations till the Indian Pantheon was crowded with abstractions of every kind. Through the reverence with which the words of the Veda were regarded, the immense host of multiplied divinities, in later times, still bore the name of the Thirty-three Gods. ↩︎
52:1 'One of the elephants which, according to an ancient belief popular in India, supported the earth with their enormous backs; when one of these elephants shook his wearied head the earth trembled with its woods and hills. An idea, or rather a mythical fancy, similar to this, but reduced to proportions less grand, is found in Virgil when he speaks of Enceladus buried under Ætna:
‘Fama est Enceladi semiustum fulmine corpus
Urgeri molo haec, ingentemque insuper Ætnam
Impositam, ruptis flammam expirare caminis;
Et fessum quoties mutat latus, intremere omnem
Murmure Trinacriam, et coelum subtexere fumo.’
Æneid. Lib, III. GORRESIO. ↩︎
53:1 Garud was the son of Kas’yap and Vinatá. ↩︎
54:1 A famous and venerated region near the Malabar coast. ↩︎
54:2 That is four fires and the sun. ↩︎
54:3b S’iva. ↩︎
55:1 The lake Vindu does not exist. Of the seven rivers here mentioned two only, the Ganges and the Sindhu or Indus, are known to geographers. Hládiní means the Gladdener, Pávaní the Purifier, Naliní the Lotus-Clad, and Suchakshu the Fair-eyed. ↩︎
57:1 The first or Golden Age. ↩︎
57:2 Diti and Aditi were wives of Kas’yap, and mothers respectively of Titans and Gods. ↩︎
57:3 One of the seven seas surrounding as many worlds in concentric rings. ↩︎
57:4 S’ankar and Rudra are names of S’iva. ↩︎
57:1b S’árigin, literally carrying a bow of horn, is a constantly recurring name of Vishnu. The Indians also, therefore, knew the art of making bows out of the hons of antelopes or wild goats, which Homer ascribes to the Trojans of the heroic age.’ SCHLEGEL. ↩︎
57:2b Dhanvantari, the physician of the Gods. ↩︎
57:3b The poet plays upon the word and fancifully derives it from apsu, the locative case plural of ap, water, and rasa, taste… The word is probably derived from ap, water, and sri, to go, and seems to signify inhabitants of the water, nymphs of the stream; or, as Goldstücker thinks (Dict. s.v.) these divinities were originally personifications of the vapours which are attracted by the sun and form into mist or clouds. ↩︎
58:1 ‘Surá, the feminine comprehends all sorts of intoxicating liquors, many kinds of which the Indians from the earliest times distilled and prepared from rice, sugar-cane, the palm tree, and various flowers and plants. Nothing is considered more disgraceful among orthodox Hindus than drunkenness, and the use of wine is forbidden not only to Bráhmans but the two other orders as well… So it clearly appears derogatory to the dignity of the Gods to have received a nymph so pernicious, who ought rather to have been made over to the Titans. However the etymological fancy has prevailed. The word Sura, a God, is derived from the indeclinable Svar heaven.’ SCHLEGEL. ↩︎
58:2 Literally, high-eared, the horse of Indra. Compare the production of the horse from the sea by Neptune. ↩︎
58:3
‘And Kaustubha the best
Of gems that burns with living light
Upon Lord Vishnu’s breast.’
Churning of the Ocean. ↩︎
59:1b ‘In this myth of Indra destroying the unborn fruit of Diti with his thunderbolt, from which afterwards came the Maruts or Gods of Wind and Storm, geological phenomena are, it seems, represented under mythical images. In the great Mother of the Gods is, perhaps, figured the dry earth: Indra the God of thunder rends it open, and there issue from its rent bosom the Maruts or exhalations of the earth. But such ancient myths are difficult to interpret with absolute certainty.’ GORRESIO. ↩︎
59:2b Wind. ↩︎
59:3b Indra, with mahá, great, prefixed. ↩︎
60:1 The Heavenly Twins. ↩︎
60:2 Not banished from heaven as the inferior Gods and demigods sometimes were. ↩︎
62:1 The preceding sixteen lines have occured before in Canto XLVIII. This Homeric custom of repeating a passage of several lines is strange to our poet. This is the only instance I remember. The repetition of single lines is common enough.’ SCHLEGEL. ↩︎