Wise Vis’vámitra’s tale was done:
Then sainted Gautam’s eldest son,
Great S’atánanda, far-renowned,
Whom long austerities had crowned
With glory—as the news he heard
The down upon his bodv stirred,—
Filled full of wonder at the sight
Of Ráma, felt supreme delight.
When S’atánanda saw the pair
Of youthful princes seated there,
He turned him to the holy man
Who sate at ease, and thus began:
‘And didst thou, mighty Sage, in truth
Show clearly to this royal youth
My mother, glorious far and wide,
Whom penance-rites have sanctified?
And did my glorious mother—she,
Heiress of noble destiny—
Serve her great guest with woodland store,
Whom all should honour evermore?
Didst thou the tale to Ráma tell
Of what in ancient days befell,
The sin, the misery, and the shame
Of guilty God and faithless dame?
And, O thou best of hermits, say,
Did Ráma’s healing presence stay
Her trial? was the wife restored
Again to him, my sire and lord?
Say, Hermit, did that sire of mine
Receive her with a soul benign,
When long austerities in time
Had cleansed her from the taint of crime?
[ p. 63 ]
And, son of Kus’ik, let me know,
Did my great-minded father show
Honour to Ráma, and regard,
Before he journeyed hitherward?’
The hermit with attentive ear
Marked all the questions ot the seer:
To him for eloquence far-famed,
His eloquent reply he framed:
‘Yea, ‘twas my care no task to shun,
And all I had to do was done;
As Renuká and Bhrigu’s child,
The saint and dame were reconciled.’
When the great sage had thus replied,
To Ráma S’atánanda cried:
‘A welcome visit, Prince, is thine,
Thou scion of King Raghu’s line.
With him to guide thy way aright,
This sage invincible in might,
This Bráhman sage, most glorious-bright,
By long austerities has wrought
A wondrous deed, exceeding thought:
Thou knowest well, O strong of arm,
This sure defence from scathe and harm.
None, Ráma, none is living now
In all the earth more blest than thou,
That thou hast won a saint so tried
In fervid rites thy life to guide.
Now listen, Prince, while I relate
His lofty deeds and wondrous fate.
He was a monarch pious-souled.
His foemen in the dust he rolled;
Most learned, prompt at duty’s claim,
His people’s good his joy and aim.
Of old the Lord of Life gave birth
To mighty Kus’a, king of earth.
His son was Kus’anábha, strong,
Friend of the right, the foe of wrong.
Gádhi, whose fame no time shall dim,
Heir of his throne was born to him,
And Vis’vámitra, Gádhi’s heir,
Governed the land with kingly care.
While years unnumbered rolled away
The monarch reigned with equal sway.
At length, assembling many a band,
He led his warriors round the land—
Complete in tale, a mighty force,
Cars, elephants, and foot, and horse.
Through cities, groves, and floods he passed,
O’er lofty hills, through regions vast.
He reached Vas’ishtha’s pure abode,
Where trees, and flowers, and creepers glowed,
Where troops of sylvan creatures fed;
Which saints and angels visited.
Gods, fauns, and bards of heavenly race,
And spirits, glorified the place;
The deer their timid ways forgot,
And holy Bráhmans thronged the spot.
Bright in their souls, like fire, were these,
Made pure by long austerities,
Bound by the rule of vows severe,
And each in glory Brahmá’s peer.
Some fed on water, some on air,
Some on the leaves that withered there.
Roots and wild fruit were others’ food;
All rage was checked, each sense subdued,
There Bálakhilyas 1 went and came,
Now breathed the prayer, now fed the flame:
These, and ascetic bands beside,
The sweet retirement beautified.
Such was Vas’ishtha’s blest retreat,
Like Brahmá’s own celestial seat,
Which gladdened Vis’vamitra’s eyes,
Peerless for warlike enterprise.
Right glad was Vis’vámitra when
He saw the prince of saintly men.
Low at his feet the hero bent,
And did obeisance, reverent.
The king was welcomed in, and shown
A seat beside the hermit’s own,
Who offered him, when resting there,
Fruit in due course, and woodland fare.
And Vis’vámitra, noblest king,
Received Vas’ishtha’s welcoming,
Turned to his host, and prayed him tell
That he and all with him were well.
Vas’ishtha to the king replied
That all was well on every side,
That fire, and vows, and pupils throve,
And all the trees within the grove.
And then the son of Brahmá, best
Of all who pray with voice suppressed,
Questioned with pleasant words like these
The mighty king who sate at ease:
‘And is it well with thee? I pray;
And dost thou win by virtuous sway
Thy people’s love, discharging all
The duties on a king that fall?
Are all thy servants fostered well?
Do all obey, and none rebel?
Hast thou, destroyer of the foe,
No enemies to overthrow?
Does fortune, conqueror! still attend
Thy treasure, host, and every friend!
Is it all well? Does happy fate
On sons and children’s children wait!’
He spoke. The modest king replied
That all was prosperous far and wide.
[ p. 64 ]
Thus for awhile the two conversed,
As each to each his tale rehearsed,
And as the happy moments flew,
Their joy and friendship stronger grew.
When such discourse had reached an end,
Thus spoke the saint most reverend
To royal Vis’vamitra, while
His features brightened with a smile:
‘O mighty lord of men. I fain
Would banquet thee and all thy train
In mode that suits thy station high:
And do not thou my prayer deny.
Let my good lord with favour take
The offering that I fain would make,
And let me honour, ere we part.
My royal guest with loving heart.’
Him Vis’vámitra thus addressed:
‘Why make, O Saint, this new request?
Thy welcome and each gracious word
Sufficient honour have conferred.
Thou gavest roots and fruit to eat,
The treasures of this pure retreat,
And water for my mouth and feet;
And—boon I prize above the rest—
Thy presence has mine eyesight blest.
Honoured by thee in every way,
To whom all honour all should pay,
I now will go. My lord, Good-bye!
Regard me with a friendly eye.’
Him speaking thus Vas’ishtha stayed,
And still to share his banquet prayed.
The will of Gádhi’s son he bent,
And won the monarch to consent,
Who spoke in answer. 'Let it be,
Great Hermit, as it pleases thee.’
When, best of those who breathe the prayer,
He heard the king his will declare,
He called the cow of spotted skin,
All spot without, all pure within.
‘Come, Dapple-skin,’ he cried, 'with speed;
Hear thou my words and help at need.
My heart is set to entertain
This monarch and his mighty train
With sumptuous meal and worthy fare;
Be thine the banquet to prepare.
Each dainty cute, each goodly dish,
Of six-fold taste [1] as each may wish—
All these, O cow of heavenly power,
Rain down for me in copious shower:
Viands and drink for tooth and lip,
To eat, to suck, to quaff, to sip—
Of these sufficient, and to spare,
O plenty-giving cow, prepare.’
Thus charged, O slayer of thy foes,
The cow from whom all plenty flows,
Obedient to her saintly lord,
Viands to suit each taste, outpoured.
Honey she gave, and roasted grain,
Mead sweet with flowers, and sugar-cane.
Each beverage of flavour rare,
And food of every sort, were there:
Hills of hot rice, and sweetened cakes,
And curdled milk and soup in lakes.
Vast beakers foaming to the brim
With sugared drink prepared for him,
And dainty sweetmeats, deftly made,
Before the hermit’s guests were laid.
So well regaled, so nobly fed,
The mighty army banqueted,
And all the train, from chief to least,
Delighted in Vas’ishtha’s feast.
Then Vis’vámitra, royal sage,
Surrounded by his vassalage,
Prince, peer, and counsellor, and all
From highest lord to lowest thrall,
Thus feasted, to Vas’ishtha cried
With joy, supremely gratified:
‘Richh honour I, thus entertained,
Most honourable lord, have gained:
Now hear, before I journey hence,
My words, O skilled in eloquence.
Bought for a hundred thousand kine,
Let Dapple-skin. O Saint, be mine.
A wondrous jewel is thy cow,
And gems are for the monarch’s brow. [2]
To me her rightful lord resign
This Dapple-skin thou callest thine.’
The great Vas’ishtha, thus addressed,
Arch-hermit of the holy breast,
To Vis’vamitra answer made,
The king whom all the land obeyed:
Not for a hundred thousand,—nay,
Not if ten million thou wouldst pay,
With silver heaps the price to swell,—
Will I my cow, O Monarch, sell.
Unmeet for her is such a fate.
That I my friend should alienate.
As glory with the virtuous, she
For ever makes her home with me.
On her mine offerings which ascend
To Gods and spirits all depend:
My very life is due to her,
My guardian, friend, and minister.
[ p. 65 ]
The feeding of the sacred flame, [3]
The dole which living creatures claim. [4]
The mighty sacrifice by fire,
Each formula the rites require, [5]
And various saving lore beside,
Are by her aid, in sooth, supplied.
The banquet which thy host has shared,
Believe it, was by her prepared.
In her mine only treasures lie,
She cheers mine heart and charms mine eye.
And reasons more could I assign
Why Dapple-skin can ne’er be thine.’
The royal sage, his suit denied,
With eloquence more earnest cried:
‘Tusked elephants, a goodly train,
Each with a golden girth and chain.
Whose goads with gold well fashioned shine—
Of these be twice seven thousand thine.
And four-horse cars with gold made bright,
With steeds most beautifully white,
Whose bells make music as they go,
Eight hundred, Saint, will I bestow.
Eleven thousand mettled steeds
From famous lands, of noble breeds—
These will I gladly give, O thou
Devoted to each holy vow.
Ten million heifers, fair to view,
Whose sides are marked with every hue—
These in exchange will I assign;
But let thy Dapple-skin be mine.
Ask what thou wilt, and piles untold
Of priceless gems and gleaming gold,
O best of Bráhmans, shall be thine;
But let thy Dapple-skin be mine.’
The great Vas’ishtha, thus addressed.
Made answer to the king’s request:
‘Ne’er will I give my cow away,
My gem, my wealth, my life and stay.
My worship at the moon’s first show,
And at the full, to her I owe;
And sacrifices small and great,
Which largess due and gifts await.
From her alone, their root, O King,
My rites and holy service spring.
What boots it further words to say?
I will not give my cow away
Who yields me what I ask each day.’
As Saint Vas’ishtha answered so,
Nor let the cow of plenty go,
The monarch, as a last resource,
Began to drag her off by force.
While the king’s servants tore away
Their moaning, miserable prey,
Sad, sick at heart, and sore distressed,
She pondered thus within her breast:
‘Why am I thus forsaken? why
Betrayed by him of soul most high.
Vas’ishtha, ravished by the hands
Of soldiers of the monarch’s bands?
Ah me! what evil have I done
Against the lofty-minded one,
That he, so pious, can expose
The innocent whose love he knows?’
In her sad breast as thus she thought,
And heaved deep sighs with anguish fraught,
With wondrous speed away she fled,
And back to Saint Vas’ishtha sped.
She hurled by hundreds to the ground
The menial crew that hemmed her round,
And flying swifter than the blast
Before the saint herself she cast.
There Dapple-skin before the saint
Stood moaning forth her sad complaint,
And wept and lowed: such tones as come
From wandering cloud or distant drum.
‘O son of Brahmá,’ thus cried she,
‘Why hast thou thus forsaken me,
That the king’s men, before thy face,
Bear off thy servant from her place?’
Then thus the Bráhman saint replied
To her whose heart with woe was tried,
And grieving for his favourite’s sake.
As to a suffering sister spake:
‘I leave thee not: dismiss the thought;
Nor, duteous, hast thou failed in aught.
This king, o’erweening in the pride
Of power, has reft thee from my side.
Little, I ween, my strength could do
‘Gainst him, a mighty warrior too,
Strong, as a soldier born and bred,—
Great, as a king whom regions dread.
See! what a host the conqueror leads,
With elephants, and cars, and steeds.
O’er countless bands his pennons fly;
So is he mightier far than I,’
[ p. 66 ]
He spoke. Then she, in lowly mood,
To that high saint her speech renewed:
‘So judge not they who wisest are:
The Brahman’s might is mightier far.
For Brahmans strength from Heaven derive,
And warriors bow when Bráhmans strive.
A boundless power 'tis thine to wield:
To such a king thou shouldst not yield,
Who, very mighty though he be,—
So fierce thy strength,—must bow to thee.
Command me, Saint. Thy power divine
Has brought me here and made me thine;
And I, howe’er the tyrant boast,
Will tame his pride and slay his host.’
Then cried the glorious sage: 'Create
A mighty force the foe to mate,’
She lowed, and quickened into life,
Pahlavas, [6] burning for the strife,
King Vis’vámitra’s army slew
Before the very leader’s view.
The monarch in excessive ire,
His eyes with fury darting fire,
Rained every missile on the foe
Till all the Pahlavas were low.
She, seeing all her champions slain,
Lying by thousands on the plain.
Created, by her mere desire,
Yavans and S’akas, fierce and dire.
And all the ground was overspread
With Yavans and with S’akas dread:
A host of warriors bright and strong,
And numberless in closest throng:
The threads within the lotus stem,
So densely packed, might equal them.
In gold-hued mail 'gainst war’s attacks,
Each bore a sword and battle-axe.
The royal host, where’er these came,
Fell as if burnt with ravening flame.
The monarch, famous through the world
Again his fearful weapons hurled,
That made Kámbojas, 1b Barbars, 2b all,
With Yavans, troubled, flee and fall.
So o’er the field that host lay strewn,
By Vis’vámitra’s darts o’erthrown.
Then thus Vas’ishtha charged the cow:
‘Create with all thy vigour now.’
Forth sprang Kámbojas, as she lowed;
Bright as the sun their faces glowed,
Forth from her udder Barbars poured,—
Soldiers who brandished spear and sword,—
And Yavans with their shafts and darts,
And S’akas from her hinder parts.
And every pore upon her fell,
And every hair-producing cell,
With Mlechchhas [7] and Kirátas [8] teemed,
And forth with them Hárítas streamed.
And Vis’vámitra’s mighty force,
Car, elephant, and foot, and horse,
Fell in a moment’s time, subdued
By that tremendous multitude.
The monarch’s hundred sons, whose eyes
Beheld the rout in wild surprise,
Armed with all weapons, mad with rage,
Rushed fiercely on the holy sage.
One cry he raised, one glance he shot,
And all fell scorched upon the spot:
Burnt by the sage to ashes, they
With horse, and foot, and chariot, lay.
The monarch mourned, with shame and pain,
His army lost, his children slain,
Like Ocean when his roar is hushed,
Or some great snake whose fangs are crushed:
appear that it is the object of this legend to represent this miraculous creation as the origin of these tribes, and that nothing more may have been intended than that the cow called into existence large armies, of the same stock with particular tribes previously existing.}
[ p. 67 ]
Or as in swift eclipse the Sun
Dark with the doom he cannot shun:
Or a poor bird with mangled wing—
So, reft of sons and host, the king.
No longer, by ambition fired,
The pride of war his breast inspired.
He gave his empire to his son—
Of all he had, the only one:
And bade him rule as kings are taught
Then straight a hermit-grove he sought.
Far to Himálaya’s side he fled,
Which bards and Nágas visited,
And, Mahádeva’s [9] grace to earn,
He gave his life to penance stern.
A lengthened season thus passed by,
When S’iva’s self, the Lord most High,
Whose banner shows the pictured bull, [10]
Appeared, the God most bountiful:
‘Why fervent thus in toil and pain?
Wliat brings thee here? what boon to gain?
Thy heart’s desire, O Monarch, speak:
I grant the boons which mortals seek.’
The king, his adoration paid,
To Mahádeva answer made:
‘If thou hast deemed me fit to win
Thy favour, O thou void of sin,
On me, O mighty God, bestow
The wondrous science of the bow,
All mine, complete in every part,
With secret spell and mystic art.
To me be all the arms revealed
That Gods, and saints, and Titans wield,
And every dart that arms the hands
Of spirits, fiends and minstrel bands.
Be mine, O Lord supreme in place,
This token of thy boundless grace.’
The Lord of Gods then gave consent,
And to his heavenly mansion went.
Triumphant in the arms he held,
The monarch’s breast with glory swelled.
So swells the ocean, when upon
His breast the full moon’s beams have shone.
Already in his mind he viewed
Vas’ishtha at his feet subdued.
He sought that hermit’s grove, and there
Launched his dire weapons through the air,
Till scorched by might that none could stay
The hermitage in ashes lay.
Where’er the inmates saw, aghast,
The dart that Vis’vámitra cast,
To every side they turned and fled
In hundreds forth disquieted.
Vas’ishtha’s pupils caught the fear,
And every bird and every deer,
And fled in wild confusion forth
Eastward and westward, south and north,
And so Vas’ishtha’s holy shade
A solitary wild was made,
Silent awhile, for not a sound
Disturbed the hush that was around.
Vas’ishtha then, with eager cry,
Called, 'Fear not, friends, nor seek to fly.
This son of Gádhi dies to-day,
Like hoar-frost in the morning’s ray.’
Thus having said, the glorious sage
Spoke to the king in words of rage:
‘Because thou hast destroyed this grove
Which long in holy quiet throve,
By folly urged to senseless crime,
Now shalt thou die before thy time.’
But Vis’vámitra, at the threat
Of that illustrious anchoret,
Cried, as he launched with ready hand
A fiery weapon, ‘Stand, O Stand!’
Vas’ishtha, wild with rage and hate,
Raising, as 'twere the Rod of Fate,
His mighty Bráhman wand on high,
To Vis’vámitra made reply:
‘Nay, stand. O Warrior thou, and show
What soldier can, 'gainst Bráhman foe.
O Gádhi’s son, thy days are told;
Thy pride is tamed, thy dart is cold.
How shall a warrior’s puissance dare
With Bráhman’s awful strength compare?
To-day, base Warrior, shall thou feel
That God-sent might is more than steel.’
He raised his Bráhman staff, nor missed
The fiery dart that near him hissed:
And quenched the fearful weapon fell,
As flame beneath the billow’s swell.
Then Gádhi’s son in fury threw
Lord Varun’s arm and Rudra’s too:
Indra’s fierce bolt that all destroys;
That which the Lord of Herds employs:
The Human, that which minstrels Keep,
The deadly Lure, the endless Sleep:
The Yawner, and the dart which charms;
Lament and Torture, fearful arms:
The Terrible, the dart which dries,
The Thunderbolt which quenchless flies,
And Fate’s dread net, and Brahmá’s noose,
And that which waits for Varun’s use:
The dart he loves who wields the bow
Pináka, and twin bolts that glow
With fury as they flash and fly,
The quenchless Liquid and the Dry:
The dart of Vengeance, swift to kill:
The Goblins’ dart, the Curlew’s Bill:
[ p. 68 ]
The discus both of Fate and Right,
And Vishnu’s, of unerring flight:
The Wind-God’s dart, the Troubler dread,
The weapon named the Horse’s Head.
From his fierce hand two spears were thrown,
And the great mace that smashes bone;
The dart of spirits of the air,
And that which Fate exults to bear;
The Trident dart which slaughters foes,
And that which hanging skulls compose: [11]
These fearful darts in fiery rain
He hurled upon the saint amain,
An awful miracle to view.
But as the ceaseless tempest flew,
The sage with wand of God-sent power
Still swallowed up that fiery shower.
Then Gádhi’s son, when these had failed,
With Brahmá’s dart his foe assailed.
The Gods, with Indra at their head,
And Nágas, quailed disquieted,
And saints and minstrels, when they saw
The king that awful weapon draw;
And the three worlds were filled with dread,
And trembled as the missile sped.
The saint, with Bráhman wand, empowered
By lore divine that dart devoured.
Nor could the triple world withdraw
Rapt gazes from that sight of awe;
For as be swallowed down the dart
Of Brahmá, sparks from every part,
From finest pore and hair-cell, broke
Enveloped in a veil of smoke.
The staff he waved was all aglow
Like Yáma’s sceptre, King below,
Or like the lurid fire of Fate
Whose rage the worlds will desolate.
The hermits, whom that sight had awed,
Extolled the saint, with hymn and laud:
‘Thy power, O Sage, is ne’er in vain:
Now with thy might thy might restrain.
Be gracious, Master, and allow
The worlds to rest from trouble now;
For Vis’vámitra, strong and dread,
By thee has been discomfited.’
Then, thus addressed, the saint, well pleased.
The fury of his wrath appeased.
The king, o’erpowered and ashamed,
With many a deep-drawn sigh exclaimed:
‘Ah! Warriors’ strength is poor and slight;
A Bráhman’s power is truly might.
This Bráhman staff the hermit held
The fury of my darts has quelled.
This truth within my heart impressed,
With senses ruled and tranquil breast
My task austere will I begin,
And Bráhmanhood will strive to win.’
Then with his heart consumed with woe,
Still brooding on his overthrow
By the great saint he had defied,
At every breath the monarch sighed.
Forth from his home his queen he led,
And to a land far southward fled.
There, fruit and roots his only food,
He practised penance, sense-subdued,
And in that solitary spot
Four virtuous sons the king begot:
Havishyand, from the offering named,
And Madhushyand, for sweetness famed,
Mahárath, chariot-borne in fight,
And Dridhanetra strong of sight.
A thousand years had passed away,
When Brahmá, Sire whom all obey,
Addressed in pleasant words like these
Him rich in long austerities:
‘Thou by the penance, Kus’ik’s son,
A place 'mid royal saints hast won.
Pleased with thy constant penance, we
This lofty rank assign to thee.’
Thus spoke the glorious Lord most High
Father of earth and air and sky,
And with the Gods around him spread
Home to his changeless sphere he sped.
But Vis’vámitra scorned the grace,
And bent in shame his angry face.
Burning with rage, o’erwhelmed with grief,
Thus in his heart exclaimed the chief:
‘No fruit, I ween, have I secured
By strictest penance long endured,
If Gods and all the saints decree
To make but royal saint of me.’
Thus pondering, he with sense subdued,
With sternest zeal his vows renewed.
[ p. 69 ]
Then reigned a monarch, true of soul,
Who kept each sense in firm control;
Of old Ikshváku’s line he came,
That glories in Tris’anku’s [12] name.
Within his breast, O Raghu’s child,
Arose a longing, strong and wild,
Great offerings to the Gods to pay,
And win, alive, to heaven his way.
His priest Vas’ishtha’s aid he sought,
And told him of his secret thought.
But wise Vas’ishtha showed the hope
Was far beyond the monarch’s scope.
Tris’anku then, his suit denied,
Far to the southern region hied,
To beg Vas’ishtha’s sons to aid
The mighty plan his soul had made.
There King Tris’anku, far renowned,
Vas’ishtha’s hundred children found,
Each on his fervent vows intent,
For mind and fame preëminent.
To these the famous king applied,
Wise children of his holy guide.
Saluting each in order due.
His eyes, for shame, he downward threw,
And reverent hands together pressed,
The glorious company addressed:
‘I as a humble suppliant seek
Succour of you who aid the weak.
A mighty offering I would pay,
But sage Vas’ishtna answered, Nay.
Be yours permission to accord,
And to my rites your help afford.
Sons of my guide, to each of you
With lowly reverence here I sue;
To each, intent on penance-vow,
O Bráhmans, low my head I bow,
And pray you each with ready heart
In my great rite to bear a part,
That in the body I may rise
And dwell with Gods within the skies.
Sons of rny guide, none else I see
Can give what he refuses me.
Ikshváku’s children still depend
Upon their guide most reverend;
And you, as nearest in degree
To him, my deities shall be!’
Tris’anku’s speech the hundred heard,
And thus replied, to anger stirred:
‘Why foolish King, by him denied,
Whose truthful lips have never lied,
Dost thou transgress his prudent rule,
And seek, for aid, another school? [13]
Ikshváku’s sons have aye relied
Most surely on their holy guide:
Then how dost thou, fond Monarch, dare
Transgress the rule his lips declare?
‘Thy wish is vain,’ the saint replied,
And bade thee cast the plan aside.
Then how can we, his sons, pretend
In such a rite our aid to lend?
O Monarch, of the childish heart,
Home to thy royal town depart.
That mighty saint, thy priest and guide,
At noblest rites may well preside:
The worlds for sacrifice combined
A worthier priest could never find.’
Such speech of theirs the monarch heard,
Though rage distorted every word,
And to the hermits made reply:
‘You, like your sire, my suit deny.
For other aid I turn from you:
So, rich in penance, Saints, adieu!’
Vas’ishtha’s children heard, and guessed
His evil purpose scarce expressed,
And cried, while rage their bosoms burned,
‘Be to a vile Chandála [14] turned!’
[ p. 70 ]
This said, with lofty thoughts inspired,
Each to his own retreat retired.
That night Tris’anku underwent
Sad change in shape and lineament.
Next morn, an outcast swart of hue,
His dusky cloth he round him drew.
His hair had fallen from his head,
And roughness o’er his skin was spread.
Such wreaths adorned him as are found
To flourish on the funeral ground.
Each armlet was an iron ring:
Such was the figure of the king,
That every counsellor and peer,
And following townsman, fled in fear.
Alone, unyielding to dismay,
Though burnt by anguish night and day,
Great Vis’vámitra’s side he sought,
Whose treasures were by penance bought.
The hermit with his tender eyes
Looked on Tris’anku’s altered guise,
And grieving at his ruined state
Addressed him thus, compassionate:
‘Great King,’ the pious hermit said,
‘What cause thy steps has hither led,
Ayodhyá’s mighty Sovereign, whom
A curse has plagued with outcast’s doom?’
In vile Chandála’s [15] shape, the king
Heard Vis’vámitra’s questioning,
And, suppliant palm to palm applied,
With answering eloquence he cried:
‘My priest and all his sons refused
To aid the plan on which I mused.
Failing to win the boon I sought,
To this condition I was brought.
I, in the body, Saint, would fain
A mansion in the skies obtain.
I planned a hundred rites for this,
But still was doomed the fruit to miss.
Pure are my lips from falsehood’s stain,
And pure they ever shall remain,—
Yea, by a Warrior’s faith I swear,—
Though I be tried with grief and care.
Unnumbered rites to Heaven I paid,
With righteous care the sceptre swayed;
And holy priest and high-souled guide
My modest conduct gratified.
But, O thou best of hermits, they
Oppose my wish these rites to pay;
They one and all refuse consent,
Nor aid me in my high intent.
Fate is, I ween, the power supreme,
Plan’s effort but an idle dream,
Fate whirls our plans, our all away;
Fate is our only hope and stay;
Now deign, O blessed Saint, to aid
Me, even me by Fate betrayed,
Who come, a suppliant, sore distressed,
One grace, O Hermit, to request.
No other hope or way I see:
No other refuge waits for me.
Oh, aid me in my fallen state,
And human will shall conquer Fate.’
Then Kus’ik’s son, by pity warmed,
Spoke sweetly to the king transformed:
‘Hail! glory of Ikshváku’s line:
I know how bright thy virtues shine.
Dismiss thy fear, O noblest Chief,
For I myself will bring relief.
The holiest saints will I invite
To celebrate thy purposed rite:
So shall thy vow, O King, succeed,
And from thy cares shalt thou be freed.
Thou in the form which now thou hast,
Transfigured by the curse they cast,—
Yea, in the body, King, shalt flee,
Transported, where thou fain wouldst be.
O Lord of men, I ween that thou
Hast heaven within thy hand e’en now,
For very wisely hast thou done,
And refuge sought with Kus’ik’s son.’
Thus having said, the sage addressed
His sons, of men the holiest,
And bade the prudent saints whate’er
Was needed for the rite prepare.
The pupils he was wont to teach
He summoned next, and spoke this speech:
‘Go bid Vas’ishtha’a sons appear,
And all the saints be gathered here.
And what they one and all reply
When summoned by this mandate high,
To me with faithful care report,
Omit no word and none distort.’
The pupils heard, and prompt obeyed,
To every side their way they made.
Then swift from every quarter sped
The sages in the Vedas read.
Back to that saint the envoys came,
Whose glory shone like burning flame,
And told him in their faithful speech
The answer that they bore from each:
‘Submissive to thy word, O Seer,
The holy men are gathering here.
By all was meet obedience shown:
Mahodaya [16] refused alone.
[ p. 71 ]
And now, O Chief of hermits, hear
What answer, chilling us with fear,
Vas’ishtha’s hundred sons returned,
Thick-speaking as with rage they burned:
‘How will the Gods and saints partake
The offerings that the prince would make,
And he a vile and outcast thing,
His ministrant one born a king?
Can we, great Bráhmans, eat his food,
And think to win beatitude,
By Vis’vámitra purified?’
Thus sire and sons in scorn replied,
And as these bitter words they said,
Wild fury made their eyeballs red.
Their answer when the arch-hermit heard,
His tranquil eyes with rage were blurred;
Great fury in his bosom woke,
And thus unto the youths he spoke:
‘Me, blameless me they dare to blame,
And disallow the righteous claim
My fierce austerities have earned:
To ashes be the sinners turned.
Caught in the noose of Fate shall they
To Yama’s kingdom sink to-day.
Seven hundred times shall they be born
To wear the clothes the dead have worn.
Dregs of the dregs, too vile to hate.
The flesh of dogs their maws shall sate.
In hideous form, in loathsome weed,
A sad existence each shall lead.
Mahodaya too, the fool who fain
My stainless life would try to stain,
Stained in the world with long disgrace
Shall sink into a fowler’s place.
Rejoicing guiltless blood to spill,
No pity through his breast shall thrill.
Cursed by my wrath for many a day,
His wretched life for sin shall pay.’
Thus, girt with hermit, saint, and priest,
Great Vis’vámitra spoke—and ceased.
So with ascetic might, in ire,
He smote the children and the sire.
Then Vis’vámitra, far-renowned,
Addressed the saints who gathered round:
‘See by my side Tris’anku stand,
Ikshváku’s son, of liberal hand.
Most virtuous and gentle, he
Seeks refuge in his woe with me.
Now, holy men, with me unite,
And order so his purposed rite
That in the body he may rise
And win a mansion in the skies.’
They heard his speech with ready ear
And, every bosom filled with fear
Of Vis’vámitra, wise and great.
Spoke each to each in brief debate:
‘The breast of Kus’ik’s son, we know,
With furious wrath is quick to glow.
Whate’er the words he wills to say,
We must, be very sure, obey.
Fierce is our lord as fire, and straight
May curse us all infuriate.
So let us in these rites engage,
As ordered by the holy sage.
And with our best endeavour strive
That King Ikshváku’s son, alive,
In body to the skies may go
By his great might who wills it so.’
Then was the rite begun with care:
All requisites and means were there:
And glorious Vis’vámitra lent
His willing aid as president.
And all the sacred rites were done
By rule and use, omitting none,
By chaplain-priest, the hymns who knew,
In decent form and order due.
Some time in sacrifice had past,
And Vis’vámitra made, at last,
The solemn offering with the prayer
That all the Gods might come and share.
But the Immortals, one and all,
Refused to hear the hermit’s call.
Then red with rage his eyeballs blazed:
The sacred ladle high he raised,
And cried to King Ikshváku’s son:
‘Behold my power, by penance won:
Now by the might my merits lend,
Ikshváku’s child, to heaven ascend.
In living frame the skies attain,
Which mortals thus can scarcely gain.
My vows austere, so long endured,
Have, as I ween, some fruit assured.
Upon its virtue, King, rely,
And in thy body reach the sky.’
His speech had scarcely reached its close
When, as he stood, the sovereign rose,
And mounted swiftly to the skies
Before the wondering hermits’ eyes’
But Indra, when he saw the king
His blissful regions entering,
With all the army of the Blest
Thus cried unto the unbidden guest:
‘With thy best speed, Tris’anku, flee:
Here is no home prepared for thee.
By thy great master’s curse brought low,
Go, falling headlong, earthward go.’
Thus by the Lord of Gods addressed,
Tris’anku fell from fancied rest,
And screaming in his swift descent,
‘O, save me, Hermit?’ down he went.
And Vis’vámitra heard his cry,
And marked him falling from the sky,
And giving all his passion sway,
Cried out in fury, ‘Stay, O stay!’
[ p. 72 ]
By penance-power and holy lore,
Like Him who framed the worlds of yore,
Seven other saints he fixed on high
To star with light the southern sky.
Girt with his sages forth he went,
And southward in the firmament
New wreathed stars prepared to set
In many a sparkling coronet.
He threatened, blind with rage and hate,
Another Indra to create,
Or, from his throne the ruler hurled,
All Indraless to leave the world.
Yea, borne away by passion’s storm,
The sage began new Gods to form.
But then each Titan, God, and saint,
Confused with terror, sick and faint,
To high souled Vis’vámitra hied,
And with soft words to soothe him tried:
‘Lord of high destiny, this king,
To whom his master’s curses cling,
No heavenly home deserves to gain,
Unpurified from curse and stain.’
The son of Kus’ik, undeterred,
The pleading of the Immortals heard,
And thus in haughty words expressed
The changeless purpose of his breast:
‘Content ye, Gods: I soothly sware
Tris’anku to the skies to bear
Clothed in his body, nor can I
My promise cancel or deny.
Embodied let the king ascend
To life in heaven that ne’er shall end.
And let these new-made stars of mine
Firm and secure for ever shine.
Let these, my work, remain secure
Long as the earth and heaven endure.
This, all ye Gods, I crave: do you
Allow the boon for which I sue.’
Then all the Gods their answer made:
‘So be it, Saint, as thou hast prayed.
Beyond the sun’s diurnal way
Thy countless stars in heaven shall stay:
And ‘mid them hung, as one divine,
Head downward shall Tris’anku shine;
And all thy stars shall ever fling
Their rays attendant on the king.’ [17]
The mighty saint, with glory crowned,
With all the sages compassed round,
Praised by the Gods, gave full assent,
And Gods and sages homeward went.
64:1 Sweet, salt, pungent, bitter, acid, and astringent. ↩︎
64:1b ‘Of old hoards and minerals in the earth, the king is entitled to half by reason of his general protection, and because he is the lord paramount of the soil.’
MANU, Book VIII. 39. ↩︎
65:1 Ghí or clarified butter, ‘holy oil,’ being one of the essentials of sacrifice. ↩︎
65:2 A Brahman had five principal duties to discharge every day: study and teaching the Veda, oblations to the manes or spirits of the departed, sacrifice to the Gods, hospitable offerings to men, and a gift of food to all creatures. The last consisted of rice or other grain which the Bráhman was to offer every day outside his house in the open air. MANU, Book III. 70.’ GORRESIO. ↩︎
65:3 These were certain sacred words of invocation such a sváhá, vashat, etc., pronounced at the time of sacrifice. ↩︎
66:1 It is well known that the Persians were called Pahlavas by the Indians. The S’akas are nomad tribes inhabiting Central Asia, the Scythes of the Greeks, whom the Persians also, as Herodotus tells us, called S’akas just as the Indians did. Lib. VII 64 οἱ γὰρ Πέρσαι πάντας τοὺς Σκύθας, καλέουσι Σάκας. The name Yavana seems to be used rather indefinitely for nations situated beyond Persia to the west… After the time of Alexander the Great the Indians as well as the Persians called the Greeks also Yavans.’ SCHLEGEL.
Lassen thinks that the Pahlavas were the same people as the Πάκτυες of Herodotus, and that this non-Indian people, dwelt on the north-west confines of India. ↩︎
66:3b A comprehensive term for foreign or outcast races of different faith and language from the Hindus. ↩︎
66:4b The Kirátas and Hárítas are savage aborigines of India who occupy hills and jungles and are altogether different in race and character from the Hindus. Dr. Muir remarks in his Sanskrit Texts, Vol. I. p. 488 (second edition ↩︎
67:1 The Great God, S’iva. ↩︎
67:2 Nandi, the snow-white bull, the attendant and favourite vehicle of Siva. ↩︎
68:1 ‘The names of many of these weapons which are mythical and partly allegorical have occurred in Canto XXIX. The general signification of the story is clear enough. It is a contest for supremacy between the regal or military order and Bráhmanical or priestly authority, like one of those struggles which our own Europe saw in the middle ages when without employing warlike weapons the priesthood frequently gained the victory.’ SCHLEGEL.
For a full account of the early contests between the Bráhmans and the Kshattriyas, see Muir’s Original Sanskrit Texts (Second edition) Vol. I. Ch. IV. ↩︎
69:1 'Tris’anku, king of Ayodhyá, was seventh in descent from Ikshváku. and Das’aratha holds the thirty-fourth place in the same genealogv. See Canto LXX. We are thrown back, therefore, to very ancient times, and it occasions some surprise to find Vas’ishtha and Vis’vámitra, actors in these occurences, still alive in Ráma’s time.’ ↩︎
69:1b “It does not appear how Tris’anku, in asking the aid of Vas’ishtha’s sons after applying in vain to their father, could be charged with resorting to another s’ákhá (School) in the ordinary sense of that word; as it is not conceivable that the sons should have been of another S’ákhá from the father, whose cause they espouse with so much warmth. The commentator in the Bombay edition explains the word S’ákhántaram as Yájanádiná rakshántaram, ‘one who by sacrificing for thee, etc., will be another protector.’ Gorresio’s Gauda*? text, which may often be used as a commentary on the older one, has the following paraphrase of the words in question, ch. 60, 3. Múlam utsrijya*? kasmát tvam s’ákásv ichhasi lambitum*?. ‘Why, forsaking the root, dost thou desire to hang upon the branches?’” MUIR, Sanskrit Texts, Vol. I., p. 401. ↩︎
69:2b A Chandála was a man born of the illegal and impure union of a S’údra with a woman of one of the three higher castes. ↩︎
70:1 The Chandála was regarded as the vilest and most abject of the men sprung from wedlock forbidden by the law (Mánavadharmas’ástra, Lib. X. 12.); a kind of social malediction weighed upon his head and rejected him from human society.’ GORRESIO. ↩︎
70:1b This appellation, occuring nowhere else in the poem except as the name of a city, appears twice in this Canto as a name of Vas’ishtha. ↩︎
72:1 ‘The seven ancient rishis or saints, as has been said before, were the seven stars of Ursa Major. The seven other new saints which are here said to have been created by Vis’vámitra, should be seven new southern stars, a sort of new Ursa. Von Schlegel thinks that this mythical fiction of new stars created by Vis’vámitra may signify that these southern stars, unknown to the Indians as long as they remained in the neighbourhood of the Ganges, became known to them at a later date when they colonized the southern regions of Indra.’ GORRESIO. ↩︎