Then Vis’vámitra, when the Blest
Had sought their homes of heavenly rest,
Thus, mighty Prince, his counsel laid
Before the dwellers of the shade:
‘The southern land where now we are
Offers this check our rites to bar: [1]
To other regions let us speed,
And ply our tasks from trouble freed.
Now turn we to the distant west.
To Pushkar’s [2] wood where hermits rest,
And there to rites austere apply,
For not a grove with that can vie.’
The saint, in glory’s light arrayed,
In Pushkar’s wood his dwelling made,
And living there on roots and fruit
Did penance stern and resolute.
The king who filled Ayodhyá’s throne,
By Ambarísha’s name far known,
At that same time, it chanced, began
A sacrificial rite to plan.
But Indra took by force away
The charger that the king would slay.
The victim lost, the Bráhman sped
To Ambarísha’s side, and said:
‘Gone is the steed, O King, and this
Is due to thee, in care remiss.
[ p. 73 ]
Such heedless faults will kings destroy
Who fail to guard what they enjoy.
The flaw is desperate: we need
The charger, or a man to bleed.
Quick! bring a man if not the horse,
That so the rite may have its course.’
The glory of Ikshváku’s line
Made offer of a thousand kine,
And sought to buy at lordly price
A victim for the sacrifice.
To many a distant land he drove,
To many a people, town, and grove,
And holy shades where hermits rest,
Pursuing still his eager quest.
At length on Bhrigu’s sacred height
The saint Richika met his sight
Sitting beneath the holy boughs.
His children near him, and his spouse.
The mighty lord drew near, assayed
To win his grace, and reverence paid;
And then the sainted king addressed
The Bráhman saint with this request:
‘Bought with a hundred thousand kine,
Give me, O Sage, a son of thine
To be a victim in the rite,
And thanks the favour shall requite.
For I have roamed all countries round,
Nor sacrificial victim found.
Then, gentle Hermit, deign to spare
One child amid the number there.’
Then to the monarch’s speech replied
The hermit, penance-glorified:
‘For countless kine, for hills of gold,
Mine eldest son shall ne’er be sold.’
But, when she heard the saint’s reply,
The children’s mother, standing nigh,
Words such as these in answer said
To Ambarisha, monarch dread:
‘My lord, the saint, has spoken well:
His eldest child he will not sell.
And know, great Monarch, that above
Tht rest my youngest born I love.
‘Tis ever thus: the father’s joy
Is centred in his eldest boy.
The mother loves her darling best
Whom last she reeked upon her breast:
My youngest I will ne’er forsake.’
As thus the sire and mother spake,
Young S’unahs’epha, of the three
The midmost, cried unurged and free:
‘My sire withholds his eldest son,
My mother keeps her youngest one:
Then take me with thee, King: I ween
The son is sold who comes between.’
The king with joy his home resought,
And took the prize his kine had bought.
He bade the youth his car ascend,
And hastened back the rites to end. [3]
As thus the king that youth conveyed,
His weary steeds at length he stayed
At height of noon their rest to take
Upon the bank of Pushkar’s lake.
There while the king enjoyed repose
The captive S’unahs’epha rose,
And hasting to the water’s side
His uncle Visvamitra spied,
With many a hermit 'neath the trees
Engaged in stern austerities.
Distracted with the toil and thirst,
With woeful mien, away he burst,
Swift to the hermit’s breast he flew,
And weeping thus began to sue:
‘No sire nave I, no mother dear,
No kith or kin my heart to cheer:
As justice bids, O Hermit, deign
To save me from the threatened pain.
O thou to whom the wretched flee,
And find a saviour, Saint, in thee,
Now let the king obtain his will,
And me my length of days fulfil,
That rites austere I too may share,
May rise to heaven and rest me there.
With tender soul and gentle brow
Be guardian of the orphan thou,
And as a father pities, so
Preserve me from my fear and woe.’
When Vísvámitra, glorious saint,
Had heard the boy’s heart-rending plaint.
He soothed his grief, his tears he dried,
[ p. 74 ]
Then called his sons to him, and cried:
‘The time is come for you to show
The duty and the aid bestow
For which, regarding future life,
A man gives children to his wife.
This hermit’s son, whom here you see
A suppliant, refuge seeks with me.
O sons, the friendless youth befriend,
And, pleasing me, his life defend.
For holy works you all have wrought,
True to the virtuous life I taught.
Go, and as victims doomed to bleed,
Die, and Lord Agni’s hunger feed,
So shall the rite completed end,
This orphan gain a saving friend,
Due offerings to the Gods be paid,
And your own father’s voice obeyed.’
Then Madhushyand and all the rest
Answered their sire with scorn and jest:
‘What! aid to others’ sons afford,
And leave thine own to die, my lord!
To us it seems a horrid deed,
As 'twere on one’s own flesh to feed.’
The hermit heard his sons’ reply,
And burning rage inflamed his eye.
Then forth his words of fury burst:
‘Audacious speech, by virtue cursed!
It lifts on end each shuddering hair—
My charge to scorn! my wrath to dare!
You, like Vas’ishtha’s evil brood,
Shall make the flesh of dogs your food
A thousand years in many a birth,
And punished thus shall dwell on earth.’
Thus on his sons his curse he laid.
Then calmed again that youth dismayed,
And blessed him with his saving aid;
‘When in the sacred fetters bound,
And with a purple garland crowned,
At Vishnu’s post thou standest tied,
With lauds be Agni glorified.
And these two hymns of holy praise
Forget not, Hermit’s son, to raise
In the king’s rite, and thou shalt be
Lord of thy wish, preserved, and free.’
He learnt the hymns with mind intent,
And from the hermit’s presence went.
To Ambarísha thus he spake:
‘Let us our onward journey take.
Haste to thy home, O King, nor stay
The lustral rites with slow delay.’
The boy’s address the monarch cheered,
And soon the sacred ground he neared.
The convocation’s high decree
Declared the youth from blemish free;
Clothed in red raiment he was tied
A victim at the pillar’s side.
There bound, the Fire-God’s hymn he raised,
And Indra and Upendra praised.
Thousand-eyed Vishnu, pleased to hear
The mystic laud, inclined his ear,
And won by worship, swift to save,
Long life to S’unahs’epha gave.
The King in bounteous measure gained
The fruit of sacrifice ordained,
By grace of Him who rules the skies,
Lord Indra of the thousand eyes.
And Vis’vámitra evermore.
Pursued his task on Pushkar’s shore
Until a thousand years had past
In fierce austerity and fast.
A thousand years had thus flown by
When all the Gods within the sky,
Eager that he the fruit might gain
Of fervent rite and holy pain,
Approached the great ascetic, now
Bathed alter toil and ended vow.
Then Brahmá speaking for the rest
With sweetest words the sage addressed:
‘Hail, Saint! This high and holy name
Thy rites have won, thy merits claim.’
Thus spoke the Lord whom Gods revere.
And sought again his heavenly sphere.
But Vis’vámitra, more intent,
His mind to sterner penance bent.
So many a season rolled away,
When Menaká, fair nymph, one day
Came down from Paradise to lave
Her perfect limbs in Pushkar’s wave,
The glorious son of Kus’ik saw
That peerless shape without a flaw
Flash through the flood’s translucent shroud
Like lightning gleaning through a cloud.
He saw her in that lone retreat,
Most beautiful from head to feet,
And by Kandarpas [4] might subdued
He thus addressed her as he viewed:
‘Welcome, sweet nymph! O deign, I pray,
In these calm shades awhile to stay.
To me some gracious favour show,
For love has set my breast aglow.’
He spoke. The fairest of the fair
Made for awhile her dwelling there,
While day by day the wild delight
Stayed vow austere and fervent rite
There as tne winsome charmer wove
Her spells around him in the grove,
And bound him in a golden chain,
Five sweet years fled, and five again.
Then Vis’vámitra woke to shame,
And, fraught with anguish, memory came
For quick he knew, with anger fired,
That all the Immortals had conspired
[ p. 75 ]
To lap his careless soul in ease,
And mar his long austerities.
‘Ten years have past, each day and night
Unheeded in delusive flight.
So long my fervent rites were stayed,
While thus I lay by love betrayed.’
As thus long sighs the hermit heaved,
And, touched with deep repentance, grieved,
He saw the fair one standing nigh
With suppliant hands and trembling eye.
With gentle words he bade her go,
Then sought the northern hills of snow.
With firm resolve he vowed to beat
The might of love beneath his feet.
Still northward to the distant side
Of Kaus’ikí, [5] the hermit hide,
And gave his life to penance there
With rites austere most hard to bear.
A thousand years went by, and still
He laboured on the northern hill
With pains so terrible and drear
That all the Gods were chilled with fear,
And Gods and saints, for swift advice,
Met in the halls of Paradise.
‘Let Kus’ik’s son,’ they counselled, be
A Mighty saint by just decree.’
His ear to hear their counsel lent
The Sire of worlds, omnipotent.
To him enriched by rites severe
He spoke in accents sweet to hear:
‘Hail, Mighty Saint! dear son, all hail!
Thy fervour wins, thy toils prevail.
Won by thy vows and zeal intense
I give this high preëminence.’
He to the General Sire replied,
Not sad, nor wholly satisfied:
‘When thou, O Brahmá, shalt declare
The title, great beyond compare,
Of Bráhman saint my worthy meed,
Hard earned by many a holy deed,
Then may I deem in sooth I hold
Each sense of body well controlled.’
Then Brahmá cried, 'Not yet, not yet:
Toil on awhile O Anchoret!’
Thus having said to heaven he went,
The saint, upon his task intent,
Began his labours to renew,
Which sterner yet and fiercer grew.
His arms upraised, without a rest,
With but one foot the earth he pressed;
The air his food, the hermit stood
Still as a pillar hewn from wood.
Around him in the summer days
Five mighty fires combined to blaze.
In floods of rain no veil was spread
Save clouds, to canopy his head.
In the dank dews both night and day
Couched in the stream the hermit lay.
Thus, till a thousand years had fled,
He plied his task of penance dread.
Then Vishnu and the Gods with awe
The labours of the hermit saw,
And S’akra, in his troubled breast,
Lord of the skies, his fear confessed.
And brooded on a plan to spoil
The merits of the hermit’s toil.
Encompassed by his Gods of Storm
He summoned Rambhá, fair of form,
And spoke a speech for woe and weal,
The saint to mar, the God to heal.
‘A great emprise, O lovely maid,
To save the Gods, awaits thine aid:
To bind the son of Kus’ik sure,
And take his soul with love’s sweet lure.’
Thus orderd by the Thousand-eyed
The suppliant nymph in fear replied:
‘O Lord of Gods, this mighty sage
Is very fierce and swift to rage.
I doubt not, he so dread and stern
On me his scorching wrath will turn.
Of this, my lord, am I afraid:
Have mercy on a timid maid.’
Her suppliant hands began to shake,
When thus again Lord Indra spake:
‘O Rambhá, drive thy fears away,
And as I bid do thou obey.
In Koïl’s form, who takes the heart
When trees in spring to blossom start,
I, with Kandarpa for my friend,
Close to thy side mine aid will lend.
[ p. 76 ]
Do thou thy beauteous splendour arm
With every grace and winsome charm,
And from his awful rites seduce
This Kus’ik’s son, the stern recluse.’
Lord Indra ceased. The nymph obeyed;
In all her loveliest charms arrayed,
With winning ways and witching smile
She sought the hermit to beguile.
The sweet note of that tuneful bird
The saint with ravished bosom heard,
And on his heart a rapture passed
As on the nymph a look he cast.
But when he heard the bird prolong
His sweet incomparable song,
And saw the nymph with winning smile,
The hermit’s heart perceiv’d the wile.
And straight he knew the Thousand-eyed
A plot against his peace had tried.
Then Kus’ik’s son indignant laid
His curse upon the heavenly maid:
‘Because thou wouldst my soul engage
Who fight to conquer love and rage,
Stand, till ten thousand years have flown,
Ill-fated maid, transformed to stone.
A Bráhman then, in glory strong,
Mighty through penance stern and long,
Shall free thee from thine altered shape;
Thou from my curse shalt then escape.’
But when the saint had cursed her so,
His breast was burnt with fires of woe,
Grieved that long effort to restrain
His mighty wrath was all in vain.
Cursed by the angry sage’s power,
She stood in stone that selfsame hour.
Kandarpa heard the words he said,
And quickly from his presence fled.
His fall beneath his passion’s sway
Had reft the hermit’s meed away.
Unconquered yet his secret foes,
The humbled saint refused repose:
‘No more shall rage my bosom till,
Sealed be my lips, my tongue be still.
My very breath henceforth I hold
Until a thousand years are told:
Victorious o’er each erring sense,
I’ll dry my frame with abstinence,
Until by penance duly done
A Bráhman’s rank be bought and won.
For countless yearn, as still as death.
I taste no food, I draw no breath,
And as I toil my frame shall stand
Unharmed by time’s destroying hand.’
Then from Himálaya’s heights of snow,
The glorious saint prepared to go,
And dwelling in the distant east
His penance and his toil increased.
A thousand years his lips he held
Closed by a vow unparalleled,
And other marvels passing thought,
Unrivalled in the world, he wrought.
In all the thousand years his frame
Dry as a log of wood became.
By many a cross and check beset,
Rage had not stormed his bosom yet.
With iron will that naught could bend
He plied his labour till the end.
So when the weary years were o’er,
Freed from his vow so stern and sore,
The hermit, all his penance sped,
Sate down to eat his meal of bread.
Then Indra, clad in Bráhman guise,
Asked him for food with hungry eyes.
The mighty saint, with steadfast soul,
To the false Bráhman gave the whole,
And when no scrap for him remained,
Fasting and faint, from speech refrained.
His silent vow he would not break:
No breath he heaved, no word he spake
Then as he checked his breath, behold!
Around his brow thick smoke-clouds rolled
And the three worlds, as if o’erspread
With ravening flames, were filled with dread.
Then God and saint and bard, convened.
And Nága lord, and snake, and fiend,
Thus to the General Father cried,
Distracted, sad, and terrified:
‘Against the hermit, sore assailed,
Lure, scathe, and scorn have naught availed,
Proof against rage and treacherous art
He keeps his vow with constant heart.
Now if his toils assist him naught
To gain the boon his soul has sought,
He through the worlds will ruin send
That fixt and moving things shall end,
The regions now are dark with doom,
No friendly ray relieves the gloom.
Each ocean foams with maddened tide
The shrinking hills in fear subside.
Trembles the earth with feverous throe
The wind in fitful tempest blows.
No cure we see with troubled eyes:
And atheist brood on earth may rise.
The triple world is wild with care,
Or spiritless in dull despair.
Before that saint the sun is dim,
His blessed light eclipsed by him.
Now ere the saint resolve to bring
Destruction on each living thing,
Let us appease, while yet we may,
Him bright as fire, like fire to slay.
Yea, as the fiery flood of Fate
Lays all creation desolate.
He o’er the conquered Gods may reign:
O, grant him what he longs to gain.’
[ p. 77 ]
Then all the Blest, by Brahmá led,
Approached the saint and sweetly said:
‘Hail, Bráhman Saint! for such thy place:
Thy vows austere have won our grace.
A Bráhman’s rank thy penance stern
And ceaseless labour richly earn.
I with the Gods of Storm decree
Long life, O Bráhman Saint, to thee.
May peace and joy thy soul possess;
Go where thou wilt in happiness.’
Thus by the General Sire addressed,
Joy and high triumph filled his breast.
His head in adoration bowed,
Thus spoke he to the Immortal crowd:
‘If I, ye Gods, have gained at last
Both length of days and Bráhman caste,
Grant that the high mysterious name,
And holy Vedas, own my claim,
And that the formula to bless
The sacrifice, its lord confess.
And let Vas’ishtha, who excels
In Warriors’ art and mystic spells,
In love of God without a peer.
Confirm the boon you promise here.’
With Brahmá’s son Vas’ishtha, best
Of those who pray with voice repressed,
The Gods by earnest prayer prevailed,
And thus his new-made friend he hailed:
‘Thy title now is sure and good
To rights of saintly Bráhmanhood.’
Thus spake the sage. The Gods, content,
Back to their heavenly mansions went.
And Vis’vamitra, pious-souled,
Among the Bráhman saints enrolled,
On reverend Vas’ishtha pressed
The honours due to holy guest.
Successful in his high pursuit,
The sage, in penance resolute,
Walked in his pilgrim wanderings o’er
The whole broad land from shore to shore.
‘Twas thus the saint, O Raghu’s son,
His rank among the Bráhmans won.
Best of all hermits, Prince, is he;
In him incarnate Penance see.
Friend of the right, who shrinks from ill,
Heroic powers attend him still.’
The Bráhman, versed in ancient lore,
Thus closed his tale, and said no more,
To S’atánanda Kus’ik’s son
Cried in delight, Well done! well done!
Then Janak, at the tale amazed,
Spoke thus with suppliant hands upraised:
‘High fate is mine, O Sage, I deem,
And thanks I owe for bliss supreme,
That thou and Raghu’s children too
Have come my sacrifice to view.
To look on thee with blessed eyes
Exalts my soul and purifies.
Yea, thus to see thee face to face
Enriches me with store of grace.
Thy holy labours wrought of old,
And mighty penance, fully told,
Ráma and I with great delight
Have heard, O glorious Anchorite.
Unrivalled thine ascetic deeds:
Thy might, O Saint, all might exceeds.
No thought may scan, no limit bound
The virtues that in thee are found.
The story of thy wondrous fate
My thirsty ears can never sate.
The hour of evening rites is near:
The sun declines in swift career.
At early dawn, O Hermit, deign
To let me see thy face again.
Best of ascetics, part in bliss:
Do thou thy servant now dismiss.’
The saint approved, and glad and kind
Dismissed the king with joyful mind
Around the sage King Janak went
With priests and kinsmen reverent.
Then Vis’vámitra, honoured so,
By those high-minded, rose to go,
And with the princes took his way
To seek the lodging where they lay.
With cloudless lustre rose the sun;
The king, his morning worship done,
Ordered hid heralds to invite
The princes and the anchorite.
With honour, as the laws decree,
The monarch entertained the three.
Then to the youths and saintly man
Videha’s lord this speech began:
‘O blameless Saint, most welcome thou!
If I may please thee tell me how.
Speak, mighty lord, whom all revere,
‘Tis thine to order, mine to hear.’
Thus he on mighty thoughts intent;
Then thus the sage most eloquent:
‘King Das’aratha’s sons, this pair
Of warriors famous everywhere,
Are come that best of bows to see
That lies a treasure stored by thee.
This, mighty Janak, deign to show,
That they may look upon the bow,
And then, contented, homeward go.’
Then royal Janak spoke in turn:
‘O best of Saints, the story learn
Why this famed bow, a noble prize,
A treasure in my palace lies.
A monarch, Devarát by name,
Who sixth from ancient Nimi came,
Held it as ruler of the land,
A pledge in his successive hand.
This bow the mighty Rudra bore
[ p. 78 ]
At Daksha’s [6] sacrifice of yore,
When carnage of the Immortals stained
The rite that Daksha had ordained.
Then as the Gods sore wounded fled,
Victorious Rudra, mocking, said:
‘Because, O Gods, ye gave me naught
When I my rightful portion sought,
Your dearest parts I will not spare,
But with my bow your frames will tear.’
The Sons of Heaven, in wild alarm,
Soft flatteries tried his rage to charm.
Then Bhava, Lord whom Gods adore,
Grew kind and friendly as before,
And every torn and mangled limb
Was safe and sound restored by him.
Thenceforth this bow, the gem of bows,
That freed the God of Gods from foes,
Stored by our great forefathers lay
A treasure and a pride for aye.
Once, as it chanced, I ploughed the ground,
When sudden, 'neath the share was found
An infant springing from the earth,
Named Sitá from her secret birth. [7]
In strength and grace the maiden grew,
My cherished daughter, fair to view.
I vowed her, of no mortal birth,
Meet prize for noblest hero’s worth.
In strength and grace the maiden grew,
And many a monarch came to woo.
To all the princely suitors I
Gave, mighty Saint, the same reply:
‘I give not thus my daughter, she
Prize of heroic worth shall be. [8]
To Mithilá the suitors pressed
Their power and might to manifest.
To all who came with hearts aglow
I offered S’iva’s wondrous bow.
Not one of all the royal band
Could raise or take the bow in hand.
The suitors’ puny might I spurned,
And back the feeble princes turned.
Enraged thereat, the warriors met,
With force combined my town beset.
Stung to the heart with scorn and shame,
With war and threats they madly came,
Besieged my peaceful walls, and long
To Mithilá did grievous wrong.
There, wasting all, a year they lay,
And brought my treasures to decay,
Filling my soul, O Hermit chief,
With bitter woe and hopeless grief.
At last by long-wrought penance I
Won favour with the Gods on high,
Who with my labours well content
A four-fold host to aid me sent.
Then swift the baffled heroes fled
To all the winds discomfited—
Wrong-doers, with their lords and host,
And all their valour’s idle boast.
This heavenly bow, exceeding bright,
These youths shall see, O Anchorite.
Then if young Ráma’s hand can string
The bow that baffled lord and king,
To him I give, as I have sworn,
My Sitá, not of woman born.’
Then spoke again the great recluse:
‘This mighty bow, O King, produce.’
King Janak, at the saint’s request,
This order to his train addressed:
‘Let the great bow be hither borne,
Which flowery wreaths and scents adorn.’
Soon as the monarch’s words were said,
His servants to the city sped,
Five thousand youths in number, all
Of manly strength and stature tall,
The ponderous eight-wheeled chest that held
The heavenly bow, with toil propelled.
At length they brought that iron chest,
And thus the godlike king addressed:
‘This best of bows, O lord, we bring,
Respected by each chief and king,
And place it for these youths to see,
If, Sovereign, such thy pleasure be.’
With suppliant palm to palm applied
King Janak to the strangers cried:
‘This gem of bows, O Bráhman Sage,
Our race has prized from age to age.
Too strong for those who yet have reigned,
Though great in might each nerve they strained.
[ p. 79 ]
Titan and fiend its strength defies,
God, spirit, minstrel of the skies.
And bard above and snake below
Are baffled by this glorious bow.
Then how may human prowess hope
With such a bow as this to cope?
What man with valour’s choicest gift
This bow can draw, or string, or lift?
Yet let the princes, holy Seer,
Behold it: it is present here.’
Then spoke the hermit pious-souled:
‘Ráma, dear son, the bow behold.’
Then Ráma at his word unclosed
The chest wherein its might reposed,
Thus crying, as he viewed it: 'Lo!
I lay mine hand upon the bow:
May happy luck my hope attend
Its heavenly strength to lift or bend.’
‘Good luck be thine,’ the hermit cried:
‘Assay the task!’ the king replied.
Then Raghu’s son, as if in sport,
Before the thousands of the court,
The weapon by the middle raised
That all the crowd in wonder gazed.
With steady arm the string he drew
Till burst the mighty bow in two.
As snapped the bow, an awful clang,
Loud as the shriek of tempests, rang.
The earth, affrighted, shook amain
As when a hill is rent in twain.
Then, senseless at the fearful sound,
The people fell upon the ground:
None save the king, the princely pair,
And the great saint, the shock could bear,
When woke to sense the stricken train,
And Janak’s soul was calm again,
With suppliant hands and reverent head,
These words, most eloquent, he said:
‘O Saint, Prince Ráma stands alone:
His peerless might he well has shown.
A marvel has the hero wrought
Beyond belief, surpassing thought.
My child, to royal Ráma wed,
New glory on our line will shed:
And true my promise will remain
That hero’s worth the bride should gain.
Dearer to me than light and life,
My Sitá shall be Ráma’s wife.
If thou, O Bráhman, leave concede,
My counsellors, with eager speed,
Borne in their flying cars, to fair
Ayodhyá’s town the news shall bear,
With courteous message to entreat
The king to grace my royal seat.
This to the monarch shall they tell,
The bride is his who won her well:
And his two sons are resting here
Protected by the holy seer.
So, at his pleasure, let them lead
The sovereign to my town with speed.’
The hermit to his prayer inclined
And Janak, lord of virtuous mind,
With charges, to Ayodhyá sent
His ministers: and forth they went.
Three nights upon the road they passed
To rest the steeds that bore them fast,
And reached Ayodhyá’s town at last.
Then straight at Das’aratha’s call
They stood within the royal hall,
Where, like a God, inspiring awe,
The venerable king they saw.
With suppliant palm to palm applied,
And all their terror laid aside,
They spoke to him upon the throne
With modest words, in gentle tone:
‘Janak, Videha’s king, O Sire,
Has sent us hither to inquire
The health of thee his friend most dear,
Of all thy priests and every peer.
Next Kus’ik’s son consenting, thus
King Janak speaks, dread liege, by us:
‘I made a promise and decree
That valour’s prize my child should be.
Kings, worthless found in worth’s assay,
With mien dejected turned away.
Thy sons, by Vis’vámitra led,
Unurged, my city visited,
And peerless in their might have gained
My daughter, as my vow ordained.
Full in a vast assembly’s view
Thy hero Ráma broke in two
The gem of bows, of monstrous size,
That came a treasure from the skies.
Ordained the prize of hero’s might,
Sitá my child is his by right.
Fain would I keep my promise made,
If thou, O King, approve and aid.
Come to my town thy son to see:
Bring holy guide and priest with thee.
O lord of kings, my suit allow,
And let me keep my promised vow.
So joying for thy children’s sake
Their triumph too shalt thou partake,
With Vis’vámitra’s high consent.’
‘Such words with friendship eloquent
Spoke Janak, fair Videha’s king,
By S’atánanda’s counselling.’
The envoys thus the king addressed,
And mighty joy his heart possessed.
To Vámadeva quick he cried,
Vas’ishtha, and his lords beside:
‘Lakshman, and he, my princely hoy
Who fills Kaus’alyá’s soul with joy,
By Vis’vámitra guarded well
Among the good Videhans dwell.
[ p. 80 ]
Their ruler Janak, prompt to own
The peerless might my child has shown,
To him would knit in holy ties
His daughter, valour’s lovely prize.
If Janak’s plan seem good to you,
Come, speed we to his city too,
Nor let occasion idly by.’
He ceased. There came a glad reply
From priest and mighty saint and all
The councillors who thronged the hall.
Then cried the king with joyous heart:
‘To-morrow let us all depart.’
That night the envoys entertained
With honour and all care remained.
Soon as the shades of night had fled,
Thus to the wise Sumantra said
The happy king, while priest and peer,
Each in his place, were standing near:
‘Let all my treasurers to-day,
Set foremost in the long array,
With gold and precious gems supplied
In bounteous store, together ride.
And send you out a mighty force,
Foot, chariot, elephant, and horse.
Besides, let many a car of state,
And noblest steeds, my will await.
Vas’ishtha, Vámadeva sage,
And Márkandeya’s reverend age,
Jáváli, Kas’yap’s godlike seed,
And wise Kátyáyana, shall lead.
Thy care, Sumantra, let it be
To yoke a chariot now for me,
That so we part without delay:
These envoys hasten me away.’
So fared he forth. That host, with speed,
Quadruple, as the king decreed,
With priests to head the bright array,
Followed the monarch on his way.
Four days they travelled on the road,
And eve Videha’s kingdom showed.
Janak had left his royal seat
The venerable king to greet,
And, noblest, with these words addressed
That noblest lord, his happy guest:
‘Hail, best of kings: a blessed fate
Has led thee, Monarch, to my state.
Thy sons, supreme in high emprise,
Will gladden now their father’s eyes.
And high my fate, that hither leads
Vas’ishtha, bright with holy deeds,
Girt with these sages far-renowned,
Like Indra with the Gods around.
Joy! joy! for vanquished are my foes:
Joy! for my house in glory grows,
With Raghu’s noblest sons allied,
Supreme in strength and valour’s pride.
To-morrow with its early light
Will shine on my completed rite.
Then, sanctioned by the saints and thee,
The marriage of thy Ráma see.’
Then Das’aratha, best of those
Whose speech in graceful order flows,
With gathered saints on every side,
Thus to the lord of earth replied:
‘A truth is this I long have known,
A favour is the giver’s own.
What thou shalt bid, O good and true,
We, as our power permits, will do.’
That answer of the truthful lord,
With virtuous worth and honour stored,
Janak, Videha’s noble king,
Heard gladly, greatly marvelling.
With bosoms filled with pleasure met
Long-parted saint and anchoret,
And linked in friendship’s tie they spent
The peaceful night in great content.
Ráma and Lakshman thither sped,
By sainted Vis’vámitra led,
And bent in filial love to greet
Their father, and embraced his feet.
The aged king, rejoiced to hear
And see again his children dear,
Honoured by Janak’s thoughtful care,
With great enjoyment rested there.
King Janak, with attentive heed,
Consulted first his daughters’ need,
And ordered all to speed the rite;
Then rested also for the night.
Then with the morn’s returning sun.
King Janak, when his rites were done,
Skilled all the charms of speech to know,
Spoke to wise S’atánanda so:
‘My brother, lord of glorious fame,
My younger, Kus’adhwaj by name,
Whose virtuous life has won renown,
Has settled in a lovely town,
Sánkásyá, decked with grace divine,
Whose glories bright as Pushpak’s shine,
While Ikshumatí rolls her wave
Her lofty rampart’s foot to lave.
Him, holy priest, I long to see:
The guardian of my rite is he:
That my dear brother may not miss
A share of mine expected bliss.’
Thus in the presence of the priest
The royal Janak spoke, and ceased.
Then came his henchmen, prompt and brave,
[ p. 81 ]
To whom his charge the monarch gave.
Soon as they heard his will, in haste
With fleetest steeds away they raced,
To lead with them that lord of kings,
As Indra’s call Lord Vishnu brings.
Sánkás’yá’s walls they duly gained,
And audience of the king obtained.
To him they told the news they brought
Of marvels past and Janak’s thought.
Soon as the king the story knew
From those good envoys swift and true,
To Janak’s wish he gave assent,
And swift to Mithilá he went.
He paid to Janak reverence due,
And holy S’atánanda too,
Then sate him on a glorious seat
For kings or Gods celestial meet.
Soon as the brothers, noble pair
Peerless in might, were seated there,
They gave the wise Sudáman, best
Of councillors, their high behest:
‘Go, noble councillor,’ they cried,
‘And hither to our presence guide
Ikshváku’s son, Ayodhyá’s lord,
Invincible by foeman’s sword,
With both his sons, each holy seer,
And every minister and peer.’
Sudáman to the palace flew,
And saw the mighty king who threw
Splendour on Raghu’s splendid race,
Then bowed his head with seemly grace:
‘O King, whose hand Ayodhyá sways,
My lord, whom Mithilá obeys,
Yearns with desire, if thou agree,
Thee with thy guide and priest to see.’
Soon as the councillor had ceased,
The king, with saint and peer and priest,
Sought, speeding through the palace gate,
The hall where Janak held his state.
There, with his nobles round him spread,
Thus to Videha’s lord be said:
‘Thou knowest, King, whose aid divine
Protects Ikshváku’s royal line.
In every need, whate’er befall,
The saint Vas’ishtha speaks for all.
If Vis’vámitra so allow,
And all the saints around me now,
The sage will speak, at my desire,
As order and the truth require.’
Soon as the king his lips had stilled.
Up rose Vas’ishtha, speaker skilled.
And to Videha’s lord began
In flowing words that holy man:
‘From viewless Nature Brahmá rose,
No change, no end, no waste he knows.
A son had he Maríchi styled,
And Kas’yap was Maríchi’s child.
From him Vivasvat sprang: from him
Manu whose fame shall ne’er be dim.
Manu, who life to mortals gave,
Begot Ikshváku good and brave.
First of Ayodhyá’s kings was he,
Pride of her famous dynasty.
From him the glorious Kukshi sprang,
Whose fame through all the regions rang.
Rival of Kukshi’s ancient fame,
His heir, the great Vikukshi, came,
His son was Vána, lord of might;
His Anaranya, strong to fight.
His son was Prithu, glorious name;
From him the good Tris’anku came.
He left a son renowned afar,
Known by the name of Dhundhumár.
His son, who drove the mighty car,
Was Yuvanás’va, feared in war.
He passed away. Him followed then
His son Mándhátá, king of men.
His son was blest in high emprise,
Susandhi, fortunate and wise.
Two noble sons had he, to wit
Dhruvasandhi and Prasenajit.
Bharat was Dhruvasandhi’s son,
And glorious fame that monarch won.
The warrior Asit he begot.
Asit had warfare, fierce and hot,
With rival kings in many a spot,
Haihayas, Tálajanghas styled,
And S’as’ivindus, strong and wild.
Long time he strove, but forced to yield
Fled from his kingdom and the field.
With his two wives away he fled
Where high Himálaya lifts his head,
And, all his wealth and glory past,
He paid the dues of Fate at last.
The wives he left had both conceived—
So is the ancient tale believed—
One, of her rival’s hopes afraid
Fell poison in her viands laid.
It chanced that Chyavan, Bhrigu’s child,
Had wandered to that pathless wild,
And there Himálaya’s lovely height
Detained him with a strange delight.
There came the other widowed queen,
With lotus eyes and beauteous mien,
Longing a noble son to bear,
And wooed the saint with earnest prayer.
When thus Kálindi, [9] fairest dame,
With reverent supplication came,
To her the holy sage replied:
‘Born with the poison from thy side,
O happy Queen, shall spring ere long
An infant fortunate and strong.
Then weep no more, and check thy sighs,
Sweet lady of the lotus eyes.’
The queen, who loved her perished lord,
For meet reply, the saint adored,
And, of her husband long bereaved,
She bore a son by him conceived.
Because her rival mixed the bane
[ p. 82 ]
To render her conception vain,
And fruit unripened to destroy,
Sagar 1 she called her darling boy.
To Sagar Asamanj was heir:
Bright Ans’umán his consort bare.
Ans’umán’s son, Dilipa famed,
Begot a son Bhagírath named.
From him the great Kakutstha rose:
From him came Raghu, feared by foes,
Of him sprang Purushádak bold,
Fierce hero of gigantic mould:
Kalmáshapáda’s name he bore,
Because his feet were spotted o’er. 2
From him came S’ankan, and from him
Sudars’an, fair in face and limb.
From beautiful Sudars’an came
Prince Agnivarna, bright as flame.
His son was S’íghraga, for speed
Unmatched; and Maru was his seed.
Pras’uœs’ruka was Maru’s child;
His son was Ambarísha styled.
Nahush was Ambarísha’s heir,
The mighty lord of regions fair:
Nahush begot Yayáti: he,
Nábhág of happy destiny.
Son of Nábhág was Aja: his,
The glorious Das’aratha is,
Whose noble children boast to be
Ráma and Lakshman, whom we see.
Thus do those kings of purest race
Their lineage from Ikshváku trace;
Their hero lives the right maintained,
Their lips with falsehood ne’er were stained.
In Ráma’s and in Lakshman’s name
Thy daughters as their wives I claim,
So shall in equal bands be tied
Each peerless youth with peerless bride.’
72:1b ‘This cannot refer to the events just related: for Vis’vámitra was successful in the sacrifice performed for Tris’anku. And yet no other impediment is mentioned. Still his restless mind would not allow him to remain longer in the same spot. So the character of Vis’vámitra is ingeniously and skilfully shadowed forth: as he had been formerly a most warlike king, loving battle and glory, bold, active, sometimes unjust, and more frequently magnanimous, such also he always shows himself in his character of anchorite and ascetic.’ SCHLEGEL. ↩︎
72:2b Near the modern city of Ajmere. The place is sacred still, and the name is preserved in the Hindí. Lassen, however, says that this Pushkala or Pushkara, called by the Grecian writers Πευκελἀίτις, the earliest place of pilgrimage mentioned by name, is not to be confounded with the modern Pushkara in Ajmere. ↩︎
73:1 Ambarisha is the twenty-ninth in descent from Ikshváku, and is therefore separated by an immense space of time from Tris’anku in whose story Vis’vámitra had played so important a part. Yet Richíka, who is represented as having young sons while Ambarísha was yet reigning, being himself the son of Bhrigu and to be numbered with the most ancient sages, is said to have married the younger sister of Vis’vámitra. But I need not again remark that there is a perpetual anachronism in Indian mythology.’ SCHLEGEL.
‘In the mythical story related in this and the following Canto we may discover, I think, some indication of the epoch at which the immolation of lower animals was substituted for human sacrifice…
So when Iphigenia was about to be sacrificed at Aulis, one legend tells us that a hind was substituted for the virgin. GORRESIO.
So the ram caught in the thicket took the place of Isaac, or, as the Musalmáns say, of Ishmael. ↩︎
74:1 The Indian Cupid. ↩︎
75:1 ‘The same as she whose praises Vis’vámitra has already sung in Canto XXXV, and whom the poet brings yet alive upon the scene in Canto LXI. Her proper name was Satyavatí (Truthful); the patronymic, Kaus’ikí was preserved by the river into which she is said to have been changed, and is still recognized in the corrupted forms Kus’a and Kus’i. The river flows from the heights of the Himálaya towards the Ganges, bounding on the east the country of Videha (Behar). The name is no doubt half hidden in the Cosoagus of Pliny and the Kossounos of Arrian. But each author has fallen into the same error in his enumeration of these rivers (Condochatem, Erannoboam, Cosoagum, Sonum). The Erannoboas, (Hiranyaváha) and the Sone are not different streams, but well-known names of the same river. Moreover the order is disturbed, in which on the right and left they fall into the Ganges. To be consistent with geography it should be written: Erannoboam sive Sonum, Condochatem (Gandakí), Cosoagum.’ SCHLEGEL. ↩︎
78:1 ‘Daksha was one of the ancient Progenitors or Prajápatis created by Brahmá. The sacrifice which is here spoken of and in which S’ankar or S’iva (called also here Rudra and Bhava) smote the Gods because he had not been invited to share the sacred oblations with them, seems to refer to the origin of the worship of S’iva, to its increase and to the struggle it maintained with other older forms of worship.’ GORRESIO. ↩︎
78:2 Sítá means a furrow.
‘Great Erectheus swayed,
That owed his nurture to the blue-eyed maid,
But from the teeming furrow took his birth,
The mighty offspring of the foodful earth.’
Iliad, Book II. ↩︎
78:3 ‘The whole story of Sítá, as will be seen in the course of the poem has a great analogy with the ancient myth of Proserpine.’ GORRESIO. ↩︎
81:1 A different lady from the Goddess of the Jumna who bears the same name. ↩︎