Canto XLIV. The Descent Of Ganga.

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. The year had past. Then Uma's lord,(198) King of creation, world adored, Thus spoke to great Bhagirath: "I, Well pleased thy wish will gratify, And on my head her waves shall 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. Himalaya'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 Siva'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 the river on his head, And kept her wandering, where, Dense as Himalaya's woods, were spread The tangles of his hair. 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 Siva, for the hermit's sake, Bade her long wanderings end, And sinking into Vindu's lake Her weary waves descend. From Ganga, by the God set free, Seven noble rivers came; Hladini, Pavani, and she Called Nalini by name: These rolled their lucid waves along And sought the eastern side. Suchakshu, Sita fair and strong, And Sindhu's mighty tide—(199) These to the region of the west With joyful waters sped: The seventh, the brightest and the best, Flowed where Bhagirath led. On Siva'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 fish and dolphins through the stream Fallen and falling dashed. Then bards who chant celestial lays And nymphs of heavenly birth Flocked round upon that flood to gaze That streamed from sky to 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 Siva'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 Siva'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, Bhagirath, very glorious rode, And after him fair Ganga flowed. God, sage, and bard, the chief in place Of spirits and the Naga race, Nymph, giant, fiend, in long array Sped where Bhagirath led the way; And all the hosts the flood that swim Followed the stream that followed him. Where'er the great Bhagirath led, There ever glorious Ganga fled, The best of floods, the rivers' queen, Whose waters wash the wicked clean.

It chanced that Jahnu, great and good, Engaged with holy offerings 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 Ganga through the world is styled Both Jahnavi 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 Ganga 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, 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 Bhagirath said Brahma, 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. Ganga thine eldest child shall be, Called from thy name Bhagirathi; Named also—for her waters fell From heaven and flow through earth and hell— Tripathaga, 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 Ansuman, 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 Ganga 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 His foemens' might, Lord Brahma 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 Bhagirath's gentle reign. Rich, prosperous, and blest were they, And grief and sickness fled away. Thus, Rama, I at length have told How Ganga 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"



Canto XLV. The Quest Of The Amrit.

High and more high their wonder rose As the strange story reached its close, And thus, with Lakshman, Rama, best Of Raghu's sons, the saint addressed: "Most wondrous is the tale which thou Hast told of heavenly Ganga, 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 Kusik'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 saints they met. On Ganga's shore they lighted down, And saw Visala's lovely town. Thither, the princes by his side, The best of holy hermits hied. It was a town exceeding fair That might with heaven itself compare. Then, suppliant palm to palm applied, Famed Rama 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 Visala'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(200) had fled, Strong were the sons of Diti(201) bred; And Aditi's brave children too Were very mighty, good, and true. The rival brothers fierce and bold Were sons of Kasyap 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(202) The life-bestowing drink to free. This planned, they seized the Serpent King, Vasuki, 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 Sankar,(203) 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 first fruits 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,(204) The poisoned flood at once he quaffed As 'twere the Amrit's heavenly draught. Then from the Gods departing went Siva, 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(205) 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.(206) 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 Sura,(207) 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 Uchchaihsravas,(208) the generous steed, And Kaustubha, of gems the gem,(209) 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.(210) 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(211) Indra gained His empire, and in glory reigned O'er the three worlds with bard and sage Rejoicing in his heritage.



Canto XLVI. Diti's Hope.

But Diti, when her sons were slain, Wild with a childless mother's pain, To Kasyap spake, Maricha's son, Her husband: "O thou glorious one! 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 Kasyap 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 Kasyap 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."(212)



Canto XLVII. Sumati.

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:(213) "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 Brahma's sphere assign, Let one, O Indra, watch o'er thine; And ranging through the lower air, The third the name of Vayu(214) 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(215) dwelt of old, This is the blessed region where His votaress mother claimed his care. Here gentle Alambusha bare To old Ikshvaku, king and sage, Visala, glory of his age, By whom, a monarch void of guilt, Was this fair town Visala built. His son was Hemachandra, still Renowned for might and warlike skill. From him the great Suchandra came; His son, Dhumrasva, dear to fame. Next followed royal Srinjay; then Famed Sahadeva, lord of men. Next came Kusasva, good and mild, Whose son was Somadatta styled, And Sumati, his heir, the peer Of Gods above, now governs here. And ever through Ikshvaku's grace, Visala'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 Mithila to see."

Then Sumati, the king, aware Of Visvamitra's advent there, Came quickly forth with honour 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."



Canto XLVIII. Indra And Ahalya

When mutual courtesies had past, Visala'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 Asvins(216) show, Like children of the deathless Powers, Come freely to these shades of ours,(217)— 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 Mithila 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 Rama 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 Rama, 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 Ahalya 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 Ahalya 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, 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 Rama, Dasaratha'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."(218)

Thus to his guilty wife he said, Then far the holy Gautam fled, And on Himalaya's lovely heights Spent the long years in sternest rites."



Canto XLIX. Ahalya Freed.

Then Rama, 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 Brahma 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 Rama 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 Rama lodged beneath that shade, And hasting there his homage paid. He took Ahalya to his side, From sin and folly purified, And let his new-found consort bear In his austerities a share.

Then Rama, pride of Raghu's race, Welcomed by Gautam, face to face, Who every highest honour showed, To Mithila pursued his road.



Canto L. Janak.

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 Rama cried:

"The high-souled king no toil has spared, But nobly for his rite prepared, How many thousand Brahmans 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 Brahman, let us find a place Where we may stay and rest a space." The hermit did as Rama prayed, And in a spot his lodging made, Far from the crowd, sequestered, clear, With copious water flowing near.

Then Janak, best of kings, aware Of Visvamitra lodging there, With Satananda 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 Brahman, here with all These hermits to the festival. Twelve days, O Brahman Sage, remain— For so the learned priests ordain— And then, O heir of Kusik'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 Asvins 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."(219)

Thus spoke the monarch, lofty-souled, The saint, of heart unfathomed, told How, sons of Dasaratha, 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 Visala's towers appeared: Ahalya 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 Visvamitra spoke the whole To royal Janak, great of soul, And when this wondrous tale was o'er, The glorious hermit said no more.



Canto LI. Visvamitra.

Wise Visvamitra's tale was done: Then sainted Gautam's eldest son, Great Satananda, far-renowned, Whom long austerities had crowned With glory—as the news he heard The down upon his body stirred,— Filled full of wonder at the sight Of Rama, felt supreme delight. When Satananda 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 Rama 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 Rama'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? And, son of Kusik, let me know, Did my great-minded father show Honour to Rama, and regard, Before he journeyed hitherward?" The hermit with attentive ear Marked all the questions of 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 Renuka and Bhrigu's child, The saint and dame were reconciled."

When the great sage had thus replied, To Rama Satananda 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 Brahman 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, Rama, 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 Kusa, king of earth. His son was Kusanabha, strong, Friend of the right, the foe of wrong. Gadhi, whose fame no time shall dim, Heir of his throne was born to him, And Visvamitra, Gadhi'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 Vasishtha'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 Brahmans 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 Brahma'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 Balakhilyas(220) went and came, Now breathed the prayer, now fed the flame: These, and ascetic bands beside, The sweet retirement beautified. Such was Vasishtha's blest retreat, Like Brahma's own celestial seat, Which gladdened Visvamitra's eyes, Peerless for warlike enterprise.



Canto LII. Vasishtha's Feast.

Right glad was Visvamitra 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 Visvamitra, noblest king, Received Vasishtha's welcoming, Turned to his host, and prayed him tell That he and all with him were well. Vasishtha 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 Brahma, 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.

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 Visvamitra, 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 Visvamitra 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 Vasishtha stayed, And still to share his banquet prayed. The will of Gadhi'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 cate, each goodly dish, Of six-fold taste(221) 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."



Canto LIII. Visvamitra's Request.

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, An 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 Vasishtha's feast. Then Visvamitra, royal sage, Surrounded by his vassalage, Prince, peer, and counsellor, and all From highest lord to lowest thrall, Thus feasted, to Vasishtha cried With joy, supremely gratified: "Rich 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.(222) To me her rightful lord resign This Dapple-skin thou callest thine."

The great Vasishtha, thus addressed, Arch-hermit of the holy breast, To Visvamitra 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. The feeding of the sacred flame,(223) The dole which living creatures claim.(224) The mighty sacrifice by fire, Each formula the rites require,(225) 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 Brahmans, shall be thine; But let thy Dapple-skin be mine."

The great Vasishtha, 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."



Canto LIV. The Battle.

As Saint Vasishtha 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. Vasishtha, 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 Vasishtha 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 Brahma," 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 Brahman 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." 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 Brahmans 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,(226) burning for the strife, King Visvamitra'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 Sakas, fierce and dire. And all the ground was overspread With Yavans and with Sakas 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 'against 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 Kambojas,(227) Barbars,(228) all, With Yavans, troubled, flee and fall.



Canto LV. The Hermitage Burnt.

So o'er the field that host lay strown, By Visvamitra's darts o'erthrown. Then thus Vasishtha charged the cow: "Create with all thy vigour now."

Forth sprang Kambojas, 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 Sakas from her hinder parts. And every pore upon her fell, And every hair-producing cell, With Mlechchhas(229) and Kiratas(230) teemed, And forth with them Haritas streamed. And Visvamitra'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: 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 Himalaya's side he fled, Which bards and Nagas visited, And, Mahadeva's(231) grace to earn, He gave his life to penance stern. A lengthened season thus passed by, When Siva's self, the Lord most High, Whose banner shows the pictured bull,(232) Appeared, the God most bountiful:

"Why fervent thus in toil and pain? What 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 Mahadeva 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 Vasishtha 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 Visvamitra cast, To every side they turned and fled In hundreds forth disquieted. Vasishtha'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 Vasishtha's holy shade A solitary wild was made, Silent awhile, for not a sound Disturbed the hush that was around.

Vasishtha then, with eager cry, Called, "Fear not, friends, nor seek to fly. This son of Gadhi 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."



Canto LVI. Visvamitra's Vow.

But Visvamitra, at the threat Of that illustrious anchoret, Cried, as he launched with ready hand A fiery weapon, "Stand, O Stand!" Vasishtha, wild with rage and hate, Raising, as 'twere the Rod of Fate, His mighty Brahman wand on high, To Visvamitra made reply: "Nay, stand, O Warrior thou, and show What soldier can, 'gainst Brahman foe. O Gadhi's son, thy days are told; Thy pride is tamed, thy dart is cold. How shall a warrior's puissance dare With Brahman's awful strength compare? To-day, base Warrior, shall thou feel That God-sent might is more than steel." He raised his Brahman staff, nor missed The fiery dart that near him hissed: And quenched the fearful weapon fell, As flame beneath the billow's swell.

Then Gadhi'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 Brahma's noose, And that which waits for Varun's use: The dart he loves who wields the bow Pinaka, 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: 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:(233) 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 Gadhi's son, when these had failed, With Brahma's dart his foe assailed. The Gods, with Indra at their head, And Nagas, 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 Brahman wand, empowered By lore divine that dart devoured. Nor could the triple world withdraw Rapt gazes from that sight of awe; For as he swallowed down the dart Of Brahma, 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 Yama'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 Visvamitra, 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 Brahman's power is truly might. This Brahman 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 Brahmanhood will strive to win."



Canto LVII. Trisanku.

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, Maharath, chariot-borne in fight, And Dridhanetra strong of sight.

A thousand years had passed away, When Brahma, Sire whom all obey, Addressed in pleasant words like these Him rich in long austerities: "Thou by the penance, Kusik'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 Visvamitra 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. Then reigned a monarch, true of soul, Who kept each sense in firm control; Of old Ikshvaku's line he came, That glories in Trisanku's(234) 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 Vasishtha's aid he sought, And told him of his secret thought. But wise Vasishtha showed the hope Was far beyond the monarch's scope. Trisanku then, his suit denied, Far to the southern region hied, To beg Vasishtha's sons to aid The mighty plan his soul had made. There King Trisanku, far renowned, Vasishtha's hundred children found, Each on his fervent vows intent, For mind and fame preeminent. 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 Vasishtha 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 Brahmans, 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 my guide, none else I see Can give what he refuses me. Ikshvaku's children still depend Upon their guide most reverend; And you, as nearest in degree To him, my deities shall be!"



Canto LVIII. Trisanku Cursed.

Trisanku'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?(235) Ikshvaku'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!"

Vasishtha's children heard, and guessed His evil purpose scarce expressed, And cried, while rage their bosoms burned, "Be to a vile Chandala(236) turned!" This said, with lofty thoughts inspired, Each to his own retreat retired.

That night Trisanku 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 Visvamitra's side he sought, Whose treasures were by penance bought.

The hermit with his tender eyes Looked on Trisanku'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, Ayodhya's mighty Sovereign, whom A curse has plagued with outcast's doom?" In vile Chandala(237) shape, the king Heard Visvamitra'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, Man'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."



Canto LIX. The Sons Of Vasishtha.

Then Kusik's son, by pity warmed, Spoke sweetly to the king transformed: "Hail! glory of Ikshvaku'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 Kusik'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 Vasishtha'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(238) refused alone. And now, O Chief of hermits, hear What answer, chilling us with fear, Vasishtha'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 Brahmans, eat his food, And think to win beatitude, By Visvamitra 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 Visvamitra spoke—and ceased.



Canto LX. Trisanku's Ascension.

So with ascetic might, in ire, He smote the children and the sire. Then Visvamitra, far-renowned, Addressed the saints who gathered round: "See by my side Trisanku stand, Ikshvaku'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 Visvamitra, wise and great, Spoke each to each in brief debate: "The breast of Kusik'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 Ikshvaku'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 Visvamitra 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 Visvamitra 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 Ikshvaku's son: "Behold my power, by penance won: Now by the might my merits lend, Ikshvaku'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, Trisanku, 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, Trisanku fell from fancied rest, And screaming in his swift descent, "O, save me, Hermit!" down he went. And Visvamitra heard his cry, And marked him falling from the sky, And giving all his passion sway, Cried out in fury, "Stay, O stay!" 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 Visvamitra 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 Kusik, 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 Trisanku 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 Trisanku shine; And all thy stars shall ever fling Their rays attendant on the king."(239)

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.



Canto LXI. Sunahsepha.

Then Visvamitra, 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:(240) To other regions let us speed, And ply our tasks from trouble freed. Now turn we to the distant west. To Pushkar's(241) 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 Ayodhya's throne, By Ambarisha'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 Brahman sped To Ambarisha's side, and said: "Gone is the steed, O King, and this Is due to thee, in care remiss. 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 Ikshvaku'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 Brahman 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 The 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 rocked upon her breast: My youngest I will ne'er forsake."

As thus the sire and mother spake, Young Sunahsepha, 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.(242)



Canto LXII. Ambarisha's Sacrifice.

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 Sunahsepha 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 have 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 Visvamitra, glorious saint, Had heard the boy's heart-rending plaint. He soothed his grief, his tears he dried, 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 Vasishtha'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 Ambarisha 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 Sunahsepha 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 Visvamitra evermore. Pursued his task on Pushkar's shore Until a thousand years had past In fierce austerity and fast.



Canto LXIII. Menaka.

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 after toil and ended vow. Then Brahma 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 Visvamitra, more intent, His mind to sterner penance bent. So many a season rolled away, When Menaka, fair nymph, one day Came down from Paradise to lave Her perfect limbs in Pushkar's wave, The glorious son of Kusik saw That peerless shape without a flaw Flash through the flood's translucent shroud Like lightning gleaming through a cloud. He saw her in that lone retreat, Most beautiful from head to feet, And by Kandarpa's(243) 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 the 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 Visvamitra woke to shame, And, fraught with anguish, memory came For quick he knew, with anger fired, That all the Immortals had conspired 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 Kausiki(244), 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 Kusik'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 preeminence." He to the General Sire replied, Not sad, nor wholly satisfied: "When thou, O Brahma, shalt declare The title, great beyond compare, Of Brahman 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 Brahma 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 Sakra, 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 Rambha, fair of form, And spoke a speech for woe and weal, The saint to mar, the God to heal.



Canto LXIV. Rambha.

"A great emprise, O lovely maid, To save the Gods, awaits thine aid: To bind the son of Kusik sure, And take his soul with love's sweet lure." Thus order'd 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 Rambha, drive thy fears away, And as I bid do thou obey. In Koil'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. Do thou thy beauteous splendour arm With every grace and winsome charm, And from his awful rites seduce This Kusik'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 perceived the wile. And straight he knew the Thousand-eyed A plot against his peace had tried. Then Kusik'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 Brahman 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 Brahman's rank be bought and won. For countless years, 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."



Canto LXV. Visvamitra's Triumph

Then from Himalaya'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 Brahman guise, Asked him for food with hungry eyes. The mighty saint, with steadfast soul, To the false Brahman 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 Naga 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."

Then all the Blest, by Brahma led, Approached the saint and sweetly said: "Hail, Brahman Saint! for such thy place: Thy vows austere have won our grace. A Brahman's rank thy penance stern And ceaseless labour richly earn. I with the Gods of Storm decree Long life, O Brahman 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 Brahman 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 Vasishtha, who excels In Warriors' art and mystic spells, In love of God without a peer, Confirm the boon you promise here."

With Brahma's son Vasishtha, 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 Brahmanhood." Thus spake the sage. The Gods, content, Back to their heavenly mansions went. And Visvamitra, pious-souled, Among the Brahman saints enrolled, On reverend Vasishtha 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 Brahmans 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 Brahman, versed in ancient lore, Thus closed his tale, and said no more, To Satananda Kusik'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, Rama 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 Visvamitra, honoured so, By those high-minded, rose to go, And with the princes took his way To seek the lodging where they lay.



Canto LXVI. Janak's Speech.

With cloudless lustre rose the sun; The king, his morning worship done, Ordered his 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 Dasaratha'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, Devarat 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 At Daksha's(245) 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 Sita from her secret birth.(246) 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.(247) To Mithila the suitors pressed Their power and might to manifest. To all who came with hearts aglow I offered Siva'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 Mithila 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 Rama's hand can string The bow that baffled lord and king, To him I give, as I have sworn, My Sita, not of woman born."



Canto LXVII. The Breaking Of The Bow.

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 Brahman 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. 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: "Rama, dear son, the bow behold." Then Rama 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 Rama stands alone: His peerless might he well has shown. A marvel has the hero wrought Beyond belief, surpassing thought. My child, to royal Rama 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 Sita shall be Rama's wife. If thou, O Brahman, leave concede, My counsellors, with eager speed, Borne in their flying cars, to fair Ayodhya'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 Ayodhya sent His ministers: and forth they went.



Canto LXVIII. The Envoys' Speech.

Three nights upon the road they passed To rest the steeds that bore them fast, And reached Ayodhya's town at last. Then straight at Dasaratha'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 Kusik'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 Visvamitra 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 Rama broke in two The gem of bows, of monstrous size, That came a treasure from the skies. Ordained the prize of hero's might, Sita 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 Visvamitra's high consent." Such words with friendship eloquent Spoke Janak, fair Videha's king, By Satananda's counselling."

The envoys thus the king addressed, And mighty joy his heart possessed. To Vamadeva quick he cried, Vasishtha, and his lords beside: "Lakshman, and he, my princely boy Who fills Kausalya's soul with joy, By Visvamitra guarded well Among the good Videhans dwell. 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.



Canto LXIX. Dasaratha's Visit.

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. Vasishtha, Vamadeva sage, And Markandeya's reverend age, Javali, Kasyap's godlike seed, And wise Katyayana, 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 Vasishtha, 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 Rama see."

Then Dasaratha, 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.

Rama and Lakshman thither sped, By sainted Visvamitra 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.



Canto LXX. The Maidens Sought.

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 Satananda so: "My brother, lord of glorious fame, My younger, Kusadhwaj by name, Whose virtuous life has won renown, Has settled in a lovely town, Sankasya, decked with grace divine, Whose glories bright as Pushpak's shine, While Ikshumati 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, 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. Sankasya'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 Mithila he went. He paid to Janak reverence due, And holy Satananda 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 Sudaman, best Of councillors, their high behest: "Go, noble councillor," they cried, "And hither to our presence guide Ikshvaku's son, Ayodhya's lord, Invincible by foeman's sword, With both his sons, each holy seer, And every minister and peer." Sudaman 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 Ayodhya sways, My lord, whom Mithila 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 Ikshvaku's royal line. In every need, whate'er befall, The saint Vasishtha speaks for all. If Visvamitra 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 Vasishtha, speaker skilled. And to Videha's lord began In flowing words that holy man: "From viewless Nature Brahma rose, No change, no end, no waste he knows. A son had he Marichi styled, And Kasyap was Marichi's child. From him Vivasvat sprang: from him Manu whose fame shall ne'er be dim. Manu, who life to mortals gave, Begot Ikshvaku good and brave. First of Ayodhya'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 Vana, lord of might; His Anaranya, strong to fight. His son was Prithu, glorious name; From him the good Trisanku came. He left a son renowned afar, Known by the name of Dhundhumar. His son, who drove the mighty car, Was Yuvanasva, feared in war. He passed away. Him followed then His son Mandhata, 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, Talajanghas styled, And Sasivindus, 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 Himalaya 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 Himalaya'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 Kalindi,(248) 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 To render her conception vain, And fruit unripened to destroy, Sagar(249) she called her darling boy. To Sagar Asamanj was heir: Bright Ansuman his consort bare. Ansuman's son, Dilipa famed, Begot a son Bhagirath named. From him the great Kakutstha rose: From him came Raghu, feared by foes, Of him sprang Purushadak bold, Fierce hero of gigantic mould: Kalmashapada's name he bore, Because his feet were spotted o'er.(250) From him came Sankan, and from him Sudarsan, fair in face and limb. From beautiful Sudarsan came Prince Agnivarna, bright as flame. His son was Sighraga, for speed Unmatched; and Maru was his seed. Prasusruka was Maru's child; His son was Ambarisha styled. Nahush was Ambarisha's heir, The mighty lord of regions fair: Nahush begot Yayati: he, Nabhag of happy destiny. Son of Nabhag was Aja: his, The glorious Dasaratha is, Whose noble children boast to be Rama and Lakshman, whom we see. Thus do those kings of purest race Their lineage from Ikshvaku trace: Their hero lives the right maintained, Their lips with falsehood ne'er were stained. In Rama'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."



Canto LXXI. Janak's Pedigree.

Then to the saint supremely wise King Janak spoke in suppliant guise: "Deign, Hermit, with attentive ear, Mv race's origin to hear. When kings a daughter's hand bestow, 'Tis right their line and fame to show. There was a king whose deeds and worth Spread wide his name through heaven and earth, Nimi, most virtuous e'en from youth, The best of all who love the truth. His son and heir was Mithi, and His Janak, first who ruled this land. He left a son Udavasu, Blest with all virtues, good and true. His son was Nandivardhan, dear For pious heart and worth sincere. His son Suketu, hero brave, To Devarat, existence gave. King Devarat, a royal sage, For virtue, glory of the age, Begot Vrihadratha; and he Begot, his worthy heir to be, The splendid hero Mahabir Who long in glory governed here. His son was Sudhriti, a youth Firm in his purpose, brave in sooth, His son was Dhristaketu, blest With pious will and holy breast. The fame of royal saint he won: Haryasva was his princely son. Haryasva's son was Maru, who Begot Pratindhak, wise and true. Next Kirtiratha held the throne, His son, for gentle virtues known. Then followed Devamidha, then Vibudh, Mahandhrak, kings of men. Mahandhrak's son, of boundless might, Was Kirtirat, who loved the right. He passed away, a sainted king, And Maharoma following To Swarnaroma left the state. Then Hrasvaroma, good and great, Succeeded, and to him a pair Of sons his royal consort bare, Elder of these I boast to be: Brave Kusadhwaj is next to me.(251) Me then, the elder of the twain, My sire anointed here to reign. He bade me tend my brother well, Then to the forest went to dwell. He sought the heavens, and I sustained The burden as by law ordained, And noble Kusadhwaj, the peer Of Gods, I ever held most dear. Then came Sankasya's mighty lord, Sudhanva, threatening siege and sword, And bade me swift on him bestow Siva's incomparable bow, And Sita of the lotus eyes: But I refused each peerless prize. Then, host to host, we met the foes, And fierce the din of battle rose, Sudhanva, foremost of his band, Fell smitten by my single hand. When thus Sankasya's lord was slain, I sanctified, as laws ordain, My brother in his stead to reign, Thus are we brothers, Saint most high The younger he, the elder I. Now, mighty Sage, my spirit joys To give these maidens to the boys. Let Sita be to Rama tied. And Urmila be Lakshman's bride. First give, O King, the gift of cows, As dowry of each royal spouse, Due offerings to the spirits pay, And solemnize the wedding-day. The moon tonight, O royal Sage, In Magha's(252) House takes harbourage; On the third night his rays benign In second Phalguni(253) will shine: Be that the day, with prosperous fate, The nuptial rites to celebrate."