The Sanskrit Epics

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by Delphi Classics


  Call those who rule Suráshṭra’s90 land,

  Suvíra’s91 realm and Sindhu’s strand,

  And all the kings of earth beside

  In friendship’s bonds with us allied:

  Invite them all to hasten in

  With retinue and kith and kin.”

  Vaśishṭha’s speech without delay

  Sumantra bent him to obey.

  And sent his trusty envoys forth

  Eastward and westward, south and north.

  Obedient to the saint’s request

  Himself he hurried forth, and pressed

  Each nobler chief and lord and king

  To hasten to the gathering.

  Before the saint Vaśishṭha stood

  All those who wrought with stone and wood,

  And showed the work which every one

  In furtherance of the rite had done,

  Rejoiced their ready zeal to see,

  Thus to the craftsmen all said he:

  “I charge ye, masters, see to this,

  That there be nothing done amiss,

  And this, I pray, in mind be borne,

  That not one gift ye give in scorn:

  Whenever scorn a gift attends

  Great sin is his who thus offends.”

  And now some days and nights had past,

  And kings began to gather fast,

  And precious gems in liberal store

  As gifts to Daśaratha bore.

  Then joy thrilled through Vaśishṭha’s breast

  As thus the monarch he addressed:

  “Obedient to thy high decree

  The kings, my lord, are come to thee.

  And it has been my care to greet

  And honour all with reverence meet.

  Thy servants’ task is ended quite,

  And all is ready for the rite.

  Come forth then to the sacred ground

  Where all in order will be found.”

  Then Rishyaśring confirmed the tale:

  Nor did their words to move him fail.

  The stars propitious influence lent

  When forth the world’s great ruler went.

  Then by the sage Vaśishṭha led

  The priest begun to speed

  Those glorious rites wherein is shed

  The lifeblood of the steed.

  Canto XIII. The Sacrifice Finished.

  THE CIRCLING YEAR had filled its course,

  And back was brought the wandering horse:

  Then upon Sarjú’s northern strand

  Began the rite the king had planned.

  With Rishyaśring the forms to guide,

  The Bráhmans to their task applied,

  At that great offering of the steed

  Their lofty-minded king decreed.

  The priests, who all the Scripture knew,

  Performed their part in order due,

  And circled round in solemn train

  As precepts of the law ordain.

  Pravargya rites92 were duly sped:

  For Upasads93 the flames were fed.

  Then from the plant94 the juice was squeezed,

  And those high saints with minds well pleased

  Performed the mystic rites begun

  With bathing ere the rise of sun

  They gave the portion Indra’s claim,

  And hymned the King whom none can blame.

  The mid-day bathing followed next,

  Observed as bids the holy text.

  Then the good priests with utmost care,

  In form that Scripture’s rules declare,

  For the third time pure water shed

  On high souled Daśaratha’s head.

  Then Rishyaśring and all the rest

  To Indra and the Gods addressed

  Their sweet-toned hymn of praise and prayer,

  And called them in the rite to share.

  With sweetest song and hymn entoned

  They gave the Gods in heaven enthroned,

  As duty bids, the gifts they claim,

  The holy oil that feeds the flame.

  And many an offering there was paid,

  And not one slip in all was made.

  For with most careful heed they saw

  That all was done by Veda law.

  None, all those days, was seen oppressed

  By hunger or by toil distressed.

  Why speak of human kind? No beast

  Was there that lacked an ample feast.

  For there was store for all who came,

  For orphan child and lonely dame;

  The old and young were well supplied,

  The poor and hungry satisfied.

  Throughout the day ascetics fed,

  And those who roam to beg their bread:

  While all around the cry was still,

  “Give forth, give forth,” and “Eat your fill.”

  “Give forth with liberal hand the meal,

  And various robes in largess deal.”

  Urged by these cries on every side

  Unweariedly their task they plied:

  And heaps of food like hills in size

  In boundless plenty met the eyes:

  And lakes of sauce, each day renewed,

  Refreshed the weary multitude.

  And strangers there from distant lands,

  And women folk in crowded bands

  The best of food and drink obtained

  At the great rite the king ordained.

  Apart from all, the Bráhmans there,

  Thousands on thousands, took their share

  Of various dainties sweet to taste,

  On plates of gold and silver placed,

  All ready set, as, when they willed,

  The twice-born men their places filled.

  And servants in fair garments dressed

  Waited upon each Bráhman guest.

  Of cheerful mind and mien were they,

  With gold and jewelled earrings gay.

  The best of Bráhmans praised the fare

  Of countless sorts, of flavour rare:

  And thus to Raghu’s son they cried:

  “We bless thee, and are satisfied.”

  Between the rites some Bráhmans spent

  The time in learned argument,

  With ready flow of speech, sedate,

  And keen to vanquish in debate.95

  There day by day the holy train

  Performed all rites as rules ordain.

  No priest in all that host was found

  But kept the vows that held him bound:

  None, but the holy Vedas knew,

  And all their six-fold science96 too.

  No Bráhman there was found unfit

  To speak with eloquence and wit.

  And now the appointed time came near

  The sacrificial posts to rear.

  They brought them, and prepared to fix

  Of Bel97 and Khádir98 six and six;

  Six, made of the Paláśa99 tree,

  Of Fig-wood one, apart to be:

  Of Sleshmát100 and of Devadár101

  One column each, the mightiest far:

  So thick the two, the arms of man

  Their ample girth would fail to span.

  All these with utmost care were wrought

  By hand of priests in Scripture taught,

  And all with gold were gilded bright

  To add new splendour to the rite:

  Twenty-and-one those stakes in all,

  Each one-and-twenty cubits tall:

  And one-and-twenty ribbons there

  Hung on the pillars, bright and fair.

  Firm in the earth they stood at last,

  Where cunning craftsmen fixed them fast;

  And there unshaken each remained,

  Octagonal and smoothly planed.

  Then ribbons over all were hung,

  And flowers and scent around them flung.

  Thus decked they cast a glory forth

  Like the great saints who
star the north.102

  The sacrificial altar then

  Was raised by skilful twice-born men,

  In shape and figure to behold

  An eagle with his wings of gold,

  With twice nine pits and formed three-fold

  Each for some special God, beside

  The pillars were the victims tied;

  The birds that roam the wood, the air,

  The water, and the land were there,

  And snakes and things of reptile birth,

  And healing herbs that spring from earth:

  As texts prescribe, in Scripture found,

  Three hundred victims there were bound.

  The steed devoted to the host

  Of Gods, the gem they honour most,

  Was duly sprinkled. Then the Queen

  Kauśalyá, with delighted mien,

  With reverent steps around him paced,

  And with sweet wreaths the victim graced;

  Then with three swords in order due

  She smote the steed with joy, and slew.

  That night the queen, a son to gain,

  With calm and steady heart was fain

  By the dead charger’s side to stay

  From evening till the break of day.

  Then came three priests, their care to lead

  The other queens to touch the steed,

  Upon Kauśalyá to attend,

  Their company and aid to lend.

  As by the horse she still reclined,

  With happy mien and cheerful mind,

  With Rishyaśring the twice-born came

  And praised and blessed the royal dame.

  The priest who well his duty knew,

  And every sense could well subdue,

  From out the bony chambers freed

  And boiled the marrow of the steed.

  Above the steam the monarch bent,

  And, as he smelt the fragrant scent,

  In time and order drove afar

  All error that his hopes could mar.

  Then sixteen priests together came

  And cast into the sacred flame

  The severed members of the horse,

  Made ready all in ordered course.

  On piles of holy Fig-tree raised

  The meaner victims’ bodies blazed:

  The steed, of all the creatures slain,

  Alone required a pile of cane.

  Three days, as is by law decreed,

  Lasted that Offering of the Steed.

  The Chatushṭom began the rite,

  And when the sun renewed his light,

  The Ukthya followed: after came

  The Atirátra’s holy flame.

  These were the rites, and many more

  Arranged by light of holy lore,

  The Aptoryám of mighty power,

  And, each performed in proper hour,

  The Abhijit and Viśvajit

  With every form and service fit;

  And with the sacrifice at night

  The Jyotishṭom and Áyus rite.103

  The task was done, as laws prescribe:

  The monarch, glory of his tribe,

  Bestowed the land in liberal grants

  Upon the sacred ministrants.

  He gave the region of the east,

  His conquest, to the Hotri priest.

  The west, the celebrant obtained:

  The south, the priest presiding gained:

  The northern region was the share

  Of him who chanted forth the prayer,104

  Thus did each priest obtain his meed

  At the great Slaughter of the Steed,

  Ordained, the best of all to be,

  By self-existent deity.

  Ikshváku’s son with joyful mind

  This noble fee to each assigned,

  But all the priests with one accord

  Addressed that unpolluted lord:

  “Tis thine alone to keep the whole

  Of this broad earth in firm control.

  No gift of lands from thee we seek:

  To guard these realms our hands were weak.

  On sacred lore our days are spent:

  Let other gifts our wants content.”

  The chief of old Ikshváku’s line

  Gave them ten hundred thousand kine,

  A hundred millions of fine gold,

  The same in silver four times told.

  But every priest in presence there

  With one accord resigned his share.

  To Saint Vaśishṭha, high of soul,

  And Rishyaśring they gave the whole.

  That largess pleased those Bráhmans well,

  Who bade the prince his wishes tell.

  Then Daśaratha, mighty king,

  Made answer thus to Rishyaśring:

  “O holy Hermit, of thy grace,

  Vouchsafe the increase of my race.”

  He spoke; nor was his prayer denied:

  The best of Bráhmans thus replied:

  “Four sons, O Monarch, shall be thine,

  Upholders of thy royal line.”

  Canto XIV. Rávan Doomed.

  THE SAINT, WELL read in holy lore,

  Pondered awhile his answer o’er,

  And thus again addressed the king,

  His wandering thoughts regathering:

  “Another rite will I begin

  Which shall the sons thou cravest win,

  Where all things shall be duly sped

  And first Atharva texts be read.”

  Then by Vibháṇdak’s gentle son

  Was that high sacrifice begun,

  The king’s advantage seeking still

  And zealous to perform his will.

  Now all the Gods had gathered there,

  Each one for his allotted share:

  Brahmá, the ruler of the sky,

  Stháṇu, Náráyaṇ, Lord most high,

  And holy Indra men might view

  With Maruts105 for his retinue;

  The heavenly chorister, and saint,

  And spirit pure from earthly taint,

  With one accord had sought the place

  The high-souled monarch’s rite to grace.

  Then to the Gods who came to take

  Their proper share the hermit spake:

  “For you has Daśaratha slain

  The votive steed, a son to gain;

  Stern penance-rites the king has tried,

  And in firm faith on you relied,

  And now with undiminished care

  A second rite would fain prepare.

  But, O ye Gods, consent to grant

  The longing of your supplicant.

  For him beseeching hands I lift,

  And pray you all to grant the gift,

  That four fair sons of high renown

  The offerings of the king may crown.”

  They to the hermit’s son replied:

  “His longing shall be gratified.

  For, Bráhman, in most high degree

  We love the king and honour thee.”

  These words the Gods in answer said,

  And vanished thence by Indra led.

  Thus to the Lord, the worlds who made,

  The Immortals all assembled prayed:

  “O Brahmá, mighty by thy grace,

  Rávaṇ, who rules the giant race,

  Torments us in his senseless pride,

  And penance-loving saints beside.

  For thou well pleased in days of old

  Gavest the boon that makes him bold,

  That God nor demon e’er should kill

  His charmed life, for so thy will.

  We, honouring that high behest,

  Bear all his rage though sore distressed.

  That lord of giants fierce and fell

  Scourges the earth and heaven and hell.

  Mad with thy boon, his impious rage

  Smites saint and bard and God and sage.

  The sun himself withholds his glow,

  The
wind in fear forbears to blow;

  The fire restrains his wonted heat

  Where stand the dreaded Rávaṇ’s feet,

  And, necklaced with the wandering wave,

  The sea before him fears to rave.

  Kuvera’s self in sad defeat

  Is driven from his blissful seat.

  We see, we feel the giant’s might,

  And woe comes o’er us and affright.

  To thee, O Lord, thy suppliants pray

  To find some cure this plague to stay.”

  Thus by the gathered Gods addressed

  He pondered in his secret breast,

  And said: “One only way I find

  To slay this fiend of evil mind.

  He prayed me once his life to guard

  From demon, God, and heavenly bard,

  And spirits of the earth and air,

  And I consenting heard his prayer.

  But the proud giant in his scorn

  Recked not of man of woman born.

  None else may take his life away,

  But only man the fiend may slay.”

  The Gods, with Indra at their head,

  Rejoiced to hear the words he said.

  Then crowned with glory like a flame,

  Lord Vishṇu to the council came;

  His hands shell, mace, and discus bore,

  And saffron were the robes he wore.

  Riding his eagle through the crowd,

  As the sun rides upon a cloud,

  With bracelets of fine gold, he came

  Loud welcomed by the Gods’ acclaim.

  His praise they sang with one consent,

  And cried, in lowly reverence bent:

  “O Lord whose hand fierce Madhu106 slew,

  Be thou our refuge, firm and true;

  Friend of the suffering worlds art thou,

  We pray thee help thy suppliants now.”

  Then Vishṇu spake: “Ye Gods, declare,

  What may I do to grant your prayer?”

  “King Daśaratha,” thus cried they,

  “Fervent in penance many a day,

  The sacrificial steed has slain,

  Longing for sons, but all in vain.

  Now, at the cry of us forlorn,

  Incarnate as his seed be born.

  Three queens has he: each lovely dame

  Like Beauty, Modesty, or Fame.

  Divide thyself in four, and be

  His offspring by these noble three.

  Man’s nature take, and slay in fight

  Rávaṇ who laughs at heavenly might:

  This common scourge, this rankling thorn

  Whom the three worlds too long have borne

  For Rávaṇ in the senseless pride

  Of might unequalled has defied

  The host of heaven, and plagues with woe

  Angel and bard and saint below,

  Crushing each spirit and each maid

  Who plays in Nandan’s107 heavenly shade.

  O conquering Lord, to thee we bow;

 

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