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sage’s form the God endued,

      And thus the fair Ahalyá wooed:

      “Love, sweet! should brook no dull delay

      But snatch the moments when he may.”

      She knew him in the saint’s disguise,

      Lord Indra of the Thousand Eyes,

      But touched by love’s unholy fire,

      She yielded to the God’s desire.

      “Now, Lord of Gods!” she whispered, “flee,

      From Gautam save thyself and me.”

      Trembling with doubt and wild with dread

      Lord Indra from the cottage fled;

      But fleeing in the grove he met

      The home-returning anchoret,

      Whose wrath the Gods and fiends would shun,

      Such power his fervent rites had won.

      Fresh from the lustral flood he came,

      In splendour like the burning flame,

      With fuel for his sacred rites,

      And grass, the best of eremites.

      The Lord of Gods was sad of cheer

      To see the mighty saint so near,

      And when the holy hermit spied

      In hermit’s garb the Thousand-eyed,

      He knew the whole, his fury broke

      Forth on the sinner as he spoke:

      “Because my form thou hast assumed,

      And wrought this folly, thou art doomed,

      For this my curse to thee shall cling,

      Henceforth a sad and sexless thing.”

      No empty threat that sentence came,

      It chilled his soul and marred his frame,

      His might and godlike vigour fled,

      And every nerve was cold and dead.

      Then on his wife his fury burst,

      And thus the guilty dame he cursed:

      “For countless years, disloyal spouse,

      Devoted to severest vows,

      Thy bed the ashes, air thy food,

      Here shalt thou live in solitude.

      This lonely grove thy home shall be,

      And not an eye thy form shall see.

      When Ráma, Daśaratha’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.”3

      Thus to his guilty wife he said,

      Then far the holy Gautam fled,

      And on Himálaya’s lovely heights

      Spent the long years in sternest rites.”

1 The Heavenly Twins.

2 Not banished from heaven as the inferior Gods and demigods sometimes were.

3 Kumárila says: “In the same manner, if it is said that Indra was the seducer of Ahalyá this does not imply that the God Indra committed such a crime, but Indra means the sun, and Ahalyá (from ahan and lí) the night; and as the night is seduced and ruined by the sun of the morning, therefore is Indra called the paramour of Ahalyá.” Max Muller, History of Ancient Sanskrit Literature, p. 530.

      Canto 49. Ahalyá Freed.

      Then Ráma, following still his guide,

      Within the grove, with Lakshmaṇ, hied,

      Her vows a wondrous light had lent

      To that illustrious penitent.

      He saw the glorious lady, screened

      From eye of man, and God, and fiend,

      Like some bright portent which the care

      Of Brahmá launches through the air,

      Designed by his illusive art

      To flash a moment and depart:

      Or like the flame that leaps on high

      To sink involved in smoke and die:

      Or like the full moon shining through

      The wintry mist, then lost to view:

      Or like the sun’s reflection, cast

      Upon the flood, too bright to last:

      So was the glorious dame till then

      Removed from Gods’ and mortals’ ken,

      Till — such was Gautam’s high decree —

      Prince Ráma came to set her free.

      Then, with great joy that dame to meet,

      The sons of Raghu clapped her feet;

      And she, remembering Gautam’s oath,

      With gentle grace received them both;

      Then water for their feet she gave,

      Guest-gift, and all that strangers crave.

      The prince, of courteous rule aware,

      Received, as meet, the lady’s care.

      Then flowers came down in copious rain,

      And moving to the heavenly strain

      Of music in the skies that rang,

      The nymphs and minstrels danced and sang:

      And all the Gods with one glad voice

      Praised the great dame, and cried, “Rejoice!

      Through fervid rites no more defiled,

      But with thy husband reconciled.”

      Gautam, the holy hermit knew —

      For naught escaped his godlike view —

      That Ráma lodged beneath that shade,

      And hasting there his homage paid.

      He took Ahalyá to his side,

      From sin and folly purified,

      And let his new-found consort bear

      In his austerities a share.

      Then Ráma, pride of Raghu’s race,

      Welcomed by Gautam, face to face,

      Who every highest honour showed,

      To Mithilá pursued his road.

      Canto 50. Janak.

      The sons of Raghu journeyed forth,

      Bending their steps ’twixt east and north.

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