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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 Viśvámitra, 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 Viśvámitra 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 Vaśishṭha stayed,

      And still to share his banquet prayed.

      The will of Gádhi’s son he bent,

      And won the monarch to consent,

      Who spoke in answer. “Let it be,

      Great Hermit, as it pleases thee.”

      When, best of those who breathe the prayer,

      He heard the king his will declare,

      He called the cow of spotted skin,

      All spot without, all pure within.

      “Come, Dapple-skin,” he cried, “with speed;

      Hear thou my words and help at need.

      My heart is set to entertain

      This monarch and his mighty train

      With sumptuous meal and worthy fare;

      Be thine the banquet to prepare.

      Each dainty cate, each goodly dish,

Of six-fold taste1 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.”

1 Sweet, salt, pungent, bitter, acid, and astringent.

      Canto 53. Visvámitra’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 Vaśishṭha’s feast.

      Then Viśvámitra, royal sage,

      Surrounded by his vassalage,

      Prince, peer, and counsellor, and all

      From highest lord to lowest thrall,

      Thus feasted, to Vaśishṭha 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.1

      To me her rightful lord resign

      This Dapple-skin thou callest thine.”

      The great Vaśishṭha, thus addressed,

      Arch-hermit of the holy breast,

      To Viśvámitra 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,2

The dole which living creatures claim.3

      The mighty sacrifice by fire,

Each formula the rites require,4

      And various saving lore beside,

      Are by her aid, in sooth, supplied.

      The banquet which thy host has shared,

      Believe it, was by her

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