---

Скачать книгу

---

lowed, and quickened into life,

Pahlavas,1 burning for the strife,

      King Viśvámitra’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 Śakas, fierce and dire.

      And all the ground was overspread

      With Yavans and with Śakas 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 Kámbojas,2 Barbars,3 all,

      With Yavans, troubled, flee and fall.

1 “It is well known that the Persians were called Pahlavas by the Indians. The Śakas are nomad tribes inhabiting Central Asia, the Scythes of the Greeks, whom the Persians also, as Herodotus tells us, called Sakæ just as the Indians did. Lib. VII 64 ὁι γὰρ Πέρσαι πάντας τοὺς Σύθας. καλέουσι Σάκας. The name Yavans seems to be used rather indefinitely for nations situated beyond Persia to the west. . . . After the time of Alexander the Great the Indians as well as the Persians called the Greeks also Yavans.” Schlegel.

      Lassen thinks that the Pahlavas were the same people as the Πάκτυες of Herodotus, and that this non-Indian people dwelt on the north-west confines of India.

2 See page 13, note 6.

3 Barbarians, non-Sanskrit-speaking tribes.

      Canto 55. The Hermitage Burnt.

      So o’er the field that host lay strown,

      By Viśvámitra’s darts o’erthrown.

      Then thus Vaśishṭha charged the cow:

      “Create with all thy vigour now.”

      Forth sprang Kámbojas, 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 Śakas from her hinder parts.

      And every pore upon her fell,

      And every hair-producing cell,

With Mlechchhas1 and Kirátas2 teemed,

      And forth with them Hárítas streamed.

      And Viśvámitra’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 Himálaya’s side he fled,

      Which bards and Nágas visited,

And, Mahádeva’s3 grace to earn,

      He gave his life to penance stern.

      A lengthened season thus passed by,

      When Śiva’s self, the Lord most High,

Whose banner shows the pictured bull,4

      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 Mahádeva 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

---

Скачать книгу