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Gorresio.

      Canto 59. The Sons Of Vasishtha.

      Then Kuśik’s son, by pity warmed,

      Spoke sweetly to the king transformed:

      “Hail! glory of Ikshváku’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 Kuśik’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 Vaśishṭha’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:

Mahodaya1 refused alone.

      And now, O Chief of hermits, hear

      What answer, chilling us with fear,

      Vaśishṭha’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 Bráhmans, eat his food,

      And think to win beatitude,

      By Viśvámitra 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 Yáma’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 Viśvámitra spoke — and ceased.

1 This appellation, occuring nowhere else in the poem except as the name of a city, appears twice in this Canto as a name of Vaśishṭha.

      Canto 60. Trisanku’s Ascension.

      So with ascetic might, in ire,

      He smote the children and the sire.

      Then Viśvámitra, far-renowned,

      Addressed the saints who gathered round:

      “See by my side Triśanku stand,

      Ikshváku’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 Viśvámitra, wise and great,

      Spoke each to each in brief debate:

      “The breast of Kuśik’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 Ikshváku’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

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