The Project Gutenberg eBook of Nala and Damayanti, by Henry Hart Milman

Those friends who have taken an interest in my literary productions may feel some surprise at my appearance in the character of a translator of Sanscrit poetry. To those, and indeed to all who may take up the present volume, I owe some explanation of my pretensions as a faithful interpreter of my original text. Those pretensions are very humble; and I can unfeignedly say, that if the field had been likely to be occupied by others, who might unite poetical powers with a profound knowledge of the sacred language of India, I should have withdrawn at once from the competition. But, in fact, in this country the students of oriental literature, endowed with a taste and feeling for poetry, are so few in number, that any attempt to make known the peculiar character of those remarkable works, the old mythological epics of India, may be received with indulgence by all who are interested in the history of poetry. Mr. Wilson alone, since Sir W. Jones, has united a poetical genius with deep Sanscrit scholarship; but he has in general preferred the later and more polished period—that of Kalidasa and the dramatists—to the ruder, yet in my opinion, not less curious and poetical strains of the older epic bards.

A brief account of the manner in which I became engaged in these studies, will best explain the extent of my proficiency. During the two last years in which I held the office of Professor of Poetry in the University of Oxford, having exhausted the subject which I[vi] had chosen for my terminal course, I was at a loss for some materials for the few remaining lectures before my office should expire. I had been led by the ardent curiosity, which I have ever felt to acquire some knowledge of the poetry of all ages and nations—to examine some of the publications of French and German, as well as English scholars, on the subject of Indian poetry; chiefly those of the Schlegels, of Bopp, and of De Chezy. I was struck with the singularity and captivated by the extreme beauty, as it appeared to me, of some of the extracts, especially those from the great epic poems, the Mahabharata and the Ramayana, in their Homeric simplicity so totally opposite to the ordinary notions entertained of all eastern poetry. I was induced to attempt, without any instruction, and with the few elementary works which could be procured, the Grammars of Wilkins and Bopp, the Glossaries of Bopp and Rosen (Mr. Wilson's Dictionary was then out of print and could not be purchased), to obtain some knowledge of this wonderful and mysterious language. The study grew upon me, and would have been pursued with more ardour, perhaps with more success, but for the constant interruption of more imperative professional and literary avocations. In itself the Sanscrit is an inexhaustible subject of interest; in its grammatical structure more regular, artificial, and copious than the most perfect of the western languages; in its origin, the parent from which the older Greek, the Latin and the Teutonic tongues seem to branch out and develop themselves upon distinct and discernible principles.

I ventured to communicate to the Members of the University who attended my lectures, my discoveries, as it were, in the unknown region of Indian poetry, and to introduce translations of[vii] such passages as appeared to me of peculiar singularity or beauty. Though I was still moving in the leading-strings of my learned guides, I had obtained sufficient acquaintance with the language to compare their interpretations with the original text. I afterwards embodied some parts of my lectures in an article in the Quarterly Review, in order to contribute as far as was in my power to open this new and almost untrodden field of literature to the English reader.

Still I should not have presumed to form these translations into a separate work, nor acceded to the proposal of the publisher of the present volume, who has himself deserved so well of the students of oriental lore by his excellent translation, or rather recomposition of Adelung's "Historical Sketch of Sanscrit Literature," but for the encouragement and assistance of Mr. Wilson, now, the University may be proud to say, the Boden Professor of Sanscrit at Oxford. To his most friendly care in revising these sheets, I owe the correction of many errors; and Sanscrit scholars will find in the notes some observations on the text, which will contribute to elucidate the poem of Nala. Under the sanction of Mr. Wilson's revision, I may venture to hope that the translation is, at least, an accurate version of the original; and I cannot too strongly express my gratitude for the labour which Mr. Wilson has been so kind as to expend on my imperfect and unpretending work.

The versification, or rather the metrical system, which I have adopted, is an experiment, how far a successful one must be judged by others. The original verse in which the vast epics of Vyasa and Valmiki are composed is called the Sloka, which is thus described by Schlegel in his Indische Bibliothek, p. 36: "The oldest, most[viii] simple, and most generally adopted measure is the Sloka; a distich of two sixteen syllable-lines, divided at the eighth syllable." According to our prosodial marks, the following is the scheme:—

The first four syllables are bound by no rule; the second half, on the contrary, is unalterably fixed, excepting that the last syllable has the common licence of termination. In the second half verse, I do not remember a single instance of deviation from this, though sometimes, but very seldom, the first half verse ends with another quadrisyllable foot. The reader who is curious on the subject, may compare Mr. Colebrooke's elaborate essays on Sanscrit poetry, Kosegarten's preface to his Translation of Nala, and Bopp's preface to his Translation of Selections from the Mahabharata.

In the first translations which I attempted, a few passages from the Bhagavat-Gita, I adhered as nearly as possible to the measure of the original; in the Nala, in order to give the narrative a more easy and trochaic flow, I omitted one syllable, and in some degree changed the structure of the verse.

NALA AND DAMAYANTI.

The episode of Nala is extracted from the Vanaparvam, the third part of the Mahabharata, the great Indian poem, which contains 100,000 slokas, or distichs. The sage, Vrihadasva, relates the story of Nala to king Yudishthira, in order to console him under the miseries to which he was exposed by bad success in play. By the terms of the gaming transaction, in which he was worsted by Sakuni, who threw the dice for Duryodhana, he was condemned to wander with his brothers for twelve years in the forest. The adventures of Nala showed how that king, having been in the same manner unfortunate with the dice, had suffered still greater toil and misery, and had at length recovered his kingdom and his wife. The popularity of this fable with the natives, is sufficiently proved by the numerous poetic versions of the story. The Nalodaya, a poem ascribed to Kalidas, should first be mentioned. A new edition of this work has been recently published by Ferdinand Benary; we have a notice of it in the Quarterly Review: it seems to bear the same relation to the simple and national episode of the Mahabharata, as the seicentesti of Italy to Dante or Arìosto, or Gongora to the poem of the Cid. Another poem called Naishadha, in twenty-two books, does not complete the story, but only carries it as far as the fifteenth book. There is a Tamulic version of the same story, translated by Kindersley, in his specimens of Hindu Literature. The third book of the poem of Sriharsha, containing 135 slokas, is entirely occupied with the conversation between Damayanti and the swans (the geese), in which the birds to excite her love, dwell with diffuse eloquence on the praises of Nala.

NALA AND DAMAYANTI.

BOOK I.

BOOK II.

BOOK III.

BOOK IV.

BOOK V.

BOOK VI.

BOOK VII.

BOOK VIII.

BOOK IX.

BOOK X.

BOOK XI.

BOOK XII.

Slain that savage wild-beast hunter—onward went the lotus-eyed,
Through the dread, and desert forest—ringing with the cricket's song;
Full of lions, pards, and tigers—stags, and buffalos, and bears,
Where all kinds of birds were flocking—and wild men and robbers dwelt.
Trees of every form and stature [74]—every foliage, every name;
Pregnant with rich mines of metal—many a mountain it enclosed,
Many a shady resonant arbour—many a deep and wondrous glen;
Many a lake, and pool, and river—birds and beasts of every shape.
She, in forms terrific round her—serpents, elves, and giants saw:[75]
Pools, and tanks of lucid water—and the shaggy tops of hills,
Flowing streams and headlong torrents—saw, and wondered at the sight.
And the princess of Vidarbha—gazed where in their countless herds,
Buffalos and bears were feeding—boars, and serpents of the wood.
Safe in virtue, bright in beauty—glorious and of high resolve,
Now alone, Vidarbha's daughter—wandering, her lost Nala sought.
Yet no fear king Bhima's daughter—for herself might deign to feel,
Travelling the dreary forest—only for her lord distressed;
Him she mourned, that noble princess—him in bitterest anguish wailed,
Every limb with sorrow trembling—stood she on a beetling rock;
"Monarch, with broad chest capacious—monarch with the sinewy arm,
Me in this dread forest leaving—whither hast thou fled away?
Thou the holy Aswamedha—thou each sacrificial rite,
Hast performed, to me, me only—in thy holy faith thou'st failed.
That which thou, O best of husbands—in mine hearing hast declared,
[34]Thy most solemn vow remember—call to mind thy plighted faith.
Of the swift-winged swans the language—uttered, monarch, by thy side,
That thyself, before my presence—didst renew, bethink thee well.
Thou the Vedas, thou the Angas—with the Upangas oft hast read,
Of each heaven-descended volume—one and simple is the truth.
Therefore, of thy foes the slayer!—reverence thou the sacred truth
Of thy solemn plighted promise—in my presence sworn so oft.
Am not I the loved so dearly—purely, sinlessly beloved;
In this dark and awful forest—wherefore dost thou not reply?
Here with monstrous jaws wide yawning—with his fierce and horrid form,
Gapes the forest king to slay me—and thou art not here to save.
None but I, thou'st said, for ever—none but I to thee am dear!
Make this oft-repeated language—make this oft-sworn promise true.
To thy queen bereft of reason—to thy weeping wife beloved,
Why repliest thou not—her only thou desir'st—she only thee.
Meagre, miserable, pallid—tainted with the dust and mire,
Scantly clad in half a garment—lone, with no protector near;
Like a large-eyed hind that wanders—separate from the wonted herd,
Thou regard'st me not, thus weeping—oh thou tamer of thy foes.
Mighty king, a lonely wanderer—in this vast and trackless wood,
Damayanti, I address thee—wherefore answerest not my voice?
Nobly born, and nobly minded—beautiful in every limb,
Do I not e'en now behold thee—in this mountain, first of men,
In this lion-haunted forest—in this tiger-howling wood,
Lying down or seated, standing—or in majesty and might
Moving, do I not behold thee—the enhancer of my woe?
Who shall I address, afflicted—wasted by my grief away;
'Hast thou haply seen my Nala—in the solitary wood?'
[35]Who this day will show the monarch—wandering in the forest depth,
Beautiful and royal-minded—conqueror of an host of foes!
'Him thou seek'st with eyes of lotus—Nala, sovereign of men—
Lo, he's here!' whose voice of music—may I hear thus sweetly speak?
Lo, with fourfold tusks before me—and with wide and gaping jaws,
Stands the forest king, the tiger—I approach him without fear.
Of the beasts art thou the monarch—all this forest thy domain,
For the daughter of Vidarbha—Damayanti, know thou me,
Consort of Nishadha's sovereign—Nala, slayer of his foes—
Seeking here my exile husband—lonely, wretched, sorrow-driven,
Thou, O king of beasts, console me—if my Nala thou hast seen;
Or, O lord of all the forest—Nala if thou canst not show,
Best of savage beasts, devour me—from my misery set me free.
Hearing thus my lamentation-now does that fell king of beasts
Go towards the crystal river—flowing downward to the sea.'—
To this mountain then the holy—crowned with many a lofty peak,
In its soul-exalting splendour—rising, many-hued, to heaven;
Full within of precious metal—rich with many a glowing gem,
Rising o'er the spreading forest—like a banner broad and high,
Ranged by elephants and lions—tigers, bears, and boars, and stags;
And of many birds the voices—sweetly sound o'er all its cliffs;
All the trees of richest foliage [76]—all the trees of stateliest height,
All the flowers and golden fruitage—on its crested summits wave,
Down its peaks in many a streamlet—dip the water-birds their wings:
This, the monarch of all mountains—ask I of the king of men;
'O, all-honoured Prince of Mountains, with thy heaven-ward soaring peaks,
Refuge of the lost, most noble—thee, O Mountain, I salute;
I salute thee, lowly bowing—I, the daughter of a king;
[36]Of a king the royal consort—of a king's son I the bride.
Of Vidarbha the great sovereign—mighty hero is my sire.
Named the lord of earth, king Bhima—of each caste the guardian he;
Of the holy Aswamedha—of the regal sacrifice,[77]
He the offerer, best of monarchs—known by his commanding eye,
Pious, and of life unblemished—true in word, of generous speech,
Affable, courageous, prosperous—skilled in every duty, pure.
Of Vidarbha the protector—conqueror of a host of foes;
Know me of that king the daughter—lowly thus approaching thee.
In Nishadha, mighty Mountain! dwelt the father of my lord.
High the name he won, the illustrious—Virasena was he called.
Of this king the son, the hero—prosperous and truly brave,
He who rules his father's kingdom—by hereditary right,
Slayer of his foes, dark Nala—Punyasloka is he called;
Holy, Veda read, and eloquent—soma quaffing, fire adoring,[78][79]
Sacrificer, liberal giver—warrior, in all points a king,—
Of this monarch, best of mountains—know, the wife before thee stands.
Fallen from bliss, bereft of husband—unprotected, sorrow-doomed,
Seeking every where her husband—him the best of noblest men.
Best of mountains, heaven-upsoaring—with thy hundred stately peaks,
Hast thou seen the kingly Nala—in this dark and awful wood:
Like the elephant in courage—wise, impetuous, with long arms,
Valiant, and of truth unquestioned—my heroic, glorious lord;
Hast thou seen Nishadha's sovereign—mighty Nala hast thou seen?
Why repliest thou not, oh Mountain—sorrowing, lonely, and distressed,
With thy voice why not console me—as thine own afflicted child?
Hero, mighty, strong in duty—true of promise, lord of earth,
If thou art within the forest—show thee in thy proper form.
[37]When so eloquently deep-toned—like the sound of some dark cloud,
Shall I hear thy voice, oh Nala!—sweet as the amrita draught,[80]
Saying, 'daughter of Vidarbha!'—with distinct, with blessed sound,
Musical as holy Veda—rich, and soothing all my pain;
Thus console me, trembling, fainting—thou, oh virtue-loving king!"
To the holiest of mountains—spake the daughter of the king.
Damayanti then set forward—toward the region of the north.
Three days long, three nights she wandered—then that noble woman saw,
The unrivalled wood of hermits—like to a celestial grove.
To the ancient famous hermits [81]—equal was that sacred crew;
Self-denying, strict in diet [82]—temperate, and undefiled;
Water-drinking, air inhaling—and the leaves their simple food;
Mortified, for ever blessed—seeking the right way to heaven;
Bark for vests and skins for raiment—wore those hermits, sense-subdued.
She beheld the pleasant circle—of those hermits' lonely cells;
Round them flocks of beasts were grazing—wantoned there the monkey tribes.
When she saw those holy dwellings—all her courage was revived.
Lovely browed, and lovely tressed—lovely bosom'd, lovely lipp'd,[83]
In her brightness, in her glory—with her large dark beauteous eyes,
Entered she those hermit dwellings—wife of Virasena's son;
Pearl of women, ever blessed-Damayanti the devout,
She those holy men saluting—stood with modest form half bent.
"Hail, and welcome!" thus those hermits—instant with one voice exclaimed.
And those sacred men no sooner—had the fitting homage paid,
"Take thy seat," they said, "oh lady [84]—and command what we must do."
Thus replied the slender waisted—"Blessed are ye, holy men.
In your sacred fires, your worship [85]—blameless, with your beasts and birds.[86]
Doth the grace of heaven attend you—in your duties, in your deeds?"
[38]Answered they, "The grace of heaven—ever blesses all our deeds.
But say thou, of form so beauteous—who thou art, and what thou would'st?
As thy noble form we gaze on—on thy brightness as we gaze,
In amaze we stand and wonder—cheer thee up, and mourn no more.
Of the wood art thou the goddess—or the mountain goddess thou;
Or the goddess of the river?—Blessed Spirit, speak the truth.
Nor the sylvan goddess am I,"—to the Wise she thus replied;
"Neither of the mountain, Brahmins—nor the river nymph am I.
Know me but a mortal being—O, ye rich in holiness!
All my tale at length, I'll tell ye—if meet audience ye will give.
In Vidarbha, mighty guardian—Bhima, dwells the lord of earth;
Of that noble king the daughter—twice-born Sages, know ye me.[87]
And the monarch of Nishadha—Nala named, the great in fame;
Brave in battle, conqueror, prudent—is my lord, the peasants' king;
To the gods devout in worship—friendly to the Brahmin race,
Of Nishadha's race the guardian—great in glory, great in might,
True in word, and skilled in duty—and the slayer of his foes.
Pious, heaven-devoted, prosperous—conqueror of hostile towns;
Nala named, the best of sovereigns—splendid as the king of gods.
Know that large-eyed chief, my husband—like the full-orbed moon his face,
Giver he of costly offerings—deep in th' holy volumes read;
Slayer of his foes in battle—glorious as the sun and moon.
He to some most evil minded—unrespected, wicked men,
After many a challenge, studious—he of virtue and of truth,
To these skilful gamesters, fraudful—lost his kingdom and his wealth.
Know ye me the hapless consort—of that noble king of kings,
Damayanti, so they name me—yearning for my husband's sight.
I through forests, over mountains—stagnant marsh and river broad,
[39]Lake with wide pellucid surface—through the long and trackless wood,
Ever seeking for my husband—Nala, skilful in the fight.
Mighty in the use of weapons—wander desolate and sad.
Tell me, to this pleasant sojourn—sacred to these holy men,
Hath he come, the royal Nala?—hath Nishadha's monarch come?
For whose sake through ways all trackless—terrible, have I set forth,
In this drear, appalling forest—where the lynx and tiger range,
If I see not noble Nala—ere few days, few nights are o'er,
I to happiness will join me—from this mortal frame set free.
Reft of him, my princely husband—what have I to do with life—
How endure existence longer—for my husband thus distressed."
To the lady thus complaining—lonely in the savage wood,
Answered thus those holy hermits—spake the gifted seers the truth:—
"There will be a time hereafter—beautiful, the time will come,
Through devotion now we see him [88]—and thou too wilt see him soon;
That good monarch of Nishadha—Nala, slayer of his foes;
That dispenser of strict justice—Bhima's daughter! free from grief,
From all sin released, thou'lt see him—glittering in his royal gems,
Governing that noble city—o'er his enemies supreme.
To his foemen causing terror—to his friends allaying grief,
Thou, oh noble, shalt thy husband—see, that king of noble race."
To the much-loved wife of Nala—to the princess speaking thus,
Vanished then those holy hermits—with their sacred fires, their cells.
As she gazed upon the wonder—wrapt in mute amaze she stood;
Damayanti, fair-limbed princess—wife of Virasena's son;
"Have I only seen a vision—what hath been this wondrous chance?
Where are all those holy hermits—where the circle of their cells?
Where that pure and pleasant river—haunted by the dipping birds?
[40]Where those trees with grateful umbrage—with their pendant fruits and flowers?"
Long within her heart she pondered—Damayanti with sweet smile,
For her lord, to grief abandoned—miserable, pale of hue;
To another region passed she—there with voice by weeping choked,
Mourns she, till with eyes o'erflowing—an Asoca tree she saw.
Best of trees, the Asoca blooming [89]—in the forest she approached,
Gemmed all o'er with glowing fruitage—vocal with the songs of birds.
"Ah, behold amid the forest—flourishes this happy tree,
With its leafy garlands radiant—as the joyous mountain king.
O thou tree with pleasant aspect—from my sorrow set me free.
Vitasoca, hast thou seen him—hast the fearless raja seen,
Nala, of his foes the slayer—Damayanti's lord beloved?
Hast thou seen Nishadha's monarch—hast thou seen mine only love,
Clad in half a single garment—with his soft and delicate skin;
Hast thou seen th' afflicted hero—wandering in the forest lone.
That I may depart ungrieving—fair Asoca, answer me.
Truly be thou named Asoca [90]—as the extinguisher of grief."
Thus in her o'erpowering anguish—moved she round the Asoca tree.
Then she went her way in sadness—to another region dread.
Many a tree she stood and gazed on—many a river passed she o'er;
Passed she many a pleasant mountain—many a wild deer, many a bird;
Many a hill and many a cavern—many a bright and wondrous stream,
Saw king Bhima's wandering daughter—as she sought her husband lost.
Long she roamed her weary journey—Damayanti with sweet smile,
Lo, a caravan of merchants—elephants, and steeds, and cars,
And beyond, a pleasant river—with its waters cool and clear.
'Twas a quiet stream, and waveless—girt about with spreading canes;
[41]There the cuckoo, there the osprey—there the red-geese clamouring stood;
Swarmed the turtles, fish and serpents—there rose many a stately isle.
When she saw that numerous concourse—Nala's once all-glorious wife,
Entered she, the slender-waisted—in the midst of all the host;
Maniac-like in form and feature—and in half a garment clad,
Thin and pallid, travel-tainted—matted all her locks with dust.
As they all beheld her standing—some in terror fled away;
Some stood still in speechless wonder—others raised their voice and cried;
Mocked her some with cruel tauntings—others spake reproachful words;
Others looked on her with pity—and enquired her state, her name.
"Who art thou? whose daughter. Lady—in the forest seek'st thou aught?
At thy sight we stand confounded—art thou of our mortal race?
Of this wood art thou the goddess?—of this mountain? of that plain?
Who art thou, O noble Lady—thee, our refuge, we adore.
Art thou sylvan nymph or genius—or celestial nymph divine?
Every-way regard our welfare—and protect us, undespised:
So our caravan in safety—may pursue its onward way,
So ordain it, O illustrious!—that good fortune wait on all."
Thus addressed by that assemblage—Damayanti, kingly-born,
Answered thus with gentle language—grieving for her husband lost.
Of that caravan the leader—and the whole assembled host,
Youths and boys, and grey-haired elders—and the guides, thus answered she:
"Know me, like yourselves, a mortal—daughter of a king of men,
Of another king the consort—seeking for my royal lord;
Know, Vidarbha's king, my father—and Nishadha's king, my lord,
Nala, is his name, the glorious—him, th' unconquered do I seek;
Know ye aught of that good monarch—tell me, quick, of my beloved,
Of the tiger hero, Nala—slayer of a host of foes."
[42]Of the caravan the captain—thus the lovely-limbed addressed,
Suchi was his name, the merchant—"Hear, illustrious queen, my speech;
Of this caravan the captain—I, O Lady with sweet smile,
Him that bears the name of Nala—nowhere have these eyes beheld.
Elephants, and pards, and tigers—lynxes, buffaloes, and bears,
See I in this trackless forest—uninhabited by men;
Save thyself, of human feature—nought, or human form, I've seen.
So may he, the king of Yakshas—Manibhadra, guard us well."[91]
To the merchants then she answered—to the leader of the host,
"Tell me whither do ye travel!—whither bound your caravan?"

BOOK XIII.

[93]This, the lovely princess hearing—from the captain of the band,
With the caravan set forward—seeking still her royal lord.
Long their journey through the forest—through the dark and awful glens;
Then a lake of loveliest beauty—fragrant with the lotus flowers,
Saw those merchants, wide and pleasant—with fresh grass and shady trees;
Flowers and fruits bedecked its borders—where the birds melodious sang:
In its clear delicious waters—soul-enchanting, icy cool,
With their horses all o'erwearied—thought they then to plunge and bathe;
At the signal of the captain—entered all that pleasant grove.
At the close of day arriving—there encamped they for the night.
When the midnight came, all noiseless—came in silence deep and still,
Weary slept the band of merchants—lo, a herd of elephants,[94]
Oozing moisture from their temples—came to drink the troubled stream.
When that caravan they gazed on—with their slumbering beasts at rest,
The tame elephants they scented—those wild forest elephants;
Forward rush they fleet and furious—mad to slay, and wild with heat;
Irresistible the onset—of the rushing ponderous beasts,
As the peaks from some high mountain—down the valley thundering roll;
Strewn was all the way before them—with the boughs, the trunks of trees;
On they crash'd to where the travellers—slumbered by the lotus lake.
Trampled down without a struggle—helpless on the earth they lay,
"Woe, oh, woe!" shrieked out the merchants—wildly some began to fly,
In the forest thickets' plunging;—some stood gasping, blind with sleep;
And the elephants down beat them—with their tusks, their trunks, their feet.
[44]Many saw their camels dying—mingled with the men on foot,
And in frantic tumult rushing—wildly struck each other down;
Many miserably shrieking—cast them down upon the earth,
Many climbed the trees in terror—on the rough ground stumbled some.
Thus in various wise and fatal—by the elephants assailed,
Lay that caravan so wealthy—scattered all abroad or slain.
Such, so fearful was the tumult—the three worlds seemed all appalled,[95]
"'Tis a fire amid th' encampment—save ye, fly ye, for your lives.
Lo, your precious pearls ye trample—take them up, why fly so fast?
Save them, 'tis a common venture—fear ye not that I deceive."
Thus t' each other shrieked the merchants—as in fear they scattered round.
"Yet again I call upon you—cowards! think ye what ye do."
All around this frantic carnage—raging through the prostrate host,
Damayanti, soon awakened—with her heart all full of dread;
There she saw a hideous slaughter—the whole world might well appal.
To such sights all unfamiliar—gazed the queen with lotus eyes,
Pressing in her breath with terror—slowly rose she on her feet.
And the few that scaped the carnage—few that scaped without a wound,
All at once exclaimed together—"Of whose deeds is this the doom?
Hath not mighty Manibhadra—adoration meet received.
And Vaisravana the holy [96]—of the Yakshas lord and king,
Have not all that might impede us—ere we journied, been addressed?
Was it doomed, that all good omens—by this chance should be belied!
Were no planets haply adverse?—how hath fate, like this, befall'n!"
Others answered in their misery—reft of kindred and of wealth,
"Who is that ill-omened woman—that with maniac-staring eyes,
Joined our host, misshaped in aspect—and with scarcely human form?
Surely all this wicked witchcraft—by her evil power is wrought;
[45]Witch or sorceress she, or dæmon—fatal cause of all our fears,
Hers is all the guilt, the misery—who such damning proof may doubt?
Could we but behold that false one—murtheress, bane of all our host,
With the clods, the dust, the bamboos—with our staves, or with our hands,
We would slay her on the instant—of our caravan the fate."
But no sooner Damayanti—their appalling words had heard,
In her shame and in her terror—to the forest shade she fled.
And that guilt imputed dreading—thus her fate began to wail:
"Woe is me, still o'er me hovers—the terrific wrath of fate;
No good fortune e'er attends me—of what guilt is this the doom?
Not a sin can I remember—not the least to living man.
Or in deed, or thought, or language—of what guilt is this the doom?
In some former life committed [97]—expiate I now the sin.
To this infinite misfortune—hence by penal justice doomed?
Lost my husband, lost my kingdom—from my kindred separate;
Separate from noble Nala—from my children far away,
Widowed of my rightful guardian—in the serpent-haunted wood."
Of that caravan at morning—then the sad surviving few,
Setting forth from that dread region—o'er that hideous carnage grieve;
Each a brother mourns, or father—or a son, or dearest friend,
Still Vidarbha's princess uttered—"What the sin that I have done?
Scarcely in this desert forest—had I met this host of men,
By the elephants they perish—this is through my luckless fate;
A still lengthening life of sorrow—I henceforth must sadly lead.
Ere his destined day none dieth—this of aged seers the lore;
Therefore am not I too trampled—by this herd of furious beasts.
Every deed of living mortal—by over-ruling fate is done.
Yet no sin have I committed—in my blameless infancy,
[46]To deserve this dire disaster—or in word, or deed, or thought.
For the choosing of my husband—are the guardians of the world,
Angry are the gods, rejected—for the noble Nala's sake?
From my lord this long divorcement—through their power do I endure."
Thus the noblest of all women—to bewail her fate began,
The deserted Damayanti—with these sad and bitter words;
With some Veda-reading Brahmins—that survived that scattered host,
Then she went her way in sadness—like the young moon's sickle pale,
And ere long a mighty city—that afflicted queen drew near:
'Twas the king of Chedi's city—truth-discerning Subahu.
Scantly clad in half a garment—entered she that stately town;
Her disturbed, emaciate, wretched—with dishevelled hair, unwashed,
Like a maniac, onward-moving—saw that city's wondering throng;
Gazing on her as she entered—to the monarch's royal seat;
All the boys her footsteps followed—in their curious gamesome play;[98]
Circled round by these she wandered—near the royal palace gate.
From that palace lofty terrace—her the mother of the king
Saw, and thus her nurse addressed she—"Go, and lead that wanderer in!
Sad she roves, without a refuge—troubled by those gazing men;
Yet in form so bright, irradiate—is our palace where she moves.
Though so maniac-like, half-clothed—like Heaven's long-eyed queen she seems."
She those crowding men dispersing—quickly to the palace top
Made her mount—and in amazement—her the mother-queen addressed:
"Thus though bowed and worn with sorrow—such a shining form thou wear'st,
As through murky clouds the lightning—tell me who thou art and whence:
For thy form is more than human—of all ornament despoiled:
Men thou fear'st not, unattended—in celestial beauty safe."
[47]Hearing thus her gentle language—Bhima's daughter made reply,
"Know me like thyself a mortal—a distressed, devoted wife;
Of illustrious race an handmaid—making where I will mine home;
On the roots and wild-fruits feeding—lonely, at the fall of eve.
Gifted with unnumber'd virtues—is my true, my faithful lord,
And I still the hero followed—like his shadow on the way.
'Twas his fate, with desp'rate fondness—to pursue the love of play,
And in play subdued and ruined—entered he yon lonely wood;
Him, arrayed in but one garment,—like a madman wandering wild,
To console my noble husband—I too entered the deep wood;
He within that dreary forest—for some cause, to me unknown,
Wild with hunger, reft of reason—that one single robe he lost.
I with but one robe, him naked [99]—frantic, and with mind diseased,
Following through the boundless forest—many a night I had not slept;
Then, when I had sunk to slumber—me the blameless leaving there,
Half my garment having severed—he his sinless consort fled;
Seeking him, my outcast husband—night and day am I consumed:
Him I see not, ever shining—like the lotus cup, beloved;
Find him not, most like th' immortals—lord of all, my life, my soul."
Even as thus, with eyes o'erflowing—uttered she her sad lament,
Sad herself, sad Bhima's daughter—did the mother queen address:
"Dwell with me, then, noble Lady—deep the joy in thee I feel,
And the servants of my household—shall thy royal husband seek;
Haply hither he may wander—as he roams about the world:
Dwelling here in peace and honour—thou thy husband wilt rejoin."
To the king of Chedi's mother—Damayanti made reply;
"On these terms, O nurse of heroes!—I with thee may make abode:
That I eat not broken victuals [100]—wash not feet with menial hand:[101]
[48]Nor with stranger men have converse—in my chaste, secluded state;
If that any man demand me—be he punished; if again,
Be he put to death on th' instant—this the vow that I have sworn.
Only, if they seek my husband—holy Brahmins will I see.
Be my terms by thee accepted—gladly will I sojourn here,
But on other terms no sojourn—will this heart resolved admit."
Then to her with joyful spirit—spake the mother of the king:
"As thou wilt shall all be ordered—be thou blest, since such thy vow."
Speaking thus to Bhima's daughter—did the royal mother then,
In these words address her daughter—young Sunanda was her name:
"See this handmaid, my Sunanda—gifted with a form divine;
She in age thy lovely compeer—be she to thee as a friend;
Joined with her in sweet communion—take thy pleasure without fear."
Young Sunanda, all rejoicing—to her own abode went back,
Taking with her Damayanti—circled with her virgin peers.

BOOK XIV.

BOOK XV.

BOOK XVI.

BOOK XVII.

BOOK XVIII.

BOOK XIX.

BOOK XX.

BOOK XXI.

BOOK XXII.

BOOK XXIII.

BOOK XXIV.

BOOK XXV.

BOOK XXVI.

THE DEATH OF YAJNADATTA.

Scarce Rama to the wilderness—had with his younger brother gone,
Abandoned to his deep distress—king Dasaratha sate alone.
Upon his sons to exile driven—when thought that king, as Indra bright,
Darkness came o'er him, as in heaven—when pales th' eclipsed sun his light.
Six days he sate, and mourned and pined—for Rama all that weary time,
At midnight on his wandering mind—rose up his old forgotten crime.
His queen Kausalya, the divine—addressed he, as she rested near:
"Kausalya, if thou wak'st, incline—to thy lord's speech thy ready ear.
Whatever deed, or good or ill—by man, oh blessed queen, is wrought,
Its proper fruit he gathers still—by time to slow perfection brought.
He who the opposing counsel's weight—compares not in his judgment cool,
Or misery or bliss his fate—among the sage is deemed a fool.
As one that quits the Amra bower—the bright Palasa's pride to gain,
Mocked by the promise of its flower—seeks its unripening fruit in vain.
So I the lovely Amra left [141]—for the Palasa's barren bloom,[142]
Through mine own fatal error 'reft—of banished Rama, mourn in gloom.
Kausalya! in my early youth—by my keen arrow at its mark,
Aimed with too sure and deadly truth—was wrought a deed most fell and dark.
At length the evil that I did—hath fallen upon my fatal head,[143]
As when on subtle poison hid—an unsuspecting child hath fed;
Even as that child unwittingly—hath made the poisonous fare his food,
Even so in ignorance by me—was wrought that deed of guilt and blood.
Unwed wert thou in virgin bloom—and I in youth's delicious prime,
The season of the rains had come—that soft and love-enkindling time.
[92]Earth's moisture all absorbed, the sun—through all the world its warmth had spread,
Turned from the north, its course begun—where haunt the spirits of the dead![144]
Gathering o'er all th' horizon's bound—on high the welcome clouds appeared,[145]
Exulting all the birds flew round—cranes, cuckoos, peacocks, flew and veered.
And all down each wide-water'd shore—the troubled, yet still limpid floods,
Over their banks began to pour—as o'er them hung the bursting clouds.
And, saturate with cloud-born dew—the glittering verdant-mantled earth,
The cuckoos and the peacocks flew—disputing as in drunken mirth.
In such a time, so soft, so bland—oh beautiful! I chanced to go,
With quiver, and with bow in hand—where clear Sarayu's waters flow.
If haply to the river's brink—at night the buffalo might stray,
Or elephant, the stream to drink,—intent my savage game to slay,
Then of a water cruise, as slow—it filled, the gurgling sound I heard,
Nought saw I, but the sullen low—of elephant that sound appeared.
The swift well-feathered arrow I—upon the bowstring fitting straight,
Toward the sound the shaft let fly—ah, cruelly deceived by fate!
The winged arrow scarce had flown—and scarce had reached its destined aim,
'Ah me, I'm slain,' a feeble moan—in trembling human accents came.
'Ah whence hath come this fatal shaft—against a poor recluse like me,
Who shot that bolt with deadly craft—alas! what cruel man is he?
At the lone midnight had I come—to draw the river's limpid flood,
And here am struck to death, by whom?—ah whose this wrongful deed of blood.
Alas! and in my parent's heart—the old, the blind, and hardly fed,
In the wild wood, hath pierced the dart—that here hath struck their offspring dead.
[93]Ah, deed most profitless as worst—a deed of wanton useless guilt;
As though a pupil's hand accurs'd [146]—his holy master's blood had spilt.
But not mine own untimely fate—it is not that which I deplore,
My blind, my aged parents state—'tis their distress afflicts me more.
That sightless pair, for many a day—from me their scanty food have earned,
What lot is theirs, when I'm away—to the five elements returned?[147]
Alike all wretched they, as I—ah, whose this triple deed of blood?
For who the herbs will now supply—the roots, the fruit, their blameless food?'
My troubled soul, that plaintive moan—no sooner heard, so faint and low,
Trembled to look on what I'd done—fell from my shuddering hand my bow.
Swift I rushed up, I saw him there—heart-pierced, and fall'n the stream beside,
That hermit boy with knotted hair—his clothing was the black deer's hide.
On me most piteous turned his look—his wounded breast could scarce respire,
'What wrong, oh Kshatriya,[148] have I done—to be thy deathful arrow's aim,
The forest's solitary son—to draw the limpid stream I came.
Both wretched and both blind they lie—in the wild wood all destitute,
My parents, listening anxiously—to hear my home-returning foot.
By this, thy fatal shaft, this one—three miserable victims fall,
The sire, the mother, and the son—ah why? and unoffending all.
How vain my father's life austere—the Veda's studied page how vain,
He knew not with prophetic fear—his son would fall untimely slain.
But had he known, to one as he—so weak, so blind, 'twere bootless all,
No tree can save another tree—by the sharp hatchet marked to fall.
But to my father's dwelling haste—oh Raghu's [149] son, lest in his ire,
Thy head with burning curse he blast—as the dry forest tree the fire.
Thee to my father's lone retreat—will quickly lead yon onward path,
Oh haste, his pardon to entreat—or ere he curse thee in his wrath.
[94]Yet first, that gently I may die—draw forth the barbed steel from hence,
Allay thy fears, no Brahmin I—not thine of Brahmin blood the offence.
My sire, a Brahmin hermit he—my mother was of Sudra race.'[150]
So spake the wounded boy, on me—while turned his unreproaching face.
As from his palpitating breast—I gently drew the mortal dart,
He saw me trembling stand, and blest—that boy's pure spirit seemed to part.
As died that holy hermit's son—from me my glory seemed to go,
With troubled mind I stood, cast down—t' inevitable endless woe.
That shaft that seemed his life to burn—like serpent venom, thus drawn out,
I, taking up his fallen urn—t' his father's dwelling took my route.
There miserable, blind, and old—of their sole helpmate thus forlorn,
His parents did these eyes behold—like two sad birds with pinions shorn.
Of him in fond discourse they sate—lone, thinking only of their son,
For his return so long, so late—impatient, oh by me undone.
My footsteps' sound he seemed to know—and thus the aged hermit said,
'Oh, Yajnadatta, why so slow?—haste, let the cooling draught be shed.
Long, on the river's pleasant brink—hast thou been sporting in thy joy,
Thy mother's fainting spirits sink—in fear for thee, but thou, my boy,
If aught to grieve thy gentle heart—thy mother or thy sire do wrong,
Bear with us, nor when next we part—on the slow way thus linger long.
The feet of those that cannot move—of those that cannot see the eye,
Our spirits live but in thy love—Oh wherefore, dearest, no reply?'
My throat thick swollen with bursting tears—my power of speech that seemed to choke,
With hands above my head, my fears—breaking my quivering voice, I spoke;
'The Kshatriya Dasaratha I—Oh hermit sage, 'tis not thy son!
Most holy ones, unknowingly—a deed of awful guilt I've done.
With bow in hand I took my way—along Sarayu's pleasant brink,
[95]The savage buffalo to slay—or elephant come down to drink.
A sound came murmuring to my ear—'twas of the urn that slowly filled,
I deemed some savage wild-beast near—my erring shaft thy son had killed.
A feeble groan I heard, his breast—was pierced by that dire arrow keen:
All trembling to the spot I pressed—lo there thy hermit boy was seen.
Flew to the sound my arrow, meant—the wandering elephant to slay,
Toward the river brink it went—and there thy son expiring lay.
The fatal shaft when forth I drew—to heaven his parting spirit soared,
Dying he only thought of you—long, long, your lonely lot deplored.
Thus ignorantly did I slay—your child beloved, Oh hermit sage!
Turn thou on me, whose fated day—is come, thy all-consuming rage.'
He heard my dreadful tale at length—he stood all lifeless, motionless;
Then deep he groaned, and gathering strength—me his meek suppliant did address.
'Kshatriya, 'tis well that thou hast turned—thy deed of murder to rehearse,
Else over all thy land had burned—the fire of my wide-wasting curse.
If with premeditated crime—the unoffending blood thou'dst spilt,
The Thunderer on his throne sublime—had shaken at such tremendous guilt.
Against the anchorite's sacred head—hadst, knowing, aimed thy shaft accursed,
In th' holy Vedas deeply read—thy skull in seven wide rents had burst.
But since, unwitting, thou hast wrought—that deed of death, thou livest still,
Oh son of Raghu, from thy thought—dismiss all dread of instant ill.
Oh lead me to that doleful spot—where my poor boy expiring lay,
Beneath the shaft thy fell hand shot—of my blind age, the staff, the stay.
On the cold earth 'twere yet a joy—to touch my perished child again,
[96](So long if I may live) my boy—in one last fond embrace to strain.
His body all bedewed with gore—his locks in loose disorder thrown,
Let me, let her but touch once more—to the dread realm of Yama gone.'
Then to that fatal place I brought—alone that miserable pair;
His sightless hands, and hers I taught—to touch their boy that slumbered there.
Nor sooner did they feel him lie—on the moist herbage coldly thrown,
Both with a shrill and feeble cry—upon the body cast them down.
The mother as she lay and groaned—addressed her boy with quivering tongue,
And like a heifer sadly moaned—just plundered of her new-dropped young:
'Was not thy mother once, my son—than life itself more dear to thee?
Why the long way hast thou begun—without one gentle word to me.
One last embrace, and then, beloved—upon thy lonely journey go!
Alas! with anger art thou moved—that not a word thou wilt bestow?'
The miserable father now [151]—with gentle touch each cold limb pressed,
And to the dead his words of woe—as to his living son, addressed:
'I too, my son, am I not here?—thy sire with thy sad mother stands;
Awake, arise, my child, draw near—and clasp each neck with loving hands.
Who now, 'neath the dark wood by night—a pious reader shall be heard?
Whose honied voice my ear delight—with th' holy Veda's living word?
The evening prayer, th' ablution done—the fire adored with worship meet,
Who now shall soothe like thee, my son—with fondling hand, my aged feet?
And who the herb, the wholesome root—or wild fruit from the wood shall bring?
To us the blind, the destitute—with helpless hunger perishing?
Thy blind old mother, heaven-resigned—within our hermit-dwelling lone,
How shall I tend, myself as blind—now all my strength of life is gone!
[97]Oh stay, my child, Oh part not yet—to Yama's dwelling go not now,
To-morrow forth we all will set—thy mother, and myself, and thou:
For both, in grief for thee, and both—so helpless, ere another day,
From this dark world, but little loath—shall we depart, death's easy prey!
And I myself, by Yama's seat—companion of thy darksome way,
The guerdon to thy virtues meet—from that great Judge of men will pray.
Because, my boy, in innocence—by wicked deed thou hast been slain,
Rise, where the heroes dwell, who thence—ne'er stoop to this dark world again.
Those that to earth return no more—the sense-subdued, the hermits wise,
Priests their sage masters that adore—to their eternal seats arise.
Those that have studied to the last—the Veda's, the Vedanga's page,
Where saintly kings of earth have passed—Nahusa and Yayáti sage;
The sires of holy families—the true to wedlock's sacred vow;
And those that cattle, gold, or rice—or lands with liberal hands bestow;
That ope th' asylum to th' oppressed—that ever love, and speak the truth,
Up to the dwellings of the blest—th' eternal, soar thou, best loved youth.
For none of such a holy race—within the lowest seat may dwell;
But that will be his fatal place—by whom my only offspring fell.'
So groaning deep, that wretched pair—the hermit and his wife, essayed
The meet ablution to prepare—their hands their last faint effort made.
Divine, with glorious body bright—in splendid car of heaven elate,
Before them stood their son in light—and thus consoled their helpless state:
'Meed of my duteous filial care—I've reached the wished for realms of joy;[152]
And ye, in those glad realms, prepare—to meet full soon your dear-loved boy.
My parents, weep no more for me—yon warrior monarch slew me not,
My death was thus ordained to be;—predestined was the shaft he shot."
[98]Thus, as he spoke, the anchorite's son—soared up the glowing heaven afar,
In air his heavenly body shone—while stood he in his gorgeous car.
But they, of that lost boy so dear—the last ablution meetly made,
Thus spoke to me that holy seer—with folded hands above his head.
'Albeit by thy unknowing dart—my blameless boy untimely fell,
A curse I lay upon thy heart—whose fearful pain I know too well.
As sorrowing for my son I bow—and yield up my unwilling breath,
So, sorrowing for thy son shalt thou—at life's last close repose in death.'
That curse, dread sounding in mine ear—to mine own city forth I set,
Nor long survived that hermit seer—to mourn his child in lone regret.
This day that Brahmin curse fulfilled—hath fallen on my devoted head,
In anguish for any parted child—have all my sinking spirits fled.
No more my darkened eyes can see—my clouded memory is o'ercast,
Dark Yama's heralds summon me—to his deep, dreary, realm to haste.
Mine eye no more my Rama sees—and grief o'erburns, my spirits sink,
As the swollen stream sweeps down the trees—that grow upon the crumbling brink.
Oh, felt I Rama's touch, or spake—one word his home-returning voice,
Again to life should I awake—as quaffing nectar draughts rejoice,
But what so sad could e'er have been—celestial partner of my heart,
Than, Rama's beauteous face unseen,—from life untimely to depart.
His exile in the forest o'er—him home returned to Oudes high town,
Oh happy those, that see once more—like Indra from the sky come down.
No mortal men, but gods I deem—moonlike, before whose wondering sight,
My Rama's glorious face shall beam—from the dark forest bursting bright.
Happy that gaze on Rama's face—with beauteous teeth and smile of love,
Like the blue lotus in its grace—and like the starry king above.
Like to the full autumnal moon—and like the lotus in its bloom,
[99]That youth who sees returning soon—how blest shall be that mortal's doom.
Dwelling on that sweet memory—on his last bed the monarch lay,
And slowly, softly, seemed to die—as fades the moon at dawn away.
"Ah, Rama! ah, my son!" thus said—or scarcely said, the king of men,
His gentle hapless spirit fled—in sorrow for his Rama then,
The shepherd of his people old—at midnight on his bed of death,
The tale of his son's exile told—and breathed away his dying breath.

EXTRACTS FROM THE MAHABHARATA.

THE BRAHMIN'S LAMENT.

THIRD SONG.

THE DELUGE.

NOTES ON NALA.

[1] p. 3. l. 4. Over, over all exalted. This repetition is in the original.

[2] p. 3. l. 5. Holy deep-read in the Vedas. All the perfections, which, according to the opinions and laws of the Hindus, distinguish the sovereign from the rest of mankind, are here ascribed to the hero of the poem. The study of the Vedas must be cultivated by the three superior castes, and ensures both temporal and eternal beatitude. In the laws of Menu it is said, "Greatness is not conferred by years, not by grey hairs, not by wealth, not by powerful kindred." The divine sages have established this rule—Whoever has read the Vedas and their Angas, he is among us great. (Jones's Menu, ii. 254). Of all these duties, answered Bhrigu, the principal is to acquire from the Upanishads a true knowledge of the one supreme God: that is the most exalted of all sciences, because it ensures immortality, (xii. 85). For in the knowledge and adoration of one God, which the Veda teaches, all the rules of good conduct before-mentioned in order, are fully comprised, (ib. 87.)

The study of the Vedas is considered the peculiar duty of kings, (vii. 43). The Upanishads are doctrinal extracts of the Vedas.

The Indian law demands in the most rigorous manner from every one of noble birth, the mastery over the senses. Menu says, c. ii. 93, "A man by the attachment of his organs to sensual pleasure, incurs certain guilt; but having wholly subdued them, he thence attains heavenly bliss. v. 94. Desire is never satisfied with the enjoyment of desired objects; as the fire is not appeased with clarified butter; it only blazes more vehemently. v. 97. To a man contaminated by sensuality, neither the Vedas, nor liberality, nor sacrifices, nor strict observances, nor pious austerities, ever procure felicity." The control over every kind of sensual indulgence is enjoined upon the king. vii. 44. Day and night must he strenuously exert himself to gain complete victory over his own organs; since that king alone whose organs are completely subdued, can keep his people firm to their duty.

Skill in the management of horses and chariots, which in a subsequent part of the poem is of great importance to Nala, is often mentioned as a praiseworthy accomplishment of kings. In the Ramayana, for instance, in the description of king Dasaratha, which likewise contains the above-mentioned traits of character—"In this city Ayodhya was a king named Dusharuthâ, descended from Ikshwaku, perfectly skilled in the Veda and Vedangas, prescient, of great ability, beloved by all his people, a great charioteer, constant in sacrifice, eminent in sacred duties, a royal sage, nearly equalling a Muhurshi, famed throughout the three worlds, mighty, triumphant over his enemies, observant of justice, having a perfect command of his[118] appetites." Carey and Marshman's translation, sect. vi. p. 64.

[3] p. 3. l. 5. —in Nishadha lord of earth. I have accented this word not quite correctly Nĭshādhă, in order to harmonise with the trochaic flow of my metre. It appears to be the same as Nishadha-râshtra and Nishādha-dēsa. See Wilford's list of mountains, rivers, countries; from the Purànas and other books. Asiatic Researches, vol. viii. Bopp.

[4] p. 3. l. 6. Loving dice, of truth unblemished. The Sanscrit word Akshapujah is differently interpreted. Kosegarten renders it in a good sense as "fearing heaven." He argues that it is the poet's object in this passage to describe the good qualities of Nala, and that he does not become a gamester till possessed by the demon Kali. Bopp gives the sense in the text, which seems to connect it with the history of king Yudishthira, to whom it is addressed.

[5] p. 3. l. 7. Sense subdued. The highest notion of this favourite perfection of Indian character, may be given in the words of the author of the Bhagavat-Gita: "The highest perfection to which the soul can attain, is action without passion. The mind is to be entirely independent of external objects; to preserve its undisturbed serenity it should have the conscious power of withdrawing all its senses within itself, as the tortoise draws all its limbs beneath in shell." Action is necessary, but action must produce no emotion—no sensation on the calm spirit within; whatever may be their consequences, however important, however awful, events are to be unfelt, and almost unperceived by the impassive mind; and on this principle Arjuna is to execute the fated slaughter upon his kindred without the least feeling of sorrow or compunction being permitted to intrude on the divine apathy of his soul. Some of the images in which this passionless tranquillity of the spirit is described, appear singularly beautiful:

As to th' unrais'd unswelling ocean flow the multitudinous streams,
So to the soul serene, unmov'd—flow in the undisturbing lusts.

And then again the soul, in this state of unbroken quietude,

Floats like the lotus on the lake, unmov'd, unruffled by the tide.

[6] p. 3. l. 8. Best, a present Manu he. Manu, or Menu, the representative of the human race; the holy, mythological ancestor of the Hindus. In the Diluvium, the Indian version of the Deluge, (see the latter part of this volume), Manu is the survivor of the human race—the second ancestor of mankind. The first Menu is named "Swayambhuva, or sprung from the self-existing." From him "came six descendants, other Menus, or perfectly understanding the Scri[119]pture, each giving birth to a race of his own, all exalted in dignity, eminent in power." Laws of Menu, i. 61. The great code of law "the Hindus firmly believe to have been promulged in the beginning of time by Menu, son or grandson of Brahma, or in plain English the first of created beings, and not the oldest only but the noblest of legislators." Sir W. Jones's preface to Laws of Menu; Works, vii. 76. In the Ramayana, in like manner, king Dasaratha is compared to the ancient king, Menu. The word Manu, as the name of the ancestor of men, is derived from the Sanscrit root Man, to know (Wilson in voce); in the same manner as the Sanscrit Maníshá, knowledge, Manushya, Man—as also the Latin Mens, and the German Mensch. According to this etymology, Man, Mensch, properly means "the knowing," the Being endowed with knowledge. The German word, Meinen, to mean, or be of opinion, belongs to the same stock.

[7] p. 3. l. 9. So there dwelt in high Vidarbha. This city is called by our poet Vidarbha Nagara, the city of Vidarbha, and Cundina. According to Wilford it is Burra Nag-poor. Bopp. Colebrooke, Asiatic Researches, remarks, that some suppose it to be the modern Berar, which borders on the mountain Vindhya or Gondwanah. The kingdom of Vidarbha, and its capital Kundini, are mentioned in the very remarkable drama Malati and Madhava. Wilson's Hindu Theatre, ii. 16; and extract from Harivansa, in Langlois Monumens de l'Inde, p. 54.

[8] p. 3. l. 9. Bhima, terrible in strength. Bhima-parâkrama. There is a play upon the words, Bhima meaning terrible.

[9] p. 3. l. 11. Many a holy act, on offspring. He made offerings and performed penance, by which blessings were forced from the reluctant gods. In India not only temporal, but eternal happiness, depends on having children. The son alone by the offering of the Sraddha, or libation for the dead, can obtain rest for the departed spirit of the father. Hence the begetting of a son is a religious duty, particularly for a Brahmin, and is one of the three debts to which he is bound during life. After he has read the Vedas in the form prescribed by Law, has legally begotten a son, and has performed sacrifices to the best of his power, he has paid his three debts, and may then apply his heart to eternal bliss. Menu, vi. 36. By a son a man obtains victory over all people; by a son's son he enjoys immortality; and afterwards, by the son of that grandson, he reaches the solar abode. Menu, ix. 137.

This last passage is immediately followed by the explanation of the Sanscrit word Puttra, son, by "the deliverer from hell." Since the son (trayatè) delivers his father from the hell, named put, he was therefore called puttra by Brahma himself. This explanation, which it given by the Indian etymologists, appears nevertheless, as is often the case, rather forced; since the final syllable,[120] tra, which is translated by deliver (or preserve, Wilson, in voce) is a common ending of many words, without the peculiar signification of delivering: as with this final syllable on the word Pu, to be pure, is formed the noun Puwitra, pure. Wilkins, Grammar, p. 454; Kosegarten. The affix with which this last is formed however, is not tra, but itra, and it affords therefore no ground of objection to the usual etymology of Puttra. Wilson.

The Indian poetry is full of instances of this strong desire for offspring. In the Ramayana, king Dasaratha performs the Aswamedha, or offering of a horse, to obtain a son. "To this magnanimous king, acquainted in every duty, pre-eminent in virtue, and performing sacred austerities for the sake of obtaining children, there was no son to perpetuate his family. At length in the anxious mind of this noble one the thought arose, 'Why do I not perform an Ushwamedha to obtain a son.'" Carey and Marshman's translation, sect. viii. p. 74. Compare the Raghu Vansa, canto i., and all that is done by king Dilipa to obtain a son: and the poem of the death of Hidimbha, published by Bopp.

[10] p. 3. l. 14. —in his hospitable hall. Hospitality to a Brahmin is of course one of the greatest virtues. "A Brahmin coming as a guest, and not received with just honour, takes to himself all the reward of the housekeeper's former virtue, even though he had been so temperate as to live on the gleanings of harvests, and so pious as to make oblations in five distinct fires." Sir W. Jones, Menu, iii. 100.

[11] p. 3. l. 22. —as around great Indra's queen. Sachi.

Sachi, soft as morning light,
Blithe Sachi, from her lord Indrani hight.—Sir W. Jones's Hymn to Indra.

[12] p. 4. l. 2. Mid her handmaids, like the lightning. There are two words of similar signification in the original; one of them implies life-giving. Lightning in India being the forerunner of the rainy season, is looked on as an object of delight as much as terror. Bopp, from the Scholiast.

[13] p. 4. l. 2. —shone she with her faultless form. Sri, or Lakshmi, the goddess of beauty and abundance, at once the Ceres and the Alma Venus of India.

Daughter of ocean and primeval night,
Who fed with moonbeams dropping silent dew,
And cradled in a wild wave dancing light.—Sir W. Jones's Ode to Lacshmi.

[14] p. 4. l. 4. —never mid the Yaksha race. The Yakshas are demigods attendant on Kuvera, the god of wealth, descendants of Kasyapa by his wife Khasa. They inhabit mountains, and have intercourse with the Apsa[121]rasas, or heavenly nymphs. Sometimes they appear not altogether as good beings, sometimes entirely harmless. "The souls of men enslaved to their passions will rise no higher than the Yakshas." Menu, xii. 47. The subject of the Meghaduta, or Cloud-Messenger of Kalidása, so elegantly translated by Mr. Wilson, is the regret of a Yaksha for his beloved wife. Compare Mr. Wilson's note on the Yakshas, Cloud Messenger, p. 69.

[15] p. 4. l. 7. Nala too, 'mong kings the tiger. Nara Sardula, the Tiger warrior. I have retained the literal meaning, though, according to Bopp, it means in fine compositi, Optimus, præstantissimus. Mr. Southey's Young Tlalala, in Madoc, is the "tiger of the war."

[16] p. 4. l. 8. Like Kandarpa in his beauty. Kandarpa is the god of love. Kama, Love, or Kam Deo, God of Love. Dipaka, the Inflamer. Manmatha, Heart-disturber. Ananga, the Incorporeal.

God of each lovely sight, each lovely sound.
Soul-kindling, world-inflaming, star y-crowned,
Eternal Cama! or doth Smara bright,
Or proud Ananga give thee more delight—Sir W. Jones, Ode to Camdeo.

[17] p. 4. l. 12. Thus of each, O son of Kunti. Kunti was the mother of King Yudishthira, to whom the poem is related. I have usually omitted this address, which is sometimes made to Yudishthira under the title of Bhárata, i. e. descendant of Bharata, or other appellations.

[18] p. 4. l. 15. There the swans he saw disporting. In the original this is a far less poetic bird, and the author must crave forgiveness for having turned his geese into swans. If, however, we are to believe Bohlen, in his learned work, Das Alte Indien, the translators are altogether mistaken; they have been misled by the similarity of the word Hansa to Gans—a goose. The original, he asserts, to mean a mythic bird, closely resembling the swan, or perhaps the tall and brilliant flamingo, which Southey has introduced with such effect in one of his rich descriptions in the Curse of Kehama. The goose, however, according to the general opinion, is so common in Indian mythology, that this must be received with much caution. In the modern Tamulic version of the story, translated by Mr. Kindersley, are substituted, "Milk white Aunnays, descending from the skies, like an undulating garland of pearls." The Aunnays are supposed to be a sort of birds of paradise. They are represented as milk white; remarkable for the gracefulness of their walk; and endowed with considerable gifts. Mr. Wilson, in his Meghaduta, has given me a precedent for the change of geese into swans; see p. 27, v. 71, with the note. And Mr. E[122]llis, Asiatic Researches, vol. xiv. p. 29, has the following note on the subject: "There are three distinctions of Hamsa; the Raja-hamsa, with a milk-white body and deep red beak and legs, this is the Phenicopteros, or flamingo; the Mallicácsha-hamsa, with brownish beak and legs; and the Dhartarashtra-hamsa, with black beak and legs: the latter is the European swan, the former a variety. The gait of an elegant woman is compared by the Hindu poets to the proud bearing of a swan in the water. Sonnerat, making a mistake similar to that in the text, translates a passage in which this allusion occurs, in words to the following purport, 'Her gait resembled that of a goose.' Other writers have fallen into the same error." The swans, ou Plutôt les Génies ailès, play the same part in an extract from the Harivansa, translated by M. Langlois, in his Monumens Littéraires de l'Inde, Paris, 1827, p. 158. The first part of the Harivansa has just appeared, under the auspices of the Oriental Translation Committee.

[19] p. 5. l. 4. Like the Aswinas in beauty. See Asiatic Researches, i. 263; ix. 323. Ramayana, i. 226.

[20] p. 5. l. 7. Gandharvas. Celestial choristers, of beautiful forms and complexion, usually seen in Hindu sculptures attendant on the deities.

Celestial genii tow'rd their king advance
(So called by men) in heaven Gandharvas named,
For matchless music famed.
Soon when the bands in lucid rows assemble,
Flutes breathe, and citherns tremble.

Sir W. Jones, Ode to Indra.—See Ramayana, l. 125.

[21] p. 5. l. 7. the Serpents. The serpents are objects of reverence and veneration in India. They are called Naga, not going; Uragas—breast-going. Their residence is in Pátála, though they are occasional visitants both of heaven and earth. See notes to book V. In the Bhagavat Gita, Arjun sees Brahma "sitting on his lotus-throne; all the Reshees and Ooragas (serpents)," Wilkins' translation, p. 91. According to Wilson, (Sanscrit Dict. voce Naga), the race of these beings is said to have sprung from Kadru, the wife of Kasyapa, in order to people Pátála, or the regions below the earth.

[22] p. 5. l. 7. The Rakshasas. Demons who assume at will the forms of lions, tigers, horses, and other animals, as well as the human shape, with numerous heads and arms. They are represented as cannibals who devour their enemies. See Ramayana.

[23] p. 6. l. 6. —and with passion h[123]eart-possessed. It is, literally, her mind (or thought), being possessed by the heart-sleeper, (i. e. love, reposing or dwelling in the heart). Wilson.

[24] p. 6. l. 8. The Swayembara. The self-election. The princesses in India enjoyed this singular privilege. The festival was proclaimed, and from the assembled suitors the lady selected her future husband. The Swayembara is not among the eight kinds of marriages mentioned in the third book of Menu, as customary among the higher castes, in which the parents in general arrange such contracts. The provision in the ninth book (v. 90), appears to belong to the lower classes.—"Three years let a damsel wait, though she be marriageable; but after that term let her choose for herself a bridegroom of equal rank." In the Raghuvansa, a poem, parts of which the author of this translation, if he could command leisure to make himself better acquainted with Sanscrit, would consider well worthy of being introduced to the English reader, there is a very remarkable and beautiful book, describing a Swayembara. This is likewise held at Vidarbha by the daughter of the king. The Mahabharata also describes the Swayembara of the princess Draupadi.

[25] p. 6. l. 17. The lord of many peasants. Vaisya, the third caste, husbandmen and traders.

[26] p. 6. l. 22. All with rich and various garlands. The use of garlands in the decoration of the houses and temples of the Hindus, and of flowers in their offerings and festivals, furnishes employment to a particular tribe or caste, the málácáras, or wreath makers. Wilson, note 57, on Meghaduta or Cloud-messenger.

[27] p. 7. l. 2. Indra's world. Indra is the God of heaven, of the thunder and lightning, storm and rain: his dwelling is sometimes placed on mount Meru, as the heaven of the Greeks on Olympus. His city is called Amaravati; his palace Vaijayanti; his garden Nandana. (Kosegarten.)

Hail, mountain of delight,
Palace of glory, bless'd by glory's king.
With prospering shade embower me, whilst I sing
Thy wonders yet unreached by mortal flight.
Sky-piercing mountain! in thy bowers of love,
No tears are seen, save where medicinal stalks
Weep drops balsamic o'er the silvered walks.
No plaints are heard, save where the restless dove
Of coy repulse, and mild reluctance talks.
Mantled in woven gold, with gems inchas'd,
With emerald hillocks graced,
[124]From whose fresh laps, in young fantastic mazes,
Soft crystal bounds and blazes,
Bathing the lithe convolvulus that winds
Obsequious, and each flaunting arbour binds.—Sir W. Jones, Ode to Indra.

[28] p. 7. l. 3. Narada and Parvata. Two of the divine Munis or Rishis. Narada is the son of Brahma; a friend of Krishna, a celebrated lawgiver, and inventor of the vinà, or lute. (Wilson, Dict. in voce.) Narada is mentioned as one of the "ten lords of created beings, eminent in holiness." Menu, i. 34, 35.

[29] p. 7. l. 5. Them salutes the cloud-compeller. 'Maghavan' is by some explained 'the cloudy.' I have adopted the word used by the translators of Homer.

[30] p. 7. l. 12. Theirs this everlasting kingdom. Kshetriyas, or warriors, slain in battle, are transported to Swerga, the heaven of Indra, by the Apsarasas or nymphs of heaven: hence they are his "ever-honoured guests." "Those rulers of the earth, who, desirous of defeating each other, exert their utmost strength in battle, without ever averting their faces, ascend after death directly to heaven." Menu, vii. 89. Indra means to say, "Why are none new-killed in battle now-a-days, that I see none arriving in my heaven, Swerga?"

[31] p. 7. l. 12. —even as Kamadhuk is mine. Kamadhuk, the cow of plenty. She was brought forth on churning the ocean to produce the amrita, or drink of immortality. The interpretation is doubtful; it may be that this realm is to them the cow of plenty, (as bestowing upon them all their wishes), as the cow of plenty is mine. See Bopp's and Kosegarten's notes.

[32] p. 7. l. 15. Thus addressed by holy Sakra. Sakra, a name of Indra.

Hail, Dyapeter, dismay to Bala's pride,
Or speaks Purander best thy martial fame,
Or Sacra, mystic name.—Sir W. Jones, Hymn to Indra.

Bala and Vritra were the "giants" slain by Indra.

[33] p. 7. l. 23. As they spake, the [125]world-protectors. The world-protectors are the eight gods next below the trine supreme, Brahma, Siva, and Vishnu. They are Indra, the god of heaven; Surya, the god of the sun; Soma or Chandra, the god of the moon; Agni, the god of fire; Pavana, the god of the wind; Kuvera, the god of wealth; Varuna, the god of water; Yama, the god of the infernal regions. At present four only of these gods are introduced; Indra, Yama, Agni, and Varuna. Compare, however, Mr. Wilson's note to Vikrama and Urvasi, Hindu Theatre, i. 219.

[34] p. 8. l. 8. —equal to the god of love. Manmatha, a name of Kandarpa, or Camdeo, the god of love.

[35] p. 11. l. 2. Pledge me to thy faith, O raja. Bopp has rendered 'pranayaswa,' uxorem duc, but this is questionable. The root 'ni,' with the preposition 'pari,' has that sense, but with 'pra' its usual acceptation is 'to love, to bear affection.' I have not met with it in the sense 'to marry.' Bopp is followed by Rosen in assigning this sense to 'prani.' Wilson.

[36] p. 7. l. 4. In full trust is thine. Bopp connects 'visrabdha' with 'pranaya,' and renders them speratas nuptias. I should rather join it adverbially with 'sarvam, all;' that is, 'yours in full trust or confidence: grant me your affection.' There is something indelicate, though inartificial, in Damayanti's urging matrimony so earnestly. Wilson.

[37] p. 11. l. 8. —the vile noose will I endure. Hanging was not considered by the Hindus an undignified mode of self-destruction. See Hindu Theatre, ii. 237 and 299.

[38] p. 11. l. 17. He, who all the world compressing. Nala here recites the separate pretensions and attributes of the great deities, first, of Hutasa, a name of Agni, the god of fire. The sense here is extremely obscure. Bopp renders it literally. 'Qui hanc terram totam contraxit,' seems ambiguous. It may refer to the agency of fire in compacting the world and again consuming it, or simply shrivelling it up, while in the act of consuming.

[39] p. 11. l. 19. He, in awe of whose dread sceptre. Yama: he is called the Dharma raja, king of justice. Wilford in Asiatic Researches. Compare Southey's description in the Curse of Kehama, Canto xxii., with the note from Wilford on which it is founded; and his interview with Sawitri in Bopp's collection of Extracts from the Mahábhárata.

[40] p. 11. l. 21. —slayer of the infernal host. Indra. He was the conqueror of the Danavas or dæmons:

[126]

When through the waves of war thy charger sprang,
Each rock rebellowed, and each forest rang,
The vanquish'd Asurs felt avenging pains.—Sir W. Jones, Ode to Indra.

[41] p. 11. l. 23. —in thy mind if thou couldst choose. (At the close full stop misprinted for comma). Varuna, the god of waters. Schlegel and Rosen consider that a sloka, describing the attributes of Varuna, has been lost—that in this line 'varanam, seligendum' should be written instead of 'Varunam.' The Calcutta edition has the same reading, however, and the change is not necessary: if any alteration be made it should probably be in the first word, and 'Vriyatám' be read in place of 'Kriyatám.' Wilson.

[42] p. 14. l. 1. Came the day of happy omen. The Indians, like all other Asiatic nations, have their fortunate and unfortunate days. The month is divided into thirty lunar days (tithis), which are personified as nymphs. See the Dissertation on the lunar year by Sir W. Jones, Asiatic Researches, iii. 257. In the Laws of Menu are multifarious directions concerning the day of the moon fit or unfit for particular actions. "The dark lunar day destroys the spiritual teacher; the fourteenth destroys the learner; the eighth and the day of the full moon destroy all remembrance of Scripture; for which reason he must avoid reading on those lunar days."

[43] p. 14. l. 5. They, the court with golden columns, etc. The literal rendering is, 'they entered the hall (the stage, or place of exhibition, a spacious court or quadrangle) splendid with columns of gold, and brilliant with a portal; a temporary or triumphal arch (torana).' There is allusion to such a porch or portal in the Mudrá Rakshasa (Hindu Theatre, ii. 181, 182), also in the Toy Cart, (i. 82). For gold pillars see Crawfurd's description of the Hall of Audience at Ava.

"The roof is supported by a great number of pillars: with the exception of about fourteen or fifteen inches at the bottom of each pillar, painted of a bright red, the whole interior of the palace is one blaze of gilding—although little reconcilable to our notions of good taste in architecture, the building is unquestionably most splendid and brilliant, and I doubt whether so singular and imposing a royal edifice exists in any other country." Embassy to Ava, 133. Wilson.

[44] p. 14. l. 10. —delicate in shape and hue. Bopp's text is 'ákáravantah suslakshnah, having forms and delicate.' The Calcutta edition reads 'ákáraverna suslakshnah, elegant in figure and colour (complexion). Delicacy of colour, i. e. a lighter shade, scarcely amounting to blackness at all, is in general a mark of high caste. Wilson.

[45] p. 14. l.[127] 13. As with serpents Bhogavati. Bhogavati, the capital of the serpents in the infernal world. In the Ramayana, Ayodhya is described as guarded by warriors, as Bhogavati by the serpents.

[46] p. 15. l. 22. Nala's form might not discern. The form of the gods, as it is here strikingly described by the poet, differs from that of men by the absence of those defects which constitute the inferiority of a mortal body to that of the inhabitants of the Indian heaven. The immortal body does not perspire, it is unsoiled by dust, the garlands which they wear stand erect, that is, the flowers are still blooming and fresh. The gods are further distinguished by their strong fixed gaze, and by floating on the earth without touching it. They have no shadow. Nala's form is the opposite of all these. Kosegarten.

[47] p. 15. l. 23. —saw she, and with moveless eyes. "The gods are supposed to be exempt from the momentary elevation and depression of the upper eyelid, to which mortals are subject. Hence a deity is called 'Animisha' or 'Animesha,' one whose eyes do not twinkle." Mr. Wilson, in his note to Vikrama and Urvasi, (Hindu Theatre, i. 237. p. 60.), quotes this passage, and suggests that the "marble eyes of Venus, by which Helen knew the goddess, and which the commentators and translators seem to be much perplexed with, are probably the 'stabdha lochana,' the fixed eyes of the Hindus, full and unveiled for an instant, like the eyes of a marble statue." Mr. Wilson has, I think, been misled by the words ὁμματα μαρμαἱροντα, which rather expresses the contrary. Μαρμαἱρω is to glitter, and is applied in many places in Homer to the gleaming of armour. The μαρμαριγἀς θηεἴτο ποδὤν of the Odyssey is well translated by Gray, "glance their many-twinkling feet." In Mr. Wilson's curious reference to Heliodorus (the passage is in the Æthiopica, iii. 13.) the author appears to write from Egyptian rather than Grecian notions. He extorts, somewhat violently, a meaning from Homer's words, δεινὼ δἐ εἱ ἔσσε φἁανθην, which they by no means necessarily bear; but the analogy is as curious if Egyptian as if Grecian.

[48] p. 15. l. 25. On his shadow, garland drooping. According to the Zoroastrian religion, one of the distinctions of human beings after the restoration of all things and the final triumph of Ormuzd, shall be that they shall cast no shadow; μἡτε σκἱαν παιοὔνταϛ. Theopomp. apud Plut. de Isid. et Osirid. Compare Anquetil du Perron and Kleuker, Anhang zum Zendavesta, i. 140.

[49] p. 16. l. 14. And the happy pair devoutly. The devotion of the silent spirit, the purely mental worship, is the holiest and most acceptable service to the gods. Compare Wilkins, Bhagavat-Gita, p. 74; Menu, ii. 85; vi. 235.

[50] p. 16. l. 19. Agni gave his own brig[128]ht presence. Agni gave him the command of fire whenever he willed. Hutása is a name of Agni; hut-asa, 'qui sacrificium edit,' i. e. ignis. Bopp's explanation, 'mundos per Deum Agnem splendentes,' has been adopted as giving the clearest sense. Varuna gave the command of water.

[51] p. 16. l. 23. —each his double blessing gave. Bopp translates this, 'par liberorum dederunt,' but the original says, 'all (or each) gave a pair,' i. e. a couple of blessings; making eight, as stated above; each of the four gods giving two. Wilson.

[52] p. 17. l. 4. Lived in bliss, as with his Sachi. Indra, the giant-killer; Sachi, his spouse.

[53] p. 17. l. 7. Of the horse the famous offering. The reader will be best acquainted with the Aswamedha, or sacrifice of the horse, from the spirit and felicity with which it has been introduced by Southey in the Curse of Kehama. See also the Ramayana.

[54] p. 18. l. 2. As they parted thence, with Kali. Dwapara and Kali are the names of the third and fourth ages of the world. The latter is here personified as a male deity.

[55] p. 18. l. 17. —the Puranas too the fifth. In the original 'Akhyana, history, legend.' The four Vedas are the Rig-veda, the Yajur Veda, the Sama Veda, and the Atharvana. Akhyana is, as it were, tradition superadded to scripture.

[56] p. 20. l. 5. Nala in the dusky twilight, etc. This is rather an unmanageable passage; but the Latin translation has not rendered its purport correctly. 'Upaspris' can in no case mean 'calcare:' it implies touching, and especially touching or sipping water, as part of the ceremony of purification. As Menu; "Let each man sprinkle the cavities of his body, and taste water in due form, etc." In the text of this passage, 'upaspris' is used for touching or sprinkling. In others, it is used in the sense of ablution, bathing. In the lexicons it is explained 'upasparsa sparsamátre, snánáchamanay-orapi, touch in general, ablution, sipping water.' In the Mitákshara, on the subject of personal purification, the direction is, after evacuations, 'Dwijo nityam upaspriset, Let the man of two births always perform the upaspersa,' i. e. says the commentator, 'áchámet, let him sip water.' The sense of the passage of the text is, 'that Nala sat down to evening prayer; (as Menu directs, he who repeats it sitting at evening twilight, etc.,) after performing his purifications, and sipping water, but without having washed his feet, such ablution being necessary not because they had been soiled, but because such an act is also part of the rite of purification. As the Mitakshara, 'etasmát páda prakshálana prápti, after that purification, comes the washing of the feet,' especially prior to any religious act. So Colebro[129]oke: "Having washed his hands and feet, and having sipped water, the priest sits down to worship." A. R. v. 363. Wilson.

[57] p. 20. l. 12. In the dice of dice embodied. 'Sicut taurus boum:' the literal translation of the phrase is explained by the commentator Nilakantha, as 'talus inter talos eximius.' I have adopted Schlegel's reading, which substitutes Dwapara for Kali, as possessing the dice.

[58] p. 20. l. 23. Then the charioteer advancing. The charioteer appears as one of the great officers of state: the master of the horse would convey as lofty a meaning to an English ear.

[59] p. 21. l. 1. Ill they brook this dire misfortune. Vyasana is a misfortune in a king: neglect of his duty for the pleasures of the chase, gambling, etc.

[60] p. 22. l. 1. Punyasloka, king of men. Punyasloka is a title applied to other kings celebrated in Hindu poetry, to Yudishthira, and also to Vishnu: it means, celebrated in sacred poems. Wilson, Dict. in voce.

[61] p. 23. l. 13. —to Cundina's city go. Cundina is the capital of the kingdom of Vidarbha.

[62] p. 23. l. 23. Thence departing, to Ayodhya. Ayodhya, or Oude, is famous in all the early poetry of India. "On the banks of the Suruyoo is a large country called Koshula, gay and happy, and abounding with cattle, corn, and wealth. In that country was a famous city called Ayodhya, built formerly by Munoo, the lord of men. A great city, twelve yojanas in extent, the houses of which stood in triple and long-extended rows. It was rich, and perpetually adorned with new improvements; the streets and valleys were admirably disposed, and the principal streets well watered. It was filled with merchants of various descriptions, and adorned with abundance of jewels; difficult of access, filled with spacious houses, beautified with gardens, and groves of mango trees, surrounded by a deep and impassable moat, and completely furnished with arms; was ornamented with stately gates and porticoes, and constantly guarded by archers, etc. etc." Ramayana, translated by Carey and Marshman, vol. i. p. 60.

[63] p. 25. l. 16. —to the region of the south. Dakshinaptha signifies properly the land on the right hand; as in the Semitic language the south is that which is on the right hand. It means here the land to the south of the Nerbudda. Dakshinapatha is very probably meant in the word used by Arrian, Dachinab[130]ades. Kosegarten.

[64] p. 25. l. 17. Passing by Avanti's city. Avanti, which Bopp makes a mountain, according to Kosegarten and Mr. Wilson is a city, Oujein. Bopp draws a somewhat fanciful analogy between Avanti and the Aventine at Rome. He refers also to Himavan, qu. Mavanten, 'montem.' The philological student will do well to consult this note of Bopp. In the Meghadúta, Oujein is Aventi:

Behold the city, whose immortal fame,
Glows in Avanti's or Visala's name. line 193.

The synonyms of Oujein are thus enumerated by Hemachandra: Ujjayini, Visála, Avanti, and Pashparavandini. Rikshaván, i. e. bear-having, the mount of bears, is part of the Vindhya chain, separating Malwa from Kandesh and Berar. Wilson.

[65] p. 25. l. 18. Vindhya here, the mighty mountain. See note to 'Cloud-Messenger,' page 92 to 94. Compare likewise Asiatic Researches, i. p. 380, where, in one of the famous inscriptions on the staff of Feroz Shah, it is named as one of the boundaries of Aryaverta, the land of virtue, or India. It is named also in the curious Indian grant of land found at Tanna. Asiatic Researches, i. 366.

[66] p. 25. l. 18. —and Payoshni's seaward stream. Payoshni, a river that flows from the Vindhya, mentioned in the Brahmanda Purana. Asiatic Researches, viii. 341.

[67] p. 25. l. 20. —this to Cosala away. Cosala, a city of Ayodhya, or Oude. Cosala is mentioned in the Brahmanda Purana as beyond the Vindhya mountains. Asiatic Researches, viii. 343.

[68] p. 27. l. 7. Both together by one garment. The poet supposes that Damayanti had bestowed half her single garment upon Nala. Bopp. This, however, does not appear to be the case.

[69] p. 28. l. 4. From her virtue none dare harm her. Spenser's Una, and still more the lady in Comus, will recur to the remembrance of the English reader. See Quarterly Review, vol. xlv. p. 20.

[70] p. 28. l. 24. —may the genii of the woods. He calls on the Adityas, Vasavas, and Rudras, the Aswinas, the Maruts. This is the literal version. They are different orders of genii, each consisting of a definite number. The Adityas are twelve, and preside over the different months. They are cal[131]led the children of Kasyapa and of Aditi his wife. According to Mr. Wilkins (notes to the Bhagavat-Gita, p. 144), they are no more than emblems of the sun for each month in the year. Mr. Wilkins gives their names:

The Vasavas, or Vasus, are eight. Indra is the first. They are the guardians of the world, and apparently the same with the eight gods mentioned in the early part of the poem.

The Rudras are eleven; according to some the eleven personifications of Siva, who bears the name of Rudra. Bhagavat-Gita, p. 85. note 144. "The lord of creation meditated profoundly on the earth, and created the gods, the Vasus, Rudras, and Adityas." Colebrooke, in Asiatic Researches, viii. 453.

For the Aswinas see former note.

The Maruts are forty-nine: they preside over the winds (Menu, iii. 88.) The chief god of the wind, Pavana, is called Marut. Their origin is described in the Ramayana, i. 420. See also the Hindu Pantheon, p. 92.

[71] p. 30. l. 14. Hence one moment, thus deserted. Conjugal duty is carried to a great height in the laws of Menu: "Though unobservant of approved usages, or enamoured of another woman, or devoid of good qualities, yet a husband must constantly be revered as a god by a virtuous wife." v. 154.

[72] p. 31. l. 11. —in the satyr-haunted wood. Swapada, dog-footed: the dog is an unclean animal in India. As the goat-footed, the 'capripedes satyri' in Greece, I have thought the satyr not so exclusively Greek but that it might be used for any "wild man of the woods." The word is also derived from 'swan, a dog,' and 'ápad, to resemble,' and is explained by Mr. Wilson, ferocious, savage.

[73] p. 32. l. 21. —uttered loud her curse of wrath. The power of a curse, according to Indian belief, will be best illustrated to the reader of English poetry by "the Curse of Kehama." In the "Death of Yajnadatta," included in this volume, we find the effects of a Brahmin's curse described.

[74] p. 33. l. 5. Trees of every form and stature. I have omitted a long list of trees, the names of which, conveying no notion to an English ear, and wanting the characteristic epithets of Ovid's or of Spenser's well-known and picturesque forest description, would only perplex the reader with several lines of unintelligible words. To the Indian ear these names, pregnant with pleasing associations, and descriptive in their etymological meaning, would no doubt convey the same delight as those of the Latin or English poet.

[132]

[75] p. 33. l. 9. —serpents, elves, and giants saw. Kosegarten has translated this word 'elves:' they are a kind of evil spirit. In Menu, ii. 96, they are named with the Yakshas and Rakshasas as partaking of unclean food.

[76] p. 35. l. 22. All the trees of richest foliage. A general description has again been substituted in these two lines for the names of various trees.

[77] p. 36. l. 4. —of the regal sacrifice. The king's offering. See Colebrooke, in Asiatic Researches, viii. 430.

[78] p. 36. l. 15. —soma quaffing, fire adoring. Soma, the juice of the Asclepias acida, the moon plant. Drinking the expressed juice of this plant is a holy ceremony, used at the completion of a sacrifice, and sanctifies the drinker. "He alone is worthy to drink the juice of the moon plant who keep a provision of grain sufficient to supply those whom the law commands him to nourish, for the term of three years or more. But a twice-born man, who keeps a less provision of grain, yet presumes to taste the juice of the moon plant, shall gather no fruit from that sacrament, even though he taste it at the first or solemn, or much less at any occasional ceremony." Menu, iii. 197. All the ancestors of the Brahmins are 'Soma-pas, moon-plant drinkers.'

[79] p. 36. l. 15. —fire adoring. Watching or maintaining the sacred fire is another duty: it peculiarly belongs to priests and hermits. The latter may watch the fire mentally: "Then having reposited his holy fires, as the law directs, in his mind, let him live without external fire, without a mansion, wholly silent, feeding on roots and fruit." Menu, vi. 25.

[80] p. 37. l. 2. —sweet as the amrita draught. For the amrita, the drink of immortality, see Curse of Kehama, the extract from the Mahábhárata quoted by Mr. Wilkins in his notes to the Bhagavat-Gita, and Ramayana, I. 410.

[81] p. 37. l. 10. To the ancient famous hermits. These famous hermits, whose names I have omitted, were Bhrigu, Atri, and Vasishta.

[82] p. 37. l. 11. Self-denying, strict in diet. The sixth book of Menu is filled with instructions to those who are engaged in 'tapasa:' it is entitled, "On Devotion." "When the father of a family perceives his muscles become flaccid, and his hair gray, and sees the child of his child, let him then seek r[133]efuge in a forest. Abandoning all food eaten in towns, and all his household utensils, let him repair to the lonely wood, committing the care of his wife to her sons, or accompanied by her, if she choose to attend him. Let him take up his consecrated fire, and all his domestic implements of making oblations to it, and departing from the town to the forest, let him dwell in it with complete power over his organs of sense and of action. With many sorts of pure food, such as holy sages used to eat, with green herbs, roots, and fruit, let him perform the five great sacraments before mentioned, introducing them with due ceremonies. Let him wear a black antelope's hide, or a vesture of bark; let him suffer the hairs of his head, his beard, and his nails, to grow continually." Menu, vi. 2. et seqq.

[83] p. 37. l. 18. pulchris femoribus. Clausulam hanc prudens omisi.

[84] p. 37. l. 25. Take thy seat, they said, oh lady. The hospitality of the hermits to Damayanti is strictly according to law. "With presents of water, roots, and fruit, let him honour those who visit his hermitage."

[85] p. 37. l. 27. In your sacred fires, your worship. "Let him, as the law directs, make oblations on the hearth with three sacred fires." Menu, vi. 9. Compare iv. 25.

[86] p. 37. l. 27. —blameless, with your beasts and birds. Hermits were to have "a tender affection for all animated bodies," Menu, vi. 8.

[87] p. 38. l. 12. —twice-born Sages, know ye me. The three first castes are "twice-born." The first birth is from the natural mother; the second from the ligation of the zone; the third from the due performance of the sacrifice: such are the births of him who is usually called twice-born, according to the text of the Veda: among them his divine birth is that which is distinguished by the ligation of the zone and sacrificial cord, and in that birth the Gayatri is his mother, and the Acharya his father. Menu, ii. 169.

[88] p. 39. l. 15. Through devotion now we see him. The kind of prophetic trance, in which holy men, abstracted from all earthly thoughts, were enwrapt, enabled them to see things future.

[89] p. 40. l. 6. Best of trees, the Asoca blooming. The Asoca is a shrub consecrated to Mahadeva; men and women of all classes ought to bathe, on a particular day, in some holy stream, especially the Brahma-putra, and drink water with the buds of the Asoca floating in it. This shrub is planted near[134] the temples of Siva, and grows abundantly on Ceylon. Sita is said to have been confined in a grove of it, while in captivity by Ravana; other relators say that she was confined in a place or house called Asocavan. The Asoca is a plant of the first order of the eighth class, of leguminous fructification, and bears flowers of exquisite beauty. Van Rheede (Hortus Malab. vol. v. tab. 59.) calls it Asjogam. See Asiatic Researches, iii. 254, 277. Moor, Hindu Pantheon, 55.

[90] p. 40. l. 17. Truly be thou named Asoca. Asoca, from a, privative, and soka, grief: a play of words, as when Helen, in Euripides, is called 'Ελενασ, the destroyer of ships.' Many other instances will occur to the classical reader. In Malati and Madhava, the forlorn lover in turn addresses different objects of nature, the clouds, the birds, and the elephants, to inform him whether they have seen his lost mistress. Act ix. See, however, Mr. Wilson's note, who seems to think that he addresses the sylvan deities.

[91] p. 42. l. 8. —Manibhadra, guard us well. Manibhadra, the tutelar deity of travellers and merchants: probably a name of Kuvera, the god of wealth.

[92] p. 42. l. 11. To the realm of Chedi's sovereign. Chedi is the name of the country now called Chandail. The country is perpetually named in the marriage of Roukmini, extracted from the Harivansa by Mons. Langlois, Monumens de l'Inde, p. 96.

[93] p. 43. Compare the Raghuvansa, ch. v. 43 to 49.

[94] p. 43. l. 12.

—lo, a herd of elephants,
Oozing moisture from their temples—

Where the wild elephant delights to shed
The juice exuding fragrant from his head

Wilson's Cloud-Messenger, p. 127, and note.

[95] p. 44. l. 7. —the three worlds seemed all appalled. Swerga, heaven, Martya or Bhumi, the earth, and Patala, hell.

[96] p. 44. l. 21. And Vaisravana the holy. Vaisravana is another name of Kuvera, the god of wealth.

[97] p. 45. l. 13. In some former life committed. The soul, in its transmigration, expiates the sins committed in a former state of being. This necessary corollary from the doctrine of the metempsychosis appear to have prevailed among the pharisaic Jews in the time of our Saviour: "Master, wh[135]o did sin, this man or his parents, that he was born blind." John, ix. 2.

[98] p. 46. l. 15. —in their curious gamesome play. Kutuhalát, rendered by Bopp 'cum voluptate,' means, 'from curiosity.' Wilson.

[99] p. 47. l. 13. I with but one robe, him naked. Bopp's text is incorrect here. Instead of 'Tam. ekavasanam,' the accusative masculine, it should be 'Tam. ekavasaná, I with one garment clad,' the nominative feminine, referring to Damayanti, not to Nala: "I with one garment following him naked and deprived of reason, like one crazed, had not slept for many nights." Wilson.

[100] p. 47. l. 28. That I eat not broken victuals. Among the kinds of food proscribed to a Brahmin are, "the food of a servile man and the orts of another."

[101] p. 47. l. 28. —wash not feet with menial hand. The Latin translation, 'ne faciam pedibus cursum,' is faulty: the sense is, "that I perform not washing of the feet." Damayanti means that she is not to perform menial offices appropriated to persons of low caste. Stipulating for a carriage would be rather extraordinary. Wilson.

[102] p. 49. l. 9. Nárada, the famous hermit. One of the Devarshis, and a great prophet, who is supposed to be still wandering about the world. 'Nara' signifies a thread or clew, a precept, and 'da,' giver. Whenever he appears he is constantly employed in giving good counsel. Wilkins, note on Bhagavat-Gita.

[103] p. 49. l. 23. Ere the tenth step he had counted—him the sudden serpent bit. 'Dasa' means both 'bite' and 'ten.'

[104] p. 50. l. 12. Neither Brahmin fear, nor Sages. In Indian poetry four classes of holy men, or Rishis, are distinguished, and rise, one above the other, in the following rank: Rajarshis, royal Rishis; Maharshis, great Rishis; Brahmarshis, Brahminical Rishis; and Dewarshis, divine Rishis. Kosegarten. Another enumeration specifies seven grades. Wilson, in voce.

[105] p. 50. l. 26. Saying thus, of vests celestial—gave he to the king a pair. The dress of a Hindu consists of two pieces of cloth, one, the lower garment fastened round his waist, and one the upper garment thrown loosely and gracefully over the shoulders. Wilson.

[106] p. 51. l. 6. In the art of dressing viands. This, it[136] will be remembered, was one of the gifts bestowed by the gods on Nala at his marriage.

[107] p. 51. l. 12. —hundred hundreds is thy pay. Suvarnas, a certain measure of gold. Wilson, Dict. in voce.

[108] p. 52. l. 2. There is in the text a second line, repeating the same sentiment. Bopp proposes to reject the first, I have omitted the second.

[109] p. 53. l. 7. And a royal grant for maintenance. See Bopp's note. I have adopted the second sense of the word Agrahārah. Such grants were not uncommon in India, as throughout the east. See the grants on copper-plates found near Bombay, Asiatic Researches, i. 362. So the well-known gifts of the king of Persia to Themistocles.

[110] p. 53. l. 15. —on a royal holiday. A day proclaimed as fortunate by the king.

[111] p. 54. l. 1. —like Manmatha's queen divine. The bride of Kámadeva is Rati, pleasure.

[112] p. 54. ls. 4—10. This long train of similes, in which the images of the lotus flower and the moon so perpetually occur, is too characteristic to be omitted or compressed. I have here and there used the license of a paraphrase.

[113] p. 54. l. 5. Like the pallid night, when Rahu. This is a favourite simile of the Indian poets.

That snatched my love from the uplifted sword,
Like the pale moon from Rahu's ravenous jaws.

Wilson's Malati and Madhava, p. 62.

————-and now thou fall'st, a prey
To death, like the full moon to Rahu's jaws
Consigned.

Ibid. p. 115.

In Indian mythology, eclipses are caused by the dragon Rahu attempting to swallow up the moon. The origin of their hostility is given in a passage quoted by Mr. Wilkins from the Mahabharata, in his notes to the Bhagavat-Gita:—"And so it fell out that when the Soors were quenching their thirst for immortality, Rahu, an Asoor, assumed the form of a Soor, and begun to drink also; and the water had but reached his throat, when the sun and moon, in friendship to the Soors, discovered the deceit, and instantly Narayan cut off his head as he was drinking, with his splendid weapon, chakra. And the gigantic head of the Asoor, emblem of a monstrous summit, being thus separated from his body by the chakra's edge, bounded into the heavens with a dreadful cry, whilst the ponderous trunk fell, cleaving the ground asunder, and shaking the whole earth unto its foundations, with all its islands, rocks, and forest. And from this time the head of Rahu resolved on eternal enmity, and continueth even unto this day at times to seize upon the sun and moon." p. 149.[137]

[114] p. 54. l. 15. To the unadorned a husband. "Married women must be honoured and adorned by their fathers and brethren, by their husbands, and by the brethren of their husbands, if they seek abundant prosperity." Menu, iii, 55.

[115] p. 54. l. 22.—the moon's bride. Rohinia. The moon, as in the northern mythologies, is a male deity. See Wilford, in Asiatic Researches, iii, 384. Rohinia is explained by Mr. Wilson, the fourth lunar asterism, figured by a wheeled carriage, and containing five stars, probably α β γ δ ε, Tauri. In mythology the asterism is personified as one of the daughters of Daksha, and wives of the moon.—Sanscrit Dict. in voce. Comp. Vikrama and Urvasi, p. 57.

[116] p. 57. Dasarna. Dasarna is mentioned in the Cloud Messenger of Kalidasa.

Dasarna's fields await the coming shower.

See likewise Mr. Wilson's note, p. 37.

[117] p. 59. l. 2. By the wind within the forest—fanned, intensely burns the fire. Kosegarten supposes this to mean, that as the incessant wind kindles the fire in the grove of bamboos, so their repeated words may fan the fire of pity in the heart of Nala.

[118] p. 63. l. 9. To desire this deed unholy. A second marriage in a woman is considered in India an inexpiable breach of conjugal fidelity. "A virtuous wife ascends to heaven, though she have no child, if after the decease of her lord she devotes herself to pious austerity. But a widow, who from a wish to bear children, slights her deceased husband by marrying again, brings disgrace on herself here below, and shall be excluded from the seat of her lord." Menu, v, 160-161. "She who neglects her former (purva) lord, though of a lower class, and takes another (para) of a higher, becomes despicable in this world, and is called para purva, or one who had a different husband before." Ibid. 163.

[119] p. 64. l. 4. With the ten good marks distinguished. Avarttas are "locks," curls, or twists of the hair in certain forms on different parts of the body—here they are apparently: forehead 1, head 2, chest 2, ribs 2, flanks 2, crupper 1. In the Magha, v. 9, we have the term Avarttina applied to horses; on[138] which the commentator observes, "Avarttina signifies horses having the ten Avarttas, marks of excellence; they are, two on the breast, two on the head, two on the hollows of the ribs, two on the hollows of the flanks, and one on the crupper (Prapata); these are called the ten Avarttas. Avartta means an eddy, or whirlpool, and the name is applied to dispositions of the hair of a horse which resemble a whirlpool." Wilson.

[120] p. 64. l. 4. —born in Sindhu. The Sindhu is the Indian name for the Indus; the neighbouring territory is called Sind. See Asiatic Researches, viii. 336.

[121] p. 65. l. 7. Matali. The charioteer of Indra. See Rhaguvansa, xii, 86, and Sacontala.

[122] p. 66. l. 10. Ten miles, lo, it lies beyond us. A Yojana; according to some eleven, according to others five or six English miles. I have given a round number.

[123] p. 66. l. 12. Vibhitak. 'Beleric Myrobalan.' Wilson, Sanscrit Dict. in voce.

[124] p. 66. l. 21. Kotis. A Koti is ten millions.

[125] p. 68. l. 11. Kali. It must be remembered that Kali, while within the body of Nala, had been enchanted by the serpent Karkotaka.

[126] p. 68. l. 16. Damayanti; who had cursed in the forest all who had caused the misery of Nala.

[127] p. 68. l. 25. Compare Prospero's power in the Tempest.

[128] p. 70. l. 4. All the region round him echoing—with the thunders of his car. This scene rather reminds us of the watchman reporting the rapid approach of Jehu, "The driving is like the driving of Jehu the son of Nimshi; for he driveth furiously." II Kings ix, 20.

[129] p. 70. l. 6. In their joy they pawed and trampled. The horses of Nala had been before conveyed to the city of king Bhima by Varshneya.

[130] p. 70. l. 16. —as at sound of coming rain. The rejoicing of the peacocks at the approach of rain is very sweetly described in the play of Malati and Madhava, translated by Mr. Wilson. [139]

Ah Malati, how can I bear to contemplate
The young Tamala, bowed beneath the weight
Of the light rain; the quivering drops that dance
Before the cooling gale; the joyful cry
That echoes round, as pleased the pea-fowl hail
The bow of heaven propitious to their loves.—p. 108.

In the Cloud Messenger, the Yaksha who addresses the cloud, fears lest it should be delayed by the cry of the peacock—

Or can the peacock's animated hail
The bird with lucid eyes, to lure thee fail.—l. 147.

In another passage,

Pleased on each terrace, dancing with delight,
The friendly peacock hails thy grateful flight.—l. 215.

[131] p. 76. l. 19. —much and various viands came. The reader must remember the various gifts bestowed on king Nala by the gods upon his marriage.

[132] p. 77. l. 22. —of her mouth ablution made. Washing the mouth after food, which Damayanti in her height of emotion does not forget, is a duty strictly enjoined in the Indian law, which so rigidly enforces personal cleanliness. "With a remnant of food in the mouth, or when the Sraddha has recently been eaten, let no man even meditate in his heart on the holy texts." Menu, iv, 109. "Having slumbered, having sneezed, having eaten, having spitten, having told untruths, having drunk water, and going to read sacred books, let him, though pure, wash his mouth." v. 145.

[133] p. 79. l. 17. —hair dishevelled, mire-defiled. As a sign of sorrow and mourning.

[134] p. 80. l. 4. I will be. "I will be," must be the commencement of the prayer uttered by the bridegroom at the time of marriage. It does not correspond with any of those cited by Mr. Colebrooke. It is probably analogous to that given by him, Asiatic Researches, viii, p. 301. Wilson.

[135] p. 81. l. 11. He through all the world that wanders—witness the all-seeing lord. See the curious Law of Ordeal, Asiatic Researches, vol. i, p. 402, "On the trial by fire, let both hands of the accused be rubbed with rice in the husk, and well examined: then let seven leaves of the Aswatha (the religious fig-tree) be placed on them, and bound with seven threads." Thou, O fire, pervadest all beings; O cause of purity, who givest evidence of virtue and of sin, declare the trut[140]h in this my hand.

[136] p. 81. l. 27. —flowers fell showering all around. These heavenly beings are ever ready, in the machinery of Hindu epics, to perform their pleasing office (of showering flowers on the head of the happy pair) on every important occasion: they are called Pushpa-vrishti, or flower-rainers. Moor, Hindu Pantheon, 194. See in the Raghuvansa, ii, 60. No sooner has king Dílípa offered himself to die for the sacred cow of his Brahminical preceptor, than "a shower of flowers" falls upon him.

[137] p. 86. l. 3. —stands the Apsara in heaven. The birth of the Apsarasas is thus related in the Ramayana.

Then from the agitated deep upsprung
The legion of Apsarasas, so named
That to the watery element they owed
Their being. Myriads were they born, and all
In vesture heavenly clad, and heavenly gems;
Yet more divine their native semblance, rich
With all the gifts of grace and youth and beauty.
A train innumerous followed, yet thus fair
Nor god nor demon sought their widowed love;
Thus Rághava they still remain, their charms
The common treasure of the host of heaven.

—Wilson's Translation, Preface to the Drama of Vikrama and Urvasi, p. 13.

[138] p. 87. l. 16. Pushkara appeased. The Calcutta edition has a better reading than that of Bopp. Instead of Prasantè Pushkare (Pushkara appeased), it is Prasantè tu pure, (the city being tranquil, the rejoicings having ceased). Wilson.

[139] p. 87. l. 21. Nala sate, as in Nandana. Nandâna is the garden of Indra.

[140] p. 87. l. 23. Ruled his realm in Jambudwípa. Sic in Puranis India nominatur. Bopp.

NOTES TO
THE DEATH OF YAJNADATTA.

[141] p. 91. l. 15. So I the lovely Amra left. The Amra is the Mangifern Indica. This tree is not only valuable in the estimation of the Indians for the excellence of its fruits; the belief that the burning juice of its flowers is used to steep the darts of love, enhances their veneration for this beautiful tree. It is frequently mentioned in their poetry. M. Chezy.

[142] p. 91. l. 15. —for the Palasa's barren bloom. The Palasa is the Butea Frondosa of Koenig. Its flowers, of great beauty, are papilionaceous; and its fruit, entirely without use in domestic economy, compared particularly with the Amra, may well be called barren. M. Chezy. See Sir W. Jones's Essay on the Botany of India; and the Asiatic Researches, vol. iii.

[143] p. 91. l. 19. —hath fallen upon my fatal head. "Yes, iniquity once committed, fails not of producing fruit to him who wrought it; if not in his own person, yet in his son's; or if not in his son's, yet in his grandson's." Menu, iv. 173.

[144] p. 92. l. 2. —where haunt the spirits of the dead! The south; the realm of Yama, the judge of the dead.

[145] p. 92. l. 3. —on high the welcome clouds appeared. The beauty of nature after the rainy season has refreshed the earth, is a favourite topic in Indian poetry. The Cloud Messenger, so gracefully translated by Mr. Wilson, is full of allusions to the grateful progress of the cloud, welcomed as it passes along by the joy of animate and inanimate beings. Quote 61-70, 131-142. Compare, in the Hindu Drama, the Toy Cart, act v.

[146] p. 93. l. 2. As though a pupil's hand accursed. The offences of a pupil against a tutor, almost the holiest relation of life, are described in the Laws of Menu, ii. 191 to 218, 242, 8. "By censuring his preceptor, though justly, he will be born an ass; by falsely defaming him, a dog; by using his goods without leave, a small worm; by envying his merit, a larger insect or reptile." As the Roman law did not contemplate the possibility of parricide, that of Menu has no provision against the crime in the text.

[147] p. 93. l. 6. —to the [142]five elements returned. A common Indian phrase for death. The ether is the fifth element.

[148] p. 93. l. 15. Kshatriya. The second, or warrior-caste. The kings in India were usually of this caste.

[149] p. 93. l. 25. Raghu. One of the famous ancestors of Dasaratha. The poem of the Raghu Vansa has recently appeared, edited by M. Stenzler.

[150] p. 94. l. 3. My sire, a Brahmin hermit he—my mother was of Sudra race. This seems inconsistent with Menu: "A Brahmin, if he take a Sudra to his bed as his first wife, sinks to the regions of torment; if he begets a child by her, he loses even his priestly rank." iii, 17; also 18, 19.

[151] p. 96. l. 14. The miserable father now. See in Menu, the penalties and expiation for killing a Brahmin undesignedly, xi, 74, 82; compare 90. An assaulter of a Brahman with intent to kill, shall remain in hell a hundred years; for actually striking him with like intent, a thousand; as many small pellets of dust as the blood of a Brahmin collects on the ground, for so many thousand years must the shedder of that blood be tormented in hell. xi. 207, 8.

[152] p. 97. l. 23. I've reached the wished for realms of joy. Among the acts which lead to eternal bliss are these: "Studying and comprehending the Veda—showing reverence to a natural or spiritual father." Menu, xii, 83.

NOTES TO
THE BRAHMIN'S LAMENT.

[153] p. 104. l. 5.—a heaven-winning race may make. Literally: Whom Brahma has placed with me in trust for a future husband, and through whose offspring I may obtain with my progenitors the regions secured by ablutions made by a daughter's sons. Wilson.

[154] p. 104. l. 15. A line is omitted here, which seems to want a parallel to make up the sloka. Bopp has omitted it in his translation.

[155] p. 105. l. 21. —Sudra like. The lowest caste who are not privileged, and indeed have no disposition in the native barrenness of their minds to study the sacred Vedas.

[156] p. 105. l. 25. As the storks the rice of offering. We follow Bopp in refining these birds from birds of coarser prey.

NOTES TO
THE DELUGE.

[157] See the very valuable papers of this gentleman in the Bombay Transactions.

[158] The editor remarks, that the name Manuja, Man-born, as the appellative of the human race, is derived from Manu, as likewise Mánawas, masc. Man—Mánawi, fem. Woman: from thence the Gothic Mann, which we have preserved. Manu is thus the representative of Man.

THE DESCENT OF THE GANGES.

FIRST PRINTED IN THE QUARTERLY REVIEW, VOL. XLV.

The descent of the Ganges is the sequel of another fiction still more monstrous, but perhaps one of the most singular of the cosmogonical notions of the ancient Indians. Sagara, the king of Ayodhya (Oude), was without offspring—in almost all eastern countries the most grievous calamity incident to man, more especially to those of noble or royal race. By the most surpassing penances he obtains an oracle from the wise Brighu, predicting that one of his wives will bring forth a single son, the other sixty thousand! Accordingly the fair Cesina gives birth to Asamanja; his other wife to a gourd, which, like the egg of Leda, is instinct with life. From the seeds of this gourd, preserved with great care, and fed with ghee, come forth in due time the sixty thousand boys. The son of Cesina was a youth of the most malicious and cruel disposition; his pastime was to throw little infants into the river, and solace himself with their cries. He is sent into exile by his just and humane father, where he has a son, Ansuman, as gentle and popular as Asamanja was malignant and odious. King Sagara prepares to offer the Aswameda, the famous sacrifice of the horse. The holy and untouched steed is led forth, as in the 'Curse of Kehama,' among the admiring multitude, by the youthful Ansuman, when on a sudden a monstrous serpent arises from the earth, and drags it into the abyss. Sagara, in wrath, commands his sixty thousand sons to undertake the recovery of the steed from the malignant demon who has thus interrupted the sacrifice. Having searched long in vain, they begin to dig into the bowels of the earth, until,—

The gods, expecting the whole frame of the world, thus undermined, to perish in total ruin, assemble around Brahma to implore his interposition. He informs them that Vishnu, in the form of Kapila, has been the robber of the horse, and that in due time the god will avenge himself. From Patala, the hell of Indian mythology, the Sagaridæ recommence their impious and destructive work.

At length they reach the place where Vishnu appears in the form of Kapila, with the horse feeding near him; a flame issues forth from the indignant deity, and the six myriad sons of Sagara become a heap of ashes.

The adventure devolves on the youthful Ansuman, who achieves it with perfect success; Vishnu permits him to lead away the steed, but the ashes of his brethren cannot be purified by earthly water; the goddess Ganga must first be brought to earth, and, having undergone lustration from that holy flood, the race of Sagara are to ascend to heaven. Yet a long period elapses; and it is not till the reign of the virtuous Bhagiratha, that Brahma is moved by his surpassing penance to grant the descent of Ganga from heaven. King Bhagiratha had taken his stand on the top of Gokarna, the sacred peak of the Himavan, (the Himalaya,) and here

His prayers are irresistible; but Brahma forewarns him, that the unbroken descent of Ganga from heaven would be so overpowering, that the earth would be unable to sustain it, and Siva must be propitiated, in order that he may receive on his head the precipitous cataract. Under this wild and unwieldy allegory appears to lurk an obscure allusion to the course of the Ganges among the summits, and under the forests of the Himalaya, which are the locks of Siva.

The king again has recourse to his penances, Siva is propitiated, and the stream by seven [159] channels finds its way to the plains of India. The spirit and the luxuriance of the description which follows, of the king leading the way, and the obedient waters rolling after his car, appear to us of a high order of poetry.

[159] Schlegel supposes the three western streams to be the Indus, which appears under its real name the Sind, the Iaxartes, and the Oxus; are not the Sareswatie, or perhaps the Sutlej, under the name of Sita, and the Jumna meant? Of the eastern branches, it is not difficult to fix the Burhampooter. Schlegel suggests the Irawaddy, and the Blue River of China. Why not the Alacananda and the Gogra? The main stream bears the name of the Bhaghiratha, till it joins the Alacananda and takes the name of the Ganges.

	Page
NALA AND DAMAYANTI	1
NOTES	117
THE DEATH OF YAJNADATTA	89
NOTES	141
THE BRAHMIN'S LAMENT	101
NOTES	143
THE DELUGE	110
THE DESCENT OF THE GANGES	145

NALA AND DAMAYANTI

AND OTHER POEMS

TRANSLATED FROM THE SANSCRIT INTO ENGLISH VERSE, WITH MYTHOLOGICAL AND CRITICAL NOTES.

BY THE

REV. HENRY HART MILMAN, M. A.

PREBENDARY OF WESTMINSTER; MINISTER OF ST. MARGARET'S; AND LATE PROFESSOR OF POETRY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD.

OXFORD: D. A. TALBOYS.

M DCCC XXXV

CONTENTS:

PREFACE.

NALA AND DAMAYANTI.

NALA AND DAMAYANTI.

BOOK I.

BOOK II.

BOOK III.

BOOK IV.

BOOK V.

BOOK VI.

BOOK VII.

BOOK VIII.

BOOK IX.

BOOK X.

BOOK XI.

BOOK XII.

BOOK XIII.

BOOK XIV.

BOOK XV.

BOOK XVI.

BOOK XVII.

BOOK XVIII.

BOOK XIX.

BOOK XX.

BOOK XXI.

BOOK XXII.

BOOK XXIII.

BOOK XXIV.

BOOK XXV.

BOOK XXVI.

THE DEATH OF YAJNADATTA.

THE DEATH OF YAJNADATTA.

EXTRACTS FROM THE MAHABHARATA.

THE BRAHMIN'S LAMENT.

THE BRAHMIN'S LAMENT.

THIRD SONG.

THE DELUGE.

THE DELUGE.

NOTES ON NALA.

NOTES TO THE DEATH OF YAJNADATTA.

NOTES TO THE BRAHMIN'S LAMENT.

NOTES TO THE DELUGE.

THE DESCENT OF THE GANGES.

FIRST PRINTED IN THE QUARTERLY REVIEW, VOL. XLV.

THE END.

NOTES TO
THE DEATH OF YAJNADATTA.

NOTES TO
THE BRAHMIN'S LAMENT.

NOTES TO
THE DELUGE.