Canto XLII: Sagar's Sacrifice

Then to the prince his grandson, bright With his own fame's unborrowed light, King Sagar thus began to say, Marvelling at his sons' delay:-- 'Thou art a warrior skilled and bold, Match for the mighty men of old. Now follow on thine uncles' course And track the robber of the horse. To guard thee take thy sword and bow, For huge and strong are beasts below. There to the reverend reverence pay, And kill the foes who check thy way; Then turn successful home and see My sacrifice complete through thee.'

Obedient to the high-souled lord Grasped Anśumán his bow and sword, And hurried forth the way to trace With youth and valor's eager pace. On sped he by the path he found Dug by his uncles underground. The warder elephant he saw Whose size and strength pass Nature's law-- Who bears the world's tremendous weight, Whom God, fiend, giant, venerate. Bird, serpent, and each flitting shade, To him the honor meet he paid-- With circling steps and greeting due, And further prayed him, if he knew, To tell him of his uncles' weal, And who had dared the horse to steal.

To him in war and council tried The warder elephant replied:-- 'Thou, son of Asamanj, shalt lead In triumph back the rescued steed,'

As to each warder beast he came And questioned all, his words the same, The honored youth with gentle speech Drew eloquent reply from each-- That fortune should his steps attend, And with the horse he home should wend. Cheered with the grateful answer, he Passed on with step more light and free, And reached with careless heart the place Where lay in ashes Sagar's race. Then sank the spirit of the chief Beneath that shock of sudden grief-- And with a bitter cry of woe He mourned his kinsmen fallen so. He saw, weighed down by woe and care, The victim charger roaming there. Yet would the pious chieftain fain Oblations offer to the slain: But, needing water for the rite, He looked and there was none in sight. His quick eye searching all around The uncle of his kinsmen found-- King Garud, best beyond compare Of birds who wing the fields of air. Then thus unto the weeping man The son of Vinatá began:-- 'Grieve not, O hero, for their fall Who died a death approved of all. Of mighty strength, they met their fate By Kapil's hand whom none can mate. Pour forth for them no earthly wave, A holier flood their spirits crave. If, daughter of the Lord of Snow, Gangá would turn her stream below, Her waves that cleanse all mortal stain Would wash their ashes pure again. Yea, when her flood whom all revere Rolls o'er the dust that moulders here, The sixty thousand, freed from sin, A home in Indra's heaven shall win. Go, and with ceaseless labor try To draw the Goddess from the sky. Return, and with thee take the steed; So shall thy grandsire's rite succeed,'

Prince Anśumán the strong and brave Followed the rede Suparna gave. The glorious hero took the horse, And homeward quickly bent his course. Straight to the anxious King he hied, Whom lustral rites had purified-- The mournful story to unfold And all the King of birds had told. The tale of woe the monarch heard, No longer was the rite deferred: With care and just observance he Accomplished all, as texts decree. The rites performed, with brighter fame, Mighty in counsel, home he came. He longed to bring the river down, But found no plan his wish to crown. He pondered long with anxious thought, But saw no way to what he sought. Thus thirty thousand years he spent, And then to heaven the monarch went.