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diff --git a/7169-h/7169-h.htm b/7169-h/7169-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4c2dca7 --- /dev/null +++ b/7169-h/7169-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1519 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en"> + +<head> + +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8" /> + +<title> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of Mârkandeya Purâna, Books VII and VIII, +by Anonymous +</title> + +<style type="text/css"> +body { color: black; + background: white; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +p {text-indent: 4% } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 200%; + text-align: center } + +p.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + text-align: center } + +p.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: center } + +p.t3b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: center } + +p.t4b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +p.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 60%; + text-align: center } + +h1 { text-align: center } +h2 { text-align: center } +h3 { text-align: center } +h4 { text-align: center } +h5 { text-align: center } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; } + +p.contents {text-indent: -3%; + margin-left: 5% } + +p.thought {text-indent: 0% ; + letter-spacing: 4em ; + text-align: center } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.transnote {text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.intro {font-size: 90% ; + text-indent: -5% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.quote {text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +p.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's Mârkandeya Purâna, Books VII. VIII, by Anonymous + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Mârkandeya Purâna, Books VII. VIII + +Author: Anonymous + +Translator: R. Hale Wortham + +Posting Date: March 19, 2014 [EBook #7169] +Release Date: December, 2004 +First Posted: March 20, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MÂRKANDEYA PURÂNA, BOOKS VII. VIII *** + + + + +Produced by Chetan Jain, John B. Hare, and Christopher M. +Weimer. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1> +<br /><br /><br /> + Mârkandeya Purâna<br /> +</h1> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="t3b"> + Books VII and VIII.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="t3"> + JOURNAL<br /> + OF<br /> + THE ROYAL ASIATIC SOCIETY.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="t3"> + [New Series, Volume XIII]<br /> + [London, Trübner and Company]<br /> + [1881]<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="t3"> + {Scanned and edited by Christopher M. Weimer, May 2002}<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="t3"> + ART. XIII.—<i>Translation of the Mârka.n.deya Purâ.na.</i><br /> + Books VII. VIII. By the Rev. B. HALE WORTHAM.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + BOOK VII.<br /> +</h3> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="poem"> + ONCE upon earth there lived a saintly king<br /> + Named Harišchandra; pure in heart and mind,<br /> + In virtue eminent, he ruled the world,<br /> + Guarding mankind from evil. While he reigned<br /> + No famine raged, nor pain; untimely death<br /> + Ne'er cut men off; nor were the citizens<br /> + Of his fair city lawless. All their wealth,<br /> + And power, and works of righteousness, ne'er filled<br /> + Their hearts with pride; in everlasting youth<br /> + And loveliness the women passed their days.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + It so fell out, that while this mighty king<br /> + Was hunting in the forest, that he heard<br /> + The sound of female voices raised in cry<br /> + Of supplication. Then he turned and said,<br /> + Leaving the deer to fly unheeded: "Stop!<br /> + Who art thou, full of tyranny and hate,<br /> + That darest thus oppress the earth; while I,<br /> + The tamer of all evil, live and rule?"<br /> + Then, too, the fierce Ganeša,—he who blinds<br /> + The eyes, and foils the wills of men,—he heard<br /> + The cry, and thus within himself he thought:<br /> + "This surely is the great ascetic's work,<br /> + The mighty Višvâmitra; he whose acts<br /> + Display the fruits of penance hard and sore.<br /> + Upon the sciences he shows his power,<br /> + While they, in patience, discipline of mind,<br /> + And silence perfected, cry out with fear,<br /> + 'What shall we do? The illustrious Kaušika<br /> + Is powerful; and we, compared with him,<br /> + Are feeble.' Thus they cry. What shall I do?<br /> + My mind is filled with doubt. Yet stay; a thought<br /> + Has come across me: Lo! this king who cries<br /> + Unceasingly, 'Fear not!' meeting with him,<br /> + And entering his heart, I will fulfil<br /> + All my desire." Then filled with Rudra's son—<br /> + Inspired with rage by Vigna Raj—the king<br /> + Spake up and said: "What evil doer is here,<br /> + Binding the fire on his garment's hem,<br /> + While I, his king, in power and arms renowned,<br /> + Resplendent in my glory, pass for nought?<br /> + Surely the never-ending sleep of death<br /> + Shall overtake him, and his limbs shall fail,<br /> + Smitten with darts from my far-reaching bow,<br /> + Whose fame this lower world may scarce contain."<br /> + Hearing the prince's words, the saint was filled<br /> + With wrath o'erpow'ring, and the sciences<br /> + Fell blasted in a moment at his glance.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + But when the king beheld the pious sage<br /> + All-powerful, he quaked exceedingly,<br /> + And trembled like the sacred fig-tree's leaves.<br /> + Then Višvâmitra cried: "Stop, miscreant!"<br /> + And Harišchandra, humbly falling down<br /> + Before the saint, in accents low and meek:<br /> + "O Lord! most holy! most adorable!<br /> + Oh, blame me not! This is no fault of mine!<br /> + My duty calls," he said, "I must obey."<br /> + "Is it not written in the Holy Law,<br /> + 'Alms must be given by a virtuous king;<br /> + His people must be fought for, and be kept<br /> + From every ill'?" Then Višvâmitra spoke<br /> + And said: "To whom, O king, should'st thou give alms?<br /> + For whom in battle should'st thou fight? and whom<br /> + Should'st thou protect? Oh, tell me, nor delay,<br /> + But quickly answer, if thou fearest sin."<br /> + "Alms should be given to Brâhmans," said the king:<br /> + "Those who are weak should be protected: foes<br /> + In battle should be met and overcome."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Then Višvâmitra spoke and said: "O king!<br /> + If thus indeed thou rightly dost perceive<br /> + Thy royal duty, give thine alms to me;<br /> + I am a holy Brâhman, and I seek<br /> + A dwelling-place; moreover I would gain<br /> + A wife: therefore bestow on me thine alms."<br /> + The king, his heart filled with exceeding joy,<br /> + Felt, as it were, his youth return, and said:<br /> + "Fear not! but tell me, son of Kaušika,<br /> + Thy heart's desire; and be it hard to gain,<br /> + Or be it easy, it shall still be thine.<br /> + Say, shall I give thee gold, or wealth, or life?<br /> + Or shall I give thee wife, or child, or land?<br /> + Or my prosperity itself?" "O king!"<br /> + The sage replied, "thy present I accept;<br /> + But let thine alms, I pray, be granted first,—<br /> + The offering for the kingly sacrifice."<br /> + "O Brâhman!" said the king, "the alms are thine;<br /> + Further than this, whatever be the gift<br /> + Thou mayest desire, freely I give it thee.<br /> + Ask what thou wilt." Then Višvâmitra spake:<br /> + "Give me the earth, its mountains, seas, and towns,<br /> + With all its kingdoms, chariots, horses, men;<br /> + Its elephants, its treasure-houses too;<br /> + Its treasures vast, and all whate'er beside<br /> + Is recognized as thine: oh! give me all,<br /> + I pray, except thyself, thy wife, thy son,<br /> + And this thy righteousness, that follows close<br /> + Beside thee. Sinless one! oh thou who art<br /> + Perfect in righteousness! oh give me all—<br /> + All beside these. What need of further words."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The king, with heart rejoicing, and unchanged<br /> + In countenance, hearing the sage's words,<br /> + Said, humbly bowing down before the saint,<br /> + "So be thy wish fulfilled." "O saintly king,"<br /> + Said Višvâmitra, "if the world is mine,<br /> + And power, and wealth, I pray you who shall reign,<br /> + Since in this kingdom as a devotee<br /> + I dwell?" Then Harišchandra said: "'Ere this,<br /> + Before the world was thine by my free gift,<br /> + Thou wast the lord of all; how much more now?<br /> + Thy right is doubly sure." Then said the sage:<br /> + "If this indeed be so,—if the whole world<br /> + Be truly mine, and all its sovereignty,<br /> + Then should'st thou not remain, nor leave thyself<br /> + Aught of that kingdom which thou hast renounced,<br /> + But, casting off thy royal ornaments,<br /> + Thou should'st depart, clothed in a dress of bark."<br /> + The king, obedient to the sage's word,<br /> + Stripped off his royal dress, and, with his wife<br /> + And son, made haste to go. Then said the saint:<br /> + "Stop, Harišchandra! Hast thou then forgot<br /> + The offering for the kingly sacrifice<br /> + That thou hast promised us?" Replied the king:<br /> + "O mighty saint! the kingdom now is <i>thine</i>;<br /> + All have I given to <i>thee</i>: and as for me,<br /> + What have I left?—nought! save myself,<br /> + My wife, my son!" "Thou sayest the truth, indeed,"<br /> + Answered the sage; "but yet there still remains<br /> + The offering for the kingly sacrifice.<br /> + And this know well: A vow to Brâhmans made,<br /> + If unfulfilled, works special woe to him<br /> + Who made the vow. For in this sacrifice<br /> + Must offerings of worth be freely made<br /> + To Brâhmans;—offerings until they cry<br /> + Hold! that suffices for us! Therefore pay<br /> + Thy promised vow, nor longer hesitate.<br /> + 'Alms are for Brâhmans,' thou thyself hast said,<br /> + 'Those who are weak must be protected: foes<br /> + In battle must be met and overcome.'"<br /> + "O saintly priest!" answered the king, "my wealth<br /> + Is all departed: nothing now remains<br /> + For me to give: yet grant me time I pray,<br /> + And I will pay the offering!" "Noble king,"<br /> + Said Višvâmitra, "speak I pray thee! Say<br /> + What time dost thou appoint that I should wait?<br /> + Speak! no delay! or else my curse of fire<br /> + Shall burn thee up." Then Harišchandra said:<br /> + "Most holy Brâhman! when a month has past<br /> + The money for the offering shall be thine.<br /> + Now I have nothing. Oh! be pleased to grant<br /> + Remission for the present." Said the sage,<br /> + "Go! go! most noble prince! maintain thy faith!<br /> + And may'st thou prosper! may no enemies<br /> + Harass thy road." Commanded thus, the king<br /> + Departed as an outcast;—he, the king<br /> + Of all the earth, an exile with his wife<br /> + Unused to go afoot, and with his son<br /> + Went forth: while cries and lamentations rose<br /> + On every side: "Our hearts are filled with pain,<br /> + Why dost thou leave us thus? O virtuous king!<br /> + Show mercy to thy subjects. Righteousness<br /> + Indeed shines forth in thee; if thou art full<br /> + Of mercy, may it overflow on us.<br /> + Stay! Mighty Prince! one moment, while we gaze<br /> + With lover's eyes upon thy beauteous form.<br /> + Alas! our Prince! Shall we ne'er see thee more?<br /> + How changed thy princely state! Thou, who did'st once<br /> + Go forth, surrounded by attendant kings,<br /> + Who marched on foot; while stately elephants<br /> + Bore e'en thy ministers. Now, Lord of Kings!<br /> + Thyself art driven forth on foot. Yet, stay!<br /> + Think, Harišchandra! how wilt thou endure<br /> + The dust, the heat, the toil? Stay, mighty prince,<br /> + Nor cast thy duty off. Oh, show to us<br /> + Some mercy, for herein thy duty lies.<br /> + Behold, we cast off all for thee! Our wives,<br /> + Our wealth, our children, our possessions, all<br /> + Have we relinquished; like thy shadow,<br /> + We would follow thee. Oh leave us not!<br /> + For wheresoe'er thou art is happiness,<br /> + And heaven itself would be no heaven to us<br /> + Without our prince." Then, overwhelmed with grief<br /> + At these laments, the king stayed on his course,<br /> + In pity for his loving citizens.<br /> + Then Višvâmitra, filled with rage, his eyes<br /> + Rolling with wrath, exclaimed: "Shame on thee! shame!<br /> + O full of falsehood, and of wickedness.<br /> + How! would'st thou, then, speaker of lies!<br /> + Resume the gifts that thou hast freely made,<br /> + And reinstate thee in thy kingdom?" "Sir!<br /> + I go!" replied the king to these rude words,<br /> + And trembling crept away in haste, his wife<br /> + Holding him by the hand. And, as she went,<br /> + Her fragile form o'ercome with weariness,<br /> + The Brâhman smote her fiercely with his stick.<br /> + Then Harišchandra, pained with inmost grief,<br /> + Seeing the stroke, said meekly, "Sir! I go!"<br /> + Nor further spoke. Filled with compassion then,<br /> + The Višvadevas said: "What sin is this?<br /> + What torments shall indeed suffice for him<br /> + By whom this pious king—the offerer<br /> + Of prayer, and sacrifice, has been cast forth.<br /> + Who now will sanctify the Soma-juice<br /> + With prayers and hymns, at the great sacrifice,<br /> + That we may drink it with rejoicing hearts?"<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Then, having heard these words, the Brâhman turned<br /> + Upon the Višvedevâs; and, in wrath<br /> + Exceeding hot, he spake a fearful curse:<br /> + "You shall be cast down from the height of heaven,<br /> + And live as men." The curse had hardly passed<br /> + His lips, when filled with pity for their fate,<br /> + The sage yet further added: "you shall live<br /> + Indeed as men, but yet, there shall be born<br /> + To you no son, nor shall you know the state<br /> + Of marriage. Envy, love, and wrath shall ne'er<br /> + Hold sway o'er you: and when the appointed time<br /> + Has past, you shall re-enter once again<br /> + The courts of heaven, and wear again the form<br /> + Which you had lost." The Višvedevâs then<br /> + Came down from heaven, and, clothed in human form,<br /> + Were born as men, the sons of Pritha, wife<br /> + Of Pa.n.du. Therefore those five Pâ.n.davas—<br /> + Mighty in war—by Višvâmitra cursed,<br /> + Knew not the state of marriage. Thou hast heard<br /> + The tale of Pa.n.du's sons; thy question, too,<br /> + Of fourfold import has been answered.<br /> + I pray thee, say, what further would'st thou hear?<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h3> + BOOK VIII.<br /> +</h3> + +<p class="poem"> + Said Jaimîni: An answer ye have found<br /> + To all my questions; and indeed have filled<br /> + Me full of deepest interest. Oh! I long<br /> + To hear yet more! Alas! that saintly king!<br /> + What grief he suffered! Did he e'er attain<br /> + To any comfort answering to his woe?<br /> + Noblest of Birds! Oh tell me this, I pray.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The Holy Birds continued: Then the king,<br /> + O'ercome with grief and pain, hearing the words<br /> + Of Višvâmitra, with his wife and son<br /> + Journeyed along, dragging his weary steps.<br /> + At length the holy place appeared in view—<br /> + The shrine of Šiva; thus within himself,<br /> + He said: "Benares, sacred to the god,<br /> + Lies now before me; there shall I find rest,<br /> + For there man has no power." The king approached<br /> + The gates on foot: lo! at the entry stood<br /> + The Brâhman Višvâmitra. Mighty Saint!<br /> + The king, his hands in supplication joined,<br /> + With humble reverence, said: "Here is my life,<br /> + My wife, my son, I offer all to thee;<br /> + Accept, I pray, the offering! or choose<br /> + Whatever else thou wouldest!" But the sage<br /> + Replied: "The month is past! most saintly king!<br /> + Give me the present for the sacrifice—<br /> + The offering thou hast promised." "One half-day<br /> + As yet remains before the month be past,<br /> + Oh Brâhman of surpassing piety,<br /> + And penances unfading. Wait, I pray,<br /> + A few short hours." Then Višvâmitra said:<br /> + "So be it, king! once more I will return,<br /> + But if the offering be not duly paid,<br /> + Before the sinking of this evening's sun,<br /> + My curse shall smite thee." And the priest<br /> + Departed, while the king, in anxious thought,<br /> + Debated thus: "How shall I make the gift?<br /> + The promised gift? where are my friends? my wealth?<br /> + I may not beg for alms; how can I then<br /> + Fulfil my vow? Nor even in the world<br /> + Beyond shall I find rest. Destruction waits,<br /> + If with my promise unfulfilled, I pass<br /> + From hence. A robber of the holy saints;<br /> + I shall become the lowest of the low.<br /> + Nay, I will sell myself! and, as a slave,<br /> + Redeem my promise." Then the queen, in tears<br /> + Bewildered, and afflicted, lost in thought,<br /> + With face cast down, "Maintain thy truth," she said,<br /> + "Most mighty prince! Oh! let not doubt prevail!<br /> + The man devoid of truth is to be shunned<br /> + Like contact with the dead. The highest law<br /> + Declares, that inward truth and faithfulness<br /> + Must be maintained. Burnt sacrifices, alms,<br /> + The study of the scriptures, penances,<br /> + Are counted not for righteousness to him<br /> + Whose word is faithless. Listen! noble prince!<br /> + Is it not written in the sacred law:<br /> + 'The wise attain Salvation through the truth,<br /> + While lies and falsehood are destruction's way<br /> + To men of low and evil minds.' There lived,<br /> + 'Tis said, a king upon the earth, by whom<br /> + The kingly sacrifice—burnt offerings too,<br /> + Were offered in abundance. That same king<br /> + Fell once from truthfulness, and by that fall,<br /> + He lost his righteousness, and forfeited<br /> + His place in heaven. Prince! I have borne a son"—<br /> + Her utterance failed her, issuing forth in nought<br /> + But sighs and lamentations. Then the king,<br /> + With eyes o'erflowing, said, "Behold thy son!<br /> + He stands beside thee! cast away thy grief!<br /> + Tell me what presses on thee." Said the queen,<br /> + "Prince, I have borne a son; and sons are born<br /> + To none but worthy women. This my son<br /> + Shall take me—he shall offer me for sale—<br /> + Then with the money gained, pay thou the priest<br /> + The promised offering." Hearing these words,<br /> + He fell down fainting. When his sense returned,<br /> + Filled with exceeding pain, the king burst forth,<br /> + Lamenting: "This, alas! most loving one!<br /> + Is hardly to be framed in words, much less<br /> + Be carried out in deed. Alas! alas!"—<br /> + His spirit fled again, and to the earth<br /> + He fell unconscious. Overcome with grief,<br /> + The queen exclaimed, filled with compassion: "King!<br /> + How art thou fallen from thy high estate!<br /> + The ground is now thy resting-place, whom once<br /> + A gorgeous couch received. Lo! this my lord,<br /> + By whom wealth, honour, power, are freely given<br /> + An offering to the Brâhman—see, he lies<br /> + Insensate on the ground. Ye gods of heaven!<br /> + Tell me, I pray you, has this noble king,<br /> + Equal to gods in rank, committed sin<br /> + Against you, that he lies thus overcome<br /> + With woe?" Then fell the queen, bereft of sense<br /> + Upon the earth, o'erwhelmed with grief and pain,<br /> + Seeing her husband's misery. When the boy<br /> + Beheld his parents lying on the ground,<br /> + He cried in terror: "Father! give me food!<br /> + Mother! my tongue is parched with thirst!" Meanwhile<br /> + Upon the scene the mighty Brâhman came;<br /> + And when he saw the king lie senseless, "King!"—<br /> + Sprinkling cold water on his face—he said,<br /> + "Rise up! rise up! Pay me the promised vow;<br /> + For this thy misery from day to day<br /> + Increases, and will yet increase, until<br /> + The debt be paid." The water's cooling touch<br /> + Refreshed the king; his consciousness returned;<br /> + But when he saw the Brâhman, faintness seized<br /> + His limbs again. Then overpowering rage<br /> + Seized Višvâmitra; but before he left,<br /> + The best of Brâhmans said: "If what is just,<br /> + Or right, or true, enters thy mind, O king!<br /> + Give me the present. Lo! by truth divine<br /> + The sun sends forth his vivifying rays<br /> + Upon the earth. By truth this mighty world<br /> + Stands firm and steadfast. Truth all law excels.<br /> + By truth the very heaven itself exists.<br /> + Wert thou to weigh the truth, and in the scale<br /> + Opposing, wert to place burnt-offerings,<br /> + And sacrifices countless, still the truth<br /> + Would far outweigh them all. Why need I waste<br /> + My words of loving-kindness upon thee—<br /> + An ill-intentioned, false, ignoble man.<br /> + Thou art a king,—so should the truth prevail<br /> + With thee. Yet hear me;—if the offering<br /> + Be still unpaid when th' evening's sun has sunk<br /> + Behind the western mountain to his rest,<br /> + My curse shall smite thee." Speaking words like these<br /> + The Brâhman left him; and the king, o'ercome<br /> + With fear—a fugitive—robbed of his wealth—<br /> + Degraded to unfathomable depths—<br /> + The victim of his evil creditor—<br /> + Heard once again the counsel of his wife:<br /> + "O king! sell <i>me</i>! nor let the fiery curse<br /> + Dissolve thy being!" Urged repeatedly,<br /> + The king at length replied: "Most loving one!<br /> + What the most wicked man could hardly do,<br /> + That same will I:—and I will sell my wife.<br /> + Alas! that I should utter such a word!"<br /> + And going with his wife into the town—<br /> + Eyes dimmed with tears, voice choked with grief—he cried:<br /> + "Come hither, townsmen! hearken unto me!<br /> + A wretch! inhuman! savage as a fiend!<br /> + I offer here my wife for sale, and yet<br /> + I live! Here is a female slave! Who buys?<br /> + Make haste and speak." "The female slave is mine!"<br /> + (So spake an ancient Brâhman to the king.)<br /> + "Money I have in heaps, and I will pay<br /> + You well for her. My wife is delicate;<br /> + Her household duties are beyond her strength;<br /> + I want a slave, and therefore I will give<br /> + A price proportioned to the woman's skill<br /> + And temper; nor will I o'erlook her youth<br /> + And beauty. What you think is fair and right,<br /> + That will I pay." Struck dumb with grief, the king<br /> + Stood mute, nor answered aught. And then the priest,<br /> + Tying the price in the king's garment-hem—<br /> + His bark-cloth garment—roughly grasped the queen,<br /> + And dragged her off. But when the loving child<br /> + Beheld his mother led away, he seized<br /> + Her by her garment. And the queen exclaimed:<br /> + "If only for a moment, noble sir!<br /> + Oh! let me go! that I may gaze once more<br /> + Upon my child, whom I shall never see,<br /> + And never touch again! My child, behold<br /> + Thy mother, now a slave! And thou—a prince!<br /> + Oh, touch me not! My lot of servitude<br /> + Forbids that thou should'st touch me." But the child,<br /> + His eyes bedewed with tears, ran after her,<br /> + Calling her "Mother!" As the boy came near,<br /> + The Brâhman spurned him with his foot; but he<br /> + Still following close would not be torn from her,<br /> + Calling her "Mother!" "Oh, my lord! I pray,<br /> + Be gracious to me!" said the queen. "Oh, buy<br /> + My son with me; divide us not! For I<br /> + Without him shall be nought of use to you.<br /> + Be gracious, O my lord!" Then said the priest:<br /> + "Here! take the money! give the boy to me!<br /> + The saints, who know the scriptures, have ordained<br /> + The right and lawful sum. Take it!" He tied<br /> + The money in the king's bark dress, and led<br /> + Them both away—the mother and the child—<br /> + Together bound. But when the king beheld<br /> + Himself bereft of both his wife and son,<br /> + He burst forth: "Ah! my wife! whom neither sun,<br /> + Nor moon, nor air have ever seen I who hast<br /> + Been kept from vulgar gaze! Alas I a slave<br /> + Hast thou become! Alas! thou, too, my son!—<br /> + A scion of the noble dynasty,<br /> + Sprung from the sun! disgrace has seized on thee,<br /> + And—shame upon me!—thou too art a slave!<br /> + Ye have become a sacrifice; ye, through my fault,<br /> + Have fallen. Would that I were dead!" Thus spoke<br /> + The king. Meanwhile the Brâhman hastily<br /> + Entered the grove wherein his dwelling stood,<br /> + And vanished with his slaves. Then met the king<br /> + The Brâhman Višvâmitra. "Prince!" he said,<br /> + Pay me the offering!" Harišchandra gave<br /> + The money gainèd by the shameful sale<br /> + Of wife and child. And when the priest beheld<br /> + The money, overcome with wrath, he said:<br /> + "How canst thou mock me with this paltry sum!<br /> + Base Kshatriya! And thinkest thou that this<br /> + Suffices for a sacrificial gift<br /> + Such as I would accept? But if thy mind<br /> + Thus far misleads thee, thou shalt feel my power—<br /> + Power transcendant, gained by penances,<br /> + And scripture meditation. Yes! the power<br /> + Of my pure Brâhmanhood shall show itself<br /> + On thee." "More will I give thee," said the king,<br /> + "But wait, most noble saint! Nought have I left!<br /> + Even my wife and child are sold." Replied<br /> + The Brâhman: "Hold! be silent! Further time<br /> + Than the remaining fourth part of to-day<br /> + I grant thee not." Enraged, he turned away,<br /> + Departing with the money. And the king,<br /> + Immersed in grief and fear, with face cast down,<br /> + Cried out: "If there be any one of you<br /> + Who wants a slave, let him make haste and speak<br /> + While day remains." Then Dharma, putting on<br /> + The form of a Cha.n.dâla, hastily<br /> + Came forward, taking pity on the king.<br /> + His countenance was fearful,—black, with tusks<br /> + Projecting; savage in his words; his smell<br /> + Was foul and horrible; a crowd of dogs<br /> + Came after him. "Tell me thy price," he said;<br /> + "Be quick; and whether it be large or small<br /> + I care not, so I have thee as my slave:"<br /> + The king, beholding such a loathsome form,<br /> + Of mien revolting—"What art thou?" he said.<br /> + "Men call me a Cha.n.dâla," he replied.<br /> + I dwell in this same city—in a part<br /> + Of evil fame. As of a murderer<br /> + Condemned to death, such is my infamy.<br /> + My calling is a robber of the dead."<br /> + "I will not be a slave," exclaimed the king,<br /> + "To thee, a base Cha.n.dâla. Better far<br /> + That I should perish by the fiery curse."<br /> + The words were scarcely uttered, when the saint<br /> + Returned, his countenance with rage<br /> + Distorted; and he thus addressed the king:<br /> + "The sum is fair; why dost thou not accept<br /> + The offer? Then indeed thou mightest pay<br /> + The gift thou owest for the sacrifice."<br /> + "O son of Kušika!" replied the king,<br /> + "Consider this, I pray!—my noble race!<br /> + Truly am I descended from the sun!<br /> + How can I then become, though sore in want,<br /> + Lowest of creatures—a Cha.n.dâla's slave?"<br /> + "Delay no more," the Brâhman said, "but pay<br /> + The gift at once, and sell thyself a slave<br /> + To the Cha.n.dâla—or assuredly<br /> + I curse thee." "Saintly priest, be merciful!"<br /> + The king entreated; and, immersed in care,<br /> + He seized the Brâhman's feet, exclaiming thus:<br /> + "What am I but a slave, o'erwhelmed with grief!<br /> + Fear holds me! Saintly priest, be merciful!<br /> + Protect me, mighty saint! Save me, I pray,<br /> + From this most horrible Cha.n.dâla. Sir!<br /> + Most noble saint! hereafter shall thy will<br /> + Be all the object of my life! To serve<br /> + Thy lightest wish shall be my highest joy!<br /> + Thus will I make the offering—I will be<br /> + Thy <i>slave</i>!" Replied the Brahman: "If thou art<br /> + My slave, then will I sell thee as a slave<br /> + To the Cha.n.dâla." Then, filled with delight,<br /> + Paying the money, the Švapâka bound<br /> + His lately-purchased slave, and striking him,<br /> + Led hill away. Parted from all his friends;<br /> + In utmost grief; in the Cha.n.dâla's house<br /> + Abiding—morning, noon, and eventide,<br /> + And night, the king thus made lament:<br /> + "Alas! my tender wife, overwhelmed with pain,<br /> + Looking upon her son in misery,<br /> + Bewails her lot. But yet she says: 'The king<br /> + Will surely ransom us, for he has gained<br /> + By now more money than the Brâhman paid<br /> + For us;' and all the time she little knows<br /> + My fate—worse than her own. For I have passed<br /> + From woe to woe—kingdom and friends—my wife,<br /> + My son, have passed from me, and now the state<br /> + Of a Cha.n.dâla holds me." While he dwelt<br /> + A slave in the Cha.n.dâla's house, the forms<br /> + Of those he loved were still before his eyes—<br /> + Were ever in his mind. Meanwhile the king,<br /> + Obedient to his master's will, became<br /> + A robber of the dead; and night and day<br /> + He watched for plunder. "One part of the spoil<br /> + Is for the king, three for thy master, two<br /> + For thee. Go to the city's southern part,<br /> + Where is the dwelling of the dead, there wait."<br /> + Obeying the Cha.n.dâla, to the place<br /> + Of burial he went;—an awful place,<br /> + Filled full of fearful sounds and loathsome sights—<br /> + Of evil smells, and smoke, and locks of hair<br /> + Fallen from the dead; while troops of fiends and ghouls,<br /> + Vampires and demons, wandered to and fro.<br /> + Vultures and jackals prowled, and spirit forms'<br /> + Of evil hovered o'er. The ground was strewn<br /> + With heaps of bones; and wailing, sharp and shrill,<br /> + Re-echoed from the mourners of the dead.<br /> + The bodies on the funeral piles, half burnt,<br /> + Crackled and hissed; showing their shining teeth,<br /> + They grinned, as if in sport; while all the time<br /> + The howl of demons and the wail of fiends<br /> + Were mingled with the roar of flames—a sound<br /> + Of fearful import, such as ushers in<br /> + The day of doom. The sights, and sounds, and smells—<br /> + The heaps of ashes, and the piles of bones,<br /> + Blackened with filth—the smoke, the shouts,<br /> + The yells—struck fear on fear into the heart.<br /> + The burial-place resembled nought but hell.<br /> + Such was the place appointed for the king.<br /> + "Priests! Brâhmans! Counsellors! how have I fallen<br /> + From all my royal state! Alas! my queen!<br /> + Alas! my son! Oh! miserable fate!<br /> + We have been torn asunder by the power<br /> + Of Višvâmitra." Thoughts like these possessed<br /> + His inmost mind; while foul, unshorn, unwashed,<br /> + He served his master. Running here and there,<br /> + Armed with a jagged club, he sought the dead,<br /> + From whom he gained his wages. So he lived,<br /> + Degraded from his caste. Old knotted rags<br /> + Served as his dress; his face and arms and feet<br /> + With dust and ashes from the funeral piles<br /> + Begrimed; his hands defiled with putrid flesh<br /> + From contact with the bodies of the dead.<br /> + So neither day nor night he ceased from toil.<br /> + And twelve months passed—twelve weary months, which seemed<br /> + To his grief-stricken mind a hundred years;<br /> + And then at last, worn out, the best of kings<br /> + Lay down to rest; and as upon his couch<br /> + All motionless in sleep he lay, he saw<br /> + A wondrous vision. By the power divine<br /> + He seemed to wear another form,—a form<br /> + Both new and strange,—and in that form to pay<br /> + The vow. Twelve years of expiation passed<br /> + With difficulty. Then within himself<br /> + King Harišchandra thought: "So too will I,<br /> + When I am freed from hence, perform my vows<br /> + With generous freedom." Forthwith he was born<br /> + As a Pukkasa; while a place was found<br /> + For him among the dead, and funeral rites<br /> + Were ordered as his task. Thus seven years<br /> + Were passed; then to the burying-place was brought<br /> + A Brâhman seeking sepulture: in life<br /> + He had been poor, but honest; and the king,<br /> + Though he knew this—the dead man's poverty<br /> + And his uprightness—pressed his friends to pay<br /> + The funeral dues. "Enforce thy right," they said,<br /> + "And do this evil deed; yet know thou this:<br /> + Once upon earth there was a mighty king<br /> + Named Harišchandra; though he but disturbed<br /> + A Brâhman's sleep, through that offence he lost<br /> + His merit, and by Višvâmitra's curse<br /> + Became a base Pukkasa." "Yet the king<br /> + Spared not the dead man's friends, but still required<br /> + His fee. Therefore they cursed him in their rage—<br /> + "Go!—go!—thou most degraded of mankind—<br /> + Go to the lowest hell!" Then in his dream<br /> + The king beheld the messengers of death.<br /> + Fearful to look at, armed with heavy chains,<br /> + They seized him, and they bound him hand and foot,<br /> + And bore him off. And then, in fear and pain,<br /> + Headlong he fell into the bath of oil<br /> + In Nâraka. There, torn with instruments<br /> + Sharp-edged as razors, fed on putrid blood,<br /> + He saw himself. For seven years in hell—<br /> + Now burnt from day to day, now tossed and torn,<br /> + Now cut by knives, and now by icy winds<br /> + Frozen and numbed—a dead Pukkasa's fate<br /> + He underwent. Each day in Nâraka,<br /> + A hundred years of mortal reckoning—<br /> + So count the demons who inhabit hell.<br /> + Then he beheld himself cast up to earth,<br /> + His spirit entering a filthy dog;<br /> + Feeding on things all foul and horrible—<br /> + Consumed by cold. A month thus passed away.<br /> + His spirit changed its dwelling, and he saw<br /> + Himself an ass; and after that an ox,<br /> + A cow, a goat, a sheep, a bird, a worm.<br /> + So day by day he saw his spirit change<br /> + Its outward shape. A multitude of forms—<br /> + Some moving, others rooted to the ground—<br /> + Received his soul. And when the hundred years<br /> + Were passed and gone, he saw himself again<br /> + Re-occupy his pristine human form—<br /> + Once more a king. And then he seemed to lose<br /> + His kingdom, casting it away in games<br /> + Of chance. Turned from his home a wanderer<br /> + Into the forest with his wife and child:<br /> + Devoured by a ravening beast, but raised<br /> + To life again on earth, he sore bewailed<br /> + His wife: "Alas! why hast thou left me thus?<br /> + Alas! O Saivya! where hast thou gone?"<br /> + Then in his dream he seemed to see his wife<br /> + And son lamenting: "What hast thou to do<br /> + With gambling? Oh protect us, mighty king!"<br /> + The vision faded, and he saw no more<br /> + The cherished forms. And then the dream returned<br /> + By power divine. And Harišchandra stood<br /> + In heaven, and he beheld his wife on earth,<br /> + With flowing hair, dragged forcibly along—<br /> + Stripped of her clothes: the cry came to his ear,<br /> + "Protect us, king of men!" Then, snatched away,<br /> + The demons hurried him before the judge;<br /> + And Harišchandra seemed to hear the words:<br /> + "Go forth! return once more to earth! Thy grief<br /> + Is well nigh past and ended; joy ere long<br /> + Shall come to thee. The sorrows that remain<br /> + Endure." The king, then driven from the sky<br /> + By Yama's messengers, falling through space—<br /> + Senseless in fear and terror, filled with pain<br /> + Yet more exceeding—thought within himself,<br /> + "How shall I suffer all these torments sore!—<br /> + The changes manifold of form—the pain<br /> + In Nâraka." Then Harišchandra sought<br /> + Aid from the gods: "O mighty lords," he said,<br /> + "Protect me! O protect my wife and child!<br /> + O mighty Dharma, thee I worship! Thee,<br /> + O Krish.na, the Creator! Faultless ones,<br /> + Both far and near, before you now I come,<br /> + A suppliant. On thee, O lord of prayer,<br /> + I call! on thee, O Indra too! to thee<br /> + O ancient one! I pray—immutable!"<br /> + The vision fled, the king arose from sleep.<br /> + His tangled hair, his body black and grimed,<br /> + Recalled to him his state—the plunderer<br /> + Of dead men's clothes. His recollection gone,<br /> + He thought not of his sorrowing wife and child,<br /> + For reason failed. The loss of kingdom, wealth,<br /> + And friends, his dwelling-place among the tombs,<br /> + Had overthrown his senses, and destroyed<br /> + His mind. Then to the burying-place the queen<br /> + Came, bearing the dead body of her son—<br /> + Pale and distracted. "My beloved son!<br /> + My child!" she kept exclaiming, while she threw<br /> + Dust on her head. "Alas! alas! O king!<br /> + O that thou could'st behold thy child," she said—<br /> + "Thy child now lying dead upon the earth,<br /> + Killed by a serpent's bite. Alas! my son!<br /> + So lovely! so delightful!" Then the king,<br /> + Rearing the sounds of mourning, went in haste<br /> + To rob the dead: nor did he recognize<br /> + His wife, in that sad mourner, changed by grief<br /> + As if into another. And the queen<br /> + Knew not the form that stood before her, clothed<br /> + In rags, with matted hair, withered and foul.<br /> + Then recollection dawned upon the king,<br /> + Seeing the dead child's princely form, the thought<br /> + Of his own son came o'er him. "Ah! my child!<br /> + What evil chance," he said, "has brought thee here!<br /> + A child of princely race thou seemest. He, my son,<br /> + Long lost to me through my accursed fate,<br /> + Would have been even such as thou in age."<br /> + Then raised the queen her voice, and thus she spoke:<br /> + "Alas! has some unexpiated crime<br /> + Brought upon us, my child! this endless woe.<br /> + My absent lord! since thou did'st not console<br /> + My grief in times gone by, how can the pain<br /> + I suffer now assuage? Did'st thou not lose<br /> + Thy kingdom? did'st thou not desert thy friends?<br /> + Did'st thou not sell thy wife and child?" The king<br /> + Heard her lament, and as he heard, the wail<br /> + Fell from his eyes,—he recognized again<br /> + His wife and son—and saying but the words,<br /> + "Ah! Saivya! Ah! my beloved child!"<br /> + He fainting fell to earth. Then, too, the queen,<br /> + Hearing her husband's voice, o'ercome with grief,<br /> + Insensate fell. Returning consciousness<br /> + Brought to them both affliction's heaviest weight<br /> + And mutual lamentations. "Ah! my son!"<br /> + Thus mourned the king, "my inmost heart is torn,<br /> + When I behold thy form so delicate:<br /> + My child! embracing thee in tend'rest love,<br /> + Words of affection I will speak, that rise<br /> + Unbidden to my lips. Alas! thy limbs<br /> + Will be defiled by my embrace; the dust<br /> + That clings about my garments will pollute<br /> + Thy lovely form! Alas! my child, thou had'st<br /> + An evil father! He who should have kept<br /> + All dangers from thee, he it was who sold<br /> + Thee as a slave! and yet in heart and mind<br /> + First of all things I love thee. Ah! my child!<br /> + Thy father's realm—my heaped-up wealth—all this<br /> + By lawful right was thine inheritance,<br /> + And now thou liest slain! Ah me! the tears<br /> + Rise to my eyes in blinding force: thy form,<br /> + In grace and beauty like the lotus flower,<br /> + Fades from my sight." He spoke, and faltering<br /> + With grief embraced his son. The queen exclaimed:<br /> + "This is indeed my lord—I know his voice!<br /> + I know his form! this is the mighty king.<br /> + The wisest of all beings. But how changed!<br /> + What fate is this? Ah what a dreadful place<br /> + For him, the lord of men. This grief yet more<br /> + Is added to the mourning for my son—<br /> + My husband's fate—for as a slave he serves<br /> + A base Cha.n.dâla. Curséd be that god,<br /> + Or demon foul, through whom a godlike king<br /> + Has fallen to this degraded state; the lot<br /> + Of a Švapâka. Ah! most noble prince,<br /> + My mind is filled with grief, when I recall<br /> + Thy regal state, thy past magnificence.<br /> + No kingly ensigns go before thee now,<br /> + No captive kings, brought down to slavery,<br /> + Humbly precede thee, casting in the way<br /> + Their garments, lest the dust should soil thy feet.<br /> + But now! O king! alas, thyself a slave,<br /> + Thou livest in this fearful place, begrimed<br /> + With filth; thy sacred cord concealed, thy hair<br /> + Tangled and long, plunder of dead men's clothes<br /> + Thy livelihood. Ah! king! and is thy life<br /> + Spent in this awful wise?" So spake the queen,<br /> + And falling on his neck, embraced her lord:<br /> + While she, sprung from a king herself, bewailed<br /> + Her sorrows endless. "King! I pray thee speak!<br /> + Is this a dream? If it be real and true,<br /> + Then justice, truth, and righteousness have fled<br /> + And gone from earth: nor aught avails mankind,<br /> + Of sacrifice, or reverence, to gods<br /> + Or priests! 'Tis vain to follow innocence<br /> + If thou, most perfect, purest of mankind,<br /> + Art brought to such a depth of infamy."<br /> + Then spoke the king, and told his sorrowing wife<br /> + How he had fallen to this wretched state,—<br /> + The state of a Cha.n.dâla. She, in turn,<br /> + Weeping, with many sighs, poured out her tale,<br /> + Telling him how the serpent's bite had killed<br /> + Their child. "Beloved one! I suffer not<br /> + These evils," said the king, "by mine own will—<br /> + Thou seest what I endure; my evil fate<br /> + Depends not on myself. I am a slave,<br /> + And if I fly from the Cha.n.dâla's bonds,<br /> + The fiery torment in the depths of hell<br /> + Will overtake me, and I shall become<br /> + A slave again. My doom is fixed! lo! hell<br /> + Is my abode hereafter; and in forms,<br /> + Creeping and loathsome, shall my soul abide.<br /> + Yet from this miserable life on earth<br /> + There is one only refuge. He! my son!<br /> + My hope! my stay! is dead; drowned by the sea<br /> + Of my misfortunes. But I am a slave!<br /> + I am dependent on another's will!<br /> + Can I give up my wife? Yes! even so!<br /> + For know thou this: one who is steeped in woe<br /> + Cares not for evil chances; not the state<br /> + Of the most loathsome beast, nor yet the wood<br /> + Of sword-leaved plants, nor even hell's dread stream,<br /> + Could add the smallest fraction to the pain<br /> + I have already borne. My son is dead!<br /> + Who then will make atonement for my sins?<br /> + Yet listen to my words, beloved one,<br /> + If I have offered sacrifice, and paid<br /> + Due reverence to the saints; if I have given<br /> + Alms to the needy—may we meet again<br /> + Hereafter, in the world to come, and find<br /> + The refuge for our woes denied us here.<br /> + Let us together follow in the path<br /> + By which our son has gone. Our hopeless fate<br /> + Can never alter here. Whatever words<br /> + I may have uttered, thoughtlessly, in jest,<br /> + These, when I pray for pardon, shall receive<br /> + Fullest forgiveness. Thou must not despise<br /> + Thy lord: nor pride thee on thy queenly state<br /> + Now passed and gone." The prince's wife replied:<br /> + "I am prepared to tread that path with thee,<br /> + O king, most saintly! and with thee that world<br /> + To enter." While she spoke these words, the king<br /> + Made up the funeral pile, and placed thereon<br /> + His son, himself ascending with his wife.<br /> + And then, in meditation wrapt, he thought<br /> + Upon Nârâyana, the lord supreme,<br /> + And Vâsudeva, lord of deities,<br /> + Šiva, and Brâhma the eternal god,<br /> + And Krish.na clothed in glory. As the king<br /> + Was meditating, all the gods from heaven<br /> + Came down headed by Dharma. And they said:<br /> + "Hear us, O king! hear us, O lord! The gods—<br /> + Even the mighty gods have come to earth,<br /> + And at their head is Dharma. Gods, and saints,<br /> + And heroes—yea, and Višvâmitra too,<br /> + The sage implacable,—all summon thee—<br /> + Ascend! to heaven: receive the due reward,<br /> + That thou hast gained. O king! slay not thyself!<br /> + I, perfect Righteousness, I summon thee<br /> + To enter now the heaven that thou hast gained<br /> + By thy transcendant virtues, self-control,<br /> + Patience, and truth." Then Indra spoke, and said:—<br /> + "O Harišchandra! King, most eminent!<br /> + In virtue! lo! before you Indra stands—<br /> + For I am he. The everlasting world<br /> + Thou hast attained: together with thy wife,<br /> + And son, ascend to heaven;—to that third heav'n—<br /> + So difficult to be attained by men—<br /> + The heav'n that thou hast won." Then Indra rained<br /> + Life-giving am.rit from the sky, and flowers<br /> + That blossomed in the heavenly courts: while sounds<br /> + Of music filled the air, and round him stood<br /> + The gods, a vast assembly. Then the son<br /> + Of Harišchandra rose, restored to life,<br /> + And health, his mind and senses whole, his form<br /> + More beautiful than ever: and the king<br /> + Embraced his wife and son, with perfect joy<br /> + Filled to o'erflowing, crowned with heavenly wreaths.<br /> + Then Indra said: "Thou, with thy wife, and son,<br /> + Shalt dwell in bliss supreme: bliss that thyself<br /> + Hast purchased, by thy virtues and thy toils."<br /> + Then spoke the king: "Hear me! most holy gods!<br /> + Unbidden by my master, will I not<br /> + To heaven itself ascend." Then Dharma spoke:<br /> + "I am thy master. I assumed the form<br /> + Of a Cha.n.dâla. All thy pain and woe<br /> + Was brought upon thee by my magic power,<br /> + And thou wast made a slave! I have beheld<br /> + Thy truth, and thy uprightness. Saintly king!<br /> + The highest place that heaven accords to men,<br /> + Whose virtue has been tried and proved:—to that<br /> + Ascend!" But Harišchandra answering, said:<br /> + "Receive, most mighty lord! my words of praise<br /> + And thanksgiving. I offer them to thee<br /> + Full of affection. Lo! my people stand<br /> + With grieving hearts, longing for my return.<br /> + Can I ascend to heav'n while they on earth<br /> + Lament for me? If they have ever slain,<br /> + Brâhmans, or teachers of the holy law,—<br /> + If lust or avarice have ruled their hearts,—<br /> + Then may my labours and my toils atone,<br /> + For these their sins. I may not leave my friends.<br /> + For neither here, nor in the world to come,<br /> + Can there be peace to one who casts aside<br /> + The friend whose love is pure and true—the friend<br /> + Who serves him from the heart. Return!<br /> + Return! to heaven! O Indra! If thou grant<br /> + My friends to rise with me, to heav'n will I<br /> + Ascend; if not, with them will I descend<br /> + To Nâraka." "O king! thy prayer is heard!<br /> + Thy people's sins are pardoned: even for them,<br /> + Hard though it be, thy toils and pains have gained<br /> + A place in heaven." Thus mighty Indra spoke.<br /> + Replied the king: "Indra! I will not leave<br /> + My kinsmen. By his kinsmen's help a king<br /> + His kingdom rules; by them he offers up<br /> + The kingly sacrifice, and for himself<br /> + Lays up a store of meritorious deeds.<br /> + So have my kinsmen too enabled me<br /> + To work whate'er I may of righteousness.<br /> + My actions virtuous, my granted prayers,<br /> + Truly I owe to them, for by their aid<br /> + Have these been possible. May the reward<br /> + Thou grantest me, I pray, be shared with them.<br /> + My kinsmen, though I should ascend to heaven,<br /> + I will not leave." "So be it!" Indra said;<br /> + "So be it!" said the Brâhman; Dharma, too,<br /> + Gave his assent; and then, in countless hosts,<br /> + Appeared the heavenly chariots. Indra said:<br /> + "Men of Ayodhya, ascend to heaven."<br /> + The saintly Brâhman, having heard with joy<br /> + The words of Indra, poured the sacred oil<br /> + Upon the prince, and with the perfect ones,<br /> + The sages, and the gods, anointed him<br /> + "Son of the mighty king." Then all the throng—<br /> + The king, his wife, his son, his followers—<br /> + Filled with rejoicing and delight, ascend<br /> + To heaven, surrounding, as they go, the king<br /> + Borne in his chariot. He, too, filled with joy—<br /> + The mighty father, who eternal bliss<br /> + Both for his people and himself had gained,<br /> + Once more in form and mien a king—reposed,<br /> + Resting from all his toils, his faithful friends<br /> + Surrounding him with a protecting wall.<br /> + And Indra spoke and said: "Upon this earth<br /> + Great Harišchandra's equal has not been<br /> + Nor shall be. Whosoe'er may hear his life,<br /> + His toils, his sorrows, and in sympathy<br /> + For him lament, transcendant happiness<br /> + Shall he attain, and all his heart's desire<br /> + Shall be accomplished. Is his prayer a wife,<br /> + Or son, or kingdom, he shall gain them all,<br /> + E'en heaven itself. And he who imitates<br /> + The truth, and steadfastness, of that great king,<br /> + Like him shall enter everlasting rest.<br /> +</p> + +<p><br /><br /></p> + +<p class="t3b"> + Mârkandeya Purâna<br /> +</p> + +<p class="poem"><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Mârkandeya Purâna, Books VII. VIII, by Anonymous + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MÂRKANDEYA PURÂNA, BOOKS VII. VIII *** + +***** This file should be named 7169-h.htm or 7169-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/1/6/7169/ + +Produced by Chetan Jain, John B. 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