Canto II: Nandinî grants the King his Desire

When morning broke, the King, in glory rich,
Rose, loosed the Cow, and—when her calf had drunk—
Again secured it. Next the gracious Queen
With wreaths and perfumes honoured Nandini.
Then turned they to the forest, and the Cow
Their way made holy, while the Queen, renowned
For state and purity, pursued her steps,
As pious Learning follows Holy Texts.
The careful Monarch bade his spouse return,
And cheerful, glorious, herded Nandinî,
As though 'twere Earth embodied, Oceans four
Her udders next, his penance to fulfil,
That royal Herdsman sent his guards away,
And walked alone, well-guarded:—Manu's race
Their own right arm defends. With freshest grass
He fed his charge; he fanned her, smoothed her hide,
Nor checked her wayward steps; as shadow close
He followed. When she stood, he also stood;
When she went, on went he; when she lay down,
He sat by patient; when she drank, drank he.
A very King he strode, whose glory shone,
Unhelped by outward show,-like elephant,
Lord of the herd, whose passion undisplayed
Burns fierce within. His hair in woodland wreath
Was bound, his bow well-strung: so through the woods
He ranged, close guarding Nandinî the Cow.
The wild beasts fled; but birds in wayside trees
Hymned him with cheerful praises, Yama's peer,
Who strode along unguarded. Climbing vines,
Wind-shaken, showered their scented blooms on him,
Thus splendid, worshipful, as city-dames
Honour with parchèd rice a favourite Lord.
Unfearing watched the deer that Archer mild,
Whose face revealed a tender heart, and drank
His beauty with wide gaze. The Forest-gods
He heard, who sang his praise in shady bowers,
On rustling reeds, wind-shaken, for soft flutes.
Nigh fainting from the heat, no sunshade near,
Pure-hearted,—him the breeze refreshed, which bore
Sweet blossoms from the trees, and cooling spray
From foaming waterfalls. The woodland maze
Soon as he entered forest-fires were quenched,
More rich bloomed fruit and flower, and stronger brutes
No longer vexed the weak. At eventide
They took the homeward path: the copper Sun
And tawny Cow, each in its proper sphere,
Had cleansed both Earth and Sky: then to complete
The sacrifice to Gods, to Sires, and guests,
She turned as Works on Faith the Lord of men,
By righteous souls revered, attended her,—
And gazed on darkening forests, whence the boars
Were trooping homeward from the pools; tired deer
Now grassy glades received, and peacocks flew
To well-known roosts. Majestic paced the Cow,
Whose udders swept the ground; the mighty King
Moved stately, following; them his Queen received
At border of the wood, and longing gazed,
All open-eyed as thirsting. Thus the Cow
He followed, and she welcomed: Nandini
Like twilight glowed, midway 'twixt Day and Night.
Then with a plate of grain Sudakshinâ
Revered the Cow, and bent to that broad front
Whereof the horns seemed door-posts, through whose valves
Success might issue. King and Queen were glad,
Who thought,—"Though longing for her calf, she yet
Stayed to receive our offering: such as She,
Once pleased, shows favour,—then success is sure!"
Dilipa next, All-Conqueror, lowly paid
Due homage to the Saint; the sacrifice
For closing day he offered, and the Cow—
Now milked—he followed home to where she lay.
While Nandini was sleeping, King and Queen
Set lamps and flowers about her, then lay down,
Till with the dawn she rose,—and they rose too.
So thrice seven days went by. The noble King,
Who saved his realm from harms, still with his Queen
Pursued their hopeful task, to win a son.

Thereafter one fair day the Cow, to try
Her follower's valour, entered that famed grove
Of Gauri's lord, where Gangâ falls in foam,
And grass is green and fresh. At once, 'tis told,
A lion sprang and roughly seized the Cow,
While mused the King on Gauri's Father's might,
And thought,—"No foe will dare to harm my charge!"
Her long-drawn cries, re-echoing from the caves,
Aroused him, and recalled his gaze, to see
Where stood the lion with the tawny Cow
Pressed 'neath his paw, as 'twere a Lodhra-tree
High on a red-chalk mountain table-land
Full-blossoming. The astounded King, himself
In gait a lion, bowman bold, would snatch
An arrow from his belt, to slay the foe,
Deathworthy, as he oft had slain his foes.
He seemed a statue; for his fingers clave
Tight to the arrow, lighting with their gleam
The heron's wing,—while he stood powerless.
Thus stayed from action, furious raged the King,
To strike unable though the foe was nigh,—
Like snake subdued by spells and drugs. But lo!
In human voice,—amazing that great King,
By noble souls beloved, a Lion bold,
The Pride of Manu's line,—still holding down
The Cow, that lion spake:—"Cease, mighty King,
From futile efforts! vain would be thy shaft,
Though it should strike me, as a wind that fells
A tree blows harmless round a mountain-peak.
Know me Nikumbha's friend, Kumbhodara,
Who serve the Eight-shaped God, who—when he deigns
To mount his snow-white bull,—rests on my back
His holy feet. That God has placed me here
To guard this tree, which as a son he loves,
Where Skanda's mother's milk divine has flowed,
As poured from golden jars,—who wept when once
A forest-elephant had torn its bark
By furious rubbing: scarcely grieved she more
To see Ganeça wounded by his foes.
The Trident-bearer placed me here, to scare
In lion-shape all roaming elephants,
And prey on beasts that venture near these haunts.
Now doomed to death by Çiva comes this Cow,—
"Twill stay my hunger: so the Moon's sweet sap
The Dragon drains,—a blood-stained feast I claim.
No shame is thine, a son's devotion thou
Hast shown. Return! for know, when arms are vain
To fail can shame no warrior." Then the King
Took comfort from his words: by Çiva's might
Restrained, he bowed to fate, nor scorned himself.
Again he spake:—(now first his hand had failed
To loose his shaft, as Indra's self stood numbed
At Çiva's angry glance:)—"O King of beasts!
My words will move thy laughter, since I stand
Restrained from action; yet thou know'st my heart,
I therefore speak. That Lord I reverence
Whose power has made, sustains, and will destroy
Whatever is or moves; yet can I not
Look on the slaughter of my Master's Cow,
His treasure, that supplies the sacrifice.
Oh, take my body for thy food! her calf
Longs for the mother, and the night draws on."
Then Çiva's servant smiled: his flashing teeth
Shone through the darksome caves, and thus he spake:—
"O King, fair Lord of wealth! bright life, and youth,
Thou wouldst in haste renounce, and sovereign sway:
'Tis madness, for the cause deserves it not.
Thy people all depend on thee; thy death
Would only save one life, while living thou
Protectest all the World with constant care.
Fear not the fiery Saint! though angry, he
Losing one Cow may quickly be appeased
By gift of millions. Save thy precious life,
Enjoy the goods of fate,—for Indra's state,
Save that thou dwell'st on Earth, scarce passes thine."
So spake the forest-King; and mountain-caves,
Loud-echoing, urged that plea in flattering tones,
And wooed the King, who pitiful rejoined,
The while in mute appeal the Cow looked on,
Caught in the lion's paw:—"The Warrior's name
He only worthy bears who saves from harm:
'Tis proverb-lore: whoe'er betrays that trust
Would forfeit Royal state and earn foul scorn.
The Saint might well despise all other cows
If this were lost, Surabhi's child and peer,
Which only by the might of Çiva thou
Didst dare attack. My body freely now
I give as ransom; scarcely wouldst thou find
In her one meal; the Master's sacred rites
Will not be hindered! Well thou know'st, who serve
Thyself a Master, and with anxious zeal
Protectest here this tree, that if one lose
His charge, himself unwounded, 'twere not well
To face his Lord. Spare then my Fame, nor think
My body only precious; such as I
Scarce value fleeting life, but Fame we prize
Beyond all other. Friendship, so men say,
By intercourse is ripened: meeting thus
On forest-bounds, I claim thee friend,—and claim
To have my boon, O Çiva's follower!"
Then was the charm reversed, the Monarch free:
He threw his weapons down, and cast himself
A prey before the lion, who well-pleased
Had said,—"So be it!" When the noble King
Looked up, expecting death from lion's paw,
A rain of flowers fell on him, and a voice
Sweet sounded in his ear:—"Rise, O my son!"
That voice revived him; straight he rose, and saw
No lion, but the Cow, whose udders streamed
Like mother's breasts. Amazed he heard her say:—
"O Hero-King, by magic art I raised
This scene to try thee; for the Muni's power
Guards me so well that Yama, Lord of Death,
Must pass me by,—what other power could harm?
Thy loyalty hath pleased me, and the care
Thou show'dst for me: choose now, my Son, thy boon!
My udders yield not milk alone, but gifts
Abundant where I love." Low knelt the King,
Himself a generous giver, clasping hands
Whose skill in fight had won him warlike fame,
And named his boon—a son of noble race,
Born of Sudakshinâ! The prayer was heard,
And granted,—"Draw and drink, fair Son," she said,
"Milk from my udder in a leafy cup!"
"Nay, Mother!" answered he, "first let thy child
Be satisfied, nor stint the sacred rites.
Then, if my Master bid me, I will drink:—
Thus to a King Earth yields the Royal sixth."
At this yet more did Nandinî rejoice:
Then to the grove returned she, he behind.
Dilipa, chief of monarchs, first made known
(While like full moon his face beamed) to the Saint
How he had prospered: then he sought his Queen,
Repeating what a joy-lit face had told
To her who loved him. Then, what time the calf
Was satisfied, and evening-rites complete,
Vaçishtha bidding, drank the noble King,
Blameless and virtuous, milk of Nandinî,—
Thirsting for it as ever for fair Fame.
And now his task was ended, and a feast
Was duly held; the rites to speed his guests
The Saint performed; then to the Royal home
Dismissed them, as they grateful took their leave,
With fullest honours paid to him, his wife,
To Fire and Sacrifice, to Cow and Calf,—
More glorious still and purer for the rite.

Then with his Queen the much-enduring King
Went in swift chariot on their prosperous way,
With pleasant clangour, like a fruitful vow.
Him like the crescent moon, through penance waned
For noble offspring, whom his folk had mourned,
They greeted now returning, nor could sate
Their eyes with gazing. He, great Indra's peer,
Hailed by glad subjects, to his city came
All decked with flags,—whence with unwearied arm,
Strong as the Serpent-King, he ruled the World.
As from great Atri's eye the sky receives
Its light, or Gangâ Çiva's potent seed,
The Queen conceived:—the Sun-race to prolong,
The World's great Regents blessed her fruitful womb.