Canto III: Raghu is born: Dilîpa's Horse-sacrifice is stayed by Indra, with whom Raghu fights

Then in her handmaids' sight Sudakshiṇâ
Shone pregnant, whence Ikshvâku's stock should spring
More vigorous, like an early crescent moon,
To crown her husband's life. Her, pale as night,
When dawn is near, when dimly shines the moon
And stars are few, or like a Lodhra-tree,
The King embraced; he knew earth's scent, and longed,
Nor could be sated, as an elephant
Scarce slakes his thirst at forest ponds, though filled
By plenteous rain. "As Indra Heaven," she said,
"So shall my son rule Earth; his car shall range
To Earth's remotest bound!" So mused the Queen,
On earthly savours fixing her desires.
Her loving Lord, who feared that bashful mood
Might check her utterance, asked her serving-maids
Of all her fancies, bent to ease her mind.
So as her months went on, whate'er she craved
Was brought unasked,—since all in Earth or Heav'n
The mighty King could for her needs provide.
And so conception's pain was soothed for her,
Whose frame shone stouter, as the climbing-vines
Their old leaves shedding don the bright array
Of new-born Spring. The months rolled swiftly past,
Her bosom swelled, and on her lovely breasts
The nipples rose, to shame fresh lotus-buds
Where black bees cluster:—and her Lord was glad.
As Earth which Ocean clothes, where treasure lurks,
Or as that tree which nurses secret fire,
Or as Sarasvati in flood, she seemed
To him who constant-minded kept the feasts
Due for a Prince's birth, as love required
Owed to his Queen, with pomp that well might match
The wealth Earth yielded, and the joy he felt.
With eyes that swam with love the King at home
Watched as she slowly rose from cushioned seat,
Her womb weighed down with seed the Gods had sown,
Weak hands that scarce could lift the offerings.
But skilled physicians watched the embryo birth
Until her time was near, when like the sky
At eventide she shrank from public gaze;
Last, at due season she, fair Çachî's peer,
Brought forth a son, whose greatness stars foretold
That high in heaven shone, not quenched by dawn,
As threefold Virtue wins the Highest Bliss.
Calm was the vault of Heaven, soft winds blew
Clear rose the altar-flame, with butter fed;
All augured happy days: such princes' birth
Brings good to all mankind. Now round the bed
Where lay the Queen at once the midnight-lamps,
Dimmed by the native glory of the child,
Showed but as pictured lights. From the happy maid,
Who brought the joyful news his son was born,
Three things alone the King withheld, but three,—
The moon-bright parasol and royal fans.
With steady eye, like lotus in still lake,
The King devoured his son's fair face, with joy
So great it burst all bounds, as Ocean's tide
At fulness of the moon. Then came a Priest
From Hermits' grove, and perfectly performed
All rites for birth, that so Dilîpa's son
As gem new-polished shone with brightest gleam,
The joy-drums' cheerful sound, and twinkling feet
Of dancers echoed through the palace-halls,
Nor less in courts of Heav'n. The happy sire
Could set no prisoner free, for none lay bound
Where crime was not; himself alone he freed
From coil of debt he owed the Blessed Shades.
Then praying,—"May this child through Sacred Lore
Pass quickly, warring swiftly smite his foes!"
He named him Raghu, "swiftly-moving " Prince.

The child grew up beneath his Father's eye,
Lord of all wealth, and day by day his strength
Increased, as summer Sun's still-growing power
Pervades the waxing moon. The Prince made glad
His parents, great as Çiva and Umâ,
Or Indra and his Queen:—since like themselves
He daily grew, as grew the Reed-born God,
Or famed Jayanta, while their mutual love—
Like love of rain-birds—burned the more intense
That each one's love was centred on their son.
What word his nurse first taught he docile spake,
Held as he walked her hand, obedient bowed
When so she bade him: thus his Father's joy
He perfected,—who took him to his breast,
As though he bathed in nectar when he clasped
The body of a son, with eyes askance
For perfect joy, delight he scarce had hoped!
Thus, following close the Law, he saw his line
In this fair son established, as the World
Great Brahmâ sees established, his own self
In form derived, with primal Virtue clothed.
The Prince's childish locks had now been cut
As Law ordained, his childhood's comrades still
Preserving their long hair: the principles
Of learning he acquired, as streams suck up
Great Ocean's water. Next the sacred cord
That marked his second birth the noble child
Assumed, and sages taught him, fruitful soil
For learning's seed: on well-prepared fields
What work men spend will prosper. Oceans four
Of knowledge soon he crossed, his mental strength
Concentring, as the Sun's untiring bays
(Than wind more swift) pass through the sky's four zones.
The deerskin next he donned, and from his Sire
The spell-ruled weapon's use he learned: the King
Not only was sole Emperor, but in skill
Excelled all archers bold. As bull's estate
A steer attains, or elephant's the calf,
So Raghu passed from childhood up to youth,
And bore a form of gracious majesty.
His tonsure o'er, forthwith the careful King
Procured him worthy brides, who lovely shone
As Daksha's daughters wedded to the Moon.
With arms like beams, broad shoulders, mighty neck,
A chest like portal wide, though Raghu seemed
In strength above his Father, modestly
He took rank lower. But the King, who long
Had borne the weight of rule, conferred on him
The state of Sociate-King, by nature meek
And training, to bear half the heavy charge.
So goddess Fortune, loving aye the best,
Had left the King, who long had been her choice,
And sought the Heir,—as leaving parent flower
For opening bloom. As Fire grows, fanned by Wind
His charioteer, or Sun when cloud-banks break,
Or elephant when love-streams bathe his brows,—
So did the Son enhance his Father's state,
Till then unmatched.
Till then unmatched. At length, in season due,
With princes for his comrades, that high Prince
Was set as guard to keep the sacred horse,
While King Dilipa, Indra's peer, performed
Save one a hundred sacrifices pure.
But Indra, all unseen, drove off the horse,
Set free to roam, to keep the rite unflawed.
Amazed the guards looked on; that princely host
Stood by perplexed, confounded, till at length
Vaçishtha's Cow, unbidden, blessed their sight,—
Well known to all: through her great power the Prince
Received as from a mother grace to see
Things veiled from sense. Then looking East he saw
The God who curbed the hills, great Indra's self,
Drive off the steed reluctant, while his starts
The driver checked: the God he forthwith knew
By eyes unwinking and his bright bay steeds,
And challenged with a voice that pierced the sky,
To win him from his purpose:—"King of Gods!
Thee Sages praise as chief of those who share
All sacred rites: why then impede my Sire,
Who seeks by sacrifice to win Heaven's bliss?
Thine 'tis, O highest Lord, whose eyes are stars,
To smite our impious foes; if then, my Lord,
Thyself shouldst spoil the offering, worship's dues
Would lie destroyed. Ah, let the horse go free,
Most needful for the Rite! great guides in Law
Ne'er stoop to methods base.” In stark amaze
At those bold words the King of Gods restrained
His chariot, making answer:—"Noble Prince,
Thou speakest well. Yet know, that those who prize
Their fame must guard it ever 'gainst attack.
Thy father seeks to rob me of my name,
That fair renown which through the Worlds is mine.
Alone does Vishṇu reign Supreme, Great Lord
Is Çiva's title only, me the Saints
Call Lord of Hundred Sacrificial Rites:
Alone each keeps his Name. To save this now
I drive thy Father's horse, as Kapila
Drove off the sacred Victim. Vain thy toil
To win it back: seek not to tread the path
Which sons of Sagara trode!"—The Prince replied,
Undaunted keeper of the victim horse:—
"Take then thy weapon, King of Gods, since so
Thou choosest war! Me thou must first lay low,
Or yield the horse." Then on his string the Prince
His arrow laid, and Çiva's self he seemed
Prone o'er the bow, fair, looking to the sky
Expectant: then he sped a golden shaft
Which pierced the God; that God, who clipped the wings
Of mountains, losing patience, to his Bow—
That weapon dread which gathered clouds compose,—
Laid his unerring shaft: that awful dart,
With demon-gore familiar, drank the blood
Of men, before untasted, greedily,
Next, brave as Kârtikeya, that stout Prince
With name-marked arrow smote great Indra's hand,
All rough from hide of Heaven's elephants,
And marked with pictures from fair Çachi's arms.
Then with another, fledged with peacock's plume,
He rent the Lightning-flag: fierce raged the God,
As though he'd torn the heavenly Lakshmi's hair.
Now joined they awful battle: quite apart
Stood Siddhas and the Prince's host: they twain
Strove for the mast'ry:—down they shot and up
Their arrows, hurtling, terrible as snakes
To look on, winged. Nor could Indra quench
The Prince's inborn courage, though he rained
His shafts in quick succession: so the cloud
In vain would quench the fire itself has bred.
With crescent-headed arrow Raghu cut
Resplendent Indra's bowstring, which the God
Grasped in a hand that gleamed with sandalwood,
Deep-sounding as the Ocean when 'twas churned.
The God laid down his Bow, and seized in wrath—
To slay his gallant foe—that flaming Bolt,
Wherewith of old he clipped the mountains' wings,
And hurled it. Then the Hero fell to earth
Sore-wounded, when his comrades' tears fell fast;
But soon revived, undaunted, whom their shouts
Acclaimed on rising. Vṛitra's mighty foe,
Admiring much the valour which so long,
Sustaining fierce assault, defied his power:
For virtue aye is precious: called aloud:—
"Thou only hast withstood my mighty Bolt,
Which mountains could not face! well-pleased I grant
Whate'er thou wilt, except the Victim horse."
Then to the King of Gods the Prince replied,
Sweet-voiced, returning to his belt the shaft
Half-drawn, whose feathers shone above his head:—
"If, mighty Lord, thou wilt nowise restore
The horse, oh! let my pious father win
The full reward of those long, arduous rites
So near perfection, which he may not reach.
Grant this too, Lord of Heaven, that now the King
In council set, by Çiva's glory kept,
May know this from thy envoy!" Then the God
Gave Raghu all he craved, and soared to Heaven.
Warned by the God, the King received his Son
With joy, and stroked with love-numbed hand his limbs,
By lightning scarred. Then, fixed to win Heaven's bliss,
His honoured life now ending, ladder-like
His ninety-nine great Offerings he stretched out,
To ease the way. His soul from things of sense
He quite withdrew, then solemnly gave o'er
To his young son the Kingdom, and himself
Went with his Queen to Hermits' shady grove,—
The use of agèd Kings of Manu's race.