Markandeya Purana, Books VII. VIII

Excerpt

BOOK VII.

ONCE upon earth there lived a saintly king
Named Harišchandra; pure in heart and mind,
In virtue eminent, he ruled the world,
Guarding mankind from evil. While he reigned
No famine raged, nor pain; untimely death
Ne'er cut men off; nor were the citizens
Of his fair city lawless. All their wealth,
And power, and works of righteousness, ne'er filled
Their hearts with pride; in everlasting youth
And loveliness the women passed their days.

It so fell out, that while this mighty king
Was hunting in the forest, that he heard
The sound of female voices raised in cry
Of supplication. Then he turned and said,
Leaving the deer to fly unheeded: "Stop!
Who art thou, full of tyranny and hate,
That darest thus oppress the earth; while I,
The tamer of all evil, live and rule?"
Then, too, the fierce Ganeša,—he who blinds
The eyes, and foils the wills of men,—he heard
The cry, and thus within himself he thought:
"This surely is the great ascetic's work,
The mighty Višvâmitra; he whose acts
Display the fruits of penance hard and sore.
Upon the sciences he shows his power,
While they, in patience, discipline of mind,
And silence perfected, cry out with fear,
'What shall we do? The illustrious Kaušika
Is powerful; and we, compared with him,
Are feeble.' Thus they cry. What shall I do?
My mind is filled with doubt. Yet stay; a thought
Has come across me: Lo! this king who cries
Unceasingly, 'Fear not!' meeting with him,
And entering his heart, I will fulfil
All my desire." Then filled with Rudra's son—
Inspired with rage by Vigna Raj—the king
Spake up and said: "What evil doer is here,
Binding the fire on his garment's hem,
While I, his king, in power and arms renowned,
Resplendent in my glory, pass for nought?
Surely the never-ending sleep of death
Shall overtake him, and his limbs shall fail,
Smitten with darts from my far-reaching bow,
Whose fame this lower world may scarce contain."
Hearing the prince's words, the saint was filled
With wrath o'erpow'ring, and the sciences
Fell blasted in a moment at his glance.

But when the king beheld the pious sage
All-powerful, he quaked exceedingly,
And trembled like the sacred fig-tree's leaves.
Then Višvâmitra cried: "Stop, miscreant!"
And Harišchandra, humbly falling down
Before the saint, in accents low and meek:
"O Lord! most holy! most adorable!
Oh, blame me not! This is no fault of mine!
My duty calls," he said, "I must obey."
"Is it not written in the Holy Law,
'Alms must be given by a virtuous king;
His people must be fought for, and be kept
From every ill'?" Then Višvâmitra spoke
And said: "To whom, O king, should'st thou give alms?
For whom in battle should'st thou fight? and whom
Should'st thou protect? Oh, tell me, nor delay,
But quickly answer, if thou fearest sin."
"Alms should be given to Brâhmans," said the king:
"Those who are weak should be protected: foes
In battle should be met and overcome."

Then Višvâmitra spoke and said: "O king!
If thus indeed thou rightly dost perceive
Thy royal duty, give thine alms to me;
I am a holy Brâhman, and I seek
A dwelling-place; moreover I would gain
A wife: therefore bestow on me thine alms."
The king, his heart filled with exceeding joy,
Felt, as it were, his youth return, and said:
"Fear not!...