So with ascetic might, in ire,

He smote the children and the sire.

Then Vi?vÁmitra, far-renowned,

Addressed the saints who gathered round:

IkshvÁku's son, of liberal hand.

Most virtuous and gentle, he

Seeks refuge in his woe with me.

Now, holy men, with me unite,

And order so his purposed rite

That in the body he may rise

They heard his speech with ready ear

And, every bosom filled with fear

Of Vi?vÁmitra, wise and great,

Spoke each to each in brief debate:

With furious wrath is quick to glow.

Whate'er the words he wills to say,

We must, be very sure, obey.

Fierce is our lord as fire, and straight

May curse us all infuriate.

So let us in these rites engage,

As ordered by the holy sage.

And with our best endeavour strive

That King IkshvÁku's son, alive,

In body to the skies may go

Then was the rite begun with care:

All requisites and means were there:

And glorious Vi?vÁmitra lent

His willing aid as president.

And all the sacred rites were done

By rule and use, omitting none.

By chaplain-priest, the hymns who knew,

In decent form and order due.

Some time in sacrifice had past,

And Vi?vÁmitra made, at last,

The solemn offering with the prayer

That all the Gods might come and share.

But the Immortals, one and all,

Refused to hear the hermit's call.

Then red with rage his eyeballs blazed:

The sacred ladle high he raised,

And cried to King IkshvÁku's son:

Now by the might my merits lend,

IkshvÁku's child, to heaven ascend.

In living frame the skies attain,

Which mortals thus can scarcely gain.

My vows austere, so long endured,

Have, as I ween, some fruit assured.

Upon its virtue, King, rely,

His speech had scarcely reached its close,

When, as he stood, the sovereign rose,

And mounted swiftly to the skies

Before the wondering hermits' eyes.

But Indra, when he saw the king

His blissful regions entering,

With all the army of the Blest

Thus cried unto the unbidden guest:

Here is no home prepared for thee.

By thy great master's curse brought low,

Thus by the Lord of Gods addressed,

Tri?anku fell from fancied rest,

And screaming in his swift descent,

“O, save me, Hermit!” down he went.

And Vi?vÁmitra heard his cry,

And marked him falling from the sky,

And giving all his passion sway,

Cried out in fury, “Stay, O stay!”