But Diti, when her sons were slain,

Wild with a childless mother's pain,

To Ka?yap spake, MarÍcha's son,

Her husband: “O thou glorious one!

Then glorious Ka?yap thus replied

To Diti, as she wept and sighed:

Pure from all spot, and thou shalt gain

A son whose arm shall take the life

Of Indra in the battle strife.

For full a thousand years endure

Free from all stain, supremely pure;

Then shall thy son and mine appear,

These words the glorious Ka?yap said,

Then gently stroked his consort's head,

Blessed her, and bade a kind adieu,

And turned him to his rites anew.

Soon as her lord had left her side,

Her bosom swelled with joy and pride.

She sought the shade of holy boughs,

And there began her awful vows.

While yet she wrought her rites austere,

Indra, unbidden, hastened near,

With sweet observance tending her,

A reverential minister.

Wood, water, fire, and grass he brought,

Sweet roots and woodland fruit he sought,

And all her wants, the Thousand-eyed,

With never-failing care, supplied,

With tender love and soft caress

Removing pain and weariness.

When, of the thousand years ordained,

Ten only unfulfilled remained,

Thus to her son, the Thousand-eyed,

The Goddess in her triumph cried:

But ten short years of toil and pain;

These years of penance soon will flee,

And a new brother thou shalt see.

Him for thy sake I'll nobly breed,

And lust of war his soul shall feed;

Then free from care and sorrow thou