In turning from the Vedic to the Sanskrit period, we are confronted with a literature which is essentially different from that of the earlier age in matter, spirit, and form. Vedic literature is essentially religious; Sanskrit literature, abundantly developed in every other direction, is profane. But, doubtless as a result of the speculative tendencies of the Upanishads, a moralising spirit at the same time breathes through it as a whole. The religion itself which now prevails is very different from that of the Vedic age. For in the new period the three great gods, Brahma, Vish?u, and Çiva are the chief objects of worship. The important deities of the Veda have sunk to a subordinate position, though Indra is still relatively prominent as the chief of a warrior’s heaven. Some new gods of lesser rank have arisen, such as Kubera, god of wealth; Ga?eÇa, god of learning; Karttikeya, god of war; Çri or Lakshmi, goddess of beauty and fortune; Durga or Parvati, the terrible spouse of Çiva; besides the serpent deities and several classes of demigods and demons.

While the spirit of Vedic literature, at least in its earlier phase, is optimistic, Sanskrit poetry is pervaded by Weltschmerz, resulting from the now universally accepted doctrine of transmigration. To that doctrine, according to which beings pass by gradations from Brahma through men and animals to the lowest forms of existence, is doubtless also largely due the fantastic element characteristic of this later poetry. Here, for instance, we read of Vish?u coming down to earth in the shape of animals, of sages and saints wandering between heaven and earth, of human kings visiting Indra in heaven.

Hand in hand with this fondness for introducing the marvellous and supernatural into the description of human events goes a tendency to exaggeration. Thus King ViÇvamitra, we are told, practised penance for thousands of years in succession; and the power of asceticism is described as so great as to cause even the worlds and the gods to tremble. The very bulk of the Mahabharata, consisting as it does of more than 200,000 lines, is a concrete illustration of this defective sense of proportion.

As regards the form in which it is presented to us, Sanskrit literature contrasts with that of both the earlier and the later Vedic period. While prose was employed in the Yajurvedas and the Brahma?as, and finally attained to a certain degree of development, it almost disappears in Sanskrit, nearly every branch of literature being treated in verse, often much to the detriment of the subject, as in the case of law. The only departments almost entirely restricted to the use of prose are grammar and philosophy, but the cramped and enigmatical style in which these subjects are treated hardly deserves the name of prose at all. Literary prose is found only in fables, fairy tales, romances, and partially in the drama. In consequence of this neglect, the prose of the later period compares unfavourably with that of the Brahma?as. Even the style of the romances or prose kavyas, subject as it is to the strict rules of poetics, is as clumsy as that of the grammatical commentaries; for the use of immense compounds, like those of the Sutras, is one of its essential characteristics.

Sanskrit literature, then, resembles that of the earlier Vedic age in being almost entirely metrical. But the metres in which it is written, though nearly all based on those of the Veda, are different. The bulk of the literature is composed in the Çloka, a development of the Vedic anush?ubh stanza of four octosyllabic lines; but while all four lines ended iambically in the prototype, the first and third line have in the Çloka acquired a trochaic rhythm. The numerous other metres employed in the classical poetry have become much more elaborate than their Vedic originals by having the quantity of every syllable in the line strictly determined.

The style, too, excepting the two old epics, is in Sanskrit poetry made more artificial by the frequent use of long compounds, as well as by the application of the elaborate rules of poetics, while the language is regulated by the grammar of Pa?ini. Thus classical Sanskrit literature, teeming as it does with fantastic and exaggerated ideas, while bound by the strictest rules of form, is like a tropical garden full of luxuriant and rank growth, in which, however, many a fair flower of true poetry may be culled.

It is impossible even for the Sanskrit scholar who has not lived in India to appreciate fully the merits of this later poetry, much more so for those who can only become acquainted with it in translations. For, in the first place, the metres, artificial and elaborate though they are, have a beauty of their own which cannot be reproduced in other languages. Again, to understand it thoroughly, the reader must have seen the tropical plains and forests of Hindustan steeped in intense sunshine or bathed in brilliant moonlight; he must have viewed the silent ascetic seated at the foot of the sacred fig-tree; he must have experienced the feelings inspired by the approach of the monsoon; he must have watched beast and bird disporting themselves in tank and river; he must know the varying aspects of Nature in the different seasons; in short, he must be acquainted with all the sights and sounds of an Indian landscape, the mere allusion to one of which may call up some familiar scene or touch some chord of sentiment. Otherwise, for instance, the mango-tree, the red AÇoka, the orange Kadamba, the various creepers, the different kinds of lotus, the mention of each of which should convey a vivid picture, are but empty names. Without a knowledge, moreover, of the habits, modes of thought, and traditions of the people, much must remain meaningless. But those who are properly equipped can see many beauties in classical Sanskrit poetry which are entirely lost to others. Thus a distinguished scholar known to the present writer has entered so fully into the spirit of that poetry, that he is unable to derive pleasure from any other.

It would be a mistake to suppose that Sanskrit literature came into being only at the close of the Vedic period, or that it merely forms its continuation and development. As a profane literature, it must, in its earliest phases, which are lost, have been contemporaneous with the religious literature of the Vedas. Beside the productions of the latest Vedic period, that of the Upanishads and Sutras, there grew up, on the one hand, the rich Pali literature of Buddhism, and, on the other, the earliest form of Sanskrit poetry in the shape of epic tales. We have seen that even the Rigveda contains some hymns of a narrative character. Later we find in the Brahma?as a number of short legends, mostly in prose, but sometimes partly metrical, as the story of Çunah?Çepa in the Aitareya. Again, the Nirukta, which must date from the fifth century B.C., contains many prose tales, and the oldest existing collection of Vedic legend, the metrical B?ihaddevata, cannot belong to a much later time.

Sanskrit epic poetry falls into two main classes. That which comprises old stories goes by the name of Itihasa, “legend,” Akhyana, “narrative,” or Pura?a, “ancient tale,” while the other is called Kavya or artificial epic. The Mahabharata is the chief and oldest representative of the former group, the Ramaya?a of the latter. Both these great epics are composed in the same form of the Çloka metre as that employed in classical Sanskrit poetry. The Mahabharata, however, also contains, as remnants of an older phase, archaic verses in the upajati and vam?Çastha (developments of the Vedic trish?ubh and jagati) metres, besides preserving some old prose stories in what is otherwise an entirely metrical work. It further differs from the sister epic in introducing speeches with words, such as “B?ihadaÇva spake,” which do not form part of the verse, and which may be survivals of prose narrative connecting old epic songs. The Ramaya?a, again, is, in the main, the work of a single poet, homogeneous in plan and execution, composed in the east of India. The Mahabharata, arising in the western half of the country, is a congeries of parts, the only unity about which is the connectedness of the epic cycle with which they deal; its epic kernel, moreover, which forms only about one-fifth of the whole work, has become so overgrown with didactic matter, that in its final shape it is not an epic at all, but an encyclopÆdia of moral teaching.

The Mahabharata, which in its present form consists of over 100,000 Çlokas, equal to about eight times as much as the Iliad and Odyssey put together, is by far the longest poem known to literary history. It is a conglomerate of epic and didactic matter divided into eighteen books called parvan, with a nineteenth, the Harivam?Ça, as a supplement. The books vary very considerably in length, the twelfth being the longest, with nearly 14,000, the seventeenth the shortest, with only 312 Çlokas. All the eighteen books, excepting the eighth and the last three, are divided into subordinate parvans; each book is also cut up into chapters (adhyayas).

No European edition of the whole epic has yet been undertaken. This remains one of the great tasks reserved for the future of Sanskrit philology, and can only be accomplished by the collaboration of several scholars. There are complete MSS. of the Mahabharata in London, Oxford, Paris, and Berlin, besides many others in different parts of India; while the number of MSS. containing only parts of the poem can hardly be counted.

Three main editions of the epic have appeared in India. The editio princeps, including the Harivam?Ça, but without any commentary, was published in four volumes at Calcutta in 1834–39. Another and better edition, which has subsequently been reproduced several times, was printed at Bombay in 1863. This edition, though not including the supplementary book, contains the commentary of Nilaka??ha. These two editions do not on the whole differ considerably. Being derived from a common source, they represent one and the same recension. The Bombay edition, however, generally has the better readings. It contains about 200 Çlokas more than the Calcutta edition, but these additions are of no importance.

A third edition, printed in Telugu characters, was published in four volumes at Madras in 1855–60. It includes the Harivam?Ça and extracts from Nilaka??ha’s commentary. This edition represents a distinct South Indian recension, which seems to differ from that of the North about as much as the three recensions of the Ramaya?a do from one another. Both recensions are of about equal length, omissions in the first being compensated by others in the second. Sometimes one has the better text, sometimes the other.

The epic kernel of the Mahabharata or the “Great Battle of the descendants of Bharata,” consisting of about 20,000 Çlokas, describes the eighteen days’ fight between Duryodhana, leader of the Kurus, and Yudhish?hira, chief of the Pa??us, who were cousins, both descended from King Bharata, son of Çakuntala. Within this narrative frame has come to be included a vast number of old legends about gods, kings, and sages; accounts of cosmogony and theogony; disquisitions on philosophy, law, religion, and the duties of the military caste. These lengthy and heterogeneous interpolations render it very difficult to follow the thread of the narrative. Entire works are sometimes inserted to illustrate a particular statement. Thus, while the two armies are drawn up prepared for battle, a whole philosophical poem, in eighteen cantos, the Bhagavadgita is recited to the hero Arjuna, who hesitates to advance and fight against his kin. Hence the Mahabharata claims to be not only a heroic poem (kavya), but a compendium teaching, in accordance with the Veda, the fourfold end of human existence (spiritual merit, wealth, pleasure, and salvation), a sm?iti or work of sacred tradition, which expounds the whole duty of man, and is intended for the religious instruction of all Hindus. Thus, in one (I. lxii. 35) of many similar passages, it makes the statement about itself that “this collection of all sacred texts, in which the greatness of cows and Brahmans is exalted, must be listened to by virtuous-minded men.” Its title, Karsh?a Veda, or “Veda of K?ish?a” (a form of Vish?u), the occurrence of a famous invocation of Naraya?a and Nara (names of Vish?u) and Sarasvati (Vish?u’s wife) at the beginning of each of its larger sections, and the prevalence of Vishnuite doctrines throughout the work, prove it to have been a sm?iti of the ancient Vishnuite sect of the Bhagavatas.

Thus it is clear that the Mahabharata in its present shape contains an epic nucleus, that it favours the worship of Vish?u, and that it has become a comprehensive didactic work. We further find in Book I. the direct statements that the poem at one time contained 24,000 Çlokas before the episodes (upakhyana) were added, that it originally consisted of only 8800 Çlokas, and that it has three beginnings. These data render it probable that the epic underwent three stages of development from the time it first assumed definite shape; and this conclusion is corroborated by various internal and external arguments.

There can be little doubt that the original kernel of the epic has as a historical background an ancient conflict between the two neighbouring tribes of the Kurus and Panchalas, who finally coalesced into a single people. In the Yajurvedas these two tribes already appear united, and in the Ka?haka King Dh?itarash?ra Vaichitravirya, one of the chief figures of the Mahabharata, is mentioned as a well-known person. Hence the historical germ of the great epic is to be traced to a very early period, which cannot well be later than the tenth century B.C. Old songs about the ancient feud and the heroes who played a part in it, must have been handed down by word of mouth and recited in popular assemblies or at great public sacrifices.

These disconnected battle-songs were, we must assume, worked up by some poetic genius into a comparatively short epic, describing the tragic fate of the Kuru race, who, with justice and virtue on their side, perished through the treachery of the victorious sons of Pa??u, with K?ish?a at their head. To the period of this original epic doubtless belong the traces the Mahabharata has preserved unchanged of the heroic spirit and the customs of ancient times, so different from the later state of things which the Mahabharata as a whole reflects. To this period also belongs the figure of Brahma as the highest god. The evidence of Pali literature shows that Brahma already occupied that position in Buddha’s time. We may, then, perhaps assume that the original form of our epic came into being about the fifth century B.C. The oldest evidence we have for the existence of the Mahabharata in some shape or other is to be found in AÇvalayana’s G?ihya Sutra, where a Bharata and Mahabharata are mentioned. This would also point to about the fifth century B.C.

To the next stage, in which the epic, handed down by rhapsodists, swelled to a length of about 20,000 Çlokas, belongs the representation of the victorious Pa??us in a favourable light, and the introduction on a level with Brahma of the two other great gods, Çiva, and especially Vish?u, of whom K?ish?a appears as an incarnation.

We gather from the account of Megasthenes that about 300 B.C., these two gods were already prominent, and the people were divided into Çivaites and Vishnuites. Moreover, the Yavanas or Greeks are mentioned in the Mahabharata as allies of the Kurus, and even the Çakas (Scythians) and Pahlavas (Parthians) are named along with them; Hindu temples are also referred to as well as Buddhist relic mounds. Thus an extension of the original epic must have taken place after 300 B.C. and by the beginning of our era.

The Brahmans knew how to utilise the great influence of the old epic tradition by gradually incorporating didactic matter calculated to impress upon the people, and especially on kings, the doctrines of the priestly caste. It thus at last assumed the character of a vast treatise on duty (dharma), in which the divine origin and immutability of Brahman institutions, the eternity of the caste system, and the subordination of all to the priests, are laid down. When the Mahabharata attributes its origin to Vyasa, it implies a belief in a final redaction, for the name simply means “Arranger.” Dahlmann has recently put forward the theory that the great epic was a didactic work from the very outset; this view, however, appears to be quite irreconcilable with the data of the poem, and is not likely to find any support among scholars.

What evidence have we as to when the Mahabharata attained to the form in which we possess it? There is an inscription in a land grant dating from 462 A.D. or at the latest 532 A.D., which proves incontrovertibly that the epic about 500 A.D. was practically of exactly the same length as it is stated to have in the survey of contents (anukrama?ika) given in Book I., and as it actually has now; for it contains the following words: “It has been declared in the Mahabharata, the compilation embracing 100,000 verses, by the highest sage, Vyasa, the Vyasa of the Vedas, the son of ParaÇara.” This quotation at the same time proves that the epic at that date included the very long 12th and 13th, as well as the extensive supplementary book, the Harivam?Ça, without any one of which it would have been impossible to speak even approximately of 100,000 verses. There are also several land grants, dated between 450 and 500 A.D., and found in various parts of India, which quote the Mahabharata as an authority teaching the rewards of pious donors and the punishments of impious despoilers. This shows that in the middle of the fifth century it already possessed the same character as at present, that of a Sm?iti or DharmaÇastra. It is only reasonable to suppose that it had acquired this character at least a century earlier, or by about 350 A.D. Further research in the writings of the Northern Buddhists and their dated Chinese translations will probably enable us to put this date back by some centuries. We are already justified in considering it likely that the great epic had become a didactic compendium before the beginning of our era. In any case, the present state of our knowledge entirely disproves the suggestions put forward by Prof. Holtzmann in his work on the Mahabharata, that the epic was turned into a DharmaÇastra by the Brahmans after 900 A.D., and that whole books were added at this late period.

The literary evidence of Sanskrit authors from about 600 to 1100 A.D. supplies us with a considerable amount of information as to the state of the great epic during those five centuries. An examination of the works of Ba?a, and of his predecessor Subandhu, shows that these authors, who belong to the beginning of the seventh century, not only studied and made use of legends from every one of the eighteen books of the Mahabharata for the poetical embellishment of their works, but were even acquainted with the Harivam?Ça. We also know that in Ba?a’s time the Bhagavadgita was included in the great epic. The same writer mentions that the Mahabharata was recited in the temple of Mahakala at Ujjain. That such recitation was already a widespread practice at that time is corroborated by an inscription of about 600 A.D. from the remote Indian colony of Kamboja, which states that copies of the Mahabharata, as well as of the Ramaya?a and of an unnamed Pura?a, were presented to a temple there, and that the donor had made arrangements to ensure their daily recitation in perpetuity. This evidence shows that the Mahabharata cannot have been a mere heroic poem, but must have borne the character of a Sm?iti work of long-established authority. Even at the present day both public and private recitations of the Epics and Pura?as are common in India, and are always instituted for the edification and religious instruction of worshippers in temples or of members of the family. As a rule, the Sanskrit texts are not only declaimed, but also explained in the vernacular tongue for the benefit both of women, and of such males as belong to classes unacquainted with the learned language of the Brahmans.

We next come to the eminent Mimam?sa philosopher Kumarila, who has been proved to have flourished in the first half of the eighth century A.D. In the small portion of his great commentary, entitled Tantra-varttika, which has been examined, no fewer than ten of the eighteen books of the Mahabharata are named, quoted, or referred to. It is clear that the epic as known to him not only included the first book (adiparvan), but that that book in his time closely resembled the form of its text which we possess. It even appears to have contained the first section, called anukrama?ika or “Survey of contents,” and the second, entitled parva-sam?graha or “Synopsis of sections.” Kumarila also knew Books XII. and XIII., which have frequently been pronounced to be of late origin, as well as XIX. It is evident from his treatment of the epic that he regarded it as a work of sacred tradition and of great antiquity, intended from the beginning for the instruction of all the four castes. To him it is not an account of the great war between the Kauravas and Pa??us; the descriptions of battles were only used for the purpose of rousing the martial instincts of the warrior caste.

The great Vedantist philosopher Çankaracharya, who wrote his commentary in 804 A.D., often quotes the Mahabharata as a Sm?iti, and in discussing a verse from Book XII. expressly states that the Mahabharata was intended for the religious instruction of those classes who by their position are debarred from studying the Vedas and the Vedanta.

From the middle of the eleventh century A.D. we have the oldest known abstract of the Mahabharata, the work of the Kashmirian poet Kshemendra, entitled Bharata-Manjari. This condensation is specially important, because it enables the scholar to determine the state of the text in detail at that time. Professor BÜhler’s careful comparison of the MSS. of this work with the great epic has led him to the conclusion that Kshemendra’s original did not differ from the Mahabharata as we have it at present in any other way than two classes of MSS. differ from each other. This poetical epitome shows several omissions, but these are on the whole of such a nature as is to be expected in any similar abridgment. It is, however, likely that twelve chapters (342–353) of Book XII., treating of Naraya?a, which the abbreviator passes over, did not exist in the original known to him. There can, moreover, be no doubt that the forms of several proper names found in the Manjari are better and older than those given by the editions of the Mahabharata. Though the division of the original into eighteen books is found in the abridgment also, it is made up by turning the third section (gada-parvan) of Book IX. (Çalya-parvan) into a separate book, while combining Books XII. and XIII. into a single one. This variation probably represents an old division, as it occurs in many MSS. of the Mahabharata.

Another work of importance in determining the state of the Mahabharata is a Javanese translation of the epic, also dating from the eleventh century.

The best-known commentator of the Mahabharata is Nilaka??ha, who lived at Kurpara, to the west of the Godavari, in Maharash?ra, and, according to Burnell, belongs to the sixteenth century. Older than Nilaka??ha, who quotes him, is Arjuna MiÇra, whose commentary, along with that of Nilaka??ha, appears in an edition of the Mahabharata begun at Calcutta in 1875. The earliest extant commentator of the great epic is Sarvajna Naraya?a, large fragments of whose notes have been preserved, and who cannot have written later than in the second half of the fourteenth century, but may be somewhat older.

The main story of the Mahabharata in the briefest possible outline is as follows: In the country of the Bharatas, which, from the name of the ruling race, had come to be called Kurukshetra, or “Land of the Kurus,” there lived at Hastinapura, fifty-seven miles north-east of the modern Delhi, two princes named Dh?itarash?ra and Pa??u. The elder of these brothers being blind, Pa??u succeeded to the throne and reigned gloriously. He had five sons called Pa??avas, the chief of whom were Yudhish?hira, Bhima, and Arjuna. Dh?itarash?ra had a hundred sons, usually called Kauravas, or Kuru princes, the most prominent of whom was Duryodhana. On the premature death of Pa??u, Dh?itarash?ra took over the reins of government, and receiving his five nephews into his palace, had them brought up with his own sons. As the Pa??us distinguished themselves greatly in feats of arms and helped him to victory, the king appointed his eldest nephew, Yudhish?hira, to be heir-apparent. The Pa??u princes, however, soon found it necessary to escape from the plots their cousins now began to set on foot against them. They made their way to the king of Panchala, whose daughter Draupadi was won, in a contest between many kings and heroes, by Arjuna, who alone was able to bend the king’s great bow and to hit a certain mark. In order to avoid strife, Draupadi consented to become the common wife of the five princes. At Draupadi’s svayam?vara (public choice of a husband) the Pa??us made acquaintance with K?ish?a, the hero of the Yadavas, who from this time onward became their fast friend and adviser. Dh?itarash?ra, thinking it best to conciliate the Pa??avas in view of their double alliance with the Panchalas and Yadavas, now divided his kingdom, giving Hastinapura to his sons, and to his nephews a district where they built the city of Indraprastha, the modern Delhi (i.).

Here the Pa??avas ruled wisely and prospered greatly. Duryodhana’s jealousy being aroused, he resolved to ruin his cousins, with the aid of his uncle Çakuni, a skilful gamester. Dh?itarash?ra was accordingly induced to invite the Pa??us to Hastinapura. Here Yudhish?hira, accepting the challenge to play at dice with Duryodhana, lost everything, his kingdom, his wealth, his army, his brothers, and finally Draupadi. In the end a compromise was made by which the Pa??avas agreed to go into banishment for twelve years, and to remain incognito for a thirteenth, after which they might return and regain their kingdom (ii.).

With Draupadi they accordingly departed to the Kamyaka forest on the Sarasvati. The account of their twelve years’ life here, and the many legends told to console them in their exile, constitute the vana-parvan or “Forest book,” one of the longest in the poem (iii.).

The thirteenth year they spent in disguise as servants of Vira?a, king of the Matsyas. At this time the Kurus, in alliance with another king, invaded the country of the Matsyas, causing much distress. Then the Pa??us arose, put the enemy to flight, and restored the king. They now made themselves known, and entered into an alliance with the king (iv.).

Their message demanding back their possessions receiving no answer, they prepared for war. The rival armies met in the sacred region of Kurukshetra, with numerous allies on both sides. Joined with the Kurus were, among others, the people of Kosala, Videha, Anga, Banga (Bengal), Kalinga on the east, and those of Sindhu, Gandhara, Bahlika (Balk), together with the Çakas and Yavanas on the west. The Pa??us, on the other hand, were aided by the Panchalas, the Matsyas, part of the Yadavas under K?ish?a, besides the kings of KaÇi (Benares), Chedi, Magadha, and others (v.).

The battle raged for eighteen days, till all the Kurus were destroyed, and only the Pa??avas and K?ish?a with his charioteer escaped alive. The account of it extends over five books (vi.–x.). Then follows a description of the obsequies of the dead (xi.). In the next two books, Bhima, the leader of the Kurus, on his deathbed, instructs Yudhish?hira for about 20,000 Çlokas on the duties of kings and other topics.

The Pa??us having been reconciled to the old king Dh?itarash?ra, Yudhish?hira was crowned king in Hastinapura, and instituted a great horse-sacrifice (xiv.). Dh?itarash?ra having remained at Hastinapura for fifteen years, at length retired, with his wife Gandhari, to the jungle, where they perished in a forest conflagration (xv.). Among the Yadavas, who had taken different sides in the great war, an internecine conflict broke out, which resulted in the annihilation of this people. K?ish?a sadly withdrew to the wilderness, where he was accidentally shot dead by a hunter (xvi.).

The Pa??us themselves, at last weary of life, leaving the young prince Parikshit, grandson of Arjuna, to rule over Hastinapura, retired to the forest, and dying as they wandered towards Meru, the mountain of the gods (xvii.), ascended to heaven with their faithful spouse (xviii.).

Here the framework of the great epic, which begins at the commencement of the first book, comes to an end. King Parikshit having died of snake-bite, his son Janamejaya instituted a great sacrifice to the serpents. At that sacrifice the epic was recited by VaiÇampayana, who had learnt it from Vyasa. The latter, we are told, after arranging the four Vedas, composed the Mahabharata, which treats of the excellence of the Pa??us, the greatness of K?ish?a, and the wickedness of the sons of Dh?itarash?ra.

The supplementary book, the Harivam?Ça, or “Family of Vish?u,” is concerned only with K?ish?a. It contains more than 16,000 Çlokas, and is divided into three sections. The first of these describes the history of K?ish?a’s ancestors down to the time of Vish?u’s incarnation in him; the second gives an account of K?ish?a’s exploits; the third treats of the future corruptions of the Kali, or fourth age of the world.

The episodes of the Mahabharata are numerous and often very extensive, constituting, as we have seen, about four-fifths of the whole poem. Many of them are interesting for various reasons, and some are distinguished by considerable poetic beauty. One of them, the story of Çakuntala (occurring in Book I.), supplied Kalidasa with the subject of his famous play. Episodes are specially plentiful in Book III., being related to while away the time of the exiled Pa??us. Here is found the Matsyopakhyana, or “Episode of the fish,” being the story of the flood, narrated with more diffuseness than the simple story told in the Çatapatha Brahma?a. The fish here declares itself to be Brahma, Lord of creatures, and not yet Vish?u, as in the Bhagavata Pura?a. Manu no longer appears as the progenitor of mankind, but as a creator who produces all beings and worlds anew by means of his ascetic power.

Another episode is the history of Rama, interesting in its relation to Valmiki’s Ramaya?a, which deals with the same subject at much greater length. The myth of the descent of the Ganges from heaven to earth, here narrated, is told in the Ramaya?a also.

Another legend is that of the sage ?iÇya-Ç?inga, who having produced rain in the country of Lomapada, king of the Angas, was rewarded with the hand of the princess Çanta, and performed that sacrifice for King DaÇaratha which brought about the birth of Rama. This episode is peculiarly important from a critical point of view, as the legend recurs not only in the Ramaya?a, but also in the Padma Pura?a, the Skanda Pura?a, and a number of other sources.

Of special interest is the story of King UÇinara, son of Çibi, who sacrificed his life to save a pigeon from a hawk. It is told again in another part of Book III. about Çibi himself, as well as in Book XIII. about V?ishadarbha, son of Çibi. Distinctly Buddhistic in origin and character, the story is famous in Pali as well as Sanskrit literature, and spread beyond the limits of India.

The story of the abduction of Draupadi forms an episode of her life while she dwelt with the Pa??us in the Kamyaka forest. Accidentally seen when alone by King Jayadratha of Sindhu, who was passing with a great army, and fell in love with her at first sight, she was forcibly carried off, and only rescued after a terrible fight, in which the Pa??us annihilated Jayadratha’s host.

Interesting as an illustration of the mythological ideas of the age is the episode which describes the journey of Arjuna to Indra’s heaven. Here we see the mighty warrior-god of the Vedas transformed into a glorified king of later times, living a life of ease amid the splendours of his celestial court, where the ear is lulled by strains of music, while the eye is ravished by the graceful dancing and exquisite beauty of heavenly nymphs.

In the story of Savitri we have one of the finest of the many ideal female characters which the older epic poetry of India has created. Savitri, daughter of AÇvapati, king of Madra, chooses as her husband Satyavat, the handsome and noble son of a blind and exiled king, who dwells in a forest hermitage. Though warned by the sage Narada that the prince is fated to live but a single year, she persists in her choice, and after the wedding departs with her husband to his father’s forest retreat. Here she lives happily till she begins to be tortured with anxiety on the approach of the fatal day. When it arrives, she follows her husband on his way to cut wood in the forest. After a time he lies down exhausted. Yama, the god of death, appears, and taking his soul, departs. As Savitri persistently follows him, Yama grants her various boons, always excepting the life of her husband; but yielding at last to her importunities, he restores the soul to the lifeless body. Satyavat recovers, and lives happily for many years with his faithful Savitri.

One of the oldest and most beautiful stories inserted in the Mahabharata is the Nalopakhyana, or “Episode of Nala.” It is one of the least corrupted of the episodes, its great popularity having prevented the transforming hand of an editor from introducing Çiva and Vish?u, or from effacing the simplicity of the manners it depicts—the prince, for instance, cooks his own food—or from changing the character of Indra, and other old traits. The poem is pervaded by a high tone of morality, manifested above all in the heroic devotion and fidelity of Damayanti, its leading character. It also contains many passages distinguished by tender pathos.

The story is told by the wise B?ihadaÇva to the exiled Yudhish?hira, in order to console him for the loss of the kingdom he has forfeited at play. Nala, prince of Nishada, chosen from among many competitors for her hand by Damayanti, princess of Vidarbha, passes several years of happy married life with her. Then, possessed by the demon Kali, and indulging in gambling, he loses his kingdom and all his possessions. Wandering half naked in the forest with Damayanti, he abandons her in his frenzy. Very pathetic is the scene describing how he repeatedly returns to the spot where his wife lies asleep on the ground before he finally deserts her. Equally touching are the accounts of her terror on awaking to find herself alone in the forest, and of her lamentations as she roams in search of her husband, and calls out to him—

There are graphic descriptions of the beauties and terrors of the tropical forest in which Damayanti wanders. At last she finds her way back to her father’s court at Ku??ina? Many and striking are the similes with which the poet dwells on the grief and wasted form of the princess in her separation from her husband. She is

Nala, meanwhile, transformed into a dwarf, has become charioteer to the king of Oudh. Damayanti at last hears news leading her to suspect her husband’s whereabouts. She accordingly holds out hopes of her hand to the king of Oudh, on condition of his driving the distance of 500 miles to Ku??ina in a single day. Nala, acting as his charioteer, accomplishes the feat, and is rewarded by the king with the secret of the highest skill in dicing. Recognised by his wife in spite of his disguise, he regains his true form. He plays again, and wins back his lost kingdom. Thus after years of adventure, sorrow, and humiliation he is at last reunited with Damayanti, with whom he spends the rest of his days in happiness.

Though several supernatural and miraculous features like those which occur in fairy tales are found in the episode of Nala, they are not sufficient to mar the spirit of true poetry which pervades the story as a whole.