HPB-SB-3-40

T i

vol. 3, p. 40

H. P. Blavatsky Scrapbooks

from Adyar archives of the International Theosophical Society

vol. 3 (1875-1878)

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SBT, DT

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eng • рус

< Rishyusringa (continued from page 3-39) >

Smelt no move of sacrifices, Sweetest odors and perfumes. And he sent no rain from heaven, Not the dewdrops of the morning, Nor the mists of dusky evening, Fell upon the lands of Anga. And the earth grew hot and thirsty, Terror seized upon the people— Hunger, thirst, and misery. Then the wise men of his people Called to council Lomapada, And the wisest of them spake: “ Not the dewdrops of the morning, Nor the mists of dusky evening, Nor the rain refreshing sweetly Will God Indra send from heaven,— He the mighty God of thunder,— If he smell not the sweet odors Of the holy sacrifices Sacred by the hands of Brahmins. Therefore hear, oh Lomapada ! Hear what I shall counsel thee. “ In the woods so deep and lonely, In the sacred groves of Indra On the Kausiki’s sweet waters Lives the sainted Vifandaka, And with him, his only son, Lives the pious Rishyasringa. He so innocent and blameless Knows no man besides his father, Never yet he saw a woman, Ate no fruit but of the wild fruit, Drank but water from the well spring. “ Saintly is the boy and simple, Naught of maiden knoweth he. To this boy then send a maiden, Send a maiden fair and winsome. And with love’s kind words and doings Let her lure him on to Anga. “ This my counsel, Lomapada! Unto us will send Parjanya Rain and richest dews from heaven— He the God of thousand eyes, When this saintly boy shall offer Sacrifices on his altars." Full of joy was Lomapada ; Sent a herald through all Anga, Called upon all lovely maidens, Promised gold and richest treasures To the maid that dared to venture To the woods, the groves of Indra, Where the sainted Vifandaka Taught the youthful Rishyasringa All the duties of the Vedas And severest penitence. But the maidens, full of terror, Tremblingly returned such answer: “ Dreadful are the angry curses Of this penitent old Brahmin, Of the sainted Vifandaka,— No, we dare not do thy bidding." Still no dewdrops of the morning And no mists of dusky evening, Nor the rain refreshing sweetly, Fell upon the lands of Anga ; And still greater grew the terror, Hunger, thirst, and misery. And despair seized on the people, <... continues on page 3-41 >

"They silently rowed onwards up the Kausiki's sweet waters."

Editor's notes