Many of the ideas in the preceding sketch are derived from the following hymn :
The mighty lord on high our deeds, as if at hand, espies; The gods know all men do, though men would fain their acts disguise:
Whoever stands, whoever moves, or steals from place to place,
Or hides him in his secret cell,—the gods his movements
Wherever two together plot, and deem they are alone, King Varuna is there, a third, and all their schemes are
This earth is his, to him belong those vast and boundless
Both seas within him rest, and yet in that small pool he lies.
Whoever far beyond the sky should think his way to
He could not there elude the grasp of Varuna the king. His spies, descending from the skies, glide all this world
Their thousand eyes all-scanning sweep to earth's remotest bound.
Whate'er exists in heaven and earth, whate'er beyond the skies,
Before the eyes of Varuna, the king, unfolded lies.
The ceaseless winkings all he counts of every mortal's
He wields this universal frame as gamester throws his dice.
Those knotted nooses which thou fling'st, O god, the bad
All liars let them overtake, but all the truthful spare.
i. Invitation of Indra to the Sacrifice.
Hear, Indra, mighty thunderer, hear,
Great regent of the middle sphere:
List, while we sweetly sing thy praise,
In new and well-constructed lays,
Hymns deftly framed by poet skilled,
As artizans a chariot build.
Come, Indra, come, thou much invoked;
Our potent hymn thy steeds has yoked;
Thy golden car already waits
Thy pleasure at thy palace gates.
Friend Indra, from the sky descend,
Thy course propitious hither bend;
Come straight, and let no rival priest
Prevail to draw thee from our feast.
Let no one catch thee unawares,
Like bird the artful fowler snares.
All is prepared; the soma draught
Is sweet as thou hast ever quaffed:
And we will feed with corn, and tend,
Thy coursers at their journey's end.
But, Indra, though of us thou thinkest,
And our oblations gladly drinkest,
We, mortal men, can only share
A humble portion of thy care.
We know how many potent ties
Enchain thee in thy paradise.
Thou hast at home a lovely wife,
The joy and solace of thy life;
Thou hast a ceaseless round of joys
Which all thy circling hours employs,
Joys such as gods immortal know,
Unguessed by mortals here below.
But, brother Indra, come, benign,
Accept our gifts, thou friend divine.
Come, Indra, come in eager haste,
Our hymns to hear, our food to taste,
Like lover lured by female charms,
Who rushes to his dear one's arms.
Accept our sweet and grateful song,
Come, we will not detain thee long.
Hear, Indra, while thy birth we sing,
Thy deeds, thy greatness, glorious king.
Old father Sky* and mother Earth,
Both quaked, confounded, at thy birth.
The Sky exclaimed, at that great sight,
Thy father was a stalwart wight;
Of most consummate skill was he,
The god whose genius fashioned thee."
This infant, of unrivalled force,
Sprang forth from a transcendant source.
A blessed mother bore the child,
And fondly on her offspring smiled;
Foretelling then, with pride and joy,
The might and glory of the boy.
He needed not a tedious length
Of autumns to mature his strength.
His force he felt as soon as born,
And laughed all hostile powers to scorn.
Grasping his deadly shafts, in pride
Of prowess, thus the infant cried:
"Where, mother, dwell those warriors fierce,
Whose haughty hearts these bolts must pierce ?"
And when thy father proved thy foe,
Thy fury, Indra, laid him low.
Who vainly sought thy life to take,
Then thou didst sleep, when thou didst wake?
Who, Indra, in his vengeful mood,
Thy mother doomed to widowhood?
What god stood by, thy wrath to fire,
When seizing by the foot thy sire,
Thou smot'st him dead, in youthful ire?
Fulfilling now our ardent prayer,
The god approaches through the air.
On, on, he comes, majestic, bright;
Our longed-for friend appears in sight.
His brilliant form, beheld afar,
Towers stately on his golden car.
Fair sun-like lustre, god-like grace,
And martial fire, illume his face.
Yet not one form alone he bears;
But various shapes of glory wears,
His aspects, changing at his will,
Transmuted, yet resplendent still.
In war-like semblance see him stand,
Red lightnings wielding in his hand.
The heavenly steeds, his shining team,
With all the peacock's colours gleam.
Resistless, snorting, on they fly,
As swift as thought, across the sky;
And soon bring nigh their mighty lord,
To us, his friends, a friend adored.
Now Indra from the sky descends;
Yes, yes, to us his way he wends,
Although we see him not, we know
He now is present here below.
Within our hallowed precincts placed,
He longs our grateful feast to taste.
iv. Indra Invited to Drink the Soma Draught.
Thou, Indra, oft of old hast quaffed,
With keen delight, our Soma draught.
All gods delicious Soma love;
But thou, all other gods above.
Thy mother knew how well this juice
Was fitted for her infant's use.
Into a cup she crushed the
Which thou didst sip upon her lap.
Yes, Indra, on thy natal morn,
The very hour that thou wast born,
Thou didst those jovial tastes display,
Which still survive in strength to-day.
And once, thou prince of genial souls,
Men say thou drained'st thirty bowls.
To thee the Soma-draughts proceed,
As streamlets to the lake they feed,
Or rivers to the ocean speed.
Our cup is foaming to the brim,
With Soma pressed to sound of hymn.
Come, drink, thy utmost craving slake,
Like thirsty stag in forest lake,
Or bull that roams in arid waste,
And burns the cooling brook to taste.
Indulge thy taste, and quaff at will;
Drink, drink again, profusely swill;
Drink, thy capacious stomach fill.
This Soma is a god; he cures
The sharpest ills that man endures.
He heals the sick, the sad he cheers,
He nerves the weak, dispels their fears,
The faint with martial ardour fires,
With lofty thoughts the bard inspires,
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