And if I refuse to give her, mindful of thy virtuous course,
As the storks the rice of offering,-they will bear her off by force.
Should I see my son degenerate,-like his noble sire no more,
In the power of the unworthy-the sweet daughter that I bore ;
And myself, the world's scorn, wandering, so as scarce myself to know,
Of proud men the scoff, the outcast, I should die of shame and woe.
And bereft of me, my children, and without thy aid to cherish,
As the fish when water fails them, both would miserably perish.
Thus of all the three is ruin-the inevitable lot,
Desolate of thee, their guardian,—wherefore, Oh, forsake us not!
The dark way before her husband-'tis a wife's first bliss to go,
'Tis a wife's that hath borne children,—this the wise, the holy know.
For thee forsaken be my daughter, let my son forsaken be,
I for thee forsook my kindred,—and forsake my life for thee.
More than offering 'tis, than penance,-liberal gift or sacrifice,
When a wife, thus clearly summoned,—for her husband's welfare dies.
That which now to do I hasten,—all the highest duty feel,
For thy bliss, for thy well-doing,-thine and all thy race's weal.
Men, they say, but pray for children,-riches, or a generous friend,
To assist them in misfortune,-and a wife for the same end.
The whole race (the wise declare it)—thou the increaser of thy race!
Than the single self less precious-ever holds a second place.
Let me then discharge the duty—and preserve thyself by me.
Give me thine assent, all-honoured !—and my children's guardian be.
Women must be spared from slaughter,—this the learn'd in duty say,
Even the giant knows that duty,—me he will not dare to slay.
Of the man the death is certain,-of the woman yet in doubt,
Wherefore, noblest, on the instant,-as the victim, send me out.
I have lived with many blessings,-I have well fulfilled my part,
I have given thee beauteous offspring,-death hath nought t' appal mine
I've borne children, I am aged,—in my soul I've all revolved, [heart.
And with spirit strong to serve thee-I am steadfast and resolved.
Offering me, all-honoured husband, thou another wife wilt find,
And to her wilt do thy duty,-gentle as to me, and kind.
Many wives if he espouses,-man incurs nor sin nor blame,
For a wife to wed another,-'tis inexpiable shame.
This well weighed within thy spirit,—and the sin thyself to die,
Save thyself, thy race, thy children,-be the single victim I.
Hearing thus his wife, the husband-fondly clasp'd her to his breast, And their tears they poured together,—by their mutual grief oppressed.
Of these two the troubled language in the chamber as she heard,
Lost herself in grief, the daughter—thus took up the doleful word.
The DAUGHTER spake.
Why to sorrow thus abandoned ?-weep not thus, as all forlorn,
Hear ye now my speech, my parents,—and your sorrows may be borne.
Me with right ye may abandon,—none that right in doubt will call,
Yield up her that best is yielded,-I alone may save you all.
Wherefore wishes man for children? "they in need mine help will be:"
Lo, the time is come, my parents,—in your need find help in me.
Ever here the son by offering,-or hereafter, doth atone,
Either way is he th' atoner, hence the wise have named him son.
Daughters too, the great forefathers of a noble race desire,
And I now shall prove their wisdom,-saving thus from death my
Lo, my brother but an infant !—to the other world goest thou,
In a little time we perish,—who may dare to question how?
But if first depart to heaven-he that after me was born,
Cease our race's sacred offerings, our offended sires would mourn.
Without father, without mother,—of my brother too bereft,
I shall die, unused to sorrow,-yet to deepest sorrow left.
But thyself, my sire! my mother, and my gentle brother save,
And their meet, unfailing offerings shall our fathers' spirits have.
A second self the son, a friend the wife, the daughter's but a grief,
From thy grief, thy daughter offering,-thou of right wilt find relief.
Desolate and unprotected,—ever wandering here and there,
Shall I quickly be, my father!—reft of thy paternal care !
But wert thou through me, my father !—and thy race from peril freed,
Noble fruit should I have borne thee, having done this single deed.
But if thou from hence departing-leav'st me, noblest, to my fate,
Down I sink to bitterest misery,-save, oh save me from that state!
For mine own sake, and for virtue's,-for our noble race's sake,
Yield up her who best is yielded,-me thine own life's ransom make.
Instantly this step, the only-the inevitable take.
Hath the world a fate more wretched,-than when thou to heaven art
Like a dog to wander begging,—and subsist on others' bread? [fled,
But my father thus preserving, thus preserving all that's thine,
I shall then become immortal,-and partake of bliss divine,
And the gods, and our forefathers, all will hail the prudent choice,
Still will have the water offerings, that their holy spirits rejoice.
As they heard her lamentation-in their troubled anguish deep,
Wept the father, wept the mother, 'gan the daughter too to weep.
Then the little son beheld them, and their doleful moan he heard ;
And with both his eyes wide open-lisped he thus his broken word.
"Weep not, father, weep not, mother,—oh my sister, weep not so!"
First to one, and then to th' other-smiling went he to and fro.
Then a blade of spear-grass lifting-thus in bolder glee he said,
"With this spear-grass will I kill him,—this man-eating giant dead.”
Though o'erpowered by bitterest sorrow as they heard their prattling
Stole into the parents' bosoms-mute and inexpressive joy.
THE following extract from the Mahábhárata was published by Bopp, with a German translation, (the promised Latin version has not yet reached this country,) with four other extracts from the same poem. It is inserted here not on account of its poetical merit, but on account of the interest of the subject. It is the genuine, and probably the earliest, version of the Indian tradition of the Flood. The author has made the following observations on this subject in the Quarterly Review, which he ventures here to transcribe.
Nothing has thrown so much discredit on oriental studies, particularly on the valuable Asiatic Researches, as the fixed determination to find the whole of the Mosaic history in the remoter regions of the East. It was not to be expected that, when the new world of oriental literature was suddenly diselosed, the first attempts to explore it would be always guided by cool'or dispassionate criticism. Even Sir W. Jones was led away, at times, by the ardour of his imagination; and the gorgeous palaces of the Mahabadian dynasty, which were built on the authority of the Desatir and the Dabistan, and thrown upward into an age anterior even to the earliest Indian civilisation, have melted away, and "left not a wreck behind," before the cooler and more profound investigations of Mr. Erskine*. Sir W. Jones was succeeded by Wilford, a man of most excursive imagination, bred in the school of Bryant, who, even if he had himself been more deeply versed in the ancient language, would have been an unsafe guide. But Wilford, it is well known, unfortunately betrayed to the crafty and mercenary pundits whom he employed the objects which he hoped to find; and these unscrupulous interpreters, unwilling to disappoint their employer, had little difficulty in discovering, or forging, or interpolating, whatever might suit kis purpose. The honest candour with which Wilford, a man of the strictest integrity, made the open and humiliating confession of the deceptions which had been practised upon him, ought for ever to preserve his memory from disrespect. The fictions to which he had given currency only retained, and still we are ashamed to say retain, their ground in histories of the Bible and works of a
See the very valuable papers of this gentleman in the Bombay Transactions.
certain school of theology, from which no criticism can exorcise an error once established: still, however, with sensible men, a kind of suspicion was thrown over the study itself; and the cool and sagacious researches of men, probably better acquainted with their own language than some of the Brahmins themselves, were implicated in the fate of the fantastic and, though profoundly learned, ever injudicious reveries of Wilford.
Now, however, that we may depend on the genuineness of our documents, it is curious to examine the Indian version or versions of the universal tradition of the Deluge; for, besides this extract from the Mahábhárata, Sir W. Jones had extracted from the Bhagavata Purana another and, in some respects, very different legend. Both of these versions are strongly impregnated with the mythological extravagance of India, but the Purana, one of the Talmudic books of Indian tradition, as M. Bopp observes, is evidently of a much later date than the ruder and simpler fable of the old Epic. It belongs to a less ancient school of poetry, and a less ancient system of religion. While it is much more exuberant in its fiction, it nevertheless betrays a sort of apprehension lest it shall shock the less easy faith of a more incredulous reader; it is manifestly from the religious school of the followers of Vishnu, and, indeed, seems to have some reference to one of the philosophic systems. Yet the outline of the story is the same. In the Mahábháratic version, Manu, like Noah, stands alone in an age of universal depravity. His virtues, however, are of the Indian cast-the most severe and excruciating penances by which he extorts, as it were, the favour of the deity *.
VIVASWATA's son, a raja,—and a sage of mighty fame,
King of men, the first great fathers-in his glory equalled he,
In his might and kingly power,-Manu, and in earthly bliss,
And in wonder-working penance—sire and grandsire far surpassed.
With his arms on high out-stretching-wrought the sovereign of men,
Steadily on one foot standing,-penance rigorous and dread, [eyes,
With his downward head low-drooping, with his fixed, unwavering
Dreed he thus his awful penance-many a long and weary year.
To the penitent with tresses—streaming loose, and wet, and long,
By the margin of Wirini,—thus the fish began to speak:
The editor remarks, that the name Manuja, Man-born, as the appellative of the human race, is derived from Manu, as likewise Manawas, masc. Man-Manawi, fem. Woman: from thence the Gothic Mann, which we have preserved. Manu is thus the representative of Man.
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