High and more high their wonder rose
As the strange story reached its close, And thus, with Lakshman, Ráma, best Of Raghu's sons, the saint addressed: 'Most wondrous is the tale which thou Hast told of heavenly Gangá, how From realms above descending she Flowed through the land and filled the sea. In thinking o'er what thou hast said The night has like a moment fled, Whose hours in musing have been spent Upon thy words most excellent: So much, O holy Sage, thy lore Has charmed us with this tale of yore.'
Day dawned. The morning rites were done
And the victorious Raghu's son
Addressed the sage in words like these, Rich in his long austerities: 'The night is past: the morn is clear; Told is the tale so good to hear: Now o'er that river let us go, Three-pathed, the best of all that flow. This boat stands ready on the shore To bear the holy hermits o'er, Who of thy coming warned, in haste, The barge upon the bank have placed.'
And Kas'ik's son approved his speech, And moving to the sandy beach, Placed in the boat the hermit band, And reached the river's further strand. On the north bank their feet they set, And greeted all the (illegible) they met. On Gangá's shore they lighted down, And saw Vis'ada's lovely town. Thither, the princes by his side, The best of holy hermits hied. It was a town exceeding fair
That might with heaven itself compare. Then, suppliant palm to palm applied, Famed Ráma asked his holy guide: 'O best of hermits, say what race Of monarchs rules this lovely place. Dear master, let my prayer prevail, For much I long to hear the tale.' Moved by his words, the saintly man Vis'álá's ancient tale began: 'List, Rama, list, with closest heed The tale of Indra's wondrous deed, And mark me as I truly tell What here in ancient days befell. Ere Krita's famous Age had fled. Strong were the sons of Diti bred; And Aditi's brave children too Were very mighty, good, and true. The rival brothers fierce and bold Were sons of Kas'yap lofty-souled. Of sister mothers born, they vied, Brood against brood, in jealous pride. Once, as they say, band met with band, And, joined in awful council, planned To live, unharmed by age and time, Immortal in their youthful prime. Then this was, after due debate, The counsel of the wise and great, To churn with might the milky sea The life-bestowing drink to free. This planned, they seized the Serpent King, Vásuki, for their churning-string, And Mandar's mountain for their pole, And churned with all their heart and soul. As thus, a thousand seasons through, This way and that the snake they drew, Biting the rocks, each tortured head, A very deadly venom shed. Thence, bursting like a mighty flame, A pestilential poison came, Consuming, as it onward ran, The home of God, and fiend, and man. Then all the suppliant Gods in fear To S'ankar , mighty lord, drew near. To Rudra, King of Herds, dismayed, 'Save us, O save us, Lord!' they prayed. Then Vishnu, bearing shell, and mace, And discus, showed his radiant face, And thus addressed in smiling glee The Trident wielding deity: What treasure first the Gods upturn From troubled Ocean, as they churn, Should--for thou art the eldest--be Conferred, O best of Gods, on thee.
Then come, and for thy birthright's sake, This venom as thy firstfruits take.' He spoke, and vanished from their sight. When Siva saw their wild affright, And heard his speech by whom is borne The mighty bow of bending horn, The poisoned flood at once he quaffed As 'twere the Amrit's heavenly draught. Then from the Gods departing went S'iva, the Lord pre-eminent. The host of Gods and Asurs still Kept churning with one heart and will. But Mandar's mountain, whirling round. Pierced to the depths below the ground. Then Gods and bards in terror flew To him who mighty Madhu slew. 'Help of all beings! more than all, The Gods on thee for aid may call. Ward off, O mighty-armed! our fate, And bear up Mandar's threatening weight.' Then Vishnu, as their need was sore, The semblance of a tortoise wore, And in the bed of Ocean lay The mountain on his back to stay. Then he, the soul pervading all, Whose locks in radiant tresses fall, One mighty arm extended still, And grasped the summit of the hill. So ranged among the Immortals, he Joined in the churning of the sea.
A thousand years had reached their close, When calmly from the ocean rose The gentle sage with staff and can, Lord of the art of healing man. Then as the waters foamed and boiled. As churning still the Immortals toiled, Of winning face and lovely frame, Forth sixty million fair ones came. Born of the foam and water, these Were aptly named Apsarases.