The Line of Raghou

TWO RENDERINGS OPENING OF THE

To the Two whose beings are involved together like word with sense for the boon of needed word and sense, to the Parents of the World I bow, the God above all Gods, the Goddess Mountain-born.

Of little substance is my genius, mighty is the race that sprang from the Sun, yet would I fondly launch in my poor raft over the impassable sea.

Dull of wit, yet seeking the poet's crown of glory I shall win for my meed mockery alone, like a dwarf in his greed lifting up arms for the high fruit that is a giant's prize.

And yet I have an access into that mighty race, even through the door of song the ancient bards have made, such access as has the thread into some gem that the point of adamant has thrid. Therefore though slender my wealth of words, yet shall I speak of the Raghous' royal line, to that rashness by their high virtues urged that have come to my ear.

They who were perfect from their birth, whose effort ceased only with success, lords of earth to the ocean's edge, whose chariots' path aspired into the sky; They of faultless sacrifices, they of the suppliants honoured to the limit of desire, punishing like the offence and to the moment vigilant.

Only to give they gathered wealth, only for truth they ruled their speech, only for glory they went forth to the fight, only for offspring they lit the household fire.

Embracers in childhood of knowledge, seekers in youth after joy, followers in old age of the anchoret's path, they in death through God-union their bodies left.

Let only good minds listen to my song, for by the clear intellect

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alone is the good severed from the bad; 'tis in the fire we discern of gold, that it is pure or that it is soiled.

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For mastery of word & sense I bow to the Pair close-wedded as word to sense, the parents of the world, the Mountain's child and the Mighty Lord. Wide is the gulf between the race born of the Sun and a mind thus scantily stored! I am one that in his infatuation would cross in a raft the difficult ocean. Dull of wit, yet aspiring to poetic glory I shall expose myself to mockery like a dwarf who in his greed lifts up his arms to a fruit meant only for the giant's grasp. Yet into the story of this race a door of speech has been made by the inspired minds of old and through that I can enter as a thread can pass through a gem which the diamond's point has bored. Therefore this tale of the Raghus, the kings pure from their birth, they who left not work till work's fruit appeared, they who were masters of earth to the ocean's bound & their chariots journeyed even to the heavens, ever according to the ordinance they offered to the sacrificial flame and honoured ever the suppliant with his whole desire, they meted the punishment of the guilty by his offence, their eyes were wakeful to the hour, riches they gathered only to give and spoke little that they might speak nought but truth & conquered only for glory, were householders only to prolong the race, in childhood students of knowledge, in youth seekers after enjoyment, in old age pursuers of the sage's path & in their end left by Yoga their bodies, — the tale of this line I will tell though meagre my wealth of speech, for I am impelled to this rashness by their virtues that have touched my ear. The wise should lend ear to it who are cause that good is discerned from bad, for it is by fire that the purity of gold is marked or else the darkness of its alloy.

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