You underrate the services you have rendered,
And think too highly of the god's reward;
He deems it scarce sufficient recompense
For your heroic deeds on his behalf.
KING.
Nay, Mátali, say not so. My most ambitious expectations were more than realised by the honour conferred on me at the moment when I took my leave. For,
Tinged with celestial sandal, from the breast[105]
Of the great Indra, where before it hung,
A garland of the ever-blooming tree
Of Nandana[106] was cast about my neck
By his own hand; while, in the very presence
Of the assembled gods, I was enthroned
Beside their mighty lord, who smiled to see
His son Jayanta[107] envious of the honour.
MÁTALI.
There is no mark of distinction which your Majesty does not deserve at the hands of the immortals. See,
Heaven's hosts acknowledge thee their second saviour:
For now thy how's unerring shafts (as erst
The Lion-man's terrific claws[108]) have purged
The empyreal sphere from taint of demons foul.
KING.
The praise of my victory must be ascribed to the majesty of
Indra.
When mighty gods make men their delegates
In martial enterprise, to them belongs
The palm of victory; and not to mortals.
Could the pale Dawn dispel the shades of night,
Did not the god of day, whose diadem
Is jewelled with a thousand beams of light,
Place him in front of his effulgent car[11]?