"Thereat those mightiest Gods, in glorious train,
Mahendra, Dharma,—with bright retinue
Of Maruts, Saints, Aswin-Kumãras, Nats,
Spirits and Angels,—bore the king aloft,
The thundering chariot first, and after it
Those airy-moving Presences. Serene,
Clad in great glory, potent, wonderful,
They glide at will,—at will they know and see,
At wish their wills are wrought; for these are pure,
Passionless, hallowed, perfect, free of earth,
In such celestial midst the Pandu king
Soared upward; and a sweet light filled the sky
And fell on earth, cast by his face and form,
Transfigured as he rose; and there was heard
The voice of Narad,—it is he who sings,
Sitting in heaven, the deeds that good men do
In all the quarters,—Narad, chief of bards,
Narad the wise, who laudeth purity,—
So cried he: 'Thou art risen, unmatched king,
Whose greatness is above all royal saints.
Hail, son of Pandu! like to thee is none
Now or before among the sons of men,
Whose fame hath filled the three wide worlds, who com'st
Bearing thy mortal body, which doth shine
With radiance as a god's.'
"The glad king heard
Narad's loud praise; he saw the immortal gods,—
Dharma, Mahendra; and dead chiefs and saints,
Known upon earth, in blessed heaven he saw;
But only those. 'I do desire,' he said,
'That region, be it of the Blest as this,
Or of the Sorrowful some otherwhere,
Where my dear brothers are, and Draupadí.
I cannot stay elsewhere! I see them not!'
"Then answer made Purandará, the God:
'O thou compassionate and noblest One,
Rest in the pleasures which thy deeds have gained.
How, being as are the Gods, canst thou live bound
By mortal chains? Thou art become of Us,
Who live above hatred and love, in bliss
Pinnacled, safe, supreme. Sun of thy race.
Thy brothers cannot reach where thou hast climbed:
Most glorious lord of men, let not thy peace
Be touched by stir of earth! Look! this is Heaven.
See where the saints sit, and the happy souls,
Siddhas and angels, and the gods who live
For ever and for ever.'
"'King of gods,'
Spake Yudhishthira, 'but I will not live
A little space without those souls I loved.
O Slayer of the demons! let me go
Where Bhíma and my brothers are, and she,
My Draupadí, the princess with the face
Softer and darker than the Vrihat-leaf,
And soul as sweet as are its odours. Lo!
Where they have gone, there will I surely go,'"
THE ILIAD OF INDIA.
THE SWARGAROHANA PARVA OF THE MAHÁBHARATA;
OR, "THE ENTRY INTO HEAVEN."
To Narayen, Lord of lords, be glory given,
To Queen Saraswati be praise in heaven;
Unto Vyâsa pay the reverence due,—
So may this story its high course pursue.
Then Janmejaya said: "I am fain to learn
How it befell with my great forefathers,
The Pandu chiefs and Dhritarashtra's sons,
Being to heaven ascended. If thou know'st,—
And thou know'st all, whom wise Vyâsa taught—
Tell me, how fared it with those mighty souls?"