MÁTALI.—We journey in the path of Parivaha;
The wind that bears along the triple Ganges,
And causes Ursa's seven stars to roll
In their appointed orbits, scattering
Their several rays with equal distribution.
'Tis the same path that once was sanctified
By the divine impression of the foot
Of Vishnu, when, to conquer haughty Bali,
He spanned the heavens in his second stride.
KING.—This is the reason, I suppose, that a sensation of calm repose pervades all my senses. [Looking down at the wheels.] Ah! Mátali, we are descending towards the earth's atmosphere.
MÁTALI.—What makes you think so?
KING.—The car itself instructs me; we are moving
O'er pregnant clouds, surcharged with rain; below us
I see the moisture-loving Chátakas
In sportive flight dart through the spokes; the steeds
Of Indra glisten with the lightning's flash;
And a thick mist bedews the circling wheels.
MÁTALI.—You are right; in a little while the chariot will touch the ground, and you will be in your own dominions.
KING [looking down],—How wonderful is the appearance of the earth as we rapidly descend!
Stupendous prospect! yonder lofty hills
Do suddenly uprear their towering heads
Amid the plain, while from beneath their crests
The ground receding sinks; the trees, whose stems
Seemed lately hid within their leafy tresses,
Rise into elevation, and display
Their branching shoulders; yonder streams, whose waters,
Like silver threads, but now were scarcely seen,
Grow into mighty rivers; lo! the earth
Seems upward hurled by some gigantic power.
MÁTALI.—Well described! [Looking with awe.] Grand, indeed, and lovely is the spectacle presented by the earth.