And a bow which strongest warriors scarce can in the battle bend,
And the limits of a kingdom widen when that bow is strained!
Tall and slender like a palm-tree, worthy of a warrior bold,
Smooth the wood of hardened fibre, and the ends are yellow gold!”
Doubting still Uttara answered: “In this sami's gloomy shade
Corpses hang since many seasons, in their wrappings duly laid,
Now I mark them all suspended, horrent, in the open air,
And to touch the unclean objects, friend, is more than I can dare!”
“Fear not warrior,” Arjun answered, “for the tree conceals no dead,
Warriors' weapons, cased like corpses, lurk within its gloomy shade,
And I ask thee, prince of Matsya, not to touch an unclean thing,
But unto a chief and warrior weapons and his arms to bring!”
Prince Uttara gently lighted, climbed the dark and leafy tree,
Arjun from the prince's chariot bade him speed the arms to free,
Then the young prince cut the wrappings and the shining bows appear
Twisted, voiced like hissing serpents, like the bright stars glistening clear!
Seized with wonder prince Uttara silently the weapons eyed,
And unto his chariot-driver thus in trembling accents cried:
“Whose this bow so tall and stately, speak to me my gentle friend,
On the wood are golden bosses, tipped with gold at either end?