Where the gay trees are blossoming:
The home of Varuṇ[730] high-souled lord,
Wrist-girded with his deadly cord.[731]
With ten tall stems, a palm between
Meru and Asta's hill is seen:
Pure silver from the base it springs,
And far and wide its lustre flings.
Seek Rávaṇ and the dame by brook,
In pathless glen, in leafy nook
On Meru's crest a hermit lives