Having heard the words of Virabhadra, the righteous Daksha propitiated the mighty god, the holder of the trident, Maheswara. The hearth of sacrifice, deserted by the Brahmans, had been consumed; Yajna had been metamorphosed to an antelope; the fires of Rudra’s wrath had been kindled; the attendants, wounded by the tridents of the servants of the god, were groaning with pain; the pieces of the uprooted sacrificial posts were scattered here and there; and the fragments of the meat-offerings were carried off by flights of hungry vultures and herds of howling jackals.
Suppressing his vital airs, and taking up a posture of meditation, the many-sighted victor of his foes, Daksha, fixed his eyes everywhere upon his thoughts. And the god of gods appeared from the altar resplendent as a thousand suns, and smiling upon him, said, “Daksha, thy sacrifice has been destroyed through sacred knowledge, I am well pleased with thee.” And he smiled again, and exclaimed, “What shall I do for thee? Declare, together with the preceptor of the gods.”
And Daksha, frightened, alarmed, and agitated, his eyes suffused with tears, raised his hands reverently to his brow, and said, “If, lord, thou art pleased; if I have found favour in thy sight; if I am to be the object of thy benevolence; if thou wilt confer upon me a boon, this is the blessing I solicit, that all these provisions for the solemn sacrifice which have been collected with much trouble and during a long time, and have now been eaten, drunk, devoured, burnt, broken, scattered abroad, may not have been prepared in vain.” “So let it be,” replied Hara, the subduer of Indra. And thereupon Daksha knelt down upon the earth, and praised gratefully the author of righteousness, the three-eyed god Mahádeva, repeating the eight thousand names of the deity whose emblem is a bull.
Public Games. (Bk. v., c. 10.)
As Krishna and Rama proceeded along the high road, they saw coming towards them a young girl, who was crooked, carrying a pot of unguent. Addressing her sportively, Krishna said, “For whom are you carrying that unguent? Tell me, lovely maiden, tell me truly.” Spoken to as it were through affection, Kubja[27], well disposed towards Hari, replied to him also mirthfully, being smitten by his appearance, “Know you not, beloved, that I am the servant of Kamsa, and appointed, crooked as I am, to prepare his perfumes? Of unguent ground by any other he does not approve, and hence I am enriched through his liberal rewards.” Then said Krishna, “Fair-faced damsel, give us of this unguent,—fragrant and fit for kings,—as much as we may rub upon our bodies.” “Take it,” answered Kubja. And she gave them as much of the unguent as was sufficient for their persons. And they rubbed it on various parts of their faces and bodies, till they looked like two clouds, one white and one black, decorated by the many-tinted bow of Indra.
And Krishna, skilled in the curative art, took hold of her under the chin with the thumb and two fingers, and lifted up her head, whilst with his feet he pressed down her feet, and in this way he made her straight.
When she was thus relieved from her deformity, she was a most beautiful woman; and filled with gratitude and affection, she took Govinda by the garment, and invited him to her house. Promising to come at some other time, Krishna smilingly dismissed her, and then laughed aloud on beholding the countenance of Baladeva.
Dressed in blue and yellow garments, and anointed with fragrant unguents, Krishna and Rama proceeded to the hall of arms, which was hung round with garlands. Inquiring of the warders which bow he was to try, and being directed to it, Krishna took it, and bent it. But drawing it with violence, he snapped it in two, and all Mathura resounded with the noise which its fracture occasioned. Abused by the warders for breaking the bow, Krishna and Rama retorted, and defied them, and left the hall.
When Kamsa knew that Akrura had returned, and heard that the bow had been broken, he then said to Chanura and Mushtika, his boxers, “Two youths, cowherd boys, have arrived. You must kill them both, in a trial of strength, in my presence; for they practise against my life. I shall be well pleased if you kill them in the match, and will give you whatever you wish, but not otherwise. These two foes of mine must be killed by you, fairly or unfairly. The kingdom shall be ours in common when they have perished.”
Having given them their orders, he sent next for his elephant driver, and desired him to station his great elephant, Kuvalayapida,—who was as vast as a cloud charged with rain,—near the gate of the arena, and drive him upon the two boys when they should attempt to enter. When Kamsa had issued these commands, and ascertained that the platforms were all ready (for the spectators), he awaited the rising of the sun, unconscious of impending death.