Just as the tender bo-tree shoot is shaken by the blast,
So throbs my heart with joy at sight of Nanda come at last.

Nanda, methinks, as in a dream returned I seem to see,
Half mad and jubilant I cry, "Nanda comes back to me."

But if on waking I should find my Nanda gone away,
To greater sorrow than before my soul would be a prey.

[329] Back to his parents dear to-day Nanda at last has come,
Dear to my lord and me alike, with us he makes his home.

Though Nanda to his sire is dear, let him stay where he will,
--Thou to thy father's wants attend--Nanda shall mine fulfil.

The Great Being assented to his mother's words, saying, "So be it," and he admonished his brother, saying, "Nanda, you have received the portion of the eldest son; verily a mother is a great benefactress. Be careful in watching over her," and celebrating a mother's virtues he spoke two stanzas:

Kind, pitiful, our refuge she that fed us at her breast,
A mother is the way to heaven, and thee she loveth best.

She nursed and fostered us with care; graced with good gifts is she,
A mother is the way to heaven, and best she loveth thee.

Thus did the Great Being in two stanzas tell of a mother's virtues, and when his mother had once more taken her seat, he said, "You, Nanda, have got a mother who has suffered things hard to be borne. Both of us have been painfully reared by our mother. Now, you are carefully to watch over her and not to give her sour berries to eat," and to make it clear in the midst of the assembled people that deeds of great difficulty fell to a mother's lot, he said:

[330] Craving a child in prayer she kneels each holy shrine before,
The changing seasons closely scans and studies astral lore.

Pregnant in course of time she feels her tender longings grow,
And soon the unconscious babe begins a loving friend to know.

Her treasure for a year or less she guards with utmost care,
Then brings it forth and from that day a mother's name will bear.

With milky breast and lullaby she soothes the fretting child,
Wrapped in his comforter's warm arms his woes are soon beguiled.

Watching o'er him, poor innocent, lest wind or heat annoy,
His fostering nurse she may be called, to cherish thus her boy.

What gear his sire and mother have she hoards for him, "May be,"
She thinks, "some day, my dearest child, it all may come to thee."

"Do this or that, my darling boy," the worried mother cries,
And when he's grown to man's estate, she still laments and sighs.
He goes in reckless mood to see a neighbour's wife at night,
She fumes and frets, "Why will he not return while it is light?"