Was this fair place by accident attained,
Wrought by thyself, or gift from angels gained?
I ask thee, Naga king, the truth to tell,
How didst thou come in this fair place to dwell?"

Then followed stanzas uttered by the two alternately

'Twas by no chance or natural law attained,
Not wrought by me, no boon from angels gained;
But to my own good actions, thou must know,
And to my merits these fair halls I owe.

What holy vow, what life so chaste and pure
What store of merit could such bliss secure?
Tell me, O serpent-king, for I am fain
To know how this fair mansion thou couldst gain.

I once was king of Magadha, my name
Duyyodhana, a prince of mighty fame:
[172] I held my life as vile and insecure,
Without all power in ripeness to mature.

I meat and drink religiously supplied,
And alms bestowed on all, both far and wide,
My house was like an inn, where all that came,
Sages and saints, refreshed their weary frame.

Bound by such vows, such was the life I passed,
And such the store of merit I amassed,
Whereby this mansion was at length attained,
And food and drink in ample measure gained.

This life, however bright for many a day
With dance and song, yet lasted not for aye,
Weak creatures harry thee for all thy might
And feeble beings put the strong to flight.
Why, armed to the teeth in such unequal fray,
To those vile beggars shouldst thou fall a prey?

By what o'ermastering dread wert thou undone?
Where had the virus of thy poison gone?
Why, armed to the teeth and powerful as thou wert,
From such poor creatures didst thou suffer hurt?

By no o'ermastering dread was I undone,
Nor could my powers be crushed by any one.
The worth of goodness is by all confessed;
Its bounds, like the sea shore, are ne'er transgressed.

Two times each moon I kept a holy day;
'Twas then, Alara, that there crossed my way
Twice eight lewd fellows, bearing in their hand
A rope and knotted noose of finest strand.

[173] The ruffians pierced my nose, and through the slit
Passing the cord, dragged me along by it.
Such pain I had to bear--ah! cruel fate--
For holding holy days inviolate.

Seeing in that lone path, stretched at full length,
A thing of beauty and enormous strength,
"Why, wise and glorious one," I cried, "dost thou
Take on thyself this strict ascetic vow?"

Neither for child nor wealth is my desire
Nor yet to length of days do I aspire;
But midst the world of men I fain would live,
And to this end heroically strive.

With hair and beard well-trimmed, thy sturdy frame
Adorned with gorgeous robes, an eye of flame,
Bathed in red sandal oil thou seemst to shine
Afar, e'en as some minstrel king divine.