"Saw Vasudeva (Vishnu) standing there.
In Kapil's form he loved to wear;
And near the everlasting God
The victim charger cropped the sod.
They saw with joy and eager eyes
The fancied robber and the prize,
And on him rushed the furious band,
Crying aloud, 'Stand, villain! Stand!'

'Avaunt! avaunt!' great Kapil cried,
His bosom flusht with passion's tide;
Then, by his might, that proud array
All scorched to heaps of ashes lay." [**],

Hearing no news of his sons, the king became anxious, and sent his grandson Ansuman to look after them. He inquires of all he meets on the earth, and is encouraged by the information that he shall certainly bring back the stolen horse. At length he reaches the spot where his brothers were consumed, and is overwhelmed with grief at their fate. At this moment his uncle Garuda appears and consoles him, saying--

"Grieve not, O hero, for their fall,
Who died a death approved of all.
Of mighty strength they met their fate
By Kapil's hand, whom none can mate.
Pour forth for them no earthly wave,
A holier flood their spirits crave.
If, daughter of the Lord of Snow,
Ganga would turn her stream below,
Her waves, that cleanse all mortal stain,
Would wash their ashes pure again.
Yea, when her flood, whom all revere,
Rolls o'er the dust that moulders here,
The sixty thousand, freed from sin,
A home in Indra's heaven shall win.
Go, and with ceaseless labours try
To draw the goddess from the sky.
Return, and with thee take the steed;
So shall thy grandsire's rite succeed." [*+]

The prince takes the steed; the sacrifice is completed, and for 30,000 years King Sagara was thinking how he could induce Ganga to come down from heaven. At length, not having succeeded in forming a successful plan, the monarch himself went to heaven. Ansuman

reigned in his stead, who, in his turn, tried to find some means of liberating his brothers. His son Dilipa also made a similar, but equally unsuccessful, effort. It was given to Dilipa's son Bhagirath to accomplish this work. Bhagirath had no son. He, in order to obtain this boon, and also to free his kinsmen from their sad fate, practised most severe austerities, until at length Brahma said--

"Blest monarch, of a glorious race,
Thy fervent rites have won my grace.
Well hast thou wrought thine awful task:
Some boon in turn, O hermit, ask." [**]

To which Bhagirath replies as follows--