SACCOUNTALA. 



me, in the midst of this illustrious assembly, as the vilest of beings ? 

 But I feel that there is a Being higher than thee, who hears my just 

 complaint. Beware,, O Douchmanta! lest he do not inflict on thee a 

 terrible vengeance*. Listen to the voice of our ancient sages; remem- 

 ber that, in their immortal songs, they call the woman the modest com- 

 panion of man : It is she who, in giving him a son, prolongs his exist- 

 ence, by making him live again in his second self. It is to his son that 

 he ow r es the deliverance of the souls of his ancestors. Woman is man's 

 other half, his tenderest friend. With her gentle and caressing voice, 

 she knows how to dissipate the weariness of solitude. She is his conso- 

 lation in the troubles inseparable from the paths of life ; and at his 

 death, with what devotion does she not throw herself on his funeral pile, 

 resolved not to part with him, but to share his future lot, whatever it 

 may be ? More religious than he, she often revives in his heart the 

 feeble and expiring spark of virtue ; saving him, without his being con- 

 scious of it, and drawing down on his head the favour of Brahma. No, 

 there is no sight more affecting than that of a respectable father sur- 

 rounded by his wife and his numerous children. What transport does 

 he not feel, when he recognizes, in these innocent creatures, his living 

 image ? When a child runs to his father, and throws himself into his 

 arms, although covered w r ith the dust he has gathered in his play, what 

 delight can compare with that of this dear embrace ? 



" How can you turn away then from this tender infant, who is your 

 son, at the moment when his beautiful eyes are directed towards you, 

 all beaming with affection ? The ant protects its eggs, and breaks them 

 not ; and thou, although endowed with sentiments of virtue and justice, 

 wilt not cherish the feeble being who owes to thee his life ! Suffer the 

 child, I pray thee, whose little heart palpitates with an involuntary 

 movement, to kiss you, to touch you with his sweet lips ; for there is 

 not in nature a sensation more delicious than the touch of an infant. 



" Fathers at a distance from their children, rejoice when restored to 

 them, or, rather, they are never absent in thought. Are you alone in- 

 sensible to the universal impulse ? Can you alone hear, without emo- 

 tion, the touching words of the Brahman, at the birth of his child ? 

 ' Oh, thou proceedest from every part of my body thou who art the 

 precious fruit of my inner man thou who art my very soul mayest 

 thou live a hundred years ! On thee depends the care of my existence ; 

 on thee the perpetuity of my race. Live then, and be happy, oh, my 

 son, for the space of a hundred years.' 



" Alas ! a pitiless huntsman came and seduced me, robbing me of 

 my innocence in my father's peaceful hermitage. My mother, Menaca, 

 after having conceived of the great Visonametra, abandoned me at the 

 moment of my birth, on the banks of the Malini. Of what fault, great 

 gods ! have I been guilty, in any of my former states of existence, that I 

 should now be treated so cruelly, .first by her who gave me being, and 

 again by thee ? 



" Yielding to my sad fate, I return to hide my grief in the bosom of 

 that sacred forest which once saw me so happy ; but this tender child, 

 who is thy son, heaven forbids thee to abandon him." 



In the text it stands literally thus : " Surely I cry not in the desert, and if 

 thou refusest to do me justice, beware lest thy guilty head fall in fragments at thy 

 feet." 



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