University of Virginia Library

(Translated from the Sanskrit of the Mahâbhârata)

The following translation from the Sanskrit of what has never yet been placed before Western eyes, opens one of the most curious and striking passages of the many which are to be met with in that alternately wonderful and monstrous “Mahâbhârata,” the chief epic poem of India, out of the heart whereof, like gold from a prodigious mountain, I myself have many a time carried away poetic spoil. The passage occurs in the beginning of the Anushâsana Parva, the thirteenth book of this vast epic, and treats upon the eternal problem opened by “those eighteen upon whom the Tower of Siloam fell.” Whence is it that we suffer? Why is it that we inflict upon each other, or upon ourselves, unnumbered woes, sometimes willingly, sometimes involuntarily? What is the origin, after all, of evil? An answer is given from the Vedantic period to such questions in this remarkable section of the Anushâsana, which must be

ancient, and may be far older than Christianity. The character of the Sanskrit text hereabouts is certainly not to be distinguished from portions clearly authentic, known to be written more than two thousand years ago, and in any case the passage deserves to be made known to Western thinkers, if only for its strange dramatic metaphysics.

After commencing with the usual invocation to Narayan and Nara, and to the goddess Saraswati, the book opens with a speech from the Prince Yudhisthira, addressing the hero Bhishma, who is lying wounded to death upon a bed of arrow-points, vanquished in war by Yudhisthira himself, the most virtuous and the most valiant of the Pandavas. The Prince, great in mind and good of heart, is grieved at the sight of his suffering enemy. He reproaches himself bitterly for having brought about the downfall of so renowned a warrior. In his distress and remorse, he wishes that he himself had fallen upon the field along with the vanquished. It is characteristic of this interminable Hindoo poem that immensely long episodes are introduced at moments when modern poetic art would demand swift and continuous action, or succession of events. Bhishma, dying on his hard battle bed, has already discoursed upon various topics at enormous length. Yet when Prince Yudhisthira implores some spiritual comfort so that his perturbed soul may recover itself from deep remorse and be cleansed from what the Prince thinks is sin, Bhishma proceeds to relate to him the apologue here transcribed, freely but faithfully, from the Sanskrit text.