broken ties,
    Lord Indra of the thousand eyes
    Hungered and sorrowed many a day,
    His brightness soiled with mud and clay,
    When in a storm of passion he
    Had slain his dear friend Namuchi. 
    Then came the Gods and saints who bore
    Their golden pitchers brimming o’er
    With holy streams that banish stain,
    And bathed Lord Indra pure again. 
    When in this land the God was freed
    From spot and stain of impious deed
    For that his own dear friend he slew,
    High transport thrilled his bosom through. 
    Then in his joy the lands he blessed,
    And gave a boon they long possessed:—­
    “Because these fertile lands retain
    The washings of the blot and stain,
    (’Twas thus Lord Indra sware,)
    Malaja and Karusha’s name
    Shall celebrate with deathless fame
    My malady and care.” 
    “So be it,” all the Immortals cried,
    When Indra’s speech they heard—­
    And with acclaim they ratified
    The names his lips conferred. 
    “Long time, O victor of thy foes,
    These happy lands had sweet repose,
    And higher still in fortune rose. 
    At length a spirit, loving ill,
    Tadaka, wearing shapes at will—­
    Whose mighty strength, exceeding vast,
    A thousand elephants’ surpassed,
    Was to fierce Sunda, lord and head
    Of all the demon armies, wed. 
    From her, Lord Indra’s peer in might
    Giant Maricha sprang to light;
    And she, a constant plague and pest,
    These two fair realms has long distressed. 
    Now dwelling in her dark abode
    A league away she bars the road: 
    And we, O Rama, hence must go
    Where lies the forest of the foe. 
    Now on thine own right arm rely,
    And my command obey: 
    Smite the foul monster that she die,
    And take the plague away. 
    To reach this country none may dare,
    Fallen from its old estate,
    Which she, whose fury nought can bear,
    Has left so desolate. 
    And now my truthful tale is told—­
    How with accursed sway
    The spirit plagued this wood of old,
    And ceases not to-day.”

CANTO XXVII

THE BIRTH OF TADAKA

    When thus the sage without a peer
    Had closed that story strange to hear,
    Rama again the saint addressed,
    To set one lingering doubt at rest:—­
    “O holy man, ’tis said by all
    That spirits’ strength is weak and small,
    How can she match, of power so slight,
    A thousand elephants in might?”
    And Visvamitra thus replied
    To Raghu’s son, the glorified:—­
    “Listen, and I will tell thee how
    She gained the strength that arms her now. 
    A mighty spirit lived of yore;
    Suketu was the name he bore. 
    Childless was he, and free