The brothers, during their residence in the forest, have an encounter with a terrible giant, Hidimba, the prototype of the Cyclops of Homer, and of the whole race of giants of northern origin, who, after amusing our ancestors, children of larger growth, descended to our nurseries, from whence they are now well-nigh exploded.

After this adventure the brothers take up their residence in the city of Ekachara, where they are hospitably received in the house of a Brahmin.
The neighbourhood of this city is haunted by another terrible giant, Baka, whose cannibal appetite has been glutted by a succession of meaner victims.

It is now come to the Brahmin's turn to furnish the fatal banquet; they overhear the following complaint of their host, whose family, consisting of himself, his wife, a grown up daughter, and a son a little child, must surrender one to become the horrible repast of the monster.

In turn, the father, the mother, in what may be fairly called three singularly pathetic Indian elegies, enforce each their claim to the privilege of suffering for the rest.
THE BRAHMIN'S LAMENT.
Alas for life, so vain, so weary--in this changing world below, Ever-teeming root of sorrow--still dependent, full of woe! Still to life clings strong affliction--life that's one long suffering all, Whoso lives must bear his sorrow--soon or late that must befall.
* * * * * Oh to find a place of refuge--in this dire extremity, For my wife, my son, my daughter--and myself what hope may be?
Oft I've said to thee, my dearest--Priestess, that thou knowest well, But my word thou never heededst--let us go where peace may dwell.
"Here I had my birth, my nurture--still my sire is living here; Oh unwise!" 'twas thus thou answeredst--to my oft-repeated prayer.
Thine old father went to heaven--slept thy mother by his side, Then thy near and dear relations--why delight'st thou here t' abide?
Fondly loving still thy kindred--thine old home thou would'st not leave, Of thy kindred death deprived thee--in thy griefs I could but grieve.
Now to me is death approaching--never victim will I give, From mine house, like some base craven--and myself consent to live.
Thee with righteous soul, the gentle--ever like a mother deemed, A sweet friend the gods have given me--aye my choicest wealth esteem'd.
From thy parents thee, consenting--mistress of my house I took, Thee I chose, and thee I honoured--as enjoins the holy book.
Thou the high-born, thou the virtuous!--my dear children's mother thou, Only to prolong my being--thee the good, the blameless, now, Can to thy death surrender--mine own true, my faithful wife?
Yet my son can I abandon--in his early bloom of life, Offer him in his sweet childhood--with no down his cheek to shade?
Her, whom Brahma, the all-bounteous--for a lovely bride hath made, Mother of a race of heroes--a heaven-winning race may make;[153] Of myself begot, the virgin--could I ever her forsake?
Towards a son the hearts of fathers--some have thought, are deepest moved, Others deem the daughter dearer--both alike I've ever loved: She that sons, that heaven hath in her--sons whose offerings heaven may win, Can I render up my daughter--blameless, undefiled by sin?
If myself I offer, sorrow--in the next world my lot must be, Hardly then could live my children--and my wife bereft of me.
One of these so dear to offer--to the wise, were sin, were shame, Yet without me they must perish--how to 'scape the sin, the blame! Woe! Oh woe! where find I refuge--for myself, for mine, oh where! Better 'twere to die together--for to live I cannot bear.
_The_ BRAHMIN'S WIFE _speaks_.
As of lowly caste, my husband--yield not thus thy soul to woe, This is not a time for wailing--who the Vedas knows must know: Fate inevitable orders--all must yield to death in turn, Hence the doom, th' irrevocable--it beseems not thee to mourn.
Man hath wife, and son, and daughter--for the joy of his own heart.
Wherefore wisely check thy sorrow--it is I must hence depart.
Tis the wife's most holy duty--law on earth without repeal, That her life she offer freely--when demands her husband's weal.
And e'en now, a deed so noble--hath its meed of pride and bliss, In the next world life eternal--and unending fame in this.
'Tis a high, yet certain duty--that my life I thus resign, 'Tis thy right, as thy advantage--both the willing deed enjoin-- All for which a wife is wedded--long erenow through me thou'st won, Blooming son and gentle daughter--that my debt is paid and done.
Thou may'st well support our children--gently guard, when I am gone, I shall have no power to guard them--nor support them, left alone.
Oh, despoiled of thy assistance--lord of me, and all I have, How these little ones from ruin--how my hapless self to save: Widow'd, reft of thee, and helpless--with two children in their youth, How maintain my son, and daughter--in the path of right and truth.
From the lustful, from the haughty--how shall I our child protect, When they seek thy blameless daughter--by a father's awe unchecked.
As the birds in numbers swarming--gather o'er the earth-strewn corn, Thus the men round some sad widow--of her noble lord forlorn.
Thus by all the rude and reckless--with profane desires pursued,[154] How shall I the path still follow--loved and honoured by the good.
This thy dear, thy only daughter--this pure maiden innocent, How to teach the way of goodness--where her sire, her fathers went.
How can I instil the virtues--in the bosom of our child, Helpless and beset on all sides--as thou would'st in duty skilled.
Round thy unprotected daughter--Sudras like[155] to holy lore, Scorning me in their wild passion--will unworthy suitors pour.
And if I refuse to give her--mindful of thy virtuous course, As the storks the rice of offering[156]--they will bear her off by force.
Should I see my son degenerate--like his noble sire no more, In the power of the unworthy--the sweet daughter that I bore; And myself, the world's scorn, wandering--so as scarce myself to know, Of proud men the scoff, the outcast--I should die of shame and woe.
And bereft of me, my children--and without thy aid to cherish, As the fish when water fails them--both would miserably perish.
Thus of all the three is ruin--the inevitable lot, Desolate of thee, their guardian--wherefore, Oh, forsake us not! The dark way before her husband--'tis a wife's first bliss to go, 'Tis a wife's that hath borne children--this the wise, the holy know.
For thee forsaken be my daughter--let my son forsaken be, I for thee forsook my kindred--and forsake my life for thee.
More than offering 'tis, than penance--liberal gift or sacrifice, When a wife, thus clearly summoned--for her husband's welfare dies.
That which now to do I hasten--all the highest duty feel, For thy bliss, for thy well-doing--thine and all thy race's weal.
Men, they say, but pray for children--riches, or a generous friend, To assist them in misfortune--and a wife for the same end.
The whole race (the wise declare it)--thou the increaser of thy race, Than the single self less precious--ever holds a second place.
Let me then discharge the duty--and preserve thyself by me, Give me thine assent, all-honoured--and my children's guardian be.
Women must be spared from slaughter--this the learn'd in duty say, Even the giant knows that duty--me he will not dare to slay.
Of the man the death is certain--of the woman yet in doubt, Wherefore, noblest, on the instant--as the victim send me out.
I have lived with many blessings--I have well fulfilled my part, I have given thee beauteous offspring--death hath nought t' appal mine heart.
I've borne children, I am aged--in my soul I've all revolved, And with spirit strong to serve thee--I am steadfast and resolved.
Offering me, all-honoured husband--thou another wife wilt find, And to her wilt do thy duty--gentle as to me, and kind.
Many wives if he espouses--man incurs nor sin nor blame, For a wife to wed another--'tis inexpiable shame.
This well weighed within thy spirit--and the sin thyself to die, Save thyself, thy race, thy children--be the single victim I.
* * * * * Hearing thus his wife, the husband--fondly clasp'd her to his breast, And their tears they poured together--by their mutual grief oppressed.
THIRD SONG.
Of these two the troubled language--in the chamber as she heard, Lost herself in grief the daughter--thus took up the doleful word.
_The_ DAUGHTER _spake_.
Why to sorrow thus abandoned ?--weep not thus, as all forlorn, Hear ye now my speech, my parents--and your sorrows may be borne.
Me with right ye may abandon--none that right in doubt will call, Yield up her that best is yielded--I alone may save you all.
Wherefore wishes man for children ?--they in need mine help will be: Lo, the time is come, my parents--in your need find help in me.
Ever here the son by offering--or hereafter doth atone, Either way is he th' atoner--hence the wise have named him son.
Daughters too, the great forefathers--of a noble race desire, And I now shall prove their wisdom--saving thus from death my sire.
Lo, my brother but an infant!--to the other world goest thou, In a little time we perish--who may dare to question how?
But if first depart to heaven--he that after me was born, Cease our race's sacred offerings--our offended sires would mourn.
Without father, without mother--of my brother too bereft, I shall die, unused to sorrow--yet to deepest sorrow left.
But thyself, my sire! my mother--and my gentle brother save, And their meet, unfailing offerings--shall our fathers' spirits have.
A second self the son, a friend the wife--the daughter's but a grief, From thy grief thy daughter offering--thou of right wilt find relief.
Desolate and unprotected--ever wandering here and there, Shall I quickly be, my father!--reft of thy paternal care! But wert thou through me, my father--and thy race from peril freed, Noble fruit should I have borne thee--having done this single deed.
But if thou from hence departing-leav'st me, noblest, to my fate, Down I sink to bitterest misery--save, Oh save me from that state! For mine own sake, and for virtue's--for our noble race's sake, Yield up her who best is yielded--me thine own life's ransom make.
Instantly this step, the only--the inevitable take.
Hath the world a fate more wretched--than when thou to heaven art fled, Like a dog to wander begging--and subsist on others' bread.
But my father, thus preserving--thus preserving all that's thine, I shall then become immortal--and partake of bliss divine, And the gods, and our forefathers--all will hail the prudent choice, Still will have the water offerings--that their holy spirits rejoice.
* * * * * As they heard her lamentation--in their troubled anguish deep, Wept the father, wept the mother--'gan the daughter too to weep.
Then the little son beheld them--and their doleful moan he heard; And with both his eyes wide open--lisped he thus his broken word.
"Weep not father, weep not mother--Oh my sister, weep not so!" First to one, and then to th' other--smiling went he to and fro.
Then a blade of spear-grass lifting--thus in bolder glee he said, "With this spear-grass will I kill him--this man-eating giant dead." Though o'erpowered by bitterest sorrow--as they heard their prattling boy, Stole into the parents' bosoms--mute and inexpressive joy.
THE DELUGE.
The following extract from the Mahabharata was published by Bopp, with a German translation, (the promised Latin version has not yet reached this country,) with four other extracts from the same poem.

It is inserted here not on account of its poetical merit, but on account of the interest of the subject.