Thou livest in this fearful place, begrimed
With filth; thy sacred cord concealed, thy hair
Tangled and long, plunder of dead men's clothes
Thy livelihood. Ah! king! and is thy life
Spent in this awful wise?" So spake the queen,
And falling on his neck, embraced her lord:
While she, sprung from a king herself, bewailed
Her sorrows endless. "King! I pray thee speak!
Is this a dream? If it be real and true,
Then justice, truth, and righteousness have fled
And gone from earth: nor aught avails mankind,
Of sacrifice, or reverence, to gods
Or priests! 'Tis vain to follow innocence
If thou, most perfect, purest of mankind,
Art brought to such a depth of infamy."
Then spoke the king, and told his sorrowing wife
How he had fallen to this wretched state,--
The state of a Cha.n.dala. She, in turn,
Weeping, with many sighs, poured out her tale,
Telling him how the serpent's bite had killed
Their child. "Beloved one! I suffer not
These evils," said the king, "by mine own will--
Thou seest what I endure; my evil fate
Depends not on myself. I am a slave,
And if I fly from the Cha.n.dala's bonds,
The fiery torment in the depths of hell
Will overtake me, and I shall become
A slave again. My doom is fixed! lo! hell
Is my abode hereafter; and in forms,
Creeping and loathsome, shall my soul abide.