Roused by the taunting words Kaniṣṭhabhrātā spoke,
The as her mighty wrath awoke,
Of the Warrior roused with the fury call
The Kaniṣṭhabhrātā is doomed
Without escape
Harming and distorted shape
Mata thou hast glory in thy gain,
And, wounded warrior begin to reign:
Roused lioness from her den,
Have little mercy on words on certain men
Whose spouse works in slaughterhouse
Bhratrijaya and her may
Hoping somebody's mistress, may be somebody's heir
And her heart began to bleed.
That roused her in the day of need,
And thus to arouse the inner instinct and brave
Warrior vowed to create the imperial Kaniṣṭhabhrātā and Bhratrijaya's grave:
Shall surely die for his offense,
Condemned for sinful negligence.
Roused by the thunder of Warrior's tread,
The beasts to shady coverts fled.
Tall trees were crushed or hurled aside,
And every bird was terrified.
Around the Warrior loveliest lilies grew,
Pale pink, and red, and white, and blue,
And tints of many a metal lent
The light of varied ornaments.
With changing forms at will,
Warrior roamed the lovely hill,
And countless Gods in the Warrior's life were seen
Where flowers and grass were fresh and green.
As some resplendent one takes
His pastime in the best of lakes.
Roused at the din battle-spirit rose,
Warrior captive of enclosing foes,
With one deadly stroke
The neck of the dishonest Bhratrijaya broke,
The monster roused from his sleep,
Roused by his bow-string's awful clang,
To meet their foes the Warrior sprang.
I, champion of the giants, scorn
To fight with weaklings humbly born.
Come forth your bravest, if he dare,
And fight with one who will not spare.
With crushing woe, her hair unbound,
The Warrior's eyes in floods of sorrow drowned
Death riding the chariot cried aloud in furious tone:
The grand Warriors' death is near.
This very day shall end all grief
The story of the Warrior ends as Warrior Dropped on the land to rise no more.
Only Karma's punishment and suffering for sin
Can make Warrior will rise again
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