Bibliotheca Polyglotta

1 SPRUNG from tall trees on windy heights, these rollers transport me as they turn upon the table. Dearer to me the die that never slumbers than the deep draught of Mujavan's own Soma.

ná mā mimetha ná jihīḷa eṣā́ śivā́ sákhibhya utá máhyam āsīt |
akṣásyāhám ekaparásya hetór ánuvratām ápa jāyā́m arodham ||

2 She never vexed me nor was angry with me, but to my friends and me was ever gracious. For the die's sake, whose single point is final, mine own devoted wife I alienated.

dvéṣṭi śvaśrū́r ápa jāyā́ ruṇaddhi ná nāthitó vindate marḍitā́ram |
áśvasyeva járato vásniyasya nā́háṃ vindāmi kitavásya bhógam ||

3 My wife holds me aloof, her mother hates me: the wretched man finds none to give him comfort. As of a costly horse grown old and feeble, I find not any profit of the gamester.

anyé jāyā́m pári mr̥śanti asya yásyā́gr̥dhad védane vājī́ akṣáḥ |
pitā́ mātā́ bhrā́tara enam āhur ná jānīmo náyatā baddhám etám ||

4 Others caress the wife of him whose riches the die hath coveted, that rapid courser: Of him speak father, mother, brothers saying, We know him not: bind him and take him with you.

yád ādī́dhye ná daviṣāṇi ebhiḥ parāyádbhyo áva hīye sákhibhyaḥ |
níuptāś ca babhrávo vā́cam ákratam̐ émī́d eṣāṃ niṣkr̥táṃ jāríṇīva ||

5 When I resolve to play with these no longer, my friends depart from me and leave me lonely. When the brown dice, thrown on the board, have rattled, like a fond girl I seek the place of meeting.

sabhā́m eti kitaváḥ pr̥chámāno jeṣyā́mī́ti tanúvā śū́śujānaḥ |
akṣā́so asya ví tiranti kā́mam pratidī́vne dádhata ā́ kr̥tā́ni ||

6 The gamester seeks the gambling-house, and wonders, his body all afire, Shall I be lucky? Still do the dice extend his eager longing, staking his gains against his adversary.

akṣā́sa íd aṅkuśíno nitodíno nikŕ̥tvānas tápanās tāpayiṣṇávaḥ |
kumārádeṣṇā jáyataḥ punarháṇo mádhvā sámpr̥ktāḥ kitavásya barháṇā ||

7 Dice, verily, are armed with goads and driving-hooks, deceiving and tormenting, causing grievous woe. They give frail gifts and then destroy the man who wins, thickly anointed with the player's fairest good.

tripañcāśáḥ krīḷati vrā́ta eṣāṃ devá iva savitā́ satyádharmā |
ugrásya cin manyáve nā́ namante rā́jā cid ebhyo náma ít kr̥ṇoti ||

8 Merrily sports their troop, the three-and-fifty, like Savitar the God whose ways are faithful. They bend not even to the mighty's anger: the King himself pays homage and reveres them.

nīcā́ vartanta upári sphuranti ahastā́so hástavantaṃ sahante |
divyā́ áṅgārā íriṇe níuptāḥ śītā́ḥ sánto hŕ̥dayaṃ nír dahanti ||

9 Downward they roll, and then spring quickly upward, and, handless, force the man with hands to serve them. Cast on the board, like lumps of magic charcoal, though cold themselves they burn the heart to ashes.

jāyā́ tapyate kitavásya hīnā́ mātā́ putrásya cárataḥ kúva svit |
r̥ṇāvā́ bíbhyad dhánam ichámāno anyéṣām ástam úpa náktam eti ||

10 The gambler's wife is left forlorn and wretched: the mother mourns the son who wanders homeless. In constant fear, in debt, and seeking riches, he goes by night unto the home of others.

stríyaṃ dr̥ṣṭvā́ya kitaváṃ tatāpa anyéṣāṃ jāyā́ṃ súkr̥taṃ ca yónim |
pūrvāhṇé áśvān yuyujé hí babhrū́n só agnér ánte vr̥ṣaláḥ papāda ||

11 Sad is the gambler when he sees a matron, another's wife, and his well-ordered dwelling. He yokes the brown steeds in the early morning, and when the fire is cold sinks down an outcast.

yó vaḥ senānī́r maható gaṇásya rā́jā vrā́tasya prathamó babhū́va |
tásmai kr̥ṇomi ná dhánā ruṇadhmi dáśāhám prā́cīs tád r̥táṃ vadāmi ||

12 To the great captain of your mighty army, who hath become the host's imperial leader, To him I show my ten extended fingers: I speak the truth. No wealth am I withholding.

akṣaír mā́ dīvyaḥ kr̥ṣím ít kr̥ṣasva vitté ramasva bahú mányamānaḥ |
tátra gā́vaḥ kitava tátra jāyā́ tán me ví caṣṭe savitā́yám aryáḥ ||

13 Play not with dice: no, cultivate thy corn-land. Enjoy the gain, and deem that wealth sufficient. There are thy cattle there thy wife, O gambler. So this good Savitar himself hath told me.

mitráṃ kr̥ṇudhvaṃ khálu mr̥̄ḷátā+ no mā́ no ghoréṇa caratābhí dhr̥ṣṇú |
ní vo nú manyúr viśatām árātir anyó babhrūṇā́m prásitau nú astu ||

14 Make me your friend: show us some little mercy. Assail us not with your terrific fierceness. Appeased be your malignity and anger, and let the brown dice snare some other captive.

Permanent link

http://www2.hf.uio.no/common/apps/permlink/permlink.php?app=polyglotta&context=ctext&uid=29c1d800-4300-11e7-ba66-0050569f23b2

Choose languages

Choose images, etc.

Choose languages

Choose display