CHAPTER IX.
Virtues and vices in relation to equals.
WE have next to consider our relations with the equals that surround us on every side, and to know what virtues should be developed, what vices avoided, in order to make our home and our outer relations harmonious and happy.
Let us first think of those of the home, for they are of primary importance ; pure and happy homes, in which family virtues are practised, make the foundation of prosperous States, of successful nations. We have seen the relations that should exist between parents and children, and we must now study those that should be found between husband and wife, between brothers and sisters.
The Hindu books are full of stories of the love that should bind a husband and wife together, or Conjugal Love. "Husband and wife are the same,"* {एतावानेव पुरुषो यत्जायाऽत्मा प्रजैति ह ।विप्राः प्राहुस्तथा चैतद्यो भर्ता सा स्मृताङ्गना ॥ मनु ९.४५॥ अन्योन्यस्याव्यभिचारो भवेदामरणान्तिकः ।एष धर्मः समासेन ज्ञेयः स्त्रीपुंसयोः परः ॥ मनु ९.१०१॥}says Manu ; they are one, not two ; love makes the two into one love protective, sheltering, tender, on the side of the husband ; love yielding, sweet, devoted, on the side of the wife. " Let mutual fidelity continue until death."*
Ramachandra and Sita form an ideal husband and wife ; they enjoy all life's happinesses together, and suffer together all life's sorrows ; they take counsel together in all perplexities, and share together all difficulties. We see them first in unclouded bliss, Prince and Princess, happy as the day is long ; when the coronation of Ramachandra approaches, we see them fasting and praying together ; when the shock of the sentence of exile comes, Sita" accepts it carelessly at first caring only for her husband's presence, and she would go with him, she " whose heart is wholly thine, knowing not another, ever clinging to thee resclute to die if left by thee.
"Thorns would touch her skin like soft linen, dust would be as sandal-powder, grass would serve as blanket, roots and leaves as pleasant food, so long as she was by her husband's side. " Rama, thy company is heaven, thy absence hell." Only when he pleads with her to remain behind, does her heart fail her. And when he bids her come she tosses gaily to her attendants all her costly robes and priceless jewels, stripping herself of all that women love, without a sigh, caring only for the joyous fact that exile could not separate husband and wife.
Happy as a girl, she is said to be playing in the forest glades unmindful of the lost royal splendour, since she is, night and day, at Rama's side. But though so blithe, she yet is wise, and we hear her counselling her husband with grave thoughtful words, as they wander on the outskirts of the forest of Dandaka. When she is carried away by Ravana, the mighty Rakshasa, how her husband's love breaks forth in protracted search, in wild outbursts of lament. "Sita ! Sita !" he cries in his anguish as he searches for her, "art thou hiding, art thou playing ? Oh come ! Such sport is my death." While laments and seeks, Sita is exposed to every temptation to be unfaithful, to every terror and cruel threat. " Devoted to one husband, I will never sin against him. With wealth and riches thou canst not tempt me. As the rays of the sun are his own, so am I Raghava's alone."*
And hear the story of Savitri, who won her husband from the grasp of Yama, King of Death. King Ashvapati, of the Madra lands, obtained a daughter by long worship of the )evas. They called her Savitri. Fair was she as a figure of gold, and sweet as the jessamine flower, and the people worshipped her as a Devi, come to them for their good deeds.
When she came of age, her father said to her : "Choose thou a fitting husband for thyself." And she went forth asearchr with royal retinue. When she returned, after the lapse of many months, the Rishi Narada was staying with her father ; and in his presence she announced the choice that she had made. "King Dyumatsena of the Shalva country, old and blind and driven from his country by his enemies, lives in a forest, leading a hermit's life. His son, Satyavan, have I chosen for my spouse."
Then Narada said : "Alas ! King ! innocent Savitri hath done ill." "Is he not fitting mate for Savitri ? "the King asked Narada. "Is he weak in mind or body, wanting in forgiveness or in courage ? " Narada said : "In nothing is he wanting of all this. Strong and radiant as the sun himself is Satyavan, generous like Rantideva, just like Shibi, magnificent like Yayati, and beautiful like the moon. But all this wealth of virtues must pass away from the earth within a year. His span of life is very short."
With sinking heart Savitri heard the Sage's words, yet said : "But once can a person say - " I give away." And I have said it once : 'I give myself away to Satyavan.' I cannot choose again." Narada said : "Because thy daughter wavers not, King ! I give my blessing to the marriage ; " and went away.
Swift messengers went to Dyumatsena, and he sent back word to Ashvapati : "I once myself desired alliance with thee, but saw not how to ask for it in my fallen state. Now that the blessed Savitri is coming to me of her own accord, I know for sure that Lakshmi's self is coming back unto our ancient house." So the marriage came to pass.
Joyously Savitri passed from her palaces to the hermit's cottage. Eagerly she attended to the least wants of her aged father-in-law and mother-in-law, rejoicing to perform the humblest duties of the household, and by her tender ways and loving words enslaved the heart of her husband.
But ever underneath all this, the fire of secret agony lighted by the words of Narada burned within her soul ; and ever she counted the days of the prescribed year. At last the hour appointed for the death of Satvavan was only four days distant. Then she resolved to seek the help of the Devas by fast and prayer. And all the three days she fasted, taking not a drop of water. Early she rose on the morning of the fateful day, finished the morning rites, and touched the feet of her elders. All the ascetics dwelling in that forest blessed her on that day, saying that she should never know the pangs of widowhood.
And when the time came for Satyavn to go forth with his axe upon his shoulder into the wood for work, as usual, she made her heart strong and followed him. He asked in wonder why ; but she said she wished to go with him that day ; and so they went, beholding the beauties of the hills, the waters, the woods, and the birds and beasts. Then Satyavan began his daily labours, filled his wallet with fruit and felled dried branches for fuel. But suddenly a faintness came upon him and his head ached greatly, and he said this to Savitri and lay down.
Then Savitri placed his head on her lap and sat, with breaking heart, awaiting she knew not what. All at once she beheld a majestic and awe-striking form, dark yet shining, clad in red attire, standing beside her, and gazing with fixed yet flashing eyes at Satyavan. Gently she placed her husband's head on the ground, stood up and made obeisance. And the form said : " The days of Satyavan are ended : I am Yama, Lord of Death ; and because he is so virtuous, I have come to take him away myself, rather than send my emissaries as usual." And he drew the Sukshma Sharlra of Satyavan from his fleshy body, and departed with it toward*the south.
And Savitri also followed. Then Yama said : "Desist, Savitri ! go back and perform the funeral rites of thy lord. Thou hast discharged thy duty, and come as far behind thy husband as mortal may go." Savitri replied : " Whither my husband goeth, thither I go. This is the eternal law for man and wife. If I have loved my lord with undivided love, if I have served my elders reverently, if there be any power in penances, then be my path unchecked, out of thy favour, Yama !"
And innocently like a little child she repeated the lessons of dharma that her loving elders and her own gentle soul had taught her, " By faithful service, treading household ways, to wisdom have I won and to religious merit. Close not these ways, Death, depriving me of my gathered fruits."
"Wise and reasonable art thou, Savitri, and thy words are sweet. Save thy husband's life, I give thee any boon." " His father lives in darkness, gracious King ; by thy favour let his eyes once more behold the day."- Fairest of earth's daughters, I grant the boon thou seekest. And now return, weary earth-born feet, that may not tread the gloomy path of Death."
" Where he, my husband, goes, I still must follow. Fruitful is righteous company, King of Death, and sweet is it to dwell with one like thee. Not fruitless may such fair abiding prove." "Take then a second boon as fruit, peerless lady, but ask not for thy husband's soul," said Yama. " Give then, King of mortal worlds, his kingdom to my husband's father, his kingdom rent from him by evil men." " He shall regain his throne," said Yama," and reign thereon. And now go back,fair dame, nor follow further."
But with sweet words and honeyed praises, Savitri still followed the Lord of Death, and won from him two other boons, one hundred sons for her father, and one hundred for herself.' When the fourth boon was granted, Savitri spoke in praise of righteous living and of high discharge of duty, till Yama, charmed by her eloquence and wisdom, granted her yet another boon, and Savitri quickly claimed her husband's life, since Yama had granted her a hundred sons, and righteousness would be infringed if other were their father save her husband.
Thus did a faithful wife win back from Death her husband, and brought to his family prosperity, riches, and length of days, since even Yama, King of Death, is weaker than a pure wife's faithful love.*(Makabharatam, Vana Parva, ccxcii ccxcviii.)
Nor can the Hindu boy forget the story of Damayantl, the wife of Nala. Nala, son of Virasena, and King of the Nishadhas, loved Damayantl, daughter of Bhima, the King of the Vidarbhas, and Damayantl loved Nala, though they had not met each other, but each had only heard the other's praises as being incomparable upon earth. Now the Svayamvara of the princess was proclaimed, and thereto went King Nala, and Damayantl chose him to be her husband, although the Devas, Indra, Agni, Varuna and Yama, were among the suitors for her hand ; and Nala and Damayantl lived to- gether in great love for eleven happy years, and two children were born to them.
In the twelfth year came Pushkara, and challanged King Nala to play him at dice, and Nala played, and lost again and again, till at length he had lost to Pushkara his kingdom and all his wealth, even his garments, and went forth an exile, with only one cloth, half covering his body. Then Damayantl, his wife having sent her children to her father's care when she saw how the games were going went forth after him, clad also in a single cloth, and in the outskrits of the city they wandered, hungry and athirst. To complete their misery, Nala lost his cloth in the attempt to catch therewith some birds for food, and hopeless and desperate, he wished Damayantl to be spared the suffering of hunger, and repeatedly pointed out to her the road to her former home. But Dainayanti, clung to him, weeping, sobbing that she would not leave him, that when he was weary she would soothe him, for in every sorrow there was no such medicine as a loving and faithful wife.
Presently, wearied out, she lay sleeping on the bare ground, and Nala argued with himself that it would be kinder to leave her, so that she might seek her relatives, than to keep her wandering in misery with him. Thus thinking,he cut in half, with a sword that was lying near, the cloth she wore, leaving one half around her; and wrapping round himself the other half, he fled from her, mad with grief.
The hopeless Damayantl awaking, found herself alone, and bitter was her grief, more for Nala's loneliness than for her own loss. She sought her husband eagerly, but found him not found instead a huge serpent, that wrapped her closely in his coils. How she escaped, and what fresh perils befell her ere she found at last shelter as companion to a princess of the Chedis, is told at length in the Nalopkhyana, Meanwhile Nala had rescued a snake ringed round with fire, and by the magic of the snake his form was changed and became unrecognisable, and he wandered till he reached the city of King Rituparna, whose charioteer he became. Thus were husband and wife severed, they who loved each other so dearly and so well.
Now King Bhima sent forth Brahmanas to search for his daughter and for Nala, and one of them, Sudeva by name, recognised the sad Queen as she sat in the King of Chedis' palace, and told her piteous story to the Queen-mother, who proved to be her mother's sister.Then Damayantl, in spite of warmest offers of hospitality, departed to her father's house, and King Bhima sent out again messengers to seek Nala, charged to bear a message to be uttered loudly in every gathering of men, which in veiled allusions, intelligible to Nala only, prayed him to return to his loving, sorrowing wife.
Long they sought, and at last found one who, after hearing the outcried message, spoke sadly of wives whom their husbands had deserted, and he was called Bahuka, charioteer of Rituparna, King in Ayodhya Returning to Pamayanti Paruada, the messenger, told what had been said, and her quick woman's wit devised a way by which to bring Nala to her side. " Go to King Rituparna," she said, " and tell him that Damyanti holds another Swayamvara on the morrow after thy arrival in Ayodhya."
For she knew that none save Nala could so drive as to reach her father's palace from Ayodhya within so brief a space. As she planned, so it happened, Rituparna bade Bahuka drive him swiftly to the city of the Vidarbhas, and Bahuka, sore at heart, chose swift steeds and drove them, as only he could drive, reaching the city of the Vidarbhas by that same evening, and there, by Damayantl's tender wiles, he was led to give signs that he was indeed Nala, as she suspected, for he wept over his children when he saw them, and he cooked as only Nala could cook ; then she bade them bring Bahuka into her presence, and husband and true wife recognised each other, and long thereafter lived they in wedded bliss, their kingdom regained, and their children around them.*
Moreover, a wife who truly loves and serves her husband gains more of inner development and knowledge than she can gain by long austerities and painful penances. For thus we read in the story of the Brahmana's wife who angered Kaushika. Now the Brahmana Kaushika made great tapas. One day he sat in meditation under a tree, when a crane sitting on a branch befouled his person.He opened his eyes and looked up angrily at the crane ; and, such was the psychic power stored in Kaushika by his tapas, that the crane was killed by that angry glance as if struck by lightning. Kaushika was sad at the death of the crane, and glad also with the pride of tested power.
He went into the neighbouring town to beg as usual for his daily meal, and asked the first good housewife that he came across for it. As she was fetching him some food her husband came in, tired with his daily work, covered with dust. Asking Kaushika to stay a while, she began to attend to her husband. Some time elapsed and Kaushika's impatience grew.
When she came back to him at last with the food he needed, he looked at her with angrier eyes than he had looked with at the crane, and asked her how she had neglected the Brahmana for so long. She answered gently : " My duty to my husband is more urgent than to thee. Restrain thy wrath and learn forgiveness, Brahmana ! Look not at me with anger ; that will injure thee. I am no crane !"
Kaushika was thunderstruck and questioned her and she replied : " No penances have I performed to gather psychic powers; only served my husband single-mindedly. If thou wouldst learn yet more about the virtues of our simple household duties, go to the fowler of distant Mithila."
Kaushika went, with a humbled mind, to Mithila, and stood at the fringe of the great crowd of customers around the fowler's shop. The fowler saw Kaushika, went up to him, and, bowing low to the Brahbmana, said : " I know why the faithful housewife sent thee to me, and shall resolve thy doubts and show thee why I can do so." Then the fowler took Kaushika to his home, and showed him his aged parents, as we have already seen.*
How brothers should show Brotherly Love we read in the whole story of the Ramayana, and it is said that Lakshmana was like Rama's life, so dear and close the bond, nor would they sleep apart, nor apart engage in sport ; we see him follow Ramachandra into the forest, and stand waking on watch while Rama slept ; we see him sharing in the search for Slta, ever wise in counsel and loving in sympathy ; and when Lakshmana lies senseless, arrow-pierced, before Lanka, hear Rama's piteous cry : " What have I to do with life and what with war, now Lakshmana lies wounded on the field of battle ? Why, forsaking me dost thou wander in other worlds ? Without thee, life and victory, nay, Sita's self, are worthless."
The whole story of the Mahdbhdratam shows how brotherly love and union lead to prosperity and fame ; for never do we find the Pandavas with warring interests, or leading separated lives. Yudhishthira represents the family, and all the efforts of the younger are directed to his enrichment and his prosperity. For him they fight, and all the wealth they gain is gained for him ; for him Arjuna seeks and wins the divine weapons, by sharp tapas and fierce struggles and long and weary wanderings.
And equally does Yudhishthira cherish them, regarding their joys and sorrows as his own. Yudhishthira has risen into Svarga, and looks round on every side to find his brothers and his wife. " I desire to go whither my brothers are gone," he cries again and again, and nowhere, among radiant Devas and triumphant Rajas, can he see the faces he so dearly loves. "Ye mighty ones !" at last he cries, what is your heaven to me apart from them ? That is heaven where my brothers are. This is not heaven for me."
Then the Devas bade a heavenly messenger lead forth the King, and take him to the land where now his loved ones lived ; and turning their backs on Svarga they went out, and began to tread a path that led into ever-deepening gloom. Darker and darker grew the air, gloomier and gloomier yet the shadowy way. Foul things of nauseous smell and horrid shape crowded round them as they went, and beneath their feet the ground was slippery with blood, and was strewn with fragments of the corpses of the slain. Sharp thorns and piercing leaves obstructed it, and burning sand, and iron stones white-hot. Astounded, the King questioned his celestial guide, who told him that he had been bidden to lead him thither, but if he were weary, he could return.
Slowly, doubtfully, Yudhishthira turned, sure that his brothers could not dwell in region so foul and evil ; but as he turned sad cries arose on every hand, and piteous prayers that he would stay a while. "Who are you ?" asked the wondering King, and answers sobbed from every side. "I am Karna." "I am Bhlshma." "I am Arjuna." "I am Nakula." "I am Sahadeva." "I am Draupadi." And so with others, dearly loved on earth.
" Go back, go back to Svarga," cried the King, wrought to anger by his brothers' wrongs ; " go back to those who sent you here as guide. Not with them my place, but here, here, where my loved ones dwell. Go thou back to Svarga's barren joys ; better with these in pain than there in lonely bliss." And as he spake heaven's fragrance breathed around, and all was balmy air and shining light and thronging Devas, For stronger than hell is love, and fidelity than pain.*(* Mahabharatam, Mahaprasthanika Parva, iii, and Svargarohana Parv. )
Among the virtues to be shown outside the family, Hospitality stands in the first rank, and how highly it is to be valued may be seen in the story of: the half-golden mongoose that attended the great sacrifice of King Yudhishthira, where all the arches and the stakes and sacrificial vessels were of gold, and whereat all men took as they would of gems and money, none forbidding them. Yet cried the mongoose, that the sacrifice of: the wealth there gathered was of less worth than a small measure of powdered barley, given by a poor Brahmana to his guest.
And thus he told the tale. There was a Brahamana who kept the unchha vow, and daily lived on the grains of corn he gathered, making one frugal meal a day, he and his wife, with son and daughter-in-law. And a terrible famine laid waste the land and few were the grains left upon the husking-ground by threshers, and ever thinner and thinner grew he and his faimly, till they were but as living skeletons. One day it happened that he had gathered a little barley, and, having powdered it, the wife divided it into four, that each might have a scanty meal and joyfully they sat down to eat. But ere yet they had touched the little heaps of grain, a guest stood in the doorway, and quickly rising, the Brahmana brought him in, and gave him water and a seat, and then set before him his own share of the scanty food.
The guest ate, but still was hungry, and the wife brought her share and placed it in her husband's hands that he might put it before the guest. " Shaking art thou with weakness, mother of my son," he said : "keep thou the food and eat, lest my home lose its sunshine."
But she pressed on him the food, that the Dharma of Hospitality might not be broken, and, with a sigh, he took and gave. Yet still the guest was fain for more, and the son brought his meagre share, and the brahmana, aching for his son's hunger and the emaciation of his youthfull body, laid that third portion before the guest. But, alas ! even then the guest was still hungry, for each little share was as nothing for a hungry man, and the young wife's share was now held out to the host's shaking hands, but he drew them back with anguish at his heart. Not yours, my little one, not yours, not yours." "Father of my son's father, " she said, with sweet humility of voice and gesture, "shut me not out from sharing your good deeds."
As a Deva is a guest. Feed him, then, from this my food, which is as thine own flesh. " Weeping he took, and then with gentle smile laid it before his guest, who took and ate. Then, as the guest rose up, bright light shone out, and in the midst he stood, radiant and splendid ; for truly was the guest a Deva, the Lord of Righteousness, Dharma, the strong and pure. And in a few grains that he had left uneaten, the mongoose rolled, and half his body turned to gold by the magic of that sacrifice, so priceless is the gracious Virtue of Hospitality, so transforming is its power.*(* Mahabhamtam, Vana Parva, iv vi.)
A wicked fowler, black in skin like his own deeds of daily murder of innocent brids and beasts, and red in the eyes like his burning malice against his victims, was once overtaken by a terrible thunderstorm in the middle of a forest. The open glades were converted into lakes and the pathways into running streams in a moment. The higher lands to which he tried to find a way were invaded by bears and lions and other fierce denizens of the jungle. Shivering with cold, shaking with fear, he yet refrained not from his cruel habits.
Espying a poor she-pigeon lying on the ground, beaten down by the torrents of the rains and frozen with the cold he picked her up and mercilessly thrust her into the cage he carried. Wandering on he shortly came to a lordly tree that stood in the midst of the forest, and extended a benevolent shade and shelter to' myriads of the feathered tribe. It seemed to have been placed there on purpose by the Creator for the good of all creatures, like a good man for the benefit of the world. The fowler took refuge beneath the spreading boughs of the tree. By and by, the clouds dispersed, and the stars shone out. But the fowler was too far away from his home and resolved to pass the night under the tree.
As he lay under the tree he heard the he-pigeon lamenting : " Alas! thou hast not yet returned, dear wife ! What can have happened to thee ? If that dear wife of mine, with her bright rose-eyes, sweet coo, and softest plumes, cometh not back to my nest, my life shall no longer be worth living. The house is not the home, in truth ; the wife is the home. She eats when I eat, she bathes when I bathe ; she rejoices when I rejoice, and sorrows when I sorrow. Yet if I am angry, she always speaks with sweetness only. Life is empty without such a spouse. Without such, a palace is an empty wilderness. Such a one is a trusted companion and beloved associate in all one's acts of virtue, profit and pleasure. The wife is the richest possession of her lord. She is his one unfailing associate in all the concerns of life. She is the best of medicines for all the diseases of the mind. There is no friend like unto the wife, no refuge better than she. "
Hearing the lament of her husband, the she-pigeon caged by the cruel fowler said to herself : "Unlimited is my happiness even in the midst of agony that my husband thinketh thus of me. She is no wife with whom her lord is not content. But we must also think of this poor fowler, over- taken by the cruel storm and kept away from home. He is now our guest, having taken shelter underneath our abode. " And she cried aloud to her husband, explaining the plight of the fowler.
The pigeon too, with instant sympathy, forgetting his own sorrows, addressed the fowler: "Welcome to my house as honoured guest, and tell me what to do. " The fowler said : "I am stiff with cold ; warm me if thou canst. " The bird gathered togather a heap of dead and fallen leaves ; picked up one in his beak, flew and very soon returned with a tiny ember on it from some neighbouring village.
In a moment the fowler found himself warmed by a grateful fire, and the bird asked him again for service to be done. The fowler asked for food this time. The bird thought : "I have no stores wherewith to feed him ; and yet a hungry guest may not be left unfed. " As he reflected deeply, a new light arose within his mind and he cried to his guest : " I shall gratify thee ! I have heard in former days from high-souled Rishis , and the Devas and Pitris also that there is great merit in honoring a guest. friend ! do thou be kind to me and accept my humble service !" With this he flew around the fire three times and then entered the flames, offereing his body to his guest for food.
At that awful act of uttermost guest-honouring, an unknown horror of his own past life on sin seized on the mind of the fowler, tearing up his evil nature by its deepest roots, and leaving him all shattered. " Thou art my highest teacher, high-souled bird ! Thou showest me my duty ! From this day I expiate my sins, denying rosy comfort to this sin-fed body, evaporating it with all its crimes by daily fast and tapas, as the strong rays of the summer sun dry up a small and dirty pool. Taught by this example I shall practise righteousness alone henceforth." He threw away his club, his nets and traps and iron cage, and set at liberty the widowed mate of the deceased bird.
The she-pigeon thus released, circled round the funeral pyre of her husband, weeping : "Limited are the gifts that the woman receiveth from her father or her mother or her son. But the gifts that the husband giveth to her are limitless ! He giveth her his all and all himself ! After all these years of happiness with thee, I cannot live alone !" and she threw herself also into the fire. With a new-born vision the fowler beheld the two ascending to heaven in glorious forms ; and the more confirmed in his resolve thereby, he took up his abode in the forest, living a blameless life thenceforward, till the forest-fires, kindled by dried branches rubbing against each other in a summer-storm, consumed his body, as the penance had consumed his sins.*(* Mahdbkaratam, Shanti Parra cxliii cxlix.)
Readiness to forgive wrongs is a sign of a truly noble nature. It is said of Ramachandra that a hundred injuries left no trace upon his memory, while one benefit was graven there. And listen how Vidura forgot insult and forgave. Kind Dhritarshtra craved Vidura's help touching the evil conduct of Duryodhana, and Vidura counselled his brother wisely but firmly, praying him to enforce on Duryodhana his duty of peace with his Pandava cousins, and to make his supporters win forgiveness from the wronged and exiled princes.
At this, Dhritarshtra became much incensed, and hotly blamed his righteous brother, accusing him of partiality, and finally of foul disloyalty, adding gross insult to the charge and going from his brother's side in wrath. Then Vidura sadly sought the Pandavas, and told how he was sent away with angry words, and counselled them with wisdom, urging urbanity and gentle ways. And after Vidura had gone, King Dhritarshtra repented him of his harshness and injustice, and sent after him to beg him to return, exclaiming : " Go, Sanjaya, and see if my brother lives, he whom I have driven away in angry madness.Never has he wronged me, nor committed any fault, while I have grievously wronged him. Seek him and bring him hither, Sanjaya, the wise."
So Sanjaya went, wondering whether Vidura, the calm and strong, would pardon his weaker brother's changing moods, and become again the pillar of his throne. And going to the forest, he found Vidura,highly honoured by the princes and by all, and approaching him, prayed him to return. Then Vidura, without hesitating even for a moment, rose and took leave of his royal nephews, and hastened to his elder brother's presence, who prayed forgiveness for the wrong committed.
