Classic Poem

You are a descendant of that powerful man who was generous
without end and who because he was afraid a dove might die
that had come to him for shelter, escaping with its tiny steps
from the swoop of a kite with sharp claws and curving wings,
entered the scale, and at the act, even among the holy men
with their glowing masses of tangled hair who to relieve
the pain of those living on earth eat only the air,
endure the scorching rays of the sun's heat and seek the sun,
even among them there was amazement! Younger brother
to Ter Van Killi, you whose great wealth stems from your ferocity
in conquering your enemies! Chieftain of warriors with curving bows
and long arrows! Master with strong hands of a swift horse!
In words that merited hatred, I said to you, “I have my doubts
as to your origins! None of your ancestors who wore the garlands
of mountain ebony flowers made Brahmins suffer! How can you?”
I had wronged you and was mistaken but you were not only unoffended
but deeply ashamed, as if the fault were yours! You whose power
is a thing to be seen! You have shown that the high virtue
of forgiving those who have wronged them comes with ease
to those who have been born into this clan and so it was surely
I who was wrong! May the days of your life be wonderful
and more numerous than the sand heaped
in dunes by the Kaviri with its sweet, abundant waters!