(Rendered from Telugu by DR. C. NARAYANA RAO,
Ph.D.)
STEADFAST in truth, great Bali made resolve
To make the gift. And Sukra was mighty wroth
And cursed him lose his kingdom all at once.
Still did Bali not budge in the path of truth.
One might prosper or be bound in many ways,
Or land in poverty, or lose power or life,
Or suffer a fall. But honour forbids
A turning back on a word once pledged.
Bali to his consort Vindhyavali signed,
And she brought the golden bowl to wash
The feet of the Lord of Creation. Bali called out:
“Come, young man, here I stand to give
Your desire. Why delay? Hold forth your feet.”
And the lotus-eyed Lord extended them,
The feet bowed to by sages, the feet
Made handsome by the musk on Lakshmi’s brow,
Lotus-fragrant, the diamond anklets
Sounding and resounding the Vedic chants,
Those feet that support the heaven,
fortune-yielding ever,
Ennobling Vedanta, ending birth and re-birth,
Those feet Bali washed and in a steady voice said:
“To you, O Brahmin, in the form of Vishnu,
Famed for your steadfast vows, to you,
Who can only through the Vedas be known,
I give, I, Bali, give and solemnly convey
Three feet of land without reserve.”
Vamana stretched his hand and Bali poured
In it the water which betokened the gift.
He knew the beggar was that Hari great,
He knew the time and place. He understood
Sukra’s warning words, the impending danger knew,
And yet he gave the gift, for the word went forth,
The word of honour–and the donee deserved it.
“Do not be sorry, Bali,” spoke the Lord,
“Do not count the cost. You have done well
In giving. You have stood the test
Of truth. I am content. Three feet are three worlds
to me.”
Bali smiled and thought, “Where indeed,
Did this young man learn to speak these words?
Was it before or after birth? His womb is full
Of such enchanting things, so lovely fine!”
So Bali gave the gift, and all the dwellers
In heaven and earth were full of praise
For him. The angels rained a rain of flowers.
And then the Little One began to grow,
A little first and then a little more,
And higher still above the skies, and then
Majestic in the airy regions where
The water-clouds abide; and up again
Outgrew the Starry Ways; beyond the Moon
Still grander; imperial yet above
The spot where Dhruva holds his Sway; and soon
Surpassed the Mahar world, the Satya world,
The Universe entire.
And as he grew
The Solar Orb to Him an umbrella
At first, and then a jewel in the head,
A pendant in the ear then; anon
A shining gem on the neck; a shoulder-plate
Of gold; a bracelet after; a tinkling bell
About the waist; a precious anklet then;
At last a stool became to rest His feet.
So grand and wondrous rose the Mannikin,
Filling the regions ethereal.
With one foot
He covered the earth, and then the heavens
traversed,
With the other, the middle worlds did float
Around Him in a moment. And as He grew,
Brahmanda could not contain Him, and broke
Fiercely, And the Universal Form
Of Hari shone beyond compare,–alone,
Unseeable, unspeakable.