The Gods, O Prince, have not bestowed this cow on thee to eat
thereof.
Seek not, Rājanya, to devour the Brāhman's cow which none
may eat.
A base Rājanya, spoiled at dice, and ruined by himself, may eat.
The Brāhman's cow and think, To-day and not tomorrow, let
me live!
The Brāhman's cow is like a snake, charged with due poison,
clothed with skin.
Rājanya! bitter to the taste is she, and none may eat of her.
She takes away his strength, she mars his splendour, she ruins
everything like fire enkindled.
That man drinks poison of the deadly serpent who counts the
Brāhman as mere food to feed him.
Whoever smites him, deeming him a weakling-blasphemer,
coveting his wealth through folly
Indra sets fire alight within his bosom. He who acts thus is
loathed by Earth and Heaven.
No Brāhman must be injured, safe as fire from him who loves
himself.
For Soma is akin to him and Indra guards him from the curse.
The fool who eats the Brāhmans' food and thinks it pleasant to
the taste,
Eats, but can ne'er digest, the cow that bristles with a hundred
barbs,
His voice an arrow's neck, his tongue a bowstring, his windpipes
fire-enveloped heads of arrows,
With these the Brāhman pierces through blasphemers, with
God-sped bows that quell the hearts within them.
Keen arrows have the Brāhmans, armed with missiles: the shaft,
when they discharge it, never faileth.
Pursuing him with fiery zeal and anger, they pierce the foeman
even from a distance.
They who, themselves ten hundred, were the rulers of a thousand
men,
The Vaitahavyas, were destroyed for that they ate a Brāhman's
cow.
The cow, indeed, when she was slain o'erthrew those Vaitahavyas,
who
Cooked the last she-goat that remained of Kesaraprābandhā's
flock.
One and a hundred were the folk, those whom the earth shook
off from her:
When they had wronged the Brāhman race they perished incon-
ceivably.
Among mankind the Gods' despiser moveth: he hath drunk
poison, naught but bone is left him.
Who wrongs the kinsman of the Gods, the Brāhman, gains not
the sphere to which the Fathers travelled.
Agni, in sooth, is called our guide, Soma is called our next of
kin.
Indra quells him who curses us. Sages know well that this is so.
Prince! like a poisoned arrow, like a deadly snake, O lord of
kine!
Dire is the Brāhman's arrow: he pierces his enemies therewith.
