“Reaper of the harvest of battle, on the bed of honour he has spread a
carpet of the slain! He sleeps ringed about by his enemies. How can the
world tell of his deeds? The tongue is silent.”
When that Accursed, Allah-u-Din, came up the winding height of the
hills, he found only a dead city, and his heart was sick within him.
Now this is the Sack of Chitor, and by the Oath of the Sack of Chitor do
the Rajputs swear when they bind their honour.
But it is only the ascetic Visravas who by the power of his yoga has
heard every word, and with his eyes beheld that Flame of Beauty, who,
for a brief space illuminating the world as a Queen, returns to birth in
many a shape of sorrowful loveliness until the Blue-throated God shall
in his favour destroy her rebirths.
Salutation to Ganesa the Elephant-Headed One, and to Shri the Lady of
Beauty!