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(The condition of the Tamil country after the Muslim Occupation.)(N. B.—Only the slokas available in the printed book in whole are translated here and as in the original no numbers are given.)

… … Verily has become the abode of tigers, true to its name. … (incomplete).

In Srirangam the lord of serpents is seen warding off the tumbling debris of brick with his hood lest their fall disturb the sleep of yoga in which Hari is wrapped up there.

When I look at the state of the temples of other gods also, my distress knows no bounds. The foldings of their door are eaten up by wood worms. The arches over their inner sanctuaries are rent with wild growths of vegetation.

Those temples which were once resonant with the sounds of mridanga drums, are now echoing the fearful howls of jackals.

The river Kāvēri, uncurbed by proper bunds or dams, has become deflected very much from her time-honoured course, and flows in all sorts of wrong directions as if imitating the Turuskas in their actions.

The Brāhmin streets, where once the sacrificial smoke was ever seen rising, and the chanting of Vēdās always greeted the ears, now exhude the musty odour of meat, and resound with the lion-roars of drunken Turuṣkas.

I very much lament for what has happened to the groves in Madhura. The cocoanut trees have all been cut and in their place are to be seen rows of iron spikes with human skulls dangling at the points.

In the highways which were once charming with the sounds of anklets of beautiful women, are now heard ear-piercing noises of Brāhmins being dragged, bound in iron-fetters.

Webs worn by spiders have since taken the place of silk veils with which the dolls adorning the outer-towers of the city were once covered.

Royal court-yards which were once cool with the spraying of ice-cold sandal, now distress me, wet as they are with the tears of Brāhmins taken as prisoners.

Screechings of owls in worn-out pleasure groves do not afflict me so much as the voice of parrots taught to speak Persian in the houses of Yavanas (Turuskas).

The waters of Tāmbraparni which were once white with sandal paste rubbed away from the breasts of charming girls are now flowing red with the blood of cows slaughtered by the miscreants.

Earth is no longer the producer of wealth. Nor does Indra give timely rains. The God of death takes his undue toll of what are left lives of undestroyed by the Yavanas.

I am very much distressed by looking at the tearful faces of Drāvidas, their lips parched by hot sighs, and their hair worn in utter disorder.

The Kali age deserves now deepest congratu lations for being at the zenith of its power; for, gone is sacred learning; hidden is refinement; hushed is the voice of Dharma; destroyed is discipline, and discounted is nobility of birth.

Having thus narrated the sickening career of the Yavanas, she (the strange woman that appeared before Kampaņa) by her wonderful power of magic caused a terrible-looking sword to appear.

The description of the sword presented to Kampaņa. The exhortation of the female Apparition to Kampaņa to rid Madhurai of the Muslim rule.

In its shining silver sheath and handle, it looked like a serpent that had recently sloughed.

In its darkish brilliance it resembled the agaru paste that one might imagine on the person of Bhadrakāli whose advent marks the end of this universe.

With the images of burning lamps reflected in its surface, it looked like a fresh cloud bright with lightening within it.

This sword, efficacious in drawing tears of sorrow from the eyes of enemies’ spouses…

she placed before the king, as if it were the personification of the Prosperity-God dess of Cõlas and Pāndyas and began to further address him thus :

“Oh king, in olden times, this sword was made by Viswakarma with the melted splinters of all divine missiles, and he gave it as a present to God Śiva for the destruction of asuras.”

“And that God gave it as a boon to the Pāndya king, pleased with his severe austerities. And his successors had it for a long time and were the unchallenged rulers of their earth.

“Sage Agastya, seeing that the Pāndya race has lost its old virility by the wearing influence of time, has new sent this scimitar to you, oh powerful king.”

“You are by nature daring and wedded to risky enterprises. The possession of this weapon will make you formidable in battle. Forest fire is terrible enough, and if high winds also assist it, who can gauge its all-consuming ferocity?”.

“By the wonderful virtue of being armed with this weapon you will never flag in the field of battle; nor would any harm result from enemy missiles such as sword, disc or bow.”

“As you wave this lightning-like sword in battie, not even the God of death can dare oppose you, let alone, others.”

“Do you now proceed to Southern ivíadhura and destroy the cruel king of Yavanas who is the enemy of the world, even as Sri Krsna killed the demo nic Kamsa who once ruled there (viz., Northern Madhura).”

“Not for the first time will you now be wear ing this bracelet on your hand, which has been (even on prior occasions) the emblem of your vow of protect ing the three worlds, bracelet which none but you can wear.”

“Do you scatter the heads of Turuṣkas, heads with those swinging tufts, those blood-shot eyes, those ferocious beards and furious-browed foreheads.”

“May the sun of your prowess in battle wipe off the smile of moon-light from the faces of the drunken Yavana ladies.”

“Dharma is in great distress by being now subjected to the scorching influence of the evil-natured Yavanas, and earth in consequence looks parched, as it were; and so may you, by the rain of enemies’ blood, allay the latter’s susserings.”

“May this sword of yours feast the evil spirits such as katüs, pūtanus and yātudhānas with the blood flowing down from the headless trunks of your evil adversaries.”

“May you erect many a pillar of triumph in the middle of Rāmasētu by dealing destruction to the Turuṣka lord who is wedded to nothing but evil do ings and who therefore is to be regarded as the thorny shrub of the three worlds.”

“The Kāvēri like a tamed female elephant will regain her normal course in the proper pace only if when you become supreme Governor, Oh Your Majesty”.

Thus ends the eighth canto of Virakamparāya çaritam, called Madhurāvijayam, composed by Gangā Dēvi.