Verse 37

³⁷If you give boons to me, brahmin, I choose a son who will kill Indra and who cannot himself die. My sons are dead; it was he who had them killed. ³⁸Hearing that, the brahmin was cast down and burned with regret. Ah, a very great wrongdoing has come upon me today. ³⁹Ah, I take my pleasure in things and in the senses; my mind here is caught by a maya that has the shape of a woman. Miserable, I shall certainly fall into hell. ⁴⁰What offence is there in a woman who follows the nature she has here? Shame on me, alas, who understand nothing of my own good, since I have not mastered my senses. ⁴¹A face that is a festival of autumn lotuses, words that are nectar to the ear, a heart like the edge of a razor: who knows what women will do?

⁴²No one is really dear to women, whose selves are their own wishes. For what they want they kill husband, son or brother, or have them killed. ⁴³What was promised, that word I give, must not be made false. And Indra does not deserve killing either. Here is what will serve. ⁴⁴Having thought it out so, joy of the Kurus, the revered son of Marici spoke, a little angry, and finding fault with himself.