Before Varuṇa

Among Vasiṣṭha's hymns are four to Varuṇa, the lord of the waters who keeps the order of the world and sees every wrong, and in them he speaks of something that had come between them. He knows that Varuṇa is angry with him, but he does not know for what wrong.

Wise are the works of the one who propped apart the wide heaven and earth by his greatness. He pushed up the high and lofty sky, the star, twice over, and spread the earth out wide. And I say this to myself: when shall I be at one with Varuṇa? Will he take my offering without anger? When shall I look on his mercy with a glad mind? I ask about this wrong of mine, Varuṇa, wanting to see it. I go to the wise to ask them. The poets all tell me the same thing: Varuṇa is angry with you.

What was the great wrong, Varuṇa, that you seek to slay your friend who praises you? Tell me, you who cannot be deceived, self-ruling one, and I will come to you quickly, free of sin, with homage. Release us from the wrongs of our fathers, and from those we have done in our own bodies. Release Vasiṣṭha, king, as one sets free a thief who has fed on cattle, as one loosens a calf from its rope.

It was not my own will, Varuṇa. It was delusion: drink, anger, the dice, thoughtlessness. The elder leads the younger astray. Even sleep does not keep away wrong. And let this praise, Varuṇa, self-ruling one, lie close in your heart. Let it go well with us in keeping and in gaining. Protect us always with your blessings.

In another hymn he remembers the friendship they once had. When Varuṇa and I went aboard the boat, when we steered it out into the middle of the sea, when we went over the backs of the waters, we would swing in that swing for joy. Varuṇa set Vasiṣṭha in the boat. Skilful in his work, by his greatness he made him a seer, a singer, on a fine day among days, as long as the heavens and the dawns stretch out. Where have those friendships of ours gone, when we went together without harm in the old days? I came, Varuṇa, self-ruling one, to your great house of a thousand doors. Your old friend, Varuṇa, your own dear kinsman, has done wrong against you. Let us not, as sinners, suffer for it, holy one. Wise one, give shelter to the one who praises you.

And in the shortest of them he simply asks for mercy, and not to be sent yet into the house of clay, the grave. Let me not go yet, King Varuṇa, into the house of clay. Have mercy, mighty lord, have mercy. Whatever wrong we men commit against the heavenly people, Varuṇa, whatever laws of yours we have broken through thoughtlessness, do not harm us, god, for that sin.