Matali.  But what do you not deserve from heaven’s king?  Remember: 

  Twice, from peace-loving Indra’s sway
  The demon-thorn was plucked away: 
    First, by Man-lion’s crooked claws;
  Again, by your smooth shafts to-day.

King.  This merely proves Indra’s majesty.  Remember: 

  All servants owe success in enterprise
    To honour paid before the great deed’s done;
  Could dawn defeat the darkness otherwise
    Than resting on the chariot of the sun?

Matali.  The feeling becomes you. (After a little.) See, O King!  Your glory has the happiness of being published abroad in heaven.

  With colours used by nymphs of heaven
    To make their beauty shine,
  Gods write upon the surface given
    Of many a magic vine,
  As worth their song, the simple story
  Of those brave deeds that made your glory.

King.  Matali, when I passed before, I was intent on fighting the demons, and did not observe this region.  Tell me.  In which path of the winds are we?

Matali.

  It is the windpath sanctified
  By holy Vishnu’s second stride;
  Which, freed from dust of passion, ever
  Upholds the threefold heavenly river;
  And, driving them with reins of light,
  Guides the stars in wheeling flight.

King.  That is why serenity pervades me, body and soul. (He observes the path taken by the chariot.) It seems that we have descended into the region of the clouds.

Matali.  How do you perceive it?

King.

  Plovers that fly from mountain-caves,
  Steeds that quick-flashing lightning laves,
  And chariot-wheels that drip with spray—­
  A path o’er pregnant clouds betray.

Matali.  You are right.  And in a moment you will be in the world over which you bear rule.

King (looking down).  Matali, our quick descent gives the world of men a mysterious look.  For

  The plains appear to melt and fall
  From mountain peaks that grow more tall;
  The trunks of trees no longer hide
  Nor in their leafy nests abide;
  The river network now is clear,
  For smaller streams at last appear: 
  It seems as if some being threw
  The world to me, for clearer view.

Matali.  You are a good observer, O King. (He looks down, awe-struck.) There is a noble loveliness in the earth. King.  Matali, what mountain is this, its flanks sinking into the eastern and into the western sea?  It drips liquid gold like a cloud at sunset.

Matali.  O King, this is Gold Peak, the mountain of the fairy centaurs.  Here it is that ascetics most fully attain to magic powers.  See!

  The ancient sage, Marichi’s son,
  Child of the Uncreated One,
  Father of superhuman life,
  Dwells here austerely with his wife.