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And apish jowls with thirst of war inflated
Not without effort Vindragupta lulled
His followers’ fears and improvised a rapid
Plan of defence and fitting weapons culled,
Displaying here a humour rude but sapid.
The Indian fig in which the rebels nested
Reared high its bole’s broad bulwark, uncontested,
And massive tangled branches, foliage matted
Into a crown gigantic spread around,
And from the lower branches, thick and plaited,
Like wreathed columns, suckers sought the ground,
There rooted, and again their sapling grove
Of shoots upreared, which circle wise emerging,
With roots aerial picturesquely wove
A strangely complex trellis work, converging
Into impenetrable thickets graced
E’en these, with slim liana stems enlaced.
Thus the whole tree a natural fort afforded
Wherein, unseen, full speed to earth the rebels
Slid down the coiling suckers, tendril-corded,
And swiftly to the crown returned with pebbles,
And plucked, besides, the fig-tree’s purpling grapes,
Then calmly waited for the other apes.
A royal gesture silenced horn and drum, and
The king alone the misled miscreants summoned:
“Though all, by rights, deserve the law’s last sentence,
My clemency accepts of late repentance.
Come down at once and show your true contrition
By promise of perpetual submission,
Or be assured that when I’ve stormed your stockades,
Your heads all fall upon the block, ye blockheads.”
Alas! the leader of the rising turned
