‘Holy sir’, said Lakshmana, ‘so long as you live to tell it, who else can tell of your bright glory? With your own lips have you recounted your exploits time and again in many ways.

If you are not yet satisfied, tell us something more; endure not pain unbearable by putting any restraint upon your wrath. You have assumed the role of a hero and are resolute and imperturbable; it is unbecoming of you to pour out abuse.

Heroes perform valiant deeds on the field, but never indulge in self-advertisement. Finding before them a foe in battle, it is cowards who brag of their own prowess.

You seem to have Death at your beck and call and summon him again and again to deal with me!’ when he heard Lakshmana’s impudent speech, Parashurama closed his hand upon his terrible axe.

‘Now let no man blame me,’ he cried; ‘this sharp-tongued boy deserves his death! Long have I spared him on account of his being a child, but now surely he is going to die!’

‘Pardon his offence,’ said Vishvamitra; ‘holy men take no notice of a child’s faults or merits.’ ‘Sharp-edged is my axe,’ he replied, ‘and I am pitiless and furious; and here stands before me an offender and an enemy of my guru-

-and dares to answer me! I spare his life solely out of regard for you, O Vishvamitra. Or else, hacking him to pieces with my dread axe, I would easily have repaid the debt I owe to my guru.’