My hand moves not, though passion consumes my heart; this axe that has slain kings without number, is blunted! Fate has turned against me and I find my nature changed; for when has there ever been compassion in my heart?

Pity today is causing me to suffer intolerable pain.’ On hearing this, Sumitra’s son bowed his head with a smile. ‘The wind of your benevolence’, he said, ‘is befitting your form; the words you speak are like blossoms that drop from the trees!

O reverend sir, when compassion sets your whole frame on fire, God help you when you are angry’. ‘Look here, Janaka’, said Parashurama, ‘this stupid boy is bent on making his home in the realms of Death!

Why do you not take him right away out of my sight? Though small to look at, the princeling is yet so wicked!’ Lakshmana smilingly said to himself, ‘Shut your eyes and you will see nothing.’

Then Parashurama spoke to Rama, his heart boiling with rage, ‘Having broken Shiva’s bow, O wretch, do you now teach me?

It was with your connivance that your brother addresses such pungent words to me, while you make false entreaties with folded hands. Either give me satisfaction in combat or give up the right to be called Rama!

Fight me, you enemy of Shiva, without taking recourse to any wily trick, or else I will despatch you and your brother both.’ While the chief of Bhrigus thus raved with his axe raised on high, Rama smiled to himself and bowed his head to the sage.