“You know me to be a mere BrŒhma˜a; I tell you what kind of a BrŒhma˜a I am. Know that the bow is my sacrificial ladle, the arrows my oblation and my wrath, the blazing fire; the brilliant fourfold forces (consisting of the horse, the elephant, the chariots and foot- soldiers) are the fuel; and mighty princes have served as victims, whom I have cut to pieces with this very axe and offered as sacrifice. In this way I have performed millions of sacrifices in the shape of armed conflicts, accompanied by the muttering of sacred formulas in the shape of war-cries. My glory is not known to you; that is why you address me in contemptuous terms mistaking me for a mere BrŒhma˜a. Since you have broken the bow, your arrogance has transgressed all limits; in your self-esteem you stand as if you have conquered the whole world.” Said RŒma, “O sage, think before you speak; your anger is out of all proportions with my error, which is a trifling one. Worn out as it was, the bow broke at my mere touch. What reason have I to be proud?” (1—4)