I once was devoured by my pride—
The eve my four-tusked Airavata
Trampled the gift from the erudite sage,
Who then divulged an irascible rage.

Shorn of divinity and might,
We shrank from the Asuras' august malice.
Desperate to reclaim the celestial hand,
Obeyed I Vishnu's prudent command:
Sway the serpent's covetous dreams,
And claim your fill of the crimson stream.

We covertly donned our melding masks
While the Naga lashed the combers vast,
And out frothed a venom in lethal droves,
Which Shiva barred in a cobalt throat.

And when we came the ambrosia to behold,
We reveled in its ecumenical depravity—
Waving the vessels like fleeces of gold,
Drunk on the blood of impurity.

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