I have sinned against thee, O Varuṇa. Yet I know not how I have sinned. I have transgressed thy law, yet the transgression was not done in malice or pride, but in ignorance—the worst of all transgressions, for the doer doth not even know that he hath erred.

What was the great sin, O Varuṇa, that thou wouldst slay thy friend who sings to thee? What was the trespass that hath incurred thy wrath? Is it a word that I spoke carelessly? Is it a deed that I did without thinking? Is it a thought that entered my mind unbidden? I know not! I know not!

My body is seized with fever; my limbs do shake as if I were an old withered leaf trembling before the wind. My skin doth itch and burn; my flesh seemeth to be aflame. It is thy bonds that hold me, O Varuṇa—thy terrible bonds, from which no mortal can escape.

I recall now the ancient sin—the sin of my father, or perhaps the sin of my father's father, stretching back through the generations. Perhaps I pay for their trespasses, their violations, their forgotten crimes. Perhaps thy justice reacheth backward through time, collecting the debts that are owed.

Or perhaps it was no great crime at all, but only the simple fact of being human—fallible, weak, prone to error. Perhaps it is not that I have done something wrong, but that I have failed to do something right. Perhaps I have neglected the offering; perhaps I have forgotten a prayer; perhaps I have not honored thee with sufficient devotion.

What shall I do, O mighty Varuṇa? How shall I expiate my sin? I have no great treasure to offer; I have no mighty sacrifice to bring. All that I possess is my own suffering, my own anguish, my own heart, broken and contrite.

Yet is this not enough? Is the grief of the sinner not payment enough for his transgression? I lie upon the earth in agony; I weep bitter tears; I call out thy name with a voice hoarse from crying. If this be not expiation, then what is?

O sovereign lord, O keeper of the eternal law! I beseech thee—release me from thy bonds! Not because I deserve release, but because thy mercy is greater than thy justice. Not because I am innocent, but because thou art wise enough to know that suffering owneth itself when it is true suffering.

Thou who makest the sun to shine and the rivers to flow! Thou who measurest out the cosmos with thy hand! Thou who keepest vigil over all that is! Let thy gaze fall upon me—not in anger, but in compassion. Let thy hand release me—not in weakness, but in strength.

For what is strength, O Varuṇa, if not the power to forgive? What is true sovereignty, if not the wisdom to show mercy? The thunderer, Indra, doth conquer through might; but thou, O keeper of the law, dost conquer through understanding.

I have been thy enemy through my ignorance. But I do not wish to be thy enemy. I wish to be thy friend, thy servant, thy worshipper. I wish to approach thee with a clean heart and an open hand. I wish to sing thy praises not out of fear, but out of love.

Release me, O Varuṇa. Not for my sake, but for thine own. That I may rise from this bed of pain and go forth to proclaim thy greatness. That I may tell all the world of thy justice and thy mercy, thy awesome power and thy gentle wisdom. That I may be forever bound to thee—not in chains of suffering, but in bonds of love.