THESE dice that have grown in the air on the great Vibhidaka tree, drive me wild when they roll on the board! This Vibhidaka seems to me intoxicating like a draught of Soma that has grown on Mount Mugovat.
When I think that I shall not play with them again, then am I left by my friends who go afar. But when the brown dice are thrown down and utter speech, then I rush to their rendezvous, like a love-sick maid.
These dice hook, prick, undo, burn and inflame. After the gift of childish playthings they ruin the winner; yet to the gambler they are covered with honey.
They do not bend before the anger of the mighty, even the king bends down before them.
Though having no hands, they resist him who has hands. These playing coals, though cold, when thrown on the board, burn the heart through and through!
Make other friends, O dice--have mercy on us! Do not bewitch us with powerful enchantment! May your wrath abate, and your enmity--let some one else be held in the power of the brown dice!