Ramayana on Death

With serpent's pantings fierce and fast King Bali from the city passed. His glance, as each quick breath he drew, Around to find the foe he threw, And saw where fierce Sugriva showed His form with golden hues that glowed, And, as a fire resplendent, stayed To meet his foe in arms arrayed. When Bali, long-armed chieftain, found Sugriva stationed on the ground, Impelled by warlike rage he braced His warrior garb about his waist, And with his mighty arm raised high Rushed at Sugriva with a cry. But when Sugriva, fierce and bold, Saw Bali with his chain of gold, His arm he heaved, his hand he closed, And face to face his foe opposed. To him whose eyes with fury shone, In charge impetuous rushing on, Skilled in each warlike art and plan, Bali with hasty words began: "My ponderous hand, to fight addressed With fingers clenched and arm compressed Shall on thy death doomed brow descend And, crashing down, thy life shall end." He spoke; and wild with rage and pride, The fierce Sugriva thus replied: "Thus let my arm begin the strife And from thy body crush the life."

Like some proud tree before the blast Brave Bali to the ground was cast, Where prostrate in the dust he rolled Clad in the sheen of glistening gold, As when uptorn the standard lies Of the great God who rules the skies. When low upon the earth was laid The lord whom Vanar tribes obeyed, Dark as a moonless sky no more His land her joyous aspect wore. Though low in dust and mire was rolled The form of Bali lofty-souled, Still life and valour, might and grace Clung to their well-loved dwelling-place. That golden chain with rich gems set, The choicest gift of Sakra,(585) yet Preserved his life nor let decay Steal strength and beauty's light away. Still from that chain divinely wrought His dusky form a glory caught, As a dark cloud, when day is done, Made splendid by the dying sun. As fell the hero, crushed in fight, There beamed afar a triple light From limbs, from chain, from shaft that drank His life-blood as the warrior sank. The never-failing shaft, impelled By the great bow which Rama held, Brought bliss supreme, and lit the way To Brahma's worlds which ne'er decay.(586)

Then Tara: "Art thou stern and mute, Regardless of thy child's salute? Hast thou no blessing for thy son, No word for little Angad, none? O, hero, at thy lifeless feet Here with my boy I take my seat, As some sad mother of the herd, By the fierce lion undeterred, Lies moaning by the grassy dell Wherein her lord and leader fell. How, having wrought that awful rite, The sacrifice of deadly fight, Wherein the shaft by Rama sped Supplied the place of water shed, How hast thou bathed thee at the end Without thy wife her aid to lend?(609) Why do mine eyes no more behold Thy bright beloved chain of gold, Which, pleased with thee, the Immortals' King About thy neck vouchsafed to fling? Still lingering on thy lifeless face I see the pride of royal race: Thus when the sun has set, his glow Still rests upon the Lord of Snow. Alas my hero! undeterred Thou wouldst not listen to my word. With tears and prayers I sued in vain: Thou wouldst not listen, and art slain. Gone is my bliss, my glory: I And Angad now with thee will die."

"Now giants, if your eyes have scanned Our armies, numbering every band, Marked lord and chief, and gazed their fill, Return to Ravan when ye will. If aught remain, if aught anew Ye fain would scan with closer view, Vibhishan, ready at your call, Will lead you forth and show you all. Think not of bonds and capture; fear No loss of life, no peril here: For, captive, helpless and unarmed, An envoy never should be harmed. Again to Lanka's town repair, Speed to the giant monarch there, And be these words to Ravan told, Fierce brother of the Lord of Gold: "Now, tyrant, tremble for thy sin: Call up thy friends, thy kith and kin, And let the power and might be seen Which made thee bold to steal my queen. To-morrow shall thy mournful eye Behold thy bravest warriors die, And Lanka's city, tower and wall, Struck by my fiery shafts, will fall. Then shall my vengeful blow descend Its rage on thee and thine to spend, Fierce as the fiery bolt that flew From heaven against the Danav crew, Mid those rebellious demons sent By him who rules the firmament."

The root, the leaf, the fruit which thou Shalt give me from the earth or bough, Scanty or plentiful, to eat, Shall taste to me as Amrit sweet. As there I live on flowers and roots And every season's kindly fruits, I will not for my mother grieve, My sire, my home, or all I leave. My presence, love, shall never add One pain to make the heart more sad; I will not cause thee grief or care, Nor be a burden hard to bear. With thee is heaven, where'er the spot; Each place is hell where thou art not. Then go with me, O Rama; this Is all my hope and all my bliss. If thou wilt leave thy wife who still Entreats thee with undaunted will, This very day shall poison close The life that spurns the rule of foes. How, after, can my soul sustain The bitter life of endless pain, When thy dear face, my lord, I miss? No, death is better far than this. Not for an hour could I endure The deadly grief that knows not cure, Far less a woe I could not shun For ten long years, and three, and one."

"Lost was my power," the king replied, "All strength had fled, all hope had died. The Vanars owned another lord, But by thy grace was all restored. All this, O conqueror of the foe, To thee and Lakshman's aid I owe. And his should be the villain's shame Who durst deny the sacred claim. These Vanar chiefs of noblest birth Have at my bidding roamed the earth, And brought from distant regions all Our legions at their monarch's call: Fierce bears with monkey troops combined, And apes of every varied kind, Terrific in their forms, who dwell In grove and wood and bosky dell: The bright Gandharvas' brood, the seed Of Gods,(649) they change their shapes at need. Each with his legions in array, Hither, O Prince, they make their way. They come: and tens of millions swell To numbers that no tongue may tell.(650) For thee their armies will unite With chiefs, Mahendra's peers in might. From Meru and from Vindhya's chain They come like clouds that bring the rain. These round thee to the war will go, To smite to earth thy demon foe; Will slay the Rakshas and restore Thy consort when the fight is o'er."

Then fierce the giant's fury blazed As on Hanuman's form he gazed, And shaken by each wild surmise He spake aloud with flashing eyes: "Can this be Nandi(882) standing here, The mighty one whom all revere? Who once on high Kailasa's hill Pronounced the curse that haunts me still? Or is the woodland creature one Of Asur race, or Bali's(883) son? The wretch with searching question try: Learn who he is, and whence; and why He marred the glory of the grove, And with my captains fiercely strove." Prahasta heard his lord's behest, And thus the Vanar chief addressed: "O monkey stranger be consoled: Fear not, and let thy heart be bold. If thou by Indra's mandate sent Thy steps to Lanka's isle hast bent, With fearless words the cause explain, And freedom thou shalt soon regain. Or if thou comest as a spy Despatched by Vishnu in the sky, Or sent by Yama, or the Lord Of Riches, hast our town explored; Proved by the prowess thou hast shown No monkey save in form alone; Speak boldly all the truth, and be Released from bonds, unharmed and free. But falsehood spoken to our king Swift punishment of death will bring."

But Rama, pride of Raghu's race, Gazed tenderly on Lakshman's face, And, as the sight his spirit broke, Turned to Sushen and sadly spoke: "Where is my power and valour? how Shall I have heart for battle now, When dead before my weeping eyes My brother, noblest Lakshman, lies? My tears in blinding torrents flow, My hand unnerved has dropped my bow. The pangs of woe have blanched my cheek, My heart is sick, my strength is weak. Ah me, my brother! Ah, that I By Lakshman's side might sink and die: Life, war and conquest, all are vain If Lakshman lies in battle slain. Why will those eyes my glances shun? Hast thou no word of answer, none? Ah, is thy noble spirit flown And gone to other worlds alone? Couldst thou not let thy brother seek Those worlds with thee? O speak, O speak! Rise up once more, my brother, rise, Look on me with thy loving eyes. Were not thy steps beside me still In gloomy wood, on breezy hill? Did not thy gentle care assuage Thy brother's grief and fitful rage? Didst thou not all his troubles share, His guide and comfort in despair?"

With wondrous power and might and skill The giant fought with Rama still. Each at his foe his chariot drove, And still for death or victory strove. The warriors' steeds together dashed, And pole with pole reechoing clashed. Then Rama launching dart on dart Made Ravan's coursers swerve and start. Nor was the lord of Lanka slow To rain his arrows on the foe, Who showed, by fiery points assailed, No trace of pain, nor shook nor quailed. Dense clouds of arrows Rama shot With that strong arm which rested not, And spear and mace and club and brand Fell in dire rain from Ravan's hand. The storm of missiles fiercely cast Stirred up the oceans with its blast, And Serpent-Gods and fiends who dwell Below were troubled by the swell. The earth with hill and plain and brook And grove and garden reeled and shook: The very sun grew cold and pale, And horror stilled the rising gale. God and Gandharva, sage and saint Cried out, with grief and terror faint: "O may the prince of Raghu's line Give peace to Brahmans and to kine, And, rescuing the worlds, o'erthrow The giant king our awful foe."

And then the king, of virtuous mind, A blood-red wreath around him twined, Forth on an ass-drawn chariot sped, As southward still he bent his head. Then, crimson-clad, a dame appeared Who at the monarch laughed and jeered; And a she-monster, dire to view, Her hand upon his body threw. Such is the dream I dreamt by night, Which chills me yet with wild affright: Either the king or Rama, I Or Lakshman now must surely die. For when an ass-drawn chariot seems To bear away a man in dreams, Be sure above his funeral pyre The smoke soon rears its cloudy spire. This makes my spirit low and weak, My tongue is slow and loth to speak: My lips and throat are dry for dread, And all my soul disquieted. My lips, relaxed, can hardly speak, And chilling dread has changed my cheek I blame myself in aimless fears, And still no cause of blame appears. I dwell upon this dream of ill Whose changing scenes I viewed, And on the startling horror still My troubled thoughts will brood. Still to my soul these terrors cling, Reluctant to depart, And the strange vision of the king Still weighs upon my heart."

So they who changed their forms at will Thousands of Brahmans dared to kill,-- Fierce fiends who loved each cruel deed, And joyed on bleeding flesh to feed. Agastya, mighty hermit, pressed To funeral banquet like the rest, Obedient to the Gods' appeal Ate up the monster at a meal. "'Tis done, 'tis done," fierce Ilval cried, And water for his hands supplied: Then lifting up his voice he spake: "Forth, brother, from thy prison break." Then him who called the fiend, who long Had wrought the suffering Brahmans wrong, Thus thoughtful-souled Agastya, best Of hermits, with a smile addressed: "How, Rakshas, is the fiend empowered To issue forth whom I devoured? Thy brother in a ram's disguise Is gone where Yama's kingdom lies." When from the words Agastya said He knew his brother fiend was dead, His soul on fire with vengeful rage, Rushed the night-rover at the sage. One lightning glance of fury, hot As fire, the glorious hermit shot, As the fiend neared him in his stride, And straight, consumed to dust, he died. In pity for the Brahmans' plight Agastya wrought this deed of might: This grove which lakes and fair trees grace In his great brother's dwelling place."

Vasishtha thus was speaking still: The monarch, of his own free will, Bade with quick zeal and joyful cheer Rama and Lakshman hasten near. Mother and sire in loving care Sped their dear son with rite and prayer: Vasishtha blessed him ere he went; O'er his loved head the father bent, And then to Kusik's son resigned Rama with Lakshman close behind. Standing by Visvamitra's side, The youthful hero, lotus-eyed, The Wind-God saw, and sent a breeze Whose sweet pure touch just waved the trees. There fell from heaven a flowery rain, And with the song and dance the strain Of shell and tambour sweetly blent As forth the son of Raghu went. The hermit led: behind him came The bow-armed Rama, dear to fame, Whose locks were like the raven's wing:(147) Then Lakshman, closely following. The Gods and Indra, filled with joy, Looked down upon the royal boy, And much they longed the death to see Of their ten-headed enemy.(148) Rama and Lakshman paced behind That hermit of the lofty mind, As the young Asvins,(149) heavenly pair, Follow Lord Indra through the air. On arm and hand the guard they wore, Quiver and bow and sword they bore; Two fire-born Gods of War seemed they.(150) He, Siva's self who led the way.

She, by his awful curse possessed, And mad with rage that fills her breast, Has on this land her fury dealt Where once the saint Agastya dwelt. Go, Rama, smite this monster dead, The wicked plague, of power so dread, And further by this deed of thine The good of Brahmans and of kine. Thy hand alone can overthrow, In all the worlds, this impious foe. Nor let compassion lead thy mind To shrink from blood of womankind; A monarch's son must ever count The people's welfare paramount, And whether pain or joy he deal Dare all things for his subjects' weal; Yea, if the deed bring praise or guilt, If life be saved or blood be spilt: Such, through all time, should be the care Of those a kingdom's weight who bear. Slay, Rama, slay this impious fiend, For by no law her life is screened. So Manthara, as bards have told, Virochan's child, was slain of old By Indra, when in furious hate She longed the earth to devastate. So Kavya's mother, Bhrigu's wife, Who loved her husband as her life, When Indra's throne she sought to gain, By Vishnu's hand of yore was slain. By these and high-souled kings beside, Struck down, have lawless women died."

"Your favour, gracious lords, I claim, O'erwhelmed with this enormous shame That Brahmans, great and pure as you, Who should be sought, to me should sue." And then before the saintly crowd, "What can I do?" I cried aloud. Then from the trembling hermits broke One long sad cry, and thus they spoke: "Fiends of the wood, who wear at will Each varied shape, afflict us still. To thee in our distress we fly: O help us, Rama, or we die. When sacred rites of fire are due, When changing moons are full or new, These fiends who bleeding flesh devour Assail us with resistless power. They with their cruel might torment The hermits on their vows intent: We look around for help and see Our surest refuge, Prince, in thee. We, armed with powers of penance, might Destroy the rovers of the night: But loth were we to bring to naught The merit years of toil have bought. Our penance rites are grown too hard, By many a check and trouble barred, But though our saints for food are slain The withering curse we yet restrain. Thus many a weary day distressed By giants who this wood infest, We see at length deliverance, thou With Lakshman art our guardian now."

"O Lakshman, thou art much to blame Leaving alone the Maithil dame, And flying hither to my side: O, may no ill my spouse betide! But ah, I know my wife is dead, And giants on her limbs have fed, So strange, so terrible are all The omens which my heart appal. O Lakshman, may we yet return The safety of my love to learn. To find the child of Janak still Alive and free from scathe and ill! Each bird with notes of warning screams, Though the hot sun still darts his beams. The moan of deer, the jackal's yell Of some o'erwhelming misery tell. O mighty brother, still may she, My princess, live from danger free! That semblance of a golden deer Allured me far away, I followed nearer and more near, And longed to take the prey. I followed where the quarry fled: My deadly arrow flew, And as the dying creature bled, The giant met my view. Great fear and pain oppress my heart That dreads the coming blow, And through my left eye keenly dart The throbs that herald woe. Ah Lakshman, all these signs dismay, My soul that sinks with dread, I know my love is torn away, Or, haply, she is dead."

His giant foe no answer made, But on his string an arrow laid. He raised his arm, the cord he drew, At Lakshman's breast the arrow flew. Sumitra's son, his foemen's dread, Shot a fleet shaft with crescent head, Which cleft that arrow pointed well, And harmless to the earth it fell. A shower of shafts from Lakshman's bow Fell fast and furious on the foe Who quailed not as the missiles smote With idle force his iron coat. Then came the friendly Wind-God near, And whispered thus in Lakshman's ear: "Such shafts as these in vain assail Thy foe's impenetrable mail. A more tremendous missile try, Or never may the giant die. Employ the mighty spell, and aim The weapon known by Brahma's name." He ceased; Sumitra's son obeyed: On his great bow the shaft was laid, And with a roar like thunder, true As Indra's flashing bolt, it flew. The giant poured his shafts like rain To check its course, but all in vain. With spear and mace and sword he tried To turn the fiery dart aside. Winged with a force which naught could check, It smote the monster in the neck, And, sundered from his shoulders, rolled To earth his head and helm of gold.

"In doubt and fear long years have passed And glorious tidings come at last. True, true is now the ancient verse Which men in time of bliss rehearse: "Once only in a hundred years Great joy to mortal men appears." But now his woes and triumph tell, And loss and gain as each befell." He ceased: Hanuman mighty-souled The tale of Rama's wanderings told From that first day on which he stood In the drear shade of Dandak wood. He told how fierce Viradha fell; He told of Sarabhanga's cell Where Rama saw with wondering eyes Indra descended from the skies. He told how Surpanakhi came, Her soul aglow with amorous flame, And fled repulsed, with rage and tears, Reft of her nose and severed ears. He told how Rama's might subdued The giants' furious multitude; How Khara with the troops he led And Trisiras and Dushan bled: How Rama, tempted from his cot, The golden deer pursued and shot, And Ravan came and stole away The Maithil queen his hapless prey, When, as he fought, the dame to save, His noble life Jatayus gave: How Rama still the the search renewed, The robber to his hold pursued, Bridging the sea from shore to shore, And found his queen to part no more.(1025)

But Tara, when her weeping eye Saw Bali, on the litter lie, Laid his dear head upon her lap, And wailed aloud her dire mishap; "O mighty Vanar, lord and king, To whose fond breast I loved to cling, Of goodly arms, wise, brave, and bold, Rise, look upon me as of old. Rise up, my sovereign, dost thou see A crowd of subjects weep for thee? Still o'er thy face, though breath has fled, The joyous light of life is spread: Thus around the sun, although he set, A crimson glory lingers yet. Death clad in Rama's form to-day Hast dragged thee from the world away. One shaft from his tremendous bow Dooms us to widowhood and woe. Hast thou, O Vanar King, no eyes Thy weeping wives to recognize, Who for the length of way unmeet Have followed thee with weary feet? Yet every moon-faced beauty here By thee, O King was counted dear. Lord of the Vanar race, hast thou No eyes to see Sugriva now? About thee stands in mournful mood A sore-afflicted multitude, And Tara and thy lords of state Around their monarch weep and wait. Arise my lord, with gentle speech, As was thy wont, dismissing each, Then in the forest will we play And love shall make our spirits gay."

Thus urged, the sage recounted both The birth of Ganga and her growth: "The mighty hill with metals stored, Himalaya, is the mountains' lord, The father of a lovely pair Of daughters fairest of the fair: Their mother, offspring of the will Of Meru, everlasting hill, Mena, Himalaya's darling, graced With beauty of her dainty waist. Ganga was elder-born: then came The fair one known by Uma's name. Then all the Gods of heaven, in need Of Ganga's help their vows to speed, To great Himalaya came and prayed The mountain King to yield the maid. He, not regardless of the weal Of the three worlds, with holy zeal His daughter to the Immortals gave, Ganga whose waters cleanse and save, Who roams at pleasure, fair and free, Purging all sinners, to the sea. The three-pathed Ganga thus obtained, The Gods their heavenly homes regained. Long time the sister Uma passed In vows austere and rigid fast, And the king gave the devotee Immortal Rudra's(180) bride to be, Matching with that unequalled Lord His Uma through the worlds adored. So now a glorious station fills Each daughter of the King of Hills: One honoured as the noblest stream, One mid the Goddesses supreme. Thus Ganga, King Himalaya's child, The heavenly river, undefiled, Rose bearing with her to the sky Her waves that bless and purify."

"Hear me, Maricha, while I speak, And tell thee why thy home I seek. Sick and distressed am I, and see My surest hope and help in thee. Of Janasthan I need not tell, Where Surpanakha, Khara, dwell, And Dushan with the arm of might, And Trisiras, the fierce in fight, Who feeds on human flesh and gore, And many noble giants more, Who roam in dark of midnight through The forest, brave and strong and true. By my command they live at ease And slaughter saints and devotees. Those twice seven thousand giants, all Obedient to their captain's call, Joying in war and ruthless deeds Follow where mighty Khara leads. Those fearless warrior bands who roam Through Janasthan their forest home, In all their terrible array Met Rama in the battle fray. Girt with all weapons forth they sped With Khara at the army's head. The front of battle Rama held: With furious wrath his bosom swelled. Without a word his hate to show He launched the arrows from his bow. On the fierce hosts the missiles came, Each burning with destructive flame, The twice seven thousand fell o'erthrown By him, a man, on foot, alone. Khara the army's chief and pride, And Dushan, fearless warrior, died, And Trisiras the fierce was slain, And Dandak wood was free again.

As Ocean to a bubbling spring, The lion to a fox, the king Of all the birds that ply the wing To an ignoble crow As gold to lead of little price, As to the drainings of the rice The drink they quaff in Paradise, The Amrit's heavenly flow, As sandal dust with perfume sweet Is to the mire that soils our feet, A tiger to a cat, As the white swan is to the owl, The peacock to the waterfowl, An eagle to a bat, Such is my lord compared with thee; And when with bow and arrows he, Mighty as Indra's self shall see His foeman, armed to slay, Thou, death-doomed like the fly that sips The oil that on the altar drips, Shalt cast the morsel from thy lips And lose thy half-won prey." Thus in high scorn the lady flung The biting arrows of her tongue In bitter words that pierced and stung The rover of the night. She ceased. Her gentle cheek grew pale, Her loosened limbs began to fail, And like a plantain in the gale She trembled with affright. He terrible as Death stood nigh, And watched with fierce exulting eye The fear that shook her frame. To terrify the lady more, He counted all his triumphs o'er, Proclaimed the titles that he bore, His pedigree and name.

Danu had lent attentive ear The words which Rama spoke to hear, And thus, a speaker skilled and tried, To that great orator replied: "No heavenly lore my soul endows, Naught know I of thy Maithil spouse. Yet will I, when my shape I wear, Him who will tell thee all declare. Then, Rama, will my lips disclose His name who well that giant knows. But till the flames my corse devour This hidden knowledge mocks my power. For through that curse's withering taint My knowledge now is small and faint. Unknown the giant's very name Who bore away the Maithil dame. Cursed for my evil deeds I wore A shape which all the worlds abhor. Now ere with wearied steeds the sun Through western skies his course have run, Deep in a pit my body lay And burn it in the wonted way. When in the grave my corse is placed, With fire and funeral honours graced, Then I, great chief, his name will tell Who knows the giant robber well. With him, who guides his life aright, In league of trusting love unite, And he, O valiant prince, will be A faithful friend and aid to thee. For, Rama, to his searching eyes The triple world uncovered lies. For some dark cause of old, I ween, Through all the spheres his ways have been."

Again the Vanar chief began Each chamber, bower, and hall to scan. In vain: he found not her he sought, And pondered thus in bitter thought: "Ah me the Maithil queen is slain: She, ever true and free from stain, The fiend's entreaty has denied, And by his cruel hand has died. Or has she sunk, by terror killed, When first she saw the palace filled With female monsters evil miened Who wait upon the robber fiend? No battle fought, no might displayed, In vain this anxious search is made; Nor shall my steps, made slow by shame, Because I failed to find the dame, Back to our lord the king be bent, For he is swift to punishment. In every bower my feet have been, The dames of Ravan have I seen; But Rama's spouse I seek in vain, And all my toil is fruitless pain. How shall I meet the Vanar band I left upon the ocean strand? How, when they bid me speak, proclaim These tidings of defeat and shame? How shall I look on Angad's eye? What words will Jambavan reply? Yet dauntless hearts will never fail To win success though foes assail, And I this sorrow will subdue And search the palace through and through, Exploring with my cautious tread Each spot as yet unvisited."

Five chieftains of the Vanar race(978) Charged Kumbhakarna face to face, And his huge frame they wildly beat With rocks and trees and hands and feet. Round Rishabh first the giant wound His arms and hurled him to the ground, Where speechless, senseless, wounded sore, He lay his face besmeared with gore. Then Nila with his fist he slew, And Sarabh with his knee o'erthrew, Nor could Gavaksha's strength withstand The force of his terrific hand. At Gandhamadan's eager call Rushed thousands to avenge their fall, Nor ceased those Vanars to assail With knee and fist and tooth and nail. Around his foes the giant threw His mighty arms, and nearer drew The captives subject to his will: Then snatched them up and ate his fill. There was no respite then, no pause: Fast gaped and closed his hell-like jaws: Yet, prisoned in that gloomy cave, Some Vanars still their lives could save: Some through his nostrils found a way, Some through his ears resought the day. Like Indra with his thunder, like The God of Death in act to strike, The giant seized his ponderous spear, And charged the foe in swift career. Before his might the Vanars fell, Nor could their hosts his charge repel. Then trembling, nor ashamed to run, They turned and fled to Raghu's son.

Then Trisiras raised high his spear Which chilled the trembling foe with fear And, like a flashing meteor through The air at Hanuman it flew. The Vanar shunned the threatened stroke, And with strong hands the weapon broke. The giant drew his glittering blade: Dire was the wound the weapon made Deep in the Vanar's ample chest, Who, for a moment sore oppressed, Raised his broad hand, regaining might, And struck the rover of the night. Fierce was the blow: with one wild yell Low on the earth the monster fell. Hanuman seized his fallen sword Which served no more its senseless lord, And from the monster triple-necked Smote his huge heads with crowns bedecked. Then Mahaparsva burned with ire; Fierce flashed his eyes with vengeful fire. A moment on the dead he gazed, Then his black mace aloft was raised, And down the mass of iron came That struck and shook the Vanar's frame. Hanuman's chest was wellnigh crushed, And from his mouth red torrents gushed: Yet served one instant to restore His spirit: from the foe he tore His awful mace, and smote, and laid The giant in the dust dismayed. Crushed were his jaws and teeth and eyes: Breathless and still he lay as lies A summit from a mountain rent By him who rules the firmament.

The city dames, with grief distressed, Thus once again their lords addressed: "Rama shall be your guard and guide, And Sita will for us provide. For who would care to linger here, Where all is sad and dark and drear? Who, mid the mourners, hope for bliss In a poor soulless town like this? If Queen Kaikeyi's treacherous sin, Our lord expelled, the kingdom win, We heed not sons or golden store, Our life itself we prize no more. If she, seduced by lust of sway, Her lord and son could cast away, Whom would she leave unharmed, the base Defiler of her royal race? We swear it by our children dear, We will not dwell as servants here; If Queen Kaikeyi live to reign, We will not in her realm remain. Bowed down by her oppressive hand, The helpless, lordless, godless land, Cursed for Kaikeyi's guilt will fall, And swift destruction seize it all. For, Rama forced from home to fly, The king his sire will surely die, And when the king has breathed his last Ruin will doubtless follow fast. Sad, robbed of merits, drug the cup And drink the poisoned mixture up, Or share the exiled Rama's lot, Or seek some land that knows her not. No reason, but a false pretence Drove Rama, Sita, Lakshman hence, And we to Bharat have been given Like cattle to the shambles driven."

Quick breathing like a furious snake, With tears and sobs the hero spake, With reddened eyes aglow with rage. And Bharadvaja, mighty sage, Supreme in wisdom, calm and grave, In words like these good counsel gave: "O Bharat, hear the words I say; On her the fault thou must not lay: For many a blessing yet will spring From banished Rama's wandering." And Bharat, with that promise cheered, Went circling round that saint revered, He humbly bade farewell, and then Gave orders to collect his men. Prompt at the summons thousands flew To cars which noble coursers drew, Bright-gleaming, glorious to behold, Adorned with wealth of burnished gold. Then female elephants and male, Gold-girthed, with flags that wooed the gale, Marched with their bright bells' tinkling chime Like clouds when ends the summer time: Some cars were huge and some were light, For heavy draught or rapid flight, Of costly price, of every kind, With clouds of infantry behind. The dames, Kausalya at their head, Were in the noblest chariots led, And every gentle bosom beat With hope the banished prince to meet. The royal Bharat, glory-crowned, With all his retinue around, Borne in a beauteous litter rode, Like the young moon and sun that glowed. The army as it streamed along, Cars, elephants, in endless throng, Showed, marching on its southward way, Like autumn clouds in long array.

He spoke: and Bharat thus replied: "If, false to every claim beside, I ne'er in kingly duties fail, What will my royal life avail? Still should the custom be observed, From which our line has never swerved, Which to the younger son ne'er gives The kingdom while the elder lives. Now to Ayodhya rich and fair With me, O Raghu's son, repair, And to protect and gladden all Our house, thyself as king install. A king the world's opinion deems A man: to me a God he seems, Whose life in virtuous thoughts and deeds The lives of other men exceeds. When I in distant Kekaya stayed, And thou hadst sought the forest shade, Our father died, the saints' delight, So constant in each holy rite. Scarce with thy wife and Lakshman thou Hadst journeyed forth to keep the vow, When mourning for his son, forspent, To heavenly rest the monarch went. Then up, O lord of men, away! His funeral rites of water pay: I and Satrughna, ere we came, Neglected not the sacred claim. But in the spirit-world, they say, That gift alone is fresh for aye Which best beloved hands have poured; And thou his dearest art, my lord. For thee he longed, for thee he grieved, His every thought on thee was bent, And crushed by woe, of thee bereaved, He thought of thee as hence he went."

But Ravan's breast with fury swelled, And thus he spake by Death impelled, While, under brows in anger bent, Fierce glances from his eyes were sent: "The bitter words which thou, misled By friendly thought, hast fondly said, Which praise the foe and counsel fear, Unheeded fall upon mine ear. How canst thou deem a mighty foe This Rama who, in stress of woe, Seeks, banished as his sire decreed, Assistance from the Vanar breed? Am I so feeble in thine eyes, Though feared by dwellers of the skies,-- Whose might in many a battle shown The glorious race of giants own? Shall I for fear of him restore The lady whom I hither bore, Exceeding fair like Beauty's Queen(944) Without her well-loved lotus seen? Around the chief let Lakshman stand, Sugriva, and each Vanar band, Soon, Malyavan, thine eyes will see This boasted Rama slain by me. I in the brunt of war defy The mightiest warriors of the sky; And if I stoop to combat men, Shall I be weak and tremble then? This mangled trunk the foe may rend, But Ravan ne'er can yield or bend, And be it vice or virtue, I This nature never will belie. What marvel if he bridged the sea? Why should this deed disquiet thee? This, only this, I surely know, Back with his life he shall not go."

His children's speech King Sagar heard, And answered thus, to anger stirred: "Dig on, and ne'er your labour stay Till through earth's depths you force your way. Then smite the robber dead, and bring The charger back with triumphing." The sixty thousand chiefs obeyed: Deep through the earth their way they made. Deep as they dug and deeper yet The immortal elephant they met, Famed Virupaksha(188) vast of size, Upon whose head the broad earth lies: The mighty beast who earth sustains With shaggy hills and wooded plains. When, with the changing moon, distressed, And longing for a moment's rest, His mighty head the monster shakes, Earth to the bottom reels and quakes. Around that warder strong and vast With reverential steps they passed. Nor, when the honour due was paid, Their downward search through earth delayed. But turning from the east aside Southward again their task they plied. There Mahapadma held his place, The best of all his mighty race, Like some huge hill, of monstrous girth, Upholding on his head the earth. When the vast beast the princes saw, They marvelled and were filled with awe. The sons of high-souled Sagar round That elephant in reverence wound. Then in the western region they With might unwearied cleft their way. There saw they with astonisht eyes Saumanas, beast of mountain size. Round him with circling steps they went With greetings kind and reverent.

He ended: and the king, distressed. With sobbing voice that lord addressed: "Ah me, by false Kaikeyi led, Of evil race, to evil bred, I took no counsel of the sage, Nor sought advice from skill and age, I asked no lord his aid to lend, I called no citizen or friend. Rash was my deed, bereft of sense Slave to a woman's influence. Surely, my lord, a woe so great Falls on us by the will of Fate; It lays the house of Raghu low, For Destiny will have it so. I pray thee, if I e'er have done An act to please thee, yea, but one, Fly, fly, and Rama homeward lead: My life, departing, counsels speed. Fly, ere the power to bid I lack, Fly to the wood: bring Rama back. I cannot live for even one Short hour bereaved of my son. But ah, the prince, whose arms are strong, Has journeyed far: the way is long: Me, me upon the chariot place, And let me look on Rama's face. Ah me, my son, mine eldest-born, Where roams he in the wood forlorn, The wielder of the mighty bow, Whose shoulders like the lion's show? O, ere the light of life be dim, Take me to Sita and to him. O Rama, Lakshman, and O thou Dear Sita, constant to thy vow, Beloved ones, you cannot know That I am dying of my woe."

The son of Raghu to his queen Thus far described the unequalled scene, And, as the hermit's death he rued, The mournful story thus renewed: "The deed my heedless hand had wrought Perplexed me with remorseful thought, And all alone I pondered still How kindly deed might salve the ill. The pitcher from the ground I took, And filled it from that fairest brook, Then, by the path the hermit showed, I reached his sainted sire's abode. I came, I saw: the aged pair, Feeble and blind, were sitting there, Like birds with clipped wings, side by side, With none their helpless steps to guide. Their idle hours the twain beguiled With talk of their returning child, And still the cheering hope enjoyed, The hope, alas, by me destroyed. Then spoke the sage, as drawing near The sound of footsteps reached his ear: "Dear son, the water quickly bring; Why hast thou made this tarrying? Thy mother thirsts, and thou hast played, And bathing in the brook delayed. She weeps because thou camest not; Haste, O my son, within the cot. If she or I have ever done A thing to pain thee, dearest son, Dismiss the memory from thy mind: A hermit thou, be good and kind. On thee our lives, our all, depend: Thou art thy friendless parents' friend. The eyeless couple's eye art thou: Then why so cold and silent now?"

The chieftain heard the crow entreat Helpless and prostrate at his feet, And while soft pity moved his breast, With wisest speech the bird addressed: "I took the troubled Sita's part, And furious anger filled my heart. Then on the string my arrow lay Charmed with a spell thy life to slay. Thou seekest now my feet, to crave Forgiveness and thy life to save. So shall thy prayer have due respect: The suppliant I must still protect. But ne'er in vain this dart may flee; Yield for thy life a part of thee, What portion of thy body, say, Shall this mine arrow rend away? Thus far, O bird, thus far alone On thee my pity may be shown. Forfeit a part thy life to buy: 'Tis better so to live than die." Thus Rama spoke: the bird of air Pondered his speech with anxious care, And wisely deemed it good to give One of his eyes that he might live. To Raghu's son he made reply: "O Rama, I will yield an eye. So let me in thy grace confide And live hereafter single-eyed." Then Rama charged the shaft, and lo, Full in the eye it smote the crow. And the Videhan lady gazed Upon the ruined eye amazed. The crow to Rama humbly bent, Then where his fancy led he went. Rama with Lakshman by his side With needful work was occupied.

Thus Tara with the starry eyes(581) Her counsel gave with burning sighs. But Bali, by her prayers unmoved, Spurned her advice, and thus reproved: "How may this insult, scathe, and scorn By me, dear love, be tamely born? My brother, yea my foe, comes nigh And dares me forth with shout and cry. Learn, trembler! that the valiant, they Who yield no step in battle fray, Will die a thousand deaths but ne'er An unavenged dishonour bear. Nor, O my love, be thou dismayed Though Rama lend Sugriva aid, For one so pure and duteous, one Who loves the right, all sin will shun, Release me from thy soft embrace, And with thy dames thy steps retrace: Enough already, O mine own, Of love and sweet devotion shown. Drive all thy fear and doubt away; I seek Sugriva in the fray His boisterous rage and pride to still, And tame the foe I would not kill. My fury, armed with brandished trees, Shall strike Sugriva to his knees: Nor shall the humbled foe withstand The blows of my avenging hand, When, nerved by rage and pride, I beat The traitor down beneath my feet. Thou, love, hast lent thine own sweet aid, And all thy tender care displayed; Now by my life, by these who yearn To serve thee well, I pray thee turn. But for a while, dear dame, I go To come triumphant o'er the foe."

Obedient to the words he spake They hastened forth the foe to take. Swift were the cars whereon they rode, And bright their weapons flashed and glowed. They saw: they charged in wild career With sword and mace and axe and spear. From Durdhar's bow five arrows sped And quivered in the Vanar's head. He rose and roared: the fearful sound Made all the region echo round. Then from above his weight he threw On Durdhar's car that near him drew. The weight that came with lightning speed Crushed pole and axle, car and steed. It shattered Durdhar's head and neck, And left him lifeless mid the wreck. Yupaksha saw the warrior die, And Virupaksha heard his cry, And, mad for vengeance for the slain, They charged their Vanar foe again. He rose in air: they onward pressed And fiercely smote him on the breast. In vain they struck his iron frame: With eagle swoop to earth he came, Tore from the ground a tree that grew Beside him, and the demons slew. Then Bhasakama raised his spear, And Praghas with a laugh drew near, And, maddened at the sight, the two Against the undaunted Vanar flew. As from his wounds the torrents flowed, Like a red sun the Vanar showed. He turned, a mountain peak to seize With all its beasts and snakes and trees. He hurled it on the pair: and they Crushed, overwhelmed, beneath it lay.

How through the square he made his way To chambers where the women lay, Within the Asoka garden came And there found Rama's captive dame. His colloquy with her he sought, And giving of the ring he brought. How Sita gave a gem o'erjoyed; How Hanuman the grove destroyed. How giantesses trembling fled, And servant fiends were smitten dead. How Hanuman was seized; their ire When Lanka blazed with hostile fire. His leap across the sea once more; The eating of the honey store. How Rama he consoled, and how He showed the gem from Sita's brow. With Ocean, Rama's interview; The bridge that Nala o'er it threw. The crossing, and the sitting down At night round Lanka's royal town. The treaty with Vibhishan made: The plan for Ravan's slaughter laid. How Kumbhakarna in his pride And Meghanada fought and died. How Ravan in the fight was slain, And captive Sita brought again. Vibhishan set upon the throne; The flying chariot Pushpak shown. How Brahma and the Gods appeared, And Sita's doubted honour cleared. How in the flying car they rode To Bharadvaja's cabin abode. The Wind-God's son sent on afar; How Bharat met the flying car. How Rama then was king ordained; The legions their discharge obtained. How Rama cast his queen away; How grew the people's love each day. Thus did the saint Valmiki tell Whate'er in Rama's life befell, And in the closing verses all That yet to come will once befall.

Heart sick, dejected, every sense Confused by terror's influence, On to the town he quickly swept Which King Ikshvaku's children kept. He passed through Vaijayanta's gate, With weary steeds, disconsolate, And all who near their station held, His escort, crying Victory, swelled, With heart distracted still he bowed Farewell to all the following crowd, Turned to the driver and began To question thus the weary man: "Why was I brought, O free from blame, So fast, unknown for what I came? Yet fear of ill my heart appals, And all my wonted courage falls. For I have heard in days gone by The changes seen when monarchs die; And all those signs, O charioteer, I see to-day surround me here: Each kinsman's house looks dark and grim, No hand delights to keep it trim: The beauty vanished, and the pride, The doors, unkept, stand open wide. No morning rites are offered there, No grateful incense loads the air, And all therein, with brows o'ercast, Sit joyless on the ground and fast. Their lovely chaplets dry and dead, Their courts unswept, with dust o'erspread, The temples of the Gods to-day No more look beautiful and gay. Neglected stands each holy shrine, Each image of a Lord divine. No shop where flowery wreaths are sold Is bright and busy as of old. The women and the men I mark Absorbed in fancies dull and dark, Their gloomy eyes with tears bedewed, A poor afflicted multitude."

She heard the prince his wish declare: Then rose she, and the royal pair Of brothers through the wood she led That round her holy dwelling spread. "Behold Matanga's wood" she cried, "A grove made famous far and wide. Dark as thick clouds and filled with herds Of wandering deer, and joyous birds. In this pure spot each reverend sire With offerings fed the holy fire. See here the western altar stands Where daily with their trembling hands The aged saints, so long obeyed By me, their gifts of blossoms laid. The holy power, O Raghu's son, By their ascetic virtue won, Still keeps their well-loved altar bright, Filling the air with beams of light. And those seven neighbouring lakes behold Which, when the saints infirm and old, Worn out by fasts, no longer sought, Moved hither drawn by power of thought. Look, Rama, where the devotees Hung their bark mantles on the trees, Fresh from the bath: those garments wet Through many a day are dripping yet. See, through those aged hermits' power The tender spray, this bright-hued flower With which the saints their worship paid, Fresh to this hour nor change nor fade. Here thou hast seen each lawn and dell, And heard the tale I had to tell: Permit thy servant, lord, I pray, To cast this mortal shell away, For I would dwell, this life resigned, With those great saints of lofty mind, Whom I within this holy shade With reverential care obeyed."

"By changeless law our bliss and woe From ancient worth and folly flow. What fruits soe'er we cull, the seeds Were scattered by our former deeds.(602) Why mourn another's mournful fate, And weep, thyself unfortunate? Be calm, O thou whose heart is wise, For none deserves another's sighs. Look up, with idle sorrow strive: Thy child, his heir, is yet alive. Let needful rites be duly done, Nor in thy woe forget thy son. Regard the law which all obey: They spring to life, they pass away. Begin the task that bids thee rise, And stay these tears, for thou art wise. Our lord the king is doomed to die, On whom ten million hearts rely. Kind, liberal, patient, true, and just Was he in whom they place their trust, And now he seeks the land of those Who for the right subdue their foes. Each Vanar lord with all his train, Each ranger of this wild domain, And Angad here, thy darling, see A governor and friend in thee. These twain(603) whose hearts with sorrow ache The funeral rites shall undertake, And Angad by his mother's care Be king, his father's rightful heir. Now let him pay, as laws require, His sacred duty to his sire, Nor one solemnity omit Of all that mighty kings befit. And when thy fond eye sees thine own Dear Angad on his father's throne, Then, lightened of its load of pain, Thy spirit will have rest again."

"Rama," he cried, "a prince whose sway All peoples of the earth obey, To Dandak's tangled forest came With his brave brother and his dame. From that dark shade of forest boughs The giant Ravan stole his spouse. Our king Sugriva's orders send These Vanars forth to aid his friend, That so the lady be restored Uninjured to her sorrowing lord. With Angad and the rest, this band Has wandered through the southern land, With careful search in every place The lady and the fiend to trace. We roamed the southern region o'er, And stood upon the ocean's shore. By hunger pressed our strength gave way; Beneath the spreading trees we lay, And cried, worn out with toil and woe, "No farther, comrades, can we go." Then as our sad eyes looked around We spied an opening in the ground, Where all was gloomy dark behind The creeping plants that o'er it twined. Forth trooping from the dark-recess Came swans and mallards numberless, With drops upon their shining wings As newly bathed where water springs. "On, comrades, to the cave," I cried And all within the portal hied. Each clasping fast another's hand Far onward pressed the Vanar band; And still, as thirst and hunger drove, We traced the mazes of the grove. Here thou with hospitable care Hast fed us with the noblest fare, Preserving us, about to die, With this thy plentiful supply. But how, O pious lady, say, May we thy gracious boon repay?"

On to Prasravan's hill they sped Where blooming trees their branches spread. To Raghu's sons their heads they bent And did obeisance reverent. Then to their king, by Angad led, Each Vanar chieftain bowed his head; And Hanuman the brave and bold His tidings to the monarch told; But first in Rama's hand he placed The gem that Sita's brow had graced: "I crossed the sea: I searched a while For Sita in the giants' isle. I found her vext with taunt and threat By demon guards about her set. Her tresses twined in single braid, On the bare earth her limbs were laid. Sad were her eyes: her cheeks were pale As shuddering flowers in winter's gale. I stood beside the weeping dame, And gently whispered Rama's name: With cheering words her grief consoled, And then the whole adventure told. She weeps afar beyond the sea, And her true heart is still with thee. She gave a sign that thou wouldst know, She bids thee think upon the crow, And bright mark pressed upon her brow When none was nigh but she and thou. She bids thee take this precious stone, The sea-born gem thou long hast known. "And I," she said, "will dull the sting Of woe by gazing on the ring. One little month shall I sustain This life oppressed with woe and pain: And when the month is ended, I The giants' prey must surely die.' "

Then Sarama replied: "I go To learn the purpose of thy foe, Soon by thy side again to stand And tell thee what the king has planned." She sped, she heard with eager ears The tyrant speak his hopes and fears, Where, gathered at their master's call, The nobles filled the council hall; Then swiftly, to her promise true, Back to the Asoka grove she flew. The lady on the grassy ground, Longing for her return, she found; Who with a gentle smile, to greet The envoy, led her to a seat. Through her worn frame a shiver ran As Sarama her tale began: "There stood the royal mother: she Besought her son to set thee free, And to her counsel, tears and prayers, The elder nobles added theirs: "O be the Maithil queen restored With honour to her angry lord, Let Janasthan's unhappy fight Be witness of the hero's might. Hanuman o'er the waters came And looked upon the guarded dame. Let Lanka's chiefs who fought and fell The prowess of the leader tell." In vain they sued, in vain she wept, His purpose still unchanged he kept, As clings the miser to his gold, He would not loose thee from his hold. No, never till in death he lies, Will Lanka's lord release his prize. Soon slain by Rama's arrows all The giants with their king will fall, And Rama to his home will lead His black-eyed queen from bondage freed."

Then fiercer for the fight he burned, And at the foe his chariot turned, While all his followers lifting high Their maces charged with furious cry. Dire, yet more dire the battle grew, As rocks and trees and arrows flew. The giant shot his shafts like rain, And Vanars fell in myriads slain, Sugriva, Angad, Nila felt The wounds his hurtling arrows dealt. His shafts the blood of Gaya drank; Hanuman reeled and Mainda sank. Bright as the glances of the sun Came the swift darts they could not shun. Caught in the arrowy nets he wove, In vain the sons of Raghu strove; And Rama, by the darts oppressed, His brother chieftain thus addressed: "See, first this giant warrior sends Destruction, mid our Vanar friends, And now his arrows thick and fast Their binding net around us cast. To Brahma's grace the chieftain owes The matchless power and might he shows; And mortal strength in vain contends With him whom Brahma's self befriends. Then let us still with dauntless hearts Endure this storm of pelting darts. Soon must we sink bereaved of sense; And then the victor, hurrying hence, Will seek his father in his hall And tell him of his foemen's fall." He ceased: o'erpowered by shaft and spell The sons of Raghu reeled and fell. The Rakshas on their bodies gazed; And, mid the shouts his followers raised, Sped back to Lanka to relate In Ravan's hall the princes' fate.

He spoke, and vanished: Rama raised His eyes with reverence meet, and praised The glorious Day-God full in view: Then armed him for the fight anew. Urged onward by his charioteer The giant's foaming steeds came near, And furious was the battle's din Where each resolved to die or win. The Rakshas host and Vanar bands Stood with their weapons in their hands, And watched in terror and dismay The fortune of the awful fray. The giant chief with rage inflamed His darts at Rama's pennon aimed; But when they touched the chariot made By heavenly hands their force was stayed. Then Rama's breast with fury swelled; He strained the mighty bow he held, And straight at Ravan's banner flew An arrow as the string he drew-- A deadly arrow swift of flight, Like some huge snake ablaze with light, Whose fury none might e'er repel,-- And, split in twain, the standard fell. At Rama's steeds sharp arrows, hot With flames of fire, the giant shot. Unmoved the heavenly steeds sustained The furious shower the warrior rained, As though soft lotus tendrils smote Each haughty crest and glossy coat. Then volleyed swift by magic art, Tree, mountain peak and spear and dart, Trident and pike and club and mace Flew hurtling straight at Rama's face. But Rama with his steeds and car Escaped the storm which fell afar Where the strange missiles, as they rushed To earth, a thousand Vanars crushed.

High rose the universal wail That mourned the monarch's death, and, pale With crushing woe, her hair unbound, Her eyes in floods of sorrow drowned, Forth from the inner chambers came With trembling feet each royal dame, Heedless of those who bade them stay They reached the field where Ravan lay; There falling by their husband's side, "Ah, King! ah dearest lord!" they cried. Like creepers shattered by the storm They threw them on his mangled form. One to his bleeding bosom crept And lifted up her voice and wept. About his feet one mourner clung, Around his neck another hung, One on the giant's severed head, Her pearly tears in torrents shed Fast as the drops the summer shower Pours down upon the lotus flower. "Ah, he whose arm in anger reared The King of Gods and Yama feared, While panic struck their heavenly train, Lies prostrate in the battle slain. Thy haughty heart thou wouldst not bend, Nor listen to each wiser friend. Ah, had the dame, as they implored, Been yielded to her injured lord, We had not mourned this day thy fall, And happy had it been for all. Then Rama and thy friends content In blissful peace their days had spent. Thine injured brother had not fled, Nor giant chiefs and Vanars bled. Yet for these woes we will not blame. Thy fancy for the Maithil dame, Fate, ruthless Fate, whom none may bend Has urged thee to thy hapless end."

When the king comes still mournful lie, Speak not a word nor meet his eye, But let thy tears in torrent flow, And lie enamoured of thy woe. Well do I know thou long hast been, And ever art, his darling queen. For thy dear sake, O well-loved dame, The mighty king would brave the flame, But ne'er would anger thee, or brook To meet his favourite's wrathful look. Thy loving lord would even die Thy fancy, Queen, to gratify, And never could he arm his breast To answer nay to thy request. Listen and learn, O dull of sense, Thine all-resistless influence. Gems he will offer, pearls and gold: Refuse his gifts, be stern and cold. Those proffered boons at length recall, And claim them till he grants thee all. And O my lady, high in bliss, With heedful thought forget not this. When from the ground his queen he lifts And grants again the promised gifts, Bind him with oaths he cannot break And thy demands unflnching, make. That Rama travel to the wild Five years and nine from home exiled, And Bharat, best of all who reign, The empire of the land obtain. For when this term of years has fled Over the banished Rama's head, Thy royal son to vigour grown And rooted firm will stand alone. The king, I know, is well inclined, And this the hour to move his mind. Be bold: the threatened rite prevent, And force the king from his intent."

The wicked queen her speech renewed, When rolling on the earth she viewed Ikshvaku's son, Ayodhya's king, For his dear Rama sorrowing: "Why, by a simple promise bound, Liest thou prostrate on the ground, As though a grievous sin dismayed Thy spirit! Why so sore afraid? Keep still thy word. The righteous deem That truth, mid duties, is supreme: And now in truth and honour's name I bid thee own the binding claim. Saivya, a king whom earth obeyed, Once to a hawk a promise made, Gave to the bird his flesh and bone, And by his truth made heaven his own.(277) Alarka, when a Brahman famed For Scripture lore his promise claimed, Tore from his head his bleeding eyes And unreluctant gave the prize. His narrow bounds prescribed restrain The Rivers' Lord, the mighty main, Who, though his waters boil and rave, Keeps faithful to the word he gave. Truth all religion comprehends, Through all the world its might extends: In truth alone is justice placed, On truth the words of God are based: A life in truth unchanging past Will bring the highest bliss at last. If thou the right would still pursue, Be constant to thy word and true: Let me thy promise fruitful see, For boons, O King, proceed from thee. Now to preserve thy righteous fame, And yielding to my earnest claim-- Thrice I repeat it--send thy child, Thy Rama, to the forest wild. But if the boon thou still deny, Before thy face, forlorn, I die."

"The counselor we now behold Of King Sugriva righteous-souled. His face I long have yearned to see, And now his envoy comes to me With sweetest words in courteous phrase Answer this mighty lord who slays His foemen, by Sugriva sent, This Vanar chief most eloquent. For one whose words so sweetly flow The whole Rig-veda(547) needs must know, And in his well-trained memory store The Yajush and the Saman's lore. He must have bent his faithful ear All grammar's varied rules to hear. For his long speech how well he spoke! In all its length no rule he broke. In eye, on brow, in all his face The keenest look no guile could trace. No change of hue, no pose of limb Gave sign that aught was false in him. Concise, unfaltering, sweet and clear, Without a word to pain the ear. From chest to throat, nor high nor low, His accents came in measured flow. How well he spoke with perfect art That wondrous speech that charmed the heart, With finest skill and order graced In words that knew nor pause nor haste! That speech, with consonants that spring From the three seats of uttering,(548) Would charm the spirit of a foe Whose sword is raised for mortal blow. How may a ruler's plan succeed Who lacks such envoy good at need? How fail, if one whose mind is stored With gifts so rare assist his lord? What plans can fail, with wisest speech Of envoy's lips to further each?"

Heir of high bliss, my choice is made, Nor can I from my will be stayed. Doubt not; the earth will yield me roots, These will I eat, and woodland fruits; And as with thee I wander there I will not bring thee grief or care. I long, when thou, wise lord, art nigh, All fearless, with delighted eye To gaze upon the rocky hill, The lake, the fountain, and the rill; To sport with thee, my limbs to cool, In some pure lily-covered pool, While the white swan's and mallard's wings Are plashing in the water-springs. So would a thousand seasons flee Like one sweet day, if spent with thee. Without my lord I would not prize A home with Gods above the skies: Without my lord, my life to bless, Where could be heaven or happiness? Forbid me not: with thee I go The tangled wood to tread. There will I live with thee, as though This roof were o'er my head. My will for thine shall be resigned; Thy feet my steps shall guide. Thou, only thou, art in my mind: I heed not all beside. Thy heart shall ne'er by me be grieved; Do not my prayer deny: Take me, dear lord; of thee bereaved Thy Sita swears to die." These words the duteous lady spake, Nor would he yet consent His faithful wife with him to take To share his banishment. He soothed her with his gentle speech; To change her will he strove; And much he said the woes to teach Of those in wilds who rove.

While Lakshman's younger brother, dread Satrughna, thus to Bharat said, Came to the fronting door, arrayed In glittering robes, the hump-back maid. There she, with sandal-oil besmeared, In garments meet for queens appeared: And lustre to her form was lent By many a gem and ornament. She girdled with her broidered zone, And many a chain about her thrown, Showed like a female monkey round Whose body many a string is bound. When on that cause of evil fell The quick eye of the sentinel, He grasped her in his ruthless hold, And hastening in, Satrughna told: "Here is the wicked pest," he cried, "Through whom the king thy father died, And Rama wanders in the wood: Do with her as thou deemest good." The warder spoke: and every word Satrughna's breast to fury stirred: He called the servants, all and each. And spake in wrath his hasty speech: "This is the wretch my sire who slew, And misery on my brothers drew: Let her this day obtain the meed, Vile sinner, of her cruel deed." He spake; and moved by fury laid His mighty hand upon the maid, Who as her fellows ringed her round, Made with her cries the hall resound. Soon as the gathered women viewed Satrughna in his angry mood, Their hearts disturbed by sudden dread, They turned and from his presence fled. "His rage," they cried, "on us will fall, And ruthless, he will slay us all. Come, to Kausalya let us flee: Our hope, our sure defence is she, Approved by all, of virtuous mind, Compassionate, and good, and kind."

"I strove to soothe and lull to rest The fury of his troubled breast: "Well art thou come, dear lord," I cried. "By whose strong arm thy foe has died. Forlorn I languished here, but now My saviour and defence art thou. Once more receive this regal shade(565) Like the full moon in heaven displayed; And let the chouries,(566) thus restored, Wave glorious o'er the rightful lord. I kept my watch, thy word obeyed, And by the cave a year I stayed. But when I saw that stream of blood Rush from the cavern in a flood, My sad heart broken with dismay, And every wandering sense astray, I barred the entrance with a stone,-- A crag from some high mountain thrown-- Turned from the spot I watched in vain, And to Kishkindha came again. My deep distress and downcast mien By citizen and lord were seen. They made me king against my will: Forgive me if the deed was ill. True as I ever was I see My honoured king once more in thee; I only ruled a while the state When thou hadst left us desolate. This town with people, lords, and lands, Lay as a trust in guardian hands: And now, my gracious lord, accept The kingdom which thy servant kept. Forgive me, victor of the foe, Nor let thy wrath against me glow. See joining suppliant hands I pray, And at thy feet my head I lay. Believe my words: against my will The royal seat they made me fill. Unkinged they saw the city, hence They made me lord for her defence."

As thus the monarch wept and wailed, And maddening grief his heart assailed, The sun had sought his resting-place, And night was closing round apace. But yet the moon-crowned night could bring No comfort to the wretched king. As still he mourned with burning sighs And fixed his gaze upon the skies: "O Night whom starry fires adorn, I long not for the coming morn. Be kind and show some mercy: see, My suppliant hands are raised to thee. Nay, rather fly with swifter pace; No longer would I see the face Of Queen Kaikeyi, cruel, dread, Who brings this woe upon mine head." Again with suppliant hands he tried To move the queen, and wept and sighed: "To me, unhappy me, inclined To good, sweet dame, thou shouldst be kind; Whose life is well-nigh fled, who cling To thee for succour, me thy king. This, only this, is all my claim: Have mercy, O my lovely dame. None else have I to take my part, Have mercy: thou art good at heart. Hear, lady of the soft black eye, And win a name that ne'er shall die: Let Rama rule this glorious land, The gift of thine imperial hand. O lady of the dainty waist, With eyes and lips of beauty graced, Please Rama, me, each saintly priest, Bharat, and all from chief to least." She heard his wild and mournful cry, She saw the tears his speech that broke, Saw her good husband's reddened eye, But, cruel still, no word she spoke. His eyes upon her face he bent, And sought for mercy, but in vain: She claimed his darling's banishment, He swooned upon the ground again.

"Woe! woe!" from the sad monarch burst, In surging floods of grief immersed; Then swooning, with his wits astray, Upon the gold-wrought couch he lay, And Rama raised the aged king: But the stern queen, unpitying, Checked not her needless words, nor spared The hero for all speed prepared, But urged him with her bitter tongue, Like a good horse with lashes stung, She spoke her shameful speech. Serene He heard the fury of the queen, And to her words so vile and dread Gently, unmoved in mind, he said: "I would not in this world remain A grovelling thrall to paltry gain, But duty's path would fain pursue, True as the saints themselves are true. From death itself I would not fly My father's wish to gratify, What deed soe'er his loving son May do to please him, think it done. Amid all duties, Queen, I count This duty first and paramount, That sons, obedient, aye fulfil Their honoured fathers' word and will. Without his word, if thou decree, Forth to the forest will I flee, And there shall fourteen years be spent Mid lonely wilds in banishment. Methinks thou couldst not hope to find One spark of virtue in my mind, If thou, whose wish is still my lord, Hast for this grace the king implored. This day I go, but, ere we part, Must cheer my Sita's tender heart, To my dear mother bid farewell; Then to the woods, a while to dwell. With thee, O Queen, the care must rest That Bharat hear his sire's behest, And guard the land with righteous sway, For such the law that lives for aye."

Will find no faithful followers heed Their master in his hour of need. The friend on whom he most relies, In danger, from a monarch flies, Imperious in his high estate, Conceited, proud, and passionate; Who ne'er to state affairs attends With wholesome fear when woe impends Most weak and worthless as the grass, Soon from his sway the realm will pass. For rotting wood a use is found, For clods and dust that strew the ground, But when a king has lost his sway, Useless he falls, and sinks for aye. As raiment by another worn, As faded garland crushed and torn, So is, unthroned, the proudest king, Though mighty once, a useless thing. But he who every sense subdues And each event observant views, Rewards the good and keeps from wrong, Shall reign secure and flourish long. Though lulled in sleep his senses lie He watches with a ruler's eye, Untouched by favour, ire, and hate, And him the people celebrate. O weak of mind, without a trace Of virtues that a king should grace, Who hast not learnt from watchful spy That low in death the giants lie. Scorner of others, but enchained By every base desire, By thee each duty is disdained Which time and place require. Soon wilt thou, if thou canst not learn, Ere yet it be too late, The good from evil to discern, Fall from thy high estate." As thus she ceased not to upbraid The king with cutting speech, And every fault to view displayed, Naming and marking each, The monarch of the sons of night, Of wealth and power possessed, And proud of his imperial might, Long pondered in his breast.

Cast not away in hopeless strife Thy realm, thy bliss, thine own dear life. O Ravan of his might beware, A God of Death who will not spare. That bow he knows so well to draw Is the destroyer's flaming jaw, And with his shafts which flash and glow He slays the armies of the foe. Thou ne'er canst win--the thought forego-- From the safe guard of shaft and bow King Janak's child, the dear delight Of Rama unapproached in might. The spouse of Raghu's son, confessed Lion of men with lion chest,-- Dearer than life, through good and ill Devoted to her husband's will, The slender-waisted, still must be From thy polluting touches free. Far better grasp with venturous hand The flame to wildest fury fanned. What, King of giants, canst thou gain From this attempt so wild and vain? If in the fight his eye he bend Upon thee, Lord, thy days must end, So life and bliss and royal sway, Lost beyond hope, will pass away. Summon each lord of high estate, And chief, Vibhishan(490) to debate. With peers in lore of counsel tried Consider, reason, and decide Scan strength and weakness, count the cost, What may be gained and what be lost. Examine and compare aright Thy proper power and Rama's might, Then if thy weal be still thy care, Thou wilt be prudent and forbear. O giant King, the contest shun, Thy force is all too weak The lord of Kosal's mighty son In deadly fray to seek. King of the hosts that rove at night, O hear what I advise: My prudent counsel do not slight; Be patient and be wise."

"Videhan Queen, be sure of this,-- And at the thought thy fear dismiss,-- Thy husband's mightier power defies All Gods and angels of the skies, Gandharvas, and the sons of light, Serpents, and rovers of the night. I tell thee, of the sons of earth, Of Gods who boast celestial birth, Of beasts and birds and giant hosts, Of demigods, Gandharvas, ghosts, Of awful fiends, O thou most fair, There lives not one whose heart would dare To meet thy Rama in the fight, Like Indra's self unmatched in might. Such idle words thou must not say Thy Rama lives whom none may slay. I will not, cannot leave thee here In the wild wood till he be near. The mightiest strength can ne'er withstand His eager force, his vigorous hand. No, not the triple world allied With all the immortal Gods beside. Dismiss thy fear, again take heart, Let all thy doubt and woe depart. Thy lord, be sure, will soon be here And bring thee back that best of deer. Not his, not his that mournful cry, Nor haply came it from the sky. Some giant's art was busy there And framed a castle based on air. A precious pledge art thou, consigned To me by him of noblest mind, Nor can I fairest dame, forsake The pledge which Rama bade me take. Upon our heads, O Queen, we drew The giants' hate when Rama slew Their chieftain Khara, and the shade Of Janasthan in ruin laid. Through all this mighty wood they rove With varied cries from grove to grove On rapine bent they wander here: But O, dismiss thy causeless fear."

"Hear me," he cried, "great chieftain, tell What in the olden time befell,-- A secret tale which, long suppressed, Lies prisoned only in my breast. One day--a day I never forget-- Fair Punjikasthala(922) I met, When, radiant as a flame of fire, She sought the palace of the Sire. In passion's eager grasp I tore From her sweet limbs the robes she wore, And heedless of her prayers and cries Strained to my breast the vanquised prize. Like Nalini(923) with soil distained, The mansion of the Sire she gained, And weeping made the outrage known To Brahma on his heavenly throne. He in his wrath pronounced a curse,-- That lord who made the universe: "If, Ravan, thou a second time Be guilty of so foul a crime, Thy head in shivers shall be rent: Be warned, and dread the punishment." Awed by the threat of vengeance still I force not Sita's stubborn will. Terrific as the sea in might: My steps are like the Storm-Gods' flight; But Rama knows not this, or he Had never sought to war with me. Where is the man would idly brave The lion in his mountain cave, And wake him when with slumbering eyes Grim, terrible as Death, he lies? No, blinded Rama knows me not: Ne'er has he seen mine arrows shot; Ne'er marked them speeding to their aim Like snakes with cloven tongues of flame. On him those arrows will I turn, Whose fiery points shall rend and burn. Quenched by my power when I assail The glory of his might shall fail, As stars before the sun grow dim And yield their feeble light to him."

Then thus to King Bhagirath said Brahma, when, coming at the head Of all his bright celestial train, He saw those spirits freed from stain: "Well done! great Prince of men, well done! Thy kinsmen bliss and heaven have won. The sons of Sagar mighty-souled, Are with the Blest, as Gods, enrolled, Long as the Ocean's flood shall stand Upon the border of the land, So long shall Sagar's sons remain, And, godlike, rank in heaven retain. Ganga thine eldest child shall be, Called from thy name Bhagirathi; Named also--for her waters fell From heaven and flow through earth and hell-- Tripathaga, stream of the skies, Because three paths she glorifies. And, mighty King, 'tis given thee now To free thee and perform thy vow. No longer, happy Prince, delay Drink-offerings to thy kin to pay. For this the holiest Sagar sighed, But mourned the boon he sought denied. Then Ansuman, dear Prince! although No brighter name the world could show, Strove long the heavenly flood to gain To visit earth, but strove in vain. Nor was she by the sages' peer, Blest with all virtues, most austere, Thy sire Dilipa, hither brought, Though with fierce prayers the boon he sought. But thou, O King, earned success, And won high fame which God will bless. Through thee, O victor of thy foes, On earth this heavenly Ganga flows, And thou hast gained the meed divine That waits on virtue such as thine. Now in her ever holy wave Thyself, O best of heroes, lave: So shalt thou, pure from every sin, The blessed fruit of merit win. Now for thy kin who died of yore The meet libations duly pour. Above the heavens I now ascend: Depart, and bliss thy steps attend."

The damsel's breast with fury burned: She answered, as the gift she spurned: "What time, O simple Queen, is this For idle dreams of fancied bliss? Hast thou not sense thy state to know, Engulfed in seas of whelming woe; Sick as I am with grief and pain My lips can scarce a laugh restrain To see thee hail with ill-timed joy A peril mighty to destroy. I mourn for one so fondly blind: What woman of a prudent mind Would welcome, e'en as thou hast done, The lordship of a rival's son, Rejoiced to find her secret foe Empowered, like death, to launch the blow; I see that Rama still must fear Thy Bharat, to his throne too near. Hence is my heart disquieted, For those who fear are those we dread. Lakshman, the mighty bow who draws, With all his soul serves Rama's cause; And chains as strong to Bharat bind Satrughna, with his heart and mind, Now next to Rama, lady fair, Thy Bharat is the lawful heir: And far remote, I ween, the chance That might the younger two advance. Yes, Queen, 'tis Rama that I dread, Wise, prompt, in warlike science bred; And oh, I tremble when I think Of thy dear child on ruin's brink. Blest with a lofty fate is she, Kausalya; for her son will be Placed, when the moon and Pushya meet, By Brahmans on the royal seat, Thou as a slave in suppliant guise Must wait upon Kausalya's eyes, With all her wealth and bliss secured And glorious from her foes assured. Her slave with us who serve thee, thou Wilt see thy son to Rama bow, And Sita's friends exult o'er all, While Bharat's wife shares Bharat's fall."

The people, when the morn shone fair, Arose to find no Rama there. Then fear and numbing grief subdued The senses of the multitude. The woe-born tears were running fast As all around their eyes they cast, And sadly looked, but found no trace Of Rama, searching every place. Bereft of Rama good and wise, With drooping cheer and weeping eyes, Each woe-distracted sage gave vent To sorrow in his wild lament: "Woe worth the sleep that stole our sense With its beguiling influence, That now we look in vain for him Of the broad chest and stalwart limb! How could the strong-armed hero, thus Deceiving all, abandon us? His people so devoted see, Yet to the woods, a hermit, flee? How can he, wont our hearts to cheer, As a fond sire his children dear,-- How can the pride of Raghu's race Fly from us to some desert place! Here let us all for death prepare, Or on the last great journey fare;(320) Of Rama our dear lord bereft, What profit in our lives is left? Huge trunks of trees around us lie, With roots and branches sere and dry, Come let us set these logs on fire And throw our bodies on the pyre. What shall we speak? How can we say We followed Rama on his way, The mighty chief whose arm is strong, Who sweetly speaks, who thinks no wrong? Ayodhya's town with sorrow dumb, Without our lord will see us come, And hopeless misery will strike Elder, and child, and dame alike. Forth with that peerless chief we came, Whose mighty heart is aye the same: How, reft of him we love, shall we Returning dare that town to see?"