Ramayana on Hope

A while they sat, each lip compressed, Then Bharat thus his chief addressed: "My mother here was made content; To me was given the government. This now, my lord, I yield to thee: Enjoy it, from all trouble free. Like a great bridge the floods have rent, Impetuous in their wild descent, All other hands but thine in vain Would strive the burthen to maintain. In vain the ass with steeds would vie, With Tarkshya,(381) birds that wing the sky; So, lord of men, my power is slight To rival thine imperial might. Great joys his happy days attend On whom the hopes of men depend, But wretched is the life he leads Who still the aid of others needs. And if the seed a man has sown, With care and kindly nurture grown, Rear its huge trunk and spring in time Too bulky for a dwarf to climb, Yet, with perpetual blossom gay, No fruit upon its boughs display, Ne'er can that tree, thus nursed in vain, Approval of the virtuous gain. The simile is meant to be Applied, O mighty-armed, to thee, Because, our lord and leader, thou Protectest not thy people now. O, be the longing wish fulfilled Of every chief of house and guild, To see again their sun-bright lord Victorious to his realm restored! As thou returnest through the crowd Let roars of elephants be loud. And each fair woman lift her voice And in her new-found king rejoice."

"I Rama's wife, on that sad day, By Ravan's arm was borne away, Seized, while I sat and feared no ill, By him who wears each form at will. A helpless captive, left forlorn To demons' threats and taunts and scorn, Here for my lord I weep and sigh, And worn with woe would gladly die. For what is life to me afar From Rama of the mighty car? The robber in his fruitless sin Would hope his captive's love to win. My meaner foot shall never touch The demon whom I loathe so much. The senseless fool! he knows me not, Nor the proud soul his love would blot. Yea, limb from limb will I be rent, But never to his prayer consent; Be burnt and perish in the fire, But never meet his base desire. My lord was grateful, true and wise, And looked on woe with pitying eyes; But now, recoiling from the strife He pities not his captive wife. Alone in Janasthan he slew The thousands of the Rakshas crew. His arm was strong, his heart was brave, Why comes he not to free and save? Why blame my lord in vain surmise? He knows not where his lady lies. O, if he knew, o'er land and sea His feet were swift to set me free; This Lanka, girdled by the deep, Would fall consumed, a shapeless heap, And from each ruined home would rise A Rakshas widow's groans and cries."

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."

"Yea, O my lord," the monarch said, And took the vase upon his head, The gift of Gods, of fine gold wrought, With store of heavenly liquor fraught. He honoured, filled with transport new, That wondrous being, fair to view, As round the envoy of the God With reverential steps he trod.(110) His errand done, that form of light Arose and vanished from the sight. High rapture filled the monarch's soul, Possessed of that celestial bowl, As when a man by want distressed With unexpected wealth is blest. And rays of transport seemed to fall Illuminating bower and hall, As when the autumn moon rides high, And floods with lovely light the sky. Quick to the ladies' bower he sped, And thus to Queen Kausalya said: "This genial nectar take and quaff," He spoke, and gave the lady half. Part of the nectar that remained Sumitra from his hand obtained. He gave, to make her fruitful too, Kaikeyi half the residue. A portion yet remaining there, He paused awhile to think. Then gave Sumitra, with her share. The remnant of the drink. Thus on each queen of those fair three A part the king bestowed, And with sweet hope a child to see Their yearning bosoms glowed. The heavenly bowl the king supplied Their longing souls relieved, And soon, with rapture and with pride, Each royal dame conceived. He gazed upon each lady's face, And triumphed as he gazed, As Indra in his royal place By Gods and spirits praised.

He spoke: the conquering Lakshman heard, Obedient to his brother's word. Raised by his toil a cottage stood To shelter Rama in the wood, Of ample size, with leaves o'erlaid, Of hardened earth the walls were made. The strong bamboos his hands had felled For pillars fair the roof upheld, And rafter, beam, and lath supplied Well interwrought from side to side. Then Sami(451) boughs he deftly spread Enlaced with knotted cord o'erhead, Well thatched above from ridge to eaves With holy grass, and reed, and leaves. The mighty chief with careful toil Had cleared the ground and smoothed the soil Where now, his loving labour done, Rose a fair home for Raghu's son. Then when his work was duly wrought, Godavaris sweet stream he sought, Bathed, plucked the lilies, and a store Of fruit and berries homeward bore. Then sacrifice he duly paid, And wooed the Gods their hopes to aid, And then to Rama proudly showed The cot prepared for his abode. Then Raghu's son with Sita gazed Upon the home his hands had raised, And transport thrilled his bosom through His leafy hermitage to view. The glorious son of Raghu round His brother's neck his arms enwound, And thus began his sweet address Of deep-felt joy and gentleness: "Well pleased am I, dear lord, to see This noble work performed by thee. For this,--sole grace I can bestow,-- About thy neck mine arms I throw. So wise art thou, thy breast is filled With grateful thoughts, in duty skilled, Our mighty father, free from stain, In thee, his offspring, lives again."

He ceased: and King Sugriva tried To calm his grief, and thus replied: "'Be to thy nobler nature true, Nor let despair thy soul subdue. This cloud of causeless woe dispel, For all as yet has prospered well, And we have traced thy queen, and know The dwelling of our Rakshas foe. Arise, consult: thy task must be To cast a bridge athwart the sea, The city of our foe to reach That crowns the mountain by the beach; And when our feet that isle shall tread, Rejoice and deem thy foeman dead. The sea unbridged, his walls defy Both fiends and children of the sky, Though at the fierce battalions' head Lord Indra's self the onset led. Yea, victory is thine before The long bridge touch the farther shore, So fleet and fierce and strong are these Who limb them as their fancies please. Away with grief and sad surmise That mar the noblest enterprise, And with their weak suspicion blight The sage's plan, the hero's might. Come, this degenerate weakness spurn, And bid thy dauntless heart return, For each fair hope by grief is crossed When those we love are dead or lost. Arise, O best of those who know, Arm for the giant's overthrow. None in the triple world I see Who in the fight may equal thee; None who before thy face may stand And brave the bow that arms thy hand, Trust to these mighty Vanars: they With full success thy trust will pay, When thou shalt reach the robber's hold, And loving arms round Sita fold."

Then Matali to Rama cried: "Let other arms the day decide. Why wilt thou strive with useless toil And see his might thy efforts foil? Launch at the foe thy dart whose fire Was kindled by the Almighty Sire." He ceased: and Raghu's son obeyed: Upon his string the hero laid An arrow, like a snake that hissed. Whose fiery flight had never missed: The arrow Saint Agastya gave And blessed the chieftain's life to save That dart the Eternal Father made The Monarch of the Gods to aid; By Brahma's self on him bestowed When forth to fight Lord Indra rode. 'Twas feathered with the rushing wind; The glowing sun and fire combined To the keen point their splendour lent; The shaft, ethereal element, By Meru's hill and Mandar, pride Of mountains, had its weight supplied. He laid it on the twisted cord, He turned the point at Lanka's lord, And swift the limb-dividing dart Pierced the huge chest and cleft the heart, And dead he fell upon the plain Like Vritra by the Thunderer slain. The Rakahas host when Ravan fell Sent forth a wild terrific yell, Then turned and fled, all hope resigned, Through Lanka's gates, nor looked behind. His voice each joyous Vanar raised, And Rama, conquering Rama, praised. Soft from celestial minstrels came The sound of music and acclaim. Soft, fresh, and cool, a rising breeze Brought odours from the heavenly trees, And ravishing the sight and smell A wondrous rain of blossoms fell: And voices breathed round Raghu's son: "Champion of Gods, well done, well done."

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."

She ceased: and Lakshman gave assent, Won by her gentle argument. So Tara's pleading, just and mild, His softening heart had reconciled. His altered mood Sugriva saw, And cast aside the fear and awe Like raiment heavy with the rain Which on his troubled soul had lain. Then quickly to the ground he threw His flowery garland, bright of hue, Which round his royal neck he wore, And, sobered, was himself once more. Then turning to the princely man In soothing words the king began: "My glory, wealth, and royal sway To other hands had passed away: But Rama to my rescue came, And gave me back my power and fame. O Lakshman, say, whose grateful heart Could nurse the hope to pay in part, By service of a life, the deed Of Rama sprung of heavenly seed? His foeman Ravan shall be slain, And Sita shall be his again. The hero's side I will not leave, But he the conquest shall achieve. What need of help has he who drew His bow, and one great arrow flew Through seven tall trees, a mountain rent, And cleft the earth with force unspent? What aid needs he who shook his bow, And at the sound the earth below With hill and wood and rooted rock Quaked feverous with the thunder shock? Yet all my legions will I bring, And follow close the warrior king Marching on his impetuous way Fierce Ravan and his hosts to slay. If I be guilty of offence, Careless through love or negligence, Let him his loyal slave forgive; For error cleaves to all who live."

"I heard," she said, "thy bitter cry, Heard Ravan's speech and thy reply, For, hiding in the thicket near, No word or tone escaped mine ear. When Ravan hastened forth I bent My steps to follow as he went, And learnt the secret cause that drove The monarch from the Asoka grove. Believe me, Queen, thou needst not weep For Rama slaughtered in his sleep. Thy lion lord of men defies By day attack, by night surprise. Can even giants slay with ease Vast hosts who fight with brandished trees, For whom, with eye that never sleeps, His constant watch thy Rama keeps? Lord of the mighty arm and chest, Of earthly warriors first and best, Whose fame through all the regions rings, Proud scion of a hundred kings; Who guards his life and loves to lend His saving succour to a friend: Whose bow no hand but his can strain,-- Thy lord, thy Rama is not slain. Obedient to his master's will, A great magician, trained in ill, With deftest art surpassing thought That marvellous illusion wrought. Let rising hope thy grief dispel: Look up and smile, for all is well, And gentle Lakshmi, Fortune's Queen, Regards thee with a favouring mien. Thy Rama with his Vanar train Has thrown a bridge athwart the main, Has led his countless legions o'er, And ranged them on this southern shore. These eyes have seen the hero stand Girt by his hosts on Lanka's strand, And breathless spies each moment bring Fresh tidings to the giant king; And every peer and lord of state Is called to counsel and debate."

"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."

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."

Thus like a helpless mourner, bent By sorrow, Rama made lament; And with wise counsel Lakshman tried To soothe his care, and thus replied: "O best of men, thy grief oppose, Nor sink beneath thy weight of woes. Not thus despond the great and pure And brave like thee, but still endure. Reflect what anguish wrings the heart When loving souls are forced to part; And, mindful of the coming pain, Thy love within thy breast restrain. For earth, though cooled by wandering streams, Lies scorched beneath the midday beams. Ravan his steps to hell may bend, Or lower yet in flight descend; But be thou sure, O Raghu's son, Avenging death he shall not shun. Rise, Rama, rise: the search begin, And track the giant foul with sin. Then shall the fiend, though far he fly, Resign his prey or surely die. Yea, though the trembling monster hide With Sita close to Diti's(535) side, E'en there, unless he yield the prize, Slain by this wrathful hand he dies. Thy heart with strength and courage stay, And cast this weakling mood away. Our fainting hopes in vain revive Unless with firm resolve we strive. The zeal that fires the toiler's breast Mid earthly powers is first and best. Zeal every check and bar defies, And wins at length the loftiest prize, In woe and danger, toil and care, Zeal never yields to weak despair. With zealous heart thy task begin, And thou once more thy spouse shalt win. Cast fruitless sorrow from thy soul, Nor let this love thy heart control. Forget not all thy sacred lore, But be thy noble self once more."

When Rama heard the words he spoke Again he sank beneath the stroke, And with a bosom anguish-fraught Himself the lovely river sought. There standing on the shelving side, "O Sita, where art thou?" he cried. No spirit voice an answer gave, No murmur from the trembling wave Of sweet Godavari declared The outrage which the fiend had dared. "O speak!" the pitying spirits cried, But yet the stream their prayer denied, Nor dared she, coldly mute, relate To the sad chief his darling's fate Of Ravan's awful form she thought, And the dire deed his arm had wrought, And still withheld by fear dismayed, The tale for which the mourner prayed. When hope was none, his heart to cheer, That the bright stream his cry would hear While sorrow for his darling tore His longing soul he spake once more: "Though I have sought with tears and sighs Godarvari no word replies, O say, what answer can I frame To Janak, father of my dame? Or how before her mother stand Leading no Sita by the hand? Where is my loyal love who went Forth with her lord to banishment? Her faith to me she nobly held Though from my realm and home expelled,-- A hermit, nursed on woodland fare,-- She followed still and soothed my care. Of all my friends am I bereft, Nor is my faithful consort left. How slowly will the long nights creep While comfortless I wake and weep! O, if my wife may yet be found, With humble love I'll wander round This Janasthan, Prasravan's hill, Mandakini's delightful rill. See how the deer with gentle eyes Look on my face and sympathize. I mark their soft expression: each Would soothe me, if it could, with speech."

"Dismiss the hope of conquering one So stern and strong as Raghu's son. In due control each sense he keeps With constant care that never sleeps. Whose daring heart has e'er conceived The exploit Hanuman achieved, Across the fearful sea to spring, The tributary rivers' king? O Rakshas lords, in time be wise, Nor Rama's matchless power despise. And say, what evil had the son Of Raghu to our monarch done, Who stole the dame he loved so well And keeps her in his citadel; If Khara in his foolish pride Encountered Rama, fought, and died, May not the meanest love his life And guard it in the deadly strife? The Maithil dame, O Rakshas King, Sore peril to thy realm will bring. Restore her while there yet is time, Nor let us perish for thy crime. O, let the Maithil lady go Ere the avenger bend his bow To ruin with his arrowy showers Our Lanka with her gates and towers. Let Janak's child again be free Ere the wild Vanars cross the sea, In their resistless might assail Our city and her ramparts scale. Ah, I conjure thee by the ties Of brotherhood, be just and wise. In all my thoughts thy good I seek, And thus my prudent counsel speak. Let captive Sita be restored Ere, fierce as autumn's sun, her lord Send his keen arrows from the string To drink the life-blood of our king. This fury from thy soul dismiss, The bane of duty, peace, and bliss. Seek duty's path and walk therein, And joy and endless glory win. Restore the captive, ere we feel The piercing point of Rama's steel. O spare thy city, spare the lives Of us, our friends, our sons and wives."

With joy that sprang from hope restored To Rama spake the Vanar lord: "I know, by wise Hanuman taught, Why thou the lonely wood hast sought. Where with thy brother Lakshman thou Hast sojourned, bound by hermit vow; Have heard how Sita, Janak's child, Was stolen in the pathless wild, How by a roving Rakshas she Weeping was reft from him and thee; How, bent on death, the giant slew The vulture king, her guardian true, And gave thy widowed breast to know A solitary mourner's woe. But soon, dear Prince, thy heart shall be From every trace of sorrow free; For I thy darling will restore, Lost like the prize of holy lore.(558) Yea, though in heaven the lady dwell, Or prisoned in the depths of hell, My friendly care her way shall track And bring thy ransomed darling back. Let this my promise soothe thy care, Nor doubt the words I truly swear. Saints, fiends, and dwellers of the skies Shall find thy wife a bitter prize, Like the rash child who rues too late The treacherous lure of poisoned cate. No longer, Prince, thy loss deplore: Thy darling wife will I restore. 'Twas she I saw: my heart infers That shrinking form was doubtless hers, Which gaint Ravan, fierce and dread, Bore swiftly through the clouds o'erhead Still writhing in his strict embrace Like helpless queen of serpent race,(559) And from her lips that sad voice came Shrieking thine own and Lakshman's name. High on a hill she saw me stand With comrades twain on either hand. Her outer robe to earth she threw, And with it sent her anklets too. We saw the glittering tokens fall, We found them there and kept them all. These will I bring: perchance thine eyes The treasured spoils will recognize."

This said, the son of Raghu made His dwelling in that pleasant shade Upon the mountain's shelving side That sweetly all his wants supplied. But still the hero's troubled mind No comfort in his woe could find, Yet mourning for his stolen wife Dearer to Rama than his life, Chief when he saw the Lord of Night Rise slowly o'er the eastern height, He tossed upon his leafy bed With eyes by sleep unvisited. Outwelled the tears in ceaseless flow, And every sense was numbed by woe. Each pang that pierced the mourner through Smote Lakshman's faithful bosom too, Who, troubled for his brother's sake, With wisest words the prince bespake: "Arise, my brother, and be strong: Thy hero heart has mourned too long. Thou knowest well that tears and sighs Will mar the mightiest enterprise. Thine was the soul that loved to dare: To serve the Gods was still thy care; And ne'er may sorrow's sting subdue A heart so resolute and true. How canst thou hope to slay in fight The giant cruel in his might? Unwearied must the champion be Who strives with such a foe as he. Tear out this sorrow by the root; Again be bold and resolute. Arise, my brother, and subdue The demon and his wicked crew. Thou canst destroy the earth, her seas, Her rooted hills and giant trees Unseated by thy furious hand: And shall one fiend thy power withstand? Wait through this season of the rain Till suns of autumn dry the plain, Then shall thy giant foe, and all His host and realm, before thee fall. I wake thy valour that has slept Amid the tears thine eyes have wept; As drops of oil in worship raise The dormant flame to sudden blaze."

"As to the saint I thus complained My bitter tears fell unrestrained. He pondered for a while, then broke The silence, and thus calmly spoke: "Forth from thy sides again shall spring, O royal bird, each withered wing, And all thine ancient power and might Return to thee with strength of sight. A noble deed has been foretold In prophecy pronounced of old: Nor dark to me are future things, Seen by the light which penance brings. A glorious king shall rise and reign, The pride of old Ikshvaku's strain. A good and valiant prince, his heir, Shall the dear name of Rama bear. With his brave brother Lakshman he An exile in the woods shall be, Where Ravan, whom no God may slay,(777) Shall steal his darling wife away. In vain the captive will be wooed With proffered love and dainty food, She will not hear, she will not taste: But, lest her beauty wane and waste, Lord Indra's self will come to her With heavenly food, and minister. Then envoys of the Vanar race By Rama sent will seek this place. To them, O roamer of the air, The lady's fate shalt thou declare. Thou must not move--so maimed thou art Thou canst not from this spot depart. Await the day and moment due, And thy burnt wings will sprout anew. I might this day the boon bestow And bid again thy pinions grow, But wait until thy saving deed The nations from their fear have freed. Then for this glorious aid of thine The princes of Ikshvaku's line, And Gods above and saints below Eternal gratitude shall owe. Fain would mine aged eyes behold That pair of whom my lips have told, Yet wearied here I must not stay, But leave my frame and pass away."

When Rama reached the southern bank, King Guha's heart with sorrow sank: He with Sumantra talked, and spent With his deep sorrow, homeward went. Sumantra, as the king decreed, Yoked to the car each noble steed, And to Ayodhya's city sped With his sad heart disquieted. On lake and brook and scented grove His glances fell, as on he drove: City and village came in view As o'er the road his coursers flew. On the third day the charioteer, When now the hour of night was near, Came to Ayodhya's gate, and found The city all in sorrow drowned. To him, in spirit quite cast down, Forsaken seemed the silent town, And by the rush of grief oppressed He pondered in his mournful breast: "Is all Ayodhya burnt with grief, Steed, elephant, and man, and chief? Does her loved Rama's exile so Afflict her with the fires of woe?" Thus as he mused, his steeds flew fast, And swiftly through the gate he passed. On drove the charioteer, and then In hundreds, yea in thousands, men Ran to the car from every side, And, "Rama, where is Rama?" cried. Sumantra said: "My chariot bore The duteous prince to Ganga's shore; I left him there at his behest, And homeward to Ayodhya pressed." Soon as the anxious people knew That he was o'er the flood they drew Deep sighs, and crying, Rama! all Wailed, and big tears began to fall. He heard the mournful words prolonged, As here and there the people thronged: "Woe, woe for us, forlorn, undone, No more to look on Raghu's son! His like again we ne'er shall see, Of heart so true, of hand so free, In gifts, in gatherings for debate, When marriage pomps we celebrate, What should we do? What earthly thing Can rest, or hope, or pleasure bring?"

When I, by love of duty stirred, That touching lamentation heard, Pierced to the heart by sudden woe, I threw to earth my shafts and bow. My heart was full of grief and dread As swiftly to the place I sped, Where, by my arrow wounded sore, A hermit lay on Sarju's shore. His matted hair was all unbound, His pitcher empty on the ground, And by the fatal arrow pained, He lay with dust and gore distained. I stood confounded and amazed: His dying eyes to mine he raised, And spoke this speech in accents stern, As though his light my soul would burn: "How have I wronged thee, King, that I Struck by thy mortal arrow die? The wood my home, this jar I brought, And water for my parents sought. This one keen shaft that strikes me through Slays sire and aged mother too. Feeble and blind, in helpless pain, They wait for me and thirst in vain. They with parched lips their pangs must bear, And hope will end in blank despair. Ah me, there seems no fruit in store For holy zeal or Scripture lore, Or else ere now my sire would know That his dear son is lying low. Yet, if my mournful fate he knew, What could his arm so feeble do? The tree, firm-rooted, ne'er may be The guardian of a stricken tree. Haste to my father, and relate While time allows, my sudden fate, Lest he consume thee as the fire Burns up the forest, in his ire. This little path, O King, pursue: My father's cot thou soon wilt view. There sue for pardon to the sage, Lest he should curse thee in his rage. First from the wound extract the dart That kills me with its deadly smart, E'en as the flushed impetuous tide Eats through the river's yielding side."

The monster ceased: the princely pair Heard great Kabandha's eager prayer. Within a mountain cave they sped, Where kindled fire with care they fed. Then Lakshman in his mighty hands Brought ample store of lighted brands, And to a pile of logs applied The flame that ran from side to side. The spreading glow with gentle force Consumed Kabandha's mighty corse, Till the unresting flames had drunk The marrow of the monstrous trunk, As balls of butter melt away Amid the fires that o'er them play. Then from the pyre, like flame that glows Undimmed by cloudy smoke, he rose, In garments pure of spot or speck, A heavenly wreath about his neck. Resplendent in his bright attire He sprang exultant from the pyre. While from neck, arm, and foot was sent The flash of gold and ornament. High on a chariot, bright of hue, Which swans of fairest pinion drew, He filled each region of the air With splendid glow reflected there. Then in the sky he stayed his car And called to Rama from afar: "Hear, chieftain, while my lips explain The means to win thy spouse again. Six plans, O prince, the wise pursue To reach the aims we hold in view.(519) When evils ripening sorely press They load the wretch with new distress, So thou and Lakshman, tried by woe, Have felt at last a fiercer blow, And plunged in bitterest grief to-day Lament thy consort torn away. There is no course but this: attend; Make, best of friends, that chief thy friend. Unless his prospering help thou gain Thy plans and hopes must all be vain. O Rama, hear my words, and seek, Sugriva, for of him I speak. His brother Bali, Indra's son, Expelled him when the fight was won. With four great chieftains, faithful still, He dwells on Rishyamuka's hill.

Then Rama spoke a kind farewell, And hailed the blessings as they fell From Sita's gentle lips; and then, As a young lion from his den Descends the mountain's stony side, So from the hall the hero hied. First Lakshman at the door he viewed Who stood in reverent attitude, Then to the central court he pressed Where watched the friends who loved him best. To all his dear companions there He gave kind looks and greeting fair. On to the lofty car that glowed Like fire the royal tiger strode. Bright as himself its silver shone: A tiger's skin was laid thereon. With cloudlike thunder, as it rolled, It flashed with gems and burnished gold, And, like the sun's meridian blaze, Blinded the eye that none could gaze. Like youthful elephants, tall and strong, Fleet coursers whirled the car along: In such a car the Thousand-eyed Borne by swift horses loves to ride. So like Parjanya,(282) when he flies Thundering through the autumn skies, The hero from the palace sped, As leaves the moon some cloud o'erhead. Still close to Rama Lakshman kept, Behind him to the car he leapt, And, watching with fraternal care, Waved the long chouri's silver hair, As from the palace gate he came Up rose the tumult of acclaim. While loud huzza and jubilant shout Pealed from the gathered myriads out. Then elephants, like mountains vast, And steeds who all their kind surpassed, Followed their lord by hundreds, nay By thousands, led in long array. First marched a band of warriors trained, With sandal dust and aloe stained; Well armed was each with sword and bow, And every breast with hope aglow, And ever, as they onward went, Shouts from the warrior train, And every sweet-toned instrument Prolonged the minstrel strain. On passed the tamer of his foes, While well clad dames, in crowded rows, Each chamber lattice thronged to view, And chaplets on the hero threw.

Then royal Lakshman made reply: "With thee to stand as guardian nigh, Whose faithful soul regards the right, Fearless we well might rest to-night. But how, when Rama lays his head With Sita on his lowly bed,-- How can I sleep? how can I care For life, or aught that's bright and fair? Behold the conquering chief, whose might Is match for Gods and fiends in fight; With Sita now he rests his head Asleep on grass beneath him spread. Won by devotion, text, and prayer, And many a rite performed with care, Chief of our father's sons he shines Well marked, like him, with favouring signs. Brief, brief the monarch's life will be Now his dear son is forced to flee; And quickly will the widowed state Mourn for her lord disconsolate. Each mourner there has wept her fill; The cries of anguish now are still: In the king's hall each dame, o'ercome With weariness of woe is dumb. This first sad night of grief, I ween, Will do to death each sorrowing queen: Scarce is Kausalya left alive; My mother, too, can scarce survive. If when her heart is fain to break, She lingers for Satrughna's sake, Kausalya, mother of the chief, Must sink beneath the chilling grief. That town which countless thousands fill, Whose hearts with love of Rama thrill,-- The world's delight, so rich and fair,-- Grieved for the king, his death will share. The hopes he fondly cherished, crossed Ayodhya's throne to Rama lost,-- With mournful cries, Too late, too late! The king my sire will meet his fate. And when my sire has passed away, Most happy in their lot are they, Allowed, with every pious care, Part in his funeral rites to bear. And O, may we with joy at last,-- These years of forest exile past,-- Turn to Ayodhya's town to dwell With him who keeps his promise well!"

Kausalya's eyes with tears o'erflowed, Weighed down by varied sorrows' load; On her dead lord her gaze she bent, Who lay like fire whose might is spent, Like the great deep with waters dry, Or like the clouded sun on high. Then on her lap she laid his head. And on Kaikeyi looked and said: "Triumphant now enjoy thy reign Without a thorn thy side to pain. Thou hast pursued thy single aim, And killed the king, O wicked dame. Far from my sight my Rama flies, My perished lord has sought the skies. No friend, no hope my life to cheer, I cannot tread the dark path here. Who would forsake her husband, who That God to whom her love is due, And wish to live one hour, but she Whose heart no duty owns, like thee? The ravenous sees no fault: his greed Will e'en on poison blindly feed. Kaikeyi, through a hump-back maid, This royal house in death has laid. King Janak, with his queen, will hear Heart rent like me the tidings drear Of Rama banished by the king, Urged by her impious counselling. No son has he, his age is great, And sinking with the double weight, He for his darling child will pine, And pierced with woe his life resign. Sprung from Videha's monarch, she A sad and lovely devotee, Roaming the wood, unmeet for woe, Will toil and trouble undergo. She in the gloomy night with fear The cries of beast and bird will hear, And trembling in her wild alarm Will cling to Rama's sheltering arm. Ah, little knows my duteous son That I am widowed and undone-- My Rama of the lotus eye, Gone hence, gone hence, alas, to die. Now, as a living wife and true, I, e'en this day, will perish too: Around his form these arms will throw And to the fire with him will go."

He, banished by his angry sire, Roams with his wife in mean attire. This wretch, his Warrior tribe's disgrace Has slain the best of giant race. Harsh, wicked, fierce and greedy-souled, A fool, with senses uncontrolled, No thought of duty stirs his breast: He joys to see the world distressed. He sought the wood with fair pretence Of truthful life and innocence, But his false hand my sister left Mangled, of nose and ears bereft. This Rama's wife who bears the name Of Sita, in her face and frame Fair as a daughter of the skies,-- Her will I seize and bring the prize Triumphant from the forest shade: For this I seek thy willing aid. If thou, O mighty one, wilt lend Thy help and stand beside thy friend, I with my brothers may defy All Gods embattled in the sky. Come, aid me now, for thine the power To succour in the doubtful hour. Thou art in war and time of fear, For heart and hand, without a peer. For thou art skilled in art and wile, A warrior brave and trained in guile. With this one hope, this only aim, O Rover of the Night, I came. Now let me tell what aid I ask To back me in my purposed task. In semblance of a golden deer Adorned with silver spots appear. Go, seek his dwelling: in the way Of Rama and his consort stray. Doubt not the lady, when she sees The wondrous deer amid the trees, Will bid her lord and Lakshman take The creature for its beauty's sake. Then when the chiefs have parted thence, And left her lone, without defence, As Rahu storms the moonlight, I Will seize the lovely dame and fly. Her lord will waste away and weep For her his valour could not keep. Then boldly will I strike the blow And wreak my vengeance on the foe."

"Why cast thy strength of soul away, And weakly yield to passion's sway? Arise, my brother, do and dare Ere action perish in despair. Recall the firmness of thy heart, And nerve thee for a hero's part. Whose is the hand unscathed to sieze The red flame quickened by the breeze? Where is the foe will dare to wrong Or keep the Maithil lady long?" Then with pale lips that sorrow dried The son of Raghu thus replied: "Lord Indra thousand-eyed, has sent The sweet rain from the firmament, Sees the rich promise of the grain, And turns him to his rest again. The clouds with voices loud and deep, Veiling each tree upon the steep, Up on the thirsty earth have shed Their precious burden and are fled. Now in kings' hearts ambition glows: They rush to battle with their foes;(633) But in Sugriva's sloth I see No care for deeds of chivalry. See, Lakshman, on each breezy height A thousand autumn blooms are bright. See how the wings of wild swans gleam On every islet of the stream. Four months of flood and rain are past: A hundred years they seemed to last To me whom toil and trouble tried, My Sita severed from my side. She, gentlest woman, weak and young, Still to her lord unwearied clung. Still by the exile's side she stood In the wild ways of Dandak wood, Like a fond bird disconsolate If parted from her darling mate. Sugriva, lapped in soft repose, Untouched by pity for my woes, Scorns the poor exile, dispossessed, By Ravan's mightier arm oppressed, The wretch who comes to sue and pray From his lost kingdom far away. Hence falls on me the Vanar's scorn, A suitor friendless and forlorn. The time is come: with heedless eye He sees the hour of action fly,-- Unmindful, now his hopes succeed, Of promise made in stress of need.

The monarch, Rama to install, With thoughtful care had ordered all, And now within his home withdrew, Dismissing first his retinue. Now all the town has heard, thought he, What joyful rite the morn will see. So turned he to her bower to cheer With the glad news his darling's ear. Majestic, as the Lord of Night, When threatened by the Dragon's might, Bursts radiant on the evening sky Pale with the clouds that wander by, So Dasaratha, great in fame, To Queen Kaikeyi's palace came. There parrots flew from tree to tree, And gorgeous peacocks wandered free, While ever and anon was heard The note of some glad water-bird. Here loitered dwarf and hump-backed maid, There lute and lyre sweet music played. Here, rich in blossom, creepers twined O'er grots with wondrous art designed, There Champac and Asoka flowers Hung glorious o'er the summer bowers, And mid the waving verdure rose Gold, silver, ivory porticoes. Through all the months in ceaseless store The trees both fruit and blossom bore. With many a lake the grounds were graced; Seats gold and silver, here were placed; Here every viand wooed the taste, It was a garden meet to vie E'en with the home of Gods on high. Within the mansion rich and vast The mighty Dasaratha passed: Not there was his beloved queen On her fair couch reclining seen. With love his eager pulses beat For the dear wife he came to meet, And in his blissful hopes deceived, He sought his absent love and grieved. For never had she missed the hour Of meeting in her sumptuous bower, And never had the king of men Entered the empty room till then. Still urged by love and anxious thought News of his favourite queen he sought, For never had his loving eyes Found her or selfish or unwise. Then spoke at length the warder maid, With hands upraised and sore afraid: "My Lord and King, the queen has sought The mourner's cell with rage distraught."

"By whom, Kaikeyi, wast thou taught This flattering hope with ruin fraught? Have goblins seized thy soul, O dame, Who thus canst speak and feel no shame? Thy mind with sin is sicklied o'er, From thy first youth ne'er seen before. A good and loving wife wast thou, But all, alas! is altered now. What terror can have seized thy breast To make thee frame this dire request, That Bharat o'er the land may reign, And Rama in the woods remain? Turn from thine evil ways, O turn, And thy perfidious counsel spurn, If thou would fain a favour do To people, lord, and Bharat too. O wicked traitress, fierce and vile, Who lovest deeds of sin and guile, What crime or grievance dost thou see, What fault in Rama or in me? Thy son will ne'er the throne accept If Rama from his rights be kept, For Bharat's heart more firmly yet Than Rama's is on justice set. How shall I say, Go forth, and brook Upon my Rama's face to look, See his pale cheek and ashy lips Dimmed like the moon in sad eclipse? How see the plan so well prepared When prudent friends my counsels shared, All ruined, like a host laid low Beneath some foeman's murderous blow. What will these gathered princes say, From regions near and far away? "O'erlong endures the monarch's reign, or now he is a child again." When many a good and holy sage In Scripture versed, revered for age, Shall ask for Rama, what shall I Unhappy, what shall I reply? "By Queen Kaikeyi long distressed I drove him forth and dispossessed." Although herein the truth I speak, They all will hold me false and weak. What will Kausalya say when she Demands her son exiled by me? Alas! what answer shall I frame, Or how console the injured dame? She like a slave on me attends, And with a sister's care she blends A mother's love, a wife's, a friend's.

He spoke: obedient to the eye Of Rama, Lakshman made reply, The name and fortune to unfold Of Raghu's son the lofty-souled: "True to the law, of fame unstained, The glorious Dasaratha reigned, And, steadfast in his duty, long Kept the four castes(550) from scathe and wrong. Through his wide realm his will was done, And, loved by all, he hated none. Just to each creature great and small, Like the Good Sire he cared for all. The Agnishtom,(551) as priests advised, And various rites he solemnized, Where ample largess ever paid The Brahmans for their holy aid. Here Rama stands, his heir by birth, Whose name is glorious in the earth: Sure refuge he of all oppressed, Most faithful to his sire's behest. He, Dasaratha's eldest born Whom gifts above the rest adorn, Lord of each high imperial sign,(552) The glory of his kingly line, Reft of his right, expelled from home, Came forth with me the woods to roam. And Sita too, his faithful dame, Forth with her virtuous husband came, Like the sweet light when day is done Still cleaving to her lord the sun. And me his sweet perfections drew To follow as his servant true. Named Lakshman, brother of my lord Of grateful heart with knowledge stored Most meet is he all bliss to share, Who makes the good of all his care. While, power and lordship cast away, In the wild wood he chose to stay, A giant came,--his name unknown,-- And stole the princess left alone. Then Diti's son(553) who, cursed of yore, The semblance of a Rakshas wore, To King Sugriva bade us turn The robber's name and home to learn. For he, the Vanar chief, would know The dwelling of our secret foe. Such words of hope spake Diti's son, And sought the heaven his deeds had won. Thou hast my tale. From first to last Thine ears have heard whate'er has past. Rama the mighty lord and I For refuge to Sugriva fly.

But Hanuman, while Tara, best Of splendid chiefs his thought expressed, Perceived that Bali's princely son A kingdom for himself had won.(757) His keen eye marked in him combined The warrior's arm, the ruler's mind, And every noble gift should grace The happy sovereign of his race: Marked how he grew with ripening age More glorious and bold and sage,-- Like the young moon that night by night Shines on with ever waxing light,-- Brave as his royal father, wise As he who counsels in the skies:(758) Marked how, forwearied with the quest, He heeded not his liege's hest, But Tara's every word obeyed Like Indra still by Sukra(759) swayed. Then with his prudent speech he tried To better thoughts the prince to guide, And by division's skilful art The Vanars and the youth to part: "Illustrious Angad, thou in fight Hast far surpassed thy father's might, Most worthy, like thy sire of old, The empire of our race to hold. The Vanars' fickle people range From wish to wish and welcome change. Their wives and babes they will not leave And to their new-made sovereign cleave. No art, no gifts will draw away The Vanars from Sugriva's sway, Through hope of wealth, through fear of pain Still faithful will they all remain. Thou fondly hopest in this cave The vengeance of the foe to brave. But Lakshman's arm a shower will send Of deadly shafts those walls to rend. Like Indra's bolts his shafts have power To cleave the mountain like a flower. O Angad, mark my counsel well: If in this cave thou choose to dwell, These Vanar hosts with one accord Will quit thee for their lawful lord, And turn again with thirsty eyes To wife and babe and all they prize. Thou in the lonely cavern left Of followers and friends bereft, Wilt be in all thy woe, alas, Weak as a blade of trembling grass: And Lakshman's arrows, keen and fierce From his strong bow, thy heart will pierce.

The glorious sight a while he viewed, Then to the town his way pursued. Around the Vanar as he went Breathed from the wood delicious scent, And the soft grass beneath his feet With gem-like flowers was bright and sweet. Still as the Vanar nearer drew More clearly rose the town to view. The palm her fan-like leaves displayed, Priyalas(801) lent their pleasant shade, And mid the lower greenery far Conspicuous rose the Kovidar.(802) A thousand trees mid flowers that glowed Hung down their fruit's delicious load,(803) And in their crests that rocked and swayed Sweet birds delightful music made. And there were pleasant pools whereon The glories of the lotus shone; And gleams of sparkling fountains, stirred By many a joyous water-bird. Around, in lovely gardens grew Blooms sweet of scent and bright of hue, And Lanka, seat of Ravan's sway, Before the wondering Vanar lay: With stately domes and turrets tall, Encircled by a golden wall, And moats whose waters were aglow With lily blossoms bright below: For Sita's sake defended well With bolt and bar and sentinel, And Rakshases who roamed in bands With ready bows in eager hands. He saw the stately mansions rise Like pale-hued clouds in autumn skies; Where noble streets were broad and bright, And banners waved on every height. Her gates were glorious to behold Rich with the shine of burnished gold: A lovely city planned and decked By heaven's creative architect,(804) Fairest of earthly cities meet To be the Gods' celestial seat. The Vanar by the northern gate Thus in his heart began debate "Our mightiest host would strive in vain To take this city on the main: A city that may well defy The chosen warriors of the sky; A city never to be won E'en by the arm of Raghu's son. Here is no hope by guile to win The hostile hearts of those within. 'Twere vain to war, or bribe, or sow Dissension mid the Vanar foe.

He ceased: and when his lips were closed Mahodar thus his rede opposed: "Why wilt thou shame thy noble birth And speak like one of little worth? Why boast thee thus in youthful pride Rejecting wisdom for thy guide? How will thy single arm oppose The victor of a thousand foes, Who proved in Janasthan his might And slew the rovers of the night? The remnant of those legions, they Who saw his power that fatal day, Now in this leaguered city dread The mighty chief from whom they fled. And wouldst thou meet the lord of men, Beard the great lion in his den, And, when thine eyes are open, break The slumber of a deadly snake? Who may an equal battle wage With him, so awful in his rage, Fierce as the God of Death whom none May vanquish, Dasaratha's son? But, Ravan, shall the lady still Refuse compliance with thy will? No, listen, King, to this design Which soon shall make the captive thine. This day through Lanka's streets proclaim That four of us(974) of highest fame With Kumbhakarna at our head Will strike the son of Raghu dead. Forth to the battle will we go And prove our prowess on the foe. Then, if our bold attempt succeed, No further plans thy hopes will need. But if in vain our warriors strive, And Raghu's son be left alive, We will return, and, wounded sore, Our armour stained with gouts of gore, Will show the shafts that rent each frame, Keen arrows marked with Rama's name, And say we giants have devoured The princes whom our might o'erpowered. Then let the joyful tidings spread That Raghu's royal sons are dead. To all around thy pleasure show, Gold, pearls, and precious robes, bestow. Gay garlands round the portals twine, Enjoy the banquet and the wine. Then go, the scornful lady seek, And woo her when her heart is weak. Rich robes and gold and gems display, And gently wile her grief away.

Firm in the earth they stood at last, Where cunning craftsmen fixed them fast; And there unshaken each remained, Octagonal and smoothly planed. Then ribbons over all were hung, And flowers and scent around them flung. Thus decked they cast a glory forth Like the great saints who star the north.(102) The sacrificial altar then Was raised by skilful twice-born men, In shape and figure to behold An eagle with his wings of gold, With twice nine pits and formed three-fold Each for some special God, beside The pillars were the victims tied; The birds that roam the wood, the air, The water, and the land were there, And snakes and things of reptile birth, And healing herbs that spring from earth: As texts prescribe, in Scripture found, Three hundred victims there were bound. The steed devoted to the host Of Gods, the gem they honour most, Was duly sprinkled. Then the Queen Kausalya, with delighted mien, With reverent steps around him paced, And with sweet wreaths the victim graced; Then with three swords in order due She smote the steed with joy, and slew. That night the queen, a son to gain, With calm and steady heart was fain By the dead charger's side to stay From evening till the break of day. Then came three priests, their care to lead The other queens to touch the steed, Upon Kausalya to attend, Their company and aid to lend. As by the horse she still reclined, With happy mien and cheerful mind, With Rishyasring the twice-born came And praised and blessed the royal dame. The priest who well his duty knew, And every sense could well subdue, From out the bony chambers freed And boiled the marrow of the steed. Above the steam the monarch bent, And, as he smelt the fragrant scent, In time and order drove afar All error that his hopes could mar. Then sixteen priests together came And cast into the sacred flame The severed members of the horse, Made ready all in ordered course.

Thus spoke the glorious Lord most High Father of earth and air and sky, And with the Gods around him spread Home to his changeless sphere he sped. But Visvamitra scorned the grace, And bent in shame his angry face. Burning with rage, o'erwhelmed with grief, Thus in his heart exclaimed the chief: "No fruit, I ween, have I secured By strictest penance long endured, If Gods and all the saints decree To make but royal saint of me." Thus pondering, he with sense subdued, With sternest zeal his vows renewed. Then reigned a monarch, true of soul, Who kept each sense in firm control; Of old Ikshvaku's line he came, That glories in Trisanku's(234) name. Within his breast, O Raghu's child, Arose a longing, strong and wild, Great offerings to the Gods to pay, And win, alive, to heaven his way. His priest Vasishtha's aid he sought, And told him of his secret thought. But wise Vasishtha showed the hope Was far beyond the monarch's scope. Trisanku then, his suit denied, Far to the southern region hied, To beg Vasishtha's sons to aid The mighty plan his soul had made. There King Trisanku, far renowned, Vasishtha's hundred children found, Each on his fervent vows intent, For mind and fame preeminent. To these the famous king applied, Wise children of his holy guide. Saluting each in order due. His eyes, for shame, he downward threw, And reverent hands together pressed, The glorious company addressed: "I as a humble suppliant seek Succour of you who aid the weak. A mighty offering I would pay, But sage Vasishtha answered, Nay. Be yours permission to accord, And to my rites your help afford. Sons of my guide, to each of you With lowly reverence here I sue; To each, intent on penance-vow, O Brahmans, low my head I bow, And pray you each with ready heart In my great rite to bear a part, That in the body I may rise And dwell with Gods within the skies. Sons of my guide, none else I see Can give what he refuses me.

Soon as the king his lips had stilled, Up rose Vasishtha, speaker skilled. And to Videha's lord began In flowing words that holy man: "From viewless Nature Brahma rose, No change, no end, no waste he knows. A son had he Marichi styled, And Kasyap was Marichi's child. From him Vivasvat sprang: from him Manu whose fame shall ne'er be dim. Manu, who life to mortals gave, Begot Ikshvaku good and brave. First of Ayodhya's kings was he, Pride of her famous dynasty. From him the glorious Kukshi sprang, Whose fame through all the regions rang. Rival of Kukshi's ancient fame, His heir, the great Vikukshi, came, His son was Vana, lord of might; His Anaranya, strong to fight. His son was Prithu, glorious name; From him the good Trisanku came. He left a son renowned afar, Known by the name of Dhundhumar. His son, who drove the mighty car, Was Yuvanasva, feared in war. He passed away. Him followed then His son Mandhata, king of men. His son was blest in high emprise, Susandhi, fortunate and wise. Two noble sons had he, to wit Dhruvasandhi and Prasenajit. Bharat was Dhruvasandhi's son, And glorious fame that monarch won. The warrior Asit he begot. Asit had warfare, fierce and hot, With rival kings in many a spot, Haihayas, Talajanghas styled, And Sasivindus, strong and wild. Long time he strove, but forced to yield Fled from his kingdom and the field. With his two wives away he fled Where high Himalaya lifts his head, And, all his wealth and glory past, He paid the dues of Fate at last. The wives he left had both conceived-- So is the ancient tale believed-- One, of her rival's hopes afraid Fell poison in her viands laid. It chanced that Chyavan, Bhrigu's child, Had wandered to that pathless wild, And there Himalaya's lovely height Detained him with a strange delight. There came the other widowed queen, With lotus eyes and beauteous mien, Longing a noble son to bear, And wooed the saint with earnest prayer.

How could Kaikeyi's purpose bring On me this pain and suffering, Were not her change of heart decreed By Fate whose will commands the deed? I know my filial love has been The same throughout for every queen, And with the same affection she Has treated both her son and me. Her shameful words of cruel spite To stay the consecrating rite, And drive me banished from the throne,-- These I ascribe to Fate alone, How could she, born of royal race, Whom nature decks with fairest grace, Speak like a dame of low degree Before the king to torture me? But Fate, which none may comprehend, To which all life must bow and bend, In her and me its power has shown, And all my hopes are overthrown. What man, Sumitra's darling, may Contend with Fate's resistless sway, Whose all-commanding power we find Our former deeds alone can bind? Our life and death, our joy and pain, Anger and fear, and loss and gain, Each thing that is, in every state, All is the work of none but Fate. E'en saints, inspired with rigid zeal, When once the stroke of Fate they feel, In sternest vows no more engage, And fall enslaved by love and rage. So now the sudden stroke whose weight Descends unlooked for, comes of Fate, And with unpitying might destroys The promise of commencing joys. Weigh this true counsel in thy soul: With thy firm heart thy heart control; Then, brother, thou wilt cease to grieve For hindered rites which now I leave. So cast thy needless grief away, And strictly my commands obey. Those preparations check with speed, Nor let my throning rites proceed. Those urns that stand prepared to shed King-making drops upon my head, Shall, with their pure lustrations now Inaugurate my hermit's vow. Yet what have I to do with things That touch the state and pomp of kings? These hands of mine shall water take To sanctify the vow I make. Now Lakshman, let thy heart no more My fortune changed and lost deplore.

Then when the people wroth and sad Saw Sita in bark vesture clad, Though wedded, like some widowed thing, They cried out, "Shame upon thee, King!" Grieved by their cry and angry look The lord of earth at once forsook All hope in life that still remained, In duty, self, and fame unstained. Ikshvaku's son with burning sighs On Queen Kaikeyi bent his eyes, And said: "But Sita must not flee In garments of a devotee. My holy guide has spoken truth: Unfit is she in tender youth, So gently nurtured, soft and fair, The hardships of the wood to share. How has she sinned, devout and true, The noblest monarch's child, That she should garb of bark indue And journey to the wild? That she should spend her youthful days Amid a hermit band, Like some poor mendicant who strays Sore troubled, through the land? Ah, let the child of Janak throw Her dress of bark aside, And let the royal lady go With royal wealth supplied. Not such the pledge I gave before, Unfit to linger here: The oath, which I the sinner swore Is kept, and leaves her clear. Won from her childlike love this too My instant death would be, As blossoms on the old bamboo Destroy the parent tree.(313) If aught amiss by Rama done Offend thee, O thou wicked one, What least transgression canst thou find In her, thou worst of womankind? What shade of fault in her appears, Whose full soft eye is like the deer's? What canst thou blame in Janak's child, So gentle, modest, true, and mild? Is not one crime complete, that sent My Rama forth to banishment? And wilt thou other sins commit, Thou wicked one, to double it? This is the pledge and oath I swore, What thou besoughtest, and no more, Of Rama--for I heard thee, dame-- When he for consecration came. Now with this limit not content, In hell should be thy punishment, Who fain the Maithil bride wouldst press To clothe her limbs with hermit dress."

But soon by rankling grief oppressed The king awoke from troubled rest, And his sad heart was tried again With anxious thought where all was pain. Rama and Lakshman's mournful fate On Dasaratha, good and great As Indra, pressed with crushing weight, As when the demon's might assails The Sun-God, and his glory pales. Ere yet the sixth long night was spent, Since Rama to the woods was sent, The king at midnight sadly thought Of the old crime his hand had wrought, And thus to Queen Kausalya cried Who still for Rama moaned and sighed: "If thou art waking, give, I pray, Attention to the words I say. Whate'er the conduct men pursue, Be good or ill the acts they do, Be sure, dear Queen, they find the meed Of wicked or of virtuous deed. A heedless child we call the man Whose feeble judgment fails to scan The weight of what his hands may do, Its lightness, fault, and merit too. One lays the Mango garden low, And bids the gay Palasas grow: Longing for fruit their bloom he sees, But grieves when fruit should bend the trees. Cut by my hand, my fruit-trees fell, Palasa trees I watered well. My hopes this foolish heart deceive, And for my banished son I grieve. Kausalya, in my youthful prime Armed with my bow I wrought the crime, Proud of my skill, my name renowned, An archer prince who shoots by sound. The deed this hand unwitting wrought This misery on my soul has brought, As children seize the deadly cup And blindly drink the poison up. As the unreasoning man may be Charmed with the gay Palasa tree, I unaware have reaped the fruit Of joying at a sound to shoot. As regent prince I shared the throne, Thou wast a maid to me unknown, The early Rain-time duly came, And strengthened love's delicious flame. The sun had drained the earth that lay All glowing 'neath the summer day, And to the gloomy clime had fled Where dwell the spirits of the dead.

When Bharat's anger-sharpened tongue Reproaches on the queen had flung, Again, with mighty rage possessed, The guilty dame he thus addressed: "Flee, cruel, wicked sinner, flee, Let not this kingdom harbour thee. Thou who hast thrown all right aside, Weep thou for me when I have died. Canst thou one charge against the king, Or the most duteous Rama bring? The one thy sin to death has sent, The other chased to banishment. Our line's destroyer, sin defiled Like one who kills an unborn child, Ne'er with thy lord in heaven to dwell, Thy portion shall be down in hell Because thy hand, that stayed for naught, This awful wickedness has wrought, And ruined him whom all held dear, My bosom too is stirred with fear. My father by thy sin is dead, And Rama to the wood is fled; And of thy deed I bear the stain, And fameless in the world remain. Ambitious, evil-souled, in show My mother, yet my direst foe. My throning ne'er thine eyes shall bless, Thy husband's wicked murderess. Thou art not Asvapati's child, That righteous king most sage and mild, But thou wast born a fiend, a foe My father's house to overthrow. Thou who hast made Kausalya, pure, Gentle, affectionate, endure The loss of him who was her bliss,-- What worlds await thee, Queen, for this? Was it not patent to thy sense That Rama was his friends' defence, Kausalya's own true child most dear, The eldest and his father's peer? Men in the son not only trace The father's figure, form, and face, But in his heart they also find The offspring of the father's mind; And hence, though dear their kinsmen are, To mothers sons are dearer far. There goes an ancient legend how Good Surabhi, the God-loved cow, Saw two of her dear children strain, Drawing a plough and faint with pain. She saw them on the earth outworn, Toiling till noon from early morn, And as she viewed her children's woe, A flood of tears began to flow.

"Is this thy counsel, weak and base, Unworthy of thy giant race? Thy speech is fruitless, vain, thy toil Like casting seed on barren soil. No words of thine shall drive me back From Rama and the swift attack. A fool is he, inured to sin, And more, of human origin. The craven, at a woman's call To leave his sire, his mother, all The friends he loved, the power and sway, And hasten to the woods away! But now his anger will I rouse, Stealing away his darling spouse. I in thy sight will ravish her From Khara's cruel murderer. Upon this plan my soul is bent, And naught shall move my firm intent, Not if the way through demons led And Gods with Indra at their head. 'Tis thine, when questioned, to explain The hope and fear, the loss and gain, And, when thy king thy thoughts would know, The triumph or the danger show. A prudent counsellor should wait, And speak when ordered in debate, With hands uplifted, calm and meek, If honour and reward he seek. Or, when some prudent course he sees Which, spoken, may his king displease He should by hints of dexterous art His counsel to his lord impart. But prudent words are said in vain When the blunt speech brings grief and pain. A high-souled king will scarcely thank The man who shames his royal rank. Five are the shapes that kings assume, Of majesty, of grace, and gloom: Like Indra now, or Agni, now Like the dear Moon, with placid brow: Like mighty Varun now they show, Now fierce as He who rules below. O giant, monarchs lofty-souled Are kind and gentle, stern and bold, With gracious love their gifts dispense And swiftly punish each offence. Thus subjects should their rulers view With all respect and honour due. But folly leads thy heart to slight Thy monarch and neglect his right. Thou hast in lawless pride addressed With bitter words thy royal guest. I asked thee not my strength to scan, Or loss and profit in the plan.

Then forth her noble passion broke As thus in turn the lady spoke: "Me, me the wife of Rama, him The lion lord with lion's limb, Strong as the sea, firm as the rock, Like Indra in the battle shock. The lord of each auspicious sign, The glory of his princely line, Like some fair Bodh tree strong and tall, The noblest and the best of all, Rama, the heir of happy fate Who keeps his word inviolate, Lord of the lion gait, possessed Of mighty arm and ample chest, Rama the lion-warrior, him Whose moon bright face no fear can dim, Rama, his bridled passions' lord, The darling whom his sire adored,-- Me, me the true and loving dame Of Rama, prince of deathless fame-- Me wouldst thou vainly woo and press? A jackal woo a lioness! Steal from the sun his glory! such Thy hope Lord Rama's wife to touch. Ha! Thou hast seen the trees of gold, The sign which dying eyes behold, Thus seeking, weary of thy life, To win the love of Rama's wife. Fool! wilt thou dare to rend away The famished lion's bleeding prey, Or from the threatening jaws to take The fang of some envenomed snake? What, wouldst thou shake with puny hand Mount Mandar,(501) towering o'er the land, Put poison to thy lips and think The deadly cup a harmless drink? With pointed needle touch thine eye, A razor to thy tongue apply, Who wouldst pollute with impious touch The wife whom Rama loves so much? Be round thy neck a millstone tied, And swim the sea from side to side; Or raising both thy hands on high Pluck sun and moon from yonder sky; Or let the kindled flame be pressed, Wrapt in thy garment, to thy breast; More wild the thought that seeks to win Rama's dear wife who knows not sin. The fool who thinks with idle aim To gain the love of Rama's dame, With dark and desperate footing makes His way o'er points of iron stakes.

she Finds no protection, lord, from thee, Neglected like some noble dame By a vile husband dead to shame. Mean-hearted coward, false and vile, Whose cruel soul delights in guile, Could Dasaratha, noblest king, Beget so mean and base a thing? Alas! an elephant, in form Of Rama, in a maddening storm Of passion casting to the ground The girth of law(592) that clipped him round, Too wildly passionate to feel The prick of duty's guiding steel,(593) Has charged me unawares, and dead I fall beneath his murderous tread. How, stained with this my base defeat, How wilt thou dare, where good men meet, To speak, when every tongue will blame With keen reproach this deed of shame? Such hero strength and valour, shown Upon the innocent alone, Thou hast not proved in manly strife On him who robbed thee of thy wife. Hadst thou but fought in open field And met me boldly unconcealed, This day had been thy fate to fall, Slain by this hand, to Yama's hall. In vain I strove, and struck by thee Fell by a hand I could not see. Thus bites a snake, for sins of yore, A sleeping man who wakes no more. Sugriva's foeman thou hast killed, And thus his heart's desire fulfilled; But, Rama, hadst thou sought me first, And told the hope thy soul has nursed, That very day had I restored The Maithil lady to her lord; And, binding Ravan with a chain, Had laid him at thy feet unslain. Yea, were she sunk in deepest hell, Or whelmed beneath the ocean's swell, I would have followed on her track And brought the rescued lady back, As Hayagriva(594) once set free From hell the white Asvatari.(595) That when my spirit wings its flight Sugriva reign, is just and right. But most unjust, O King, that I, Slain by thy treacherous hand, should lie. Be still, my heart: this earthly state Is darkly ruled by sovereign Fate. The realm is lost and won: defy Thy questioners with apt reply."(596)

Then rose the Vanar chiefs, and lent Their arms to aid the bird's descent; And Angad spake: "There lived of yore A noble Vanar king who bore The name of Riksharajas, great And brave and strong and fortunate. His sons were like their father: fame Knows Bali and Sugriva's name. Praised in all lands, a glorious king Was Bali, and from him I spring. Brave Rama, Dasaratha's heir, A glorious prince beyond compare, His sire and duty's law obeyed, And sought the depths of Dandak' shade Sita his well-beloved dame, And Lakshman, with the wanderer came. A giant watched his hour, and stole The sweet delight of Rama's soul. Jatayus, Dasaratha's friend, Swift succour to the dame would lend. Fierce Ravan from his car he felled, And for a time the prize withheld. But bleeding, weak with years, and tired, Beneath the demon's blows expired, Due rites at Rama's hands obtained, And bliss that ne'er shall minish, gained. Then Rama with Sugriva made A covenant for mutual aid, And Bali, to the field defied, By conquering Rama's arrow died. Sugriva then, by Rama's grace, Was monarch of the Vanar race. By his command a mighty host Seeks Rama's queen from coast to coast. Sent forth by him, in every spot We looked for her, but find her not. Vain is the toil, as though by night We sought to find the Day-God's light. In lands unknown at length we found A spacious cavern under ground, Whose vaults that stretch beneath the hill Were formed by Maya's magic skill. Through the dark maze our steps were bent, And wandering there a month we spent, And lost, in fruitless error, thus The days our king allotted us. Thus we though faithful have transgressed, And failed to keep our lord's behest. No chance of safety can we see, No lingering hope of life have we. Sugriva's wrath and Rama's hate Press on our souls with grievous weight: And we, because 'tis vain to fly, Resolve at length to fast and die."

He ceased; and spurred by warlike pride The impetuous son of Raghu cried: "Soon shall mine arm with wrathful joy That city of the foe destroy. Now, chieftain, now collect the host, And onward to the southern coast! The sun in his meridian tower Gives glory to the Vanar power. The demon lord who stole my queen By timely flight his life may screen. She, when she knows her lord is near, Will cling to hope and banish fear, Saved like a dying wretch who sips The drink of Gods with fevered lips. Arise, thy troops to battle lead: All happy omens counsel speed. The Lord of Stars in favouring skies Bodes glory to our enterprise. This arm shall slay the fiend; and she, My consort, shall again be free. Mine upward-throbbing eye foreshows The longed-for triumph o'er my foes. Far in the van be Nila's post, To scan the pathway for the host, And let thy bravest and thy best, A hundred thousand, wait his hest. Go forth, O warrior Nila, lead The legions on through wood and mead Where pleasant waters cool the ground, And honey, flowers, and fruit abound. Go, and with timely care prevent The Rakshas foeman's dark intent. With watchful troops each valley guard Ere brooks and fruits and roots be marred And search each glen and leafy shade For hostile troops in ambuscade. But let the weaklings stay behind: For heroes is our task designed. Let thousands of the Vanar breed The vanguard of the armies lead: Fierce and terrific must it be As billows of the stormy sea. There be the hill-huge Gaja's place, And Gavaya's, strongest of his race, And, like the bull that leads the herd, Gavaksha's, by no fears deterred Let Rishabh, matchless in the might Of warlike arms, protect our right, And Gandhamadan next in rank Defend and guide the other flank. I, like the God who rules the sky Borne on Airavat(900) mounted high On stout Hanuman's back will ride, The central host to cheer and guide.

But when the giant king surveyed His glorious town in ruin laid, And each dire sign of victory won By Hanuman the Wind-God's son, He vailed his angry eyes oppressed By shame, and thus his lords addressed: "The Vanar spy has passed the gate Of Lanka long inviolate, Eluded watch and ward, and seen With his bold eyes the captive queen. My royal roof with flames is red, The bravest of my lords are dead, And the fierce Vanar in his hate Has left our city desolate. Now ponder well the work that lies Before us, ponder and advise. With deep-observing judgment scan The peril, and mature a plan. From counsel, sages say, the root, Springs victory, most glorious fruit. First ranks the king, when woe impends Who seeks the counsel of his friends, Of kinsmen ever faithful found, Or those whose hopes with his are bound, Then with their aid his strength applies, And triumphs in his enterprise. Next ranks the prince who plans alone, No counsel seeks to aid his own, Weighs loss and gain and wrong and right, And seeks success with earnest might. Unwisest he who spurns delays, Who counts no cost, no peril weighs, Speeds to his aim, defying fate, And risks his all, precipitate. Thus too in counsel sages find A best, a worst, a middle kind. When gathered counsellors explore The way by light of holy lore, And all from first to last agree, Is the best counsel of the three. Next, if debate first waxes high, And each his chosen plan would try Till all agree at last, we deem This counsel second in esteem. Worst of the three is this, when each Assails with taunt his fellow's speech; When all debate, and no consent Concludes the angry argument. Consult then, lords; my task shall be To crown with act your wise decree. With thousands of his wild allies The vengeful Rama hither hies; With unresisted might and speed Across the flood his troops will lead, Or for the Vanar host will drain The channels of the conquered main."

Thus spoke Prahasta in the zeal That moved him for the kingdom's weal. And thus the monarch, who pursued His own delight, his speech renewed: "In ease and bliss, in toil and pain, In doubts of duty, pleasure, gain, Your proper path I need not tell, For of yourselves ye know it well. The Storm-Gods, Moon, and planets bring New glory to their heavenly king,(919) And, ranged about your monarch, ye Give joy and endless fame to me. My secret counsel have I kept, While senseless Kumbhakarna slept. Six months the warrior's slumbers last And bind his torpid senses fast; But now his deep repose he breaks, The best of all our champions wakes. I captured, Rama's heart to wring, This daughter of Videha's king. And brought her from that distant land(920) Where wandered many a Rakshas band. Disdainful still my love she spurns, Still from each prayer and offering turns, Yet in all lands beneath the sun No dame may rival Sita, none, Her dainty waist is round and slight, Her cheek like autumn's moon is bright, And she like fruit in graven gold Mocks her(921) whom Maya framed of old. Faultless in form, how firmly tread Her feet whose soles are rosy red! Ah, as I gaze her beauty takes My spirit, and my passion wakes. Looking for Rama far away She sought with tears a year's delay Nor gazing on her love-lit eye Could I that earnest prayer deny. But baffled hopes and vain desire At length my patient spirit tire. How shall the sons of Raghu sweep To vengeance o'er the pathless deep? How shall they lead the Vanar train Across the monster-teeming main? One Vanar yet could find a way To Lanka's town, and burn and slay. Take counsel then, remembering still That we from men need fear no ill; And give your sentence in debate, For matchless is the power of fate. Assailed by you the Gods who dwell In heaven beneath our fury fell. And shall we fear these creatures bred In forests, by Sugriva led?

While Raghu's son undaunted gazed, The waters of the deep were raised, And, still uplifted more and more, Leapt in wild flood upon the shore. Still Rama looked upon the tide And kept his post unterrified. Then from the seething flood upreared Majestic Ocean's form appeared, As rising from his eastern height Springs through the sky the Lord of Light. Attendant on their monarch came Sea serpents with their eyes aflame. Like lazulite mid burning gold His form was wondrous to behold. Bright with each fairest precious stone A chain about his neck was thrown. Calm shone his lotus eyes beneath The blossoms of his heavenly wreath, And many a pearl and sea-born gem Flashed in the monarch's diadem. There Ganga, tributary queen, And Sindhu(934) by his lord, were seen, And every stream and brook renowned In ancient story girt him round. Then, as the waters rose and swelled, The king with suppliant hands upheld, His glorious head to Rama bent And thus addressed him reverent: "Air, ether, fire, earth, water, true To nature's will, their course pursue; And I, as ancient laws ordain, Unfordable must still remain. Yet, Raghu's son, my counsel hear: I ne'er for love or hope or fear Will pile my waters in a heap And leave a pathway through the deep. Still shall my care for thee provide An easy passage o'er the tide, And like a city's paven street Shall be the road beneath thy feet." He ceased: and Rama spoke again: "This spell is ne'er invoked in vain. Where shall the magic shaft, to spend The fury of its might, descend?" "Shoot," Ocean cried, "thine arrow forth With all its fury to the north, Where sacred Drumakulya lies, Whose glory with thy glory vies. There dwells a wild Abhira(935) race, As vile in act as foul of face, Fierce Dasyus(936) who delight in ill, And drink my tributary rill. My soul no longer may endure Their neighbourhood and touch impure. At these, O son of Raghu, aim Thine arrow with the quenchless flame."

The hermit heard with high content That speech so wondrous eloquent, And while each hair with joy arose,(142) He thus made answer at the close: "Good is thy speech O noble King, And like thyself in everything. So should their lips be wisdom-fraught Whom kings begot, Vasishtha taught. The favour which I came to seek Thou grantest ere my tongue can speak. But let my tale attention claim, And hear the need for which I came. O King, as Scripture texts allow, A holy rite employs me now. Two fiends who change their forms at will Impede that rite with cursed skill.(143) Oft when the task is nigh complete, These worst of fiends my toil defeat, Throw bits of bleeding flesh, and o'er The altar shed a stream of gore. When thus the rite is mocked and stayed, And all my pious hopes delayed, Cast down in heart the spot I leave, And spent with fruitless labour grieve. Nor can I, checked by prudence, dare Let loose my fury on them there: The muttered curse, the threatening word, In such a rite must ne'er be heard. Thy grace the rite from check can free. And yield the fruit I long to see. Thy duty bids thee, King, defend The suffering guest, the suppliant friend. Give me thy son, thine eldest born, Whom locks like raven's wings adorn. That hero youth, the truly brave, Of thee, O glorious King, I crave. For he can lay those demons low Who mar my rites and work me woe: My power shall shield the youth from harm, And heavenly might shall nerve his arm. And on my champion will I shower Unnumbered gifts of varied power, Such gifts as shall ensure his fame And spread through all the worlds his name. Be sure those fiends can never stand Before the might of Rama's hand, And mid the best and bravest none Can slay that pair but Raghu's son. Entangled in the toils of Fate Those sinners, proud and obstinate, Are, in their fury overbold, No match for Rama mighty-souled. Nor let a father's breast give way Too far to fond affection's sway.

A bounteous saint, as all have heard, A boon upon thy sire conferred, And all the eloquence revealed That fills the wood, the flood, the field. No creature walked, or swam, or flew, But he its varied language knew. One morn upon his couch he heard The chattering of a gorgeous bird. And as he marked its close intent He laughed aloud in merriment. Thy mother furious with her lord, And fain to perish by the cord, Said to her husband: "I would know, O Monarch, why thou laughest so." The king in answer spake again: "If I this laughter should explain, This very hour would be my last, For death, be sure would follow fast." Again thy mother, flushed with ire, To Kekaya spake, thy royal sire: "Tell me the cause; then live or die: I will not brook thy laugh, not I." Thus by his darling wife addressed, The king whose might all earth confessed, To that kind saint his story told Who gave the wondrous gift of old. He listened to the king's complaint, And thus in answer spoke the saint: "King, let her quit thy home or die, But never with her prayer comply." The saint's reply his trouble stilled, And all his heart with pleasure filled. Thy mother from his home he sent, And days like Lord Kuvera's spent. So thou wouldst force the king, misled By thee, in evil paths to tread, And bent on evil wouldst begin, Through folly, this career of sin. Most true, methinks, in thee is shown The ancient saw so widely known: The sons their fathers' worth declare And girls their mothers' nature share. So be not thou. For pity's sake Accept the word the monarch spake. Thy husband's will, O Queen, obey, And be the people's hope and stay, O, do not, urged by folly, draw The king to tread on duty's law. The lord who all the world sustains, Bright as the God o'er Gods who reigns. Our glorious king, by sin unstained, Will never grant what fraud obtained; No shade of fault in him is seen: Let Rama be anointed, Queen.

"Fie on thee, dame!" the monarch said; Each of her people bent his head, And stood in shame and sorrow mute: She marked not, bold and resolute. Then great Siddharth, inflamed with rage, The good old councillor and sage On whose wise rede the king relied, To Queen Kaikeyi thus replied: "But Asamanj the cruel laid His hands on infants as they played, Cast them to Sarju's flood, and smiled For pleasure when he drowned a child."(311) The people saw, and, furious, sped Straight the the king his sire and said: "Choose us, O glory of the throne, Choose us, or Asamanj alone." "Whence comes this dread?" the monarch cried; And all the people thus replied: "In folly, King, he loves to lay Fierce hands upon our babes at play, Casts them to Sarju's flood and joys To murder our bewildered boys." With heedful ear the king of men Heard each complaining citizen. To please their troubled minds he strove, And from the state his son he drove. With wife and gear upon a car He placed him quick, and sent him far. And thus he gave commandment, "He Shall all his days an exile be." With basket and with plough he strayed O'er mountain heights, through pathless shade, Roaming all lands a weary time, An outcast wretch defiled with crime. Sagar, the righteous path who held, His wicked offspring thus expelled. But what has Rama done to blame? Why should his sentence be the same? No sin his stainless name can dim; We see no fault at all in him. Pure as the moon, no darkening blot On his sweet life has left a spot. If thou canst see one fault, e'en one, To dim the fame of Raghu's son, That fault this hour, O lady, show, And Rama to the wood shall go. To drive the guiltless to the wild, Truth's constant lover, undefiled, Would, by defiance of the right, The glory e'en of Indra blight. Then cease, O lady, and dismiss Thy hope to ruin Rama's bliss, Or all thy gain, O fair of face, Will be men's hatred, and disgrace."

Kausalya ceased her sad lament, Of beauteous dames most excellent. Sumitra who to duty clave, In righteous words this answer gave: "Dear Queen, all noble virtues grace Thy son, of men the first in place. Why dost thou shed these tears of woe With bitter grief lamenting so? If Rama, leaving royal sway Has hastened to the woods away, 'Tis for his high-souled father's sake That he his premise may not break. He to the path of duty clings Which lordly fruit hereafter brings-- The path to which the righteous cleave-- For him, dear Queen, thou shouldst not grieve. And Lakshman too, the blameless-souled, The same high course with him will hold, And mighty bliss on him shall wait, So tenderly compassionate. And Sita, bred with tender care, Well knows what toils await her there, But in her love she will not part From Rama of the virtuous heart. Now has thy son through all the world The banner of his fame unfurled; True, modest, careful of his vow, What has he left to aim at now? The sun will mark his mighty soul, His wisdom, sweetness, self-control, Will spare from pain his face and limb, And with soft radiance shine for him. For him through forest glades shall spring A soft auspicious breeze, and bring Its tempered heat and cold to play Around him ever night and day. The pure cold moonbeams shall delight The hero as he sleeps at night, And soothe him with the soft caress Of a fond parent's tenderness. To him, the bravest of the brave, His heavenly arms the Brahman gave, When fierce Suvahu dyed the plain With his life-blood by Rama slain. Still trusting to his own right arm Thy hero son will fear no harm: As in his father's palace, he In the wild woods will dauntless be. Whene'er he lets his arrows fly His stricken foemen fall and die: And is that prince of peerless worth Too weak to keep and sway the earth? His sweet pure soul, his beauty's charm, His hero heart, his warlike arm, Will soon redeem his rightful reign When from the woods he comes again.

The prudent prince the assembly viewed Thronged with its noble multitude, Resplendent as a cloudless night When the full moon is in his height; While robes of every varied hue A glory o'er the synod threw. The priest in lore of duty skilled Looked on the crowd the hall that filled, And then in accents soft and grave To Bharat thus his counsel gave: "The king, dear son, so good and wise, Has gone from earth and gained the skies, Leaving to thee, her rightful lord, This rich wide land with foison stored. And still has faithful Rama stood Firm to the duty of the good, And kept his father's hest aright, As the moon keeps its own dear light. Thus sire and brother yield to thee This realm from all annoyance free: Rejoice thy lords: enjoy thine own: Anointed king, ascend the throne. Let vassal Princes hasten forth From distant lands, west, south, and north, From Kerala,(360) from every sea, And bring ten million gems to thee." As thus the sage Vasishtha spoke, A storm of grief o'er Bharat broke. And longing to be just and true, His thoughts to duteous Rama flew. With sobs and sighs and broken tones, E'en as a wounded mallard moans, He mourned with deepest sorrow moved, And thus the holy priest reproved: "O, how can such as Bharat dare The power and sway from him to tear, Wise, and devout, and true, and chaste, With Scripture lore and virtue graced? Can one of Dasaratha's seed Be guilty of so vile a deed? The realm and I are Rama's: thou, Shouldst speak the words of justice now. For he, to claims of virtue true, Is eldest born and noblest too: Nahush, Dilipa could not be More famous in their lives than he. As Dasaratha ruled of right, So Rama's is the power and right. If I should do this sinful deed And forfeit hope of heavenly meed, My guilty act would dim the shine Of old Ikshvaku's glorious line. Nay, as the sin my mother wrought Is grievous to my inmost thought, I here, my hands together laid, Will greet him in the pathless shade.

By sage Javali thus addressed, Rama of truthful hearts the best, With perfect skill and wisdom high Thus to his speech made fit reply: "Thy words that tempt to bliss are fair, But virtue's garb they falsely wear. For he from duty's path who strays To wander in forbidden ways, Allured by doctrine false and vain, Praise from the good can never gain. Their lives the true and boaster show, Pure and impure, and high and low, Else were no mark to judge between Stainless and stained and high and mean; They to whose lot fair signs may fall Were but as they who lack them all, And those to virtuous thoughts inclined Were but as men of evil mind. If in the sacred name of right I do this wrong in duty's spite; The path of virtue meanly quit, And this polluting sin commit, What man who marks the bounds between Virtue and vice with insight keen, Would rank me high in after time Stained with this soul destroying crime? Whither could I, the sinner, turn, How hope a seat in heaven to earn, If I my plighted promise break, And thus the righteous path forsake? This world of ours is ever led To walk the ways which others tread, And as their princes they behold, The subjects too their lives will mould. That truth and mercy still must be Beloved of kings, is Heaven's decree. Upheld by truth the monarch reigns, And truth the very world sustains. Truth evermore has been the love Of holy saints and Gods above, And he whose lips are truthful here Wins after death the highest sphere. As from a serpent's deadly tooth, We shrink from him who scorns the truth. For holy truth is root and spring Of justice and each holy thing, A might that every power transcends, Linked to high bliss that never ends. Truth is all virtue's surest base, Supreme in worth and first in place. Oblations, gifts men offer here, Vows, sacrifice, and rites austere, And Holy Writ, on truth depend: So men must still that truth defend.

When Ravan, by her fury spurred, That terrible advice had heard, He bade his nobles quit his side, And to the work his thought applied. He turned his anxious mind to scan On every side the hardy plan: The gain against the risk he laid, Each hope and fear with care surveyed, And in his heart at length decreed To try performance of the deed. Then steady in his dire intent The giant to the courtyard went. There to his charioteer he cried, "Bring forth the car whereon I ride." Aye ready at his master's word The charioteer the order heard, And yoked with active zeal the best Of chariots at his lord's behest. Asses with heads of goblins drew That wondrous car where'er it flew. Obedient to the will it rolled Adorned with gems and glistering gold. Then mounting, with a roar as loud As thunder from a labouring cloud, The mighty monarch to the tide Of Ocean, lord of rivers, hied. White was the shade above him spread, White chouris waved around his head, And he with gold and jewels bright Shone like the glossy lazulite. Ten necks and twenty arms had he: His royal gear was good to see. The heavenly Gods' insatiate foe, Who made the blood of hermits flow, He like the Lord of Hills appeared With ten huge heads to heaven upreared. In the great car whereon he rode, Like some dark cloud the giant showed, When round it in their close array The cranes 'mid wreaths of lightning play. He looked, and saw, from realms of air, The rocky shore of ocean, where Unnumbered trees delightful grew With flower and fruit of every hue. He looked on many a lilied pool With silvery waters fresh and cool, And shores like spacious altars meet For holy hermits' lone retreat. The graceful palm adorned the scene, The plantain waved her glossy green. There grew the sal and betel, there On bending boughs the flowers were fair. There hermits dwelt who tamed each sense By strictest rule of abstinence: Gandharvas, Kinnars,(488) thronged the place, Nagas and birds of heavenly race.

Maricha gave attentive ear The ruler of the fiends to hear: Then, trained in all the rules that teach The eloquent, began his speech: "'Tis easy task, O King, to find Smooth speakers who delight the mind. But they who urge and they who do Distasteful things and wise, are few. Thou hast not learnt, by proof untaught, And borne away by eager thought, That Rama, formed for high emprise, With Varun or with Indra vies. Still let thy people live in peace, Nor let their name and lineage cease, For Rama with his vengeful hand Can sweep the giants from the land. O, let not Janak's daughter bring Destruction on the giant king. Let not the lady Sita wake A tempest, on thy head to break. Still let the dame, by care untried, Be happy by her husband's side, Lest swift avenging ruin fall On glorious Lanka, thee, and all. Men such as thou with wills unchained, Advised by sin and unrestrained, Destroy themselves, the king, the state, And leave the people desolate. Rama, in bonds of duty held, Was never by his sire expelled. He is no wretch of greedy mind, Dishonour of his Warrior kind. Free from all touch of rancorous spite, All creatures' good is his delight. He saw his sire of truthful heart Deceived by Queen Kaikeyi's art, And said, a true and duteous son, "What thou hast promised shall be done." To gratify the lady's will, His father's promise to fulfil, He left his realm and all delight For Dandak wood, an anchorite. No cruel wretch, no senseless fool Is Rama, unrestrained by rule. This groundless charge has ne'er been heard, Nor shouldst thou speak the slanderous word. Rama in truth and goodness bold Is Virtue's self in human mould, The sovereign of the world confessed As Indra rules among the Blest. And dost thou plot from him to rend The darling whom his arms defend? Less vain the hope to steal away The glory of the Lord of Day. O Ravan, guard thee from the fire Of vengeful Rama's kindled ire,-- Each spark a shaft with deadly aim, While bow and falchion feed the flame.

Thus having warned his brother bold He grasped his sword with haft of gold, And bow with triple flexure bent, His own delight and ornament; Then bound two quivers to his side, And hurried forth with eager stride. Soon as the antlered monarch saw The lord of monarchs near him draw, A while with trembling heart he fled, Then turned and showed his stately head. With sword and bow the chief pursued Where'er the fleeing deer he viewed Sending from dell and lone recess The splendour of his loveliness. Now full in view the creature stood Now vanished in the depth of wood; Now running with a languid flight, Now like a meteor lost to sight. With trembling limbs away he sped; Then like the moon with clouds o'erspread Gleamed for a moment bright between The trees, and was again unseen. Thus in the magic deer's disguise Maricha lured him to the prize, And seen a while, then lost to view, Far from his cot the hero drew. Still by the flying game deceived The hunter's heart was wroth and grieved, And wearied with the fruitless chase He stayed him in a shady place. Again the rover of the night Enraged the chieftain, full in sight, Slow moving in the coppice near, Surrounded by the woodland deer. Again the hunter sought the game That seemed a while to court his aim: But seized again with sudden dread, Beyond his sight the creature fled. Again the hero left the shade, Again the deer before him strayed. With surer hope and stronger will The hunter longed his prey to kill. Then as his soul impatient grew, An arrow from his side he drew, Resplendent at the sunbeam's glow, The crusher of the smitten foe. With skillful heed the mighty lord Fixed well shaft and strained the cord. Upon the deer his eyes he bent, And like a fiery serpent went The arrow Brahma's self had framed, Alive with sparks that hissed and flamed, Like Indra's flashing levin, true To the false deer the missile flew Cleaving his flesh that wonderous dart Stood quivering in Maricha's heart.

As, clad in mendicant's disguise, He questioned thus his destined prize, She to the seeming saintly man The story of her life began. "My guest is he," she thought, "and I, To 'scape his curse, must needs reply:" "Child of a noble sire I spring From Janak, fair Videha's king. May every good be thine! my name Is Sita, Rama's cherished dame. Twelve winters with my lord I spent Most happily with sweet content In the rich home of Raghu's line, And every earthly joy was mine. Twelve pleasant years flew by, and then His peers advised the king of men, Rama, my lord, to consecrate Joint ruler of his ancient state. But when the rites were scarce begun, To consecrate Ikshvaku's son, The queen Kaikeyi, honoured dame, Sought of her lord an ancient claim. Her plea of former service pressed, And made him grant her new request, To banish Rama to the wild And consecrate instead her child. This double prayer on him, the best And truest king, she strongly pressed: "Mine eyes in sleep I will not close, Nor eat, nor drink, nor take repose. This very day my death shall bring If Rama be anointed king." As thus she spake in envious ire, The aged king, my husband's sire, Besought with fitting words; but she Was cold and deaf to every plea. As yet my days are few; eighteen The years of life that I have seen; And Rama, best of all alive, Has passed of years a score and five-- Rama the great and gentle, through All region famed as pure and true, Large-eyed and mighty-armed and tall, With tender heart that cares for all. But Dasaratha, led astray By woman's wile and passion's sway, By his strong love of her impelled, The consecrating rites withheld. When, hopeful of the promised grace, My Rama sought his father's face, The queen Kaikeyi, ill at ease, Spoke to my lord brief words like these: "Hear, son of Raghu, hear from me The words thy father says to thee: "I yield this day to Bharat's hand, Free from all foes, this ancient land.

Lakshman, with Fortune's marks impressed, His brother mournfully addressed: "Not by my heart's free impulse led, Leaving thy wife to thee I sped; But by her keen reproaches sent, O Rama, to thine aid I went. She heard afar a mournful cry, "O save me, Lakshman, or I die." The voice that spoke in moving tone Smote on her ear and seemed thine own. Soon as those accents reached her ear She yielded to her woe and fear, She wept o'ercome by grief, and cried, "Fly, Lakshman, fly to Rama's side." Though many a time she bade me speed, Her urgent prayer I would not heed. I bade her in thy strength confide, And thus with tender words replied: "No giant roams the forest shade From whom thy lord need shrink dismayed. No human voice, believe me, spoke Those words thy causeless fear that woke. Can he whose might can save in woe The heavenly Gods e'er stoop so low, And with those piteous accents call For succour like a caitiff thrall? And why should wandering giants choose The accents of thy lord to use, In alien tones my help to crave, And cry aloud, O Lakshman, save? Now let my words thy spirit cheer, Compose thy thoughts and banish fear. In hell, in earth, or in the skies There is not, and there cannot rise A champion whose strong arm can slay Thy Rama in the battle fray. To heavenly hosts he ne'er would yield Though Indra led them to the field." To soothe her thus I vainly sought: Her heart with woe was still distraught. While from her eyes the waters ran Her bitter speech she thus began: "Too well I see thy dark intent: Thy lawless thoughts on me are bent. Thou hopest, but thy hope is vain, To win my love, thy brother slain. Not love, but Bharat's dark decree To share his exile counselled thee, Or hearing now his bitter cry Thou surely to his aid wouldst fly. For love of me, a stealthy foe Thou choosest by his side to go, And now thou longest that my lord Should die, and wilt no help afford."

Dead and cold, His hands the whip and reins still hold. See, Lakshman, here the foot I trace Of man, nay, one of giant race. The hatred that I nursed of old Grows mightier now a hundred fold Against these giants, fierce of heart, Who change their forms by magic art. Slain, eaten by the giant press, Or stolen is the votaress, Nor could her virtue bring defence To Sita seized and hurried hence. O, if my love be slain or lost All hope of bliss for me is crossed. The power of all the worlds were vain To bring one joy to soothe my pain. The spirits with their blinded eyes Would look in wonder, and despise The Lord who made the worlds, the great Creator when compassionate. And so, I ween, the Immortals turn Cold eyes upon me now, and spurn The weakling prompt at pity's call, Devoted to the good of all. But from this day behold me changed, From every gentle grace estranged. Now be it mine all life to slay, And sweep these cursed fiends away. As the great sun leaps up the sky, And the cold moonbeams fade and die, So vengeance rises in my breast, One passion conquering all the rest. Gandharvas in their radiant place, The Yakshas, and the giant race, Kinnars and men shall look in vain For joy they ne'er shall see again. The anguish of my great despair, O Lakshman, fills the heaven and air; And I in wrath all life will slay Within the triple world to-day. Unless the Gods in heaven who dwell Restore my Sita safe and well, I armed with all the fires of Fate, The triple world will devastate. The troubled stars from heaven shall fall, The moon be wrapped in gloomy pall, The fire be quenched, the wind be stilled, The radiant sun grow dark and chilled; Crushed every mountain's towering pride, And every lake and river dried, Dead every creeper, plant, and tree, And lost for aye the mighty sea. Thou shalt the world this day behold In wild disorder uncontrolled, With dying life which naught defends From the fierce storm my bowstring sends.

He stood incensed with eyes of flame, Still mourning for his ravished dame, Determined, like the fire of Fate, To leave the wide world desolate. His ready bow the hero eyed, And as again, again he sighed, The triple world would fain consume Like Hara(510) in the day of doom. Then Lakshman moved with sorrow viewed His brother in unwonted mood, And reverent palm to palm applied, Thus spoke with lips which terror dried "Thy heart was ever soft and kind, To every creature's good inclined. Cast not thy tender mood away, Nor yield to anger's mastering sway. The moon for gentle grace is known, The sun has splendour all his own, The restless wind is free and fast, And earth in patience unsurpassed. So glory with her noble fruit Is thine eternal attribute. O, let not, for the sin of one, The triple world be all undone. I know not whose this car that lies In fragments here before our eyes, Nor who the chiefs who met and fought, Nor what the prize the foemen sought; Who marked the ground with hoof and wheel, Or whose the hand that plied the steel Which left this spot, the battle o'er, Thus sadly dyed with drops of gore. Searching with utmost care I view The signs of one and not of two. Where'er I turn mine eyes I trace No mighty host about the place. Then mete not out for one offence This all-involving recompense. For kings should use the sword they bear, But mild in time should learn to spare, Thou, ever moved by misery's call, Wast the great hope and stay of all. Throughout this world who would not blame This outrage on thy ravished dame? Gandharvas, Danavs, Gods, the trees, The rocks, the rivers, and the seas, Can ne'er in aught thy soul offend, As one whom holiest rites befriend. But him who dared to steal the dame Pursue, O King, with ceaseless aim, With me, the hermits' holy band, And thy great bow to arm thy hand By every mighty flood we'll seek, Each wood, each hill from base to peak.