Ramayana on Leadership

He ceased, his mother's sire well known For wisdom in the council shown, Malyavan, sage and faithful guide. Thus to the monarch's speech replied: "Long reigns the king in safe repose, Unmoved by fear of vanquished foes, Whose feet by saving knowledge led In justice path delight to tread: Who knows to sheath the sword or wield, To order peace, to strike or yield: Prefers, when foes are stronger, peace, And bids a doubtful conflict cease. Now, King, the choice before thee lies, Make peace with Rama, and be wise. This day the captive queen restore Who brings the foe to Lanka's shore. The Sire by whom the worlds are swayed Of yore the Gods and demons made. With these Injustice sided; those Fair Justice for her champions chose. Still Justice dwells with Gods above; Injustice, fiends and giants love. Thou, through the worlds that fear thee, long Hast scorned the right and loved the wrong, And Justice, with thy foes allied, Gives might resistless to their side. Thou, guided by thy wicked will, Hast found delight in deeds of ill, And sages in their holy rest Have trembled, by thy power oppressed. But they, who check each vain desire, Are clothed with might which burns like fire. In them the power and glory live Which zeal and saintly fervour give. Their constant task, their sole delight Is worship and each holy rite, To chant aloud the Veda hymn, Nor let the sacred fires grow dim. Now through the air like thunder ring The echoes of the chants they sing. The vapours of their incense rise And veil with cloudy pall the skies, And Rakshas might grows weak and faint Killed by the power of sage and saint. By Brahma's boon thy life was screened From God, Gandharva, Yaksha, fiend; But Vanars, men, and bears, arrayed Against thee now, thy shores invade. Red meteors, heralds of despair Flash frequent through the lurid air, Foretelling to my troubled mind The ruin of the Rakshas kind.

The hermit ceased. The tuneful pair, Like heavenly minstrels sweet and fair, In music's art divinely skilled, Their saintly master's word fulfilled. Like Rama's self, from whom they came, They showed their sire in face and frame, As though from some fair sculptured stone Two selfsame images had grown. Sometimes the pair rose up to sing, Surrounded by a holy ring, Where seated on the grass had met Full many a musing anchoret. Then tears bedimmed those gentle eyes, As transport took them and surprise, And as they listened every one Cried in delight, Well done! Well done! Those sages versed in holy lore Praised the sweet minstrels more and more: And wondered at the singers' skill, And the bard's verses sweeter still, Which laid so clear before the eye The glorious deeds of days gone by. Thus by the virtuous hermits praised, Inspirited their voice they raised. Pleased with the song this holy man Would give the youths a water-can; One gave a fair ascetic dress, Or sweet fruit from the wilderness. One saint a black-deer's hide would bring, And one a sacrificial string: One, a clay pitcher from his hoard, And one, a twisted munja cord.(59) One in his joy an axe would find, One braid, their plaited locks to bind. One gave a sacrificial cup, One rope to tie their fagots up; While fuel at their feet was laid, Or hermit's stool of fig-tree made. All gave, or if they gave not, none Forgot at least a benison. Some saints, delighted with their lays, Would promise health and length of days; Others with surest words would add Some boon to make their spirit glad. In such degree of honour then That song was held by holy men: That living song which life can give, By which shall many a minstrel live. In seat of kings, in crowded hall, They sang the poem, praised of all. And Rama chanced to hear their lay, While he the votive steed(60) would slay, And sent fit messengers to bring The minstrel pair before the king.

There reigned a king of name revered, To country and to town endeared, Great Dasaratha, good and sage, Well read in Scripture's holy page: Upon his kingdom's weal intent, Mighty and brave and provident; The pride of old Ikshvaku's seed For lofty thought and righteous deed. Peer of the saints, for virtues famed, For foes subdued and passions tamed: A rival in his wealth untold Of Indra and the Lord of Gold. Like Manu first of kings, he reigned, And worthily his state maintained. For firm and just and ever true Love, duty, gain he kept in view, And ruled his city rich and free, Like Indra's Amaravati. And worthy of so fair a place There dwelt a just and happy race With troops of children blest. Each man contented sought no more, Nor longed with envy for the store By richer friends possessed. For poverty was there unknown, And each man counted as his own Kine, steeds, and gold, and grain. All dressed in raiment bright and clean, And every townsman might be seen With earrings, wreath, or chain. None deigned to feed on broken fare, And none was false or stingy there. A piece of gold, the smallest pay, Was earned by labour for a day. On every arm were bracelets worn, And none was faithless or forsworn, A braggart or unkind. None lived upon another's wealth, None pined with dread or broken health, Or dark disease of mind. High-souled were all. The slanderous word, The boastful lie, were never heard. Each man was constant to his vows, And lived devoted to his spouse. No other love his fancy knew, And she was tender, kind, and true. Her dames were fair of form and face, With charm of wit and gentle grace, With modest raiment simply neat, And winning manners soft and sweet. The twice-born sages, whose delight Was Scripture's page and holy rite, Their calm and settled course pursued, Nor sought the menial multitude. In many a Scripture each was versed, And each the flame of worship nursed, And gave with lavish hand.

Two sages, holy saints, had he, His ministers and priests to be: Vasishtha, faithful to advise, And Vamadeva, Scripture-wise. Eight other lords around him stood, All skilled to counsel, wise and good: Jayanta, Vijay, Dhrishti bold In fight, affairs of war controlled: Siddharth and Arthasadhak true Watched o'er expense and revenue, And Dharmapal and wise Asok Of right and law and justice spoke. With these the sage Sumantra, skilled To urge the car, high station filled. All these in knowledge duly trained Each passion and each sense restrained: With modest manners, nobly bred Each plan and nod and look they read, Upon their neighbours' good intent, Most active and benevolent: As sit the Vasus(79) round their king, They sate around him counselling. They ne'er in virtue's loftier pride Another's lowly gifts decried. In fair and seemly garb arrayed, No weak uncertain plans they made. Well skilled in business, fair and just, They gained the people's love and trust, And thus without oppression stored The swelling treasury of their lord. Bound in sweet friendship each to each, They spoke kind thoughts in gentle speech. They looked alike with equal eye On every caste, on low and high. Devoted to their king, they sought, Ere his tongue spoke, to learn his thought, And knew, as each occasion rose, To hide their counsel or disclose. In foreign lands or in their own Whatever passed, to them was known. By secret spies they timely knew What men were doing or would do. Skilled in the grounds of war and peace They saw the monarch's state increase, Watching his weal with conquering eye That never let occasion by, While nature lent her aid to bless Their labours with unbought success. Never for anger, lust, or gain, Would they their lips with falsehood stain. Inclined to mercy they could scan The weakness and the strength of man. They fairly judged both high and low, And ne'er would wrong a guiltless foe; Yet if a fault were proved, each one Would punish e'en his own dear son.

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.

In kingless realms we ne'er behold Young maidens decked with gems and gold, Flock to the gardens blithe and gay To spend their evening hours in play. No lover in the flying car Rides with his love to woods afar. In kingless lands no wealthy swain Who keeps the herd and reaps the grain, Lies sleeping, blest with ample store, Securely near his open door. Upon the royal roads we see No tusked elephant roaming free, Of three-score years, whose head and neck Sweet tinkling bells of silver deck. We hear no more the glad applause When his strong bow each rival draws, No clap of hands, no eager cries That cheer each martial exercise. In kingless realms no merchant bands Who travel forth to distant lands, With precious wares their wagons load, And fear no danger on the road. No sage secure in self-control, Brooding on God with mind and soul, In lonely wanderings finds his home Where'er at eve his feet may roam. In kingless realms no man is sure He holds his life and wealth secure. In kingless lands no warriors smite The foeman's host in glorious fight. In kingless lands the wise no more, Well trained in Scripture's holy lore, In shady groves and gardens meet To argue in their calm retreat. No longer, in religious fear, Do they who pious vows revere, Bring dainty cates and wreaths of flowers As offerings to the heavenly powers. No longer, bright as trees in spring, Shine forth the children of the king Resplendent in the people's eyes With aloe wood and sandal dyes. A brook where water once has been, A grove where grass no more is green, Kine with no herdsman's guiding hand-- So wretched is a kingless land. The car its waving banner rears, Banner of fire the smoke appears: Our king, the banner of our pride, A God with Gods is glorified. In kingless lands no law is known, And none may call his wealth his own, Each preys on each from hour to hour, As fish the weaker fish devour.

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.

Then Rama turned him to retrace The path that brought him to the place, And up the mountain's pleasant side Where lovely lawns lay fair, he hied. Soon as his cottage door he gained His brothers to his breast he strained. From them and Sita in their woes So loud the cry of weeping rose, That like the roar of lions round The mountain rolled the echoing sound. And Bharat's army shook with fear The weeping of the chiefs to hear. "Bharat," the soldiers cried, "'tis plain, His brother Rama meets again, And with these cries that round us ring They sorrow for their sire the king." Then leaving car and wain behind, One eager thought in every mind, Swift toward the weeping, every man, As each could find a passage, ran. Some thither bent their eager course With car, and elephant, and horse, And youthful captains on their feet With longing sped their lord to meet, As though the new-come prince had been An exile for long years unseen. Earth beaten in their frantic zeal By clattering hoof and rumbling wheel, Sent forth a deafening noise as loud As heaven when black with many a cloud. Then, with their consorts gathered near, Wild elephants in sudden fear Rushed to a distant wood, and shed An odour round them as they fled. And every silvan thing that dwelt Within those shades the terror felt, Deer, lion, tiger, boar and roe, Bison, wild-cow, and buffalo. And when the tumult wild they heard, With trembling pinions flew each bird, From tree, from thicket, and from lake, Swan, koil, curlew, crane, and drake. With men the ground was overspread, With startled birds the sky o'erhead. Then on his sacrificial ground The sinless, glorious chief was found. Loading with curses deep and loud The hump-back and the queen, the crowd Whose cheeks were wet, whose eyes were dim, In fond affection ran to him. While the big tears their eyes bedewed, He looked upon the multitude, And then as sire and mother do, His arms about his loved ones threw.

When he his heavenly home had found, The holy men who dwelt around To Rama flocked, whose martial fame Shone glorious as the kindled flame: Vaikhanasas(415) who love the wild, Pure hermits Balakhilyas(416) styled, Good Samprakshalas,(417) saints who live On rays which moon and daystar give: Those who with leaves their lives sustain And those who pound with stones their grain: And they who lie in pools, and those Whose corn, save teeth, no winnow knows: Those who for beds the cold earth use, And those who every couch refuse: And those condemned to ceaseless pains, Whose single foot their weight sustains: And those who sleep neath open skies, Whose food the wave or air supplies, And hermits pure who spend their nights On ground prepared for sacred rites; Those who on hills their vigil hold, Or dripping clothes around them fold: The devotees who live for prayer, Or the five fires(418) unflinching bear. On contemplation all intent, With light that heavenly knowledge lent, They came to Rama, saint and sage, In Sarabhanga's hermitage. The hermit crowd around him pressed, And thus the virtuous chief addressed: "The lordship of the earth is thine, O Prince of old Ikshvaku's line. Lord of the Gods is Indra, so Thou art our lord and guide below. Thy name, the glory of thy might, Throughout the triple world are bright: Thy filial love so nobly shown, Thy truth and virtue well are known. To thee, O lord, for help we fly, And on thy love of right rely: With kindly patience hear us speak, And grant the boon we humbly seek. That lord of earth were most unjust, Foul traitor to his solemn trust, Who should a sixth of all(419) require, Nor guard his people like a sire. But he who ever watchful strives To guard his subjects' wealth and lives, Dear as himself or, dearer still, His sons, with earnest heart and will,-- That king, O Raghu's son, secures High fame that endless years endures, And he to Brahma's world shall rise, Made glorious in the eternal skies.

When Khara with the hosts he led Drew near to Rama's leafy shed, He saw that queller of the foe Stand ready with his ordered bow. He saw, and burning at the view His clanging bow he raised and drew, And bade his driver urge apace His car to meet him face to face. Obedient to his master's hest His eager steeds the driver pressed On to the spot where, none to aid, The strong-armed chief his weapon swayed. Soon as the children of the night Saw Khara rushing to the fight, His lords with loud unearthly cry Followed their chief and gathered nigh. As in his car the leader rode With all his lords around, he showed Like the red planet fiery Mars Surrounded by the lesser stars. Then with a horrid yell that rent The air, the giant chieftain sent A thousand darts in rapid shower On Rama matchless in his power. The rovers of the night, impelled By fiery rage which naught withheld, Upon the unconquered prince, who strained His fearful bow, their arrows rained. With sword and club, with mace and pike, With spear and axe to pierce and strike, Those furious fiends on every side The unconquerable hero plied. The giant legions huge and strong, Like clouds the tempest drives along, Rushed upon Rama with the speed Of whirling car, and mounted steed, And hill-like elephant, to slay The matchless prince in battle fray. Then upon Rama thick and fast The rain of mortal steel they cast, As labouring clouds their torrents shed Upon the mountain-monarch's(467) head. As near and nearer round him drew The warriors of the giant crew, He showed like Siva girt by all His spirits when night's shadows fall. As the great deep receives each rill And river rushing from the hill, He bore that flood of darts, and broke With well-aimed shaft each murderous stroke. By stress of arrowy storm assailed, And wounded sore, he never failed, Like some high mountain which defies The red bolts flashing from the skies.

When wise Maricha heard the tale His heart grew faint, his cheek was pale, He stared with open orbs, and tried To moisten lips which terror dried, And grief, like death, his bosom rent As on the king his look he bent. The monarch's will he strove to stay, Distracted with alarm, For well he knew the might that lay In Rama's matchless arm. With suppliant hands Maricha stood And thus began to tell His counsel for the tyrant's good, And for his own as well:

There breathing still with slow faint sighs Lay Bali on the ground: his eyes, Damp with the tears of death, he raised, On conquering Sugriva gazed, And then in clearest speech expressed The tender feelings of his breast: "Not to my charge, Sugriva, lay Thine injuries avenged to-day; But rather blame resistless Fate That urged me on infuriate. Fate ne'er agreed our lives to bless With simultaneous happiness: To dwell like brothers side by side In tender love was still denied. The Vanars' realm is thine to-day: Begin, O King, thy rightful sway;(604) For I must go at Yama's call To sojourn in his gloomy hall; Must part and leave this very hour My life, my realm, my kingly power, And go instead of these to gain Bright glory free from spot and stain. Now at thy hands one boon I seek With the last words my lips shall speak, And, though it be no easy thing, Perform the task I give thee, King. This son of mine, no foolish boy, Worthy of bliss and nursed in joy,-- See, prostrate on the ground he lies, The hot tears welling from his eyes-- The child I love so well, more sweet Than life itself, for woe unmeet,-- To him be kindly favour shown: O guard and keep him as thine own. Retain him ever by thy side, His father, helper, friend, and guide. From fear and woe his young life save, And give him all his father gave. Then Tara's son in time shall be Brave, resolute, and famed like thee, And march before thee to the fight Where stricken fiends shall own his might. While yet a tender stripling, fame Shall bruit abroad his warrior name, And brightly shall his glory shine For exploits worthy of his line. Child of Sushen,(605) my Tara well Obscurest lore can read and tell; And, trained in wondrous art, divines Each mystery of boding signs. Her solemn warning ne'er despise, Do boldly what her lips advise; For things to come her eye can see, And with her words events agree.

Then Rama, best of all who guide Their steps by duty, thus replied: "What marvel if Lord Indra send The kindly rain, O faithful friend? If, thousand-rayed, the God of Day Drive every darksome cloud away? Or, rising high, the Lord of Night Flood the broad heaven with silver light? What marvel, King, that one like thee The glory of his friends should be? No marvel, O my lord, that thou Hast shown thy noble nature now. Thy heart, Sugriva, well I know: Naught from thy lips but truth may flow, With thee for friend and champion all My foes beneath my arm will fall. The Rakshas, when my queen he stole, Brought sure destruction on his soul, Like Anuhlada(651) who beguiled Queen Sachi called Puloma's child. Yes, near, Sugriva, is the day When I my demon foe shall slay, As conquering Indra in his ire Slew Queen Paulomi's haughty sire."(652) He ceased: thick clouds of dust rose high To every quarter of the sky: The very sun grew faint and pale Behind the darkly-gathering veil. The mighty clouds that hung o'erhead From east to west thick darkness spread, And earth to her foundations shook With hill and forest, lake and brook. Then hidden was the ground beneath Fierce warriors armed with fearful teeth, Hosts numberless, each lord in size A match for him who rules the skies: From many a sea and distant hill, From rock and river, lake and rill. Some like the morning sun were bright, Some, like the moon, were silver white: These green as lotus fibres, those White-coated from their native snows.(653) Then Satabali came in view Girt by a countless retinue. Like some gold mountain high in air Tara's illustrious sire(654) was there. There Ruma's father,(655) far-renowned, With tens of thousands ranged around. There, tinted like the tender green Of lotus filaments, was seen, Compassed by countless legions, one Whose face was as the morning sun, Hanuman's father good and great, Kesari,(656) wisest in debate. There the proud king Gavaksha, feared For his strong warrior arm, appeared.

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?

The Vanar chieftain bowed his head, Within the walls of Lanka sped, Leave from the new-made king obtained, And Sita's lovely garden gained. Beneath a tree the queen he found, Where Rakshas warders watched around. Her pallid cheek, her tangled hair, Her raiment showed her deep despair, Near and more near the envoy came And gently hailed the weeping dame. She started up in sweet surprise, And sudden joy illumed her eyes. For well the Vanar's voice she knew, And hope reviving sprang and grew.

And Visvamitra thus replied: "Sprung from Pulastya's race there came A giant known by Ravan's name. Once favoured by the Eternal Sire He plagues the worlds in ceaseless ire, For peerless power and might renowned, By giant bands encompassed round. Visravas for his sire they hold, His brother is the Lord of Gold. King of the giant hosts is he, And worst of all in cruelty. This Ravan's dread commands impel Two demons who in might excel, Maricha and Suvahu hight, To trouble and impede the rite."

The father lent a gracious ear And listened to their tale of fear, And kindly to the Gods replied Whom woe and death had terrified: "The wisest Vasudeva,(185) who The Immortals' foe, fierce Madhu, slew, Regards broad Earth with love and pride And guards, in Kapil's form, his bride.(186) His kindled wrath will quickly fall On the king's sons and burn them all. This cleaving of the earth his eye Foresaw in ages long gone by: He knew with prescient soul the fate That Sagar's children should await."

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.

When Bharat with each friend and peer Had heard that tale so full and clear, They went together to the tree The bed which Rama pressed to see. Then Bharat to his mothers said: "Behold the high-souled hero's bed: These tumbled heaps of grass betray Where he that night with Sita lay: Unmeet, the heir of fortune high Thus on the cold bare earth should lie, The monarch's son, in counsel sage, Of old imperial lineage. That lion-lord whose noble bed With finest skins of deer was spread,-- How can he now endure to press The bare earth, cold and comfortless! This sudden fall from bliss to grief Appears untrue, beyond belief: My senses are distraught: I seem To view the fancies of a dream. There is no deity so great, No power in heaven can master Fate, If Rama, Dasaratha's heir, Lay on the ground and slumbered there; And lovely Sita, she who springs From fair Videha's ancient kings, Rama's dear wife, by all adored, Lay on the earth beside her lord. Here was his couch, upon this heap He tossed and turned in restless sleep: On the hard soil each manly limb Has stamped the grass with signs of him. That night, it seems, fair Sita spent Arrayed in every ornament, For here and there my eyes behold Small particles of glistering gold. She laid her outer garment here, For still some silken threads appear, How dear in her devoted eyes Must be the bed where Rama lies, Where she so tender could repose And by his side forget her woes. Alas, unhappy, guilty me! For whom the prince was forced to flee, And chief of Raghu's sons and best, A bed like this with Sita pressed. Son of a royal sire whose hand Ruled paramount o'er every land, Could he who every joy bestows, Whose body like the lotus shows, The friend of all, who charms the sight, Whose flashing eyes are darkly bright, Leave the dear kingdom, his by right, Unmeet for woe, the heir of bliss, And lie upon a bed like this?

Then Rama, like the lotus eyed, Descended from the mountain side, And to the Maithil lady showed The lovely stream that softly flowed. And thus Ayodhya's lord addressed His bride, of dames the loveliest, Child of Videha's king, her face Bright with the fair moon's tender grace: "How sweetly glides, O darling, look, Mandakini's delightful brook, Adorned with islets, blossoms gay, And sarases and swans at play! The trees with which her banks are lined Show flowers and fruit of every kind: The match in radiant sheen is she Of King Kuvera's Nalini.(373) My heart exults with pleasure new The shelving band and ford to view, Where gathering herds of thirsty deer Disturb the wave that ran so clear. Now look, those holy hermits mark In skins of deer and coats of bark; With twisted coils of matted hair, The reverend men are bathing there, And as they lift their arms on high The Lord of Day they glorify: These best of saints, my large-eyed spouse, Are constant to their sacred vows. The mountain dances while the trees Bend their proud summits to the breeze, And scatter many a flower and bud From branches that o'erhang the flood. There flows the stream like lucid pearl, Round islets here the currents whirl, And perfect saints from middle air Are flocking to the waters there. See, there lie flowers in many a heap From boughs the whistling breezes sweep, And others wafted by the gale Down the swift current dance and sail. Now see that pair of wild-fowl rise, Exulting with their joyful cries: Hark, darling, wafted from afar How soft their pleasant voices are. To gaze on Chitrakuta's hill, To look upon this lovely rill, To bend mine eyes on thee, dear wife, Is sweeter than my city life. Come, bathe we in the pleasant rill Whose dancing waves are never still, Stirred by those beings pure from sin, The sanctities who bathe therein: Come, dearest, to the stream descend, Approach her as a darling friend, And dip thee in the silver flood Which lotuses and lilies stud.

With ruddy streams each limb was dyed From gaping wounds in breast and side, Showing the hero like the sun 'Mid crimson clouds ere day is done. Then, at that sight of terror, faint Grew God, Gandharva, sage, and saint, Trembling to see the prince oppose His single might to myriad foes. But waxing wroth, with force unspent, He strained his bow to utmost bent, And forth his arrows keen and true In hundreds, yea in thousands flew,-- Shafts none could ward, and none endure: Death's fatal noose was scarce so sure. As 'twere in playful ease he shot His gilded shafts, and rested not. With swiftest flight and truest aim Upon the giant hosts they came. Each smote, each stayed a foeman's breath As fatal as the coil of Death. Each arrow through a giant tore A passage, and besmeared with gore, Pursued its onward way and through The air with flamy brilliance flew. Unnumbered were the arrows sent From the great bow which Rama bent, And every shaft with iron head The lifeblood of a giant shed. Their pennoned bows were cleft, nor mail Nor shield of hide could aught avail. For Rama's myriad arrows tore Through arms, and bracelets which they wore, And severed mighty warriors' thighs Like trunks of elephants in size, And cut resistless passage sheer Through gold-decked horse and charioteer, Slew elephant and rider, slew The horseman and the charger too, And infantry unnumbered sent To dwell 'neath Yama's government. Then rose on high a fearful yell Of rovers of the night, who fell Beneath that iron torrent, sore Wounded by shafts that rent and tore. So mangled by the ceaseless storm Of shafts of every kind and form, Such joy they found, as forests feel When scorched by flame, from Rama's steel. The mightiest still the fight maintained, And furious upon Rama rained Dart, arrow, spear, with wild attacks Of mace, and club, and battle-axe. But the great chief, unconquered yet, Their weapons with his arrows met, Which severed many a giant's head, And all the plain with corpses spread.

Accept thy lover, nor refuse The giant king who fondly woos. O listen, nor reject in scorn A heart by Kama's arrows torn. If thou refuse to hear my prayer, Of grief and coming woe beware; For the sad fate will fall on thee Which came on hapless Urvasi, When with her foot she chanced to touch Pururavas, and sorrowed much.(502) My little finger raised in fight Were more than match for Rama's might. O fairest, blithe and happy be With him whom fortune sends to thee."

What has the world's great master done That thou should steal his precious one? Quick, quick the Maithil dame release; Let Rama's consort go in peace, Lest scorched by his terrific eye Beneath his wrath thou fall and die Like Vritra when Lord Indra threw The lightning flame that smote and slew. Ah fool, with blinded eyes to take Home to thy heart a venomed snake! Ah foolish eyes, too blind to see That Death's dire coils entangle thee! The prudent man his strength will spare, Nor lift a load too great to bear. Content is he with wholesome food Which gives him life and strength renewed, But who would dare the guilty deed That brings no fame or glorious meed, Where merit there is none to win And vengeance soon o'ertakes the sin? My course of life, Pulastya's son, For sixty thousand years has run. Lord of my kind I still maintain Mine old hereditary reign. I, worn by years, am older far Than thou, young lord of bow and car, In coat of glittering mail encased And armed with arrows at thy waist, But not unchallenged shalt thou go, Or steal the dame without a blow. Thou canst not, King, before mine eyes Bear off unchecked thy lovely prize, Safe as the truth of Scripture bent By no close logic's argument. Stay if thy courage let thee, stay And meet me in the battle fray, And thou shalt stain the earth with gore Falling as Khara fell before. Soon Rama, clothed in bark, shall smite Thee, his proud foe, in deadly fight,-- Rama, from whom have oft times fled The Daitya hosts discomfited. No power have I to kill or slay: The princely youths are far away, But soon shalt thou with fearful eye Struck down beneath their arrows lie. But while I yet have life and sense, Thou shalt not, tyrant, carry hence Fair Sita, Rama's honoured queen, With lotus eyes and lovely mien. Whate'er the pain, whate'er the cost, Though in the struggle life be lost, The will of Raghu's noblest son And Dasaratha must be done.

Where stately mansions rose around, A palace fairer still he found, Whose royal height and splendour showed Where Ravan's self, the king, abode. A chosen band with bow and sword Guarded the palace of their lord, Where Raksha's dames of noble race And many a princess fair of face Whom Ravan's arm had torn away From vanquished kings in slumber lay. There jewelled arches high o'erhead An ever-changing lustre shed From ruby, pearl, and every gem On golden pillars under them. Delicious came the tempered air That breathed a heavenly summer there, Stealing through bloomy trees that bore Each pleasant fruit in endless store. No check was there from jealous guard, No door was fast, no portal barred; Only a sweet air breathed to meet The stranger, as a host should greet A wanderer of his kith and kin And woo his weary steps within. He stood within a spacious hall With fretted roof and painted wall, The giant Ravan's boast and pride, Loved even as a lovely bride. 'Twere long to tell each marvel there, The crystal floor, the jewelled stair, The gold, the silver, and the shine Of chrysolite and almandine. There breathed the fairest blooms of spring; There flashed the proud swan's silver wing, The splendour of whose feathers broke Through fragrant wreaths of aloe smoke. "'Tis Indra's heaven," the Vanar cried, Gazing in joy from side to side; "The home of all the Gods is this, The mansion of eternal bliss." There were the softest carpets spread, Delightful to the sight and tread, Where many a lovely woman lay O'ercome by sleep, fatigued with play. The wine no longer cheered the feast, The sound of revelry had ceased. The tinkling feet no longer stirred, No chiming of a zone was heard. So when each bird has sought her nest, And swans are mute and wild bees rest, Sleep the fair lilies on the lake Till the sun's kiss shall bid them wake. Like the calm field of winter's sky Which stars unnumbered glorify, So shone and glowed the sumptuous room With living stars that chased the gloom.

Still with reproaches rough and rude Those fiends the gentle queen pursued: "What! can so fair a life displease, To dwell with him in joyous ease? Dwell in his bowers a happy queen In silk and gold and jewels' sheen? Still must thy woman fancy cling To Rama and reject our king? Die in thy folly, or forget That wretched wandering anchoret. Come, Sita, in luxurious bowers Spend with our lord thy happy hours; The mighty lord who makes his own The treasures of the worlds o'erthrown."

Great rapture filled Satrughna's breast, Obedient to his brother's hest. "Send forth ten thousand men" he cried, "Let brawny arms be stoutly plied, And, smoothing all with skilful care, The road for Kosal's king prepare. Then o'er the earth let thousands throw Fresh showers of water cool as snow, And others strew with garlands gay With loveliest blooms our monarch's way. On tower and temple porch and gate Let banners wave in royal state, And be each roof and terrace lined With blossoms loose and chaplets twined."

With hopeless eye and pallid mien There sat the monarch with the queen. His father's feet with reverence due He clasped, and touched Kaikeyi's too. The king, with eyes still brimming o'er, Cried Rama! and could do no more. His voice was choked, his eye was dim, He could not speak or look on him. Then sudden fear made Rama shake As though his foot had roused a snake, Soon as his eyes had seen the change So mournful, terrible, and strange. For there his reason well-nigh fled, Sighing, with soul disquieted, To torturing pangs a prey, Dismayed, despairing, and distraught, In a fierce whirl of wildering thought The hapless monarch lay, Like Ocean wave-engarlanded Storm-driven from his tranquil bed, The Sun-God in eclipse, Or like a holy seer, heart-stirred With anguish, when a lying word Has passed his heedless lips. The sight of his dear father, pained With woe and misery unexplained Filled Rama with unrest, As Ocean's pulses rise and swell When the great moon he loves so well Shines full upon his breast. So grieving for his father's sake, To his own heart the hero spake: "Why will the king my sire to-day No kindly word of greeting say? At other times, though wroth he be, His eyes grow calm that look on me. Then why does anguish wring his brow To see his well-beloved now?" Sick and perplexed, distraught with woe, To Queen Kaikeyi bowing low, While pallor o'er his bright cheek spread, With humble reverence he said: "What have I done, unknown, amiss To make my father wroth like this? Declare it, O dear Queen, and win His pardon for my heedless sin. Why is the sire I ever find Filled with all love to-day unkind? With eyes cast down and pallid cheek This day alone he will not speak. Or lies he prostrate neath the blow Of fierce disease or sudden woe? For all our bliss is dashed with pain, And joy unmixt is hard to gain. Does stroke of evil fortune smite Dear Bharat, charming to the sight, Or on the brave Satrughna fall, Or consorts, for he loves them all?

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.

When, best of all who give delight, Her Rama wandered far from sight, Kausalya weeping, sore distressed, The king her husband thus addressed: "Thy name, O Monarch, far and wide Through the three worlds is glorified: Yet Rama's is the pitying mind, His speed is true, his heart is kind. How will thy sons, good lord, sustain With Sita, all their care and pain? How in the wild endure distress, Nursed in the lap of tenderness? How will the dear Videhan bear The heat and cold when wandering there Bred in the bliss of princely state, So young and fair and delicate? The large-eyed lady, wont to eat The best of finely seasoned meat-- How will she now her life sustain With woodland fare of self-sown grain? Will she, with joys encompassed long, Who loved the music and the song, In the wild wood endure to hear The ravening lion's voice of fear? Where sleeps my strong-armed hero, where, Like Lord Mahendra's standard, fair? Where is, by Lakshman's side, his bed, His club-like arm beneath his head? When shall I see his flower-like eyes, And face that with the lotus vies, Feel his sweet lily breath, and view His glorious hair and lotus hue? The heart within my breast, I feel, Is adamant or hardest steel, Or, in a thousand fragments split, The loss of him had shattered it, When those I love, who should be blest, Are wandering in the wood distressed, Condemned their wretched lives to lead In exile, by thy ruthless deed. If, when the fourteen years are past, Rama reseeks his home at last, I think not Bharat will consent To yield the wealth and government. At funeral feasts some mourners deal To kith and kin the solemn meal, And having duly fed them all Some Brahmans to the banquet call. The best of Brahmans, good and wise, The tardy summoning despise, And, equal to the Gods, disdain Cups, e'en of Amrit, thus to drain. Nay e'en when Brahmans first have fed, They loathe the meal for others spread, And from the leavings turn with scorn, As bulls avoid a fractured horn.

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.

Fine are the laws which guide the good, Abstruse, and hardly understood; Only the soul, enthroned within The breast of each, knows right from sin. But thou art wild and weak of soul, And spurnest, like thy race, control; The true and right thou canst not find, The blind consulting with the blind. Incline thine ear and I will teach The cause that prompts my present speech. This tempest of thy soul assuage, Nor blame me in thine idle rage. On this great sin thy thoughts bestow, The sin for which I lay thee low. Thou, Bali, in thy brother's life Hast robbed him of his wedded wife, And keepest, scorning ancient right, His Ruma for thine own delight. Thy son's own wife should scarcely be More sacred in thine eyes than she. All duty thou hast scorned, and hence Comes punishment for dire offence. For those who blindly do amiss There is, I ween, no way but this: To check the rash who dare to stray From customs which the good obey, I may not, sprung of Kshatriya line, Forgive this heinous sin of thine: The laws for those who sin like thee The penalty of death decree. Now Bharat rules with sovereign sway, And we his royal word obey. There was no hope of pardon, none, For the vile deed that thou hast done, That wisest monarch dooms to die The wretch whose crimes the law defy; And we, chastising those who err, His righteous doom administer. My soul accounts Sugriva dear E'en as my brother Lakshman here. He brings me blessing, and I swore His wife and kingdom to restore: A bond in solemn honour bound When Vanar chieftains stood around. And can a king like me forsake His friend, and plighted promise break? Reflect, O Vanar, on the cause, The sanction of eternal laws, And, justly smitten down, confess Thou diest for thy wickedness. By honour was I bound to lend Assistance to a faithful friend; And thou hast met a righteous fate Thy former sins to expiate. And thus wilt thou some merit win And make atonement for thy sin.

He spoke,--his friends' delight and pride,-- Then stood again by Rama's side. When Tara(611) heard the words he said Within the town he quickly sped, And brought, on stalwart shoulders laid, The litter for the rites arrayed, Framed like a car for Gods, complete With painted sides and royal seat, With latticed windows deftly made, And golden birds and trees inlaid: Well joined and wrought in every part, A marvel of ingenious art. Where pleasure mounds in carven wood And many a graven figure stood. The best of jewels o'er it hung, And wreaths of flowers around it clung, And over all was raised on high A canopy of saffron dye, While like the sun of morning shone The brilliant blooms that lay thereon. That glorious litter Rama eyed. And spake to Lakshman by his side: "Let Bali on the bier be placed And with all funeral service graced." Sugriva then with many a tear Drew Bali's body to the bier Whereon, with weeping Angad's aid, The relics of the chief were laid Neath many a vesture's varied fold, And wreaths and ornaments and gold. Then King Sugriva bade them speed The obsequies by law decreed: "Let Vanars lead the way and throw Rich gems around them as they go, And be the chosen bearers near Behind them laden with the bier. No costly rite may you deny, Used when the proudest monarchs die: As for a king of widest sway. Perform his obsequies to-day." Sugriva gave his high behest; Then Princely Tara and the rest, With little Angad weeping, led The long procession of the dead. Behind the funeral litter came, With Tara first, each widowed dame, In tears and shrieks her loss deplored, Add cried aloud, My lord! My lord! While wood and hill and valley sent In echoes back the shrill lament. Then on a low and sandy isle Was reared the hero's funeral pile By crowds of toiling Vanars, where The mountain stream ran fresh and fair, The Vanar chiefs, a noble band, Had laid the litter on the sand, And stood a little space apart, Each mourning in his inmost heart.

He ceased: obedient Suka heard; With wings and plumage of a bird He rose in eager speed and through The air upon his errand flew. Borne o'er the sea with rapid wing He stood above the Vanar king, And spoke aloud, sublime in air, The message he was charged to bear. The Vanar heard the words he spoke, And quick redoubling stroke on stroke On head and pinions hemmed him round And bore him struggling to the ground. The Rakshas wounded and distressed These words to Raghu's son addressed:

Then Hanuman to Rama cried: "Ascend my back, great chief, and ride Like Vishnu borne on Garud's wing, To battle with the giant king." So, burning for the dire attack, Rode Rama on the Vanar's back, And with fierce accents loud and slow Thus gave defiance to the foe, While his strained bowstring made a sound Like thunder when it shakes the ground: "Stay, Monarch of the giants, stay, The penalty of sin to pay. Stay! whither wilt thou fly, and how Escape the death that waits thee now?"

Thus cried the king: the welkin rang As forth the eager coursers sprang, And earth beneath the chariot shook With flowery grove and hill and brook. Fast rained his shafts: where'er he sped The conquered Vanars fell or fled, On rolled the car in swift career Till Raghu's noble sons were near. Then Rama looked upon the foe And strained and tried his sounding bow, Till earth and all the region rang Re-echoing to the awful clang. His bow the younger chieftain bent, And shaft on shaft at Ravan sent. He shot: but Ravan little recked; Each arrow with his own he checked, And headless, baffled of its aim, To earth the harmless missile came; And Lakshman stayed his arm o'erpowered By the thick darts the giant showered. Fierce waxed the fight and fiercer yet, For Ravan now and Rama met, And each on other poured amain The tempest of his arrowy rain. While all the sky above was dark With missiles speeding to their mark Like clouds, with flashing lightning twined About them, hurried by the wind. Not fiercer was the wondrous fight When Vritra fell by Indra's might. All arts of war each foeman knew, And trained alike, his bowstring drew. Red-eyed with fury Lanka's king Pressed his huge fingers on the string, And fixed in Rama's brows a flight Of arrows winged with matchless flight. Still Raghu's son endured, and bore That crown of shafts though wounded sore. O'er a dire dart a spell he spoke With mystic power to aid the stroke. In vain upon the foe it smote Rebounding from the steelproof coat. The giant armed his bow anew, And wondrous weapons hissed and flew, Terrific, deadly, swift of flight, Beaked like the vulture and the kite, Or bearing heads of fearful make, Of lion, tiger, wolf and snake.(995) Then Rama, troubled by the storm Of flying darts in every form Shot by an arm that naught could tire, Launched at the foe his dart of fire, Which, sacred to the Lord of Flame, Burnt and consumed where'er it came. And many a blazing shaft beside The hero to his string applied.

When Ravan, dreaded warrior, knew The slaughter of his giant crew: Ravan, the king, whose name of fear Earth, hell, and heaven all shook to hear: He bade the fiend Maricha aid The vengeful plot his fury laid. In vain the wise Maricha tried To turn him from his course aside: Not Ravan's self, he said, might hope With Rama and his strength to cope. Impelled by fate and blind with rage He came to Rama's hermitage. There, by Maricha's magic art, He wiled the princely youths apart, The vulture(31) slew, and bore away The wife of Rama as his prey. The son of Raghu(32) came and found Jatayu slain upon the ground. He rushed within his leafy cot; He sought his wife, but found her not. Then, then the hero's senses failed; In mad despair he wept and wailed. Upon the pile that bird he laid, And still in quest of Sita strayed. A hideous giant then he saw, Kabandha named, a shape of awe. The monstrous fiend he smote and slew, And in the flame the body threw; When straight from out the funeral flame In lovely form Kabandha came, And bade him seek in his distress A wise and holy hermitess. By counsel of this saintly dame To Pampa's pleasant flood he came, And there the steadfast friendship won Of Hanuman the Wind-God's son. Counselled by him he told his grief To great Sugriva, Vanar chief, Who, knowing all the tale, before The sacred flame alliance swore. Sugriva to his new-found friend Told his own story to the end: His hate of Bali for the wrong And insult he had borne so long. And Rama lent a willing ear And promised to allay his fear. Sugriva warned him of the might Of Bali, matchless in the fight, And, credence for his tale to gain, Showed the huge fiend(33) by Bali slain. The prostrate corse of mountain size Seemed nothing in the hero's eyes; He lightly kicked it, as it lay, And cast it twenty leagues(34) away. To prove his might his arrows through Seven palms in line, uninjured, flew. He cleft a mighty hill apart, And down to hell he hurled his dart.

"The rites were o'er, the maids were wed, The bridegroom to his home was sped. The sonless monarch bade prepare A sacrifice to gain an heir. Then Kusa, Brahma's son, appeared, And thus King Kusanabha cheered: "Thou shalt, my child, obtain a son Like thine own self, O holy one. Through him for ever, Gadhi named, Shalt thou in all the worlds be famed." He spoke, and vanished from the sight To Brahma's world of endless light. Time fled, and, as the saint foretold, Gadhi was born, the holy-souled. My sire was he; through him I trace My line from royal Kusa's race. My sister--elder-born was she-- The pure and good Satyavati,(176) Was to the great Richika wed. Still faithful to her husband dead, She followed him, most noble dame, And, raised to heaven in human frame, A pure celestial stream became. Down from Himalaya's snowy height, In floods for ever fair and bright, My sister's holy waves are hurled To purify and glad the world. Now on Himalaya's side I dwell Because I love my sister well. She, for her faith and truth renowned, Most loving to her husband found, High-fated, firm in each pure vow, Is queen of all the rivers now. Bound by a vow I left her side And to the Perfect convent hied. There, by the aid 'twas thine to lend, Made perfect, all my labours end. Thus, mighty Prince, I now have told My race and lineage, high and old, And local tales of long ago Which thou, O Rama, fain wouldst know. As I have sate rehearsing thus The midnight hour is come on us. Now, Rama, sleep, that nothing may Our journey of to-morrow stay. No leaf on any tree is stirred: Hushed in repose are beast and bird: Where'er you turn, on every side, Dense shades of night the landscape hide, The light of eve is fled: the skies, Thick-studded with their host of eyes, Seem a star-forest overhead, Where signs and constellations spread. Now rises, with his pure cold ray, The moon that drives the shades away, And with his gentle influence brings Joy to the hearts of living things.

The daughter of Videha's king, While Rama strove to soothe the sting Of her deep anguish, thus began Once more in furtherance of her plan: And with her spirit sorely tried By fear and anger, love and pride, With keenly taunting words addressed Her hero of the stately breast: "Why did the king my sire, who reigns O'er fair Videha's wide domains, Hail Rama son with joy unwise, A woman in a man's disguise? Now falsely would the people say, By idle fancies led astray, That Rama's own are power and might, As glorious as the Lord of Light. Why sinkest thou in such dismay? What fears upon thy spirit weigh, That thou, O Rama, fain wouldst flee From her who thinks of naught but thee? To thy dear will am I resigned In heart and body, soul and mind, As Savitri gave all to one, Satyavan, Dyumatsena's son.(304) Not e'en in fancy can I brook To any guard save thee to look: Let meaner wives their houses shame, To go with thee is all my claim. Like some low actor, deemst thou fit Thy wife to others to commit-- Thine own, espoused in maiden youth, Thy wife so long, unblamed for truth? Do thou, my lord, his will obey For whom thou losest royal sway, To whom thou wouldst thy wife confide-- Not me, but thee, his wish may guide. Thou must not here thy wife forsake, And to the wood thy journey make, Whether stern penance, grief, and care, Or rule or heaven await thee there. Nor shall fatigue my limbs distress When wandering in the wilderness: Each path which near to thee I tread Shall seem a soft luxurious bed. The reeds, the bushes where I pass, The thorny trees, the tangled grass Shall feel, if only thou be near, Soft to my touch as skins of deer. When the rude wind in fury blows, And scattered dust upon me throws, That dust, beloved lord, to me Shall as the precious sandal be. And what shall be more blest than I, When gazing on the wood I lie In some green glade upon a bed With sacred grass beneath us spread?

But when he heard the queen relate His brothers' doom, his father's fate, Thus Bharat to his mother said With burning grief disquieted: "Alas, what boots it now to reign, Struck down by grief and well-nigh slain? Ah, both are gone, my sire, and he Who was a second sire to me. Grief upon grief thy hand has made, And salt upon gashes laid: For my dear sire has died through thee, And Rama roams a devotee. Thou camest like the night of Fate This royal house to devastate. Unwitting ill, my hapless sire Placed in his bosom coals of fire, And through thy crimes his death he met, O thou whose heart on sin is set. Shame of thy house! thy senseless deed Has reft all joy from Raghu's seed. The truthful monarch, dear to fame, Received thee as his wedded dame, And by thy act to misery doomed Has died by flames of grief consumed. Kausalya and Sumitra too The coming of my mother rue, And if they live oppressed by woe, For their dear sons their sad tears flow. Was he not ever good and kind,-- That hero of the duteous mind? Skilled in all filial duties, he As a dear mother treated thee. Kausalya too, the eldest queen, Who far foresees with insight keen, Did she not ever show thee all A sister's love at duty's call? And hast thou from the kingdom chased Her son, with bark around his waist, To the wild wood, to dwell therein, And dost not sorrow for thy sin? The love I bare to Raghu's son Thou knewest not, ambitious one, If thou hast wrought this impious deed For royal sway, in lawless greed. With him and Lakshman far away, What power have I the realm to sway? What hope will fire my bosom when I see no more these lords of men? The holy king, who loved the right Relied on Rama's power and might, His guardian and his glory, so Joys Meru in his woods below. How can I bear, a steer untrained, The load his mightier strength sustained? What power have I to brook alone This weight on feeble shoulders thrown?

Ere yet the dawn had ushered in The day should see the march begin, Herald and bard who rightly knew Each nice degree of honour due, Their loud auspicious voices raised, And royal Bharat blessed and praised. With sticks of gold the drum they smote, Which thundered out its deafening note, Blew loud the sounding shell, and blent Each high and low-toned instrument. The mingled sound of drum and horn Through all the air was quickly borne, And as in Bharat's ear it rang, Gave the sad prince another pang.

Bharat, with reverent hands raised high, To that great hermit made reply: "My troops, for awe of thee, O Sage, I brought not to thy hermitage: Troops of a king or monarch's son A hermit's home should ever shun. Behind me comes a mighty train Wide spreading o'er the ample plain, Where every chief and captain leads Men, elephants, and mettled steeds. I feared, O reverend Sage, lest these Might harm the holy ground and trees, Springs might be marred and cots o'erthrown, So with the priests I came alone."

"Once in my strength and vigour's pride I roamed this earth from side to side, And towering like a mountain's crest, A thousand Nagas'(491) might possessed. Like some vast sable cloud I showed: My golden armlets flashed and glowed. A crown I wore, an axe I swayed, And all I met were sore afraid. I roved where Dandak wood is spread; On flesh of slaughtered saints I fed. Then Visvamitra, sage revered, Holy of heart, my fury feared. To Dasaratha's court he sped And went before the king and said:(492)

Soon as the Maithil lady knew That high through air the giant flew, Distressed with grief and sore afraid Her troubled spirit sank dismayed. Then, as anew the waters welled From those red eyes which sorrow swelled, Forth in keen words her passion broke, And to the fierce-eyed fiend she spoke: "Canst thou attempt a deed so base, Untroubled by the deep disgrace,-- To steal me from my home and fly, When friend or guardian none was nigh? Thy craven soul that longed to steal, Fearing the blows that warriors deal, Upon a magic deer relied To lure my husband from my side, Friend of his sire, the vulture king Lies low on earth with mangled wing, Who gave his aged life for me And died for her he sought to free. Ah, glorious strength indeed is thine, Thou meanest of thy giant line, Whose courage dared to tell thy name And conquer in the fight a dame. Does the vile deed that thou hast done Cause thee no shame, thou wicked one-- A woman from her home to rend When none was near his aid to lend? Through all the worlds, O giant King, The tidings of this deed will ring, This deed in law and honour's spite By one who claims a hero's might. Shame on thy boasted valour, shame! Thy prowess is an empty name. Shame, giant, on this cursed deed For which thy race is doomed to bleed! Thou fliest swifter than the gale, For what can strength like thine avail? Stay for one hour, O Ravan, stay; Thou shalt not flee with life away. Soon as the royal chieftains' sight Falls on the thief who roams by night, Thou wilt not, tyrant, live one hour Though backed by all thy legions' power. Ne'er can thy puny strength sustain The tempest of their arrowy rain: Have e'er the trembling birds withstood The wild flames raging in the wood? Hear me, O Ravan, let me go, And save thy soul from coming woe. Or if thou wilt not set me free, Wroth for this insult done to me. With his brave brother's aid my lord Against thy life will raise his sword.

To the fair homes of Gods we'll fly, And bright Gandharvas in the sky, Until we reach, where'er he be, The wretch who stole thy spouse from thee. Then if the Gods will not restore Thy Sita when the search is o'er, Then, royal lord of Kosal's land, No longer hold thy vengeful hand. If meekness, prayer, and right be weak To bring thee back the dame we seek, Up, brother, with a deadly shower Of gold-bright shafts thy foes o'erpower, Fierce as the flashing levin sent From King Mahendra's firmament.

She ceased. The troubled damsel sighed Sighs long and hot, and thus replied: "What madness has possessed thy mind, To warnings deaf, to dangers blind? Canst thou not see the floods of woe That threaten o'er thine head to flow: First Rama will the throne acquire, Then Rama's son succeed his sire, While Bharat will neglected pine Excluded from the royal line. Not all his sons, O lady fair, The kingdom of a monarch share: All ruling when a sovereign dies Wild tumult in the state would rise. The eldest, be he good or ill, Is ruler by the father's will. Know, tender mother, that thy son Without a friend and all undone, Far from the joyous ease of home An alien from his race will roam. I sped to thee for whom I feel, But thy fond heart mistakes my zeal, Thy hand a present would bestow Because thy rival triumphs so. When Rama once begins his sway Without a foe his will to stay, Thy darling Bharat he will drive To distant lands if left alive. By thee the child was sent away Beneath his grandsire's roof to stay. Even in stocks and stones perforce Will friendship spring from intercourse. The young Satrughna too would go With Bharat, for he loved him so. As Lakshman still to Rama cleaves, He his dear Bharat never leaves. There is an ancient tale they tell: A tree the foresters would fell Was saved by reeds that round it stood, For love that sprang of neighbourhood. So Lakshman Rama will defend, And each on each for aid depend. Such fame on earth their friendship wins As that which binds the Heavenly Twins. And Rama ne'er will purpose wrong To Lakshman, for their love is strong. But Bharat, Oh, of this be sure, Must evil at his hands endure. Come, Rama from his home expel An exile in the woods to dwell. The plan, O Queen, which I advise Secures thy weal if thou be wise. So we and all thy kith and kin Advantage from thy gain shall win. Shall Bharat, meet for happier fate, Born to endure his rival's hate, With all his fortune ruined cower And dread his brother's mightier power!

In spite of all her tender care, Her noble son, her face most fair, Another queen I could prefer And for thy sake neglected her, But now, O Queen, my heart is grieved For love and care by thee received, E'en as the sickening wretch repents His dainty meal and condiments. And how will Queen Sumitra trust The husband whom she finds unjust, Seeing my Rama driven hence Dishonoured, and for no offence? Ah! the Videhan bride will hear A double woe, a double fear, Two whelming sorrows at one breath, Her lord's disgrace, his father's death. Mine aged bosom she will wring And kill me with her sorrowing, Sad as a fair nymph left to weep Deserted on Himalaya's steep. For short will be my days, I ween, When I with mournful eyes have seen My Rama wandering forth alone And heard dear Sita sob and moan. Ah me! my fond belief I rue. Vile traitress, loved as good and true, As one who in his thirst has quaffed, Deceived by looks, a deadly draught. Ah! thou hast slain me, murderess, while Soothing my soul with words of guile, As the wild hunter kills the deer Lured from the brake his song to hear. Soon every honest tongue will fling Reproach on the dishonest king; The people's scorn in every street The seller of his child will meet, And such dishonour will be mine As whelms a Brahman drunk with wine. Ah me, for my unhappy fate, Compelled thy words to tolerate! Such woe is sent to scourge a crime Committed in some distant time. For many a day with sinful care I cherished thee, thou sin and snare, Kept thee, unwitting, like a cord Destined to bind its hapless lord. Mine hours of ease I spent with thee, Nor deemed my love my death would be, While like a heedless child I played, On a black snake my hand I laid. A cry from every mouth will burst And all the world will hold me curst, Because I saw my high-souled son Unkinged, unfathered, and undone; "The king by power of love beguiled Is weaker than a foolish child, His own beloved son to make An exile for a woman's sake.

While fires of woe consumed her, such Her sad appeal, lamenting much; Then with a wild cry, anguish-wrung, About her husband's neck she clung. Like some she-elephant who bleeds Struck by the hunter's venomed reeds, So in her quivering heart she felt The many wounds his speeches dealt. Then, as the spark from wood is gained,(305) Down rolled the tear so long restrained: The crystal moisture, sprung from woe, From her sweet eyes began to flow, As runs the water from a pair Of lotuses divinely fair. And Sita's face with long dark eyes, Pure as the moon of autumn skies, Faded with weeping, as the buds Of lotuses when sink the floods. Around his wife his arms he strained, Who senseless from her woe remained, And with sweet words, that bade her wake To life again, the hero spake: "I would not with thy woe, my Queen, Buy heaven and all its blissful sheen. Void of all fear am I as He, The self-existent God, can be. I knew not all thy heart till now, Dear lady of the lovely brow, So wished not thee in woods to dwell; Yet there mine arm can guard thee well. Now surely thou, dear love, wast made To dwell with me in green wood shade. And, as a high saint's tender mind Clings to its love for all mankind, So I to thee will ever cling, Sweet daughter of Videha's king. The good, of old, O soft of frame, Honoured this duty's sovereign claim, And I its guidance will not shun, True as light's Queen is to the Sun. I cannot, pride of Janak's line, This journey to the wood decline: My sire's behest, the oath he sware, The claims of truth, all lead me there. One duty, dear the same for aye, Is sire and mother to obey: Should I their orders once transgress My very life were weariness. If glad obedience be denied To father, mother, holy guide, What rites, what service can be done That stern Fate's favour may be won? These three the triple world comprise, O darling of the lovely eyes. Earth has no holy thing like these Whom with all love men seek to please.

Satrughna thus to Bharat spake Who longed the forest road to take: "He who in woe was wont to give Strength to himself and all that live-- Dear Rama, true and pure in heart, Is banished by a woman's art. Yet here was Lakshman, brave and strong, Could not his might prevent the wrong? Could not his arm the king restrain, Or make the banished free again? One loving right and fearing crime Had checked the monarch's sin in time, When, vassal of a woman's will, His feet approached the path of ill."

The bird, empowered by Gods to spring Through earth itself on rapid wing, Through the three worlds in terror fled Still followed by that arrow dread. Where'er he flew, now here now there, A cloud of weapons filled the air. Back to the high-souled prince he fled And bent at Rama's feet his head, And then, as Sita looked, began His speech in accents of a man: "O pardon, and for pity's sake Spare, Rama, spare my life to take! Where'er I turn, where'er I flee, No shelter from this shaft I see."

Then Rama nobly calm allayed The wrath that Lakshman's bosom swayed: "What need have we the sword to wield, To bend the bow or lift the shield, If Bharat brave, and wise, and good, Himself has sought this sheltering wood? I sware my father's will to do, And if I now my brother slew What gain in kingship should I find, Despised and scorned by all mankind? Believe me, e'en as I would shrink From poisoned meat or deadly drink, No power or treasure would I win By fall of friend or kith or kin. Brother, believe the words I speak: For your dear sakes alone I seek Duty and pleasure, wealth and gain: A holy life, a happy reign. If royal sway my heart desires, My brothers' weal the wish inspires: Their bliss and safety is my care, By this uplifted bow I swear. 'Twere not so hard for me to gain This broad land girdled by the main, But even Indra's royal might Should ne'er be mine in duty's spite. If any bliss my soul can see Deprived of dear Satrughna, thee, And Bharat, may the flame destroy With ashy gloom the selfish joy. Far dearer than this life of mine, Knowing the custom of our line, His heart with fond affection fraught, Bharat Ayodhya's town resought And hearing when he came that I, With thee and Sita, forced to fly With matted hair and hermit dress Am wandering in the wilderness. While grief his troubled senses storms, And tender love his bosom warms, From every thought of evil clear, Is come to meet his brother here. Some grievous words perchance he spoke Kaikeyi's anger to provoke, Then won the king, and comes to lay Before my feet the royal sway. Hither, methinks, in season due Comes Bharat for an interview, Nor in his secret heart has he One evil thought 'gainst thee or me. What has he done ere now, reflect! How failed in love or due respect To make thee doubt his faith and lay This evil to his charge to-day? Thou shouldst not join with Bharat's name So harsh a speech and idle blame. The blows thy tongue at Bharat deals, My sympathizing bosom feels.

Thus to the saint, whose glories high Filled all the world, he made reply: And thus again the holy man His pleasant speech with joy began: "This calm retreat, O Prince, is blest With many a charm: here take thy rest. Here roots and kindly fruits abound, And hermits love the holy ground. Fair silvan beasts and gentle deer In herds unnumbered wander here: And as they roam, secure from harm, Our eyes with grace and beauty charm: Except the beasts in thickets bred, This grove of ours has naught to dread."

Thus spoke Matanga in his rage, And hastened from the hermitage, When lo, before his wondering eyes Lay the dead bull of mountain size. His hermit soul was nothing slow The doer of the deed to know, And thus the Vanar in a burst Of wild tempestuous wrath he cursed: "Ne'er let that Vanar wander here, For, if he come, his death is near, Whose impious hand with blood has dyed The holy place where I abide, Who threw this demon corse and made A ruin of the pleasant shade. If e'er he plant his wicked feet Within one league of my retreat; Yea, if the villain come so nigh That very hour he needs must die. And let the Vanar lords who dwell In the dark woods that skirt my cell Obey my words, and speeding hence Find them some meeter residence. Here if they dare to stay, on all The terrors of my curse shall fall. They spoil the tender saplings, dear As children which I cherish here, Mar root and branch and leaf and spray, And steal the ripening fruit away. One day I grant, no further hour, To-morrow shall my curse have power, And then each Vanar I may see A stone through countless years shall be." The Vanars heard the curse and hied From sheltering wood and mountain side. King Bali marked their haste and dread, And to the flying leaders said: "Speak, Vanar chiefs, and tell me why From Saint Matanga's grove ye fly To gather round me: is it well With all who in those woodlands dwell?" He spoke: the Vanar leaders told King Bali with his chain of gold What curse the saint had on them laid, Which drove them from their ancient shade. Then royal Bali sought the sage, With reverent hands to soothe his rage. The holy man his suppliant spurned, And to his cell in anger turned. That curse on Bali sorely pressed, And long his conscious soul distressed. Him still the curse and terror keep Afar from Rishyamuka's steep. He dares not to the grove draw nigh, Nay scarce will hither turn his eye. We know what terrors warm him hence, And roam these woods in confidence.

Then answered Rama, as he pressed The Vanar monarch to his breast: "O search for my lost Sita, strive To find her if she still survive: And in thy wondrous wisdom trace Fierce Ravan to his dwelling-place. And when by toil and search we know Where Sita lies and where the foe, With thee, dear friend, will I devise Fit means to end the enterprise. Not mine, not Lakshman's is the power To guide us in the doubtful hour. Thou, sovereign of the Vanars, thou Must be our hope and leader now."

He heard, and from his watery shroud, As bursts the sun from autumn cloud, Rose swifty, crowned with plant and tree, And stood above the foamy sea.(790) There with his lofty peaks upraised Bright as a hundred suns he blazed, And crest and crag of burnished gold Flashed on the flood that round him rolled. The Vanar thought the mountain rose A hostile bar to interpose, And, like a wind-swept cloud, o'erthrew The glittering mountain as he flew. Then from the falling hill rang out A warning voice and joyful shout. Again he raised him high in air To meet the flying Vanar there, And standing on his topmost peak In human form began to speak:(791) "Best of the Vanars' noblest line, A mighty task, O chief, is thine. Here for a while, I pray thee, light And rest upon the breezy height. A prince of Raghu's line was he Who gave his glory to the Sea,(792) Who now to Rama's envoy shows High honour for the debt he owes. He bade me lift my buried head Uprising from my watery bed, And woo the Vanar chief to rest A moment on my glittering crest. Refresh thy weary limbs, and eat My mountain fruits for they are sweet. I too, O chieftain, know thee well; Three worlds thy famous virtues tell; And none, I ween, with thee may vie Who spring impetuous through the sky. To every guest, though mean and low. The wise respect and honour show; And how shall I neglect thee, how Slight the great guest so near me now? Son of the Wind, 'tis thine to share The might of him who shakes the air; And,--for he loves his offspring,--he Is honoured when I honour thee. Of yore, when Krita's age(793) was new, The little hills and mountains flew Where'er they listed, borne on wings More rapid than the feathered king's.(794) But mighty terror came on all The Gods and saints who feared their fall. And Indra in his anger rent Their pinions with the bolts he sent. When in his ruthless fury he Levelled his flashing bolt at me, The great-souled Wind inclined to save, And laid me neath the ocean's wave.

"Revoke, my lord, thy fierce decree, And hear the words I speak to thee. Kings wise and noble ne'er condemn To death the envoys sent to them. Such deed the world's contempt would draw On him who breaks the ancient law.(885) Observe the mean where justice lies, And spare his life but still chastise." Then forth the tyrant's fury broke, And thus in angry words he spoke: "O hero, when the wicked bleed No sin or shame attends the deed. The Vanar's blood must needs be spilt, The penalty of heinous guilt."

They heard his gracious words, and then Spake reverent to the lord of men: "O Raghu's son, thou knowest well All things of heaven and earth and hell. 'Tis but thy friendship bids us speak The counsel Rama need not seek. So duteous, brave, and true art thou, Heroic, faithful to thy vow. Deep in the scriptures, trained and tried, Still in thy friends wilt thou confide. Let each of us in turn impart The secret counsel of his heart, And strive to win his chief's assent, By force of wisest argument."

The monarch frowned, by passion moved And thus in angry words reproved: "Wilt thou thine elder brother school, Forgetful of the ancient rule That bids thee treat him as the sage Who guides thee with the lore of age? Think on the dangers of the day, Nor idly throw thy words away: If, led astray, by passion stirred, I in the pride of power have erred; If deeds of old were done amiss, No time for vain reproach is this. Up, brother; let thy loving care The errors of thy king repair."

He ceased: the faithful love that moved The prince's soul each heart approved; Nor could the Vanar chiefs refrain From tender tears that fell like rain. Then Rama, stirred with joy anew, His arms about his brother threw, And to the grove his course he bent Where Bharat's hermit days were spent. Alighting in that pure retreat He pressed the earth with eager feet. Then, at his hest, the car rose high And sailing through the northern sky Sped homeward to the Lord of Gold Who owned the wondrous prize of old.(1028)

When Bharat saw Sumantra's eye Looked up to Rama for reply, The Prince himself in eager haste The sacred grass in order placed. Him great and mighty Rama, best Of royal saints, in turn addressed: "What, Bharat, have I done, that thou Besiegest me,(394) a suppliant now? Thus streched, to force redress for wrongs To men of Brahman birth belongs, Not those upon whose kingly head The consecrating drops are shed. Up, lord of men! arise, and quit This fearful vow for thee unfit. Go, brother, seek Ayodhya's town, Fair city of supreme renown."

"O see, the king who rules the race Of giants, cruel, fierce and base, Ravan the spoiler bears me hence The helpless prey of violence. This fiend who roves in midnight shade By thee, dear bird, can ne'er be stayed, For he is armed and fierce and strong Triumphant in the power to wrong. For thee remains one only task, To do, kind friend, the thing I ask. To Rama's ear by thee be borne How Sita from her home is torn, And to the valiant Lakshman tell The giant's deed and what befell."