Ramayana on Nature

By chaste and holy vows restrained, By reverend teachers duly trained. When he his virtue's fruit should taste He falls by sin and woe disgraced." Two words will all his answer be When I pronounce the stern decree, "Hence, Rama, to the woods away," All he will say is, I obey. O, if he would my will withstand When banished from his home and land, This were a comfort in my woe; But he will ne'er do this, I know. My Rama to the forest fled, And curses thick upon my head, Grim Death will bear me hence away, His world-abominated prey. When I am gone and Rama too. How wilt thou those I love pursue? What vengeful sin will be designed Against the queens I leave behind? When thou hast slain her son and me Kausalya soon will follow: she Will sink beneath her sorrows' weight, And die like me disconsolate. Exist, Kaikeyi, in thy pride, And let thy heart be gratified, When thou my queens and me hast hurled, And children, to the under world. Soon wilt thou rule as empress o'er My noble house unvext before. But then to wild confusion left, Of Rama and of me bereft. If Bharat to thy plan consent And long for Rama's banishment, Ne'er let his hands presume to pay The funeral honours to my clay. Vile foe, thou cause of all mine ill, Obtain at last thy cursed will. A widow soon shalt thou enjoy The sweets of empire with thy boy. O Princess, sure some evil fate First brought thee here to devastate, In whom the night of ruin lies Veiled in a consort's fair disguise. The scorn of all and deepest shame Will long pursue my hated name, And dire disgrace on me will press, Misled by thee to wickedness. How shall my Rama, whom, before, His elephant or chariot bore, Now with his feet, a wanderer, tread The forest wilds around him spread? How shall my son, to please whose taste, The deftest cooks, with earrings graced, With rivalry and jealous care The dainty meal and cates prepare-- How shall he now his life sustain With acid fruit and woodland grain?

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?

(335) The fervent heat that moment ceased, The darkening clouds each hour increased And frogs and deer and peacocks all Rejoiced to see the torrents fall. Their bright wings heavy from the shower, The birds, new-bathed, had scarce the power To reach the branches of the trees Whose high tops swayed beneath the breeze. The fallen rain, and falling still, Hung like a sheet on every hill, Till, with glad deer, each flooded steep Showed glorious as the mighty deep. The torrents down its wooded side Poured, some unstained, while others dyed Gold, ashy, silver, ochre, bore The tints of every mountain ore. In that sweet time, when all are pleased, My arrows and my bow I seized; Keen for the chase, in field or grove, Down Sarju's bank my car I drove. I longed with all my lawless will Some elephant by night to kill, Some buffalo that came to drink, Or tiger, at the river's brink. When all around was dark and still, I heard a pitcher slowly fill, And thought, obscured in deepest shade, An elephant the sound had made. I drew a shaft that glittered bright, Fell as a serpent's venomed bite; I longed to lay the monster dead, And to the mark my arrow sped. Then in the calm of morning, clear A hermit's wailing smote my ear: "Ah me, ah me," he cried, and sank, Pierced by my arrow, on the bank. E'en as the weapon smote his side, I heard a human voice that cried: "Why lights this shaft on one like me, A poor and harmless devotee? I came by night to fill my jar From this lone stream where no men are. Ah, who this deadly shaft has shot? Whom have I wronged, and knew it not? Why should a boy so harmless feel The vengeance of the winged steel? Or who should slay the guiltless son Of hermit sire who injures none, Who dwells retired in woods, and there Supports his life on woodland fare? Ah me, ah me, why am I slain, What booty will the murderer gain? In hermit coils I bind my hair, Coats made of skin and bark I wear.

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.

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."

To Lakshman thus he cried: "Brother, I ween, beneath the sun, Of all mankind there lives not one So full of sin, whose hand has done Such cursed deeds as mine. For my sad heart with misery bleeds, As, guerdon of those evil deeds, Still greater woe to woe succeeds In never-ending line. A life of sin I freely chose, And from my past transgression flows A ceaseless flood of bitter woes My folly to repay. The fruit of sin has ripened fast, Through many a sorrow have I passed, And now the crowning grief at last Falls on my head to-day. From all my faithful friends I fled, My sire is numbered with the dead, My royal rank is forfeited, My mother far away. These woes on which I sadly think Fill, till it raves above the brink, The stream of grief in which I sink,-- The flood which naught can stay. Ne'er, brother, ne'er have I complained; Though long by toil and trouble pained, Without a murmur I sustained The woes of woodland life. But fiercer than the flames that rise When crackling wood the food supplies,-- Flashing a glow through evening skies,-- This sorrow for my wife. Some cruel fiend has seized the prey And torn my trembling love away, While, as he bore her through the skies, She shrieked aloud with frantic cries, In tones of fear which, wild and shrill, Retained their native sweetness still. Ah me, that breast so soft and sweet, For sandal's precious perfume meet, Now all detained with dust and gore, Shall meet my fond caress no more. That face, whose lips with tones so clear Made pleasant music, sweet to hear,-- With soft locks plaited o'er the brow,-- Some giant's hand is on it now. It smiles not, as the dear light fails When Rahu's jaw the moon assails. Ah, my true love! that shapely neck She loved with fairest chains to deck, The cruel demons rend, and drain The lifeblood from each mangled vein. Ah, when the savage monsters came And dragged away the helpless dame, The lady of the long soft eye Called like a lamb with piteous cry.

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.

That shout, which shook the land with fear, In thunder smote on Bali's ear, Where in the chamber barred and closed The sovereign with his dame reposed. Each amorous thought was rudely stilled, And pride and rage his bosom filled. His angry eyes flashed darkly red, And all his native brightness fled, As when, by swift eclipse assailed, The glory of the sun has failed. While in his fury uncontrolled He ground his teeth, his eyeballs rolled, He seemed a lake wherein no gem Of blossom decks the lotus stem. He heard, and with indignant pride Forth from the bower the Vanar hied. And the earth trembled at the beat And fury of his hastening feet. But Tara to her consort flew, Her loving arms around him threw, And trembling and bewildered, gave Wise counsel that might heal and save: "O dear my lord, this rage control That like a torrent floods thy soul, And cast these idle thoughts away Like faded wreath of yesterday, O tarry till the morning light, Then, if thou wilt, go forth and fight. Think not I doubt thy valour, no; Or deem thee weaker than thy foe, Yet for a while would have thee stay Nor see thee tempt the fight to-day. Now list, my loving lord, and learn The reason why I bid thee turn. Thy foeman came in wrath and pride, And thee to deadly fight defied. Thou wentest out: he fought, and fled Sore wounded and discomfited. But yet, untaught by late defeat, He comes his conquering foe to meet, And calls thee forth with cry and shout: Hence spring, my lord, this fear and doubt. A heart so bold that will not yield, But yearns to tempt the desperate field, Such loud defiance, fiercely pressed, On no uncertain hope can rest. So lately by thine arm o'erthrown, He comes not back, I ween, alone. Some mightier comrade guards his side, And spurs him to this burst of pride. For nature made the Vanar wise: On arms of might his hope relies; And never will Sugriva seek A friend whose power to save is weak. Now listen while my lips unfold The wondrous tale my Angad told.

The loving speech Sugriva heard, And all his heart with woe was stirred. Remorse and gentle pity stole Each thought of triumph from his soul: Thus fades the light when Rahu(606) mars The glory of the Lord of Stars.(607) All angry thoughts were stayed and stilled And kindly love his bosom filled. His brother's word the chief obeyed And took the chain as Bali prayed. On little Angad standing nigh The dying hero fixed his eye, And, ready from this world to part, Spoke the fond utterance of his heart:

Pleased with their praises as they sang, Again through fields of air he sprang, And now, his travail wellnigh done, The distant shore was almost won. Before him on the margent stood In long dark line a waving wood, And the fair island, bright and green With flowers and trees, was clearly seen, And every babbling brook that gave Her lord the sea a tribute wave. He lighted down on Lamba's peak Which tinted metals stain and streak, And looked where Lanka's splendid town Shone on the mountain like a crown.

Far down against the mountain's feet The Vanar heard the wild waves beat; Then turned his glances to the north. Sprang from the peak and bounded forth, The mountain felt the fearful shock And trembled through his mass of rock. The tallest trees were crushed and rent And headlong to the valley sent, And as the rocking shook each cave Loud was the roar the lions gave. Forth from the shaken cavern came Fierce serpents with their tongues aflame; And every Yaksha, wild with dread, And Kinnar and Gandharva, fled.

Soon as they heard the holy man, To the king's chamber swift they ran With minds disordered all, and spurred To wildest zeal by what they heard. On to the royal hall they sped, There stood and lowly bowed the head, And made the lord of men aware That the great saint was waiting there. The king with priest and peer arose And ran the sage to meet, As Indra from his palace goes Lord Brahma's self to greet. When glowing with celestial light The pious hermit was in sight, The king, whose mien his transport showed, The honoured gift for guests bestowed. Nor did the saint that gift despise, Offered as holy texts advise; He kindly asked the earth's great king How all with him was prospering. The son of Kusik(139) bade him tell If all in town and field were well, All well with friends, and kith and kin, And royal treasure stored within: "Do all thy neighbours own thy sway? Thy foes confess thee yet? Dost thou continue still to pay To Gods and men each debt?" Then he, of hermits first and best, Vasishtha with a smile(140) addressed, And asked him of his welfare too, Showing him honour as was due. Then with the sainted hermit all Went joyous to the monarch's hall, And sate them down by due degree, Each one, of rank and dignity. Joy filled the noble prince's breast Who thus bespoke the honoured guest: "As amrit(141) by a mortal found, As rain upon the thirsty ground, As to an heirless man a son Born to him of his precious one, As gain of what we sorely miss, As sudden dawn of mighty bliss, So is thy coming here to me: All welcome, mighty Saint, to thee. What wish within thy heart hast thou? If I can please thee, tell me how. Hail, Saint, from whom all honours flow, Worthy of all I can bestow. Blest is my birth with fruit to-day, Nor has my life been thrown away. I see the best of Brahman race And night to glorious morn gives place. Thou, holy Sage, in days of old Among the royal saints enrolled, Didst, penance-glorified, within The Brahman caste high station win.

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."

Lakshman in haste, the wood to view, Climbed a high Sal that near him grew, The forest all around he eyed, First gazing on the eastern side. Then northward when his eyes he bent He saw a mighty armament Of elephants, and cars, and horse, And men on foot, a mingled force, And banners waving in the breeze, And spoke to Rama words like these: "Quick, quick, my lord, put out the fire, Let Sita to the cave retire. Thy coat of mail around thee throw, Prepare thine arrows and thy bow."

When Rama saw his brother stand With none beside him, all unmanned, Eager he questioned why he came So far without the Maithil dame: "Where is my wife, my darling, she Who to the wild wood followed me? Where hast thou left my lady, where The dame who chose my lot to share? Where is my love who balms my woe As through the forest wilds I go, Unkinged and banished and disgraced,-- My darling of the dainty waist? She nerves my spirit for the strife, She, only she gives zest to life, Dear as my breath is she who vies In charms with daughters of the skies. If Janak's child be mine no more, In splendour fair as virgin ore, The lordship of the skies and earth To me were prize of little worth. Ah, lives she yet, the Maithil dame, Dear as the soul within this frame? O, let not all my toil be vain, The banishment, the woe and pain! O, let not dark Kaikeyi win The guerdon of her treacherous sin, If, Sita lost, my days I end, And thou without me homeward wend! O, let not good Kausalya shed Her bitter tears to mourn me dead, Nor her proud rival's hest obey, Strong in her son and queenly sway! Back to my cot will I repair If Sita live to greet me there, But if my wife have perished, I Reft of my love will surely die. O Lakshman, if I seek my cot, Look for my love and find her not Sweet welcome with her smile to give, I tell thee, I will cease to live. O answer,--let thy words be plain,-- Lives Sita yet, or is she slain? Didst thou thy sacred trust betray Till ravening giants seized the prey? Ah me, so young, so soft and fair, Lapped in all bliss, untried by care, Rent from her own dear husband, how Will she support her misery now? That voice, O Lakshman smote thine ear, And filled, I ween, thy heart with fear, When on thy name for succour cried The treacherous giant ere he died. That voice too like mine own, I ween, Was heard by the Videhan queen.

As Rama sought his leafy cot Through his left eye keen throbbings shot, His wonted strength his frame forsook, And all his body reeled and shook. Still on those dreadful signs he thought,-- Sad omens with disaster fraught, And from his troubled heart he cried, "O, may no ill my spouse betide!" Longing to gaze on Sita's face He hastened to his dwelling-place, Then sinking neath his misery's weight, He looked and found it desolate. Tossing his mighty arms on high He sought her with an eager cry, From spot to spot he wildly ran Each corner of his home to scan. He looked, but Sita was not there; His cot was disolate and bare, Like streamlet in the winter frost, The glory of her lilies lost. With leafy tears the sad trees wept As a wild wind their branches swept. Mourned bird and deer, and every flower Drooped fainting round the lonely bower. The silvan deities had fled The spot where all the light was dead, Where hermit coats of skin displayed, And piles of sacred grass were laid. He saw, and maddened by his pain Cried in lament again, again: "Where is she, dead or torn away, Lost, or some hungry giant's prey? Or did my darling chance to rove For fruit and blossoms though the grove? Or has she sought the pool or rill, Her pitcher from the wave to fill?" His eager eyes on fire with pain He roamed about with maddened brain. Each grove and glade he searched with care, He sought, but found no Sita there. He wildly rushed from hill to hill; From tree to tree, from rill to rill, As bitter woe his bosom rent Still Rama roamed with fond lament: "O sweet Kadamba say has she Who loved thy bloom been seen by thee? If thou have seen her face most fair, Say, gentle tree, I pray thee, where. O Bel tree with thy golden fruit Round as her breast, no more be mute, Where is my radiant darling, gay In silk that mocks thy glossy spray? O Arjun, say, where is she now Who loved to touch thy scented bough? Do not thy graceful friend forget, But tell me, is she living yet?

Speak, Basil, thou must surely know, For like her limbs thy branches show,-- Most lovely in thy fair array Of twining plant and tender spray. Sweet Tila, fairest of the trees, Melodious with the hum of bees, Where is my darling Sita, tell,-- The dame who loved thy flowers so well? Asoka, act thy gentle part,-- Named Heartsease,(507) give me what thou art, To these sad eyes my darling show And free me from this load of woe. O Palm, in rich ripe fruitage dressed Round as the beauties of her breast, If thou have heart to know and feel, My peerless consort's fate reveal. Hast thou, Rose-apple, chanced to view My darling bright with golden hue? If thou have seen her quickly speak, Where is the dame I wildly seek? O glorious Cassia, thou art gay With all thy loveliest bloom to-day, Where is my dear who loved to hold In her full lap thy flowery gold?" To many a tree and plant beside, To Jasmin, Mango, Sal, he cried. "Say, hast thou seen, O gentle deer, The fawn-eyed Sita wandering here? It may be that my love has strayed To sport with fawns beneath the shade, If thou, great elephant, have seen My darling of the lovely mien, Whose rounded limbs are soft and fine As is that lissome trunk of thine, O noblest of wild creatures, show Where is the dame thou needs must know. O tiger, hast thou chanced to see My darling? very fair is she, Cast all thy fear away, declare, Where is my moon-faced darling, where? There, darling of the lotus eye, I see thee, and 'tis vain to fly, Wilt thou not speak, dear love? I see Thy form half hidden by the tree. Stay if thou love me, Sita, stay In pity cease thy heartless play. Why mock me now? thy gentle breast Was never prone to cruel jest. 'Tis vain behind yon bush to steal: Thy shimmering silks thy path reveal. Fly not, mine eyes pursue thy way; For pity's sake, dear Sita, stay. Ah me, ah me, my words are vain; My gentle love is lost or slain. How could her tender bosom spurn Her husband on his home-return?

Then Rama spoke: "O friend, relate Whence sprang fraternal strife and hate, That duly taught by thee, I may Each foeman's strength and weakness weigh: And skilled in every chance restore The blissful state thou hadst before. For, when I think of all the scorn And bitter woe thou long hast borne, My soul indignant swells with pain Like waters flushed with furious rain. Then, ere I string this bended bow, Tell me the tale I long to know, Ere from the cord my arrow fly, And low in death thy foeman lie."

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 son of Raghu near the wall Saw, proudly towering over all, The mighty giant stride along Attended by the warrior throng; Heard Kumbhakarna's heavy feet Awake the echoes of the street; And, with the lust of battle fired, Turned to Vibhishan and inquired: "Vibhishan, tell that chieftain's name Who rears so high his mountain frame; With glittering helm and lion eyes, Preeminent in might and size Above the rest of giant birth, He towers the standard of the earth; And all the Vanars when they see The mighty warrior turn and flee."

He bowed; he brought the glorious car Whose tinkling bells were heard afar; Fair as the sun of morning, bright With gold and pearl and lazulite. He yoked the steeds of tawny hue That swifter than the tempest flew. Then down the slope of heaven he hied And stayed the car by Rama's side. "Ascend, O Chief," he humbly cried, "The chariot which the Gods provide. The mighty bow of Indra see, Sent by the Gods who favour thee; Behold this coat of glittering mail, And spear and shafts which never fail."

Then Lakshman and each Vanar chief Who heard his words were filled with grief. The lady's gentle spirit sank, And from each eye in fear she shrank, As, her sweet eyelids veiled for shame, Slowly before her lord she came. While rapture battled with surprise She raised to his her wistful eyes. Then with her doubt and fear she strove, And from her breast all sorrow drove. Regardless of the gathering crowd, Bright as the moon without a cloud, She bent her eyes, no longer dim, In joy and trusting love on him.

He knew the means that wealth provide, And with keen eye expense could guide. Wild elephants could he reclaim, And mettled steeds could mount and tame. No arm like his the bow could wield, Or drive the chariot to the field. Skilled to attack, to deal the blow, Or lead a host against the foe: Yea, e'en infuriate Gods would fear To meet his arm in full career. As the great sun in noontide blaze Is glorious with his world of rays, So Rama with these virtues shone Which all men loved to gaze upon.

Fierce Surpanakha with her train To Rama's dwelling came again, And to the eager giants showed Where Sita and the youths abode. Within the leafy cot they spied The hero by his consort's side, And faithful Lakshman ready still To wait upon his brother's will. Then noble Rama raised his eye And saw the giants standing nigh, And then, as nearer still they pressed. His glorious brother thus addressed, "Be thine a while, my brother dear, To watch o'er Sita's safety here, And I will slay these creatures who The footsteps of my spouse pursue."

When Ravan stayed his chariot o'er The ocean's heart-enchanting shore, He saw a hermitage that stood Sequestered in the holy wood. He saw the fiend Maricha there With deerskin garb, and matted hair Coiled up in hermit guise, who spent His days by rule most abstinent. As guest and host are wont to meet, They met within that lone retreat. Before the king Maricha placed Food never known to human taste. He entertained his guest with meat And gave him water for his feet, And then addressed the giant king With timely words of questioning:

He spoke. Sugriva thus replied: "See yonder Sal trees side by side. King Bali here would take his stand Grasping his bow with vigorous hand, And every arrow, keen and true, Would strike its tree and pierce it through. If Rama now his bow will bend, And through one trunk an arrow send; Or if his arm can raise and throw Two hundred measures of his bow, Grasped by a foot and hurled through air, The demon bull that moulders there, My heart will own his might and fain Believe my foe already slain."

He ceased: the feathered monarch heard, His heart with ruth and wonder stirred: "Whose is that voice," the vulture cried, "That tells me how Jatayus died, And shakes my inmost soul with woe For a loved brother's overthrow? After long days at length I hear The glorious name of one so dear. Once more, O Vanar chieftains, tell How King Jatayus fought and fell. But first your aid, I pray you, lend, And from this peak will I descend. The sun has burnt my wings, and I No longer have the power to fly."

Then Rama cried: "I little heed Gigantic strength or doughty deed. In spite of all their might has done The king, the captain, and the son Shall fall beneath my fury dead, And thou shalt reign in Ravan's stead. He, though in depths of earth he dwell, Or seek protection down in hell, Or kneel before the Sire supreme, His forfeit life shall ne'er redeem. Yea, by my brothers' lives I swear, I will not to my home repair Till Ravan and his kith and kin Have paid in death the price of sin."

A flowery flood of lucid dyes In rain descended from the skies, While with celestial voices blent Sweet strains from many an instrument, And the nymphs danced in joyous throng Responsive to the minstrel's song. Such signs of exultation they Saw on the princes' wedding day. Still rang the heavenly music's sound When Raghu's sons thrice circled round The fire, each one with reverent head, And homeward then their brides they led. They to the sumptuous palace hied That Janak's care had seen supplied. The monarch girt with saint and peer Still fondly gazing followed near.

Up, Queen, to save thy son, arise; Prostrate at Rama's feet he lies. So the proud elephant who leads His trooping consorts through the reeds Falls in the forest shade beneath The lion's spring and murderous teeth. Scorned by thee in thy bliss and pride Kausalya was of old defied, And will she now forbear to show The vengeful rancour of a foe? O Queen, thy darling is undone When Rama's hand has once begun Ayodhya's realm to sway, Come, win the kingdom for thy child And drive the alien to the wild In banishment to-day."

Against his words when I rebel, Or fail to please the monarch well, When deeds of mine his soul offend, That hour I pray my life may end. How should a man to him who gave His being and his life behave? The sire to whom he owes his birth Should be his deity on earth. Hast thou, by pride and folly moved, With bitter taunt the king reproved? Has scorn of thine or cruel jest To passion stirred his gentle breast? Speak truly, Queen, that I may know What cause has changed the monarch so."

He heard, and with a troubled breast This answer to the queen addressed: "Ah me, dear lady, canst thou deem That words like these thy lips beseem? I, at the bidding of my sire, Would cast my body to the fire, A deadly draught of poison drink, Or in the waves of ocean sink: If he command, it shall be done,-- My father and my king in one. Then speak and let me know the thing So longed for by my lord the king. It shall be done: let this suffice; Rama ne'er makes a promise twice."

"Stay, for the wondrous deer we see The fiend Maricha's self may be. Ere now have kings who sought this place To take their pastime in the chase, Met from his wicked art defeat, And fallen slain by like deceit. He wears, well trained in magic guile, The figure of a deer a while, Bright as the very sun, or place Where dwell the gay Gandharva race. No deer, O Rama, e'er was seen Thus decked with gold and jewels' sheen. 'Tis magic, for the world has ne'er, Lord of the world, shown aught so fair."

Then Raghu's son, the good and brave, With a gay laugh his answer gave: "These shafts of mine which ne'er can fail, Before whose sheen the sun grows pale, Winged by my fury, fleet and fierce, The wicked Bali's heart shall pierce. Yea, mark the words I speak, so long Shall live that wretch who joys in wrong, Until these angered eyes have seen The robber of thy darling queen. I, taught by equal suffering, know What waves of grief above thee flow. This hand thy captive wife shall free, And give thy kingdom back to thee."

Then came the vultures' mighty king Where sat the Vanars sorrowing,-- Sampati,(761) best of birds that fly On sounding pinions through the sky, Jatayus' brother, famed of old, Most glorious and strong and bold. Upon the slope of Vindhya's hill He saw the Vanars calm and still. These words he uttered while the sight Filled his fierce spirit with delight: "Behold how Fate with changeless laws Within his toils the sinner draws, And brings me, after long delay, A rich and noble feast to-day, These Vanars who are doomed to die My hungry maw to satisfy."

Then with the morn's returning sun. King Janak, when his rites were done, Skilled all the charms of speech to know, Spoke to wise Satananda so: "My brother, lord of glorious fame, My younger, Kusadhwaj by name, Whose virtuous life has won renown, Has settled in a lovely town, Sankasya, decked with grace divine, Whose glories bright as Pushpak's shine, While Ikshumati rolls her wave Her lofty rampart's foot to lave. Him, holy priest, I long to see: The guardian of my rite is he: That my dear brother may not miss A share of mine expected bliss."

Sumitra's son his words obeyed, Brought many a tree, and deftly made, With branches in the forest cut, As Rama bade, a leafy hut. Then Rama, when the cottage stood Fair, firmly built, and walled with wood, To Lakshman spake, whose eager mind To do his brother's will inclined: "Now, Lakshman as our cot is made, Must sacrifice be duly paid By us, for lengthened life who hope, With venison of the antelope. Away, O bright-eyed Lakshman, speed: Struck by thy bow a deer must bleed: As Scripture bids, we must not slight The duty that commands the rite."

Then Bharat, starting from repose, Stilled the glad sounds that round him rose, "I am not king; no more mistake:" Then to Satrughna thus he spake: "O see what general wrongs succeed Sprung from Kaikeyi's evil deed! The king my sire has died and thrown Fresh miseries on me alone. The royal bliss, on duty based, Which our just high-souled father graced, Wanders in doubt and sore distress Like a tossed vessel rudderless. And he who was our lordly stay Roams in the forest far away, Expelled by this my mother, who To duty's law is most untrue."

Look, startled as the host comes near The lovely peacocks fly in fear, Gorgeous as if the fairest blooms Of earth had glorified their plumes. Look where the sheltering covert shows The trooping deer, both bucks and does, That occupy in countless herds This mountain populous with birds. Most lovely to my mind appears This place which every charm endears: Fair as the road where tread the Blest; Here holy hermits take their rest. Then let the army onward press And duly search each green recess For the two lion-lords, till we Rama once more and Lakshman see."

When wisest Vishnu thus had given His promise to the Gods of heaven, He pondered in his secret mind A suited place of birth to find, Then he decreed, the lotus-eyed, In four his being to divide, And Dasaratha, gracious king, He chose as sire from whom to spring. That childless prince of high renown, Who smote in war his foemen down, At that same time with utmost care Prepared the rite that wins an heir.(109) Then Vishnu, fain on earth to dwell, Bade the Almighty Sire farewell, And vanished while a reverent crowd Of Gods and saints in worship bowed.

She spoke, and with a glance of flame Rushed on the fawn-eyed Maithil dame: So would a horrid meteor mar Fair Rohini's soft beaming star. But as the furious fiend drew near, Like Death's dire noose which chills with fear, The mighty chief her purpose stayed, And spoke, his brother to upbraid: "Ne'er should we jest with creatures rude, Of savage race and wrathful mood. Think, Lakshman, think how nearly slain My dear Videhan breathes again. Let not the hideous wretch escape Without a mark to mar her shape. Strike, lord of men, the monstrous fiend, Deformed, and foul, and evil-miened."

'Two men equipped with arms, who wear Deerskin and bark and matted hair, Leading a beauteous dame, have strayed To the wild gloom of Dandak's shade. These men, this cursed woman slay, And hasten back without delay, That this my sister's lips may be Red with the lifeblood of the three. Giants, my wounded sister longs To take this vengeance for her wrongs. With speed her dearest wish fulfil, And with your might these creatures kill. Soon as your matchless strength shall lay These brothers dead in battle fray, She in triumphant joy will laugh, And their hearts' blood delighted quaff."

"I cannot, peerless one, contain Mine anger at this high disdain, Galling as salt when sprinkled o'er The rawness of a bleeding sore. Rama in little count I hold, Weak man whose days are quickly told. The caitiff with his life to-day For all his evil deeds shall pay. Dry, sister, dry each needless tear, Stint thy lament and banish fear, For Rama and his brother go This day to Yama's realm below. My warrior's axe shall stretch him slain, Ere set of sun, upon the plain, Then shall thy sated lips be red With his warm blood in torrents shed."

"Say to what quarter of the sky The cruel fiend was seen to fly, Bearing afar my captured wife, My darling dearer than my life. Speak, Vanar King, that I may know Where dwells the cause of all my woe; The fiend for whose transgression all The giants by this hand shall fall. He who the Maithil lady stole And kindled fury in my soul, Has sought his fate in senseless pride And opened Death's dark portal wide. Then tell me, Vanar lord, I pray, The dwelling of my foe, And he, beneath this hand, to-day To Yama's halls shall go."

Their prayer the son of Raghu heard, And spoke, his heart with rapture stirred: "Sugriva, O my faithful friend, Vibhishan and ye chiefs, ascend. A joy beyond all joys the best Will fill my overflowing breast, If girt by you, O noble band, I seek again my native land." With Vanar lords in danger tried Sugriva sprang to Rama's side, And girt by chiefs of giant kind Vibhishan's step was close behind. Swift through the air, as Rama chose, The wondrous car from earth arose. And decked with swans and silver wings Bore through the clouds its freight of kings.

The Gods replied: "We fear, O Lord, Fierce Ravan, ravener abhorred. Be thine the glorious task, we pray, In human form this fiend to slay. By thee of all the Blest alone This sinner may be overthrown. He gained by penance long and dire The favour of the mighty Sire. Then He who every gift bestows Guarded the fiend from heavenly foes, And gave a pledge his life that kept From all things living, man except. On him thus armed no other foe Than man may deal the deadly blow. Assume, O King, a mortal birth, And strike the demon to the earth."

Then all the Gods in close array With the bright hosts who sing and play, Filled full of rapture and amaze, Sang hymns of joy in Rama's praise, Beat their celestial drums and shed Rain of sweet flowers upon his head. For three short hours had scarcely flown, And by his pointed shafts o'erthrown The twice seven thousand fiends, whose will Could change their shapes, in death were still, With Trisiras and Dushan slain, And Khara, leader of the train. "O wondrous deed," the bards began, "The noblest deed of virtuous man! Heroic strength that stood alone, And firmness e'en as Vishnu's own!"

Thy guilty hands this day have done A deed which all reprove and shun, Unworthly of a noble chief, The pillage loved by coward thief. Stay, if thy heart allow thee, stay And meet me in the deadly fray. Soon shall thou stain the earth with gore, And fall as Khara fell before. The fruits of former deeds o'erpower The sinner in his dying hour: And such a fate on thee, O King, Thy tyranny and madness bring. Not e'en the Self-existent Lord, Who reigns by all the worlds adored, Would dare attempt a guilty deed Which the dire fruits of crime succeed."

She heard: with faltering steps and slow, With eyes that shone with trembling glow, With gold-girt body gently bent To meet the stranger prince she went. When Lakshman saw the Vanar queen With tranquil eyes and modest mien, Before the dame he bent his head, And anger, at her presence, fled. Made bold by draughts of wine, and cheered By Lakshman's look no more she feared, And in the trust his favour lent She thus addressed him eloquent: "Whence springs thy burning fury? say: Who dares thy will to disobey? Who checks the maddened flames that seize On forests full of withered trees?"

The cries of startled birds, the sound Of tall trees crashing to the ground, Struck with amaze each giant's ear, And filled the isle with sudden fear. Then, wakened by the crash and cries, The fierce shefiends unclosed their eyes, And saw the Vanar where he stood Amid the devastated wood. The more to scare them with the view To size immense the Vanar grew; And straight the Rakshas warders cried Janak's daughter terrified "Whose envoy, whence, and who is he, Why has he come to talk with thee? Speak, lady of the lovely eyes, And let not fear thy joy disguise."

"Seest, thou," Vibhishan answered, "one Whose face is as the morning sun, Preeminent for hugest frame? Akampan(962) is the giant's name. Behold that chieftain, chariot-borne, Whom Brahma's chosen gifts adorn. He wields a bow like Indra's own; A lion on his flag is shown, His eyes with baleful fire are lit: 'Tis Ravan's son, 'tis Indrajit. There, brandishing in mighty hands His huge bow, Atikaya stands. And that proud warrior o'er whose head A moon-bright canopy is spread: Whose might, in many a battle tried, Has tamed imperial Indra's pride; Who wears a crown of burnished gold, Is Lanka's lord the lofty-souled."

When the glad news Kausalya heard, So long desired, so long deferred, While tears of joy her utterance broke, In answer to her son she spoke: "Long be thy life, my darling: now Thy prostrate foes before thee bow. Live long and with thy bright success My friends and dear Sumitra's bless. Surely the stars were wondrous fair When thee, sweet son, thy mother bare, That thy good gifts such love inspire And win the favour of thy sire. With thee I travailed not in vain; Those lotus eyes reward my pain, And all the glory of the line Of old Ikshvaku will be thine."

Thus spake the God who rules the skies, Indra, the Lord supremely wise; And gentle Surabhi, well learned In eloquence, this speech returned: "Not thine the fault, great God, not thine And guiltless are the Lords divine: I mourn two children faint with toil, Labouring hard in stubborn soil. Wasted and sad I see them now, While the sun beats on neck and brow, Still goaded by the cruel hind,-- No pity in his savage mind. O Indra, from this body sprang These children, worn with many a pang. For this sad sight I mourn, for none Is to the mother like her son."

To Rama, bravest of the brave, His answer thus Viradha gave: "Hear, Raghu's son, and mark me well, And I my name and race will tell. Of Satahrada born, I spring From Java as my sire, O King: Me, of this lofty lineage, all Giants on earth Viradha call. The rites austere I long maintained From Brahma's grace the boon have gained To bear a charmed frame which ne'er Weapon or shaft may pierce or tear. Go as ye came, untouched by fear, And leave with me this woman here: Go, swiftly from my presence fly, Or by this hand ye both shall die."

Enraged he heard the monster woo; His ready sword he swiftly drew, And the sharp steel that quelled his foes Cut through her breast and ear and nose. Thus mangled by his vengeful sword In rage and pain the demon roared, And hideous with her awful face Sped to her secret dwelling place. Soon as the fiend had fled from sight, The brothers, dauntless in their might, Reached a wild forest dark and dread Whose tangled ways were hard to tread. Then bravest Lakshman, virtuous youth, The friend of purity and truth, With reverent palm to palm applied Thus to his glorious brother cried:

Then every lovely tree that bore Fair blossoms, from the soil he tore, Till each green bough that lent its shade To singing birds on earth was laid. The wilderness he left a waste, The fountains shattered and defaced: O'erthrew and levelled with the ground Each shady seat and pleasure-mound. Each arbour clad with climbing bloom, Each grotto, cell, and picture room, Each lawn by beast and bird enjoyed, Each walk and terrace was destroyed. And all the place that was so fair Was left a ruin wild and bare, As if the fury of the blast Or raging fire had o'er it passed.

A while the deadly fight was stayed: Each armed him with his trusty blade Whose sheath with tinkling bells supplied, And golden net, adorned his side; And grasped his ponderous leather shield To fight till one should fall or yield. Unnumbered wounds they gave and took: Their wearied bodies reeled and shook. At length upon the sand that drank Streams of their blood the warriors sank, But as a serpent rears his head Sore wounded by a peasant's tread, So Angad, fallen on his knees, Yet gathered strength his sword to seize; And, severed by the glittering blade, The giant's head on earth was laid.