Ramayana on Nature

He spoke: and Janak's hapless child, Scared by his speech so fierce and wild, Trembled for terror, as a frail Young plantain shivers in the gale. When Rama saw Viradha clasp Fair Sita in his mighty grasp, Thus with pale lips that terror dried The hero to his brother cried: "O see Viradha's arm enfold My darling in its cursed hold,-- The child of Janak best of kings, My spouse whose soul to virtue clings, Sweet princess, with pure glory bright, Nursed in the lap of soft delight. Now falls the blow Kaikeyi meant, Successful in her dark intent: This day her cruel soul will be Triumphant over thee and me. Though Bharat on the throne is set, Her greedy eyes look farther yet: Me from my home she dared expel, Me whom all creatures loved so well. This fatal day at length, I ween, Brings triumph to the younger queen. I see with bitterest grief and shame Another touch the Maithil dame. Not loss of sire and royal power So grieves me as this mournful hour."

Whate'er, by duty won, the meed Of saints whom roots and berries feed, One fourth thereof, for tender care Of subjects, is the monarch's share. These, mostly of the Brahman race, Who make the wood their dwelling-place, Although a friend in thee they view, Fall friendless neath the giant crew. Come, Rama, come, and see hard by The holy hermits' corpses lie, Where many a tangled pathway shows The murderous work of cruel foes. These wicked fiends the hermits kill-- Who live on Chitrakuta's hill, And blood of slaughtered saints has dyed Mandakini and Pampa's side. No longer can we bear to see The death of saint and devotee Whom through the forest day by day These Rakshasas unpitying slay. To thee, O Prince, we flee, and crave Thy guardian help our lives to save. From these fierce rovers of the night Defend each stricken anchorite. Throughout the world 'twere vain to seek An arm like thine to aid the weak. O Prince, we pray thee hear our call, And from these fiends preserve us all."

Thus Rama by his grief distraught Wept for the wife he vainly sought, And Lakshman whose fraternal breast Longed for his weal, the chief addressed Whose soul gave way beneath the pain When all his eager search was vain, Like some great elephant who stands Sinking upon the treacherous sands: "Not yet, O wisest chief, despair; Renew thy toil with utmost care. This noble hill where trees are green Has many a cave and dark ravine. The Maithil lady day by day Delighted in the woods to stray, Deep in the grove she wanders still, Or walks by blossom-covered rill, Or fish-loved river stealing through Tall clusters of the dark bamboo. Or else the dame with arch design To prove thy mood, O Prince, and mine, Far in some sheltering thicket lies To frighten ere she meet our eyes. Then come, renew thy labour, trace The lady to her lurking-place, And search the wood from side to side To know where Sita loves to bide. Collect thy thoughts, O royal chief, Nor yield to unavailing grief."

Each lord beheld with troubled heart Those masters of the bowman's art, And left the mountain side to seek Sure refuge on a loftier peak. The Vanar chief in rapid flight Found shelter on a towering height, And all the band with one accord Were closely gathered round their lord. Their course the same, with desperate leap Each made his way from steep to steep, And speeding on in wild career Filled every height with sudden fear. Each heart was struck with mortal dread, As on their course the Vanars sped, While trees that crowned the steep were bent And crushed beneath them as they went. As in their eager flight they pressed For safety to each mountain crest, The wild confusion struck with fear Tiger and cat and wandering deer. The lords who watched Sugriva's will Were gathered on the royal hill, And all with reverent hands upraised Upon their king and leader gazed. Sugriva feared some evil planned, Some train prepared by Bali's hand. But, skilled in words that charm and teach, Thus Hanuman(538) began his speech:

They bent their airy course afar Along the paths of bird and star, And sped through ether farther yet Where Vishnu's splendid sphere is set.(646) By sea, on hill, by wood and lake They called to arms for Rama's sake, As each with terror in his breast Obeyed his awful king's behest. Three million Vanars, fierce and strong As Anjan's self, a wondrous throng Sped from the spot where Rama still Gazed restless from the woody hill. Ten million others, brave and bold, With coats that shone like burning gold, Came flying from the mountain crest Where sinks the weary sun to rest. Impetuous from the northern skies, Where Mount Kailasa's summits rise, Ten hundred millions hasted, hued Like manes of lions, ne'er subdued: The dwellers on Himalaya's side, Whose food his roots and fruit supplied, With rangers of the Vindhyan chain And neighbours of the Milky Main.(647) Some from the palm groves where they fed, Some from the woods of betel sped: In countless numbers, fierce and brave, They came from mountain, lake, and cave.

As on their way the Vanars went To rouse each distant armament, They chanced that wondrous tree to view That on Himalaya's summit grew. Of old upon that sacred height Was wrought Mahesvar's(648) glorious rite, Which every God in heaven beheld, And his glad heart with triumph swelled. There from pure seed at random sown Bright plants with luscious fruit had grown, And, sweet as Amrit to the taste, The summit of the mountain graced. Who once should eat the virtuous fruit That sprang from so divine a root, One whole revolving moon should be From every pang of hunger free. The Vanars culled the fruit they found Ripe on the sacrificial ground With rare celestial odours sweet, To lay them at Sugriva's feet. Those noble envoys scoured the land To summon every Vanar band Then swiftly homeward at the head Of countless armaments they sped. They gathered by Kishkindha's wall. They thronged Sugriva's palace hall, And, richly laden, bare within That fruit of heavenly origin. Their gifts before their king they spread, And thus in tones of triumph said:

"In vain the softer gifts that grace The good are offered to the base. Long-suffering, patience, gentle speech Their thankless hearts can never reach. The world to him its honour pays Whose ready tongue himself can praise, Who scorns the true, and hates the right, Whose hand is ever raised to smite. Each milder art is tried in vain: It wins no glory, but disdain. And victory owns no softer charm Than might which nerves a warrior's arm. My humble suit is still denied By Ocean's overweening pride. This day the monsters of the deep In throes of death shall wildly leap. My shafts shall rend the serpents curled In caverns of the watery world, Disclose each sunless depth and bare The tangled pearl and coral there. Away with mercy! at a time Like this compassion is a crime. Welcome, the battle and the foe! My bow! my arrows and my bow! This day the Vanars' feet shall tread The conquered Sea's exhausted bed, And he who never feared before Shall tremble to his farthest shore."

"'Twas meet that mid the thousands here The searching fire my queen should clear; For long within the giant's bower She dwelt the vassal of his power. For else had many a slanderous tongue Reproaches on mine honour flung, And scorned the king who, love-impelled, His consort from the proof withheld. No doubt had I, but surely knew That Janak's child was pure and true, That, come what might, in good and ill Her faithful heart was with me still. I knew that Ravan could not wrong My queen whom virtue made so strong. I knew his heart would sink and fail, Nor dare her honour to assail, As Ocean, when he raves and roars, Fears to o'erleap his bounding shores. Now to the worlds her truth is shown, And Sita is again mine own. Thus proved before unnumbered eyes, On her pure fame no shadow lies. As heroes to their glory cleave, Mine own dear spouse I ne'er will leave." He ceased: and clasped in fond embrace On his dear breast she hid her face.

See, see our leafy cot between Those waving boughs of densest green, Where Ravan seized his prize and stole My love the darling of my soul. O, look again: beneath thee gleams Godavari the best of streams, Whose lucid waters sweetly glide By lilies that adorn her side. There dwelt Agastya, holy sage, In plantain-sheltered hermitage. See Sarabhanga's humble shed Which sovereign Indra visited. See where the gentle hermits dwell Neath Atri's rule who loved us well; Where once thine eyes were blest to see His sainted dame who talked with thee. Now rest thine eyes with new delight On Chitrakuta's woody height, See Jumna flashing in the sun Through groves of brilliant foliage run. Screened by the shade of spreading boughs. There Bharadvaja keeps his vows, There Ganga, river of the skies, Rolls the sweet wave that purifies, There Sringavera's towers ascend Where Guha reigns, mine ancient friend. I see, I see thy glittering spires, Ayodhya, city of my sires. Bow down, bow down thy head, my sweet, Our home, our long-lost home to greet."

Thus pouring forth laments, the king Girt by the people's crowded ring, Entered the noble bower like one New-bathed when funeral rites are done. Where'er he looked naught met his gaze But empty houses, courts, and ways. Closed were the temples: countless feet No longer trod the royal street, And thinking of his son he viewed Men weak and worn and woe-subdued. As sinks the sun into a cloud, So passed he on, and wept aloud, Within that house no more to be The dwelling of the banished three, Brave Rama, his Vedehan bride, And Lakshman by his brother's side: Like broad still waters, when the king Of all the birds that ply the wing Has swooped from heaven and borne away The glittering snakes that made them gay. With choking sobs and voice half spent The king renewed his sad lament: With broken utterance faint and low Scarce could he speak these words of woe: "My steps to Rama's mother guide, And place me by Kausalya's side: There, only there my heart may know Some little respite from my woe."

He heard the words Vasishtha spoke, And slumbering resolution woke. Then skilled in all the laws declare, He bade his friends the rites prepare. They raised the body from the oil, And placed it, dripping, on the soil; Then laid it on a bed, whereon Wrought gold and precious jewels shone. There, pallor o'er his features spread, The monarch, as in sleep, lay dead. Then Bharat sought his father's side, And lifted up his voice and cried: "O King, and has thy heart designed To part and leave thy son behind? Make Rama flee, who loves the right, And Lakshman of the arm of might? Whither, great Monarch, wilt thou go And leave this people in their woe, Mourning their hero, wild with grief, Of Rama reft, their lion chief? Ah, who will guard the people well Who in Ayodhya's city dwell, When thou, my sire, hast sought the sky, And Rama has been forced to fly? In widowed woe, bereft of thee, The land no more is fair to see: The city, to my aching sight, Is gloomy as a moonless night."

Sardula heard, but scarce might speak; His trembling tones were faint and weak: "O Giant King, in vain we try The purpose of the foe to spy. Their strength and number none may tell, And Rama guards his legions well. He leaves no hope to prying eyes, And parley with the chiefs denies: Each road and path a Vanar guard, Of mountain size, has closed and barred. Soon as my feet an entrance found By giants was I seized and bound, And wounded sore I fell beneath Their fists and knees and hands and teeth. Then trembling, bleeding, wellnigh dead To Rama's presence was I led. He in his mercy stooped to save, And freedom to the captive gave. With rocks and shattered mountains he Has bridged his way athwart the sea, And he and all his legions wait Embattled close to Lanka's gate. Soon will the host thy wall assail, And, swarming on, the rampart scale. Now, O my King, his consort yield, Or arm thee with the sword and shield. This choice is left thee: choose between Thy safety and the Maithil queen."(943)

He ceased: his finger bathed in dew Across Sugriva's eyes he drew; From dulling mist his vision freed, And spoke these words to suit the need: "No time is this for fear: away With fainting heart and weak delay. Now, e'en the tear which sorrow wrings From loving eyes destruction brings. Up, on to battle at the head Of those brave troops which Rama led. Or guardian by his side remain Till sense and strength the prince regain. Soon shall the trance-bound pair revive, And from our hearts all sorrow drive. Though prostrate on the earth he lie, Deem not that Rama's death is nigh; Deem not that Lakshmi will forget Or leave her darling champion yet. Rest here and be thy heart consoled; Ponder my words, be firm and bold. I, foremost in the battlefield, Will rally all who faint or yield. Their staring eyes betray their fear; They whisper each in other's ear. They, when they hear my cheering cry And see the friend of Rama nigh, Will cast their gloom and fears away Like faded wreaths of yesterday."

The Brahman, versed in ancient lore, Thus closed his tale, and said no more, To Satananda Kusik's son Cried in delight, Well done! well done! Then Janak, at the tale amazed, Spoke thus with suppliant hands upraised: "High fate is mine, O Sage, I deem, And thanks I owe for bliss supreme, That thou and Raghu's children too Have come my sacrifice to view. To look on thee with blessed eyes Exalts my soul and purifies. Yea, thus to see thee face to face Enriches me with store of grace. Thy holy labours wrought of old, And mighty penance, fully told, Rama and I with great delight Have heard, O glorious Anchorite. Unrivalled thine ascetic deeds: Thy might, O Saint, all might exceeds. No thought may scan, no limit bound The virtues that in thee are found. The story of thy wondrous fate My thirsty ears can never sate. The hour of evening rites is near: The sun declines in swift career. At early dawn, O Hermit, deign To let me see thy face again. Best of ascetics, part in bliss: Do thou thy servant now dismiss."

His eyes with burning wrath aglow, Satrughna, shatterer of the foe, Dragged on the ground the hump-back maid Who shrieked aloud and screamed for aid. This way and that with no remorse He dragged her with resistless force, And chains and glittering trinkets burst Lay here and there with gems dispersed, Till like the sky of Autumn shone The palace floor they sparkled on. The lord of men, supremely strong, Haled in his rage the wretch along: Where Queen Kaikeyi dwelt he came, And sternly then addressed the dame. Deep in her heart Kaikeyi felt The stabs his keen reproaches dealt, And of Satrughna's ire afraid, To Bharat flew and cried for aid. He looked and saw the prince inflamed With burning rage, and thus exclaimed: "Forgive! thine angry arm restrain: A woman never may be slain. My hand Kaikeyi's blood would spill, The sinner ever bent on ill, But Rama, long in duty tried, Would hate the impious matricide: And if he knew thy vengeful blade Had slaughtered e'en this hump-back maid, Never again, be sure, would he Speak friendly word to thee or me."

"O Rama, great delight I feel, Pleased, Lakshman, with thy faithful zeal, That you within these shades I see With Sita come to honour me. But wandering through the rough rude wild Has wearied Janak's gentle child: With labours of the way oppressed The Maithil lady longs for rest. Young, delicate, and soft, and fair, Such toils as these untrained to bear, Her wifely love the dame has led The forest's troubled ways to tread. Here, Rama, see that naught annoy Her easy hours of tranquil joy: A glorious task has she assayed, To follow thee through woodland shade. Since first from Nature's hand she came, A woman's mood is still the same, When Fortune smiles, her love to show, And leave her lord in want and woe. No pity then her heart can feel, She arms her soul with warrior's steel, Swift as the storm or Feathered King, Uncertain as the lightning's wing. Not so thy spouse: her purer mind Shrinks from the faults of womankind; Like chaste Arundhati(441) above, A paragon of faithful love. Let these blest shades, dear Rama, be A home for Lakshman, her, and thee."

"Cease, O beloved, cease to blame Our royal father's second dame. Still speak of Bharat first in place Of old Ikshvaku's princely race. My heart, so firmly bent but now To dwell in woods and keep my vow, Half melting as I hear thee speak Of Bharat's love, grows soft and weak, With tender joy I bring to mind His speeches ever sweet and kind. That dear as Amrit took the sense With most enchanting influence. Ah, when shall I, no more to part, Meet Bharat of the mighty heart? When, O my brother, when shall we The good and brave Satrughna see?" Thus as he poured his fond lament The son of Raghu onward went: They reached the river, and the three Bathed them in fair Godavari. Libations of the stream they paid To every deity and shade, With hymns of praise, the Sun on high And sinless Gods to glorify. Fresh from the purifying tide Resplendent Rama came, With Lakshman ever by his side, And the sweet Maithil dame. So Rudra shines by worlds adored, In glory undefiled, When Nandi(455) stands beside his lord, And King Himalaya's child.(456)

He spoke: then Lakshman's wrath rose high, And there before his brother's eye, He drew that sword which none could stay, And cleft her nose and ears away. Noseless and earless, torn and maimed, With fearful shrieks the fiend exclaimed, And frantic in her wild distress Resought the distant wilderness. Deformed, terrific, huge, and dread, As on she moved, her gashes bled, And groan succeeded groan as loud As roars, ere rain, the thunder cloud. Still on the fearful monster passed, While streams of blood kept falling fast, And with a roar, and arms outspread Within the boundless wood she fled. To Janasthan the monster flew; Fierce Khara there she found, With chieftains of the giant crew In thousands ranged around. Before his awful feet she bent And fell with piercing cries, As when a bolt in swift descent Comes flashing from the skies. There for a while with senses dazed Silent she lay and scared: At length her drooping head she raised, And all the tale declared, How Rama, Lakshman, and the dame Had reached that lonely place: Then told her injuries and shame, And showed her bleeding face.

The praise the high-souled Ravan spoke No doubt within her bosom woke. His saintly look and Brahman guise Deceived the lady's trusting eyes. With due attention on the guest Her hospitable rites she pressed. She bade the stranger to a seat, And gave him water for his feet. The bowl and water-pot he bare, And garb which wandering Brahmans wear Forbade a doubt to rise. Won by his holy look she deemed The stranger even as he seemed To her deluded eyes. Intent on hospitable care, She brought her best of woodland fare, And showed her guest a seat. She bade the saintly stranger lave His feet in water which she gave, And sit and rest and eat. He kept his eager glances bent On her so kindly eloquent, Wife of the noblest king; And longed in heart to steal her thence, Preparing by the dire offence, Death on his head to bring. The lady watched with anxious face For Rama coming from the chase With Lakshman by his side: But nothing met her wandering glance Save the wild forest's green expanse Extending far and wide.

When Bali's warrior son(979) beheld Their flight, his heart with fury swelled. He rushed, with his terrific shout, To meet the foe and stay the rout. He came, he hurled a mountain peak, And smote the giant on the cheek. His ponderous spear the giant threw: Fierce was the cast, the aim was true; But Angad, trained in war and tried, Saw ere it came, and leapt aside. Then with his open hand he smote The giant on the chest and throat. That blow the giant scarce sustained; But sense and strength were soon regained. With force which nothing might resist He caught the Vanar by the wrist, Whirled him, as if in pastime, round, And dashed him senseless on the ground. There low on earth his foe lay crushed: At King Sugriva next he rushed, Who, waiting for the charge, stood still, And heaved on high a shattered hill, He looked on Kumbhakarna dyed With streams of blood, and fiercely cried: "Great glory has thine arm achieved, And thousands of their lives bereaved. Now leave a while thy meaner foes, And brook the hill Sugriva throws."

The shades of falling night concealed The carnage of the battle field, Which, bearing each a blazing brand, Hanuman and Vibhishan scanned, Moving with slow and anxious tread Among the dying and the dead. Sad was the scene of slaughter shown Where'er the torches' light was thrown. Here mountain forms of Vanars lay Whose heads and limbs were lopped away, Arms, legs and fingers strewed the ground, And severed heads lay thick around. The earth was moist with sanguine streams, And sighs were heard and groans and screams. There lay Sugriva still and cold, There Angad, once so brave and bold. There Jambavan his might reposed, There Vegadarsi's eyes were closed; There in the dust was Nala's pride, And Dwivid lay by Mainda's side. Where'er they looked the ensanguined plain Was strewn with myriads of the slain;(990) They sought with keenly searching eyes King Jambavan supremely wise. His strength had failed by slow decay, And pierced with countless shafts he lay. They saw, and hastened to his side, And thus the sage Vibhishan cried: "Thee, monarch of the bears, we seek: Speak if thou yet art living, speak."

Then by Vibhandak's gentle son Was that high sacrifice begun, The king's advantage seeking still And zealous to perform his will. Now all the Gods had gathered there, Each one for his allotted share: Brahma, the ruler of the sky, Sthanu, Narayan, Lord most high, And holy Indra men might view With Maruts(105) for his retinue; The heavenly chorister, and saint, And spirit pure from earthly taint, With one accord had sought the place The high-souled monarch's rite to grace. Then to the Gods who came to take Their proper share the hermit spake: "For you has Dasaratha slain The votive steed, a son to gain; Stern penance-rites the king has tried, And in firm faith on you relied, And now with undiminished care A second rite would fain prepare. But, O ye Gods, consent to grant The longing of your supplicant. For him beseeching hands I lift, And pray you all to grant the gift, That four fair sons of high renown The offerings of the king may crown." They to the hermit's son replied: "His longing shall be gratified. For, Brahman, in most high degree We love the king and honour thee."

What if the borrowed colours throw O'er her fine feet no rosy glow, Still with their natural tints they spread A lotus glory where they tread. In sportive grace she walks the ground And sweet her chiming anklets sound. No jewels clasp the faultless limb: She leaves them all for love of him. If in the woods her gentle eye A lion sees, or tiger nigh, Or elephant, she fears no ill For Rama's arm supports her still. No longer be their fate deplored, Nor thine, nor that of Kosal's lord, For conduct such as theirs shall buy Wide glory that can never die. For casting grief and care away, Delighting in the forest, they With joyful spirits, blithe and gay, Set forward on the ancient way Where mighty saints have led: Their highest aim, their dearest care To keep their father's honour fair, Observing still the oath he sware, They roam, on wild fruit fed." Thus with persuasive art he tried To turn her from her grief aside, By soothing fancies won. But still she gave her sorrow vent: "Ah Rama," was her shrill lament, "My love, my son, my son!"

Thus Rama spoke. Sugriva hied Within the mountain's caverned side, Impelled by love that stirred each thought The precious tokens quickly brought, And said to Raghu's son: Behold This garment and these rings of gold. In Rama's hand with friendly haste The jewels and the robe he placed. Then, like the moon by mist assailed, The tear-dimmed eyes of Rama failed; That burst of woe unmanned his frame, Woe sprung from passion for his dame, And with his manly strength o'erthrown, He fell and cried, Ah me! mine own! Again, again close to his breast The ornaments and robe he pressed, While the quick pants that shook his frame As from a furious serpent came. On his dear brother standing nigh He turned at length his piteous eye; And, while his tears increasing ran, In bitter wail he thus began: "Look, brother, and behold once more The ornaments and robe she wore, Dropped while the giant bore away In cruel arras his struggling prey, Dropped in some quiet spot, I ween, Where the young grass was soft and green; For still untouched by spot or stain Their former beauty all retain."

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

The monarch heard the mournful tale: His heart was faint, his cheek was pale; His fleeting sense at length regained, In trembling tones he thus complained: "Ah me, my son, my pride: the boast And glory of the giant host. Could Lakshman's puny might defeat The foe whom Indra feared to meet? Could not thy deadly arrows split Proud Mandar's peaks, O Indrajit, And the Destroyer's self destroy? And wast thou conquered by a boy? I will not weep: thy noble deed Has blessed thee with immortal meed Gained by each hero in the skies Who fighting for his sovereign dies. Now, fearless of all meaner foes, The guardian Gods(993) will taste repose: But earth to me, with hill and plain, Is desolate, for thou art slain. Ah, whither hast thou fled, and left Thy mother, Lanka, me bereft; Left pride and state and wives behind, And lordship over all thy kind? I fondly hoped thy hand should pay Due honours on my dying day: And couldst thou, O beloved, flee And leave thy funeral rites to me? Life has no comfort left me, none, O Indrajit my son, my son."

When Ravan saw his darts repelled, With double rage his bosom swelled. He summoned, wroth but undismayed, A mightier charm to lend its aid. And, fierce as fire before the blast, A storm of missiles thick and fast, Spear, pike and javelin, mace and brand, Came hurtling from the giant's hand. But, mightier still, the arms employed By Raghu's son their force destroyed, And every dart fell dulled and spent By powers the bards of heaven had lent. With his huge mace Vibhishan slew The steeds that Ravan's chariot drew. Then Ravan hurled in deadly ire A ponderous spear that flashed like fire: But Rama's arrows checked its way, And harmless on the earth it lay, The giant seized a mightier spear, Which Death himself would shun with fear. Vibhishan with the stroke had died, But Lakshman's hand his bowstring plied, And flying arrows thick as hail Smote fiercely on the giant's mail. Then Ravan turned his aim aside, On Lakshman looked and fiercely cried: "Thou, thou again my wrath hast braved, And from his death Vibhishan saved. Now in his stead this spear receive Whose deadly point thy heart shall cleave."

He ceased: and, garbed in human form, Forth sped Hanuman swift as storm. Sublime in air he rose, and through The region of his father flew. He saw far far beneath his feet Where Ganga's flood and Jumna meet. Descending from the upper air He entered Sringavera, where King Guha's heart was well content To hear the message Rama sent. Then, with his mighty strength renewed, The Vanar chief his way pursued, Valukini was far behind, And Gomati with forests lined, And golden fields and pastures gay With flocks and herds beneath him lay. Then Nandigrama charmed his eye Where flowers were bright with every dye, And trees of lovely foliage made With meeting boughs delightful shade, Where women watched in trim array Their little sons' and grandsons' play. His eager eye on Bharat fell Who sat before his lonely cell. In hermit weed, with tangled hair, Pale, weak, and worn with ceaseless care. His royal pomp and state resigned For Rama still he watched and pined, Still to his dreary vows adhered, And royal Rama's shoes revered. Yet still the terror of his arm Preserved the land from fear and harm.

The saint in accents sweet and clear Thus told his tale for Rama's ear, And thus anew the holy man A legend to the prince began: "There reigned a pious monarch o'er Ayodhya in the days of yore: Sagar his name: no child had he, And children much he longed to see. His honoured consort, fair of face, Sprang from Vidarbha's royal race, Kesini, famed from early youth For piety and love of truth. Arishtanemi's daughter fair, With whom no maiden might compare In beauty, though the earth is wide, Sumati, was his second bride. With his two queens afar he went, And weary days in penance spent, Fervent, upon Himalaya's hill Where springs the stream called Bhrigu' rill. Nor did he fail that saint to please With his devout austerities. And, when a hundred years had fled, Thus the most truthful Bhrigu said: "From thee, O Sagar, blameless King, A mighty host of sons shall spring, And thou shalt win a glorious name Which none, O Chief, but thou shall claim. One of thy queens a son shall bear, Maintainer of thy race and heir; And of the other there shall be Sons sixty thousand born to thee."

As Queen Kaikeyi thus obeyed The sinful counsel of her maid She sank upon the chamber floor, As sinks in anguish, wounded sore, An elephant beneath the smart Of the wild hunter's venomed dart. The lovely lady in her mind Revolved the plot her maid designed, And prompt the gain and risk to scan She step by step approved the plan. Misguided by the hump-back's guile She pondered her resolve awhile, As the fair path that bliss secured The miserable lady lured, Devoted to her queen, and swayed By hopes of gain and bliss, the maid Rejoiced, her lady's purpose known, And deemed the prize she sought her own. Then bent upon her purpose dire, Kaikeyi with her soul on fire, Upon the floor lay, languid, down, Her brows contracted in a frown. The bright-hued wreath that bound her hair, Chains, necklets, jewels rich and rare, Stripped off by her own fingers lay Spread on the ground in disarray, And to the floor a lustre lent As stars light up the firmament. Thus prostrate in the mourner's cell, In garb of woe the lady fell, Her long hair in a single braid, Like some fair nymph of heaven dismayed.(272)

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

The lion chief with hands upraised Was born from eyes that fondly gazed. But then the ladies' bower was rent With cries of weeping and lament: "Where goes he now, our lord, the sure Protector of the friendless poor, In whom the wretched and the weak Defence and aid were wont to seek? All words of wrath he turned aside, And ne'er, when cursed, in ire replied. He shared his people's woe, and stilled The troubled breast which rage had filled. Our chief, on lofty thoughts intent, In glorious fame preeminent: As on his own dear mother, thus He ever looked on each of us. Where goes he now? His sire's behest, By Queen Kaikeyi's guile distressed, Has banished to the forest hence Him who was all the world's defence. Ah, senseless King, to drive away The hope of men, their guard and stay, To banish to the distant wood Rama the duteous, true, and good!" The royal dames, like cows bereaved Of their young calves, thus sadly grieved. The monarch heard them as they wailed, And by the fire of grief assailed For his dear son, he bowed his head, And all his sense and memory fled.

Thus spoke the prince whose chief delight Was duty, and to aid the right: And Lakshman keenly felt the blame, And shrank within himself for shame: And then his answer thus returned, With downcast eye and cheek that burned: "Brother, I ween, to see thy face Our sire himself has sought this place." Thus Lakshman spoke and stood ashamed, And Rama saw and thus exclaimed: "It is the strong-armed monarch: he Is come, methinks, his sons to see, To bid us both the forest quit For joys for which he deems us fit: He thinks on all our care and pain, And now would lead us home again. My glorious father hence will bear Sita who claims all tender care. I see two coursers fleet as storms, Of noble breed and lovely forms. I see the beast of mountain size Who bears the king our father wise, The aged Victor, march this way In front of all the armed array. But doubt and fear within me rise, For when I look with eager eyes I see no white umbrella spread, World-famous, o'er the royal head. Now, Lakshman, from the tree descend, And to my words attention lend."

His breast with burning fury fired, Thus Khara of the fiend inquired: And then with many a tear and sigh Thus Surpanakha made reply: "'Tis Dasaratha's sons, a pair Strong, resolute, and young, and fair: In coats of dark and blackdeer's hide, And like the radiant lotus eyed: On berries roots and fruit they feed, And lives of saintly virtue lead: With ordered senses undefiled, Rama and Lakshman are they styled. Fair as the Minstrels' King(460) are they, And stamped with signs of regal sway. I know not if the heroes trace Their line from Gods or Danav(461) race. There by these wondering eyes between The noble youths a dame was seen, Fair, blooming, young, with dainty waist, And all her bright apparel graced. For her with ready heart and mind The royal pair their strength combined, And brought me to this last distress, Like some lost woman, comfortless. Perfidious wretch! my soul is fain Her foaming blood and theirs to drain. O let me head the vengeful fight, And with this hand my murderers smite. Come, brother, hasten to fulfil This longing of my eager will. On to the battle! Let me drink Their lifeblood as to earth they sink."

Then flashed the giant's eye with fire Like that which lights the funeral pyre. He bade his bravest Kinkars(871) speed And to his feet the spoiler lead. Forth from the palace, at his hest, Twice forty thousand warriors pressed. Burning for battle, strong and fierce, With clubs to crush and swords to pierce, They saw Hanuman near a porch, And, thick as moths around a torch, Rushed on the foe with wild attacks Of mace and club and battle-axe. As round him pressed the Rakshas crowd, The wondrous monkey roared aloud, That birds fell headlong from the sky: Then spake he with a mighty cry: "Long life to Dasaratha's heir, And Lakshman, ever-glorious pair! Long life to him who rules our race, Preserved by noblest Rama's grace! I am the slave of Kosal's king,(872) Whose wondrous deeds the minstrels sing. Hanuman I, the Wind-God's seed: Beneath this arm the foemen bleed. I fear not, unapproached in might, A thousand Ravan's ranged for fight, Although in furious hands they rear The hill and tree for sword and spear, I will, before the giants' eyes, Their city and their king chastise; And, having communed with the dame, Depart in triumph as I came."

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

The bow-armed princes onward passed, And as the sun was sinking fast They reached the hermit's dwelling, set Near where the rushing waters met. The presence of the warrior scared The deer and birds as on he fared, And struck them with unwonted awe: Then Bharadvaja's cot they saw. The high-souled hermit soon they found Girt by his dear disciples round: Calm saint, whose vows had well been wrought, Whose fervent rites keen sight had bought. Duly had flames of worship blazed When Rama on the hermit gazed: His suppliant hands the hero raised, Drew nearer to the holy man With his companions, and began, Declaring both his name and race And why they sought that distant place: "Saint, Dasaratha's children we, Rama and Lakshman, come to thee. This my good wife from Janak springs, The best of fair Videha's kings; Through lonely wilds, a faultless dame, To this pure grove with me she came. My younger brother follows still Me banished by my father's will: Sumitra's son, bound by a vow,-- He roams the wood beside me now. Sent by my father forth to rove, We seek, O Saint, some holy grove, Where lives of hermits we may lead, And upon fruits and berries feed."

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

"They come, they come. A rushing tide, Ten leagues they spread from side to side, And on to storm thy city press, Fierce rovers of the wilderness. Rich in each princely power and grace, The pride of Dasaratha's race, Rama and Lakshman lead their bands, And halt them on the ocean sands. O Monarch, rise, this peril meet; Risk not the danger of defeat. First let each wiser art be tried; Bribe them, or win them, or divide." Such was the counsel of the spy: And Ravan called to Suka: "Fly, Sugriva lord of Vanars seek, And thus my kingly message speak: "Great power and might and fame are thine, Brave scion of a royal line, King Riksharajas' son, in thee A brother and a friend I see. How wronged by me canst thou complain? What profit here pretend to gain? If from the wood the wife I stole Of Rama of the prudent soul, What cause hast thou to mourn the theft? Thou art not injured or bereft. Return, O King, thy steps retrace And seek thy mountain dwelling-place. No, never may thy hosts within My Lanka's walls a footing win. A mighty town whose strength defies The gathered armies of the skies."

Red flashed his eyes with angry glow: He stood and grasped his mighty bow, Terrific as the fire of doom Whose quenchless flames the world consume. His clanging cord the archer drew, And swift the fiery arrows flew Fierce as the flashing levin sent By him who rules the firmament. Down through the startled waters sped Each missile with its flaming head. The foamy billows rose and sank, And dashed upon the trembling bank. Sea monsters of tremendous form With crash and roar of thunder storm. Still the wild waters rose and fell Crowned with white foam and pearl and shell. Each serpent, startled from his rest, Raised his fierce eyes and glowing crest. And prisoned Danavs(933) where they dwelt In depths below the terror felt. Again upon his string he laid A flaming shaft, but Lakshman stayed His arm, with gentle reasoning tried To soothe his angry mood, and cried: "Brother, reflect: the wise control The rising passions of the soul. Let Ocean grant, without thy threat, The boon on which thy heart is set. That gracious lord will ne'er refuse When Rama son of Raghu sues." He ceased: and voices from the air Fell clear and loud, Spare, Rama, spare.

Then Rama, while his spirit burned For battle, words like these returned: "The eastern gate be Nila's care, Opponent of Prahasta there. The southern gate, with troops arrayed Let Angad, Bali's son, invade. The gate that fronts the falling sun Shall be by brave Hanuman won; Soon through its portals shall he lead His myriads of Vanar breed. The gate that fronts the north shall be Assailed by Lakshman and by me, For I myself have sworn to kill The tyrant who delights in ill. Armed with the boon which Brahma gave, The Gods of heaven he loves to brave, And through the trembling worlds he flies, Oppressor of the just and wise. Thou, Jambavan, and thou, O King Of Vanars, all your bravest bring, And with your hosts in dense array Straight to the centre force your way. But let no Vanar in the storm Disguise him in a human form, Ye chiefs who change your shapes at will, Retain your Vanar semblance still. Thus, when we battle with the foe, Both men and Vanars will ye know, In human form will seven appear; Myself, my brother Lakshman here; Vibhishan, and the four he led From Lanka's city when he fled."

Thus as he spoke his bow he drew, And seven keen shafts at Lakshman flew, But Raghu's son with surest aim Cleft every arrow as it came. Thus with fleet shafts each warrior shot Against his foe, and rested not. Then one choice weapon from his store, By Brahma's self bestowed of yore, Fierce as the flames that end the world, The giant king at Lakshman hurled. The hero fell, and racked with pain, Scarce could his hand his bow retain. But sense and strength resumed their seat And, lightly springing to his feet, He struck with one tremendous stroke And Ravan's bow in splinters broke. From Lakshman's cord three arrows flew And pierced the giant monarch through. Sore wounded Ravan closed, and round Ikshvaku's son his strong arms wound. With strength unrivalled, Brahma's gift, He strove from earth his foe to lift. "Shall I," he cried, "who overthrow Mount Meru and the Lord of Snow, And heaven and all who dwell therein, Be foiled by one of Rama's kin?" But though he heaved, and toiled, and strained, Unmoved Ikshvaku's son remained. His frame by those huge arms compressed The giant's God-given force confessed, But conscious that himself was part Of Vishnu, he was firm in heart.

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

When Janak's lovely city first Upon their sight, yet distant, burst, The hermits all with joyful cries Hailed the fair town that met their eyes. Then Rama saw a holy wood, Close, in the city's neighbourhood, O'ergrown, deserted, marked by age, And thus addressed the mighty sage: "O reverend lord. I long to know What hermit dwelt here long ago." Then to the prince his holy guide, Most eloquent of men, replied: "O Rama, listen while I tell Whose was this grove, and what befell When in the fury of his rage The high saint cursed the hermitage. This was the grove--most lovely then-- Of Gautam, O thou best of men, Like heaven itself, most honoured by The Gods who dwell above the sky. Here with Ahalya at his side His fervid task the ascetic plied. Years fled in thousands. On a day It chanced the saint had gone away, When Town-destroying Indra came, And saw the beauty of the dame. The sage's form the God endued, And thus the fair Ahalya wooed: "Love, sweet! should brook no dull delay But snatch the moments when he may." She knew him in the saint's disguise, Lord Indra of the Thousand Eyes, But touched by love's unholy fire, She yielded to the God's desire.

How shall I pass in dark distress My long lone days of wretchedness Without my Rama's face, as bright As the full moon to cheer my sight? Alas, my cares thy steps to train, And fasts, and vows, and prayers are vain. Hard, hard, I ween, must be this heart To hear this blow nor burst apart, As some great river bank, when first The floods of Rain-time on it burst. No, Fate that speeds not will not slay, Nor Yama's halls vouchsafe me room, Or, like a lion's weeping prey, Death now had borne me to my doom. Hard is my heart and wrought of steel That breaks not with the crushing blow, Or in the pangs this day I feel My lifeless frame had sunk below. Death waits his hour, nor takes me now: But this sad thought augments my pain, That prayer and largess, fast and vow, And Heavenward service are in vain. Ah me, ah me! with fruitless toil Of rites austere a child I sought: Thus seed cast forth on barren soil Still lifeless lies and comes to naught. If ever wretch by anguish grieved Before his hour to death had fled, I mourning, like a cow bereaved, Had been this day among the dead."

Such was the speech Sumantra heard From them whom grief unfeigned had stirred. As fires of anguish burnt him through, Swift to the monarch's hall he drew, Past the eighth court; there met his sight, The sovereign in his palace bright, Still weeping for his son, forlorn, Pale, faint, and all with sorrow worn. As there he sat, Sumantra bent And did obeisance reverent, And to the king repeated o'er The message he from Rama bore. The monarch heard, and well-nigh brake His heart, but yet no word he spake: Fainting to earth he fell, and dumb, By grief for Rama overcome. Rang through the hall a startling cry, And women's arms were tossed on high, When, with his senses all astray, Upon the ground the monarch lay. Kausalya, with Sumitra's aid, Raised from the ground her lord dismayed: "Sire, of high fate," she cried, "O, why Dost thou no single word reply To Rama's messenger who brings News of his painful wanderings? The great injustice done, art thou Shame-stricken for thy conduct now? Rise up, and do thy part: bestow Comfort and help in this our woe. Speak freely, King; dismiss thy fear, For Queen Kaikeyi stands not near, Afraid of whom thou wouldst not seek Tidings of Rama: freely speak."

Thus Rama showed to Janak's child The varied beauties of the wild, The hill, the brook and each fair spot, Then turned to seek their leafy cot. North of the mountain Rama found A cavern in the sloping ground, Charming to view, its floor was strown With many a mass of ore and stone, In secret shadow far retired Where gay birds sang with joy inspired, And trees their graceful branches swayed With loads of blossom downward weighed. Soon as he saw the cave which took Each living heart and chained the look, Thus Rama spoke to Sita who Gazed wondering on the silvan view: "Does this fair cave beneath the height, Videhan lady, charm thy sight? Then let us resting here a while The languor of the way beguile. That block of stone so smooth and square Was set for thee to rest on there, And like a thriving Kesar tree This flowery shrub o'ershadows thee." Thus Rama spoke, and Janak's child, By nature ever soft and mild, In tender words which love betrayed Her answer to the hero made: "O pride of Raghu's children, still My pleasure is to do thy will. Enough for me thy wish to know: Far hast thou wandered to and fro."

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

"Ah me, ah me, my days are told: O see me in the giant's hold. Fly, son of Raghu, swiftly flee, And thy dear self from danger free. Me to the fiend an offering give; Fly at thine ease thyself and live. Thou, great Kakutstha's son, I ween, Wilt find ere long thy Maithil queen, And when thou holdest, throned again, Thine old hereditary reign, With servants prompt to do thy will, O think upon thy brother still." As thus the trembling Lakshman cried, The dauntless Rama thus replied: "Brother, from causeless dread forbear. A chief like thee should scorn despair." He spoke to soothe his wild alarm: Then fierce Kabandha(517) long of arm, Among the Danavs(518) first and best, The sons of Raghu thus addressed: "What men are you, whose shoulders show Broad as a bull's, with sword and bow, Who roam this dark and horrid place, Brought by your fate before my face? Declare by what occasion led These solitary wilds you tread, With swords and bows and shafts to pierce, Like bulls whose horns are strong and fierce. Why have you sought this forest land Where wild with hunger's pangs I stand? Now as your steps my path have crossed Esteem your lives already lost."

No word the giant king returned: His eyes with flames of fury burned. His arm was stretched, his bow was bent, And swift his fiery shafts were sent. Red torrents from the Vanar flowed: Then Rama near to Ravan strode, And with keen darts that never failed, The chariot of the king assailed. With surest aim his arrows flew: The driver and the steeds he slew. And shattered with the pointed steel Car, flag, and pole and yoke and wheel. As Indra hurls his bolt to smite Mount Meru's heaven-ascending height, So Rama with a flaming dart Struck Lanka's monarch near the heart, Who reeled and fell beneath the blow And from loose fingers dropped his bow. Bright as the sun, with crescent head, From Rama's bow an arrow sped, And from his forehead, proud no more, Cleft the bright coronet he wore. Then Rama stood by Ravan's side And to the conquered giant cried: "Well hast thou fought: thine arm has slain Strong heroes of the Vanar train. I will not strike or slay thee now, For weary, faint with fight art thou. To Lanka's town thy footsteps bend, And there the night securely spend. To-morrow come with car and bow, And then my prowess shalt thou know."

Before the saint Vasishtha stood All those who wrought with stone and wood, And showed the work which every one In furtherance of the rite had done, Rejoiced their ready zeal to see, Thus to the craftsmen all said he: "I charge ye, masters, see to this, That there be nothing done amiss, And this, I pray, in mind be borne, That not one gift ye give in scorn: Whenever scorn a gift attends Great sin is his who thus offends." And now some days and nights had past, And kings began to gather fast, And precious gems in liberal store As gifts to Dasaratha bore. Then joy thrilled through Vasishtha's breast As thus the monarch he addressed: "Obedient to thy high decree The kings, my lord, are come to thee. And it has been my care to greet And honour all with reverence meet. Thy servants' task is ended quite, And all is ready for the rite. Come forth then to the sacred ground Where all in order will be found." Then Rishyasring confirmed the tale: Nor did their words to move him fail. The stars propitious influence lent When forth the world's great ruler went. Then by the sage Vasishtha led The priest begun to speed Those glorious rites wherein is shed The lifeblood of the steed.

Then Gadhi's son in fury threw Lord Varun's arm and Rudra's too: Indra's fierce bolt that all destroys; That which the Lord of Herds employs: The Human, that which minstrels keep, The deadly Lure, the endless Sleep: The Yawner, and the dart which charms; Lament and Torture, fearful arms: The Terrible, the dart which dries, The Thunderbolt which quenchless flies, And Fate's dread net, and Brahma's noose, And that which waits for Varun's use: The dart he loves who wields the bow Pinaka, and twin bolts that glow With fury as they flash and fly, The quenchless Liquid and the Dry: The dart of Vengeance, swift to kill: The Goblins' dart, the Curlew's Bill: The discus both of Fate and Right, And Vishnu's, of unerring flight: The Wind-God's dart, the Troubler dread, The weapon named the Horse's Head. From his fierce hand two spears were thrown, And the great mace that smashes bone; The dart of spirits of the air, And that which Fate exults to bear: The Trident dart which slaughters foes, And that which hanging skulls compose:(233) These fearful darts in fiery rain He hurled upon the saint amain, An awful miracle to view. But as the ceaseless tempest flew, The sage with wand of God-sent power Still swallowed up that fiery shower.

Sumantra heard the sad reply, And saw his master's tearful eye. With reverent palm to palm applied He drew a little space aside. Then, as the king, with misery weak, With vain endeavour strove to speak, Kaikeyi, skilled in plot and plan, To sage Sumantra thus began: "The king, absorbed in joyful thought For his dear son, no rest has sought: Sleepless to him the night has past, And now o'erwatched he sinks at last. Then go, Sumantra, and with speed The glorious Rama hither lead: Go, as I pray, nor longer wait; No time is this to hesitate." "How can I go, O Lady fair, Unless my lord his will declare?" "Fain would I see him," cried the king, "Quick, quick, my beauteous Rama bring." Then rose the happy thought to cheer The bosom of the charioteer, "The king, I ween, of pious mind, The consecration has designed." Sumantra for his wisdom famed, Delighted with the thought he framed, From the calm chamber, like a bay Of crowded ocean, took his way. He turned his face to neither side, But forth he hurried straight; Only a little while he eyed The guards who kept the gate. He saw in front a gathered crowd Of men of every class, Who, parting as he came, allowed The charioteer to pass.

Before the high souled chief they bent, With circling steps around him went, And then with bitter wailing, they Departed each his several way. Like the great sun engulfed by night, The hero sped beyond their sight, While still the people mourned his fate And wept aloud disconsolate. The car-borne chieftain passed the bound Of Kosala's delightful ground, Where grain and riches bless the land, And people give with liberal hand: A lovely realm unvexed by fear, Where countless shrines and stakes(323) appear: Where mango-groves and gardens grow, And streams of pleasant water flow: Where dwells content a well-fed race, And countless kine the meadows grace: Filled with the voice of praise and prayer: Each hamlet worth a monarch's care. Before him three-pathed Ganga rolled Her heavenly waters bright and cold; O'er her pure breast no weeds were spread, Her banks were hermit-visited. The car-borne hero saw the tide That ran with eddies multiplied, And thus the charioteer addressed: "Here on the bank to-day we rest. Not distant from the river, see! There grows a lofty Ingudi With blossoms thick on every spray: There rest we, charioteer, to-day. I on the queen of floods will gaze, Whose holy stream has highest praise, Where deer, and bird, and glittering snake, God, Daitya, bard their pastime take."

The princely tamers of their foes Thus passed the night in calm repose, Then to the hermit having bent With reverence, on their way they went. High favour Bharadvaja showed, And blessed them ready for the road. With such fond looks as fathers throw On their own sons, before they go. Then spake the saint with glory bright To Rama peerless in his might: "First, lords of men, direct your feet Where Yamuna and Ganga meet; Then to the swift Kalindi(330) go, Whose westward waves to Ganga flow. When thou shalt see her lovely shore Worn by their feet who hasten o'er, Then, Raghu's son, a raft prepare, And cross the Sun born river there. Upon her farther bank a tree, Near to the landing wilt thou see. The blessed source of varied gifts, There her green boughs that Fig-tree lifts: A tree where countless birds abide, By Syama's name known far and wide. Sita, revere that holy shade: There be thy prayers for blessing prayed. Thence for a league your way pursue, And a dark wood shall meet your view, Where tall bamboos their foliage show, The Gum-tree and the Jujube grow. To Chitrakuta have I oft Trodden that path so smooth and soft, Where burning woods no traveller scare, But all is pleasant, green, and fair."

By chains of duty firmly tied, The wretched king perforce complied. Rama, to please Kaikeyi went Obedient forth to banishment. Then Lakshman's truth was nobly shown, Then were his love and courage known, When for his brother's sake he dared All perils, and his exile shared. And Sita, Rama's darling wife, Loved even as he loved his life, Whom happy marks combined to bless, A miracle of loveliness, Of Janak's royal lineage sprung, Most excellent of women, clung To her dear lord, like Rohini Rejoicing with the Moon to be.(25) The King and people, sad of mood, The hero's car awhile pursued. But when Prince Rama lighted down At Sringavera's pleasant town, Where Ganga's holy waters flow, He bade his driver turn and go. Guha, Nishadas' king, he met, And on the farther bank was set. Then on from wood to wood they strayed, O'er many a stream, through constant shade, As Bharadvaja bade them, till They came to Chitrakuta's hill. And Rama there, with Lakshman's aid, A pleasant little cottage made, And spent his days with Sita, dressed In coat of bark and deerskin vest.(26) And Chitrakuta grew to be As bright with those illustrious three As Meru's(27) sacred peaks that shine With glory, when the Gods recline Beneath them: Siva's(28) self between The Lord of Gold and Beauty's Queen.

Next, Rishyasring, well-honoured sage, And Santa, sought their hermitage. The king himself, of prudent mind, Attended him, with troops behind. And all her men the town outpoured With Saint Vasishtha and their lord. High mounted on a car of state, O'er canopied fair Santa sate. Drawn by white oxen, while a band Of servants marched on either hand. Great gifts of countless price she bore, With sheep and goats and gems in store. Like Beauty's self the lady shone With all the jewels she had on, As, happy in her sweet content, Peerless amid the fair she went. Not Queen Paulomi's(125) self could be More loving to her lord than she. She who had lived in happy ease, Honoured with all her heart could please, While dames and kinsfolk ever vied To see her wishes gratified, Soon as she knew her husband's will Again to seek the forest, still Was ready for the hermit's cot, Nor murmured at her altered lot. The king attended to the wild That hermit and his own dear child, And in the centre of a throng Of noble courtiers rode along. The sage's son had let prepare A lodge within the wood, and there While they lingered blithe and gay. Then, duly honoured, went their way. The glorious hermit Rishyasring Drew near and thus besought the king:

Long may he wander, rags his wear, Doomed in his hand a skull to bear, And like an idiot beg his bread, Who gave consent when Rama fled. His sin who holy rites forgets, Asleep when shows the sun and sets, A load upon his soul shall lie Whose will allowed the prince to fly. His sin who loves his Master's dame, His, kindler of destructive flame, His who betrays his trusting friend Shall, mingled all, on him descend. By him no reverence due be paid To blessed God or parted shade: May sire and mother's sacred name In vain from him obedience claim. Ne'er may he go where dwell the good, Nor win their fame and neighbourhood, But lose all hopes of bliss to-day, Who willed the prince should flee away. May he deceive the poor and weak Who look to him and comfort seek, Betray the suppliants who complain, And make the hopeful hope in vain. Long may his wife his kiss expect, And pine away in cold neglect. May he his lawful love despise, And turn on other dames his eyes, Fool, on forbidden joys intent, Whose will allowed the banishment. His sin who deadly poison throws To spoil the water as it flows, Lay on the wretch its burden dread Who gave consent when Rama fled."(351)

But when he turned his eye where bled Both Trisiras and Dushan dead, Fear o'er the giant's spirit came Of Rama's might which naught could tame. He saw his savage legions, those Whose force no creature dared oppose,-- He saw the leader of his train By Rama's single prowess slain. With burning grief he marked the few Still left him of his giant crew. As Namuchi(473) on Indra, so Rushed the dread demon on his foe. His mighty bow the monster strained, And angrily on Rama rained His mortal arrows in a flood, Like serpent fangs athirst for blood. Skilled in the bowman's warlike art, He plied the string and poised the dart. Here, on his car, and there, he rode, And passages of battle showed, While all the skyey regions grew Dark with his arrows as they flew. Then Rama seized his ponderous bow, And straight the heaven was all aglow With shafts whose stroke no life might bear That filled with flash and flame the air, Thick as the blinding torrents sent Down from Parjanya's(474) firmament. In space itself no space remained, But all was filled with arrows rained Incessantly from each great bow Wielded by Rama and his foe. As thus in furious combat, wrought To mortal hate, the warriors fought, The sun himself grew faint and pale, Obscured behind that arrowy veil.

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