Ramayana on The Soul

The seasons six in rapid flight Had circled since that glorious rite. Eleven months had passed away; 'Twas Chaitra's ninth returning day.(130) The moon within that mansion shone Which Aditi looks kindly on. Raised to their apex in the sky Five brilliant planets beamed on high. Shone with the moon, in Cancer's sign, Vrihaspati(131) with light divine. Kausalya bore an infant blest With heavenly marks of grace impressed; Rama, the universe's lord, A prince by all the worlds adored. New glory Queen Kausalya won Reflected from her splendid son. So Aditi shone more and more, The Mother of the Gods, when she The King of the Immortals(132) bore, The thunder-wielding deity. The lotus-eyed, the beauteous boy, He came fierce Ravan to destroy; From half of Vishnu's vigour born, He came to help the worlds forlorn. And Queen Kaikeyi bore a child Of truest valour, Bharat styled, With every princely virtue blest, One fourth of Vishnu manifest. Sumitra too a noble pair, Called Lakshman and Satrughna, bare, Of high emprise, devoted, true, Sharers in Vishnu's essence too. 'Neath Pushya's(133) mansion, Mina's(134) sign, Was Bharat born, of soul benign. The sun had reached the Crab at morn When Queen Sumitra's babes were born, What time the moon had gone to make His nightly dwelling with the Snake. The high-souled monarch's consorts bore At different times those glorious four, Like to himself and virtuous, bright As Proshthapada's(135) four-fold light. Then danced the nymphs' celestial throng, The minstrels raised their strain; The drums of heaven pealed loud and long, And flowers came down in rain. Within Ayodhya, blithe and gay, All kept the joyous holiday. The spacious square, the ample road With mimes and dancers overflowed, And with the voice of music rang Where minstrels played and singers sang, And shone, a wonder to behold, With dazzling show of gems and gold.

Upon fair Sarju's southern shore They now had walked a league and more, When thus the sage in accents mild To Rama said: "Beloved child, This lustral water duly touch: My counsel will avail thee much. Forget not all the words I say, Nor let the occasion slip away. Lo, with two spells I thee invest, The mighty and the mightiest. O'er thee fatigue shall ne'er prevail, Nor age or change thy limbs assail. Thee powers of darkness ne'er shall smite In tranquil sleep or wild delight. No one is there in all the land Thine equal for the vigorous hand. Thou, when thy lips pronounce the spell, Shalt have no peer in heaven or hell. None in the world with thee shall vie, O sinless one, in apt reply, In fortune, knowledge, wit, and tact, Wisdom to plan and skill to act. This double science take, and gain Glory that shall for aye remain. Wisdom and judgment spring from each Of these fair spells whose use I teach. Hunger and thirst unknown to thee, High in the worlds thy rank shall be. For these two spells with might endued, Are the Great Father's heavenly brood, And thee, O Chief, may fitly grace, Thou glory of Kakutstha's race. Virtues which none can match are thine, Lord, from thy birth, of gifts divine, And now these spells of might shall cast Fresh radiance o'er the gifts thou hast." Then Rama duly touched the wave, Raised suppliant hands, bowed low his head, And took the spells the hermit gave, Whose soul on contemplation fed. From him whose might these gifts enhanced, A brighter beam of glory glanced: So shines in all his autumn blaze The Day-God of the thousand rays. The hermit's wants those youths supplied, As pupils use to holy guide. And then the night in sweet content On Sarju's pleasant bank they spent.

Lord Indra ceased. The nymph obeyed: In all her loveliest charms arrayed, With winning ways and witching smile She sought the hermit to beguile. The sweet note of that tuneful bird The saint with ravished bosom heard, And on his heart a rapture passed As on the nymph a look he cast. But when he heard the bird prolong His sweet incomparable song, And saw the nymph with winning smile, The hermit's heart perceived the wile. And straight he knew the Thousand-eyed A plot against his peace had tried. Then Kusik's son indignant laid His curse upon the heavenly maid: "Because thou wouldst my soul engage Who fight to conquer love and rage, Stand, till ten thousand years have flown, Ill-fated maid, transformed to stone. A Brahman then, in glory strong, Mighty through penance stern and long, Shall free thee from thine altered shape; Thou from my curse shalt then escape." But when the saint had cursed her so, His breast was burnt with fires of woe, Grieved that long effort to restrain His mighty wrath was all in vain. Cursed by the angry sage's power, She stood in stone that selfsame hour. Kandarpa heard the words he said, And quickly from his presence fled. His fall beneath his passion's sway Had reft the hermit's meed away. Unconquered yet his secret foes, The humbled saint refused repose: "No more shall rage my bosom till, Sealed be my lips, my tongue be still. My very breath henceforth I hold Until a thousand years are told: Victorious o'er each erring sense, I'll dry my frame with abstinence, Until by penance duly done A Brahman's rank be bought and won. For countless years, as still as death, I taste no food, I draw no breath, And as I toil my frame shall stand Unharmed by time's destroying hand."

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

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

When Rama saw the vulture lie, Huge as a hill, with darksome eye, With many a poignant woe distressed His brother chief he thus addressed: "Amid these haunted shades content Full many a year this bird has spent. His life in home of giants passed, In Dandak wood he dies at last. The years in lengthened course have fled Untroubled o'er the vulture's head, And now he lies in death, for none The stern decrees of Fate may shun. See, Lakshman, how the vulture fell While for my sake he battled well. And strove to free with onset bold My Sita from the giant's hold. Supreme amid the vulture kind His ancient rule the bird resigned, And conquered in the fruitless strife Gave for my sake his noble life. O Lakshman, many a time we see Great souls who keep the law's decree, With whom the weak sure refuge find, In creatures of inferior kind. The loss of her, my darling queen, Strikes with a pang less fiercely keen Than now this slaughtered bird to see Who nobly fought and died for me. As Dasaratha, good and great, Was glorious in his high estate, Honoured by all, to all endeared, So was this royal bird revered. Bring fuel for the funeral rite: These hands the solemn fire shall light And on the burning pyre shall lay The bird who died for me to-day. Now on the gathered wood shall lie The lord of all the birds that fly, And I will burn with honours due My champion whom the giant slew. O royal bird of noblest heart, Graced with all funeral rites depart To bright celestial seats above, Rewarded for thy faithful love. Dwell in thy happy home with those Whose constant fires of worship rose. Live blest amid the unyielding brave, And those who land in largess gave."

Thus Rama spoke, in battle tried, And thus Sumitra's son replied: "Come, brother, come, and speed away: My spirit brooks no more delay." Thus spake Sumitra's son, and then Forth from the grove the king of men With his dear brother by his side To Pampa's lucid waters hied. He gazed upon the woods where grew Trees rich in flowers of every hue. From brake and dell on every side The curlew and the peacock cried, And flocks of screaming parrots made Shrill music in the bloomy shade. His eager eyes, as on he went, On many a pool and tree were bent. Inflamed with love he journeyed on Till a fair flood before him shone. He stood upon the water's side Which streams from distant hills supplied: Matanga's name that water bore: There bathed he from the shelving shore. Then, each on earnest thoughts intent, Still farther on their way they went. But Rama's heart once more gave way Beneath his grief and wild dismay. Before him lay the noble flood Adorned with many a lotus bud. On its fair banks Asoka glowed, And all bright trees their blossoms showed. Green banks that silver waves confined With lovely groves were fringed and lined. The crystal waters in their flow Showed level sands that gleamed below. There glittering fish and tortoise played, And bending trees gave pleasant shade. There creepers on the branches hung With lover-like embraces clung. There gay Gandharvas loved to meet, And Kinnars sought the calm retreat. There wandering Yakshas found delight, Snake-gods and rovers of the night. Cool were the pleasant waters, gay Each tree with creeper, flower, and spray. There flushed the lotus darkly red, Here their white glory lilies spread, Here sweet buds showed their tints of blue: So carpets gleam with many a hue. A grove of Mangoes blossomed nigh, Echoing with the peacock's cry.

Through the fair city Lakshman came, Invited in Sugriva's name. Within the gates the guardian bands, Of Vanars raised their suppliant hands, And in their ordered ranks, amazed, Upon the princely hero gazed, They marked each burning breath he drew, The fury of his soul they knew. Their hearts were chilled with sudden fear: They gazed, but dared not venture near, Before his eyes the city, gay With gems and flowery gardens, lay, Where fane and palace rose on high, And things of beauty charmed the eye. Where trees of every blossom grew Yielding their fruit in season due To Vanars of celestial seed Who wore each varied form at need, Fair-faced and glorious with the shine Of heavenly robes and wreaths divine. There sandal, aloe, lotus bloomed, And there delicious breath perfumed The city's broad street, redolent Of sugary mead(636) and honey scent. There many a lofty palace rose Like Vindhya or the Lord of Snows, And with sweet murmur sparkling rills Leapt lightly down the sheltering hills. On many a glorious palace, raised For prince and noble,(637) Lakshman gazed: Like clouds of paly hue they shone With fragrant wreaths that hung thereon: There wealth of jewels was enshrined, And fairer gems of womankind. There gleamed, of noble height and size, Like Indra's mansion in the skies, Protected by a crystal fence Of rock, the royal residence, With roof and turret high and bright Like Mount Kailasa's loftiest height. There blooming trees, Mahendra's gift, High o'er the walls were seen to lift Their golden fruited boughs, that made With leaf and flower delicious shade. He saw a band of Vanars wait, Wielding their weapons, at the gate Where golden portals flashed between Celestial garlands red and green. Within Sugriva's fair abode Unchecked the mighty hero strode, As when the sun of autumn shrouds His glory in a pile of clouds.

He saw her trembling by his side, And looked upon her face and cried: "Lady, at length my task is done, And thou, the prize of war, art won, This arm my glory has retrieved, And all that man might do achieved; The insulting foe in battle slain And cleared mine honour from its stain. This day has made my name renowned And with success my labour crowned. Lord of myself, the oath I swore Is binding on my soul no more. If from my home my queen was reft, This arm has well avenged the theft, And in the field has wiped away The blot that on mine honour lay. The bridge that spans the foaming flood, The city red with giants' blood; The hosts by King Sugriva led Who wisely counselled, fought and bled; Vibhishan's love, our guide and stay-- All these are crowned with fruit to-day. But, lady, 'twas not love for thee That led mine army o'er the sea. 'Twas not for thee our blood was shed, Or Lanka filled with giant dead. No fond affection for my wife Inspired me in the hour of strife. I battled to avenge the cause Of honour and insulted laws. My love is fled, for on thy fame Lies the dark blot of sin and shame; And thou art hateful as the light That flashes on the injured sight. The world is all before thee: flee: Go where thou wilt, but not with me. How should my home receive again A mistress soiled with deathless stain? How should I brook the foul disgrace, Scorned by my friends and all my race? For Ravan bore thee through the sky, And fixed on thine his evil eye. About thy waist his arms he threw, Close to his breast his captive drew, And kept thee, vassal of his power, An inmate of his ladies' bower."

They tossed the flying ball about With dance and song and merry shout, And moved, their scented tresses bound With wreaths, in mazy motion round. Some girls as if by love possessed, Sank to the earth in feigned unrest, Up starting quickly to pursue Their intermitted game anew. It was a lovely sight to see Those fair ones, as they played, While fragrant robes were floating free, And bracelets clashing in their glee A pleasant tinkling made. The anklet's chime, the Koil's(82) cry With music filled the place As 'twere some city in the sky Which heavenly minstrels grace. With each voluptuous art they strove To win the tenant of the grove, And with their graceful forms inspire His modest soul with soft desire. With arch of brow, with beck and smile, With every passion-waking wile Of glance and lotus hand, With all enticements that excite The longing for unknown delight Which boys in vain withstand. Forth came the hermit's son to view The wondrous sight to him so new, And gazed in rapt surprise, For from his natal hour till then On woman or the sons of men He ne'er had cast his eyes. He saw them with their waists so slim, With fairest shape and faultless limb, In variegated robes arrayed, And sweetly singing as they played. Near and more near the hermit drew, And watched them at their game, And stronger still the impulse grew To question whence they came. They marked the young ascetic gaze With curious eye and wild amaze, And sweet the long-eyed damsels sang, And shrill their merry laughter rang. Then came they nearer to his side, And languishing with passion cried: "Whose son, O youth, and who art thou, Come suddenly to join us now? And why dost thou all lonely dwell In the wild wood? We pray thee, tell, We wish to know thee, gentle youth; Come, tell us, if thou wilt, the truth."

Soon as appeared the morning light Up rose the mighty anchorite, And thus to youthful Rama said, Who lay upon his leafy bed: "High fate is hers who calls thee son: Arise, 'tis break of day; Rise, Chief, and let those rites be done Due at the morning's ray."(151) At that great sage's high behest Up sprang the princely pair, To bathing rites themselves addressed, And breathed the holiest prayer. Their morning task completed, they To Visvamitra came That store of holy works, to pay The worship saints may claim. Then to the hallowed spot they went Along fair Sarju's side Where mix her waters confluent With three-pathed Ganga's tide.(152) There was a sacred hermitage Where saints devout of mind Their lives through many a lengthened age To penance had resigned. That pure abode the princes eyed With unrestrained delight, And thus unto the saint they cried, Rejoicing at the sight: "Whose is that hermitage we see? Who makes his dwelling there? Full of desire to hear are we: O Saint, the truth declare." The hermit smiling made reply To the two boys' request: "Hear, Rama, who in days gone by This calm retreat possessed. Kandarpa in apparent form, Called Kama(153) by the wise, Dared Uma's(154) new-wed lord to storm And make the God his prize. 'Gainst Sthanu's(155) self, on rites austere And vows intent,(156) they say, His bold rash hand he dared to rear, Though Sthanu cried, Away! But the God's eye with scornful glare Fell terrible on him. Dissolved the shape that was so fair And burnt up every limb. Since the great God's terrific rage Destroyed his form and frame, Kama in each succeeding age Has borne Ananga's(157) name. So, where his lovely form decayed, This land is Anga styled: Sacred to him of old this shade, And hermits undefiled. Here Scripture-talking elders sway Each sense with firm control, And penance-rites have washed away All sin from every soul.

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

And Bharat, too, for me address: Pray that all health his life may bless. Let every royal lady share, As justice bids, his love and care. Say to the strong-armed chief who brings Joy to Iksvaku's line of kings: "As ruling prince thy care be shown Of him, our sire, who holds the throne. Stricken in years he feels their weight; But leave him in his royal state. As regent heir content thee still, Submissive to thy father's will.' " Rama again his charge renewed, As the hot flood his cheek bedewed: "Hold as thine own my mother dear Who drops for me the longing tear." Then Lakshman, with his soul on fire, Spake breathing fast these words of ire: "Say, for what sin, for what offence Was royal Rama banished thence? He is the cause, the king: poor slave To the light charge Kaikeyi gave. Let right or wrong the motive be, The author of our woe is he. Whether the exile were decreed Through foolish faith or guilty greed, For promises or empire, still The king has wrought a grievous ill. Grant that the Lord of all saw fit To prompt the deed and sanction it, In Rama's life no cause I see For which the king should bid him flee. His blinded eyes refused to scan The guilt and folly of the plan, And from the weakness of the king Here and hereafter woe shall spring. No more my sire: the ties that used To bind me to the king are loosed. My brother Rama, Raghu's son, To me is lord, friend, sire in one. The love of men how can he win, Deserting, by the cruel sin, Their joy, whose heart is swift to feel A pleasure in the people's weal? Shall he whose mandate could expel The virtuous Rama, loved so well, To whom his subjects' fond hearts cling-- Shall he in spite of them be king?"

That night of sorrow passed away, And rose again the God of Day. Then all the twice-born peers of state Together met for high debate. Javali, lord of mighty fame. And Gautam, and Katyayan came, And Markandeya's reverend age, And Vamadeva, glorious sage: Sprung from Mudgalya's seed the one, The other ancient Kasyap's son. With lesser lords these Brahmans each Spoke in his turn his several speech, And turning to Vasishtha, best Of household priests him thus addressed: "The night of bitter woe has past, Which seemed a hundred years to last, Our king, in sorrow for his son, Reunion with the Five has won. His soul is where the blessed are, While Rama roams in woods afar, And Lakshman, bright in glorious deeds, Goes where his well-loved brother leads. And Bharat and Satrughna, they Who smite their foes in battle fray, Far in the realm of Kekaya stay, Where their maternal grandsire's care Keeps Rajagriha's city fair. Let one of old Ikshvaku's race Obtain this day the sovereign's place, Or havoc and destruction straight Our kingless land will devastate. In kingless lands no thunder's voice, No lightning wreaths the heart rejoice, Nor does Parjanya's heavenly rain Descend upon the burning plain. Where none is king, the sower's hand Casts not the seed upon the land; The son against the father strives. And husbands fail to rule their wives. In kingless realms no princes call Their friends to meet in crowded hall; No joyful citizens resort To garden trim or sacred court. In kingless realms no Twice-born care To sacrifice with text and prayer, Nor Brahmans, who their vows maintain, The great solemnities ordain. The joys of happier days have ceased: No gathering, festival, or feast Together calls the merry throng Delighted with the play and song. In kingless lands it ne'er is well With sons of trade who buy and sell: No men who pleasant tales repeat Delight the crowd with stories sweet.

Then Bharat's face was eastward bent As from the royal town he went. He reached Sudama's farther side, And glorious, gazed upon the tide; Passed Hladini, and saw her toss Her westering billows hard to cross. Then old Ikshvaku's famous son O'er Satadru(348) his passage won, Near Ailadhana on the strand, And came to Aparparyat's land. O'er Sila's flood he hurried fast, Akurvati's fair stream he passed, Crossed o'er Agneya's rapid rill, And Salyakartan onward still. Silavaha's swift stream he eyed, True to his vows and purified, Then crossed the lofty hills, and stood In Chaitraratha's mighty wood. He reached the confluence where meet Sarasvati(349) and Ganga fleet, And through Bharunda forest, spread Northward of Viramatsya, sped. He sought Kalinda's child, who fills The soul with joy, begirt by hills, Reached Yamuna, and passing o'er, Rested his army on the shore: He gave his horses food and rest, Bathed reeking limb and drooping crest. They drank their fill and bathed them there, And water for their journey bare. Thence through a mighty wood he sped All wild and uninhabited, As in fair chariot through the skies, Most fair in shape a Storm-God flies. At Ansudhana Ganga, hard To cross, his onward journey barred, So turning quickly thence he came To Pragvat's city dear to fame. There having gained the farther side To Kutikoshtika he hied: The stream he crossed, and onward then To Dharmavardhan brought his men. Thence, leaving Toran on the north, To Jambuprastha journeyed forth. Then onward to a pleasant grove By fair Varutha's town he drove, And when a while he there had stayed, Went eastward from the friendly shade. Eastward of Ujjihana where The Priyak trees are tall and fair, He passed, and rested there each steed Exhausted with the journey's speed. There orders to his men addressed, With quickened pace he onward pressed, A while at Sarvatirtha spent, Then o'er Uttanika he went.

Thus spake the hermit self-restrained, With proper tone by rules ordained, On deepest meditation bent, In holy might preeminent. Then as with hands in reverence raised Absorbed in thought he eastward gazed, The deities he thus addressed Came each in semblance manifest. Delicious gales that cooled the frame From Malaya and Dardar came, That kissed those scented hills and threw Auspicious fragrance where they blew. Then falling fast in sweetest showers Came from the sky immortal flowers, And all the airy region round With heavenly drums was made to sound. Then breathed a soft celestial breeze, Then danced the bright Apsarases, The minstrels and the Gods advanced, And warbling lutes the soul entranced. The earth and sky that music filled, And through each ear it softly thrilled, As from the heavenly quills it fell With time and tune attempered well. Soon as the minstrels ceased to play And airs celestial died away, The troops of Bharat saw amazed What Visvakarma's art had raised. On every side, five leagues around, All smooth and level lay the ground, With fresh green grass that charmed the sight Like sapphires blent with lazulite. There the Wood-apple hung its load, The Mango and the Citron glowed, The Bel and scented Jak were there, And Apela with fruitage fair. There, brought from Northern Kuru, stood Rich in delights, the glorious wood, And many a stream was seen to glide With flowering trees along its side. There mansions rose with four wide halls, And elephants and chargers' stalls, And many a house of royal state, Triumphal arc and bannered gate. With noble doorways, sought the sky, Like a pale cloud, a palace high, Which far and wide rare fragrance shed, With wreaths of white engarlanded. Square was its shape, its halls were wide, With many a seat and couch supplied, Drink of all kinds, and every meat Such as celestial Gods might eat.

Then at the bidding of the seer Kaikeyi's strong-armed son drew near, And passed within that fair abode Which with the noblest jewels glowed. Then, as Vasishtha led the way, The councillors, in due array, Followed delighted and amazed And on the glorious structure gazed. Then Bharat, Raghu's son, drew near The kingly throne, with prince and peer, Whereby the chouri in the shade Of the white canopy was laid. Before the throne he humbly bent And honoured Rama, reverent, Then in his hand the chouri bore, And sat where sits a councillor. His ministers and household priest Sat by degrees from chief to least, Then sat the captain of the host And all the men he honoured most. Then when the saint his order gave, Each river with enchanted wave Rolled milk and curds divinely sweet Before the princely Bharat's feet; And dwellings fair on either side, With gay white plaster beautified, Their heavenly roofs were seen to lift, The Brahman Bharadvaja's gift. Then straight by Lord Kuvera sent, Gay with celestial ornament Of bright attire and jewels' shine, Came twenty thousand nymphs divine: The man on whom those beauties glanced That moment felt his soul entranced. With them from Nandan's blissful shades Came twenty thousand heavenly maids. Tumburu, Narad, Gopa came, And Sutanu, like radiant flame, The kings of the Gandharva throng, And ravished Bharat with their song. Then spoke the saint, and swift obeyed Alambusha, the fairest maid, And Misrakesi bright to view, Ramana, Pundrika too, And danced to him with graceful ease The dances of Apsarases. All chaplets that by Gods are worn, Or Chaitraratha's graves adorn, Bloomed by the saint's command arrayed On branches in Prayaga's shade. When at the saint's command the breeze Made music with the Vilva trees, To wave in rhythmic beat began The boughs of each Myrobolan, And holy fig-trees wore the look Of dancers, as their leaflets shook.

He spoke, and when his speech was done Bent his fierce brows on Raghu's son. With eager eyes he looked around If lethal arms might yet be found. Not far away and full in view A Sal-tree towering upward grew. His lips in mighty strain compressed, He tore it up with root and crest, With huge arms waved it o'er his head And hurled it shouting, Thou art dead. But Rama, unsurpassed in might, Stayed with his shafts its onward flight, And furious longing seized his soul The giant in the dust to roll. Great drops of sweat each limb bedewed, His red eyes showed his wrathful mood. A thousand arrows, swiftly sent, The giant's bosom tore and rent. From every gash his body showed The blood in foamy torrents flowed, As springing from their caverns leap Swift rivers down the mountain steep. When Khara felt each deadened power Yielding beneath that murderous shower, He charged, infuriate with the scent Of blood, in dire bewilderment. But Rama watched, with ready bow, The onset of his bleeding foe, And ere the monster reached him, drew Backward in haste a yard or two. Then from his side a shaft he took Whose mortal stroke no life might brook: Of peerless might, it bore the name Of Brahma's staff, and glowed with flame: Lord Indra, ruler of the skies, Himself had given the glorious prize. His bow the virtuous hero drew, And at the fiend the arrow flew. Hissing and roaring like the blast Of tempest through the air it passed, And fixed, by Rama's vigour sped, In the foe's breast its pointed head. Then fell the fiend: the quenchless flame Burnt furious in his wounded frame. So burnt by Rudra Andhak(477) fell In Svetaranya's silvery dell: So Namuchi and Vritra(478) died By steaming bolts that tamed their pride: So Bala(479) fell by lightning sent By Him who rules the firmament.

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

On, onward still! your feet shall tread Shores of the sea whose waves are red, Where spreading wide your eyes shall see The guilt-tormenting cotton tree(674) And the wild spot where Garud(675) dwells Which gems adorn and ocean shells, High as Kailasa, nobly decked, Wrought by the heavenly architect.(676) Huge giants named Mandehas(677) there In each foul shape they love to wear, Numbing the soul with terror's chill, Hang from the summit of the hill. When darts the sun his earliest beam They plunge them in the ocean stream, New vigour from his rays obtain, And hang upon the rocks again. Speed onward still: your steps shall be At length beside the Milky Sea Whose every ripple as it curls Gleams glorious with its wealth of pearls. Amid that sea like pale clouds spread The white Mount Rishabh(678) rears his head. About the mountain's glorious waist Woods redolent of bloom are braced. A lake where lotuses unfold Their silver buds with threads of gold, Sudarsan ever bright and fair Where white swans sport, lies gleaming there, The wandering Kinnar's(679) dear resort, Where heavenly nymphs and Yakshas(680) sport. On! leave the Milky Sea behind: Another flood your search shall find, A waste of waters, wild and drear, That chills each living heart with fear. There see the horse's awful head, Wrath-born, that flames in Ocean's bed.(681) There rises up a fearful cry From the sea things that move thereby, When, helpless, powerless for flight, They gaze upon the horrid sight. Past to the northern shore, and then Beyond the flood three leagues and ten Your wondering glances will behold Mount Jatarupa(682) bright with gold. There like the young moon pale of hue The monstrous serpent(683) will ye view, The earth's supporter, whose bright eyes Resemble lotus leaves in size. He rests upon the mountain's brow, And all the Gods before him bow. Ananta with a thousand heads His length in robes of azure spreads.

While from his shelter in the boughs The Vanar looked on Rama's spouse He heard the gathered giants raise The solemn hymn of prayer and praise.-- Priests skilled in rite and ritual, who The Vedas and their branches(824) knew. Then, as loud strains of music broke His sleep, the giant monarch woke. Swift to his heart the thought returned Of the fair queen for whom he burned; Nor could the amorous fiend control The passion that absorbed his soul. In all his brightest garb arrayed He hastened to that lovely shade, Where glowed each choicest flower and fruit, And the sweet birds were never mute, And tall deer bent their heads to drink On the fair streamlet's grassy brink. Near that Asoka grove he drew,-- A hundred dames his retinue. Like Indra with the thousand eyes Girt with the beauties of the skies. Some walked beside their lord to hold The chouries, fans, and lamps of gold. And others purest water bore In golden urns, and paced before. Some carried, piled on golden plates, Delicious food of dainty cates; Some wine in massive bowls whereon The fairest gems resplendent shone. Some by the monarch's side displayed, Wrought like a swan, a silken shade: Another beauty walked behind, The sceptre to her care assigned. Around the monarch gleamed the crowd As lightnings flash about a cloud, And each made music as she went With zone and tinkling ornament. Attended thus in royal state The monarch reached the garden gate, While gold and silver torches, fed With scented oil a soft light shed.(825) He, while the flame of fierce desire Burnt in his eyes like kindled fire, Seemed Love incarnate in his pride, His bow and arrows laid aside.(826) His robe, from spot and blemish free Like Amrit foamy from the sea,(827) Hung down in many a loosened fold Inwrought with flowers and bright with gold.

Thus spoke the tamer of the foe, And by the middle grasped his bow. Strongly he drew the sounding string That made the distant welkin ring. Scared by the mighty clang the deer That roamed the forest shook with fear, And Tadaka the echo heard, And rose in haste from slumber stirred. In wild amaze, her soul aflame With fury toward the spot she came. When that foul shape of evil mien And stature vast as e'er was seen The wrathful son of Raghu eyed, He thus unto his brother cried: "Her dreadful shape, O Lakshman, see, A form to shudder at and flee. The hideous monster's very view Would cleave a timid heart in two. Behold the demon hard to smite, Defended by her magic might. My hand shall stay her course to-day, And shear her nose and ears away. No heart have I her life to take: I spare it for her sex's sake. My will is but, with minished force, To check her in her evil course." While thus he spoke, by rage impelled Roaring as she came nigh, The fiend her course at Rama held With huge arms tossed on high. Her, rushing on, the seer assailed With a loud cry of hate; And thus the sons of Raghu hailed: "Fight, and be fortunate." Then from the earth a horrid cloud Of dust the demon raised, And for awhile in darkling shroud Wrapt Raghu's sons amazed. Then calling on her magic power The fearful fight to wage, She smote him with a stony shower, Till Rama burned with rage. Then pouring forth his arrowy rain That stony flood to stay, With winged darts, as she charged amain, He shore her hands away. As Tadaka still thundered near Thus maimed by Rama's blows, Lakshman in fury severed sheer The monster's ears and nose. Assuming by her magic skill A fresh and fresh disguise, She tried a thousand shapes at will, Then vanished from their eyes.

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

Kausalya by her son addressed, With love and passion sore distressed, Afflicted, with her eyes bedewed, To Rama thus her speech renewed: "Nay, Rama, but my heart will break If with these queens my home I make. Lead me too with thee; let me go And wander like a woodland roe." Then, while no tear the hero shed, Thus to the weeping queen he said: "Mother, while lives the husband, he Is woman's lord and deity. O dearest lady, thou and I Our lord and king must ne'er deny; The lord of earth himself have we Our guardian wise and friend to be. And Bharat, true to duty's call, Whose sweet words take the hearts of all, Will serve thee well, and ne'er forget The virtuous path before him set. Be this, I pray, thine earnest care, That the old king my father ne'er, When I have parted hence, may know, Grieved for his son, a pang of woe. Let not this grief his soul distress, To kill him with the bitterness. With duteous care, in every thing, Love, comfort, cheer the aged king. Though, best of womankind, a spouse Keeps firmly all her fasts and vows, Nor yet her husband's will obeys, She treads in sin's forbidden ways. She to her husband's will who bends, Goes to high bliss that never ends, Yea, though the Gods have found in her No reverential worshipper. Bent on his weal, a woman still Must seek to do her husband's will: For Scripture, custom, law uphold This duty Heaven revealed of old. Honour true Brahmans for my sake, And constant offerings duly make, With fire-oblations and with flowers, To all the host of heavenly powers. Look to the coming time, and yearn For the glad hour of my return. And still thy duteous course pursue, Abstemious, humble, kind, and true. The highest bliss shalt thou obtain When I from exile come again, If, best of those who keep the right, The king my sire still see the light."

The prince of men a league away Saw where the hermit's dwelling lay, Then with his lords his path pursued, And left his warrior multitude. On foot, as duty taught his mind, He left his warlike gear behind; Two robes of linen cloth he wore, And bade Vasishtha walk before. Then Bharat from his lords withdrew When Bharadvaja came in view, And toward the holy hermit went Behind Vasishtha, reverent. When Bharadvaja, saint austere, Saw good Vasishtha drawing near, He cried, upspringing from his seat, "The grace-gift bring, my friend to greet." When Saint Vasishtha near him drew, And Bharat paid the reverence due, The glorious hermit was aware That Dasaratha's son was there. The grace-gift, water for their feet He gave, and offered fruit to eat; Then, duty-skilled, with friendly speech In seemly order questioned each: "How fares it in Ayodhya now With treasury and army? how With kith and kin and friends most dear, With councillor, and prince, and peer?" But, for he knew the king was dead, Of Dasaratha naught he said. Vasishtha and the prince in turn Would of the hermit's welfare learn: Of holy fires they fain would hear, Of pupils, trees, and birds, and deer. The glorious saint his answer made That all was well in holy shade: Then love of Rama moved his breast, And thus he questioned of his guest: "Why art thou here, O Prince, whose band With kingly sway protects the land? Declare the cause, explain the whole, For yet some doubt disturbs my soul. He whom Kausalya bare, whose might The foemen slays, his line's delight, He who with wife and brother sent Afar now roam in banishment, Famed prince, to whom his father spake This order for a woman's sake: "Away! and in the forest spend Thy life till fourteen years shall end"-- Has thou the wish to harm him, bent On sin against the innocent? Wouldst thou thine elder's realm enjoy Without a thorn that can annoy?"

The people all with longing moved, The words that Bharat spoke approved, And crowding near to Rama pressed The hero with the same request. The steadfast Rama, when he viewed His glorious brother's mournful mood, With each ambitious thought controlled, Thus the lamenting prince consoled: "I cannot do the things I will, For Rama is but mortal still. Fate with supreme, resistless law This way and that its slave will draw, All gathered heaps must waste away, All lofty lore and powers decay. Death is the end of life, and all, Now firmly joined, apart must fall. One fear the ripened fruit must know, To fall upon the earth below; So every man who draws his breath Must fear inevitable death. The pillared mansion, high, compact, Must fall by Time's strong hand attacked; So mortal men, the gradual prey Of old and ruthless death, decay. The night that flies no more returns: Yamuna for the Ocean yearns: Swift her impetuous waters flee, But roll not backward from the sea. The days and nights pass swiftly by And steal our moments as they fly, E'en as the sun's unpitying rays Drink up the floods in summer blaze. Then for thyself lament and leave For death of other men to grieve, For if thou go or if thou stay, Thy life is shorter day by day. Death travels with us; death attends Our steps until our journey ends, Death, when the traveller wins the goal, Returns with the returning soul. The flowing hair grows white and thin, And wrinkles mark the altered skin. The ills of age man's strength assail: Ah, what can mortal power avail? Men joy to see the sun arise, They watch him set with joyful eyes: But ne'er reflect, too blind to see, How fast their own brief moments flee. With lovely change for ever new The seasons' sweet return they view, Nor think with heedless hearts the while That lives decay as seasons smile.

One sage, o'er whom, exceeding old, Had many a year of penance rolled, Trembling in every aged limb Thus for the rest replied to him: "How could we, O beloved, blame Thy lofty-souled Videhan dame, Who in the good of all delights, And more than all of anchorites? But yet through thee a numbing dread Of fiends among our band has spread; Obstructed by the demons' art The trembling hermits talk apart. For Ravan's brother, overbold, Named Khara, of gigantic mould, Vexes with fury fierce and fell All those in Janasthan(399) who dwell. Resistless in his cruel deeds, On flesh of men the monster feeds: Sinful and arrogant is he, And looks with special hate on thee. Since thou, beloved son, hast made Thy home within this holy shade, The fiends have vexed with wilder rage The dwellers of the hermitage. In many a wild and dreadful form Around the trembling saints they swarm, With hideous shape and foul disguise They terrify our holy eyes. They make our loathing souls endure Insult and scorn and sights impure, And flocking round the altars stay The holy rites we love to pay. In every spot throughout the grove With evil thoughts the monsters rove, Assailing with their secret might Each unsuspecting anchorite. Ladle and dish away they fling, Our fires with floods extinguishing, And when the sacred flame should burn They trample on each water-urn. Now when they see their sacred wood Plagued by this impious brotherhood, The troubled saints away would roam And seek in other shades a home: Hence will we fly, O Rama, ere The cruel fiends our bodies tear. Not far away a forest lies Rich in the roots and fruit we prize, To this will I and all repair And join the holy hermits there; Be wise, and with us thither flee Before this Khara injure thee. Mighty art thou, O Rama, yet Each day with peril is beset. If with thy consort by thy side Thou in this wood wilt still abide."

But, brother, if thy fears be true, And this bright creature that we view Be fierce Maricha in disguise, Then by this hand he surely dies. For that dire fiend who spurns control With bloody hand and cruel soul, Has roamed this forest and dismayed The holiest saints who haunt the shade. Great archers, sprung of royal race, Pursuing in the wood the chase, Have fallen by his wicked art, And now my shaft shall strike his heart. Vatapi, by his magic power Made heedless saints his flesh devour, Then, from within their frames he rent Forth bursting from imprisonment. But once his art in senseless pride Upon the mightiest saint he tried, Agastya's self, and caused him taste The baited meal before him placed. Vatapi, when the rite was o'er, Would take the giant form he wore, But Saint Agastya knew his wile And checked the giant with smile. "Vatapi, thou with cruel spite Hast conquered many an anchorite The noblest of the Brahman caste,-- And now thy ruin comes at last." Now if my power he thus defies, This giant, like Vatapi dies, Daring to scorn a man like me, A self subduing devotee. Yea, as Agastya slew the foe, My hand shall lay Maricha low Clad in thine arms thy bow in hand, To guard the Maithil lady stand, With watchful eye and thoughtful breast Keeping each word of my behest I go, and hunting through the brake This wondrous deer will bring or take. Yea surely I will bring the spoil Returning from my hunter's toil See, Lakshman how my consort's eyes Are longing for the lovely prize. This day it falls, that I may win The treasure of so fair a skin. Do thou and Sita watch with care Lest danger seize you unaware. Swift from my bow one shaft will fly; The stricken deer will fall and die Then quickly will I strip the game And bring the trophy to my dame.

"How lovely Pampa's waters show, Where streams of lucid crystal flow! What glorious trees o'erhang the flood Which blooms of opening lotus stud! Look on the banks of Pampa where Thick groves extend divinely fair; And piles of trees, like hills in size, Lift their proud summits to the skies. But thought of Bharat's(523) pain and toil, And my dear spouse the giant's spoil, Afflict my tortured heart and press My spirit down with heaviness. Still fair to me though sunk in woe Bright Pampa and her forest show. Where cool fresh waters charm the sight, And flowers of every hue are bright. The lotuses in close array Their passing loveliness display, And pard and tiger, deer and snake Haunt every glade and dell and brake. Those grassy spots display the hue Of topazes and sapphires' blue, And, gay with flowers of every dye, With richly broidered housings vie. What loads of bloom the high trees crown, Or weigh the bending branches down! And creepers tipped with bud and flower Each spray and loaded limb o'erpower. Now cool delicious breezes blow, And kindle love's voluptuous glow, When balmy sweetness fills the air, And fruit and flowers and trees are fair. Those waving woods, that shine with bloom, Each varied tint in turn assume. Like labouring clouds they pour their showers In rain or ever-changing flowers. Behold, those forest trees, that stand High upon rock and table-land, As the cool gales their branches bend, Their floating blossoms downward send. See, Lakshman, how the breezes play With every floweret on the spray. And sport in merry guise with all The fallen blooms and those that fall. See, brother, where the merry breeze Shakes the gay boughs of flowery trees, Disturbed amid their toil a throng Of bees pursue him, loud in song. The Koils,(524) mad with sweet delight, The bending trees to dance invite; And in its joy the wild wind sings As from the mountain cave he springs.

Then Lakshman, bravest of the brave, Obeyed the hest that Rama gave, To whom devoting every thought The Vanar's royal town he sought. As Mandar's mountain heaves on high His curved peak soaring to the sky, So Lakshman showed, his dread bow bent Like Indra's(634) in the firmament. His brother's wrath, his brother's woe Inflamed his soul to fiercest glow. The tallest trees to earth were cast As furious on his way he passed, And where he stepped, so fiercely fleet, The stones were shivered by his feet. He reached Kishkindha's city deep Embosomed where the hills were steep, Where street and open square were lined With legions of the Vanar kind. Then, as his lips with fury swelled, The lord of Raghu's line beheld A stream of Vanar chiefs outpoured To do obeisance to their lord. But when the mighty prince in view Of the thick coming Vanars drew, They turned them in amaze to seize Crags of the rock and giant trees. He saw, and fiercer waxed his ire, As oil lends fury to the fire. Scarce had the Vanar chieftains seen That wrathful eye, that troubled mien Fierce as the God's who rules the dead, When, turned in wild affright, they fled. Speeding in breathless terror all Sought King Sugriva's council hall, And there made known their tale of fear, That Lakshman wild with rage, was near. The king, untroubled by alarms, Held Tara in his amorous arms, And in the distant bower with her Heard not each clamorous messenger. Then, summoned at the lords' behest Forth from the city portals pressed, Each like some elephant or cloud, The Vanars in a trembling crowd: Fierce warriors all with massive jaws And terrors of their tiger claws, Some matched ten elephants, and some A hundred's strength could overcome. Some chieftains, mightier than the rest, Ten times a hundred's force possessed. With eyes of fury Lakshman viewed The Vanars' tree-armed multitude. Thus garrisoned from side to side The city walls assault defied.

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

He gazed upon that sight he ne'er Had seen before, of girls so fair, And out of love a longing rose His sire and lineage to disclose: "My father," thus he made reply, "Is Kasyap's son, a saint most high, Vibhandak styled; from him I came, And Rishyasring he calls my name. Our hermit cot is near this place: Come thither, O ye fair of face; There be it mine, with honour due, Ye gentle youths, to welcome you." They heard his speech, and gave consent, And gladly to his cottage went. Vibhandak's son received them well Beneath the shelter of his cell With guest-gift, water for their feet, And woodland fruit and roots to eat, They smiled, and spoke sweet words like these, Delighted with his courtesies: "We too have goodly fruit in store, Grown on the trees that shade our door; Come, if thou wilt, kind Hermit, haste The produce of our grove to taste; And let, O good Ascetic, first This holy water quench thy thirst." They spoke, and gave him comfits sweet Prepared ripe fruits to counterfeit; And many a dainty cate beside And luscious mead their stores supplied. The seeming fruits, in taste and look, The unsuspecting hermit took, For, strange to him, their form beguiled The dweller in the lonely wild. Then round his neck fair arms were flung, And there the laughing damsels clung, And pressing nearer and more near With sweet lips whispered at his ear; While rounded limb and swelling breast The youthful hermit softly pressed. The pleasing charm of that strange bowl, The touch of a tender limb, Over his yielding spirit stole And sweetly vanquished him. But vows, they said, must now be paid; They bade the boy farewell, And, of the aged saint afraid, Prepared to leave the dell. With ready guile they told him where Their hermit dwelling lay: Then, lest the sire should find them there, Sped by wild paths away. They fled and left him there alone By longing love possessed; And with a heart no more his own He roamed about distressed.

His tortured senses all astray, While the hapless monarch lay, Then slowly gathering thought and strength To Visvamitra spoke at length: "My son is but a child, I ween; This year he will be just sixteen. How is he fit for such emprise, My darling with the lotus eyes? A mighty army will I bring That calls me master, lord, and king, And with its countless squadrons fight Against these rovers of the night. My faithful heroes skilled to wield The arms of war will take the field; Their skill the demons' might may break: Rama, my child, thou must not take. I, even I, my bow in hand, Will in the van of battle stand, And, while my soul is left alive, With the night-roaming demons strive. Thy guarded sacrifice shall be Completed, from all hindrance free. Thither will I my journey make: Rama, my child, thou must not take. A boy unskilled, he knows not yet The bounds to strength and weakness set. No match is he for demon foes Who magic arts to arms oppose. O chief of saints, I have no power, Of Rama reft, to live one hour: Mine aged heart at once would break: Rama, my child, thou must not take. Nine thousand circling years have fled With all their seasons o'er my head, And as a hard-won boon, O sage, These sons have come to cheer mine age. My dearest love amid the four Is he whom first his mother bore, Still dearer for his virtues' sake: Rama, my child, thou must not take. But if, unmoved by all I say, Thou needs must bear my son away, Let me lead with him, I entreat, A four-fold army(144) all complete. What is the demons' might, O Sage? Who are they? What their parentage? What is their size? What beings lend Their power to guard them and befriend? How can my son their arts withstand? Or I or all my armed band? Tell me the whole that I may know To meet in war each evil foe Whom conscious might inspires with pride."

And Kusik's son approved his speech, And moving to the sandy beach, Placed in the boat the hermit band, And reached the river's further strand. On the north bank their feet they set, And greeted all the saints they met. On Ganga's shore they lighted down, And saw Visala's lovely town. Thither, the princes by his side, The best of holy hermits hied. It was a town exceeding fair That might with heaven itself compare. Then, suppliant palm to palm applied, Famed Rama asked his holy guide: "O best of hermits, say what race Of monarchs rules this lovely place. Dear master, let my prayer prevail, For much I long to hear the tale." Moved by his words, the saintly man Visala's ancient tale began: "List, Rama, list, with closest heed The tale of Indra's wondrous deed, And mark me as I truly tell What here in ancient days befell. Ere Krita's famous Age(200) had fled, Strong were the sons of Diti(201) bred; And Aditi's brave children too Were very mighty, good, and true. The rival brothers fierce and bold Were sons of Kasyap lofty-souled. Of sister mothers born, they vied, Brood against brood, in jealous pride. Once, as they say, band met with band, And, joined in awful council, planned To live, unharmed by age and time, Immortal in their youthful prime. Then this was, after due debate, The counsel of the wise and great, To churn with might the milky sea(202) The life-bestowing drink to free. This planned, they seized the Serpent King, Vasuki, for their churning-string, And Mandar's mountain for their pole, And churned with all their heart and soul. As thus, a thousand seasons through, This way and that the snake they drew, Biting the rocks, each tortured head, A very deadly venom shed. Thence, bursting like a mighty flame, A pestilential poison came, Consuming, as it onward ran, The home of God, and fiend, and man. Then all the suppliant Gods in fear To Sankar,(203) mighty lord, drew near. To Rudra, King of Herds, dismayed, "Save us, O save us, Lord!" they prayed.

While thus Kausalya wept and sighed, With timely words sad Lakshman cried: "O honoured Queen I like it ill That, subject to a woman's will, Rama his royal state should quit And to an exile's doom submit. The aged king, fond, changed, and weak, Will as the queen compels him speak. But why should Rama thus be sent To the wild woods in banishment? No least offence I find in him, I see no fault his fame to dim. Not one in all the world I know, Not outcast wretch, not secret foe, Whose whispering lips would dare assail His spotless life with slanderous tale. Godlike and bounteous, just, sincere, E'en to his very foemen dear: Who would without a cause neglect The right, and such a son reject? And if a king such order gave, In second childhood, passion's slave, What son within his heart would lay The senseless order, and obey? Come, Rama, ere this plot be known Stand by me and secure the throne. Stand like the King who rules below, Stand aided by thy brother's bow: How can the might of meaner men Resist thy royal purpose then? My shafts, if rebels court their fate, Shall lay Ayodhya desolate. Then shall her streets with blood be dyed Of those who stand on Bharat's side: None shall my slaughtering hand exempt, For gentle patience earns contempt. If, by Kaikeyi's counsel changed, Our father's heart be thus estranged, No mercy must our arm restrain, But let the foe be slain, be slain. For should the guide, respected long, No more discerning right and wrong, Turn in forbidden paths to stray, 'Tis meet that force his steps should stay. What power sufficient can he see, What motive for the wish has he, That to Kaikeyi would resign The empire which is justly thine? Can he, O conqueror of thy foes, Thy strength and mine in war oppose? Can he entrust, in our despite, To Bharat's hand thy royal right? I love this brother with the whole Affection of my faithful soul.

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

Her grief and woe she cast aside, Her lips with water purified, And thus her benison began That mother of the noblest man: "If thou wilt hear no words of mine, Go forth, thou pride of Raghu's line. Go, darling, and return with speed, Walking where noble spirits lead. May virtue on thy steps attend, And be her faithful lover's friend. May Those to whom thy vows are paid In temple and in holy shade, With all the mighty saints combine To keep that precious life of thine. The arms wise Visvamitra(292) gave Thy virtuous soul from danger save. Long be thy life: thy sure defence Shall be thy truthful innocence, And that obedience, naught can tire, To me thy mother and thy sire. May fanes where holy fires are fed, Altars with grass and fuel spread, Each sacrificial ground, each tree, Rock, lake, and mountain, prosper thee. Let old Viraj,(293) and Him who made The universe, combine to aid; Let Indra and each guardian Lord Who keeps the worlds, their help afford, And be thy constant friend the Sun, Lord Pusha, Bhaga, Aryuman.(294) Fortnights and seasons, nights and days, Years, months, and hours, protect thy ways, Vrihaspati shall still be nigh, The War-God, and the Moon on high, And Narad(295) and the sainted seven(296) Shall watch thee from their starry heaven. The mountains, and the seas which ring The world, and Varuna the King, Sky, ether, and the wind, whate'er Moves not or moves, for thee shall care. Each lunar mansion be benign, With happier light the planets shine; All gods, each light in heaven that glows, Protect my child where'er he goes. The twilight hours, the day and night, Keep in the wood thy steps aright. Watch, minute, instant, as they flee, Shall all bring happiness to thee. Celestials and the Titan brood Protect thee in thy solitude, And haunt the mighty wood to bless The wanderer in his hermit dress. Fear not, by mightier guardians screened, The giant or night-roving fiend; Nor let the cruel race who tear Man's flesh for food thy bosom scare.

Wild with the rage he could not calm, Sumantra, grinding palm on palm, His head in quick impatience shook, And sighed with woe he could not brook. He gnashed his teeth, his eyes were red, From his changed face the colour fled. In rage and grief that knew no law, The temper of the king he saw. With his word-arrows swift and keen He shook the bosom of the queen. With scorn, as though its lightning stroke Would blast her body, thus he spoke: "Thou, who, of no dread sin afraid, Hast Dasaratha's self betrayed, Lord of the world, whose might sustains Each thing that moves or fixed remains, What direr crime is left thee now? Death to thy lord and house art thou, Whose cruel deeds the king distress, Mahendra's peer in mightiness, Firm as the mountain's rooted steep, Enduring as the Ocean's deep. Despise not Dasaratha, he Is a kind lord and friend to thee. A loving wife in worth outruns The mother of ten million sons. Kings, when their sires have passed away, Succeed by birthright to the sway. Ikshvaku's son still rules the state, Yet thou this rule wouldst violate. Yea, let thy son, Kaikeyi, reign, Let Bharat rule his sire's domain. Thy will, O Queen, shall none oppose: We all will go where Rama goes. No Brahman, scorning thee, will rest Within the realm thou governest, But all will fly indignant hence: So great thy trespass and offence. I marvel, when thy crime I see, Earth yawns not quick to swallow thee; And that the Brahman saints prepare No burning scourge thy soul to scare, With cries of shame to smite thee, bent Upon our Rama's banishment. The Mango tree with axes fell, And tend instead the Neem tree well, Still watered with all care the tree Will never sweet and pleasant be. Thy mother's faults to thee descend, And with thy borrowed nature blend. True is the ancient saw: the Neem Can ne'er distil a honeyed stream. Taught by the tale of long ago Thy mother's hateful sin we know.

Then Sita, best of womankind, Ascended, with a tranquil mind, Soon as her toilet task was done, That chariot brilliant as the sun. Rama and Lakshman true and bold Sprang on the car adorned with gold. The king those years had counted o'er, And given Sita robes and store Of precious ornaments to wear When following her husband there. The brothers in the car found place For nets and weapons of the chase, There warlike arms and mail they laid, A leathern basket and a spade. Soon as Sumantra saw the three Were seated in the chariot, he Urged on each horse of noble breed, Who matched the rushing wind in speed. As thus the son of Raghu went Forth for his dreary banishment, Chill numbing grief the town assailed, All strength grew weak, all spirit failed, Ayodhya through her wide extent Was filled with tumult and lament: Steeds neighed and shook the bells they bore, Each elephant returned a roar. Then all the city, young and old, Wild with their sorrow uncontrolled, Rushed to the car, as, from the sun The panting herds to water run. Before the car, behind, they clung, And there as eagerly they hung, With torrents streaming from their eyes, Called loudly with repeated cries: "Listen, Sumantra: draw thy rein; Drive gently, and thy steeds restrain. Once more on Rama will we gaze, Now to be lost for many days. The queen his mother has, be sure, A heart of iron, to endure To see her godlike Rama go, Nor feel it shattered by the blow. Sita, well done! Videha's pride, Still like his shadow by his side; Rejoicing in thy duty still As sunlight cleaves to Meru's hill. Thou, Lakshman, too, hast well deserved, Who from thy duty hast not swerved, Tending the peer of Gods above, Whose lips speak naught but words of love. Thy firm resolve is nobly great, And high success on thee shall wait. Yea, thou shalt win a priceless meed-- Thy path with him to heaven shall lead."

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

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

A hundred offerings duly wrought His rank o'er Gods for Indra bought, And mighty saints their heaven secured By torturing years on earth endured." That scoffing plea the hero spurned, And thus he spake once more, Chiding, the while his bosom burned, Javali's impious lore: "Justice, and courage ne'er dismayed, Pity for all distressed, Truth, loving honour duly paid To Brahman, God, and guest-- In these, the true and virtuous say, Should lives of men be passed: They form the right and happy way That leads to heaven at last. My father's thoughtless act I chide That gave thee honoured place, Whose soul, from virtue turned aside, Is faithless, dark, and base. We rank the Buddhist with the thief,(388) And all the impious crew Who share his sinful disbelief, And hate the right and true. Hence never should wise kings who seek To rule their people well, Admit, before their face to speak, The cursed infidel. But twice-born men in days gone by, Of other sort than thou, Have wrought good deeds, whose glories high Are fresh among us now: This world they conquered, nor in vain They strove to win the skies: The twice-born hence pure lives maintain, And fires of worship rise. Those who in virtue's path delight, And with the virtuous live,-- Whose flames of holy zeal are bright, Whose hands are swift to give, Who injure none, and good and mild In every grace excel, Whose lives by sin are undefiled, We love and honour well." Thus Rama spoke in righteous rage Javali's speech to chide, When thus again the virtuous sage In truthful words replied: "The atheist's lore I use no more, Not mine his impious creed: His words and doctrine I abhor, Assumed at time of need. E'en as I rose to speak with thee, The fit occasion came That bade me use the atheist's plea To turn thee from thine aim. The atheist creed I disavow, Unsay the words of sin, And use the faithful's language now Thy favour, Prince, to win."

"How soft the leaves of every tree, How tame each bird and beast we see! Soon the fair home shall we behold Of that great hermit tranquil-souled. The deed the good Agastya wrought High fame throughout the world has bought: I see, I see his calm retreat That balms the pain of weary feet. Where white clouds rise from flames beneath, Where bark-coats lie with many a wreath, Where silvan things, made gentle, throng, And every bird is loud in song. With ruth for suffering creatures filled, A deathlike fiend with might he killed, And gave this southern realm to be A refuge, from oppression free. There stands his home, whose dreaded might Has put the giant crew to flight, Who view with envious eyes afar The peaceful shades they cannot mar. Since that most holy saint has made His dwelling in this lovely shade, Checked by his might the giant brood Have dwelt in peace with souls subdued. And all this southern realm, within Whose bounds no fiend may entrance win, Now bears a name which naught may dim, Made glorious through the worlds by him. When Vindhya, best of hills, would stay The journey of the Lord of Day, Obedient to the saint's behest He bowed for aye his humbled crest. That hoary hermit, world-renowned For holy deeds, within this ground Has set his pure and blessed home, Where gentle silvan creatures roam. Agastya, whom the worlds revere, Pure saint to whom the good are dear, To us his guests all grace will show, Enriched with blessings ere we go. I to this aim each thought will turn, The favour of the saint to earn, That here in comfort may be spent The last years of our banishment. Here sanctities and high saints stand, Gods, minstrels of the heavenly band; Upon Agastya's will they wait, And serve him, pure and temperate. The liar's tongue, the tyrant's mind Within these bounds no home may find: No cheat, no sinner here can be: So holy and so good is he.

As forth upon its errand went That huge ferocious armament, An awful cloud, in dust and gloom, With threatening thunders from its womb Poured in sad augury a flood Of rushing water mixt with blood. The monarch's steeds, though strong and fleet, Stumbled and fell: and yet their feet Passed o'er the bed of flowers that lay Fresh gathered on the royal way. No gleam of sunlight struggled through The sombre pall of midnight hue, Edged with a line of bloody red, Like whirling torches overhead. A vulture, fierce, of mighty size. Terrific with his cruel eyes, Perched on the staff enriched with gold, Whence hung the flag in many a fold. Each ravening bird, each beast of prey Where Janasthan's wild thickets lay, Rose with a long discordant cry And gathered as the host went by. And from the south long, wild, and shrill, Came spirit voices boding ill. Like elephants in frantic mood, Vast clouds terrific, sable-hued, Hid all the sky where'er they bore Their load of water mixt with gore. Above, below, around were spread Thick shades of darkness strange and dread, Nor could the wildered glance descry A point or quarter of the sky. Then came o'er heaven a sanguine hue, Though evening's flush not yet was due, While each ill-omened bird that flies Assailed the king with harshest cries. There screamed the vulture and the crane, And the loud jackal shrieked again. Each hideous thing that bodes aright Disaster in the coming fight, With gaping mouth that hissed and flamed, The ruin of the host proclaimed. Eclipse untimely reft away The brightness of the Lord of Day, And near his side was seen to glow A mace-like comet boding woe. Then while the sun was lost to view A mighty wind arose and blew, And stars like fireflies shed their light, Nor waited for the distant night. The lilies drooped, the brooks were dried, The fish and birds that swam them died, And every tree that was so fair With flower and fruit was stripped and bare.

"Long are his arms and large his eyes: A black deer's skin his dress supplies. King Dasaratha's son is he, Fair as Kandarpa's self to see. Adorned with many a golden band, A bow, like Indra's, arms his hand, And shoots a flood of arrows fierce As venomed snakes to burn and pierce. I looked, I looked, but never saw His mighty hand the bowstring draw That sent the deadly arrows out, While rang through air his battle-shout. I looked, I looked, and saw too well How with that hail the giants fell, As falls to earth the golden grain, Struck by the blows of Indra's rain. He fought, and twice seven thousand, all Terrific giants, strong and tall, Fell by the pointed shafts o'erthrown Which Rama shot on foot, alone. Three little hours had scarcely fled,-- Khara and Dushan both were dead, And he had freed the saints and made Asylum sure in Dandak's shade. Me of his grace the victor spared, Or I the giants' fate had shared. The high-souled Rama would not deign His hand with woman's blood to stain. The glorious Lakshman, justly dear, In gifts and warrior might his peer, Serves his great brother with the whole Devotion of his faithful soul: Impetuous victor, bold and wise, First in each hardy enterprise, Still ready by his side to stand, A second self or better hand. And Rama has a large-eyed spouse, Pure as the moon her cheek and brows, Dearer than life in Rama's sight, Whose happiness is her delight. With beauteous hair and nose the dame From head to foot has naught to blame. She shines the wood's bright Goddess, Queen Of beauty with her noble mien. First in the ranks of women placed Is Sita of the dainty waist. In all the earth mine eyes have ne'er Seen female form so sweetly fair. Goddess nor nymph can vie with her, Nor bride of heavenly chorister. He who might call this dame his own, Her eager arms about him thrown, Would live more blest in Sita's love Than Indra in the world above.

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

Against his judgment sorely pressed By his imperious lord's behest, Maricha threats of death defied And thus with bitter words replied: "Ah, who, my King, with sinful thought This wild and wicked counsel taught, By which destruction soon will fall On thee, thy sons, thy realm and all? Who is the guilty wretch who sees With envious eye thy blissful ease, And by this plan, so falsely shown, Death's gate for thee has open thrown? With souls impelled by mean desire Thy foes against thy life conspire. They urge thee to destruction's brink, And gladly would they see thee sink. Who with base thought to work thee woe This fatal road has dared to show, And, triumph in his wicked eye, Would see thee enter in and die? To all thy counsellors, untrue, The punishment of death is due, Who see thee tempt the dangerous way, Nor strain each nerve thy foot to stay. Wise lords, whose king, by passion led, The path of sin begins to tread, Restrain him while there yet is time: But thine,--they see nor heed the crime. These by their master's will obtain Merit and fame and joy and gain. 'Tis only by their master's grace That servants hold their lofty place. But when the monarch stoops to sin They lose each joy they strive to win, And all the people people high and low Fall in the common overthrow. Merit and fame and honour spring, Best of the mighty, from the king. So all should strive with heart and will To keep the king from every ill. Pride, violence, and sullen hate Will ne'er maintain a monarch's state, And those who cruel deeds advise Must perish when their master dies, Like drivers with their cars o'erthrown In places rough with root and stone. The good whose holy lives were spent On duty's highest laws intent, With wives and children many a time Have perished for another's crime. Hapless are they whose sovereign lord, Opposed to all, by all abhorred, Is cruel-hearted, harsh, severe: Thus might a jackal tend the deer.

Thus Ravan spoke, Maricha heard Obedient to his master's word, Threw off his giant shape and near The cottage strayed a beauteous deer. With magic power, by rapid change, His borrowed form was fair and strange. A sapphire tipped each horn with light; His face was black relieved with white. The turkis and the ruby shed A glory from his ears and head. His arching neck was proudly raised, And lazulites beneath it blazed. With roseate bloom his flanks were dyed, And lotus tints adorned his hide. His shape was fair, compact, and slight; His hoofs were carven lazulite. His tail with every changing glow Displayed the hues of Indra's bow. With glossy skin so strangely flecked, With tints of every gem bedecked. A light o'er Rama's home he sent, And through the wood, where'er he went. The giant clad in that strange dress That took the soul with loveliness, To charm the fair Videhan's eyes With mingled wealth of mineral dyes, Moved onward, cropping in his way, The grass and grain and tender spray. His coat with drops of silver bright, A form to gaze on with delight, He raised his fair neck as he went To browse on bud and filament. Now in the Cassia grove he strayed, Now by the cot in plantains' shade. Slowly and slowly on he came To catch the glances of the dame, And the tall deer of splendid hue Shone full at length in Sita's view. He roamed where'er his fancy chose Where Rama's leafy cottage rose. Now near, now far, in careless ease, He came and went among the trees. Now with light feet he turned to fly, Now, reassured, again drew nigh: Now gambolled close with leap and bound, Now lay upon the grassy ground: Now sought the door, devoid of fear, And mingled with the troop of deer; Led them a little way, and thence Again returned with confidence. Now flying far, now turning back Emboldened on his former track, Seeking to win the lady's glance He wandered through the green expanse.

"Mark, Lakshman, mark how Sita's breast With eager longing is possessed. To-day this deer of wondrous breed Must for his passing beauty bleed, Brighter than e'er in Nandan strayed, Or Chaitraratha's heavenly shade. How should the groves of earth possess Such all-surpassing loveliness! The hair lies smooth and bright and fine, Or waves upon each curving line, And drops of living gold bedeck The beauty of his side and neck. O look, his crimson tongue between His teeth like flaming fire is seen, Flashing, whene'er his lips he parts, As from a cloud the lightning darts. O see his sunlike forehead shine With emerald tints and almandine, While pearly light and roseate glow Of shells adorn his neck below. No eye on such a deer can rest But soft enchantment takes the breast: No man so fair a thing behold Ablaze with light of radiant gold, Celestial, bright with jewels' sheen, Nor marvel when his eyes have seen. A king equipped with bow and shaft Delights in gentle forest craft, And as in boundless woods he strays The quarry for the venison slays. There as he wanders with his train A store of wealth he oft may gain. He claims by right the precious ore, He claims the jewels' sparkling store. Such gains are dearer in his eyes Than wealth that in his chamber lies, The dearest things his spirit knows, Dear as the bliss which Sukra chose. But oft the rich expected gain Which heedless men pursue in vain, The sage, who prudent counsels know, Explain and in a moment show. This best of deer, this gem of all, To yield his precious spoils must fall, And tender Sita by my side Shall sit upon the golden hide. Ne'er could I find so rich a coat On spotted deer or sheep or goat. No buck or antelope has such, So bright to view, so soft to touch. This radiant deer and one on high That moves in glory through the sky, Alike in heavenly beauty are, One on the earth and one a star.

With knitted brow and furious eye The stranger made his fierce reply: "In me O fairest dame, behold The brother of the King of Gold. The Lord of Ten Necks my title, named Ravan, for might and valour famed. Gods and Gandharva hosts I scare; Snakes, spirits, birds that roam the air Fly from my coming, wild with fear, Trembling like men when Death is near. Vaisravan once, my brother, wrought To ire, encountered me and fought, But yielding to superior might Fled from his home in sore affright. Lord of the man-drawn chariot, still He dwells on famed Kailasa's hill. I made the vanquished king resign The glorious car which now is mine,-- Pushpak, the far-renowned, that flies Will-guided through the buxom skies. Celestial hosts by Indra led Flee from my face disquieted, And where my dreaded feet appear The wind is hushed or breathless is fear. Where'er I stand, where'er I go The troubled waters cease to flow, Each spell-bound wave is mute and still And the fierce sun himself is chill. Beyond the sea my Lanka stands Filled with fierce forms and giant bands, A glorious city fair to see As Indra's Amaravati. A towering height of solid wall, Flashing afar, surrounds it all, Its golden courts enchant the sight, And gates aglow with lazulite. Steeds, elephants, and cars are there, And drums' loud music fills the air, Fair trees in lovely gardens grow Whose boughs with varied fruitage glow. Thou, beauteous Queen, with me shalt dwell In halls that suit a princess well, Thy former fellows shall forget Nor think of women with regret, No earthly joy thy soul shall miss, And take its fill of heavenly bliss. Of mortal Rama think no more, Whose terms of days will soon be o'er. King Dasaratha looked in scorn On Rama though the eldest born, Sent to the woods the weakling fool, And set his darling son to rule. What, O thou large-eyed dame, hast thou To do with fallen Rama now, From home and kingdom forced to fly, A wretched hermit soon to die?

Thus Ravan urged the lady meet For love, whose words were soft and sweet. Near and more near the giant pressed As love's hot fire inflamed his breast. The leader of the giant crew His arm around the lady threw: Thus Budha(503) with ill-omened might Steals Rohini's delicious light. One hand her glorious tresses grasped, One with its ruthless pressure clasped The body of his lovely prize, The Maithil dame with lotus eyes. The silvan Gods in wild alarm Marked his huge teeth and ponderous arm, And from that Death-like presence fled, Of mountain size and towering head. Then seen was Ravan's magic car Aglow with gold which blazed afar,-- The mighty car which asses drew Thundering as it onward flew. He spared not harsh rebuke to chide The lady as she moaned and cried, Then with his arm about her waist His captive in the car he placed. In vain he threatened: long and shrill Rang out her lamentation still, O Rama! which no fear could stay: But her dear lord was far away. Then rose the fiend, and toward the skies Bore his poor helpless struggling prize: Hurrying through the air above The dame who loathed his proffered love. So might a soaring eagle bear A serpent's consort through the air. As on he bore her through the sky She shrieked aloud her bitter cry. As when some wretch's lips complain In agony of maddening pain; "O Lakshman, thou whose joy is still To do thine elder brother's will, This fiend, who all disguises wears, From Rama's side his darling tears. Thou who couldst leave bliss, fortune, all, Yea life itself at duty's call, Dost thou not see this outrage done To hapless me, O Raghu's son? 'Tis thine, O victor of the foe, To bring the haughtiest spirit low, How canst thou such an outrage see And let the guilty fiend go free? Ah, seldom in a moment's time Comes bitter fruit of sin and crime, But in the day of harvest pain Comes like the ripening of the grain.

Thus spake the monarch of their race To those she-fiends who thronged the place, And pondering on the course to take Went from the chamber as he spake. He saw eight giants, strong and dread, On flesh of bleeding victims fed, Proud in the boon which Brahma gave, And trusting in its power to save. He thus the mighty chiefs addressed Of glorious power and strength possessed: "Arm, warriors, with the spear and bow; With all your speed from Lanka go, For Janasthan, our own no more, Is now defiled with giants' gore; The seat of Khara's royal state Is left unto us desolate. In your brave hearts and might confide, And cast ignoble fear aside. Go, in that desert region dwell Where the fierce giants fought and fell. A glorious host that region held, For power and might unparalleled, By Dushan and brave Khara led,-- All, slain by Rama's arrows, bled. Hence boundless wrath that spurns control Reigns paramount within my soul, And naught but Rama's death can sate The fury of my vengeful hate. I will not close my slumbering eyes Till by this hand my foeman dies. And when mine arm has slain the foe Who laid those giant princes low, Long will I triumph in the deed, Like one enriched in utmost need. Now go; that I this end may gain, In Janasthan, O chiefs, remain. Watch Rama there with keenest eye, And all his deeds and movements spy. Go forth, no helping art neglect, Be brave and prompt and circumspect, And be your one endeavour still To aid mine arm this foe to kill. Oft have I seen your warrior might Proved in the forehead of the fight, And sure of strength I know so well Send you in Janasthan to dwell." The giants heard with prompt assent The pleasant words he said, And each before his master bent For meet salute, his head. Then as he bade, without delay, From Lanka's gate they passed, And hurried forward on their way Invisible and fast.

"Famed is the prince who loves the truth, Whose soul is touched with tender ruth, Who, liberal, keeps each sense subdued, And pays the debt of gratitude. But all unmeet a king to be, The meanest of the mean is he Who basely breaks the promise made To trusting friends who lent him aid. He sins who for a steed has lied, As if a hundred steeds had died: Or if he lie, a cow to win, Tenfold as heavy is the sin. But if the lie a man betray, Both he and his shall all decay.(639) O Vanar King, the thankless man Is worthy of the general ban, Who takes assistance of his friends, And in his turn no service lends. This verse of old by Brahma sung Is echoed now by every tongue. Hear what He cried in angry mood Bewailing man's ingratitude: "For draughts of wine, for slaughtered cows, For treacherous theft, for broken vows A pardon is ordained: but none For thankless scorn of service done." Ungrateful, Vanar King, art thou, And faithless to thy plighted vow. For Rama brought thee help, and yet Thou shunnest to repay the debt: Or, grateful, thou hadst surely pressed To aid the hero in his quest. Thou art, in vulgar pleasures drowned, False to thy bond in honour bound. Nor yet has Rama's guileless heart Discerned thee for the thing thou art-- A snake who holds the frogs that cries And lures fresh victims as it dies. Brave Rama, born for glorious fate, Has set thee in thy high estate, And to the Vanars' throne restored, Great-souled himself, their mean-souled lord. Now if thy pride disown what he, High thoughted prince, has done for thee, Struck by his arrows shalt thou fall, And Bali meet in Yama's hall. Still open, to the gloomy God, Lies the sad path thy brother trod. Then to thy plighted word be true, Nor let thy steps that path pursue. Methinks the shafts of Rama, shot Like thunderbolts, thou heedest not, Who canst, absorbed in sensual bliss, Thy promise from thy mind dismiss."

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

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

There Saran ceased: then Suka broke The silence and to Ravan spoke: "O Monarch, yonder chiefs survey: Like elephants in size are they, And tower like stately trees that grow Where Ganga's nursing waters flow; Yea, tall as mountain pines that fling Long shadows o'er the snow-crowned king. They all in wild Kishkindha dwell And serve their lord Sugriva well. The Gods' and bright Gandharvas' seed, They take each form that suits their need. Now farther look, O Monarch, where Those chieftains stand, a glorious pair, Conspicuous for their godlike frames; Dwivid and Mainda are their names. Their lips the drink of heaven have known, And Brahma claims them for his own. That chieftain whom thine eyes behold Refulgent like a hill of gold, Before whose wrathful might the sea Roused from his rest would turn and flee, The peerless Vanar, he who came To Lanka for the Maithil dame, The Wind-God's son Hanuman; thou Hast seen him once, behold him now. Still nearer let thy glance be bent, And mark that prince preeminent Mid chieftains for his strength and size And splendour of his lotus eyes. Far through the worlds his virtues shine, The glory of Ikshvaku's line. The path of truth he never leaves, And still through all to duty cleaves. Deep in the Vedas, skilled to wield The mystic shafts to him revealed: Whose flaming darts to heaven ascend, And through the earth a passage rend: In might like him who rules the sky; Like Yama, when his wrath grows high: Whose queen, the darling of his soul, Thy magic art deceived and stole: There royal Rama stands and longs For battle to avenge his wrongs. Near on his right a prince, in hue Like pure gold freshly burnished, view: Broad is his chest, his eye is red, His black hair curls about his head: 'Tis Lakshman, faithful friend, who shares His brother's joys, his brother's cares. By Rama's side he loves to stand And serve him as his better hand, For whose dear sake without a sigh The warrior youth would gladly die.

He spoke. The fairest of the fair Made for awhile her dwelling there, While day by day the wild delight Stayed vow austere and fervent rite There as the winsome charmer wove Her spells around him in the grove, And bound him in a golden chain, Five sweet years fled, and five again. Then Visvamitra woke to shame, And, fraught with anguish, memory came For quick he knew, with anger fired, That all the Immortals had conspired To lap his careless soul in ease, And mar his long austerities. "Ten years have past, each day and night Unheeded in delusive flight. So long my fervent rites were stayed, While thus I lay by love betrayed." As thus long sighs the hermit heaved, And, touched with deep repentance, grieved, He saw the fair one standing nigh With suppliant hands and trembling eye. With gentle words he bade her go, Then sought the northern hills of snow. With firm resolve he vowed to beat The might of love beneath his feet. Still northward to the distant side Of Kausiki(244), the hermit hide, And gave his life to penance there With rites austere most hard to bear. A thousand years went by, and still He laboured on the northern hill With pains so terrible and drear That all the Gods were chilled with fear, And Gods and saints, for swift advice, Met in the halls of Paradise. "Let Kusik's son," they counselled, "be A Mighty saint by just decree." His ear to hear their counsel lent The Sire of worlds, omnipotent. To him enriched by rites severe He spoke in accents sweet to hear: "Hail, Mighty Saint! dear son, all hail! Thy fervour wins, thy toils prevail. Won by thy vows and zeal intense I give this high preeminence." He to the General Sire replied, Not sad, nor wholly satisfied: "When thou, O Brahma, shalt declare The title, great beyond compare, Of Brahman saint my worthy meed, Hard earned by many a holy deed, Then may I deem in sooth I hold Each sense of body well controlled." Then Brahma cried, "Not yet, not yet: Toil on awhile O Anchoret!"

The Sons of Heaven, in wild alarm, Soft flatteries tried his rage to charm. Then Bhava, Lord whom Gods adore, Grew kind and friendly as before, And every torn and mangled limb Was safe and sound restored by him. Thenceforth this bow, the gem of bows, That freed the God of Gods from foes, Stored by our great forefathers lay A treasure and a pride for aye. Once, as it chanced, I ploughed the ground, When sudden, 'neath the share was found An infant springing from the earth, Named Sita from her secret birth.(246) In strength and grace the maiden grew, My cherished daughter, fair to view. I vowed her, of no mortal birth, Meet prize for noblest hero's worth. In strength and grace the maiden grew, And many a monarch came to woo. To all the princely suitors I Gave, mighty Saint, the same reply: "I give not thus my daughter, she Prize of heroic worth shall be.(247) To Mithila the suitors pressed Their power and might to manifest. To all who came with hearts aglow I offered Siva's wondrous bow. Not one of all the royal band Could raise or take the bow in hand. The suitors' puny might I spurned, And back the feeble princes turned. Enraged thereat, the warriors met, With force combined my town beset. Stung to the heart with scorn and shame, With war and threats they madly came, Besieged my peaceful walls, and long To Mithila did grievous wrong. There, wasting all, a year they lay, And brought my treasures to decay, Filling my soul, O Hermit chief, With bitter woe and hopeless grief. At last by long-wrought penance I Won favour with the Gods on high, Who with my labours well content A four-fold host to aid me sent. Then swift the baffled heroes fled To all the winds discomfited-- Wrong-doers, with their lords and host, And all their valour's idle boast. This heavenly bow, exceeding bright, These youths shall see, O Anchorite. Then if young Rama's hand can string The bow that baffled lord and king, To him I give, as I have sworn, My Sita, not of woman born."

The monarch ceased. In answer came The joyous princes' glad acclaim. So peacocks in the rain rejoice And hail the cloud with lifted voice. Murmurs of joy from thousands round Shook the high palace with the sound. Then when the gathered throng had learned His will who right and gain discerned, Peasant and townsman, priest and chief, All met in consultation brief, And soon agreed with one accord Gave answer to their sovereign lord: "King of the land, we know thee old: Thousands of years have o'er thee rolled, Rama thy son, we pray, anoint, And at thy side his place appoint Our gallant prince, so brave and strong, Riding in royal state along, Our eyes with joyful pride will see Screened by the shade that shelters thee." Then spake the king again, as though Their hearts' true wish he sought to know: "These prayers for Rama's rule suggest One question to my doubting breast. This thing, I pray, with truth explain: Why would ye, while I justly reign, That he, mine eldest son, should bear His part with me as ruling heir?" Then all the people made reply, Peasant and townsman, low and high: "Each noblest gift of form and mind, O Monarch, in thy son we find. Do thou the godlike virtues hear Which Rama to our hearts endear. So richly blest with graces, none In all the earth excels thy son: Nay, who to match with him may claim In truth, in justice, and in fame? True to his promise, gentle, kind, Unenvious, of grateful mind, Versed in the law and firm of soul, He keeps each sense with strict control. With duteous care he loves to sit By Brahmans skilled in Holy Writ. Hence brightest glory, ne'er to end, And matchless fame his youth attend. Skilled in the use of spear and shield, And arms which heavenly warriors wield, Supreme in war, unconquered yet By man, fiend, God in battle met, Whene'er in pomp of war he goes 'Gainst town or city of the foes, He ever comes with Lakshman back Victorious from the fierce attack.

The envoy answered: "Prince, thy sire Has sent thy presence to require. My sender known, 'tis thine to say If thou wilt go or answer nay." Then Rama, when he heard his speech, Made haste the royal court to reach. Soon as the monarch was aware His dearest son was waiting there, Eager the parley to begin He bade them lead the prince within, Soon as he passed the chamber door The hero bent him to the floor, And at a distance from his seat Raised his joined hands his sire to greet. The monarch raised him from the ground, And loving arms about him wound, Then pointed to a seat that shone With gold for him to rest upon. "Aged am I," he said, "and worn; In life's best joys my share have borne; Rites to the Gods, in hundreds, paid, With gifts of corn and largess made. I yearned for sons: my life is blest With them and thee of sons the best. No debt to saints or Brahmans, no, Nor spirits, Gods, or self I owe. One duty now remains alone, To set thee on thy father's throne. Now therefore, Rama, hear my rede, And mark my words with duteous heed: This day the peoples' general voice, Elects thee king of love and choice, And I, consenting to the prayer, Will make thee, darling, Regent Heir. Dread visions, each returning night, With evil omens scare my sight. Red meteors with a fearful sound Shoot wildly downward to the ground, While tempests lash the troubled air; And they who read the stars declare That, leagued against my natal sign, Rahu,(265) the Sun,(266) and Mars combine. When portents dire as these appear, A monarch's death or woe is near. Then while my senses yet are spared, And thought and will are unimpaired, Be thou, my son, anointed king: Men's fancy is a fickle thing. To-day the moon, in order due, Entered the sign Punarvasu,(267) To-morrow, as the wise foretell, In Pushya's favouring stars will dwell: Then on the throne shalt thou be placed. My soul, prophetic, counsels haste: Thee, O my son, to-morrow I As Regent Heir will sanctify.