Ramayana on Truth

The trees the witching influence knew, And bent with fruits of loveliest hue, And Rama's consecration lent New sweetness to each flowret's scent. The monarch, joy of Raghu's line, Gave largess to the Brahmans, kine And steeds unnumbered, wealth untold Of robes and pearls and gems and gold. A jewelled chain, whose lustre passed The glory of the sun, he cast About his friend Sugriva's neck; And, Angad Bali's son to deck, He gave a pair of armlets bright With diamond and lazulite. A string of pearls of matchless hue Which gleams like tender moonlight threw Adorned with gems of brightest sheen, He gave to grace his darling queen. The offering from his hand received A moment on her bosom heaved; Then from her neck the chain she drew, A glance on all the Vanars threw, And wistful eyes on Rama bent As still she held the ornament. Her wish he knew, and made reply To that mute question of her eye: "Yea, love; the chain on him bestow Whose wisdom truth and might we know, The firm ally, the faithful friend Through toil and peril to the end."

Nor did the saint their rede reject: He bade farewell with due respect, And crossed, attended by the twain, That river rushing to the main. When now the bark was half way o'er, Rama and Lakshman heard the roar, That louder grew and louder yet, Of waves by dashing waters met. Then Rama asked the mighty seer: "What is the tumult that I hear Of waters cleft in mid career?" Soon as the speech of Rama, stirred By deep desire to know, he heard, The pious saint began to tell What paused the waters' roar and swell: "On high Kailasa's distant hill There lies a noble lake Whose waters, born from Brahma's will, The name of Manas(158) take. Thence, hallowing where'er they flow, The streams of Sarju fall, And wandering through the plains below Embrace Ayodhya's wall. Still, still preserved in Sarju's name Sarovar's(159) fame we trace. The flood of Brahma whence she came To run her holy race. To meet great Ganga here she hies With tributary wave: Hence the loud roar ye hear arise, Of floods that swell and rave. Here, pride of Raghu's line, do thou In humble adoration bow."

Like some proud tree before the blast Brave Bali to the ground was cast, Where prostrate in the dust he rolled Clad in the sheen of glistening gold, As when uptorn the standard lies Of the great God who rules the skies. When low upon the earth was laid The lord whom Vanar tribes obeyed, Dark as a moonless sky no more His land her joyous aspect wore. Though low in dust and mire was rolled The form of Bali lofty-souled, Still life and valour, might and grace Clung to their well-loved dwelling-place. That golden chain with rich gems set, The choicest gift of Sakra,(585) yet Preserved his life nor let decay Steal strength and beauty's light away. Still from that chain divinely wrought His dusky form a glory caught, As a dark cloud, when day is done, Made splendid by the dying sun. As fell the hero, crushed in fight, There beamed afar a triple light From limbs, from chain, from shaft that drank His life-blood as the warrior sank. The never-failing shaft, impelled By the great bow which Rama held, Brought bliss supreme, and lit the way To Brahma's worlds which ne'er decay.(586)

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

The minstrel daughters of the skies Looked on her woe with pitying eyes, And sun-bright children of the Gods(835) Consoled the queen with smiles and nods. She saw, and with her heart at ease, Addressed the fiend in words like these; "Hast thou no friend to love thee, none In all this isle to bid thee shun The ruin which thy crime will bring On thee and thine, O impious King? Who in all worlds save thee could woo Me, Rama's consort pure and true, As though he tempted with his love Queen Sachi(836) on her throne above? How canst thou hope, vile wretch, to fly The vengeance that e'en now is nigh, When thou hast dared, untouched by shame, To press thy suit on Rama's dame? Where woods are thick and grass is high A lion and a hare may lie; My Rama is the lion, thou Art the poor hare beneath the bough. Thou railest at the lord of men, But wilt not stand within his ken. What! is that eye unstricken yet Whose impious glance on me was set? Still moves that tongue that would not spare The wife of Dasaratha's heir?"

As the sad tale of sin I told The hermit's grief was uncontrolled. With flooded eyes, and sorrow-faint, Thus spake the venerable saint: I stood with hand to hand applied, And listened as he spoke and sighed: "If thou, O King, hadst left unsaid By thine own tongue this tale of dread, Thy head for hideous guilt accursed Had in a thousand pieces burst. A hermit's blood by warrior spilt, In such a case, with purposed guilt, Down from his high estate would bring Even the thunder's mighty King. And he a dart who conscious sends Against the devotee who spends His pure life by the law of Heaven-- That sinner's head will split in seven. Thou livest, for thy heedless hand Has wrought a deed thou hast not planned, Else thou and all of Raghu's line Had perished by this act of thine. Now guide us," thus the hermit said, "Forth to the spot where he lies dead. Guide us, this day, O Monarch, we For the last time our son would see: The hermit dress of skin he wore Rent from his limbs distained with gore; His senseless body lying slain, His soul in Yama's dark domain."

No flash of lightning lit the sky, No cloudlet marred the blue on high. The Saras(630) missed the welcome rain, The moon's full beams were bright again. Sugriva, lapped in bliss, forgot The claims of faith, or heeded not; And by alluring joys misled The path of falsehood learned to tread. In careless ease he passed each hour, And dallied in his lady's bower. Each longing of his heart was stilled, And every lofty hope fulfilled. With royal Ruma by his side, Or Tara yet a dearer bride, He spent each joyous day and night In revelry and wild delight, Like Indra whom the nymphs entice To taste the joys of Paradise. The power to courtiers' hands resigned, To all their acts his eyes were blind. All doubt, all fear he cast aside And lived with pleasure for his guide. But sage Hanuman, firm and true, Whose heart the lore of Scripture knew, Well trained to meet occasion, trained In all by duty's law ordained, Strove with his prudent speech to find Soft access to the monarch's mind. He, skilled in every gentle art Of eloquence that wins the heart, Sugriva from his trance to wake, His salutary counsel spake:

"Not he," Hanuman cried, "not he Who taught the Gods(928) may rival thee, Supreme in power of quickest sense, First in the art of eloquence. But hear me soothly speak, O King, And learn the hope to which I cling. Vibhishan comes no crafty spy: Urged by his brother's fault to fly. With righteous soul that loathes the sin, He fled from Lanka and his kin. If strangers question, doubt will rise And chill the heart of one so wise. Marred by distrust the parle will end, And thou wilt lose a faithful friend. Nor let it seem so light a thing To sound a stranger's heart, O King. And he, I ween, whate'er he say, Will ne'er an evil thought betray. He comes a friend in happy time, Loathing his brother for his crime. His ear has heard thine old renown, The might that struck King Bali down, And set Sugriva on the throne. And looking now to thee alone He comes thy matchless aid to win And punish Ravan for his sin. Thus have I tried thy heart to move, And thus Vibhishan's truth to prove. Still in his friendship I confide; But ponder, wisest, and decide."

"By thy dear grace in sorest need From deadly bonds we both are freed. To these glad eyes as welcome now As Aja(960) or my sire art thou. Who art thou, mighty being? say, Thus glorious in thy bright array." He ceased: the king of birds replied, While flashed his eye with joy and pride: "In me, O Raghu's son, behold One who has loved thee from of old: Garud, the lord of all that fly, Thy guardian and thy friend am I. Not all the Gods in heaven could loose These numbing bonds, this serpent noose, Wherewith fierce Ravan's son, renowned For magic arts, your limbs had bound. Those arrows fixed in every limb Were mighty snakes, transformed by him. Blood thirsty race, they live beneath The earth, and slay with venomed teeth. On, smite the lord of Lanka's isle, But guard you from the giants' guile Who each dishonest art employ And by deceit brave foes destroy. So shall the tyrant Ravan bleed, And Sita from his power be freed." Thus Garud spake: then, swift as thought, The region of the sky he sought, Where in the distance like a blaze Of fire he vanished from the gaze.

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

Her eyes the Maithil lady raised And on the monkey speaker gazed. She looked, and trembling at the sight Wept bitter tears in wild affright. She shrank a while with fear distraught, Then, nerved again, the lady thought: "Is this a dream mine eyes have seen, This creature, by our laws unclean? O, may the Gods keep Rama, still, And Lakshman, and my sire, from ill! It is no dream: I have not slept, But, trouble-worn, have watched and wept Afar from that dear lord of mine For whom in ceaseless woe I pine, No art may soothe my wild distress Or lull me to forgetfulness. I see but him: my lips can frame No syllable but Rama's name. Each sight I see, each sound I hear, Brings Rama to mine eye or ear, The wish was in my heart, and hence The sweet illusion mocked my sense. 'Twas but a phantom of the mind, And yet the voice was soft and kind. Be glory to the Eternal Sire,(848) Be glory to the Lord of Fire, The mighty Teacher in the skies,(849) And Indra with his thousand eyes, And may they grant the truth to be E'en as the words that startled me."

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

The hermit ceased: the tale was done: Then in a transport Raghu's son Again addressed the ancient sire Resplendent as a burning fire: "O holy man, I fain would hear The tale repeated full and clear How he from whom my sires descend Brought the great rite to happy end." The hermit answered with a smile: "Then listen, son of Raghu, while My legendary tale proceeds To tell of high-souled Sagar's deeds. Within the spacious plain that lies From where Himalaya's heights arise To where proud Vindhya's rival chain Looks down upon the subject plain-- A land the best for rites declared(183)-- His sacrifice the king prepared. And Ansuman the prince--for so Sagar advised--with ready bow Was borne upon a mighty car To watch the steed who roamed afar. But Indra, monarch of the skies, Veiling his form in demon guise, Came down upon the appointed day And drove the victim horse away. Reft of the steed the priests, distressed, The master of the rite addressed: "Upon the sacred day by force A robber takes the victim horse. Haste, King! now let the thief be slain; Bring thou the charger back again: The sacred rite prevented thus Brings scathe and woe to all of us. Rise, monarch, and provide with speed That naught its happy course impede."

Sure in some antenatal time Were children, by Kausalya's crime, Torn from their mothers' arms away, And hence she mourns this evil day. She for her child no toil would spare Tending me long with pain and care; Now in the hour of fruitage she Has lost that son, ah, woe is me. O Lakshman, may no matron e'er A son so doomed to sorrow bear As I, my mother's heart who rend With anguish that can never end. The Sarika,(325) methinks, possessed More love than glows in Rama's breast. Who, as the tale is told to us, Addressed the stricken parrot thus: "Parrot, the capturer's talons tear, While yet alone thou flutterest there, Before his mouth has closed on me:" So cried the bird, herself to free. Reft of her son, in childless woe, My mother's tears for ever flow: Ill-fated, doomed with grief to strive, What aid can she from me derive? Pressed down by care, she cannot rise From sorrow's flood wherein she lies. In righteous wrath my single arm Could, with my bow, protect from harm Ayodhya's town and all the earth: But what is hero prowess worth? Lest breaking duty's law I sin, And lose the heaven I strive to win, The forest life today I choose, And kingly state and power refuse."

But Tara, when her weeping eye Saw Bali, on the litter lie, Laid his dear head upon her lap, And wailed aloud her dire mishap; "O mighty Vanar, lord and king, To whose fond breast I loved to cling, Of goodly arms, wise, brave, and bold, Rise, look upon me as of old. Rise up, my sovereign, dost thou see A crowd of subjects weep for thee? Still o'er thy face, though breath has fled, The joyous light of life is spread: Thus around the sun, although he set, A crimson glory lingers yet. Death clad in Rama's form to-day Hast dragged thee from the world away. One shaft from his tremendous bow Dooms us to widowhood and woe. Hast thou, O Vanar King, no eyes Thy weeping wives to recognize, Who for the length of way unmeet Have followed thee with weary feet? Yet every moon-faced beauty here By thee, O King was counted dear. Lord of the Vanar race, hast thou No eyes to see Sugriva now? About thee stands in mournful mood A sore-afflicted multitude, And Tara and thy lords of state Around their monarch weep and wait. Arise my lord, with gentle speech, As was thy wont, dismissing each, Then in the forest will we play And love shall make our spirits gay."

pursue your journey still By valley, lake, and towering hill. Reach the North Kurus' land, where rest The holy spirits of the blest: Where golden buds of lilies gleam Resplendent on the silver stream, And leaves of azure turkis throw Soft splendour on the waves below. Bright as the sun at early morn Fair pools that happy clime adorn, Where shine the loveliest flowers on stems Of crystal and all valued gems. Blue lotuses through all the land The glories of their blooms expand, And the resplendent earth is strown With peerless pearl and precious stone. There stately trees can scarce uphold The burthen of their fruits of gold, And ever flaunt their gay attire Of flower and leaf like flames of fire. All there sweet lives untroubled spend In bliss and joy that know not end, While pearl-decked maidens laugh, or sing To music of the silvery string.(741) Still on your forward journey keep, And rest you by the northern deep, Where springing from the billows high Mount Somagiri(742) seeks the sky, And lightens with perpetual glow The sunless realm that lies below. There, present through all life's extent, Dwells Brahma Lord preeminent, And round the great God, manifest In Rudra(743) forms high sages rest. Then turn, O Vanars: search no more, Nor tempt the sunless, boundless shore."

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

The glorious chief his speech renewed To faithful Lakshman as he sued, And on the eyes of Rama gazed Longing to lead, with hands upraised: "Thou art a hero just and dear, Whose steps to virtue's path adhere, Loved as my life till life shall end, My faithful brother and my friend. If to the woods thou take thy way With Sita and with me to-day, Who for Kausalya will provide, And guard the good Sumitra's side? The lord of earth, of mighty power, Who sends good things in plenteous shower, As Indra pours the grateful rain, A captive lies in passion's chain. The power imperial for her son Has Asvapati's daughter(306) won, And she, proud queen, will little heed Her miserable rivals' need. So Bharat, ruler of the land, By Queen Kaikeyi's side will stand, Nor of those two will ever think, While grieving in despair they sink. Now, Lakshman, as thy love decrees, Or else the monarch's heart to please, Follow this counsel and protect My honoured mother from neglect. So thou, while not to me alone Thy great affection will be shown, To highest duty wilt adhere By serving those thou shouldst revere. Now, son of Raghu, for my sake Obey this one request I make, Or, of her darling son bereft, Kausalya has no comfort left."

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

The aged matron, when she saw Fair Sita true to duty's law, Addressed her thus: "High fate is thine Whose thoughts to virtue still incline. Thou, lady of the noble mind, Hast kin and state and wealth resigned To follow Rama forced to tread Where solitary woods are spread. Those women gain high spheres above Who still unchanged their husbands love, Whether they dwell in town or wood, Whether their hearts be ill or good. Though wicked, poor, or led away In love's forbidden paths to stray, The noble matron still will deem Her lord a deity supreme. Regarding kin and friendship, I Can see no better, holier tie, And every penance-rite is dim Beside the joy of serving him. But dark is this to her whose mind Promptings of idle fancy blind, Who led by evil thoughts away Makes him who should command obey. Such women, O dear Maithil dame, Their virtue lose and honest fame, Enslaved by sin and folly, led In these unholy paths to tread. But they who good and true like thee The present and the future see, Like men by holy deeds will rise To mansions in the blissful skies. So keep thee pure from taint of sin, Still to thy lord be true, And fame and merit shalt thou win, To thy devotion due."

Danu had lent attentive ear The words which Rama spoke to hear, And thus, a speaker skilled and tried, To that great orator replied: "No heavenly lore my soul endows, Naught know I of thy Maithil spouse. Yet will I, when my shape I wear, Him who will tell thee all declare. Then, Rama, will my lips disclose His name who well that giant knows. But till the flames my corse devour This hidden knowledge mocks my power. For through that curse's withering taint My knowledge now is small and faint. Unknown the giant's very name Who bore away the Maithil dame. Cursed for my evil deeds I wore A shape which all the worlds abhor. Now ere with wearied steeds the sun Through western skies his course have run, Deep in a pit my body lay And burn it in the wonted way. When in the grave my corse is placed, With fire and funeral honours graced, Then I, great chief, his name will tell Who knows the giant robber well. With him, who guides his life aright, In league of trusting love unite, And he, O valiant prince, will be A faithful friend and aid to thee. For, Rama, to his searching eyes The triple world uncovered lies. For some dark cause of old, I ween, Through all the spheres his ways have been."

The aged votaress pure of taint, Revered by every perfect saint, Rose to her feet by Rama's side And thus in gentle tones replied: "My penance meed this day I see Complete, my lord, in meeting thee. This day the fruit of birth I gain, Nor have I served the saints in vain. I reap rich fruits of toil and vow, And heaven itself awaits me now, When I, O chief of men, have done Honour to thee the godlike one. I feel, great lord, thy gentle eye My earthly spirit purify, And I, brave tamer of thy foes, Shall through thy grace in bliss repose. Thy feet by Chitrakuta strayed When those great saints whom I obeyed, In dazzling chariots bright of hue, Hence to their heavenly mansions flew. As the high saints were borne away I heard their holy voices say: "In this pure grove, O devotee, Prince Rama soon will visit thee. When he and Lakshman seek this shade, Be to thy guests all honour paid. Him shalt thou see, and pass away To those blest worlds which ne'er decay." To me, O mighty chief, the best Of lofty saints these words addressed. Laid up within my dwelling lie Fruits of each sort which woods supply,-- Food culled for thee in endless store From every tree on Pampa's shore."

Then Trisiras raised high his spear Which chilled the trembling foe with fear And, like a flashing meteor through The air at Hanuman it flew. The Vanar shunned the threatened stroke, And with strong hands the weapon broke. The giant drew his glittering blade: Dire was the wound the weapon made Deep in the Vanar's ample chest, Who, for a moment sore oppressed, Raised his broad hand, regaining might, And struck the rover of the night. Fierce was the blow: with one wild yell Low on the earth the monster fell. Hanuman seized his fallen sword Which served no more its senseless lord, And from the monster triple-necked Smote his huge heads with crowns bedecked. Then Mahaparsva burned with ire; Fierce flashed his eyes with vengeful fire. A moment on the dead he gazed, Then his black mace aloft was raised, And down the mass of iron came That struck and shook the Vanar's frame. Hanuman's chest was wellnigh crushed, And from his mouth red torrents gushed: Yet served one instant to restore His spirit: from the foe he tore His awful mace, and smote, and laid The giant in the dust dismayed. Crushed were his jaws and teeth and eyes: Breathless and still he lay as lies A summit from a mountain rent By him who rules the firmament.

The heavenly Father smiled in glee, And said, "O best of hermits, see, A verse, unconscious, thou hast made; No longer be the task delayed. Seek not to trace, with labour vain, The unpremeditated strain. The tuneful lines thy lips rehearsed Spontaneous from thy bosom burst. Then come, O best of seers, relate The life of Rama good and great, The tale that saintly Narad told, In all its glorious length unfold. Of all the deeds his arm has done Upon this earth, omit not one, And thus the noble life record Of that wise, brave, and virtuous lord. His every act to day displayed, His secret life to none betrayed: How Lakshman, how the giants fought; With high emprise and hidden thought: And all that Janak's child(49) befell Where all could see, where none could tell. The whole of this shall truly be Made known, O best of saints, to thee. In all thy poem, through my grace, No word of falsehood shall have place. Begin the story, and rehearse The tale divine in charming verse. As long as in this firm-set land The streams shall flow, the mountains stand, So long throughout the world, be sure, The great Ramayan shall endure.(50) While the Ramayan's ancient strain Shall glorious in the earth remain, To higher spheres shalt thou arise And dwell with me above the skies."

The ladies soothed the weeping dame: To Rama's hermitage they came, And there the hero met their eyes Like a God fallen from the skies. Him joyless, reft of all, they viewed, And tears their mournful eyes bedewed. The truthful hero left his seat, And clasped the ladies' lotus feet, And they with soft hands brushed away The dust that on his shoulders lay. Then Lakshman, when he saw each queen With weeping eyes and troubled mien, Near to the royal ladies drew And paid them gentle reverence too. He, Dasaratha's offspring, signed The heir of bliss by Fortune kind, Received from every dame no less Each mark of love and tenderness. And Sita came and bent before The widows, while her eyes ran o'er, And pressed their feet with many a tear. They when they saw the lady dear Pale, worn with dwelling in the wild, Embraced her as a darling child: "Daughter of royal Janak, bride Of Dasaratha's son," they cried, "How couldst thou, offspring of a king, Endure this woe and suffering In the wild forest? When I trace Each sign of trouble on thy face-- That lotus which the sun has dried, That lily by the tempest tried, That gold whereon the dust is spread, That moon whence all the light is fled-- Sorrow assails my heart, alas! As fire consumes the wood and grass."

"Where is the dauntless heart that free From terror's chilling touch can see Two stranger warriors, strong as those, Equipped with swords and shafts and bows, With mighty arms and large full eyes, Like glorious children of the skies? Bali my foe, I ween, has sent These chiefs to aid his dark intent. Hence doubt and fear disturb me still, For thousands serve a monarch's will, In borrowed garb they come, and those Who walk disguised are counted foes. With secret thoughts they watch their time, And wound fond hearts that fear no crime. My foe in state affairs is wise, And prudent kings have searching eyes. By other hands they strike the foe: By meaner tools the truth they know. Now to those stranger warriors turn, And, less than king, their purpose learn. Mark well the trick and look of each; Observe his form and note his speech. With care their mood and temper sound, And, if their minds be friendly found, With courteous looks and words begin Their confidence and love to win. Then as my friend and envoy speak, And question what the strangers seek. Ask why equipped with shaft and bow Through this wild maze of wood they go. If they, O chief, at first appear Pure of all guile, in heart sincere, Detect in speech and look the sin And treachery that lurk within."

"Thy fear and doubt," he cried, "dispelled, Hear, lady, what mine eyes beheld. Hear the imperial signs that grace The glory of Ikshvaku's race. With moon-bright face and lotus eyes, Most beautiful and good and wise, With sun-like glory round his head, Long-suffering as the earth we tread, He from all foes his realm defends. Yea, o'er the world his care extends. He follows right in all his ways, And ne'er from royal duty strays. He knows the lore that strengthens kings; His heart to truth and honour clings. Each grace and gift of form and mind Adorns that prince of human kind; And virtues like his own endue His brother ever firm and true. O'er all the land they roamed distraught, And thee with vain endeavour sought, Until at length their wandering feet Trod wearily our wild retreat. Our banished king Sugriva spied The princes from the mountain side. By his command I sought the pair And led them to our monarch there. Thus Rama and Sugriva met, And joined the bonds that knit them yet, When each besought the other's aid, And friendship and alliance made. An arrow launched from Rama's bow Laid Bali dead, Sugriva's foe. Then by commandment of our lord The Vanar hosts each land explored. We reached the coast: I crossed the sea And found my way at length to thee."(858)

His hands upon his head he laid And thus again his answer made: "Not yet has Rama learnt where lies His lady of the lotus eyes, Or he like Indra from the sky To Sachi's(860) aid, to thee would fly. Soon will he hear the tale, and then, Roused to revenge, the lord of men Will to the giants' island lead Fierce myriads of the woodland breed, Bridging his conquering way, and make The town a ruin for thy sake. Believe my words, sweet dame; I swear By roots and fruit, my woodland fare, By Meru's peak and Vindhva's chain, And Mandar of the Milky Main, Soon shalt thou see thy lord, though now He waits upon Prasravan's(861) brow, Come glorious as the breaking morn, Like Indra on Airavat(862) borne. For thee he looks with longing eyes; The wood his scanty food supplies. For thee his brow is pale and worn, For thee are meat and wine forsworn. Thine image in his heart he keeps, For thee by night he wakes and weeps. Or if perchance his eyes he close And win brief respite from his woes, E'en then the name of Sita slips In anguish from his murmuring lips. If lovely flowers or fruit he sees, Which women love, upon the trees, To thee, to thee his fancy flies. And 'Sita! O my love!' he cries."

The giants bent, in rage and grief, Their eyes upon the fallen chief: Then flying wild with fear and pale To Ravan bore the mournful tale. He heard how Atikaya died, Then turned him to his lords, and cried: "Where are they now--my bravest--where, Wise to consult and prompt to dare? Where is Dhumraksha, skilled to wield All weapons in the battle field? Akampan, and Prahasta's might, And Kumbhakarna bold in fight? These, these and many a Rakshas more, Each master of the arms he bore, Who every foe in fight o'erthrew, The victors none could e'er subdue, Have perished by the might of one, The vengeful arm of Raghu's son. In vain I cast mine eyes around, No match for Rama here is found, No chief to stand before that bow Whose deadly shafts have caused our woe. Now, warriors, to your stations hence; Provide ye for the wall's defence, And be the Asoka garden, where The lady lies, your special care. Be every lane and passage barred, Set at each gate a chosen guard. And with your troops, where danger calls, Be ready to defend the walls. Each movement of the Vanars mark; Observe them when the skies grow dark; Be ready in the dead of night, And ere the morning bring the light. Taught by our loss we may not scorn These legions of the forest-born."

Vibhishan saw his brother slain, Nor could his heart its woe contain. O'er the dead king he sadly bent And mourned him with a loud lament: "O hero, bold and brave," he cried, "Skilled in all arms, in battle tried. Spoiled of thy crown, with limbs outspread, Why wilt thou press thy gory bed? Why slumber on the earth's cold breast, When sumptuous couches woo to rest? Ah me, my brother over bold, Thine is the fate my heart foretold: But love and pride forbade to hear The friend who blamed thy wild career. Fallen is the sun who gave us light, Our lordly moon is veiled in night. Our beacon fire is dead and cold A hundred waves have o'er it rolled. What could his light and fire avail Against Lord Rama's arrowy hail? Woe for the giants' royal tree, Whose stately height was fair to see. His buds were deeds of kingly grace, His bloom the sons who decked his race. With rifled bloom and mangled bough The royal tree lies prostrate now." "Nay, idly mourn not," Rama cried, "The warrior king has nobly died, Intrepid hero, firm through all, So fell he as the brave should fall; And ill beseems it chiefs like us To weep for those who perish thus. Be firm: thy causeless grief restrain, And pay the dues that yet remain."

His children's speech King Sagar heard, And answered thus, to anger stirred: "Dig on, and ne'er your labour stay Till through earth's depths you force your way. Then smite the robber dead, and bring The charger back with triumphing." The sixty thousand chiefs obeyed: Deep through the earth their way they made. Deep as they dug and deeper yet The immortal elephant they met, Famed Virupaksha(188) vast of size, Upon whose head the broad earth lies: The mighty beast who earth sustains With shaggy hills and wooded plains. When, with the changing moon, distressed, And longing for a moment's rest, His mighty head the monster shakes, Earth to the bottom reels and quakes. Around that warder strong and vast With reverential steps they passed. Nor, when the honour due was paid, Their downward search through earth delayed. But turning from the east aside Southward again their task they plied. There Mahapadma held his place, The best of all his mighty race, Like some huge hill, of monstrous girth, Upholding on his head the earth. When the vast beast the princes saw, They marvelled and were filled with awe. The sons of high-souled Sagar round That elephant in reverence wound. Then in the western region they With might unwearied cleft their way. There saw they with astonisht eyes Saumanas, beast of mountain size. Round him with circling steps they went With greetings kind and reverent.

The devotee must be content To live, severely abstinent, On what the chance of fortune shows: The wood, my love, is full of woes. Hunger afflicts him evermore: The nights are black, the wild winds roar; And there are dangers worse than those: The wood, my love, is full of woes. There creeping things in every form Infest the earth, the serpents swarm, And each proud eye with fury glows: The wood, my love, is full of woes. The snakes that by the rives hide In sinuous course like rivers glide, And line the path with deadly foes: The wood, my love, is full of woes. Scorpions, and grasshoppers, and flies Disturb the wanderer as he lies, And wake him from his troubled doze: The wood, my love, is full of woes. Trees, thorny bushes, intertwined, Their branched ends together bind, And dense with grass the thicket grows: The wood, my dear, is full of woes, With many ills the flesh is tried, When these and countless fears beside Vex those who in the wood remain: The wilds are naught but grief and pain. Hope, anger must be cast aside, To penance every thought applied: No fear must be of things to fear: Hence is the wood for ever drear. Enough, my love: thy purpose quit: For forest life thou art not fit. As thus I think on all, I see The wild wood is no place for thee."

The Brahmans on the prince's head King-making drops shall quickly shed, And Sita, Earth, and Fortune share The glories which await the heir. For him, when forth his chariot swept, The crowd that thronged Ayodhya wept, With agonizing woe distressed. With him in hermit's mantle dressed In guise of Sita Lakshmi went, And none his glory may prevent. Yea, naught to him is high or hard, Before whose steps, to be his guard, Lakshman, the best who draws the bow, With spear, shaft, sword rejoiced to go. His wanderings in the forest o'er, Thine eyes shall see thy son once more, Quit thy faint heart, thy grief dispel, For this, O Queen, is truth I tell. Thy son returning, moonlike, thence, Shall at thy feet do reverence, And, blest and blameless lady, thou Shalt see his head to touch them bow, Yea, thou shalt see thy son made king When he returns with triumphing, And how thy happy eyes will brim With tears of joy to look on him! Thou, blameless lady, shouldst the whole Of the sad people here console: Why in thy tender heart allow This bitter grief to harbour now? As the long banks of cloud distil Their water when they see the hill, So shall the drops of rapture run From thy glad eyes to see thy son Returning, as he lowly bends To greet thee, girt by all his friends."

Beyond that spot your way pursue: A noble mountain shall ye view, Named Rishabh, like a mighty bull, With gems made bright and beautiful. All trees of sandal flourish there Of heavenly fragrance, rich and rare. But, though they tempt your longing eyes, Avoid to touch them, and be wise. For Rohitas, a guardian band Of fierce Gandharvas, round them stand, Who five bright sovereign lords(712) obey, In glory like the God of Day. Here by good deeds a home is won With shapes like fire, the moon, the sun. Here they who merit heaven by worth Dwell on the confines of the earth. There stay: beyond it, dark and drear, Lies the departed spirits' sphere, And, girt with darkness, far from bliss, Is Yama's sad metropolis.(713) So far, my lords, o'er land and sea Your destined course is plain and free. Beyond your steps you may not set, Where living thing ne'er journeyed yet. With utmost care these realms survey, And all you meet upon the way. And, when the lady's course is traced, Back to your king, O Vanars, haste. And he who tells me he has seen. After long search, the Maithil queen, Shall gain a noble guerdon: he In power and bliss shall equal me. Dear as my very life, above His fellows in his master's love; I call him, yea though stained with crime. My kinsman from that happy time."

"Quick, quick! This Vanar host restrain, For heralds never must be slain. To him alone, a wretch untrue, The punishment of death is due Who leaves his master's speech unsaid And speaks another in its stead." Moved by the suppliant speech and prayer Up sprang the prince and cried, forbear. Saved from his wild assailant's blows Again the Rakshas herald rose And borne on light wings to the sky Addressed Sugriva from on high: "O Vanar Monarch, chief endued With power and wonderous fortitude, What answer is my king, the fear And scourge of weeping worlds, to hear?" "Go tell thy lord," Sugriva cried, "Thou, Rama's foe, art thus defied. His arm the guilty Bali slew; Thus, tyrant, shalt thou perish too. Thy sons, thy friends, proud King, and all Thy kith and kin with thee shall fall; And, emptied of the giant's brood, Burnt Lanka be a solitude. Fly to the Sun-God's pathway, go And hide thee deep in hell below: In vain from Rama shalt thou flee Though heavenly warriors fight for thee. Thine arm subdued, securely bold, The Vulture-king infirm and old: But will thy puny strength avail When Raghu's wrathful sons assail? A captive in thy palace lies The lady of the lotus eyes: Thou knowest not how fierce and strong Is he whom thou hast dared to wrong. The best of Raghu's lineage, he Whose conquering hand shall punish thee."

That speech of Guha Bharat heard With grief and tender pity stirred, And as his ears the story drank, Deep in his thoughtful heart it sank. His large full eyes in anguish rolled, His trembling limbs grew stiff and cold; Then fell he, like a tree uptorn, In woe too grievous to be borne. When Guha saw the long-armed chief Whose eye was like a lotus leaf, With lion shoulders strong and fair, High-mettled, prostrate in despair,-- Pale, bitterly afflicted, he Reeled as in earthquake reels a tree. But when Satrughna standing nigh Saw his dear brother helpless lie, Distraught with woe his head he bowed, Embraced him oft and wept aloud. Then Bharat's mothers came, forlorn Of their dear king, with fasting worn, And stood with weeping eyes around The hero prostrate on the ground. Kausalya, by her woe oppressed, The senseless Bharat's limbs caressed, As a fond cow in love and fear Caresses oft her youngling dear: Then yielding to her woe she said, Weeping and sore disquieted: "What torments, O my son, are these Of sudden pain or swift disease? The lives of us and all the line Depend, dear child, on only thine. Rama and Lakshman forced to flee, I live by naught but seeing thee: For as the king has past away Thou art my only help to-day. Hast thou, perchance, heard evil news Of Lakshman, which thy soul subdues, Or Rama dwelling with his spouse-- My all is he--neath forest boughs?"

Fly from this home no longer thine, And dwell in woods five years and nine. Live in the forest and maintain Mine honour pure from falsehood's stain.' " Then Rama spoke, untouched by dread: "Yea, it shall be as thou hast said." And answered, faithful to his vows, Obeying Dasaratha's spouse: "The offered realm I would not take, But still keep true the words he spake." Thus, gentle Brahman, Rama still Clung to his vow with firmest will. And valiant Lakshman, dear to fame, His brother by a younger dame, Bold victor in the deadly fray, Would follow Rama on his way. On sternest vows his heart was set, And he, a youthful anchoret, Bound up in twisted coil his hair And took the garb which hermits wear; Then with his bow to guard us, he Went forth with Rama and with me. By Queen Kaikeyi's art bereft The kingdom and our home we left, And bound by stern religious vows We sought this shade of forest boughs. Now, best of Brahmans, here we tread These pathless regions dark and dread. But come, refresh thy soul, and rest Here for a while an honoured guest, For he, my lord, will soon be here With fresh supply of woodland cheer, Large store of venison of the buck, Or some great boar his hand has struck. Meanwhile, O stranger, grant my prayer: Thy name, thy race, thy birth declare, And why with no companion thou Roamest in Dandak forest now."

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

Then Sarama replied: "I go To learn the purpose of thy foe, Soon by thy side again to stand And tell thee what the king has planned." She sped, she heard with eager ears The tyrant speak his hopes and fears, Where, gathered at their master's call, The nobles filled the council hall; Then swiftly, to her promise true, Back to the Asoka grove she flew. The lady on the grassy ground, Longing for her return, she found; Who with a gentle smile, to greet The envoy, led her to a seat. Through her worn frame a shiver ran As Sarama her tale began: "There stood the royal mother: she Besought her son to set thee free, And to her counsel, tears and prayers, The elder nobles added theirs: "O be the Maithil queen restored With honour to her angry lord, Let Janasthan's unhappy fight Be witness of the hero's might. Hanuman o'er the waters came And looked upon the guarded dame. Let Lanka's chiefs who fought and fell The prowess of the leader tell." In vain they sued, in vain she wept, His purpose still unchanged he kept, As clings the miser to his gold, He would not loose thee from his hold. No, never till in death he lies, Will Lanka's lord release his prize. Soon slain by Rama's arrows all The giants with their king will fall, And Rama to his home will lead His black-eyed queen from bondage freed."

High rose the universal wail That mourned the monarch's death, and, pale With crushing woe, her hair unbound, Her eyes in floods of sorrow drowned, Forth from the inner chambers came With trembling feet each royal dame, Heedless of those who bade them stay They reached the field where Ravan lay; There falling by their husband's side, "Ah, King! ah dearest lord!" they cried. Like creepers shattered by the storm They threw them on his mangled form. One to his bleeding bosom crept And lifted up her voice and wept. About his feet one mourner clung, Around his neck another hung, One on the giant's severed head, Her pearly tears in torrents shed Fast as the drops the summer shower Pours down upon the lotus flower. "Ah, he whose arm in anger reared The King of Gods and Yama feared, While panic struck their heavenly train, Lies prostrate in the battle slain. Thy haughty heart thou wouldst not bend, Nor listen to each wiser friend. Ah, had the dame, as they implored, Been yielded to her injured lord, We had not mourned this day thy fall, And happy had it been for all. Then Rama and thy friends content In blissful peace their days had spent. Thine injured brother had not fled, Nor giant chiefs and Vanars bled. Yet for these woes we will not blame. Thy fancy for the Maithil dame, Fate, ruthless Fate, whom none may bend Has urged thee to thy hapless end."

Sumantra went. Then Rama came, And Lakshman, and the Maithil dame, And, as he led them on, their guide Straight to the monarch's presence hied. When yet far off the father saw His son with raised palms toward him draw, Girt by his ladies, sick with woes, Swift from his royal seat he rose. With all his strength the aged man To meet his darling Rama ran, But trembling, wild with dark despair, Fell on the ground and fainted there. And Lakshman, wont in cars to ride, And Rama, threw them by the side Of the poor miserable king, Half lifeless with his sorrow's sting. Throughout the spacious hall up went A thousand women's wild lament: "Ah Rama!" thus they wailed and wept, And anklets tinkled as they stepped Around his body, weeping, threw Their loving arms the brothers two, And then, with Sita's gentle aid, The king upon a couch was laid. At length to earth's imperial lord, When life and knowledge were restored, Though seas of woe went o'er his head, With suppliant hand, thus Rama said: "Lord of us all, great King, thou art: Bid me farewell before we part, To Dandak wood this day I go: One blessing and one look bestow. Let Lakshman my companion be, And Sita also follow me. With truthful pleas I sought to bend Their purpose; but no ear they lend. Now cast this sorrow from thy heart, And let us all, great King, depart. As Brahma sends his children, so Let Lakshman, me, and Sita go."

As thus the prince whose heart was bent On virtue told his firm intent, The good Sutikshna's joy rose high, And thus in turn he made reply: "The very thing, O Prince, which thou Hast sought, I wished to urge but now, Bid thee with wife and brother see Agastya, glorious devotee. I count this thing an omen fair That thou shouldst thus thy wish declare, And I, my Prince, will gladly teach The way Agastya's home to reach. Southward, dear son, direct thy feet Eight leagues beyond this still retreat: Agastya's hermit brother there Dwells in a home most bright and fair. 'Tis on a knoll of woody ground, With many a branching Pippal(426) crowned: There sweet birds' voices ne'er are mute, And trees are gay with flower and fruit. There many a lake gleams bright and cool, And lilies deck each pleasant pool, While swan, and crane, and mallard's wings Are lovely in the water-springs. There for one night, O Rama, stay, And with the dawn pursue thy way. Still farther, bending southward, by The thicket's edge the course must lie, And thou wilt see, two leagues from thence Agastya's lovely residence, Set in the woodland's fairest spot, All varied foliage decks the cot: There Sita, Lakshman thou, at ease May spend sweet hours neath shady trees, For all of noblest growth are found Luxuriant on that bosky ground. If it be still thy firm intent To see that saint preeminent, O mighty counsellor, this day Depart upon thine onward way."

"Beloved son, four leagues away Is Panchavati bright and gay: Thronged with its deer, most fair it looks With berries, fruit, and water-brooks. There build thee with thy brother's aid A cottage in the quiet shade, And faithful to thy sire's behest, Obedient to the sentence, rest. For well, O sinless chieftain, well I know thy tale, how all befell: Stern penance and the love I bore Thy royal sire supply the lore. To me long rites and fervid zeal The wish that stirs thy heart reveal, And hence my guest I bade thee be, That this pure grove might shelter thee. So now, thereafter, thus I speak: The shades of Panchavati seek; That tranquil spot is bright and fair, And Sita will be happy there. Not far remote from here it lies, A grove to charm thy loving eyes, Godavari's pure stream is nigh: There Sita's days will sweetly fly. Pure, lovely, rich in many a charm, O hero of the mighty arm, 'Tis gay with every plant and fruit, And throngs of gay buds never mute. Thou, true to virtue's path, hast might To screen each trusting anchorite, And wilt from thy new home defend The hermits who on thee depend. Now yonder, Prince, direct thine eyes Where dense Madhuka(442) woods arise: Pierce their dark shade, and issuing forth Turn to a fig-tree on the north: Then onward up a sloping mead Flanked by a hill the way will lead: There Panchavati, ever gay With ceaseless bloom, thy steps will stay."

Then, all his thoughts on Sita bent, The Vanar chieftain made lament: "The queen to Rama's soul endeared, By Lakshman's pious heart revered, Lies here,--for none may strive with Fate, A captive, sad and desolate. The brothers' might full well she knows, And bravely bears the storm of woes, As swelling Ganga in the rains The rush of every flood sustains. Her lord, for her, fierce Bali slew, Viradha's monstrous might o'erthrew, For her the fourteen thousand slain In Janasthan bedewed the plain. And if for her Ikshvaku's son Destroyed the world 'twere nobly done. This, this is she, so far renowned, Who sprang from out the furrowed ground,(823) Child of the high-souled king whose sway The men of Mithila obey: The glorious lady wooed and won By Dasaratha's noblest son; And now these sad eyes look on her Mid hostile fiends a prisoner. From home and every bliss she fled By wifely love and duty led, And heedless of a wanderer's woes, A life in lonely forests chose. This, this is she so fair of mould. Whose limbs are bright as burnished gold. Whose voice was ever soft and mild, Who sweetly spoke and sweetly smiled. O, what is Rama's misery! how He longs to see his darling now! Pining for one of her fond looks As one athirst for water brooks. Absorbed in woe the lady sees No Rakshas guard, no blooming trees. Her eyes are with her thoughts, and they Are fixed on Rama far away."

Wise Visvamitra's tale was done: Then sainted Gautam's eldest son, Great Satananda, far-renowned, Whom long austerities had crowned With glory--as the news he heard The down upon his body stirred,-- Filled full of wonder at the sight Of Rama, felt supreme delight. When Satananda saw the pair Of youthful princes seated there, He turned him to the holy man Who sate at ease, and thus began: "And didst thou, mighty Sage, in truth Show clearly to this royal youth My mother, glorious far and wide, Whom penance-rites have sanctified? And did my glorious mother--she, Heiress of noble destiny-- Serve her great guest with woodland store, Whom all should honour evermore? Didst thou the tale to Rama tell Of what in ancient days befell, The sin, the misery, and the shame Of guilty God and faithless dame? And, O thou best of hermits, say, Did Rama's healing presence stay Her trial? was the wife restored Again to him, my sire and lord? Say, Hermit, did that sire of mine Receive her with a soul benign, When long austerities in time Had cleansed her from the taint of crime? And, son of Kusik, let me know, Did my great-minded father show Honour to Rama, and regard, Before he journeyed hitherward?" The hermit with attentive ear Marked all the questions of the seer: To him for eloquence far-famed, His eloquent reply he framed: "Yea, 'twas my care no task to shun, And all I had to do was done; As Renuka and Bhrigu's child, The saint and dame were reconciled."

As shine the heavens with autumn's moon Refulgent in the height of noon, So shone with light which Rama gave That army of the bold and brave, As from the sea it marched away In war's magnificent array, And earth was shaken by the beat And trampling of unnumbered feet. Then to the giants' ears were borne, The mingled notes of drum and horn, And clash of tambours smote the sky, And shouting and the battle cry. The sound of martial strains inspired Each chieftain, and his bosom fired: While giants from their walls replied, And answering shouts the foe defied, Then Rama looked on Lanka where Bright banners floated in the air, And, pierced with anguish at the view, His loving thoughts to Sita flew. "There, prisoned by the giant, lies My lady of the tender eyes, Like Rohini the queen of stars O'erpowered by the fiery Mars." Then turned he to his brother chief And cried in agony of grief: "See on the hill, divinely planned And built by Visvakarma's hand, The towers and domes of Lanka rise In peerless beauty to the skies. Bright from afar the city shines With gleam of palaces and shrines, Like pale clouds through the region spread By Vishnu's self inhabited. Fair gardens grow, and woods between The stately domes are fresh and green, Where trees their bloom and fruit display, And sweet birds sing on every spray. Each bird is mad with joy, and bees Sing labouring in the bloomy trees On branches by the breezes bowed, Where the gay Koil's voice is loud."

Soon as his stature they beheld, Their fear and sorrow were dispelled; And joyous praises loud and long Rang out from all the Vanar throng. On the great chief their eyes they bent In rapture and astonishment, As, when his conquering foot he raised, The Gods upon Narayan(785) gazed. He stood amid the joyous crowd, Bent to the chiefs, and cried aloud: "The Wind-God, Fire's eternal friend, Whose blasts the mountain summits rend, With boundless force that none may stay, Takes where he lists his viewless way. Sprung from that glorious father, I In power and speed with him may vie, A thousand times with airy leap Can circle loftiest Meru's steep: With my fierce arms can stir the sea Till from their bed the waters flee And rush at my command to drown This land with grove and tower and town. I through the fields of air can spring Far swifter than the feathered King, And leap before him as he flies, On sounding pinions through the skies. I can pursue the Lord of Light Uprising from the eastern height, And reach him ere his course be sped With burning beams engarlanded. I will dry up the mighty main, Shatter the rocks and rend the plain. O'er earth and ocean will I bound, And every flower that grows on ground, And bloom of climbing plants shall show Strewn on the ground, the way I go, Bright as the lustrous path that lies Athwart the region of the skies.(786) The Maithil lady will I find,-- Thus speaks mine own prophetic mind,-- And cast in hideous ruin down The shattered walls of Lanka's town."

The hermit with his tender eyes Looked on Trisanku's altered guise, And grieving at his ruined state Addressed him thus, compassionate: "Great King," the pious hermit said, "What cause thy steps has hither led, Ayodhya's mighty Sovereign, whom A curse has plagued with outcast's doom?" In vile Chandala(237) shape, the king Heard Visvamitra's questioning, And, suppliant palm to palm applied, With answering eloquence he cried: "My priest and all his sons refused To aid the plan on which I mused. Failing to win the boon I sought, To this condition I was brought. I, in the body, Saint, would fain A mansion in the skies obtain. I planned a hundred rites for this, But still was doomed the fruit to miss. Pure are my lips from falsehood's stain, And pure they ever shall remain,-- Yea, by a Warrior's faith I swear,-- Though I be tried with grief and care. Unnumbered rites to Heaven I paid, With righteous care the sceptre swayed; And holy priest and high-souled guide My modest conduct gratified. But, O thou best of hermits, they Oppose my wish these rites to pay; They one and all refuse consent, Nor aid me in my high intent. Fate is, I ween, the power supreme, Man's effort but an idle dream, Fate whirls our plans, our all away; Fate is our only hope and stay; Now deign, O blessed Saint, to aid Me, even me by Fate betrayed, Who come, a suppliant, sore distressed, One grace, O Hermit, to request. No other hope or way I see: No other refuge waits for me. Oh, aid me in my fallen state, And human will shall conquer Fate."

When thus Kalindi,(248) fairest dame, With reverent supplication came, To her the holy sage replied: "Born with the poison from thy side, O happy Queen, shall spring ere long An infant fortunate and strong. Then weep no more, and check thy sighs, Sweet lady of the lotus eyes." The queen, who loved her perished lord, For meet reply, the saint adored, And, of her husband long bereaved, She bore a son by him conceived. Because her rival mixed the bane To render her conception vain, And fruit unripened to destroy, Sagar(249) she called her darling boy. To Sagar Asamanj was heir: Bright Ansuman his consort bare. Ansuman's son, Dilipa famed, Begot a son Bhagirath named. From him the great Kakutstha rose: From him came Raghu, feared by foes, Of him sprang Purushadak bold, Fierce hero of gigantic mould: Kalmashapada's name he bore, Because his feet were spotted o'er.(250) From him came Sankan, and from him Sudarsan, fair in face and limb. From beautiful Sudarsan came Prince Agnivarna, bright as flame. His son was Sighraga, for speed Unmatched; and Maru was his seed. Prasusruka was Maru's child; His son was Ambarisha styled. Nahush was Ambarisha's heir, The mighty lord of regions fair: Nahush begot Yayati: he, Nabhag of happy destiny. Son of Nabhag was Aja: his, The glorious Dasaratha is, Whose noble children boast to be Rama and Lakshman, whom we see. Thus do those kings of purest race Their lineage from Ikshvaku trace: Their hero lives the right maintained, Their lips with falsehood ne'er were stained. In Rama's and in Lakshman's name Thy daughters as their wives I claim, So shall in equal bands be tied Each peerless youth with peerless bride."

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

King Dasaratha, lofty-souled, That city guarded and controlled, With towering Sal trees belted round,(65) And many a grove and pleasure ground, As royal Indra, throned on high, Rules his fair city in the sky.(66) She seems a painted city, fair With chess-board line and even square.(67) And cool boughs shade the lovely lake Where weary men their thirst may slake. There gilded chariots gleam and shine, And stately piles the Gods enshrine. There gay sleek people ever throng To festival and dance and song. A mine is she of gems and sheen, The darling home of Fortune's Queen. With noblest sort of drink and meat, The fairest rice and golden wheat, And fragrant with the chaplet's scent With holy oil and incense blent. With many an elephant and steed, And wains for draught and cars for speed. With envoys sent by distant kings, And merchants with their precious things With banners o'er her roofs that play, And weapons that a hundred slay;(68) All warlike engines framed by man, And every class of artisan. A city rich beyond compare With bards and minstrels gathered there, And men and damsels who entrance The soul with play and song and dance. In every street is heard the lute, The drum, the tabret, and the flute, The Veda chanted soft and low, The ringing of the archer's bow; With bands of godlike heroes skilled In every warlike weapon, filled, And kept by warriors from the foe, As Nagas guard their home below.(69) There wisest Brahmans evermore The flame of worship feed, And versed in all the Vedas' lore, Their lives of virtue lead. Truthful and pure, they freely give; They keep each sense controlled, And in their holy fervour live Like the great saints of old.

The people, when the morn shone fair, Arose to find no Rama there. Then fear and numbing grief subdued The senses of the multitude. The woe-born tears were running fast As all around their eyes they cast, And sadly looked, but found no trace Of Rama, searching every place. Bereft of Rama good and wise, With drooping cheer and weeping eyes, Each woe-distracted sage gave vent To sorrow in his wild lament: "Woe worth the sleep that stole our sense With its beguiling influence, That now we look in vain for him Of the broad chest and stalwart limb! How could the strong-armed hero, thus Deceiving all, abandon us? His people so devoted see, Yet to the woods, a hermit, flee? How can he, wont our hearts to cheer, As a fond sire his children dear,-- How can the pride of Raghu's race Fly from us to some desert place! Here let us all for death prepare, Or on the last great journey fare;(320) Of Rama our dear lord bereft, What profit in our lives is left? Huge trunks of trees around us lie, With roots and branches sere and dry, Come let us set these logs on fire And throw our bodies on the pyre. What shall we speak? How can we say We followed Rama on his way, The mighty chief whose arm is strong, Who sweetly speaks, who thinks no wrong? Ayodhya's town with sorrow dumb, Without our lord will see us come, And hopeless misery will strike Elder, and child, and dame alike. Forth with that peerless chief we came, Whose mighty heart is aye the same: How, reft of him we love, shall we Returning dare that town to see?"

Great joy and happy fate are thine, O Lakshman, marked with each fair sign, Whose faithful footsteps follow still Thy brother in his hour of ill. And blest is Sita, nobly good, Who dwells with Rama in the wood. Ours is, alas, a doubtful fate Of Rama reft and desolate. My royal sire has gained the skies, In woods the high-souled hero lies; The state is wrecked and tempest-tossed, A vessel with her rudder lost. Yet none in secret thought has planned With hostile might to seize the land: Though forced in distant wilds to dwell, The hero's arm protects it well. Unguarded, with deserted wall, No elephant or steed in stall, My father's royal city shows Her portals open to her foes, Of bold protectors reft and bare, Defenceless in her dark despair: But still her foes the wish restrain, As men from poisoned cates refrain. I from this hour my nights will pass Couched on the earth or gathered grass, Eat only fruit and roots, and wear A coat of bark, and matted hair. I in the woods will pass, content, For him the term of banishment; So shall I still unbroken save The promise which the hero gave. While I remain for Rama there, Satrughna will my exile share, And Rama in his home again, With Lakshman, o'er Ayodhya reign, for him, to rule and guard the state, The twice-born men shall consecrate. O, may the Gods I serve incline To grant this earnest wish of mine! If when I bow before his feet And with all moving arts entreat, He still deny my prayer, Then with my brother will I live: He must, he must permission give, Roaming in forests there."

"Arise, my sister; cast away This numbing terror and dismay, And straight the impious hand declare That marred those features once so fair. For who his finger tip will lay On the black snake in childish play, And unattacked, with idle stroke His poison-laden fang provoke? Ill-fated fool, he little knows Death's noose around his neck he throws, Who rashly met thee, and a draught Of life-destroying poison quaffed. Strong, fierce as death, 'twas thine to choose Thy way at will, each shape to use; In power and might like one of us: What hand has maimed and marred thee thus? What God or fiend this deed has wrought, What bard or sage of lofty thought Was armed with power supremely great Thy form to mar and mutilate? In all the worlds not one I see Would dare a deed to anger me: Not Indra's self, the Thousand-eyed, Beneath whose hand fierce Paka(459) died. My life-destroying darts this day His guilty breath shall rend away, E'en as the thirsty wild swan drains Each milk-drop that the wave retains. Whose blood in foaming streams shall burst O'er the dry ground which lies athirst, When by my shafts transfixed and slain He falls upon the battle plain? From whose dead corpse shall birds of air The mangled flesh and sinews tear, And in their gory feast delight, When I have slain him in the fight? Not God or bard or wandering ghost, No giant of our mighty host Shall step between us, or avail To save the wretch when I assail. Collect each scattered sense, recall Thy troubled thoughts, and tell me all. What wretch attacked thee in the way, And quelled thee in victorious fray?"

He spoke, and ere his speech was done, His chariot glittering like the sun, Yoked and announced, by Dushan's care, With dappled steeds was ready there. High as a peak from Meru rent It burned with golden ornament: The pole of lazulite, of gold Were the bright wheels whereon it rolled. With gold and moonstone blazoned o'er, Fish, flowers, trees, rocks, the panels bore; Auspicious birds embossed thereon, And stars in costly emblem shone. O'er flashing swords his banner hung, And sweet bells, ever tinkling, swung. That mighty host with sword and shield And oar was ready for the field: And Khara saw, and Dushan cried, "Forth to the fight, ye giants, ride." Then banners waved, and shield and sword Flashed as the host obeyed its lord. From Janasthan they sallied out With eager speed, and din, and shout, Armed with the mace for close attacks, The bill, the spear, the battle-axe, Steel quoit and club that flashed afar, Huge bow and sword and scimitar, The dart to pierce, the bolt to strike, The murderous bludgeon, lance, and pike. So forth from Janasthan, intent On Khara's will, the monsters went. He saw their awful march: not far Behind the host he drove his car. Ware of his master's will, to speed The driver urged each gold-decked steed. Then forth the warrior's coursers sprang, And with tumultuous murmur rang Each distant quarter of the sky And realms that intermediate lie. High and more high within his breast His pride triumphant rose, While terrible as Death he pressed Onward to slay his foes, "More swiftly yet," as on they fled, He cried in thundering tones Loud as a cloud that overhead Hails down a flood of stones.

A guilty hope inflames thy breast His wife from Rama's home to wrest. Ah fool, the hope thou hast is vain; Thy dreams of bliss shall end in pain. If torn from all I love by thee My godlike lord no more I see, Soon will I die and end my woes, Nor live the captive of my foes. Ah fool, with blinded eyes to choose The evil and the good refuse! So the sick wretch with stubborn will Turns fondly to the cates that kill, And madly draws his lips away From medicine that would check decay. About thy neck securely wound The deadly coil of Fate is bound, And thou, O Ravan, dost not fear Although the hour of death is near. With death-doomed sight thine eyes behold The gleaming of the trees of gold,-- See dread Vaitarani, the flood That rolls a stream of foamy blood,-- See the dark wood by all abhorred-- Its every leaf a threatening sword. The tangled thickets thou shall tread Where thorns with iron points are spread. For never can thy days be long, Base plotter of this shame and wrong To Rama of the lofty soul: He dies who drinks the poisoned bowl. The coils of death around thee lie: They hold thee and thou canst not fly. Ah whither, tyrant, wouldst thou run The vengeance of my lord to shun? By his unaided arm alone Were twice seven thousand fiends o'erthrown: Yes, in the twinkling of an eye He forced thy mightiest fiends to die. And shall that lord of lion heart, Skilled in the bow and spear and dart, Spare thee, O fiend, in battle strife, The robber of his darling wife?"

Soon as he heard the high behest The driver of the chariot pressed Within the chambers of the king, His lord with praises honouring. And none of all the warders checked His entrance for their great respect Of him well known, in place so high, Still fain their king to gratify. He stood beside the royal chief, Unwitting of his deadly grief, And with sweet words began to sing The praises of his lord and king: "As, when the sun begins to rise, The sparkling sea delights our eyes, Wake, calm with gentle soul, and thus Give rapture, mighty King, to us. As Matali(279) this selfsame hour Sang lauds of old to Indra's power, When he the Titan hosts o'erthrew, So hymn I thee with praises due. The Vedas, with their kindred lore, Brahma their soul-born Lord adore, With all the doctrines of the wise, And bid him, as I bid thee, rise. As, with the moon, the Lord of Day Wakes with the splendour of his ray Prolific Earth, who neath him lies, So, mighty King, I bid thee rise. With blissful words, O Lord of men, Rise, radiant in thy form, as when The sun ascending darts his light From Meru's everlasting height. May Siva, Agni, Sun, and Moon Bestow on thee each choicest boon, Kuvera, Varuna, Indra bless Kakutstha's son with all success. Awake, the holy night is fled, The happy light abroad is spread; Awake, O best of kings, and share The glorious task that claims thy care. The holy sage Vasishtha waits, With all his Brahmans, at the gate. Give thy decree, without delay, To consecrate thy son today. As armies, by no captain led, As flocks that feed unshepherded, Such is the fortune of a state Without a king and desolate."

But King Sugriva's ear was dulled, By love and wine and languor lulled, Nor did the words that Angad spake The slumberer from his trance awake. But soon as Raghu's son came nigh The startled Vanars raised a cry, And strove to win his grace, while dread Each anxious heart disquieted. They saw, and, as they gathered round, Rose from the mighty throng a sound Like torrents when they downward dash, Or thunder with the lightning's flash. The shouting of the Vanars broke Sugriva's slumber, and he woke: Still with the wine his eyes were red, His neck with flowers was garlanded. Roused at the voice of Angad came Two Vanar lords of rank and fame; One Yaksha, one Prabhava hight,-- Wise counsellors of gain and right. They came and raised their voices high, And told that Raghu's son was nigh: "Two brothers steadfast in their truth, Each glorious in the bloom of youth, Worthy of rule, have left the skies, And clothed their forms in men's disguise. One at thy gates, in warlike hands Holding his mighty weapon, stands. His message is the charioteer That brings the eager envoy near, Urged onward by his bold intent, And by the hest of Rama sent." The gathered Vanars saw and fled, And raised aloud their cry of dread. Son of Queen Tara, Angad ran To parley with the godlike man. Still fiery-eyed with rage and hate Stands Lakshman at the city gate, And trembling Vanars scarce can fly Scathed by the lightning of his eye. "Go with thy son, thy kith and kin, The favour of the prince to win, And bow thy reverent head that so His fiery wrath may cease to glow. What righteous Rama bids thee, do, And to thy plighted word be true."

Then while the dust upon him hung, The monarch to Kausalya clung, And she with mournful steps and slow Turned to the palace, worn with woe. As one whose hand has touched the fire, Or slain a Brahman in his ire, He felt his heart with sorrow torn Still thinking of his son forlorn. Each step was torture, as the road The traces of the chariot showed, And as the shadowed sun grows dim So care and anguish darkened him. He raised a cry, by woe distraught, As of his son again he thought. And judging that the car had sped Beyond the city, thus he said: "I still behold the foot-prints made By the good horses that conveyed My son afar: these marks I see, But high-souled Rama, where is he? Ah me, my son! my first and best, On pleasant couches wont to rest, With limbs perfumed with sandal, fanned By many a beauty's tender hand: Where will he lie with log or stone Beneath him for a pillow thrown, To leave at morn his earthy bed, Neglected, and with dust o'erspread, As from the flood with sigh and pant Comes forth the husband elephant? The men who make the woods their home Shall see the long-armed hero roam Roused from his bed, though lord of all, In semblance of a friendless thrall. Janak's dear child who ne'er has met With aught save joy and comfort yet, Will reach to-day the forest, worn And wearied with the brakes of thorn. Ah, gentle girl, of woods unskilled, How will her heart with dread be filled At the wild beasts' deep roaring there, Whose voices lift the shuddering hair! Kaikeyi, glory in thy gain, And, widow queen, begin to reign: No will, no power to live have I When my brave son no more is nigh."

To him the king high honour showed, And store of wealth and gifts bestowed, The choicest elephants to ride, And skins and blankets deftly dyed, A thousand strings of golden beads, And sixteen hundred mettled steeds: And boundless wealth before him piled Gave Kekaya to Kaikeyi's child. And men of counsel, good and tried, On whose firm truth he aye relied, King Asvapati gave with speed Prince Bharat on his way to lead. And noble elephants, strong and young, From sires of Indrasira sprung, And others tall and fair to view Of great Airavat's lineage true: And well yoked asses fleet of limb The prince his uncle gave to him. And dogs within the palace bred, Of body vast and massive head, With mighty fangs for battle, brave, The tiger's match in strength, he gave. Yet Bharat's bosom hardly glowed To see the wealth the king bestowed; For he would speed that hour away, Such care upon his bosom lay: Those eager envoys urged him thence, And that sad vision's influence. He left his court-yard, crowded then With elephants and steeds and men, And, peerless in immortal fame, To the great royal street he came. He saw, as farther still he went, The inner rooms most excellent, And passed the doors, to him unclosed, Where check nor bar his way oppossd. There Bharat stayed to bid adieu To grandsire and to uncle too, Then, with Satrughna by his side, Mounting his car, away he hied. The strong-wheeled cars were yoked, and they More than a hundred, rolled away: Servants, with horses, asses, kine, Followed their lord in endless line. So, guarded by his own right hand, Forth high-souled Bharat hied, Surrounded by a lordly band On whom the king relied. Beside him sat Satrughna dear, The scourge of trembling foes: Thus from the light of Indra's sphere A saint made perfect goes.