Ramayana on Anger

Far be the ape, the scorpion's sting, Fly, gnat, and worm, and creeping thing. Thee shall the hungry lion spare, The tiger, elephant, and bear: Safe, from their furious might repose, Safe from the horned buffaloes. Each savage thing the forests breed, That love on human flesh to feed, Shall for my child its rage abate, When thus its wrath I deprecate. Blest be thy ways: may sweet success The valour of my darling bless. To all that Fortune can bestow, Go forth, my child, my Rama, go. Go forth, O happy in the love Of all the Gods below, above; And in those guardian powers confide Thy paths who keep, thy steps who guide. May Sukra,(297) Yama, Sun, and Moon, And He who gives each golden boon,(298) Won by mine earnest prayers, be good To thee, my son, in Dandak wood. Fire, wind, and smoke, each text and spell From mouths of holy seers that fell, Guard Rama when his limbs he dips, Or with the stream makes pure his lips! May the great saints and He, the Lord Who made the worlds, by worlds adored, And every God in heaven beside My banished Rama keep and guide."

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

Then forth the giant's fury broke As Surpanakha harshly spoke. Girt by his lords the demon king Looked on her, fiercely questioning:

Then, brandishing the mace he bore, Whose horrid spikes were stained with gore, While fury made his eyeballs red, Impetuous Vajradanshtra said:

When his wild form, that struck with awe, Fearful as ravening flame, they saw, Vasishtha and the saints whose care Was sacrifice and muttered prayer, Drew close together, each to each, And questioned thus with bated speech: "Indignant at his father's fate Will he on warriors vent his hate, The slayers of his father slay, And sweep the loathed race away? But when of old his fury raged Seas of their blood his wrath assuaged: So doubtless now he has not planned To slay all warriors in the land."

As thus the aged sire complained The mighty chief no answer deigned. To Rama only thus he cried: "Two bows, the Heavenly Artist's pride, Celestial, peerless, vast, and strong, By all the worlds were honoured long. One to the Three-eyed God(256) was given, By glory to the conflict driven, Thus armed fierce Tripura he slew: And then by thee 'twas burst in two. The second bow, which few may brave, The highest Gods to Vishnu gave. This bow I hold; before it fall The foeman's fenced tower and wall. Then prayed the Gods the Sire Most High By some unerring proof to try Were praise for might Lord Vishnu's due, Or his whose Neck is stained with Blue.(257) The mighty Sire their wishes knew, And he whose lips are ever true Caused the two Gods to meet as foes. Then fierce the rage of battle rose: Bristled in dread each starting hair As Siva strove with Vishnu there. But Vishnu raised his voice amain. And Siva's bowstring twanged in vain; Its master of the Three bright Eyes Stood fixt in fury and surprise. Then all the dwellers in the sky, Minstrel, and saint, and God drew nigh, And prayed them that the strife might cease, And the great rivals met in peace. 'Twas seen how Siva's bow has failed Unnerved, when Vishnu's might assailed, And Gods and heavenly sages thence To Vishnu gave preeminence. Then glorious Siva in his rage Gave it to Devarat the sage Who ruled Videha's fertile land, To pass it down from hand to hand. But this my bow, whose shafts smite down The foeman's fenced tower and town, To great Richika Vishnu lent To be a pledge and ornament, Then Jamadagni, Brahman dread, My sire, the bow inherited. But Arjun stooped to treachery vile And slew my noble sire by guile, Whose penance awful strength had gained, Whose hand the God-given bow retained. I heard indignant how he fell By mournful fate, too sad to tell. My vengeful fury since that time Scourges all Warriors for the crime. As generations spring to life I war them down in endless strife.

He heard, and thus his answer made: "O, be not troubled, nor afraid, But trust, and thou shalt know ere long My love has done thee, sweet, no wrong, So strong and brave and wise shall be The glorious child I give to thee. Might shall be his that naught can tire, And limbs to spring as springs his sire." Thus spoke the God; the conquered dame Rejoiced in heart nor feared the shame. Down in a cave beneath the earth The happy mother gave thee birth. Once o'er the summit of the wood Before thine eyes the new sun stood. Thou sprangest up in haste to seize What seemed the fruitage of the trees. Up leapt the child, a wondrous bound, Three hundred leagues above the ground, And, though the angered Day-God shot His fierce beams on him, feared him not. Then from the hand of Indra came A red bolt winged with wrath and flame. The child fell smitten on a rock, His cheek was shattered by the shock, Named Hanuman(783) thenceforth by all In memory of the fearful fall. The wandering Wind-God saw thee lie With bleeding cheek and drooping eye, And stirred to anger by thy woe Forbade each scented breeze to blow. The breath of all the worlds was stilled, And the sad Gods with terror filled Prayed to the Wind, to calm the ire And soothe the sorrow of the sire. His fiery wrath no longer glowed, And Brahma's self the boon bestowed That in the brunt of battle none Should slay with steel the Wind-God's son. Lord Indra, sovereign of the skies, Bent on thee all his thousand eyes, And swore that ne'er the bolt which he Hurls from the heaven should injure thee. 'Tis thine, O mighty chief, to share The Wind-God's power, his son and heir. Sprung from that glorious father thou, And thou alone, canst aid us now. This earth of yore, through all her climes, I circled one-and-twenty times, And gathered, as the Gods decreed, Great store of herbs from hill and mead, Which, scattered o'er the troubled wave, The Amrit to the toilers gave.

Still Ravan for the battle burned: At Lakshman next his car he turned, And charged amain with furious show, Straining in mighty hands his bow. "Come," Lakshman cried, "assay the fight: Leave foes unworthy of thy might." Thus Lakshman spoke: and Lanka's lord Heard the dread thunder of the cord. And mad with burning rage and pride In hasty words like these replied: "Joy, joy is mine, O Raghu's son: Thy fate to-day thou canst not shun. Slain by mine arrows thou shalt tread The gloomy pathway of the dead."

Ravan the giants' royal chief. Received Akampan's tale of grief. Then, panting like an angry snake, These words in turn the monarch spake:

Burning with anger, in the ring Of counsellors who girt their king, To Ravan, ravener of man, With bitter words she thus began:

Thus by the giant king addressed, While burnt her fury unrepressed, The giantess declared at length The hero's form and deeds and strength:

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

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

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

Prince Angad heard and wild with grief Cried as he looked upon the chief: "'Tis Lakshman's self: impelled by ire He seeks the city of my sire." At the fierce words and furious look Of Raghu's son he quailed and shook. Back through the city gates he sped, And, laden with the tale of dread, Sought King Sugriva, filled his ears And Ruma's with his doubts and fears. To Ruma and the king he bent, And clasped their feet most reverent, Clasped the dear feet of Tara, too, And told the startling tale anew.

When Khara saw his sister lie With blood-stained limbs and troubled eye, Wild fury in his bosom woke, And thus the monstrous giant spoke;

Fierce anger, as the monarch heard, Inflamed his look, his bosom stirred, And while with scorching glance he eyed The messenger, he thus replied:

When Jambumali's death he heard, King Ravan's heart with rage was stirred And forth his general's sons he sent, For power and might preeminent.

But sage Vibhishan strove to calm The chieftains' fury; palm to palm He joined in lowly reverence, pressed(915) Before them, and the throng addressed:

But Mahaparsva saw the sting Of keen reproach had galled the king; And humbly, eager to appease His anger, spoke in words like these:

"What fool has dared, already dead, Strike Janasthan, the general dread? Who is the wretch shall vainly try In earth, heaven, hell, from me to fly? Vaisravan,(481) Indra, Vishnu, He Who rules the dead, must reverence me; For not the mightiest lord of these Can brave my will and live at ease. Fate finds in me a mightier fate To burn the fires that devastate. With unresisted influence I Can force e'en Death himself to die, With all-surpassing might restrain The fury of the hurricane, And burn in my tremendous ire The glory of the sun and fire."

Sugriva started from his rest With doubt and terror in his breast. He heard the prince's furious tread He saw his eyes glow fiercely red. Swift sprang the monarch to his feet Upstarting from his golden seat. Rose Ruma and her fellows, too, And closely round Sugriva drew, As round the moon's full glory stand Attendant stars in glittering band. Sugriva glanced with reddened eyes, Raised his joined hands in suppliant guise Flew to the door, and rooted there Stood like the tree that grants each prayer.(638) And Lakshman saw, and, fiercely moved, With angry speech the king reproved:

When Rama, pride of Raghu's race, Virtue's dear son, had cleft the mace, Thus with superior smile the best Of chiefs the furious fiend addressed:

Such were the words the giant said, And Sita's angry eyes were red. She answered in that lonely place The monarch of the giant race:

He ceased: the prudent counsel pleased The monarch, and his wrath appeased; Then to his council hall in haste The giant lord his steps retraced.

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

The hero saw: his anger grew To fury: from his side he drew Fresh sunbright arrows pointed keen, In number, like his foes, fourteen. His bow he grasped, the string he drew, And gazing on the giant crew, As Indra casts the levin, so Shot forth his arrows at the foe. The hurtling arrows, stained with gore, Through the fiends' breasts a passage tore, And in the earth lay buried deep As serpents through an ant-hill creep Like trees uptorn by stormy blast The shattered fiends to earth were cast, And there with mangled bodies they, Bathed in their blood and breathless, lay.

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

They heard his speech with ready ear And, every bosom filled with fear Of Visvamitra, wise and great, Spoke each to each in brief debate: "The breast of Kusik's son, we know, With furious wrath is quick to glow. Whate'er the words he wills to say, We must, be very sure, obey. Fierce is our lord as fire, and straight May curse us all infuriate. So let us in these rites engage, As ordered by the holy sage. And with our best endeavour strive That King Ikshvaku's son, alive, In body to the skies may go By his great might who wills it so."

Thus like an elephant forced to brook The goading of the driver's hook, Quick panting like a serpent maimed, He fell to earth with rage inflamed.

Thus in his anguish cried the chief: Then drowned in tears, o'erwhelmed by grief, Thus Lakshman in his anger spake, Quick panting like a spell-bound snake:

Roused by the taunting words she spoke, The mighty Khara's wrath awoke, And there, while giants girt him round, In these fierce words an utterance found:

When Khara knew the fate of all The giant band and Dushan's fall, He called the mighty chiefs who led His army, and in fury said:

Deaf to her prayer, no step he stirred Obedient to his mother's word, Then Janak's child, with ire inflamed, In words of bitter scorn exclaimed exclaimed

King Dasaratha, thus addressed, With anger raging in his breast, Sank for a while beneath the pain, Then to Kaikeyi spoke again: "Childless so long, at length I won, With mighty toil, from Heaven a son, Rama, the mighty-armed; and how Shall I desert my darling now? A scholar wise, a hero bold, Of patient mood, with wrath controlled, How can I bid my Rama fly, My darling of the lotus eye? In heaven itself I scarce could bear, When asking of my Rama there, To hear the Gods his griefs declare, And O, that death would take me hence Before I wrong his innocence!"

Thus Tara with the starry eyes(581) Her counsel gave with burning sighs. But Bali, by her prayers unmoved, Spurned her advice, and thus reproved: "How may this insult, scathe, and scorn By me, dear love, be tamely born? My brother, yea my foe, comes nigh And dares me forth with shout and cry. Learn, trembler! that the valiant, they Who yield no step in battle fray, Will die a thousand deaths but ne'er An unavenged dishonour bear. Nor, O my love, be thou dismayed Though Rama lend Sugriva aid, For one so pure and duteous, one Who loves the right, all sin will shun, Release me from thy soft embrace, And with thy dames thy steps retrace: Enough already, O mine own, Of love and sweet devotion shown. Drive all thy fear and doubt away; I seek Sugriva in the fray His boisterous rage and pride to still, And tame the foe I would not kill. My fury, armed with brandished trees, Shall strike Sugriva to his knees: Nor shall the humbled foe withstand The blows of my avenging hand, When, nerved by rage and pride, I beat The traitor down beneath my feet. Thou, love, hast lent thine own sweet aid, And all thy tender care displayed; Now by my life, by these who yearn To serve thee well, I pray thee turn. But for a while, dear dame, I go To come triumphant o'er the foe."

Then Khara, by his sister pressed, Inflamed with fury, gave his hest To twice seven giants of his crew, Fierce as the God of death to view:

Loud as the angry ocean's roar When wild waves lash the rocky shore, Ten thousand thousand throats upsent A shout that tore the firmament, And Lanka with each grove and brook And tower and wall and rampart shook. The giants heard, and were appalled: Then Raghu's son to Angad called, And, led by kingly duty,(950) gave This order merciful as brave: "Go, Angad, Ravan's presence seek, And thus my words of warning speak: "How art thou changed and fallen now, O Monarch of the giants, thou Whose impious fury would not spare Saint, nymph, or spirit of the air; Whose foot in haughty triumph trod On Yaksha, king, and Serpent God: How art thou fallen from thy pride Which Brahma's favour fortified! With myriads at thy Lanka's gate I stand my righteous ire to sate, And punish thee with sword and flame, The tyrant fiend who stole my dame. Now show the might, employ the guile, O Monarch of the giants' isle, Which stole a helpless dame away: Call up thy power and strength to-day. Once more I warn thee, Rakshas King, This hour the Maithil lady bring, And, yielding while there yet is time, Seek, suppliant, pardon for the crime, Or I will leave beneath the sun No living Rakshas, no, not one. In vain from battle wilt thou fly, Or borne on pinions seek the sky; The hand of Rama shall not spare; His fiery shaft shall smite thee there.' "

He heard the answer they returned, And mighty rage within him burned. On each fair maid a blast he sent: Each stately form he bowed and bent. Bent double by the Wind-God's ire They sought the palace of their sire, There fell upon the ground with sighs, While tears and shame were in their eyes. The king himself, with troubled brow, Saw his dear girls so fair but now, A mournful sight all bent and bowed, And grieving thus he cried aloud: "What fate is this, and what the cause? What wretch has scorned all heavenly laws? Who thus your forms could curve and break? You struggle, but no answer make."

I mourned, by doubt and fear distressed, And greater horror seized my breast When from the cavern rolled a flood, A carnage stream of froth and blood; And from the depths a sound of fear, The roar of demons, smote mine ear; But never rang my brother's shout Triumphant in the battle rout. I closed the cavern with a block, Huge as a hill, of shattered rock. Gave offerings due to Bali's shade, And sought Kishkindha, sore dismayed. Long time with anxious care I tried From Bali's lords his fate to hide, But they, when once the tale was known, Placed me as king on Bali's throne. There for a while I justly reigned And all with equal care ordained, When joyous from the demon slain My brother Bali came again. He found me ruling in his stead, And, fired with rage, his eyes grew red. He slew the lords who made me king, And spoke keen words to taunt and sting. The kingly rank and power I held My brother's rage with ease had quelled, But still, restrained by old respect For claims of birth, the thought I checked. Thus having struck the demon down Came Bali to his royal town. With meek respect, with humble speech, His haughty heart I strove to reach. But all my arts were tried in vain, No gentle word his lips would deign, Though to the ground I bent and set His feet upon my coronet: Still Bali in his rage and pride All signs of grace and love denied."

Thus Rama spoke, and Lakshman then Made answer to the prince of men: "Yea, if the Vanar, undeterred By fear of vengeance, break his word, Loss of his royal power ere long Shall pay the traitor for the wrong. Nor deem I him so void of sense To brave the bitter consequence. But if enslaved to joy he lie, And scorn thy grace with blinded eye, Then let him join his brother slain: Unmeet were such a wretch to reign. Quick rises, kindling in my breast, The wrath that will not be repressed, And bids me in my fury slay The breaker of his faith to-day. Let Bali's son thy consort trace With bravest chiefs of Vanar race."

The wild wind ceased, yet, raised on high, Dark clouds of dust involved the sky. In doleful twitter long sustained The restless Sarikas(462) complained, And from the heavens with flash and flame Terrific meteors roaring came. Earth to her deep foundation shook With rock and tree and plain and brook, As Khara with triumphant shout, Borne in his chariot, sallied out. His left arm throbbed: he knew full well That omen, and his visage fell. Each awful sign the giant viewed, And sudden tears his eye bedewed. Care on his brow sat chill and black, Yet mad with wrath he turned not back. Upon each fearful sight that raised The shuddering hair the chieftain gazed, And laughing in his senseless pride Thus to his giant legions cried: "By sense of mightiest strength upborne, These feeble signs I laugh to scorn. I could bring down the stars that shine In heaven with these keen shafts of mine. Impelled by warlike fury I Could cause e'en Death himself to die. I will not seek my home again Until my pointed shafts have slain This Raghu's son so fierce in pride, And Lakshman by his brother's side. And she, my sister, she for whom These sons of Raghu meet their doom, She with delighted lips shall drain The lifeblood of her foemen slain. Fear not for me: I ne'er have known Defeat, in battle overthrown. Fear not for me, O giants; true Are the proud words I speak to you. The king of Gods who rules on high, If wild Airavat bore him nigh, Should fall before me bolt in hand: And shall these two my wrath withstand!"

The plain with bleeding limbs was spread, And heaps of dying and of dead. His mighty bow still Rama strained, And shafts upon the giants rained. Still Angad and Sugriva, wrought To fury, for the Vanars fought. Crushed with huge rocks through chest and side Mahodar, Mahaparsva died, And Virupaksha stained with gore Dropped on the plain to rise no more. When Ravan saw the three o'erthrown He cried aloud in furious tone: "Urge, urge the car, my charioteer, The haughty Vanars' death is near. This very day shall end our griefs For leaguered town and slaughtered chiefs. Rama the tree whose lovely fruit Is Sita, shall this arm uproot,-- Whose branches with protecting shade Are Vanar lords who lend him aid."

Reflecting thus, his tail ablaze As through the cloud red lightning plays, He scaled the palaces and spread The conflagration where he sped. From house to house he hurried on, And the wild flames behind him shone. Each mansion of the foe he scaled, And furious fire its roof assailed Till all the common ruin shared: Vibhishan's house alone was spared. From blazing pile to pile he sprang, And loud his shout of triumph rang, As roars the doomsday cloud when all The worlds in dissolution fall. The friendly wind conspired to fan The hungry flames that leapt and ran, And spreading in their fury caught The gilded walls with pearls inwrought, Till each proud palace reeled and fell As falls a heavenly citadel.

There from the circling rampart's height He gazed upon the wondrous sight; Broad gates with burnished gold displayed, And courts with turkises inlaid; With gleaming silver, gems, and rows Of crystal stairs and porticoes. In semblance of a Rakshas dame The city's guardian Goddess came,-- For she with glances sure and keen The entrance of a foe had seen,-- And thus with fury in her eye Addressed him with an angry cry: "Who art thou? what has led thee, say, Within these walls to find thy way? Thou mayst not enter here in spite Of Ravan and his warriors' might." "And who art thou?" the Vanar cried, By form and frown unterrified, "Why hast thou met me by the gate, And chid me thus infuriate?"

This said, the son of Raghu pressed His foot upon the giant's breast. With joy the prostrate monster heard Victorious Rama's welcome word, And straight Kakutstha's son, the best Of men, in words like these addressed: "I yield, O chieftain, overthrown By might that vies with Indra's own. Till now my folly-blinded eyes Thee, hero, failed to recognize. Happy Kausalya! blest to be The mother of a son like thee! I know thee well, O chieftain, now: Rama, the prince of men, art thou. There stands the high-born Maithil dame, There Lakshman, lord of mighty fame. My name was Tumburu,(408) for song Renowned among the minstrel throng: Cursed by Kuvera's stern decree I wear the hideous shape you see. But when I sued, his grace to crave, The glorious God this answer gave: "When Rama, Dasaratha's son, Destroys thee and the fight is won, Thy proper shape once more assume, And heaven again shall give thee room." When thus the angry God replied, No prayers could turn his wrath aside, And thus on me his fury fell For loving Rambha's(409) charms too well. Now through thy favour am I freed From the stern fate the God decreed, And saved, O tamer of the foe, By thee, to heaven again shall go. A league, O Prince, beyond this spot Stands holy Sarabhanga's cot: The very sun is not more bright Than that most glorious anchorite: To him, O Rama, quickly turn, And blessings from the hermit earn. First under earth my body throw, Then on thy way rejoicing go. Such is the law ordained of old For giants when their days are told: Their bodies laid in earth, they rise To homes eternal in the skies."

She lowed, and quickened into life, Pahlavas,(226) burning for the strife, King Visvamitra's army slew Before the very leader's view. The monarch in excessive ire, His eyes with fury darting fire, Rained every missile on the foe Till all the Pahlavas were low. She, seeing all her champions slain, Lying by thousands on the plain. Created, by her mere desire, Yavans and Sakas, fierce and dire. And all the ground was overspread With Yavans and with Sakas dread: A host of warriors bright and strong, And numberless in closest throng: The threads within the lotus stem, So densely packed, might equal them. In gold-hued mail 'against war's attacks, Each bore a sword and battle-axe, The royal host, where'er these came, Fell as if burnt with ravening flame.

The giant bent his bow, and true To Rama's brow three arrows flew. Then, raging as he felt the stroke, These words in anger Rama spoke: "Heroic chief! is such the power Of fiends who rove at midnight hour? Soft as the touch of flowers I feel The gentle blows thine arrows deal. Receive in turn my shafts, and know What arrows fly from Rama's bow." Thus as he spoke his wrath grew hot, And twice seven deadly shafts he shot, Which, dire as serpent's deadly fang, Straight to the giant's bosom sprang. Four arrows more,--each shaped to deal A mortal wound with barbed steel,-- The glorious hero shot, and slew The four good steeds the car that drew. Eight other shafts flew straight and fleet, And hurled the driver from his seat, And in the dust the banner laid That proudly o'er the chariot played. Then as the fiend prepared to bound Forth from his useless car to ground, The hero smote him to the heart, And numbed his arm with deadly smart. Again the chieftain, peerless-souled, Sent forth three rapid darts, and rolled With each keen arrow, deftly sped, Low in the dust a monstrous head. Then yielding to each deadly stroke, Forth spouting streams of blood and smoke, The headless trunk bedrenched with gore Fell to the ground and moved no more. The fiends who yet were left with life, Routed and crushed in battle strife, To Khara's side, like trembling deer Scared by the hunter, fled in fear. King Khara saw with furious eye His scattered giants turn and fly; Then rallying his broken train At Raghu's son he drove amain, Like Rahu(472) when his deadly might Comes rushing on the Lord of Night.

He spoke, and raised the cord whereon A pointed arrow flashed and shone, Then, wild with anger, from his bow, He launched the weapon on the foe. Seven times the fatal cord he drew, And forth seven rapid arrows flew, Shafts winged with gold that left the wind And e'en Suparna's(406) self behind. Full on the giant's breast they smote, And purpled like the peacock's throat, Passed through his mighty bulk and came To earth again like flakes of flame. The fiend the Maithil dame unclasped; In his fierce hand his spear he grasped, And wild with rage, pierced through and through, At Rama and his brother flew. So loud the roar which chilled with fear, So massy was the monster's spear, He seemed, like Indra's flagstaff, dread As the dark God who rules the dead. On huge Viradha fierce as He(407) Who smites, and worlds have ceased to be, The princely brothers poured amain Their fiery flood of arrowy rain. Unmoved he stood, and opening wide His dire mouth laughed unterrified, And ever as the monster gaped Those arrows from his jaws escaped. Preserving still his life unharmed, By Brahma's saving promise charmed, His mighty spear aloft in air He raised, and rushed upon the pair. From Rama's bow two arrows flew And cleft that massive spear in two, Dire as the flaming levin sent From out the cloudy firmament. Cut by the shafts he guided well To earth the giant's weapon fell: As when from Meru's summit, riven By fiery bolts, a rock is driven. Then swift his sword each warrior drew, Like a dread serpent black of hue, And gathering fury for the blow Rushed fiercely on the giant foe. Around each prince an arm he cast, And held the dauntless heroes fast: Then, though his gashes gaped and bled, Bearing the twain he turned and fled.

Vasishtha's children heard, and guessed His evil purpose scarce expressed, And cried, while rage their bosoms burned, "Be to a vile Chandala(236) turned!" This said, with lofty thoughts inspired, Each to his own retreat retired.

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.

Thus with terrific threats to her Spake Ravan, cruel ravener. Mad with the rage her answer woke He called the fiendish train and spoke: "Take her, ye Rakshas dames, who fright With hideous form and mien the sight, Who make the flesh of men your food,-- And let her pride be soon subdued." He spoke, and at his word the band Of fiendish monsters raised each hand In reverence to the giant king, And pressed round Sita in a ring. Ravan once more with stern behest To those she-fiends his speech addressed: Shaking the earth beneath his tread, He stamped his furious foot and said: "To the Asoka garden bear The dame, and guard her safely there Until her stubborn pride be bent By mingled threat and blandishment. See that ye watch her well, and tame, Like some she-elephant, the dame."

Take then the respite of a night And yield thee to each soft delight. Then, monarch of the Vanar race With loving arms thy friends embrace. Gifts on thy faithful lords bestow, Bid each and all farewell, and go. Show in the streets once more thy face, Install thy son to fill thy place. Dally a while with each dear dame; And then my strength thy pride shall tame For, should I smite thee drunk with wine Enamoured of those dames of thine, Beneath diseases bowed and bent, Or weak, unarmed, or negligent, My deed would merit hate and scorn As his who slays the child unborn." Then Bali's soul with rage was fired, Queen Tara and the dames retired; And slowly, with a laugh of pride, The king of Vanars thus replied: "Me, fiend, thou deemest drunk with wine: Unless thy fear the fight decline, Come, meet me in the fray, and test The spirit of my valiant breast." He spoke in wrath and high disdain; And, laying down his golden chain, Gift of his sire Mahendra, dared The demon, for the fray prepared; Seized by the horns the monster, vast As a huge hill, and held him fast, Then fiercely dragged him round and round, And, shouting, hurled him to the ground. Blood streaming from his ears, he rose, And wild with fury strove the foes. Then Bali, match for Indra's might, With every arm renewed the fight. He fought with fists, and feet, and knees, With fragments of the rock, and trees. At last the monster's strength, assailed By Sakra's(572) conquering offspring, failed. Him Bali raised with mighty strain And dashed upon the ground again; Where, bruised and shattered, in a tide Of rushing blood, the demon died. King Bali saw the lifeless corse, And bending, with tremendous force Raised the huge bulk from where it lay, And hurled it full a league away.

He ceased: and Hanuman of all The Vanars in the council hall In wisdom first, and rank, expressed The thoughts that filled his prudent breast: "No marvel thou rememberest yet The service thou shouldst ne'er forget, How the brave prince of Raghu's seed Thy days from fear and peril freed; And Bali for thy sake o'erthrew, Whom Indra's self might scarce subdue. I doubt not Rama's anger burns For the scant love thy heart returns. For this he sends his brother, him Whose glory never waxes dim. Sunk in repose thy careless eye Marks not the seasons as they fly, Nor sees that autumn has begun With dark blooms opening to the sun. Clear is the sky: no cloudlet mars The splendour of the shining stars. The balmy air is soft and still, And clear and bright are lake and rill. Thou heedest not with blinded eyes The hour for warlike enterprise. Hence Lakshman hither comes to break Thy slothful trance and bid thee wake. Then, Monarch, with a patient ear The high-souled Rama's message hear, Which, reft of wife and realm and friends, Thus by another's mouth he sends. Thou, Vanar King, hast done amiss: And now I see no way but this: Before his envoy humbly stand And sue for peace with suppliant hand. High duty bids a courtier seek His master's weal, and freely speak. So by no thought of fear controlled My speech, O King, is free and bold, For Rama, if his anger glow, Can, with the terrors of his bow This earth with all the Gods subdue, Gandharvas,(635) and the demon crew. Unwise to stir his wrathful mood Whose favour must again be wooed. And, most of all, unwise for one Grateful like thee for service done. Go with thy son and kinsmen: bend Thy humble head and greet thy friend. And, like a fond obedient spouse, Be faithful to thy plighted vows."

Fierce flashed the flame from Ravan's eye, As thus in wrath he made reply: "Fair time, I ween, for sleep is this, To lull thy soul in tranquil bliss, Unheeding, in oblivion drowned, The dangers that our lives surround. Brave Rama, Dasaratha's son, A passage o'er the sea has won, And, with the Vanar monarch's aid, Round Lanka's walls his hosts arrayed. Though never in the deadly field My Rakshas troops were known to yield, The bravest of the giant train Have fallen by the Vanars slain. Hence comes my fear. O fierce and brave, Go forth, our threatened Lanka save. Go forth, a dreadful vengeance take: For this, O chief, I bade thee wake. The Gods and trembling fiends have felt The furious blows thine arm has dealt. Earth has no warrior, heaven has none To match thy might, Paulastya's son."

"Now, Lord of Gods!" she whispered, "flee, From Gautam save thyself and me." Trembling with doubt and wild with dread Lord Indra from the cottage fled; But fleeing in the grove he met The home-returning anchoret, Whose wrath the Gods and fiends would shun, Such power his fervent rites had won. Fresh from the lustral flood he came, In splendour like the burning flame, With fuel for his sacred rites, And grass, the best of eremites. The Lord of Gods was sad of cheer To see the mighty saint so near, And when the holy hermit spied In hermit's garb the Thousand-eyed, He knew the whole, his fury broke Forth on the sinner as he spoke: "Because my form thou hast assumed, And wrought this folly, thou art doomed, For this my curse to thee shall cling, Henceforth a sad and sexless thing."

He stood upon the lofty crest That crowns the Lord of Snow, And bade the river of the Blest Descend on earth below. Himalaya's child, adored of all, The haughty mandate heard, And her proud bosom, at the call, With furious wrath was stirred. Down from her channel in the skies With awful might she sped With a giant's rush, in a giant's size, On Siva's holy head. "He calls me," in her wrath she cried, "And all my flood shall sweep And whirl him in its whelming tide To hell's profoundest deep." He held the river on his head, And kept her wandering, where, Dense as Himalaya's woods, were spread The tangles of his hair. No way to earth she found, ashamed, Though long and sore she strove, Condemned, until her pride were tamed, Amid his locks to rove. There, many lengthening seasons through, The wildered river ran: Bhagirath saw it, and anew His penance dire began. Then Siva, for the hermit's sake, Bade her long wanderings end, And sinking into Vindu's lake Her weary waves descend. From Ganga, by the God set free, Seven noble rivers came; Hladini, Pavani, and she Called Nalini by name: These rolled their lucid waves along And sought the eastern side. Suchakshu, Sita fair and strong, And Sindhu's mighty tide--(199) These to the region of the west With joyful waters sped: The seventh, the brightest and the best, Flowed where Bhagirath led. On Siva's head descending first A rest the torrents found: Then down in all their might they burst And roared along the ground. On countless glittering scales the beam Of rosy morning flashed, Where fish and dolphins through the stream Fallen and falling dashed. Then bards who chant celestial lays And nymphs of heavenly birth Flocked round upon that flood to gaze That streamed from sky to earth. The Gods themselves from every sphere, Incomparably bright, Borne in their golden cars drew near To see the wondrous sight.

Thus from their flight the Vanars turned, And every heart for battle burned, Determined on the spot to die Or gain a warrior's meed on high. Again the Vanars stooped to seize Their weapons, rocks and fallen trees; Again the deadly fight began, And fiercely at the giant ran. Unmoved the monster kept his place: He raised on high his awful mace, Whirled the huge weapon round his head And laid the foremost Vanars dead. Eight thousand fell bedewed with gore, Then sank and died seven hundred more. Then thirty, twenty, ten, or eight At each fierce onset met their fate, And fast the fallen were devoured Like snakes by Garud's beak o'erpowered. Then Dwivid from the Vanar van, Armed with an uptorn mountain, ran, Like a huge cloud when fierce winds blow, And charged amain the mountain foe. With wondrous force the hill he threw: O'er Kumbhakarna's head it flew, And falling on his host afar Crushed many a giant, steed, and car. Rocks, trees, by fierce Hanuman sped, Rained fast on Kumbhakarna's head. Whose spear each deadlier missile stopped, And harmless on the plain it dropped. Then with his furious eyes aglow The giant rushed upon the foe, Where, with a woody hill upheaved, Hanuman's might his charge received. Through his vast frame the giant felt The angry blow Hanuman dealt. He reeled a moment, sore distressed, Then smote the Vanar on the breast, As when the War-God's furious stroke Through Krauncha's hill a passage broke.(977) Fierce was the blow, and deep and wide The rent: with crimson torrents dyed, Hanuman, maddened by the pain, Roared like a cloud that brings the rain, And from each Rakshas throat rang out Loud clamour and exultant shout. Then Nila hurled with mustered might The fragment of a mountain height; Nor would the rock the foe have missed, But Kumbhakarna raised his fist And smote so fiercely that the mass Fell crushed to powder on the grass.

Then, by his grief to frenzy wrought, The captive in the grove he sought. Swift through the shady path he sped: Earth trembled at his furious tread. Fierce were his eyes: his monstrous hand Held drawn for death his glittering brand. There weeping stood the Maithil dame: She shuddered as the giant came. Near drew the rover of the night And raised his sword in act to smite; But, by his nobler heart impelled, One Rakshas lord his arm withheld: "Wilt thou, great Monarch," thus he cried, "Wilt thou, to heavenly Gods allied, Blot for all time thy glorious fame, The slayer of a gentle dame? What! shall a woman's blood be spilt To stain thee with eternal guilt, Thee deep in all the Veda's lore? Far be the thought for evermore. Ah look, and let her lovely face This fury from thy bosom chase."

Impelled by furious anger, he Spoiled Nandan's(486) shade and Nalini, And Chaitraratha's heavenly grove, The haunts where Gods delight to rove. Tall as a hill that cleaves the sky, He raised his mighty arms on high To check the blessed moon, and stay The rising of the Lord of Day. Ten thousand years the giant spent On dire austerities intent, And of his heads an offering, laid Before the Self-existent, made. No God or fiend his life could take, Gandharva, goblin, bird, or snake: Safe from all fears of death, except From human arm, that life was kept. Oft when the priests began to raise Their consecrating hymns of praise, He spoiled the Soma's sacred juice Poured forth by them in solemn use. The sacrifice his hands o'erthrew, And cruelly the Brahmans slew. His was a heart that naught could melt, Joying in woes which others felt.