Ramayana on Anger

"These fearful signs, my brother bold, Which threaten all our foes, behold: All laden, as they strike the view, With ruin to the fiendish crew. The angry clouds are gathering fast, Their skirts with dusty gloom o'ercast, And harsh with loud-voiced thunder, rain Thick drops of blood upon the plain. See, burning for the coming fight, My shafts with wreaths of smoke are white, And my great bow embossed with gold Throbs eager for the master's hold. Each bird that through the forest flies Sends out its melancholy cries. All signs foretell the dangerous strife, The jeopardy of limb and life. Each sight, each sound gives warning clear That foemen meet and death is near. But courage, valiant brother! well The throbbings of mine arm foretell That ruin waits the hostile powers, And triumph in the fight is ours. I hail the welcome omen: thou Art bright of face and clear of brow. For Lakshman, when the eye can trace A cloud upon the warrior's face Stealing the cheerful light away, His life is doomed in battle fray. List, brother, to that awful cry: With shout and roar the fiends draw nigh. With thundering beat of many a drum The savage-hearted giants come. The wise who value safety know To meet, prepared, the coming blow: In paths of prudence trained aright They watch the stroke before it smite. Take thou thine arrows and thy bow, And with the Maithil lady go For shelter to the mountain cave Where thickest trees their branches wave. I will not have thee, Lakshman, say One word in answer, but obey. By all thy honour for these feet Of mine, dear brother, I entreat. Thy warlike arm, I know could, smite To death these rovers of the night; But I this day would fight alone Till all the fiends be overthrown." He spake: and Lakshman answered naught: His arrows and his bow he brought, And then with Sita following hied For shelter to the mountain side. As Lakshman and the lady through The forest to the cave withdrew, "'Tis well," cried Rama.

With ruddy streams each limb was dyed From gaping wounds in breast and side, Showing the hero like the sun 'Mid crimson clouds ere day is done. Then, at that sight of terror, faint Grew God, Gandharva, sage, and saint, Trembling to see the prince oppose His single might to myriad foes. But waxing wroth, with force unspent, He strained his bow to utmost bent, And forth his arrows keen and true In hundreds, yea in thousands flew,-- Shafts none could ward, and none endure: Death's fatal noose was scarce so sure. As 'twere in playful ease he shot His gilded shafts, and rested not. With swiftest flight and truest aim Upon the giant hosts they came. Each smote, each stayed a foeman's breath As fatal as the coil of Death. Each arrow through a giant tore A passage, and besmeared with gore, Pursued its onward way and through The air with flamy brilliance flew. Unnumbered were the arrows sent From the great bow which Rama bent, And every shaft with iron head The lifeblood of a giant shed. Their pennoned bows were cleft, nor mail Nor shield of hide could aught avail. For Rama's myriad arrows tore Through arms, and bracelets which they wore, And severed mighty warriors' thighs Like trunks of elephants in size, And cut resistless passage sheer Through gold-decked horse and charioteer, Slew elephant and rider, slew The horseman and the charger too, And infantry unnumbered sent To dwell 'neath Yama's government. Then rose on high a fearful yell Of rovers of the night, who fell Beneath that iron torrent, sore Wounded by shafts that rent and tore. So mangled by the ceaseless storm Of shafts of every kind and form, Such joy they found, as forests feel When scorched by flame, from Rama's steel. The mightiest still the fight maintained, And furious upon Rama rained Dart, arrow, spear, with wild attacks Of mace, and club, and battle-axe. But the great chief, unconquered yet, Their weapons with his arrows met, Which severed many a giant's head, And all the plain with corpses spread.

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

While, bearing far the lady, through The realms of sky the giant flew, She like a gleaming meteor cast A glory round her as she passed. Then from each limb in swift descent Dropped many a sparkling ornament: On earth they rested dim and pale Like fallen stars when virtues fail.(504) Around her neck a garland lay Bright as the Star-God's silvery ray: It fell and flashed like Ganga sent From heaven above the firmament.(505) The birds of every wing had flocked To stately trees by breezes rocked: These bowed their wind-swept heads and said: "My lady sweet, be comforted." With faded blooms each brook within Whose waters moved no gleamy fin, Stole sadly through the forest dell Mourning the dame it loved so well. From every woodland region near Came lions, tigers, birds, and deer, And followed, each with furious look, The way her flying shadow took. For Sita's loss each lofty hill Whose tears were waterfall, and rill, Lifting on high each arm-like steep, Seemed in the general woe to weep. When the great sun, the lord of day, Saw Ravan tear the dame away, His glorious light began to fail And all his disk grew cold and pale. "If Ravan from the forest flies With Rama's Sita as his prize, Justice and truth have vanished hence, Honour and right and innocence." Thus rose the cry of wild despair From spirits as they gathered there. In trembling troops in open lawns Wept, wild with woe, the startled fawns, And a strange terror changed the eyes They lifted to the distant skies. On silvan Gods who love the dell A sudden fear and trembling fell, As in the deepest woe they viewed The lady by the fiend subdued. Still in loud shrieks was heard afar That voice whose sweetness naught could mar, While eager looks of fear and woe She bent upon the earth below. The lady of each winning wile With pearly teeth and lovely smile, Seized by the lord of Lanka's isle, Looked down for friends in vain.

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

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

Then rose the Vanar chiefs, and lent Their arms to aid the bird's descent; And Angad spake: "There lived of yore A noble Vanar king who bore The name of Riksharajas, great And brave and strong and fortunate. His sons were like their father: fame Knows Bali and Sugriva's name. Praised in all lands, a glorious king Was Bali, and from him I spring. Brave Rama, Dasaratha's heir, A glorious prince beyond compare, His sire and duty's law obeyed, And sought the depths of Dandak' shade Sita his well-beloved dame, And Lakshman, with the wanderer came. A giant watched his hour, and stole The sweet delight of Rama's soul. Jatayus, Dasaratha's friend, Swift succour to the dame would lend. Fierce Ravan from his car he felled, And for a time the prize withheld. But bleeding, weak with years, and tired, Beneath the demon's blows expired, Due rites at Rama's hands obtained, And bliss that ne'er shall minish, gained. Then Rama with Sugriva made A covenant for mutual aid, And Bali, to the field defied, By conquering Rama's arrow died. Sugriva then, by Rama's grace, Was monarch of the Vanar race. By his command a mighty host Seeks Rama's queen from coast to coast. Sent forth by him, in every spot We looked for her, but find her not. Vain is the toil, as though by night We sought to find the Day-God's light. In lands unknown at length we found A spacious cavern under ground, Whose vaults that stretch beneath the hill Were formed by Maya's magic skill. Through the dark maze our steps were bent, And wandering there a month we spent, And lost, in fruitless error, thus The days our king allotted us. Thus we though faithful have transgressed, And failed to keep our lord's behest. No chance of safety can we see, No lingering hope of life have we. Sugriva's wrath and Rama's hate Press on our souls with grievous weight: And we, because 'tis vain to fly, Resolve at length to fast and die."

He ceased; and spurred by warlike pride The impetuous son of Raghu cried: "Soon shall mine arm with wrathful joy That city of the foe destroy. Now, chieftain, now collect the host, And onward to the southern coast! The sun in his meridian tower Gives glory to the Vanar power. The demon lord who stole my queen By timely flight his life may screen. She, when she knows her lord is near, Will cling to hope and banish fear, Saved like a dying wretch who sips The drink of Gods with fevered lips. Arise, thy troops to battle lead: All happy omens counsel speed. The Lord of Stars in favouring skies Bodes glory to our enterprise. This arm shall slay the fiend; and she, My consort, shall again be free. Mine upward-throbbing eye foreshows The longed-for triumph o'er my foes. Far in the van be Nila's post, To scan the pathway for the host, And let thy bravest and thy best, A hundred thousand, wait his hest. Go forth, O warrior Nila, lead The legions on through wood and mead Where pleasant waters cool the ground, And honey, flowers, and fruit abound. Go, and with timely care prevent The Rakshas foeman's dark intent. With watchful troops each valley guard Ere brooks and fruits and roots be marred And search each glen and leafy shade For hostile troops in ambuscade. But let the weaklings stay behind: For heroes is our task designed. Let thousands of the Vanar breed The vanguard of the armies lead: Fierce and terrific must it be As billows of the stormy sea. There be the hill-huge Gaja's place, And Gavaya's, strongest of his race, And, like the bull that leads the herd, Gavaksha's, by no fears deterred Let Rishabh, matchless in the might Of warlike arms, protect our right, And Gandhamadan next in rank Defend and guide the other flank. I, like the God who rules the sky Borne on Airavat(900) mounted high On stout Hanuman's back will ride, The central host to cheer and guide.

Thus spoke Prahasta in the zeal That moved him for the kingdom's weal. And thus the monarch, who pursued His own delight, his speech renewed: "In ease and bliss, in toil and pain, In doubts of duty, pleasure, gain, Your proper path I need not tell, For of yourselves ye know it well. The Storm-Gods, Moon, and planets bring New glory to their heavenly king,(919) And, ranged about your monarch, ye Give joy and endless fame to me. My secret counsel have I kept, While senseless Kumbhakarna slept. Six months the warrior's slumbers last And bind his torpid senses fast; But now his deep repose he breaks, The best of all our champions wakes. I captured, Rama's heart to wring, This daughter of Videha's king. And brought her from that distant land(920) Where wandered many a Rakshas band. Disdainful still my love she spurns, Still from each prayer and offering turns, Yet in all lands beneath the sun No dame may rival Sita, none, Her dainty waist is round and slight, Her cheek like autumn's moon is bright, And she like fruit in graven gold Mocks her(921) whom Maya framed of old. Faultless in form, how firmly tread Her feet whose soles are rosy red! Ah, as I gaze her beauty takes My spirit, and my passion wakes. Looking for Rama far away She sought with tears a year's delay Nor gazing on her love-lit eye Could I that earnest prayer deny. But baffled hopes and vain desire At length my patient spirit tire. How shall the sons of Raghu sweep To vengeance o'er the pathless deep? How shall they lead the Vanar train Across the monster-teeming main? One Vanar yet could find a way To Lanka's town, and burn and slay. Take counsel then, remembering still That we from men need fear no ill; And give your sentence in debate, For matchless is the power of fate. Assailed by you the Gods who dwell In heaven beneath our fury fell. And shall we fear these creatures bred In forests, by Sugriva led?

As Visvamitra, mighty sage, Was moved with this tempestuous rage, Earth rocked and reeled throughout her frame, And fear upon the Immortals came. But Saint Vasishtha, wisest seer, Observant of his vows austere, Saw the whole world convulsed with dread, And thus unto the monarch said: "Thou, born of old Ikshvaku's seed, Art Justice' self in mortal weed. Constant and pious, blest by fate, The right thou must not violate. Thou, Raghu's son, so famous through The triple world as just and true, Perform thy bounden duty still, Nor stain thy race by deed of ill. If thou have sworn and now refuse Thou must thy store of merit lose. Then, Monarch, let thy Rama go, Nor fear for him the demon foe. The fiends shall have no power to hurt Him trained to war or inexpert, Nor vanquish him in battle field, For Kusik's son the youth will shield. He is incarnate Justice, he The best of men for bravery. Embodied love of penance drear, Among the wise without a peer. Full well he knows, great Kusik's son, The arms celestial, every one, Arms from the Gods themselves concealed, Far less to other men revealed. These arms to him, when earth he swayed, Mighty Krisasva, pleased, conveyed. Krisasva's sons they are indeed, Brought forth by Daksha's lovely seed,(146) Heralds of conquest, strong and bold, Brilliant, of semblance manifold. Jaya and Vijaya, most fair, And hundred splendid weapons bare. Of Jaya, glorious as the morn, First fifty noble sons were born, Boundless in size yet viewless too, They came the demons to subdue. And fifty children also came Of Vijaya the beauteous dame, Sanharas named, of mighty force, Hard to assail or check in course. Of these the hermit knows the use, And weapons new can he produce. All these the mighty saint will yield To Rama's hand, to own and wield; And armed with these, beyond a doubt Shall Rama put those fiends to rout. For Rama and the people's sake, For thine own good my counsel take, Nor seek, O King, with fond delay, The parting of thy son to stay."

While thus spoke Rama borne away By longing for the deadly fray, See! bursting from the altar came The sudden glory of the flame. Round priest and deacon, and upon Grass, ladles, flowers, the splendour shone, And the high rite, in order due, With sacred texts began anew. But then a loud and fearful roar Re-echoed through the sky; And like vast clouds that shadow o'er The heavens in dark July, Involved in gloom of magic might Two fiends rushed on amain, Maricha, Rover of the Night, Suvahu, and their train. As on they came in wild career Thick blood in rain they shed; And Rama saw those things of fear Impending overhead. Then soon as those accursed two Who showered down blood be spied, Thus to his brother brave and true Spoke Rama lotus-eyed: "Now, Lakshman, thou these fiends shalt see, Man-eaters, foul of mind, Before my mortal weapon flee Like clouds before the wind." He spoke. An arrow, swift as thought, Upon his bow he pressed, And smote, to utmost fury wrought, Maricha on the breast. Deep in his flesh the weapon lay Winged by the mystic spell, And, hurled a hundred leagues away, In ocean's flood he fell. Then Rama, when he saw the foe Convulsed and mad with pain Neath the chill-pointed weapon's blow, To Lakshman spoke again: "See, Lakshman, see! this mortal dart That strikes a numbing chill, Hath struck him senseless with the smart, But left him breathing still. But these who love the evil way, And drink the blood they spill, Rejoicing holy rites to stay, Fierce plagues, my hand shall kill." He seized another shaft, the best, Aglow with living flame; It struck Suvahu on the chest, And dead to earth he came. Again a dart, the Wind-God's own, Upon his string he laid, And all the demons were o'erthrown, The saints no more afraid. When thus the fiends were slain in fight, Disturbers of each holy rite, Due honour by the saints was paid To Rama for his wondrous aid: So Indra is adored when he Has won some glorious victory.

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

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

To all the princes, young and brave, His soul with fond affection clave; Around his loving heart they clung Like arms from his own body sprung.(259) But best and noblest of the four, Good as the God whom all adore, Lord of all virtues, undefiled, His darling was his eldest child. For he was beautiful and strong, From envy free, the foe of wrong, With all his father's virtues blest, And peerless in the world confessed. With placid soul he softly spoke: No harsh reply could taunts provoke. He ever loved the good and sage Revered for virtue and for age, And when his martial tasks were o'er Sate listening to their peaceful lore. Wise, modest, pure, he honoured eld, His lips from lying tales withheld; Due reverence to the Brahmans gave, And ruled each passion like a slave. Most tender, prompt at duty's call, Loved by all men he loved them all. Proud of the duties of his race, With spirit meet for Warrior's place. He strove to win by glorious deed, Throned with the Gods, a priceless meed. With him in speech and quick reply Vrihaspati might hardly vie, But never would his accents flow For evil or for empty show. In art and science duly trained, His student vow he well maintained; He learnt the lore for princes fit, The Vedas and their Holy Writ, And with his well-drawn bow at last His mighty father's fame surpassed. Of birth exalted, truthful, just, With vigorous hand, with noble trust, Well taught by aged twice-born men Who gain and right could clearly ken, Full well the claims and bounds he knew Of duty, gain, and pleasure too: Of memory keen, of ready tact, In civil business prompt to act. Reserved, his features ne'er disclosed What counsel in his heart reposed. All idle rage and mirth controlled, He knew the times to give and hold, Firm in his faith, of steadfast will, He sought no wrong, he spoke no ill: Not rashly swift, not idly slow, His faults and others' keen to know. Each merit, by his subtle sense; He matched with proper recompense.

"I will declare, do thou attend, How Bharat may his throne ascend. Dost thou forget what things befell? Or dost thou feign, remembering well? Or wouldst thou hear my tongue repeat A story for thy need so meet? Gay lady, if thy will be so, Now hear the tale of long ago, And when my tongue has done its part Ponder the story in thine heart. When Gods and demons fought of old, Thy lord, with royal saints enrolled, Sped to the war with thee to bring His might to aid the Immortals' King. Far to the southern land he sped Where Dandak's mighty wilds are spread, To Vaijayanta's city swayed By Sambara, whose flag displayd The hugest monster of the sea. Lord of a hundred wiles was be; With might which Gods could never blame Against the King of Heaven he came. Then raged the battle wild and dread, And mortal warriors fought and bled; The fiends by night with strength renewed Charged, slew the sleeping multitude. Thy lord, King Dasaratha, long Stood fighting with the demon throng, But long of arm, unmatched in strength, Fell wounded by their darts at length. Thy husband, senseless, by thine aid Was from the battle field conveyed, And wounded nigh to death thy lord Was by thy care to health restored. Well pleased the grateful monarch sware To grant thy first and second prayer. Thou for no favour then wouldst sue, The gifts reserved for season due; And he, thy high-souled lord, agreed To give the boons when thou shouldst need. Myself I knew not what befell, But oft the tale have heard thee tell, And close to thee in friendship knit Deep in my heart have treasured it. Remind thy husband of his oath, Recall the boons and claim them both, That Bharat on the throne be placed With rites of consecration graced, And Rama to the woods be sent For twice seven years of banishment. Go, Queen, the mourner's chamber(270) seek, With angry eye and burning cheek; And with disordered robes and hair On the cold earth lie prostrate there.

"Hast thou no word, my child, to say? No greeting for thy sire to-day? Why art thou angry, darling? why Wilt thou upon the cold earth lie? If thou, my son, art wroth with me, Here, duteous child, thy mother see. What! no embrace for me, my son? No word of tender love--not one? Whose gentle voice, so soft and clear, Soothing my spirit, shall I hear When evening comes, with accents sweet Scripture or ancient lore repeat? Who, having fed the sacred fire, And duly bathed, as texts require, Will cheer, when evening rites are done, The father mourning for his son? Who will the daily meal provide For the poor wretch who lacks a guide, Feeding the helpless with the best Berries and roots, like some dear guest? How can these hands subsistence find For thy poor mother, old and blind? The wretched votaress how sustain, Who mourns her child in ceaseless pain? Stay yet a while, my darling, stay, Nor fly to Yama's realm to-day. To-morrow I thy sire and she Who bare thee, child, will go with, thee.(337) Then when I look on Yama, I To great Vivasvat's son will cry: "Hear, King of justice, and restore Our child to feed us, I implore. Lord of the world, of mighty fame, Faithful and just, admit my claim, And grant this single boon to free My soul from fear, to one like me." Because, my son, untouched by stain, By sinful hands thou fallest slain, Win, through thy truth, the sphere where those Who die by hostile darts repose. Seek the blest home prepared for all The valiant who in battle fall, Who face the foe and scorn to yield, In glory dying on the field. Rise to the heaven where Dhundhumar And Nahush, mighty heroes, are, Where Janamejay and the blest Dilipa, Sagar, Saivya, rest: Home of all virtuous spirits, earned By fervent rites and Scripture learned: By those whose sacred fires have glowed, Whose liberal hands have fields bestowed: By givers of a thousand cows, By lovers of one faithful spouse: By those who serve their masters well, And cast away this earthly shell.

As when beneath the driver's steel An elephant is forced to kneel, So from the hard and pointed head Of many an arrow Rama bled. High on his car the giant rose Prepared in deadly strife to close, And all the spirits saw him stand Like Yama with his noose in hand. For Khara deemed in senseless pride That he, beneath whose hand had died The giant legions, failed at length Slow sinking with exhausted strength. But Rama, like a lion, when A trembling deer comes nigh his den, Feared not the demon mad with hate,-- Of lion might and lion gait. Then in his lofty car that glowed With sunlike brilliance Khara rode At Rama: madly on he came Like a poor moth that seeks the flame. His archer skill the fiend displayed, And at the place where Rama laid His hand, an arrow cleft in two The mighty bow the hero drew. Seven arrows by the giant sent, Bright as the bolts of Indra, rent Their way through mail and harness joints, And pierced him with their iron points. On Rama, hero unsurpassed, A thousand shafts smote thick and fast, While as each missile struck, rang out The giant's awful battle-shout. His knotted arrows pierced and tore The sunbright mail the hero wore, Till, band and buckle rent away, Glittering on the ground it lay. Then pierced in shoulder, breast, and side, Till every limb with blood was dyed, The chieftain in majestic ire Shone glorious as the smokeless fire. Then loud and long the war-cry rose Of Rama, terror of his foes, As, on the giant's death intent, A ponderous bow he strung and bent,-- Lord Vishnu's own, of wondrous size,-- Agastya gave the heavenly prize. Then rushing on the demon foe, He raised on high that mighty bow, And with his well-wrought shafts, whereon Bright gold between the feathers shone, He struck the pennon fluttering o'er The chariot, and it waved no more. That glorious flag whose every fold Was rich with blazonry and gold, Fell as the sun himself by all The Gods' decree might earthward fall.

When Ravan, by her fury spurred, That terrible advice had heard, He bade his nobles quit his side, And to the work his thought applied. He turned his anxious mind to scan On every side the hardy plan: The gain against the risk he laid, Each hope and fear with care surveyed, And in his heart at length decreed To try performance of the deed. Then steady in his dire intent The giant to the courtyard went. There to his charioteer he cried, "Bring forth the car whereon I ride." Aye ready at his master's word The charioteer the order heard, And yoked with active zeal the best Of chariots at his lord's behest. Asses with heads of goblins drew That wondrous car where'er it flew. Obedient to the will it rolled Adorned with gems and glistering gold. Then mounting, with a roar as loud As thunder from a labouring cloud, The mighty monarch to the tide Of Ocean, lord of rivers, hied. White was the shade above him spread, White chouris waved around his head, And he with gold and jewels bright Shone like the glossy lazulite. Ten necks and twenty arms had he: His royal gear was good to see. The heavenly Gods' insatiate foe, Who made the blood of hermits flow, He like the Lord of Hills appeared With ten huge heads to heaven upreared. In the great car whereon he rode, Like some dark cloud the giant showed, When round it in their close array The cranes 'mid wreaths of lightning play. He looked, and saw, from realms of air, The rocky shore of ocean, where Unnumbered trees delightful grew With flower and fruit of every hue. He looked on many a lilied pool With silvery waters fresh and cool, And shores like spacious altars meet For holy hermits' lone retreat. The graceful palm adorned the scene, The plantain waved her glossy green. There grew the sal and betel, there On bending boughs the flowers were fair. There hermits dwelt who tamed each sense By strictest rule of abstinence: Gandharvas, Kinnars,(488) thronged the place, Nagas and birds of heavenly race.

Maricha gave attentive ear The ruler of the fiends to hear: Then, trained in all the rules that teach The eloquent, began his speech: "'Tis easy task, O King, to find Smooth speakers who delight the mind. But they who urge and they who do Distasteful things and wise, are few. Thou hast not learnt, by proof untaught, And borne away by eager thought, That Rama, formed for high emprise, With Varun or with Indra vies. Still let thy people live in peace, Nor let their name and lineage cease, For Rama with his vengeful hand Can sweep the giants from the land. O, let not Janak's daughter bring Destruction on the giant king. Let not the lady Sita wake A tempest, on thy head to break. Still let the dame, by care untried, Be happy by her husband's side, Lest swift avenging ruin fall On glorious Lanka, thee, and all. Men such as thou with wills unchained, Advised by sin and unrestrained, Destroy themselves, the king, the state, And leave the people desolate. Rama, in bonds of duty held, Was never by his sire expelled. He is no wretch of greedy mind, Dishonour of his Warrior kind. Free from all touch of rancorous spite, All creatures' good is his delight. He saw his sire of truthful heart Deceived by Queen Kaikeyi's art, And said, a true and duteous son, "What thou hast promised shall be done." To gratify the lady's will, His father's promise to fulfil, He left his realm and all delight For Dandak wood, an anchorite. No cruel wretch, no senseless fool Is Rama, unrestrained by rule. This groundless charge has ne'er been heard, Nor shouldst thou speak the slanderous word. Rama in truth and goodness bold Is Virtue's self in human mould, The sovereign of the world confessed As Indra rules among the Blest. And dost thou plot from him to rend The darling whom his arms defend? Less vain the hope to steal away The glory of the Lord of Day. O Ravan, guard thee from the fire Of vengeful Rama's kindled ire,-- Each spark a shaft with deadly aim, While bow and falchion feed the flame.

He spoke: the monarch gave assent, And Rama to the hermit lent. So to his woodland home in joy Went Visvamitra with the boy. With ready bow the champion stood To guard the rites in Dandak wood. With glorious eyes, most bright to view, Beardless as yet and dark of hue; A single robe his only wear, His temples veiled with waving hair, Around his neck a chain of gold, He grasped the bow he loved to hold; And the young hero's presence made A glory in the forest shade. Thus Rama with his beauteous mien, Like the young rising moon was seen, I, like a cloud which tempest brings, My arms adorned with golden rings, Proud of the boon which lent me might, Approached where dwelt the anchorite. But Rama saw me venturing nigh, Raising my murderous axe on high; He saw, and fearless of the foe, Strung with calm hand his trusty bow. By pride of conscious strength beguiled, I scorned him as a feeble child, And rushed with an impetuous bound On Visvamitra's holy ground. A keen swift shaft he pointed well, The foeman's rage to check and quell, And hurled a hundred leagues away Deep in the ocean waves I lay. He would not kill, but, nobly brave, My forfeit life he chose to save. So there I lay with wandering sense Dazed by that arrow's violence. Long in the sea I lay: at length Slowly returned my sense and strength, And rising from my watery bed To Lanka's town again I sped. Thus was I spared, but all my band Fell slain by Rama's conquering hand,-- A boy, untrained in warrior's skill, Of iron arm and dauntless will. If thou with Rama still, in spite Of warning and of prayer, wilt fight, I see terrific woes impend, And dire defeat thy days will end. Thy giants all will feel the blow And share the fatal overthrow, Who love the taste of joy and play, The banquet and the festal day. Thine eyes will see destruction take Thy Lanka, lost for Sita's sake, And stately pile and palace fall With terrace, dome, and jewelled wall.

As, clad in mendicant's disguise, He questioned thus his destined prize, She to the seeming saintly man The story of her life began. "My guest is he," she thought, "and I, To 'scape his curse, must needs reply:" "Child of a noble sire I spring From Janak, fair Videha's king. May every good be thine! my name Is Sita, Rama's cherished dame. Twelve winters with my lord I spent Most happily with sweet content In the rich home of Raghu's line, And every earthly joy was mine. Twelve pleasant years flew by, and then His peers advised the king of men, Rama, my lord, to consecrate Joint ruler of his ancient state. But when the rites were scarce begun, To consecrate Ikshvaku's son, The queen Kaikeyi, honoured dame, Sought of her lord an ancient claim. Her plea of former service pressed, And made him grant her new request, To banish Rama to the wild And consecrate instead her child. This double prayer on him, the best And truest king, she strongly pressed: "Mine eyes in sleep I will not close, Nor eat, nor drink, nor take repose. This very day my death shall bring If Rama be anointed king." As thus she spake in envious ire, The aged king, my husband's sire, Besought with fitting words; but she Was cold and deaf to every plea. As yet my days are few; eighteen The years of life that I have seen; And Rama, best of all alive, Has passed of years a score and five-- Rama the great and gentle, through All region famed as pure and true, Large-eyed and mighty-armed and tall, With tender heart that cares for all. But Dasaratha, led astray By woman's wile and passion's sway, By his strong love of her impelled, The consecrating rites withheld. When, hopeful of the promised grace, My Rama sought his father's face, The queen Kaikeyi, ill at ease, Spoke to my lord brief words like these: "Hear, son of Raghu, hear from me The words thy father says to thee: "I yield this day to Bharat's hand, Free from all foes, this ancient land.

What has the world's great master done That thou should steal his precious one? Quick, quick the Maithil dame release; Let Rama's consort go in peace, Lest scorched by his terrific eye Beneath his wrath thou fall and die Like Vritra when Lord Indra threw The lightning flame that smote and slew. Ah fool, with blinded eyes to take Home to thy heart a venomed snake! Ah foolish eyes, too blind to see That Death's dire coils entangle thee! The prudent man his strength will spare, Nor lift a load too great to bear. Content is he with wholesome food Which gives him life and strength renewed, But who would dare the guilty deed That brings no fame or glorious meed, Where merit there is none to win And vengeance soon o'ertakes the sin? My course of life, Pulastya's son, For sixty thousand years has run. Lord of my kind I still maintain Mine old hereditary reign. I, worn by years, am older far Than thou, young lord of bow and car, In coat of glittering mail encased And armed with arrows at thy waist, But not unchallenged shalt thou go, Or steal the dame without a blow. Thou canst not, King, before mine eyes Bear off unchecked thy lovely prize, Safe as the truth of Scripture bent By no close logic's argument. Stay if thy courage let thee, stay And meet me in the battle fray, And thou shalt stain the earth with gore Falling as Khara fell before. Soon Rama, clothed in bark, shall smite Thee, his proud foe, in deadly fight,-- Rama, from whom have oft times fled The Daitya hosts discomfited. No power have I to kill or slay: The princely youths are far away, But soon shalt thou with fearful eye Struck down beneath their arrows lie. But while I yet have life and sense, Thou shalt not, tyrant, carry hence Fair Sita, Rama's honoured queen, With lotus eyes and lovely mien. Whate'er the pain, whate'er the cost, Though in the struggle life be lost, The will of Raghu's noblest son And Dasaratha must be done.

His words the Maithil lady heard Oppressed by woe but undeterred. Fear of the fiend she cast aside, And thus in noble scorn replied: "His word of honour never stained King Dasaratha nobly reigned, The bridge of right, the friend of truth. His eldest son, a noble youth, Is Rama, virtue's faithful friend, Whose glories through the worlds extend. Long arms and large full eyes has he, My husband, yea a God to me. With shoulders like the forest king's, From old Ikshvaku's line he springs. He with his brother Lakshman's aid Will smite thee with the vengeful blade. Hadst thou but dared before his eyes To lay thine hand upon the prize, Thou stretched before his feet hadst lain In Janasthan like Khara slain. Thy boasted rovers of the night With hideous shapes and giant might,-- Like serpents when the feathered king Swoops down with his tremendous wing,-- Will find their useless venom fail When Rama's mighty arms assail. The rapid arrows bright with gold, Shot from the bow he loves to hold, Will rend thy frame from flank to flank As Ganga's waves erode the bank. Though neither God nor fiend have power To slay thee in the battle hour, Yet from his hand shall come thy fate, Struck down before his vengeful hate. That mighty lord will strike and end The days of life thou hast to spend. Thy days are doomed, thy life is sped Like victims to the pillar led. Yea, if the glance of Rama bright With fury on thy form should light, Thou scorched this day wouldst fall and die Like Kama slain by Rudra's eye.(506) He who from heaven the moon could throw, Or bid its bright rays cease to glow,-- He who could drain the mighty sea Will set his darling Sita free. Fled is thy life, thy glory, fled Thy strength and power: each sense is dead. Soon Lanka widowed by thy guilt Will see the blood of giants spilt. This wicked deed, O cruel King, No triumph, no delight will bring. Thou with outrageous might and scorn A woman from her lord hast torn.

Dead and cold, His hands the whip and reins still hold. See, Lakshman, here the foot I trace Of man, nay, one of giant race. The hatred that I nursed of old Grows mightier now a hundred fold Against these giants, fierce of heart, Who change their forms by magic art. Slain, eaten by the giant press, Or stolen is the votaress, Nor could her virtue bring defence To Sita seized and hurried hence. O, if my love be slain or lost All hope of bliss for me is crossed. The power of all the worlds were vain To bring one joy to soothe my pain. The spirits with their blinded eyes Would look in wonder, and despise The Lord who made the worlds, the great Creator when compassionate. And so, I ween, the Immortals turn Cold eyes upon me now, and spurn The weakling prompt at pity's call, Devoted to the good of all. But from this day behold me changed, From every gentle grace estranged. Now be it mine all life to slay, And sweep these cursed fiends away. As the great sun leaps up the sky, And the cold moonbeams fade and die, So vengeance rises in my breast, One passion conquering all the rest. Gandharvas in their radiant place, The Yakshas, and the giant race, Kinnars and men shall look in vain For joy they ne'er shall see again. The anguish of my great despair, O Lakshman, fills the heaven and air; And I in wrath all life will slay Within the triple world to-day. Unless the Gods in heaven who dwell Restore my Sita safe and well, I armed with all the fires of Fate, The triple world will devastate. The troubled stars from heaven shall fall, The moon be wrapped in gloomy pall, The fire be quenched, the wind be stilled, The radiant sun grow dark and chilled; Crushed every mountain's towering pride, And every lake and river dried, Dead every creeper, plant, and tree, And lost for aye the mighty sea. Thou shalt the world this day behold In wild disorder uncontrolled, With dying life which naught defends From the fierce storm my bowstring sends.

He stood incensed with eyes of flame, Still mourning for his ravished dame, Determined, like the fire of Fate, To leave the wide world desolate. His ready bow the hero eyed, And as again, again he sighed, The triple world would fain consume Like Hara(510) in the day of doom. Then Lakshman moved with sorrow viewed His brother in unwonted mood, And reverent palm to palm applied, Thus spoke with lips which terror dried "Thy heart was ever soft and kind, To every creature's good inclined. Cast not thy tender mood away, Nor yield to anger's mastering sway. The moon for gentle grace is known, The sun has splendour all his own, The restless wind is free and fast, And earth in patience unsurpassed. So glory with her noble fruit Is thine eternal attribute. O, let not, for the sin of one, The triple world be all undone. I know not whose this car that lies In fragments here before our eyes, Nor who the chiefs who met and fought, Nor what the prize the foemen sought; Who marked the ground with hoof and wheel, Or whose the hand that plied the steel Which left this spot, the battle o'er, Thus sadly dyed with drops of gore. Searching with utmost care I view The signs of one and not of two. Where'er I turn mine eyes I trace No mighty host about the place. Then mete not out for one offence This all-involving recompense. For kings should use the sword they bear, But mild in time should learn to spare, Thou, ever moved by misery's call, Wast the great hope and stay of all. Throughout this world who would not blame This outrage on thy ravished dame? Gandharvas, Danavs, Gods, the trees, The rocks, the rivers, and the seas, Can ne'er in aught thy soul offend, As one whom holiest rites befriend. But him who dared to steal the dame Pursue, O King, with ceaseless aim, With me, the hermits' holy band, And thy great bow to arm thy hand By every mighty flood we'll seek, Each wood, each hill from base to peak.

So, Lakshman, if my large-eyed dear, The child of Janak still were here, She, by love's thrilling influence led, Upon my breast would lay her head. These blooms I gathered from the bough Without my love are useless now. A thousand blossoms fair to see With passing glory clothe each tree That hangs its cluster-burthened head Now that the dewy months(528) are fled, But, followed by the bees that ply Their fragrant task, they fall and die. A thousand birds in wild delight Their rapture-breathing notes unite; Bird calls to bird in joyous strain, And turns my love to frenzied pain. O, if beneath those alien skies, There be a spring where Sita lies, I know my prisoned love must be Touched with like grief, and mourn with me. But ah, methinks that dreary clime Knows not the touch of spring's sweet time. How could my black eyed love sustain, Without her lord, so dire a pain? Or if the sweet spring come to her In distant lands a prisoner, How may his advent and her met On every side with taunt and threat? Ah, if the springtide's languor came With soft enchantment o'er my dame, My darling of the lotus eye, My gently speaking love, would die; For well my spirit knows that she Can never live bereft of me With love that never wavered yet My Sita's heart, on me is set, Who, with a soul that ne'er can stray, With equal love her love repay. In vain, in vain the soft wind brings Sweet blossoms on his balmy wings; Delicious from his native snow, To me like fire he seems to glow. O, how I loved a breeze like this When darling Sita shared the bliss! But now in vain for me it blows To fan the fury of my woes. That dark-winged bird that sought the skies Foretelling grief with warning cries, Sits on the tree where buds are gay, And pours glad music from the spray. That rover of the fields of air Will aid my love with friendly care, And me with gracious pity guide To my large-eyed Videhan's side.

Our child the distant forest sought, And, learnt from spies, the tidings brought. Two sons of Dasaratha, sprung From old Ikshvaku, brave and young, Renowned in arms, in war untamed-- Rama and Lakshman are they named-- Have with thy foe Sugriva made A league of love and friendly aid. Now Rama, famed for exploit high, Is bound thy brother's firm ally, Like fires of doom(579) that ruin all He makes each foe before him fall. He is the suppliant's sure defence, The tree that shelters innocence. The poor and wretched seek his feet: In him the noblest glories meet. With skill and knowledge vast and deep His sire's commands he loved to keep; With princely gifts and graces stored As metals deck the Mountains' Lord.(580) Thou canst not, O my hero, stand Before the might of Rama's hand; For none may match his powers or dare With him in deeds of war compare. Hear, I entreat, the words I say, Nor lightly turn my rede away. O let fraternal discord cease, And link you in the bonds of peace. Let consecrating rites ordain Sugriva partner of thy reign. Let war and thoughts of conflict end, And be thou his and Rama's friend, Each soft approach of love begin, And to thy soul thy brother win; For whether here or there he be, Thy brother still, dear lord, is he. Though far and wide these eyes I strain A friend like him I seek in vain. Let gentle words his heart incline, And gifts and honours make him thine, Till, foes no more, in love allied, You stand as brothers side by side. Thou in high rank wast wont to hold Sugriva, formed in massive mould; Then come, thy brother's love regain, For other aids are weak and vain. If thou would please my soul, and still Preserve me from all fear and ill, I pray thee by thy love be wise And do the thing which I advise. Assuage thy fruitless wrath, and shun The mightier arms of Raghu's son; For Indra's peer in might is he, A foe too strong, my lord, for thee."

(589) Thus nature framed our harmless race: Thou art a man supreme in place. Silver and gold and land provoke The fierce attack, the robber's stroke, Canst thou desire this wild retreat, The berries and the fruit we eat? 'Tis not for mighty kings to tread The flowery path, by pleasure led. Theirs be the arm that crushes sin, Theirs the soft grace to woo and win: The steadfast will that guides the state, Wise favour to the good and great; And for all time are kings renowned Who blend these arts and ne'er confound. But thou art weak and swift to ire, Unstable, slave of each desire. Thou tramplest duty in the dust, And in thy bow is all thy trust. Thou carest naught for noble gain, And treatest virtue with disdain, While every sense its captive draws To follow pleasure's changing laws. I wronged thee not in word or deed, But by thy deadly dart I bleed. What wilt thou, mid the virtuous, say To purge thy lasting stain away? All these, O King, must sink to hell, The regicide, the infidel, He who in blood and slaughter joys, A Brahman or a cow destroys, Untimely weds in law's despite Scorning an elder brother's right,(590) Who dares his Teacher's bed ascend, The miser, spy, and treacherous friend. These impious wretches, one and all, Must to the hell of sinners fall. My skin the holy may not wear, Useless to thee my bones and hair; Nor may my slaughtered body be The food of devotees like thee. These five-toed things a man may slay And feed upon the fallen prey; The mailed rhinoceros may die, And, with the hare his food supply. Iguanas he may kill and eat, With porcupine and tortoise meat.(591) But all the wise account it sin To touch my bones and hair and skin. My flesh they may not eat; and I A useless prey, O Rama, die. In vain my Tara reasoned well, On dull deaf ears her counsel fell. I scorned her words though sooth and sweet, And hither rushed my fate to meet. Ah for the land thou rulest!

Fine are the laws which guide the good, Abstruse, and hardly understood; Only the soul, enthroned within The breast of each, knows right from sin. But thou art wild and weak of soul, And spurnest, like thy race, control; The true and right thou canst not find, The blind consulting with the blind. Incline thine ear and I will teach The cause that prompts my present speech. This tempest of thy soul assuage, Nor blame me in thine idle rage. On this great sin thy thoughts bestow, The sin for which I lay thee low. Thou, Bali, in thy brother's life Hast robbed him of his wedded wife, And keepest, scorning ancient right, His Ruma for thine own delight. Thy son's own wife should scarcely be More sacred in thine eyes than she. All duty thou hast scorned, and hence Comes punishment for dire offence. For those who blindly do amiss There is, I ween, no way but this: To check the rash who dare to stray From customs which the good obey, I may not, sprung of Kshatriya line, Forgive this heinous sin of thine: The laws for those who sin like thee The penalty of death decree. Now Bharat rules with sovereign sway, And we his royal word obey. There was no hope of pardon, none, For the vile deed that thou hast done, That wisest monarch dooms to die The wretch whose crimes the law defy; And we, chastising those who err, His righteous doom administer. My soul accounts Sugriva dear E'en as my brother Lakshman here. He brings me blessing, and I swore His wife and kingdom to restore: A bond in solemn honour bound When Vanar chieftains stood around. And can a king like me forsake His friend, and plighted promise break? Reflect, O Vanar, on the cause, The sanction of eternal laws, And, justly smitten down, confess Thou diest for thy wickedness. By honour was I bound to lend Assistance to a faithful friend; And thou hast met a righteous fate Thy former sins to expiate. And thus wilt thou some merit win And make atonement for thy sin.

But when the solemn rite was o'er, And bold Sugriva reigned once more, The sons of Raghu sought the hill, Prasravan of the rushing rill, Where roamed the tiger and the deer, And lions raised their voice of fear; Thick set with trees of every kind, With trailing shrubs and plants entwined; Home of the ape and monkey, lair Of mountain cat and pard and bear. In cloudy gloom against the sky The sanctifying hills rose high. Pierced in their crest, a spacious cave To Raghu's sons a shelter gave. Then Rama, pure from every crime, In words well suited to the time To Lakshman spake, whose faithful zeal Watched humbly for his brother's weal: "I love this spacious cavern where There breathes a fresh and pleasant air. Brave brother, let us here remain Throughout the season of the rain. For in mine eyes this mountain crest Is above all, the loveliest. Where copper-hued and black and white Show the huge blocks that face the height; Where gleams the shine of varied ore, Where dark clouds hang and torrents roar; Where waving woods are fair to see, And creepers climb from tree to tree; Where the gay peacock's voice is shrill, And sweet birds carol on the hill; Where odorous breath is wafted far From Jessamine and Sinduvar;(617) And opening flowers of every hue Give wondrous beauty to the view. See, too, this pleasant water near Our cavern home is fresh and clear; And lilies gay with flower and bud Are glorious on the lovely flood. This cave that fares north and east Will shelter us till rain has ceased; And towering hills that rise behind Will screen us from the furious wind. Close by the cavern's portal lies And level stone of ample size And sable hue, a mighty block Long severed from the parent rock. Now let thine eye bent northward rest A while upon that mountain crest, High as a cloud that brings the rain, And dark as iron rent in twain. Look southward, brother, now and view A cloudy pile of paler hue Like Mount Kailasa's topmost height Where ores of every tint are bright.

"What truth or justice canst thou find," Cried Angad, "in Sugriva's mind? Where is his high and generous soul, His purity and self-control? How is he worthy of our trust, Righteous, and true, and wise, and just, Who, shrinking not from sin and shame, Durst take his living brother's dame? Who, when, in stress of mortal strife His noble brother fought for life, Against the valiant warrior barred The portal which he stood to guard? Can he be grateful--he who took The hand of Rama, and forsook That friend who saved him in his woes, To whom his life and fame he owes? Ah no! his heart is cold and mean, What bids him search for Rama's queen? Not honour's law, not friendship's debt, But angry Lakshman's timely threat. No prudent heart will ever place Its trust in one so false and base, Who heeds not friendship, kith or kin, Who scorns the law and cleaves to sin. But true or false, whate'er he be, One consequence I clearly see; Me, in my youth anointed heir Against his wish, he will not spare, But strike with eager hand the blow That rids him of a household foe. Shall I of power and friends despoiled, In all my purpose crossed and foiled,-- Shall I Kishkindha seek, and wait, Like some poor helpless thing, my fate? The cruel wretch through lust of sway Will seize upon his hapless prey, And to a prison's secret gloom The remnant of my years will doom. 'Tis better far to fast and die Than hopeless bound in chains to lie, Your steps, O Vanars, homeward bend And leave me here my life to end. Better to die of hunger here Than meet at home the fate I fear. Go, bow you at Sugriva's feet, And in my name the monarch greet. Before the sons of Raghu bend, And give the greeting that I send. Greet kindly Ruma too, for she A son's affection claims from me, And gently calm with friendly care My mother Tara's wild despair; Or when she hears her darling's fate The queen will die disconsolate."

Then rapid as the lightning's flame From Ravan's halls the Vanar came. Each lingering hope was cold and dead, And thus within his heart he said: "Alas, my fruitless search is done: Long have I toiled for Raghu's son; And yet with all my care have seen No traces of the ravished queen. It may be, while the giant through The lone air with his captive flew, The Maithil lady, tender-souled, Slipped struggling from the robber's hold, And the wild sea is rolling now O'er Sita of the beauteous brow. Or did she perish of alarm When circled by the monster's arm? Or crushed, unable to withstand The pressure of that monstrous hand? Or when she spurned his suit with scorn, Her tender limbs were rent and torn. And she, her virtue unsubdued, Was slaughtered for the giant's food. Shall I to Raghu's son relate His well-beloved consort's fate, My crime the same if I reveal The mournful story or conceal? If with no happier tale to tell I seek our mountain citadel, How shall I face our lord the king, And meet his angry questioning? How shall I greet my friends, and brook The muttered taunt, the scornful look? How to the son of Raghu go And kill him with my tale of woe? For sure the mournful tale I bear Will strike him dead with wild despair. And Lakshman ever fond and true, Will, undivided, perish too. Bharat will learn his brother's fate, And die of grief disconsolate, And sad Satrughna with a cry Of anguish on his corpse will die. Our king Sugriva, ever found True to each bond in honour bound, Will mourn the pledge he vainly gave, And die with him he could not save. Then Ruma his devoted wife For her dead lord will leave her life, And Tara, widowed and forlorn, Will die in anguish, sorrow-worn. On Angad too the blow will fall Killing the hope and joy of all. The ruin of their prince and king The Vanars' souls with woe will wring. And each, overwhelmed with dark despair, Will beat his head and rend his hair.

Thus cried the king: the welkin rang As forth the eager coursers sprang, And earth beneath the chariot shook With flowery grove and hill and brook. Fast rained his shafts: where'er he sped The conquered Vanars fell or fled, On rolled the car in swift career Till Raghu's noble sons were near. Then Rama looked upon the foe And strained and tried his sounding bow, Till earth and all the region rang Re-echoing to the awful clang. His bow the younger chieftain bent, And shaft on shaft at Ravan sent. He shot: but Ravan little recked; Each arrow with his own he checked, And headless, baffled of its aim, To earth the harmless missile came; And Lakshman stayed his arm o'erpowered By the thick darts the giant showered. Fierce waxed the fight and fiercer yet, For Ravan now and Rama met, And each on other poured amain The tempest of his arrowy rain. While all the sky above was dark With missiles speeding to their mark Like clouds, with flashing lightning twined About them, hurried by the wind. Not fiercer was the wondrous fight When Vritra fell by Indra's might. All arts of war each foeman knew, And trained alike, his bowstring drew. Red-eyed with fury Lanka's king Pressed his huge fingers on the string, And fixed in Rama's brows a flight Of arrows winged with matchless flight. Still Raghu's son endured, and bore That crown of shafts though wounded sore. O'er a dire dart a spell he spoke With mystic power to aid the stroke. In vain upon the foe it smote Rebounding from the steelproof coat. The giant armed his bow anew, And wondrous weapons hissed and flew, Terrific, deadly, swift of flight, Beaked like the vulture and the kite, Or bearing heads of fearful make, Of lion, tiger, wolf and snake.(995) Then Rama, troubled by the storm Of flying darts in every form Shot by an arm that naught could tire, Launched at the foe his dart of fire, Which, sacred to the Lord of Flame, Burnt and consumed where'er it came. And many a blazing shaft beside The hero to his string applied.

He spends his time unvext by cares, And robes of precious texture wears: How shall he, with one garment round His limbs recline upon the ground? Whose was this plan, this cruel thought Unheard till now, with ruin fraught, To make thy son Ayodhya's king, And send my Rama wandering? Shame, shame on women! Vile, untrue, Their selfish ends they still pursue. Not all of womankind I mean. But more than all this wicked queen. O worthless, cruel, selfish dame, I brought thee home, my plague and woe. What fault in me hast thou to blame, Or in my son who loves thee so? Fond wives may from their husbands flee, And fathers may their sons desert, But all the world would rave to see My Rama touched with deadly hurt. I joy his very step to hear, As though his godlike form I viewed; And when I see my Rama near I feel my youth again renewed. There might be life without the sun, Yea, e'en if Indra sent no rain, But, were my Rama banished, none Would, so I think, alive remain. A foe that longs my life to take, I brought thee here my death to be, Caressed thee long, a venomed snake, And through my folly die. Ah me! Rama and me and Lakshman slay, And then with Bharat rule the state; So bring the kingdom to decay, And fawn on those thy lord who hate, Plotter of woe, for evil bred, For such a speech why do not all Thy teeth from out thy wicked head Split in a thousand pieces fall? My Rama's words are ever kind, He knows not how to speak in ire: Then how canst thou presume to find A fault in him whom all admire? Yield to despair, go mad, or die, Or sink within the rifted earth; Thy fell request will I deny, Thou shamer of thy royal birth. Thy longer life I scarce can bear, Thou ruin of my home and race, Who wouldst my heart and heartstrings tear, Keen as a razor, false and base. My life is gone, why speak of joy? For what, without my son, were sweet? Spare, lady, him thou canst destroy; I pray thee as I touch thy feet."

To her, as thus she weeping cried, Raghu's illustrious son replied: "Sita, my honoured sire's decree Commands me to the woods to flee. O high-born lady, nobly bred In the good paths thy footsteps tread, Hear, Janak's daughter, while I tell The story as it all befell. Of old my father true and brave Two boons to Queen Kaikeyi gave. Through these the preparations made For me to-day by her are stayed, For he is bound to disallow This promise by that earlier vow. In Dandak forest wild and vast Must fourteen years by me be passed. My father's will makes Bharat heir, The kingdom and the throne to share. Now, ere the lonely wild I seek, I come once more with thee to speak. In Bharat's presence, O my dame, Ne'er speak with pride of Rama's name: Another's eulogy to hear Is hateful to a monarch's ear. Thou must with love his rule obey To whom my father yields the sway. With love and sweet observance learn His grace, and more the king's, to earn. Now, that my father may not break The words of promise that he spake, To the drear wood my steps are bent: Be firm, good Sita, and content. Through all that time, my blameless spouse, Keep well thy fasts and holy vows. Rise from thy bed at break of day, And to the Gods due worship pay. With meek and lowly love revere The lord of men, my father dear, And reverence to Kausalya show, My mother, worn with eld and woe: By duty's law, O best of dames, High worship from thy love she claims, Nor to the other queens refuse Observance, rendering each her dues: By love and fond attention shown They are my mothers like mine own. Let Bharat and Satrughna bear In thy sweet love a special share: Dear as my life, O let them be Like brother and like son to thee. In every word and deed refrain From aught that Bharat's soul may pain: He is Ayodhya's king and mine, The head and lord of all our line. For those who serve and love them much With weariless endeavour, touch And win the gracious hearts of kings. While wrath from disobedience springs.

His sweetly-speaking bride, who best Deserved her lord, he thus addressed. Then tender love bade passion wake, And thus the fair Videhan spake: "What words are these that thou hast said? Contempt of me the thought has bred. O best of heroes, I dismiss With bitter scorn a speech like this: Unworthy of a warrior's fame It taints a monarch's son with shame, Ne'er to be heard from those who know The science of the sword and bow. My lord, the mother, sire, and son Receive their lots by merit won; The brother and the daughter find The portions to their deeds assigned. The wife alone, whate'er await, Must share on earth her husband's fate. So now the king's command which sends Thee to the wild, to me extends. The wife can find no refuge, none, In father, mother, self, or son: Both here, and when they vanish hence, Her husband is her sole defence. If, Raghu's son, thy steps are led Where Dandak's pathless wilds are spread, My foot before thine own shall pass Through tangled thorn and matted grass. Dismiss thine anger and thy doubt: Like refuse water cast them out, And lead me, O my hero, hence-- I know not sin--with confidence. Whate'er his lot, 'tis far more sweet To follow still a husband's feet Than in rich palaces to lie, Or roam at pleasure through the sky. My mother and my sire have taught What duty bids, and trained each thought, Nor have I now mine ear to turn The duties of a wife to learn. I'll seek with thee the woodland dell And pathless wild where no men dwell, Where tribes of silvan creatures roam, And many a tiger makes his home. My life shall pass as pleasant there As in my father's palace fair. The worlds shall wake no care in me; My only care be truth to thee. There while thy wish I still obey, True to my vows with thee I'll stray, And there shall blissful hours be spent In woods with honey redolent. In forest shades thy mighty arm Would keep a stranger's life from harm, And how shall Sita think of fear When thou, O glorious lord, art near?

Good Bharat, by the river side, To virtuous Rama's speech replied, And thus with varied lore addressed The prince, while nobles round him pressed: "In all this world whom e'er can we Find equal, scourge of foes, to thee? No ill upon thy bosom weighs, No thoughts of joy thy spirit raise. Approved art thou of sages old, To whom thy doubts are ever told. Alike in death and life, to thee The same to be and not to be. The man who such a soul can gain Can ne'er be crushed by woe or pain. Pure as the Gods, high-minded, wise, Concealed from thee no secret lies. Such glorious gifts are all thine own, And birth and death to thee are known, That ill can ne'er thy soul depress With all-subduing bitterness. O let my prayer, dear brother, win Thy pardon for my mother's sin. Wrought for my sake who willed it not When absent in a distant spot. Duty alone with binding chains The vengeance due to crime restrains, Or on the sinner I should lift My hand in retribution swift. Can I who know the right, and spring From Dasaratha, purest king-- Can I commit a heinous crime, Abhorred by all through endless time? The aged king I dare not blame, Who died so rich in holy fame, My honoured sire, my parted lord, E'en as a present God adored. Yet who in lore of duty skilled So foul a crime has ever willed, And dared defy both gain and right To gratify a woman's spite? When death draws near, so people say, The sense of creatures dies away; And he has proved the ancient saw By acting thus in spite of law. But O my honoured lord, be kind, Dismiss the trespass from thy mind, The sin the king committed, led By haste, his consort's wrath, and dread. For he who veils his sire's offence With tender care and reverence-- His sons approved by all shall live: Not so their fate who ne'er forgive. Be thou, my lord, the noble son, And the vile deed my sire has done, Abhorred by all the virtuous, ne'er Resent, lest thou the guilt too share.

With soothing words the giant chief Assuaged the fury of her grief. Her weeping eyes she slowly dried And to her brother thus replied: "I sought thee in my shame and fear With severed nose and mangled ear: My gashes like a river bled, I sought thee and was comforted. Those twice seven giants, brave and strong, Thou sentest to avenge the wrong, To lay the savage Rama low, And Lakshman who misused me so. But ah, the shafts of Rama through The bodies of my champions flew: Though madly fierce their spears they plied, Beneath his conquering might they died. I saw them, famed for strength and speed, I saw my heroes fall and bleed: Great trembling seized my every limb At the great deed achieved by him. In trouble, horror, doubt, and dread, Again to thee for help I fled. While terror haunts my troubled sight, I seek thee, rover of the night. And canst thou not thy sister free From this wide waste of troublous sea Whose sharks are doubt and terror, where Each wreathing wave is dark despair? Low lie on earth thy giant train By ruthless Rama's arrows slain, And all the mighty demons, fed On blood, who followed me are dead. Now if within thy breast may be Pity for them and love for me, If thou, O rover of the night, Have valour and with him can fight, Subdue the giants' cruel foe Who dwells where Dandak's thickets grow. But if thine arm in vain assay This queller of his foes to slay, Now surely here before thine eyes, Wronged and ashamed thy sister dies. Too well, alas, too well I see That, strong in war as thou mayst be, Thou canst not in the battle stand When Rama meets thee hand to hand. Go forth, thou hero but in name, Assuming might thou canst not claim; Call friend and kin, no longer stay: Away from Janasthan, away! Shame of thy race! the weak alone Beneath thine arm may sink o'erthrown: Fly Rama and his brother: they Are men too strong for thee to slay. How canst thou hope, O weak and base, To make this grove thy dwelling-place?

"My arm presaging throbs amain, My troubled heart is sick with pain, And cheerless omens ill portend Where'er my anxious eyes I bend. Dear brother, hear my words: advance Resolved and armed for every chance, For every sign I mark to-day Foretells a peril in the way. This bird of most ill-omened note, Loud screaming with discordant throat, Announces with a warning cry That strife and victory are nigh."

"Let time and place thy thoughts employ: In woe be strong, be meek in joy. Accept both pain and pleasure, still Obedient to Sugriva's will. Thou hast, my darling, from the first With tender care been softly nursed; But harder days, if thou wouldst win Sugriva's love, must now begin. To those who hate him ne'er incline, Nor count his foe a friend of thine. In all thy thoughts his welfare seek, Obedient, lowly, faithful, meek. Let no rash suit his bosom pain, Nor yet from due requests abstain.(608) Each is a grievous fault, between The two is found the happy mean."