Ramayana on Death

She hastened forth, her bosom rent With anguish, weeping as she went, And striking, mastered by her woes, Her head and breast with frantic blows. She hurried to the field and found Her husband prostrate on the ground, Who quelled the hostile Vanars' might, Whose bank was never turned in flight: Whose arm a massy rock could throw As Indra hurls his bolts below: Fierce as the rushing tempest, loud As thunder from a labouring cloud: Whene'er he roared his voice of fear Struck terror on the boldest ear: Now slain, as, hungry for the prey, A tiger might a lion slay: Or when, his serpent foe to seek, Suparna(600) with his furious beak Tears up a sacred hillock, long The reverence of a village throng, Its altar with their offerings spread, And the gay flag that waved o'erhead. She looked and saw the victor stand Resting upon his bow his hand: And fierce Sugriva she descried, And Lakshman by his brother's side. She passed them by, nor stayed to view, Swift to her husband's side she flew; Then as she looked, her strength gave way, And in the dust she fell and lay. Then, as if startled ere the close Of slumber, from the earth she rose. Upon her dying husband, round Whose soul the coils of Death were wound, Her eyes in agony she bent And called him with a shrill lament. Sugriva, when he heard her cries, And saw the queen with weeping eyes, And youthful Angad standing there, His load of grief could hardly bear.

On the bare earth the lady sank, And trembling from their presence shrank Like a strayed fawn, when night is dark, And hungry wolves around her bark. Then to a shady tree she crept, And thought upon her lord and wept. By fear and bitter woe oppressed She bathed the beauties of her breast With her hot tears' incessant flow, And found no respite from her woe. As shakes a plantain in the breeze She shook, and fell on trembling knees; While at each demon's furious look Her cheek its native hue forsook. She lay and wept and made her moan In sorrow's saddest undertone, And, wild with grief, with fear appalled, On Rama and his brother called: "O dear Kausalya,(842) hear me cry! Sweet Queen Sumitra,(843) list my sigh! True is the saw the wise declare: Death comes not to relieve despair. 'Tis vain for dame or man to pray; Death will not hear before his day; Since I, from Rama's sight debarred, And tortured by my cruel guard, Still live in hopeless woe to grieve And loathe the life I may not leave, Here, like a poor deserted thing, My limbs upon the ground I fling, And, like a bark beneath the blast, Shall sink oppressed with woes at last. Ah, blest are they, supremely blest, Whose eyes upon my lord may rest; Who mark his lion port, and hear His gentle speech that charms the ear. Alas, what antenatal crime, What trespass of forgotten time Weighs on my soul, and bids me bow Beneath this load of misery now?"

Then Ravan's warrior chariot(994) wrought With gold and rich inlay was brought. Mid tinkling bells and weapons' clang The monarch on the chariot sprang, Which, decked with gems of every hue, Eight steeds of noble lineage drew. Mid roars of drum and shell rang out From countless throats a joyful shout. As, girt with hosts in warlike pride, Through Lanka's streets the tyrant hied. Still, louder than the roar of drums, Went up the cry "He comes, he comes, Our ever conquering lord who trod Beneath his feet both fiend and God." On to the gate the warriors swept Where Raghu's sons their station kept. When Ravan's car the portal passed The sun in heaven was overcast. Earth rocked and reeled from side to side And birds with boding voices cried. Against the standard of the king A vulture flapped his horrid wing. Big gouts of blood before him dropped, His trembling steeds in terror stopped. The hue of death was on his cheek, And scarce his flattering tongue could speak, When, terrible with flash and flame, Through murky air a meteor came. Still by the hand of Death impelled His onward way the giant held. The Vanars in the field afar Heard the loud thunder of his car. And turned with warriors' fierce delight To meet the giant in the fight. He came: his clanging bow he drew And myriads of the Vanars slew. Some through the side and heart he cleft, Some headless on the plain were left. Some struggling groaned with mangled thighs, Or broken arms or blinded eyes.

Then, as a tear bedewed her eye, The hapless lady made reply: "I loathe, with heart and soul detest The shameful life your words suggest. Eat, if you will, this mortal frame: My soul rejects the sin and shame. A homeless wanderer though he be, In him my lord, my life I see, And, till my earthly days be done, Will cling to great Ikshvaku's son."

Then with glad cheer King Guha cried, With Bharat's answer gratified: "Blessed art thou: on earth I see None who may vie, O Prince, with thee, Who canst of thy free will resign The kingdom which unsought is thine. For this, a name that ne'er shall die, Thy glory through the worlds shall fly, Who fain wouldst balm thy brother's pain And lead the exile home again."

As thus he spake in burning ire His glowing eyes were red with fire. His gentle garb aside was thrown And all his native shape was shown. Terrific, monstrous, wild, and dread As the dark God who rules the dead, His fiery eyes in fury rolled, His limbs were decked with glittering gold. Like some dark cloud the monster showed, And his fierce breast with fury glowed. The ten-faced rover of the night, With twenty arms exposed to sight, His saintly guise aside had laid And all his giant height displayed. Attired in robes of crimson dye He stood and watched with angry eye The lady in her bright array Resplendent as the dawn of day When from the east the sunbeams break, And to the dark-haired lady spake: "If thou would call that lord thine own Whose fame in every world is known, Look kindly on my love, and be Bride of a consort meet for thee. With me let blissful years be spent, For ne'er thy choice shalt thou repent. No deed of mine shall e'er displease My darling as she lives at ease. Thy love for mortal man resign, And to a worthier lord incline. Ah foolish lady, seeming wise In thine own weak and partial eyes, By what fair graces art thou held To Rama from his realm expelled? Misfortunes all his life attend, And his brief days are near their end. Unworthy prince, infirm of mind! A woman spoke and he resigned His home and kingdom and withdrew From troops of friends and retinue. And sought this forest dark and dread By savage beasts inhabited."

He ceased: the chieftain bowed his head And forth with gathered troops he sped. Cars, camels, steeds were well arrayed, And coloured banners o'er them played. Rings decked his arms: about his waist The life-protecting mail was braced, And on the chieftain's forehead set Glittered his cap and coronet. Borne on a bannered car that glowed With golden sheen the warrior rode, And footmen marched with spear and sword And bow and mace behind their lord. In pomp and pride of warlike state They sallied from the southern gate, But saw, as on their way they sped, Dread signs around and overhead. For there were meteors falling fast, Though not a cloud its shadow cast; And each ill-omened bird and beast, Forboding death, the fear increased, While many a giant slipped and reeled, Falling before he reached the field. They met in mortal strife engaged, And long and fierce the battle raged. Spears, swords uplifted, gleamed and flashed, And many a chief to earth was dashed. A ceaseless storm of arrows rained, And limbs were pierced and blood-distained. Terrific was the sound that filled The air, and every heart was chilled, As hurtling o'er the giants flew The rocks and trees which Vanars threw. Fierce as a hungry lion when Unwary deer approach his den, Angad, his eyes with fury red, Waving a tree above his head, Rushed with wild charge which none could stay Where stood the giants' dense array. Like tall trees levelled by the blast Before him fell the giants fast, And earth that streamed with blood was strown With warriors, steeds, and cars o'erthrown.

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!"

Oppressed with sorrow, tear-distained, The royal women thus complained. Like night when not a star appears, Like a sad widow drowned in tears, Ayodhya's city, dark and dim, Reft of her lord was sad for him. When thus for woe the king to heaven had fled, And still on earth his lovely wives remained. With dying light the sun to rest had sped, And night triumphant o'er the landscape reigned.

E'en now on ocean's farther strand, The sons of Dasaratha stand, And follow, burning to attack Their giant foes, on Sita's track. Consult then, lords for ye are wise: A seasonable plan devise. The captive lady to retain, And triumph when the foes are slain. No power can bring across the foam Those Vanars to our island home; Or if they madly will defy Our conquering might, they needs must die."

Struck down with overwhelming shame She shrank within her trembling frame. Each word of Rama's like a dart Had pierced the lady to the heart; And from her sweet eyes unrestrained The torrent of her sorrows, rained. Her weeping eyes at length she dried, And thus mid choking sobs replied: "Canst thou, a high-born prince, dismiss A high-born dame with speech like this? Such words befit the meanest hind, Not princely birth and generous mind, By all my virtuous life I swear I am not what thy words declare. If some are faithless, wilt thou find No love and truth in womankind? Doubt others if thou wilt, but own The truth which all my life has shown. If, when the giant seized his prey, Within his hated arms I lay, And felt the grasp I dreaded, blame Fate and the robber, not thy dame. What could a helpless woman do? My heart was mine and still was true, Why when Hanuman sent by thee Sought Lanka's town across the sea, Couldst thou not give, O lord of men, Thy sentence of rejection then? Then in the presence of the chief Death, ready death, had brought relief, Nor had I nursed in woe and pain This lingering life, alas in vain. Then hadst thou shunned the fruitless strife Nor jeopardied thy noble life, But spared thy friends and bold allies Their vain and weary enterprise. Is all forgotten, all? my birth, Named Janak's child, from fostering earth? That day of triumph when a maid My trembling hand in thine I laid? My meek obedience to thy will, My faithful love through joy and ill, That never failed at duty's call-- O King, is all forgotten, all?"

With fiercer words she fiercer yet The hapless father's pleading met: "O Monarch, if thy soul repent The promise and thy free consent, How wilt thou in the world maintain Thy fame for truth unsmirched with stain? When gathered kings with thee converse, And bid thee all the tale rehearse, What wilt thou say, O truthful King, In answer to their questioning? "She to whose love my life I owe, Who saved me smitten by the foe, Kaikeyi, for her tender care, Was cheated of the oath I sware." Thus wilt thou answer, and forsworn Wilt draw on thee the princes' scorn. Learn from that tale, the Hawk and Dove,(275) How strong for truth was Saivya's love. Pledged by his word the monarch gave His flesh the suppliant bird to save. So King Alarka gave his eyes, And gained a mansion in the skies. The Sea himself his promise keeps, And ne'er beyond his limit sweeps. My deeds of old again recall, Nor let thy bond dishonoured fall. The rights of truth thou wouldst forget, Thy Rama on the throne to set, And let thy days in pleasure glide, Fond King, Kausalya by thy side. Now call it by what name thou wilt, Justice, injustice, virtue, guilt, Thy word and oath remain the same, And thou must yield what thus I claim. If Rama be anointed, I This very day will surely die, Before thy face will poison drink, And lifeless at thy feet will sink. Yea, better far to die than stay Alive to see one single day The crowds before Kausalya stand And hail her queen with reverent hand. Now by my son, myself, I swear, No gift, no promise whatsoe'er My steadfast soul shall now content, But only Rama's banishment."

He looked upon the pile where lay The bones half-burnt and ashes grey, And uttering a piteous moan, Gave way, by anguish overthrown. Then as his tears began to well, Prostrate to earth the hero fell; So from its seat the staff they drag, And cast to earth some glorious flag. The ministers approached again The prince whom rites had freed from stain; So when Yayati fell, each seer, In pity for his fate, drew near. Satrughna saw him lying low O'erwhelmed beneath the crush of woe, And as upon the king he thought, He fell upon the earth distraught. When to his loving memory came Those noble gifts, that kingly frame, He sorrowed, by his woe distressed, As one by frenzied rage possessed: "Ah me, this surging sea of woe Has drowned us with its overflow: The source is Manthara, dire and dark, Kaikeyi is the ravening shark: And the great boons the monarch gave Lend conquering might to every wave. Ah, whither wilt thou go, and leave Thy Bharat in his woe to grieve, Whom ever 'twas thy greatest joy To fondle as a tender boy? Didst thou not give with thoughtful care Our food, our drink, our robes to wear? Whose love will now for us provide, When thou, our king and sire, hast died? At such a time bereft, forlorn, Why is not earth in sunder torn, Missing her monarch's firm control, His love of right, his lofty soul? Ah me, for Rama roams afar, My sire is where the Blessed are; How can I live deserted? I Will pass into the fire and die. Abandoned thus, I will not brook Upon Ayodhya's town to look, Once guarded by Ikshvaku's race: The wood shall be my dwelling place."

"Dismiss the hope of conquering one So stern and strong as Raghu's son. In due control each sense he keeps With constant care that never sleeps. Whose daring heart has e'er conceived The exploit Hanuman achieved, Across the fearful sea to spring, The tributary rivers' king? O Rakshas lords, in time be wise, Nor Rama's matchless power despise. And say, what evil had the son Of Raghu to our monarch done, Who stole the dame he loved so well And keeps her in his citadel; If Khara in his foolish pride Encountered Rama, fought, and died, May not the meanest love his life And guard it in the deadly strife? The Maithil dame, O Rakshas King, Sore peril to thy realm will bring. Restore her while there yet is time, Nor let us perish for thy crime. O, let the Maithil lady go Ere the avenger bend his bow To ruin with his arrowy showers Our Lanka with her gates and towers. Let Janak's child again be free Ere the wild Vanars cross the sea, In their resistless might assail Our city and her ramparts scale. Ah, I conjure thee by the ties Of brotherhood, be just and wise. In all my thoughts thy good I seek, And thus my prudent counsel speak. Let captive Sita be restored Ere, fierce as autumn's sun, her lord Send his keen arrows from the string To drink the life-blood of our king. This fury from thy soul dismiss, The bane of duty, peace, and bliss. Seek duty's path and walk therein, And joy and endless glory win. Restore the captive, ere we feel The piercing point of Rama's steel. O spare thy city, spare the lives Of us, our friends, our sons and wives."

Thus with wild tears the aged saint Made many a time his piteous plaint, Then with his wife began to shed The funeral water for the dead. But in a shape celestial clad, Won by the merits of the lad, The spirit from the body brake And to the mourning parents spake: "A glorious home in realms above Rewards my care and filial love. You, honoured parents, soon shall be Partakers of that home with me."

The child of Janak heard him speak, And the hot tear-drops down her cheek, Increasing to a torrent, ran, As thus once more the dame began: "O Lakshman, if I widowed be Godavari's flood shall cover me, Or I will die by cord, or leap, Life weary, from yon rocky steep; Or deadly poison will I drink, Or 'neath the kindled flames will sink, But never, reft of Rama, can Consent to touch a meaner man."

Then Bali's noble son replied: "Needs must I go, whate'er betide, For, if no chief this exploit dare, What waits us all save blank despair,-- Upon the ground again to lie In hopeless misery, fast, and die? For not a hope of life I see If we neglect our king's decree." Then spoke the aged chief again: "Nay our attempt shall not be vain, For to the task will I incite A chieftain of sufficient might."

Thus calmed he King Sugriva's dread; Then gave new heart to those who fled. Fierce Indrajit, his soul on fire With pride of conquest, sought his sire, Raised reverent hands, and told him all, The battle and the princes' fall. Rejoicing at his foes' defeat Upsprang the monarch from his seat, Girt by his giant courtiers: round His warrior son his arms he wound, Close kisses on his head applied, And heard again how Rama died.

The word was passed, the wood was piled And fain to die stood Janak's child. She slowly paced around her lord, The Gods with reverent act adored, Then raising suppliant hands the dame Prayed humbly to the Lord of Flame: "As this fond heart by virtue swayed From Raghu's son has never strayed, So, universal witness, Fire Protect my body on the pyre, As Raghu's son has idly laid This charge on Sita, hear and aid."

Thus Raghu's son, great-hearted, prayed, And Indra thus his answer made: "High is the boon thou seekest: none Should win this grace but Raghu's son. Yet, faithful to the word I spake, I grant the prayer for thy dear sake. The Vanars whom the giants slew Their life and vigour shall renew. Their strength repaired, their gashes healed Whose torrents dyed the battle field, The warrior hosts from death shall rise Like sleepers when their slumber flies."

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

"As age and time and death and fate All life with checkless power await, So Lakshman in my wrath to-day My vengeful might shall brook no stay, Unless this day I see my dame In whose sweet form is naught to blame,-- Yea, as before, my love behold Fair with bright teeth and perfect mould, This world shall feel a deadly blow Destroyed with ruthless overthrow, And serpent lords and Gods of air, Gandharvas, men, the doom shall share."

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

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.

When Gadhi's son of high renown Still saw the stony rain pour down Upon each princely warrior's head, With words of wisdom thus he said: "Enough of mercy, Rama, lest This sinful evil-working pest, Disturber of each holy rite, Repair by magic arts her might. Without delay the fiend should die, For, see, the twilight hour is nigh. And at the joints of night and day Such giant foes are hard to slay." Then Rama, skilful to direct His arrow to the sound, With shafts the mighty demon checked Who rained her stones around. She sore impeded and beset By Rama and his arrowy net, Though skilled in guile and magic lore, Rushed on the brothers with a roar. Deformed, terrific, murderous, dread, Swift as the levin on she sped, Like cloudy pile in autumn's sky, Lifting her two vast arms on high, When Rama smote her with a dart, Shaped like a crescent, to the heart. Sore wounded by the shaft that came With lightning speed and surest aim, Blood spouting from her mouth and side, She fell upon the earth and died. Soon as the Lord who rules the sky Saw the dread monster lifeless lie, He called aloud, Well done! well done! And the Gods honoured Raghu's son. Standing in heaven the Thousand-eyed, With all the Immortals, joying cried: "Lift up thine eyes, O Saint, and see The Gods and Indra nigh to thee. This deed of Rama's boundless might Has filled our bosoms with delight, Now, for our will would have it so, To Raghu's son some favour show. Invest him with the power which naught But penance gains and holy thought, Those heavenly arms on him bestow To thee entrusted long ago By great Krisasva best of kings, Son of the Lord of living things. More fit recipient none can be Than he who joys it following thee; And for our sakes the monarch's seed Has yet to do a mighty deed."

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.

With fainting heart and furious eye The demon saw her champions die. With drying wounds that scarcely bled Back to her brother's home she fled. Oppressed with pain, with loud lament At Khara's feet the monster bent. There like a plant whence slowly come The trickling drops of oozy gum, With her grim features pale with pain She poured her tears in ceaseless rain, There routed Surpanakha lay, And told her brother all, The issue of the bloody fray, Her giant champions' fall.

With sundered bow and shattered shield Headless they sank upon the field, As the tall trees, that felt the blast Of Garud's wing, to earth were cast. The giants left unslaughtered there Where filled with terror and despair, And to their leader Khara fled Faint, wounded, and discomfited. These fiery Dushan strove to cheer, And poised his bow to calm their fear; Then fierce as He who rules the dead, When wroth, on angered Rama sped. By Dushan cheered, the demons cast Their dread aside and rallied fast With Sals, rocks, palm-trees in their hands With nooses, maces, pikes, and brands, Again upon the godlike man The mighty fiends infuriate ran, These casting rocks like hail, and these A whelming shower of leafy trees. Wild, wondrous fight, the eye to scare, And raise on end each shuddering hair, As with the fiends who loved to rove By night heroic Rama strove! The giants in their fury plied Rama with darts on every side. Then, by the gathering demons pressed From north and south and east and west, By showers of deadly darts assailed From every quarter fiercely hailed, Girt by the foes who swarmed around, He raised a mighty shout whose sound Struck terror. On the giant crew His great Gandharva(468) arrow flew. A thousand mortal shafts were rained From the orbed bow the hero strained, Till east and west and south and north Were filled with arrows volleyed forth. They heard the fearful shout: they saw His mighty hand the bowstring draw, Yet could no wounded giant's eye See the swift storm of arrows fly. Still firm the warrior stood and cast His deadly missiles thick and fast. Dark grew the air with arrowy hail Which hid the sun as with a veil. Fiends wounded, falling, fallen, slain, All in a moment, spread the plain, And thousands scarce alive were left Mangled, and gashed, and torn, and cleft. Dire was the sight, the plain o'erspread With trophies of the mangled dead.

The lord of Light had sunk and set: Night came; the foeman struggled yet; And fiercer for the gloom of night Grew the wild fury of the fight. Scarce could each warrior's eager eye The foeman from the friend descry. "Rakshas or Vanar? say;" cried each, And foe knew foeman by his speech. "Why wilt thou fly? O warrior, stay: Turn on the foe, and rend and slay:" Such were the cries, such words of fear Smote through the gloom each listening ear. Each swarthy rover of the night Whose golden armour flashed with light, Showed like a towering hill embraced By burning woods about his waist. The giants at the Vanars flew, And ravening ate the foes they slew: With mortal bite like serpent's fang, The Vanars at the giants sprang, And car and steeds and they who bore The pennons fell bedewed with gore. No serried band, no firm array The fury of their charge could stay. Down went the horse and rider, down Went giant lords of high renown. Though midnight's shade was dense and dark, With skill that swerved not from the mark Their bows the sons of Raghu drew, And each keen shaft a chieftain slew. Uprose the blinding dust from meads Ploughed by the cars and trampling steeds, And where the warriors fell the flood Was dark and terrible with blood. Six giants(952) singled Rama out, And charged him with a furious shout Loud as the roaring of the sea When every wind is raging free. Six times he shot: six heads were cleft; Six giants dead on earth were left. Nor ceased he yet: his bow he strained, And from the sounding weapon rained A storm of shafts whose fiery glare Filled all the region of the air; And chieftains dropped before his aim Like moths that perish in the flame. Earth glistened where the arrows fell, As shines in autumn nights a dell Which fireflies, flashing through the gloom, With momentary light illume.

They trembled, and their dread increased, Fearing his breath of life had ceased, And bending low their heads, they shook Like the tall reeds that fringe the brook. In doubt and terror down they knelt, Looked on his face, his cold hand felt, And then the gloomy truth appeared Of all their hearts had darkly feared. Kausalya and Sumitra, worn With weeping for their sons, forlorn, Woke not, but lay in slumber deep And still as death's unending sleep. Bowed down by grief, her colour fled, Her wonted lustre dull and dead, Kausalya shone not, like a star Obscured behind a cloudy bar. Beside the king's her couch was spread, And next was Queen Sumitra's bed, Who shone no more with beauty's glow, Her face bedewed with tears of woe. There lapped in sleep each wearied queen, There as in sleep, the king was seen; And swift the troubling thought came o'er Their spirits that he breathed no more. At once with wailing loud and high The matrons shrieked a bitter cry, As widowed elephants bewail Their dead lord in the woody vale. At the loud shriek that round them rang, Kausalya and Sumitra sprang Awakened from their beds, with eyes Wide open in their first surprise. Quick to the monarch's side they came, And saw and touched his lifeless frame; One cry, O husband! forth they sent, And prostrate to the ground they went. The king of Kosal's daughter(338) there Writhed, with the dust on limb and hair Lustreless, as a star might lie Hurled downward from the glorious sky. When the king's voice in death was stilled, The women who the chamber filled Saw, like a widow elephant slain, Kausalya prostrate in her pain. Then all the monarch's ladies led By Queen Kaikeyi at their head, Poured forth their tears, and weeping so, Sank on the ground, consumed by woe. The cry of grief so long and loud Went up from all the royal crowd, That, doubled by the matron train, It made the palace ring again.

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

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."

When Bharat's anger-sharpened tongue Reproaches on the queen had flung, Again, with mighty rage possessed, The guilty dame he thus addressed: "Flee, cruel, wicked sinner, flee, Let not this kingdom harbour thee. Thou who hast thrown all right aside, Weep thou for me when I have died. Canst thou one charge against the king, Or the most duteous Rama bring? The one thy sin to death has sent, The other chased to banishment. Our line's destroyer, sin defiled Like one who kills an unborn child, Ne'er with thy lord in heaven to dwell, Thy portion shall be down in hell Because thy hand, that stayed for naught, This awful wickedness has wrought, And ruined him whom all held dear, My bosom too is stirred with fear. My father by thy sin is dead, And Rama to the wood is fled; And of thy deed I bear the stain, And fameless in the world remain. Ambitious, evil-souled, in show My mother, yet my direst foe. My throning ne'er thine eyes shall bless, Thy husband's wicked murderess. Thou art not Asvapati's child, That righteous king most sage and mild, But thou wast born a fiend, a foe My father's house to overthrow. Thou who hast made Kausalya, pure, Gentle, affectionate, endure The loss of him who was her bliss,-- What worlds await thee, Queen, for this? Was it not patent to thy sense That Rama was his friends' defence, Kausalya's own true child most dear, The eldest and his father's peer? Men in the son not only trace The father's figure, form, and face, But in his heart they also find The offspring of the father's mind; And hence, though dear their kinsmen are, To mothers sons are dearer far. There goes an ancient legend how Good Surabhi, the God-loved cow, Saw two of her dear children strain, Drawing a plough and faint with pain. She saw them on the earth outworn, Toiling till noon from early morn, And as she viewed her children's woe, A flood of tears began to flow.

As haply on the boundless main Meet drifting logs and part again, So wives and children, friends and gold, Ours for a little time we hold: Soon by resistless laws of fate To meet no more we separate. In all this changing world not one The common lot of all can shun: Then why with useless tears deplore The dead whom tears can bring no more? As one might stand upon the way And to a troop of travellers say: "If ye allow it, sirs, I too Will travel on the road with you:" So why should mortal man lament When on that path his feet are bent Which all men living needs must tread, Where sire and ancestors have led? Life flies as torrents downward fall Speeding away without recall, So virtue should our thoughts engage, For bliss(382) is mortals' heritage. By ceaseless care and earnest zeal For servants and for people's weal, By gifts, by duty nobly done, Our glorious sire the skies has won. Our lord the king, o'er earth who reigned, A blissful home in heaven has gained By wealth in ample largess spent, And many a rite magnificent: With constant joy from first to last A long and noble life he passed, Praised by the good, no tears should dim Our eyes, O brother dear, for him. His human body, worn and tried By length of days, he cast aside, And gained the godlike bliss to stray In Brahma's heavenly home for aye. For such the wise as we are, deep In Veda lore, should never weep. Those who are firm and ever wise Spurn vain lament and idle sighs. Be self-possessed: thy grief restrain: Go, in that city dwell again. Return, O best of men, and be Obedient to our sire's decree, While I with every care fulfil Our holy father's righteous will, Observing in the lonely wood His charge approved by all the good." Thus Rama of the lofty mind To Bharat spoke his righteous speech, By every argument designed Obedience to his sire to teach.

When wise Maricha heard the tale His heart grew faint, his cheek was pale, He stared with open orbs, and tried To moisten lips which terror dried, And grief, like death, his bosom rent As on the king his look he bent. The monarch's will he strove to stay, Distracted with alarm, For well he knew the might that lay In Rama's matchless arm. With suppliant hands Maricha stood And thus began to tell His counsel for the tyrant's good, And for his own as well:

Again Vibhishan sadly spoke: "His was the hero arm that broke Embattled Gods' and Indra's might, Unconquered ere to-day in fight. He rushed against thee, fought and fell, As Ocean, when his waters swell, Hurling his might against a rock, Falls spent and shattered by the shock. Woe for our king's untimely end, The generous lord the trusty friend: Our sure defence when fear arose, A dreaded scourge to stubborn foes. O, let the king thy hand has slain The honours of the dead obtain."

To every Vanar Rama gave Rich treasures from the mine and wave. And with their honours well content Homeward their steps the chieftains bent. Ten thousand years Ayodhya, blest With Rama's rule, had peace and rest, No widow mourned her murdered mate, No house was ever desolate. The happy land no murrain knew, The flocks and herds increased and grew. The earth her kindly fruits supplied, No harvest failed, no children died. Unknown were want, disease, and crime: So calm, so happy was the time.(1029)

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.

The father lent a gracious ear And listened to their tale of fear, And kindly to the Gods replied Whom woe and death had terrified: "The wisest Vasudeva,(185) who The Immortals' foe, fierce Madhu, slew, Regards broad Earth with love and pride And guards, in Kapil's form, his bride.(186) His kindled wrath will quickly fall On the king's sons and burn them all. This cleaving of the earth his eye Foresaw in ages long gone by: He knew with prescient soul the fate That Sagar's children should await."

Thus by the General Sire addressed, Joy and high triumph filled his breast. His head in adoration bowed, Thus spoke he to the Immortal crowd: "If I, ye Gods, have gained at last Both length of days and Brahman caste, Grant that the high mysterious name, And holy Vedas, own my claim, And that the formula to bless The sacrifice, its lord confess. And let Vasishtha, who excels In Warriors' art and mystic spells, In love of God without a peer, Confirm the boon you promise here."

"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.

O pious soul, if thou decline The empire which is justly thine, Lest, while the king distracted lies, Disorder in the state should rise, I,--or no mansion may I find In worlds to hero souls assigned,-- The guardian of thy realm will be, As the sea-bank protects the sea. Then cast thine idle fears aside: With prosperous rites be sanctified. The lords of earth may strive in vain: My power shall all their force restrain. My pair of arms, my warrior's bow Are not for pride or empty show: For no support these shafts were made; And binding up ill suits my blade: To pierce the foe with deadly breach-- This is the work of all and each. But small, methinks the love I show For him I count my mortal foe. Soon as my trenchant steel is bare, Flashing its lightning through the air, I heed no foe, nor stand aghast Though Indra's self the levin cast. Then shall the ways be hard to pass, Where chariots lie in ruinous mass; When elephant and man and steed Crushed in the murderous onslaught bleed, And legs and heads fall, heap on heap, Beneath my sword's tremendous sweep. Struck by my keen brand's trenchant blade, Thine enemies shall fall dismayed, Like towering mountains rent in twain, Or lightning clouds that burst in rain. When armed with brace and glove I stand, And take my trusty bow in hand, Who then shall vaunt his might? who dare Count him a man to meet me there? Then will I loose my shafts, and strike Man, elephant, and steed alike: At one shall many an arrow fly, And many a foe with one shall die. This day the world my power shall see, That none in arms can rival me: My strength the monarch shall abase, And set thee, lord, in lordliest place. These arms which breathe the sandal's scent, Which golden bracelets ornament, These hands which precious gifts bestow, Which guard the friend and smite the foe, A nobler service shall assay, And fight in Rama's cause to-day, The robbers of thy rights to stay.

With taunts like these her bitter tongue The heart of blameless Bharat wrung And direr pangs his bosom tore Than when the lancet probes a sore. With troubled senses all astray Prone at her feet he fell and lay. With loud lament a while he plained, And slowly strength and sense regained. With suppliant hand to hand applied He turned to her who wept and sighed, And thus bespake the queen, whose breast With sundry woes was sore distressed: "Why these reproaches, noble dame? I, knowing naught, am free from blame. Thou knowest well what love was mine For Rama, chief of Raghu's line. O, never be his darkened mind To Scripture's guiding lore inclined, By whose consent the prince who led The good, the truthful hero, fled. May he obey the vilest lord, Offend the sun with act abhorred,(350) And strike a sleeping cow, who lent His voice to Rama's banishment. May the good king who all befriends, And, like his sons, the people tends, Be wronged by him who gave consent To noble Rama's banishment. On him that king's injustice fall, Who takes, as lord, a sixth of all, Nor guards, neglectful of his trust, His people, as a ruler must. The crime of those who swear to fee, At holy rites, some devotee, And then the promised gift deny, Be his who willed the prince should fly. When weapons clash and heroes bleed, With elephant and harnessed steed, Ne'er, like the good, be his to fight Whose heart allowed the prince's flight. Though taught with care by one expert May he the Veda's text pervert, With impious mind on evil bent, Whose voice approved the banishment. May he with traitor lips reveal Whate'er he promised to conceal, And bruit abroad his friend's offence, Betrayed by generous confidence. No wife of equal lineage born The wretch's joyless home adorn: Ne'er may he do one virtuous deed, And dying see no child succeed. When in the battle's awful day Fierce warriors stand in dread array, Let the base coward turn and fly, And smitten by the foeman, die.

In eager haste thus Lakshman cried, And Rama, lion lord, replied: "Still closer be the army scanned, And say who leads the warlike band." Lakshman his answer thus returned, As furious rage within him burned, Exciting him like kindled fire To scorch the army in his ire: "'Tis Bharat: he has made the throne By consecrating rites his own: To gain the whole dominion thus He comes in arms to slaughter us. I mark tree-high upon his car His flagstaff of the Kovidar,(376) I see his glittering banner glance, I see his chivalry advance: I see his eager warriors shine On elephants in lengthened line. Now grasp we each the shafts and bow, And higher up the mountain go. Or in this place, O hero, stand With weapons in each ready hand. Perhaps beneath our might may fall This leader of the standard tall, And Bharat I this day may see Who brought this mighty woe on thee, Sita, and me, who drove away My brother from the royal sway. Bharat our foe at length is nigh, And by this hand shall surely die: Brother, I see no sin at all If Bharat by my weapon fall. No fault is his who slays the foe Whose hand was first to strike the blow: With Bharat now the crime begins Who against thee and duty sins. The queen athirst for royal sway Will see her darling son to-day Fall by this hand, like some fair tree Struck by an elephant, slain by me. Kaikeyi's self shall perish too With kith and kin and retinue, And earth by my avenging deed Shall from this mass of sin be freed. This day my wrath, too long restrained, Shall fall upon the foe, unchained, Mad as the kindled flame that speeds Destroying through the grass and reeds. This day mine arrows keen and fierce The bodies of the foe shall pierce: The woods on Chitrakuta's side Shall run with torrents crimson-dyed. The wandering beasts of prey shall feed On heart-cleft elephant and steed, And drag to mountain caves away The bodies that my arrows slay.

"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.

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.

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.

"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."

Still with reproaches rough and rude Those fiends the gentle queen pursued: "What! can so fair a life displease, To dwell with him in joyous ease? Dwell in his bowers a happy queen In silk and gold and jewels' sheen? Still must thy woman fancy cling To Rama and reject our king? Die in thy folly, or forget That wretched wandering anchoret. Come, Sita, in luxurious bowers Spend with our lord thy happy hours; The mighty lord who makes his own The treasures of the worlds o'erthrown."

"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.

Thus Rama soothed his brother's grief: Then virtuous Javali, chief Of twice-born sages, thus replied In words that virtue's law defied: "Hail, Raghu's princely son, dismiss A thought so weak and vain as this. Canst thou, with lofty heart endowed, Think with the dull ignoble crowd? For what are ties of kindred? can One profit by a brother man? Alone the babe first opes his eyes, And all alone at last he dies. The man, I ween, has little sense Who looks with foolish reverence On father's or on mother's name: In others, none a right may claim. E'en as a man may leave his home And to a distant village roam, Then from his lodging turn away And journey on the following day, Such brief possession mortals hold In sire and mother, house and gold, And never will the good and wise The brief uncertain lodging prize. Nor, best of men, shouldst thou disown Thy sire's hereditary throne, And tread the rough and stony ground Where hardship, danger, woes abound. Come, let Ayodhya rich and bright See thee enthroned with every rite: Her tresses bound in single braid(387) She waits thy coming long delayed. O come, thou royal Prince, and share The kingly joys that wait thee there, And live in bliss transcending price As Indra lives in Paradise. The parted king is naught to thee, Nor right in living man has he: The king is one, thou, Prince of men, Another art: be counselled then. Thy royal sire, O chief, has sped On the long path we all must tread. The common lot of all is this, And thou in vain art robbed of bliss. For those--and only those--I weep Who to the path of duty keep; For here they suffer ceaseless woe, And dying to destruction go. With pious care, each solemn day, Will men their funeral offerings pay: See, how the useful food they waste: He who is dead no more can taste. If one is fed, his strength renewed Whene'er his brother takes his food, Then offerings to the parted pay: Scarce will they serve him on his way.

But Surpanakha saw the plain Spread with the fourteen thousand slain, Doers of cruel deeds o'erthrown By Rama's mighty arm alone, Add Trisiras and Dushan dead, And Khara, with the hosts they led. Their death she saw, and mad with pain, Roared like a cloud that brings the rain, And fled in anger and dismay To Lanka, seat of Ravan's sway. There on a throne of royal state Exalted sat the potentate, Begirt with counsellor and peer, Like Indra with the Storm Gods near. Bright as the sun's full splendour shone The glorious throne he sat upon, As when the blazing fire is red Upon a golden altar fed. Wide gaped his mouth at every breath, Tremendous as the jaws of Death. With him high saints of lofty thought, Gandharvas, Gods, had vainly fought. The wounds were on his body yet From wars where Gods and demons met. And scars still marked his ample chest By fierce Airavat's(484) tusk impressed. A score of arms, ten necks, had he, His royal gear was brave to see. His massive form displayed each sign That marks the heir of kingly line. In stature like a mountain height, His arms were strong, his teeth were white, And all his frame of massive mould Seemed lazulite adorned with gold. A hundred seams impressed each limp Where Vishnu's arm had wounded him, And chest and shoulder bore the print Of sword and spear and arrow dint, Where every God had struck a blow In battle with the giant foe. His might to wildest rage could wake The sea whose faith naught else can shake, Hurl towering mountains to the earth, And crush e'en foes of heavenly birth. The bonds of law and right he spurned: To others' wives his fancy turned. Celestial arms he used in fight, And loved to mar each holy rite. He went to Bhogavati's town,(485) Where Vasuki was beaten down, And stole, victorious in the strife, Lord Takshaka's beloved wife. Kailasa's lofty crest he sought, And when in vain Kuvera fought, Stole Pushpak thence, the car that through The air, as willed the master, flew.

Scarce from the ground one foot he sprang, Then stricken fell with deadly pang. Half lifeless, as he pressed the ground, He gave a roar of awful sound And ere the wounded giant died He threw his borrowed form aside Remembering still his lord's behest He pondered in his heart how best Sita might send her guard away, And Ravan seize the helpless prey. The monster knew the time was nigh, And called aloud with eager cry, "Ho, Sita, Lakshman" and the tone He borrowed was like Rama's own.

As Rama, pierced by sorrow's sting, Lamented like a helpless thing, And by his mighty woe distraught Was lost in maze of troubled thought, Sumitra's son with loving care Consoled him in his wild despair, And while his feet he gently pressed With words like these the chief addressed: "For sternest vow and noblest deed Was Dasaratha blessed with seed. Thee for his son the king obtained, Like Amrit by the Gods regained. Thy gentle graces won his heart, And all too weak to live apart The monarch died, as Bharat told, And lives on high mid Gods enrolled. If thou, O Rama, wilt not bear This grief which fills thee with despair, How shall a weaker man e'er hope, Infirm and mean, with woe to cope? Take heart, I pray thee, noblest chief: What man who breathes is free from grief? Misfortunes come and burn like flame, Then fly as quickly as they came. Yayati son of Nahush reigned With Indra on the throne he gained. But falling for a light offence He mourned a while the consequence. Vasishtha, reverend saint and sage, Priest of our sire from youth to age, Begot a hundred sons, but they Were smitten in a single day.(511) And she, the queen whom all revere, The mother whom we hold so dear, The earth herself not seldom feels Fierce fever when she shakes and reels. And those twin lights, the world's great eyes, On which the universe relies,-- Does not eclipse at times assail Their brilliance till their fires grow pale? The mighty Powers, the Immortal Blest Bend to a law which none contest. No God, no bodied life is free From conquering Fate's supreme decree. E'en Sakra's self must reap the meed Of virtue and of sinful deed. And O great lord of men, wilt thou Helpless beneath thy misery bow? No, if thy dame be lost or dead, O hero, still be comforted, Nor yield for ever to thy woe O'ermastered like the mean and low. Thy peers, with keen far-reaching eyes, Spend not their hours in ceaseless sighs; In dire distress, in whelming ill Their manly looks are hopeful still.

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.

Rama and Lakshman nearer drew The mighty fallen foe to view, Mahendra's son, the brave and bold, The monarch with his chain of gold, With lustrous face and tawny eyes, Broad chest, and arms of wondrous size, Like Lord Mahendra fierce in fight, Or Vishnu's never-conquered might, Now fallen like Yayati(587) sent From heaven, his store of merit spent, Like the bright flame that pales and dies, Like the great sun who fires the skies, Doomed in the general doom to fall When time shall end and ruin all.

(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.

He spoke,--his friends' delight and pride,-- Then stood again by Rama's side. When Tara(611) heard the words he said Within the town he quickly sped, And brought, on stalwart shoulders laid, The litter for the rites arrayed, Framed like a car for Gods, complete With painted sides and royal seat, With latticed windows deftly made, And golden birds and trees inlaid: Well joined and wrought in every part, A marvel of ingenious art. Where pleasure mounds in carven wood And many a graven figure stood. The best of jewels o'er it hung, And wreaths of flowers around it clung, And over all was raised on high A canopy of saffron dye, While like the sun of morning shone The brilliant blooms that lay thereon. That glorious litter Rama eyed. And spake to Lakshman by his side: "Let Bali on the bier be placed And with all funeral service graced." Sugriva then with many a tear Drew Bali's body to the bier Whereon, with weeping Angad's aid, The relics of the chief were laid Neath many a vesture's varied fold, And wreaths and ornaments and gold. Then King Sugriva bade them speed The obsequies by law decreed: "Let Vanars lead the way and throw Rich gems around them as they go, And be the chosen bearers near Behind them laden with the bier. No costly rite may you deny, Used when the proudest monarchs die: As for a king of widest sway. Perform his obsequies to-day." Sugriva gave his high behest; Then Princely Tara and the rest, With little Angad weeping, led The long procession of the dead. Behind the funeral litter came, With Tara first, each widowed dame, In tears and shrieks her loss deplored, Add cried aloud, My lord! My lord! While wood and hill and valley sent In echoes back the shrill lament. Then on a low and sandy isle Was reared the hero's funeral pile By crowds of toiling Vanars, where The mountain stream ran fresh and fair, The Vanar chiefs, a noble band, Had laid the litter on the sand, And stood a little space apart, Each mourning in his inmost heart.