Ramayana on Doubt

Heir of high bliss, my choice is made, Nor can I from my will be stayed. Doubt not; the earth will yield me roots, These will I eat, and woodland fruits; And as with thee I wander there I will not bring thee grief or care. I long, when thou, wise lord, art nigh, All fearless, with delighted eye To gaze upon the rocky hill, The lake, the fountain, and the rill; To sport with thee, my limbs to cool, In some pure lily-covered pool, While the white swan's and mallard's wings Are plashing in the water-springs. So would a thousand seasons flee Like one sweet day, if spent with thee. Without my lord I would not prize A home with Gods above the skies: Without my lord, my life to bless, Where could be heaven or happiness? Forbid me not: with thee I go The tangled wood to tread. There will I live with thee, as though This roof were o'er my head. My will for thine shall be resigned; Thy feet my steps shall guide. Thou, only thou, art in my mind: I heed not all beside. Thy heart shall ne'er by me be grieved; Do not my prayer deny: Take me, dear lord; of thee bereaved Thy Sita swears to die." These words the duteous lady spake, Nor would he yet consent His faithful wife with him to take To share his banishment. He soothed her with his gentle speech; To change her will he strove; And much he said the woes to teach Of those in wilds who rove.

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

When thus the sage without a peer Had closed that story strange to hear, Rama again the saint addressed To set one lingering doubt at rest: "O holy man, 'tis said by all That spirits' strength is weak and small: How can she match, of power so slight, A thousand elephants in might?" And Visvamitra thus replied To Raghu's son the glorified: "Listen, and I will tell thee how She gained the strength that arms her now. A mighty spirit lived of yore; Suketu was the name he bore. Childless was he, and free from crime In rites austere he passed his time. The mighty Sire was pleased to show His favour, and a child bestow. Tadaka named, most fair to see, A pearl among the maids was she, And matched, for such was Brahma's dower, A thousand elephants in power. Nor would the Eternal Sire, although The spirit longed, a son bestow That maid in beauty's youthful pride Was given to Sunda for a bride. Her son, Maricha was his name, A giant, through a curse, became. She, widowed, dared with him molest Agastya,(163) of all saints the best. Inflamed with hunger's wildest rage, Roaring she rushed upon the sage. When the great hermit saw her near, On speeding in her fierce career, He thus pronounced Maricha's doom: "A giant's form and shape assume." And then, by mighty anger swayed, On Tadaka this curse he laid: "Thy present form and semblance quit, And wear a shape thy mood to fit; Changed form and feature by my ban, A fearful thing that feeds on man."

When Rama, chief of Raghu's race, Arrived at that delightful place, He looked on Sita first, and then To Lakshman spake the lord of men: "Now first the shades of night descend Since to the wilds our steps we bend. Joy to thee, brother! do not grieve For our dear home and all we leave. The woods unpeopled seem to weep Around us, as their tenants creep Or fly to lair and den and nest, Both bird and beast, to seek their rest. Methinks Ayodhya's royal town Where dwells my sire of high renown, With all her men and dames to-night Will mourn us vanished from their sight. For, by his virtues won, they cling In fond affection to their king, And thee and me, O brave and true, And Bharat and Satrughna too. I for my sire and mother feel Deep sorrow o'er my bosom steal, Lest mourning us, oppressed with fears, They blind their eyes with endless tears. Yet Bharat's duteous love will show Sweet comfort in their hours of woe, And with kind words their hearts sustain, Suggesting duty, bliss, and gain. I mourn my parents now no more: I count dear Bharat's virtues o'er, And his kind love and care dispel The doubts I had, and all is well. And thou thy duty wouldst not shun, And, following me, hast nobly done; Else, bravest, I should need a band Around my wife as guard to stand. On this first night, my thirst to slake, Some water only will I take: Thus, brother, thus my will decides, Though varied store the wood provides."

"Videhan Queen, be sure of this,-- And at the thought thy fear dismiss,-- Thy husband's mightier power defies All Gods and angels of the skies, Gandharvas, and the sons of light, Serpents, and rovers of the night. I tell thee, of the sons of earth, Of Gods who boast celestial birth, Of beasts and birds and giant hosts, Of demigods, Gandharvas, ghosts, Of awful fiends, O thou most fair, There lives not one whose heart would dare To meet thy Rama in the fight, Like Indra's self unmatched in might. Such idle words thou must not say Thy Rama lives whom none may slay. I will not, cannot leave thee here In the wild wood till he be near. The mightiest strength can ne'er withstand His eager force, his vigorous hand. No, not the triple world allied With all the immortal Gods beside. Dismiss thy fear, again take heart, Let all thy doubt and woe depart. Thy lord, be sure, will soon be here And bring thee back that best of deer. Not his, not his that mournful cry, Nor haply came it from the sky. Some giant's art was busy there And framed a castle based on air. A precious pledge art thou, consigned To me by him of noblest mind, Nor can I fairest dame, forsake The pledge which Rama bade me take. Upon our heads, O Queen, we drew The giants' hate when Rama slew Their chieftain Khara, and the shade Of Janasthan in ruin laid. Through all this mighty wood they rove With varied cries from grove to grove On rapine bent they wander here: But O, dismiss thy causeless fear."

The wise Sumantra, thus addressed, Obeyed the high-souled chief's behest. He hurried forth with joy inspired And gave the orders he desired. Delight each soldier's bosom filled, And through each chief and captain thrilled, To hear that march proclaimed, to bring Dear Rama back from wandering. From house to house the tidings flew: Each soldier's wife the order knew, And as she listened blithe and gay Her husband urged to speed away. Captain and soldier soon declared The host equipped and all prepared With chariots matching thought for speed, And wagons drawn by ox and steed. When Bharat by Vasishtha's side, His ready host of warriors eyed, Thus in Sumantra's ear he spoke: "My car and horses quickly yoke." Sumantra hastened to fulfil With ready joy his master's will, And quickly with the chariot sped Drawn by fleet horses nobly bred. Then glorious Bharat, true, devout, Whose genuine valour none could doubt, Gave in fit words his order out; For he would seek the shade Of the great distant wood, and there Win his dear brother with his prayer: "Sumantra, haste! my will declare The host be all arrayed. I to the wood my way will take, To Rama supplication make, And for the world's advantage sake, Will lead him home again." Then, ordered thus, the charioteer Who listened with delighted ear, Went forth and gave his orders clear To captains of the train. He gave the popular chiefs the word, And with the news his friends he stirred, And not a single man deferred Preparing for the road. Then Brahman, Warrior, Merchant, thrall, Obedient to Sumantra's call, Each in his house arose, and all Yoked elephant or camel tall, Or ass or noble steed in stall, And full appointed showed.

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 joy that sprang from hope restored To Rama spake the Vanar lord: "I know, by wise Hanuman taught, Why thou the lonely wood hast sought. Where with thy brother Lakshman thou Hast sojourned, bound by hermit vow; Have heard how Sita, Janak's child, Was stolen in the pathless wild, How by a roving Rakshas she Weeping was reft from him and thee; How, bent on death, the giant slew The vulture king, her guardian true, And gave thy widowed breast to know A solitary mourner's woe. But soon, dear Prince, thy heart shall be From every trace of sorrow free; For I thy darling will restore, Lost like the prize of holy lore.(558) Yea, though in heaven the lady dwell, Or prisoned in the depths of hell, My friendly care her way shall track And bring thy ransomed darling back. Let this my promise soothe thy care, Nor doubt the words I truly swear. Saints, fiends, and dwellers of the skies Shall find thy wife a bitter prize, Like the rash child who rues too late The treacherous lure of poisoned cate. No longer, Prince, thy loss deplore: Thy darling wife will I restore. 'Twas she I saw: my heart infers That shrinking form was doubtless hers, Which gaint Ravan, fierce and dread, Bore swiftly through the clouds o'erhead Still writhing in his strict embrace Like helpless queen of serpent race,(559) And from her lips that sad voice came Shrieking thine own and Lakshman's name. High on a hill she saw me stand With comrades twain on either hand. Her outer robe to earth she threw, And with it sent her anklets too. We saw the glittering tokens fall, We found them there and kept them all. These will I bring: perchance thine eyes The treasured spoils will recognize."

In suppliant tone the Vanar prayed, And Raghu's son his answer made: "By Lakshman's hand this flowery twine Was wound about thee for a sign. The wreath of giant creeper throws About thy form its brillant glows, As though about the sun were set The bright stars for a coronet. One shaft of mine this day, dear friend, Thy sorrow and thy fear shall end. And, from the bowstring freed, shall be Giver of freedom, King, to thee. Then come, Sugriva, quickly show, Where'er he lie, thy bitter foe; And let my glance the wretch descry Whose deeds, a brother's name belie. Yea, soon in dust and blood o'erthrown Shall Bali fall and gasp and groan. Once let this eye the foeman see, Then, if he live to turn and flee, Despise my puny strength, and shame With foul opprobrium Rama's name. Hast thou not seen his hand, O King, Through seven tall trees one arrow wing? Still in that strength securely trust, And deem thy foeman in the dust. In all my days, though surely tried By grief and woe, I ne'er have lied; And still by duty's law restrained Will ne'er with falsehood's charge be stained. Cast doubt away: the oath I sware Its kindly fruit shall quickly bear, As smiles the land with golden grain By mercy of the Lord of rain. Oh, warrior to the gate I defy Thy foe with shout and battle-cry, Till Bali with his chain of gold Come speeding from his royal hold. Proud hearts, with warlike fire aglow, Brook not the challenge of a foe: Each on his power and might relies, And most before his ladies eyes. King Bali loves the fray too well To linger in his citadel, And, when he hears thy battle-shout, All wild for war will hasten out."

He, banished by his angry sire, Roams with his wife in mean attire. This wretch, his Warrior tribe's disgrace Has slain the best of giant race. Harsh, wicked, fierce and greedy-souled, A fool, with senses uncontrolled, No thought of duty stirs his breast: He joys to see the world distressed. He sought the wood with fair pretence Of truthful life and innocence, But his false hand my sister left Mangled, of nose and ears bereft. This Rama's wife who bears the name Of Sita, in her face and frame Fair as a daughter of the skies,-- Her will I seize and bring the prize Triumphant from the forest shade: For this I seek thy willing aid. If thou, O mighty one, wilt lend Thy help and stand beside thy friend, I with my brothers may defy All Gods embattled in the sky. Come, aid me now, for thine the power To succour in the doubtful hour. Thou art in war and time of fear, For heart and hand, without a peer. For thou art skilled in art and wile, A warrior brave and trained in guile. With this one hope, this only aim, O Rover of the Night, I came. Now let me tell what aid I ask To back me in my purposed task. In semblance of a golden deer Adorned with silver spots appear. Go, seek his dwelling: in the way Of Rama and his consort stray. Doubt not the lady, when she sees The wondrous deer amid the trees, Will bid her lord and Lakshman take The creature for its beauty's sake. Then when the chiefs have parted thence, And left her lone, without defence, As Rahu storms the moonlight, I Will seize the lovely dame and fly. Her lord will waste away and weep For her his valour could not keep. Then boldly will I strike the blow And wreak my vengeance on the foe."

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

And now the night had past away, And brightly dawned another day; The minstrels, trained to play and sing, Flocked to the chamber of the king: Bards, who their gayest raiment wore, And heralds famed for ancient lore: And singers, with their songs of praise, Made music in their several ways. There as they poured their blessings choice And hailed their king with hand and voice, Their praises with a swelling roar Echoed through court and corridor. Then as the bards his glory sang, From beaten palms loud answer rang, As glad applauders clapped their hands, And told his deeds in distant lands. The swelling concert woke a throng Of sleeping birds to life and song: Some in the branches of the trees, Some caged in halls and galleries. Nor was the soft string music mute; The gentle whisper of the lute, And blessings sung by singers skilled The palace of the monarch filled. Eunuchs and dames of life unstained, Each in the arts of waiting trained, Drew near attentive as before, And crowded to the chamber door: These skilful when and how to shed The lustral stream o'er limb and head, Others with golden ewers stood Of water stained with sandal wood. And many a maid, pure, young, and fair, Her load of early offerings bare, Cups of the flood which all revere, And sacred things, and toilet gear. Each several thing was duly brought As rule of old observance taught, And lucky signs on each impressed Stamped it the fairest and the best. There anxious, in their long array, All waited till the shine of day: But when the king nor rose nor spoke, Doubt and alarm within them woke. Forthwith the dames, by duty led, Attendants on the monarch's bed, Within the royal chamber pressed To wake their master from his rest. Skilled in the lore of dreaming, they First touched the bed on which he lay. But none replied; no sound was heard, Nor hand, nor head, nor body stirred.

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

"I doubt not, Prince, thy peerless might, Armed with these shafts so keen and bright, Like all-destroying fires of fate, The worlds could burn and devastate. But lend thou first thy mind and ear Of Bali's power and might to hear. How bold, how firm, in battle tried, Is Bali's heart; and then decide. From east to west, from south to north On restless errand hurrying forth, From farthest sea to sea he flies Before the sun has lit the skies. A mountain top he oft will seek, Tear from its root a towering peak, Hurl it aloft, as 'twere a ball, And catch it ere to earth it fall. And many a tree that long has stood In health and vigour in the wood, His single arm to earth will throw, The marvels of his might to show. Shaped like a bull, a monster bore The name of Dundubhi of yore: He matched in size a mountain height, A thousand elephants in might. By pride of wondrous gifts impelled, And strength he deemed unparalleled, To Ocean, lord of stream and brook, Athirst for war, his way he took. He reached the king of rolling waves Whose gems are piled in sunless caves, And threw his challenge to the sea; "Come forth, O King, and fight with me." He spoke, and from his ocean bed The righteous(567) monarch heaved his head, And gave, sedate, his calm reply To him whom fate impelled to die: "Not mine, not mine the power," he cried, "To cope with thee in battle tried; But listen to my voice, and seek The worthier foe of whom I speak. The Lord of Hills, where hermits live And love the home his forests give, Whose child is Sankar's darling queen,(568) The King of Snows is he I mean. Deep caves has he, and dark boughs shade The torrent and the wild cascade. From him expect the fierce delight Which heroes feel in equal fight."

The monarch, as Kaikeyi pressed With cruel words her dire request, Stood for a time absorbed in thought While anguish in his bosom wrought. "Does some wild dream my heart assail? Or do my troubled senses fail? Does some dire portent scare my view? Or frenzy's stroke my soul subdue?" Thus as he thought, his troubled mind In doubt and dread no rest could find, Distressed and trembling like a deer Who sees the dreaded tigress near. On the bare ground his limbs he threw, And many a long deep sigh he drew, Like a wild snake, with fury blind, By charms within a ring confined. Once as the monarch's fury woke, "Shame on thee!" from his bosom broke, And then in sense-bewildering pain He fainted on the ground again. At length, when slowly strength returned, He answered as his eyeballs burned With the wild fury of his ire Consuming her, as 'twere, with fire: "Fell traitress, thou whose thoughts design The utter ruin of my line, What wrong have I or Rama done? Speak murderess, speak thou wicked one, Seeks he not evermore to please Thee with all sonlike courtesies? By what persuasion art thou led To bring this ruin on his head? Ah me, that fondly unaware I brought thee home my life to share, Called daughter of a king, in truth A serpent with a venomed tooth! What fault can I pretend to find In Rama praised by all mankind, That I my darling should forsake? No, take my life, my glory take: Let either queen be from me torn, But not my well-loved eldest-born. Him but to see is highest bliss, And death itself his face to miss. The world may sunless stand, the grain May thrive without the genial rain, But if my Rama be not nigh My spirit from its frame will fly. Enough, thine impious plan forgo, O thou who plottest sin and woe. My head before thy feet, I kneel, And pray thee some compassion feel. O wicked dame, what can have led Thy heart to dare a plot so dread?

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 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."

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

As some wild elephant who tries To soothe his consort as she lies Struck by the hunter's venomed dart, So the great king disturbed in heart, Strove with soft hand and fond caress To soothe his darling queen's distress, And in his love addressed with sighs The lady of the lotus eyes: "I know not, Queen, why thou shouldst be Thus angered to the heart with me. Say, who has slighted thee, or whence Has come the cause of such offence That in the dust thou liest low, And rendest my fond heart with woe, As if some goblin of the night Had struck thee with a deadly blight, And cast foul influence on her Whose spells my loving bosom stir? I have Physicians famed for skill, Each trained to cure some special ill: My sweetest lady, tell thy pain, And they shall make thee well again. Whom, darling, wouldst thou punished see? Or whom enriched with lordly fee? Weep not, my lovely Queen, and stay This grief that wears thy frame away; Speak, and the guilty shall be freed. The guiltless be condemned to bleed, The poor enriched, the rich abased, The low set high, the proud disgraced. My lords and I thy will obey, All slaves who own thy sovereign sway; And I can ne'er my heart incline To check in aught one wish of thine. Now by my life I pray thee tell The thoughts that in thy bosom dwell. The power and might thou knowest well, Should from thy breast all doubt expel. I swear by all my merit won, Speak, and thy pleasure shall be done. Far as the world's wide bounds extend My glorious empire knows no end. Mine are the tribes in eastern lands, And those who dwell on Sindhu's sands: Mine is Surashtra, far away, Suvira's realm admits my sway. My best the southern nations fear, The Angas and the Vangas hear. And as lord paramount I reign O'er Magadh and the Matsyas' plain, Kosal, and Kasi's wide domain:(273) All rich in treasures of the mine, In golden corn, sheep, goats, and kine. Choose what thou wilt.

So Rama kept unshaken still His noble heart with iron will. To his dear brother next he turned, Whose glaring eyes with fury burned, Indignant, panting like a snake, And thus again his counsel spake: "Thine anger and thy grief restrain, And firm in duty's path remain. Dear brother, lay thy scorn aside, And be the right thy joy and pride. Thy ready zeal and thoughtful care To aid what rites should grace the heir,-- These 'tis another's now to ask; Come, gird thee for thy noble task, That Bharat's throning rites may he Graced with the things prepared for me. And with thy gentle care provide That her fond heart, now sorely tried With fear and longing for my sake, With doubt and dread may never ache. To know that thoughts of coming ill One hour that tender bosom fill With agony and dark despair Is grief too great for me to bear. I cannot, brother, call to mind One wilful fault or undesigned, When I have pained in anything My mothers or my sire the king. The right my father keeps in view, In promise, word, and action true; Let him then all his fear dismiss, Nor dread the loss of future bliss. He fears his truth herein will fail: Hence bitter thoughts his heart assail. He trembles lest the rites proceed, And at his pangs my heart should bleed. So now this earnest wish is mine, The consecration to resign, And from this city turn away To the wild wood with no delay. My banishment to-day will free Kaikeyi from her cares, that she, At last contented and elate, May Bharat's throning celebrate. Then will the lady's trouble cease, Then will her heart have joy and peace, When wandering in the wood I wear Deerskin, and bark, and matted hair. Nor shall by me his heart be grieved Whose choice approved, whose mind conceived This counsel which I follow. No, Forth to the forest will I go. 'Tis Fate, Sumitras son, confess, That sends me to the wilderness. 'Tis Fate alone that gives away To other hands the royal sway.

His utterance choked by tears that rolled Down from their fountains uncontrolled, With suppliant hands the charioteer Thus spake, the lady's heart to cheer: "Dismiss thy grief, despair, and dread That fills thy soul, of sorrow bred, For pain and anguish thrown aside, Will Rama in the wood abide. And Lakshman, with unfailing care Will guard the feet of Rama there, Earning, with governed sense, the prize That waits on duty in the skies. And Sita in the wild as well As in her own dear home will dwell; To Rama all her heart she gives, And free from doubt and terror lives. No faintest sign of care or woe The features of the lady show: Methinks Videha's pride was made For exile in the forest shade. E'en as of old she used to rove Delighted in the city's grove, Thus, even thus she joys to tread The woodlands uninhabited. Like a young child, her face as fair As the young moon, she wanders there. What though in lonely woods she stray Still Rama is her joy and stay: All his the heart no sorrow bends, Her very life on him depends. For, if her lord she might not see, Ayodhya like the wood would be. She bids him, as she roams, declare The names of towns and hamlets there, Marks various trees that meet her eye, And many a brook that hurries by, And Janak's daughter seems to roam One little league away from home When Rama or his brother speaks And gives the answer that she seeks. This, Lady, I remember well, Nor angry words have I to tell: Reproaches at Kaikeyi shot, Such, Queen, my mind remembers not." The speech when Sita's wrath was high, Sumantra passed in silence by, That so his pleasant words might cheer With sweet report Kausalya's ear. "Her moonlike beauty suffers not Though winds be rude and suns be hot: The way, the danger, and the toil Her gentle lustre may not soil. Like the red lily's leafy crown Or as the fair full moon looks down, So the Videhan lady's face Still shines with undiminished grace.

"In him," Vibhishan answered, "know Visravas' son, the Immortals' foe, Fierce Kumbhakarna, mightier far Than Gods and fiends and giants are. He conquered Yama in the fight, And Indra trembling owned his might. His arm the Gods and fiends subdued, Gandharvas and the serpent brood. The rest of his gigantic race Are wondrous strong by God-giving grace; But nature at his birth to him Gave matchless power and strength of limb. Scarce was he born, fierce monster, when He killed and ate a thousand men. The trembling race of men, appalled, On Indra for protection called; And he, to save the suffering world, His bolt at Kumbhakarna hurled. So awful was the monster's yell That fear on all the nations fell, He, rushing on with furious roar, A tusk from huge Airavat tore, And dealt the God so dire a blow That Indra reeling left his foe, And with the Gods and mortals fled To Brahma's throne dispirited. "O Brahma," thus the suppliants cried, "Some refuge for this woe provide. If thus his maw the giant sate Soon will the world be desolate." The Self-existent calmed their woe, And spake in anger to their foe: "As thou wast born, Pulastya's son, That worlds might weep by thee undone, Thou like the dead henceforth shalt be: Such is the curse I lay on thee." Senseless he lay, nor spoke nor stirred; Such was the power of Brahma's word. But Ravan, troubled for his sake, Thus to the Self-existent spake: "Who lops the tree his care has reared When golden fruit has first appeared? Not thus, O Brahma, deal with one Descended from thine own dear son.(971) Still thou, O Lord, thy word must keep, He may not die, but let him sleep. Yet fix a time for him to break The chains of slumber and awake." He ceased: and Brahma made reply; "Six months in slumber shall he lie And then arising for a day Shall cast the numbing bonds away." Now Ravan in his doubt and dread Has roused the monster from his bed, Who comes in this the hour of need On slaughtered Vanars flesh to feed.

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?

Guha the king, acquainted well With all that in the wood befell, To Bharat the unequalled told The tale of Lakshman mighty-souled: "With many an earnest word I spake To Lakshman as he stayed awake, And with his bow and shaft in hand To guard his brother kept his stand: "Now sleep a little, Lakshman, see This pleasant bed is strewn for thee: Hereon thy weary body lay, And strengthen thee with rest, I pray, Inured to toil are men like these, But thou hast aye been nursed in ease. Rest, duteous-minded! I will keep My watch while Rama lies asleep: For in the whole wide world is none Dearer to me than Raghu's son. Harbour no doubt or jealous fear: I speak the truth with heart sincere: For from the grace which he has shown Will glory on my name be thrown: Great store of merit shall I gain, And duteous, form no wish in vain. Let me enforced by many a row Of followers, armed with shaft and bow For well-loved Rama's weal provide Who lies asleep by Sita's side. For through this wood I often go, And all its shades conceal I know: And we with conquering arms can meet A four-fold host arrayed complete." "With words like these I spoke, designed To move the high-souled Bharat's mind, But he upon his duty bent, Plied his persuasive argument: "O, how can slumber close mine eyes When lowly couched with Sita lies The royal Rama? can I give My heart to joy, or even live? He whom no mighty demon, no, Nor heavenly God can overthrow, See, Guha, how he lies, alas, With Sita couched on gathered grass. By varied labours, long, severe, By many a prayer and rite austere, He, Dasaratha's cherished son, By Fortune stamped, from Heaven was won. Now as his son is forced to fly, The king ere long will surely die: Reft of his guardian hand, forlorn In widowed grief this land will mourn. E'en now perhaps, with toil o'erspent, The women cease their loud lament, And cries of woe no longer ring Throughout the palace of the king. But ah for sad Kausalya! how Fare she and mine own mother now?

Then Rama nobly calm allayed The wrath that Lakshman's bosom swayed: "What need have we the sword to wield, To bend the bow or lift the shield, If Bharat brave, and wise, and good, Himself has sought this sheltering wood? I sware my father's will to do, And if I now my brother slew What gain in kingship should I find, Despised and scorned by all mankind? Believe me, e'en as I would shrink From poisoned meat or deadly drink, No power or treasure would I win By fall of friend or kith or kin. Brother, believe the words I speak: For your dear sakes alone I seek Duty and pleasure, wealth and gain: A holy life, a happy reign. If royal sway my heart desires, My brothers' weal the wish inspires: Their bliss and safety is my care, By this uplifted bow I swear. 'Twere not so hard for me to gain This broad land girdled by the main, But even Indra's royal might Should ne'er be mine in duty's spite. If any bliss my soul can see Deprived of dear Satrughna, thee, And Bharat, may the flame destroy With ashy gloom the selfish joy. Far dearer than this life of mine, Knowing the custom of our line, His heart with fond affection fraught, Bharat Ayodhya's town resought And hearing when he came that I, With thee and Sita, forced to fly With matted hair and hermit dress Am wandering in the wilderness. While grief his troubled senses storms, And tender love his bosom warms, From every thought of evil clear, Is come to meet his brother here. Some grievous words perchance he spoke Kaikeyi's anger to provoke, Then won the king, and comes to lay Before my feet the royal sway. Hither, methinks, in season due Comes Bharat for an interview, Nor in his secret heart has he One evil thought 'gainst thee or me. What has he done ere now, reflect! How failed in love or due respect To make thee doubt his faith and lay This evil to his charge to-day? Thou shouldst not join with Bharat's name So harsh a speech and idle blame. The blows thy tongue at Bharat deals, My sympathizing bosom feels.

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.

The hermit heard his sons' reply, And burning rage inflamed his eye. Then forth his words of fury burst: "Audacious speech, by virtue cursed! It lifts on end each shuddering hair-- My charge to scorn! my wrath to dare! You, like Vasishtha's evil brood, Shall make the flesh of dogs your food A thousand years in many a birth, And punished thus shall dwell on earth."

Against his words when I rebel, Or fail to please the monarch well, When deeds of mine his soul offend, That hour I pray my life may end. How should a man to him who gave His being and his life behave? The sire to whom he owes his birth Should be his deity on earth. Hast thou, by pride and folly moved, With bitter taunt the king reproved? Has scorn of thine or cruel jest To passion stirred his gentle breast? Speak truly, Queen, that I may know What cause has changed the monarch so."

Thus Rama to his brother said; And Lakshman bent his drooping head. In turns by grief and pride impelled, A middle course of thought he held, Then in a frown of anger, bent His brows that chief most excellent, And like a serpent in his hole, Breathed fierce and fast in wrath of soul. His threatening brows so darkly frowned, His eyes so fiercely glanced around, They made his glare, which none might brook, Like some infuriate lion's look. Like some wild elephant, full oft He raised and shook his hand(291) aloft. Now turned his neck to left and right Now bent, now raised its stately height. Now in his rage that sword he felt Which mangling wounds to foemen dealt, With sidelong glance his brother eyed, And thus in burning words replied: "Thy rash resolve, thy eager haste, Thy mighty fear, are all misplaced: No room is here for duty's claim, No cause to dread the people's blame. Can one as brave as thou consent To use a coward's argument? The glory of the Warrior race With craven speech his lips debase? Can one like thee so falsely speak, Exalting Fate, confessed so weak? Canst thou, undoubting still restrain? Suspicions of those sinful twain? Canst thou, most duteous, fail to know Their hearts are set on duty's show? They with deceit have set their trains, And now the fruit rewards their pains. Had they not long ago agreed, O Rama, on this treacherous deed, That promised boon, so long retained, He erst had given and she had gained. I cannot, O my brother, bear To see another throned as heir With rites which all our people hate: Then, O, this passion tolerate. This vaunted duty which can guide Thy steps from wisdom's path aside, And change the counsel of thy breast, O lofty-hearted, I detest. Wilt thou, when power and might are thine, Submit to this abhorred design? Thy father's impious hest fulfil, That vassal of Kaikeyi's will? But if thou still wilt shut thine eyes, Nor see the guile herein that lies, My soul is sad, I deeply mourn, And duty seems a thing to scorn.

Canst thou one moment think to please This pair who live for love and ease, And 'gainst thy peace, as foes, allied, With tenderest names their hatred hide? Now if thy judgment still refers To Fate this plot of his and hers, My mind herein can ne'er agree: And O, in this be ruled by me. Weak, void of manly pride are they Who bend to Fate's imputed sway: The choicest souls, the nobly great Disdain to bow their heads to Fate. And he who dares his Fate control With vigorous act and manly soul, Though threatening Fate his hopes assail, Unmoved through all need never quail. This day mankind shall learn aright The power of Fate and human might, So shall the gulf that lies between A man and Fate be clearly seen. The might of Fate subdued by me This hour the citizens shall see, Who saw its intervention stay Thy consecrating rites to-day. My power shall turn this Fate aside, That threatens, as, with furious stride, An elephant who scorns to feel, In rage unchecked, the driver's steel. Not the great Lords whose sleepless might Protects the worlds, shall stay the rite Though earth, hell, heaven combine their powers: And shall we fear this sire of ours? Then if their minds are idly bent To doom thee, King, to banishment, Through twice seven years of exile they Shall in the lonely forest stay. I will consume the hopes that fire The queen Kaikeyi and our sire, That to her son this check will bring Advantage, making Bharat king. The power of Fate will ne'er withstand The might that arms my vigorous hand; If danger and distress assail, My fearless strength will still prevail. A thousand circling years shall flee: The forest then thy home shall be, And thy good sons, succeeding, hold The empire which their sire controlled. The royal saints, of old who reigned, For aged kings this rest ordained: These to their sons their realm commit That they, like sires, may cherish it.

Then fearless, atheists overleap The bounds of right the godly keep, And when no royal powers restrain, Preeminence and lordship gain. As in the frame of man the eye Keeps watch and ward, a careful spy, The monarch in his wide domains Protects the truth, the right maintains. He is the right, the truth is he, Their hopes in him the well-born see. On him his people's lives depend, Mother is he, and sire, and friend. The world were veiled in blinding night, And none could see or know aright, Ruled there no king in any state The good and ill to separate. We will obey thy word and will As if our king were living still: As keeps his bounds the faithful sea, So we observe thy high decree. O best of Brahmans, first in place, Our kingless land lies desolate: Some scion of Ikshvaku's race Do thou as monarch consecrate."

"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.

Thus as her breast with fury burned Her bitter speech the dame returned. Such words of rage and scorn, the last She uttered, at the fiend she cast. Her taunting speech the giant heard, And every hair with anger stirred. Then thus with fury in his eye He made in threats his fierce reply: "Hear Maithil lady, hear my speech: List to my words and ponder each. If o'er thy head twelve months shall fly And thou thy love wilt still deny, My cooks shall mince thy flesh with steel And serve it for my morning meal."

"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."

Thus spoke the hero, and aglow With rage of battle seized his bow. But Rama thus in gentler mood With fitting words his speech renewed: "No hero with a soul like thine To paths of sin will e'er incline, He who his angry heart can tame Is worthiest of a hero's name. Not thine, my brother, be the part So alien from the tender heart, Nor let thy feet by wrath misled Forsake the path they loved to tread. From harsh and angry words abstain: With gentle speech a hearing gain, And tax Sugriva with the crime Of failing faith and wasted time."

He ceased: Sugriva bowed his head And pondered for a while, and said:

"First from thy lips I fain would hear Each brighter hope, each darker fear. Speak, stranger, that I well may know The strength and weakness of the foe."

Slow came the aged chief's reply; Scarce could he say with many a sigh: "Torn with keen shafts which pierce each limb, My strength is gone, my sight is dim; Yet though I scarce can raise mine eyes, Thy voice, O chief, I recognize. O, while these ears can hear thee, say, Has Hanuman survived this day?"