Ramayana on Hope

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

That shout, which shook the land with fear, In thunder smote on Bali's ear, Where in the chamber barred and closed The sovereign with his dame reposed. Each amorous thought was rudely stilled, And pride and rage his bosom filled. His angry eyes flashed darkly red, And all his native brightness fled, As when, by swift eclipse assailed, The glory of the sun has failed. While in his fury uncontrolled He ground his teeth, his eyeballs rolled, He seemed a lake wherein no gem Of blossom decks the lotus stem. He heard, and with indignant pride Forth from the bower the Vanar hied. And the earth trembled at the beat And fury of his hastening feet. But Tara to her consort flew, Her loving arms around him threw, And trembling and bewildered, gave Wise counsel that might heal and save: "O dear my lord, this rage control That like a torrent floods thy soul, And cast these idle thoughts away Like faded wreath of yesterday, O tarry till the morning light, Then, if thou wilt, go forth and fight. Think not I doubt thy valour, no; Or deem thee weaker than thy foe, Yet for a while would have thee stay Nor see thee tempt the fight to-day. Now list, my loving lord, and learn The reason why I bid thee turn. Thy foeman came in wrath and pride, And thee to deadly fight defied. Thou wentest out: he fought, and fled Sore wounded and discomfited. But yet, untaught by late defeat, He comes his conquering foe to meet, And calls thee forth with cry and shout: Hence spring, my lord, this fear and doubt. A heart so bold that will not yield, But yearns to tempt the desperate field, Such loud defiance, fiercely pressed, On no uncertain hope can rest. So lately by thine arm o'erthrown, He comes not back, I ween, alone. Some mightier comrade guards his side, And spurs him to this burst of pride. For nature made the Vanar wise: On arms of might his hope relies; And never will Sugriva seek A friend whose power to save is weak. Now listen while my lips unfold The wondrous tale my Angad told.

Thus Angad bade the chiefs adieu: Then on the ground his limbs he threw Where sacred Darbha(760) grass was spread, And wept as every hope had fled. The moving words of Angad drew Down aged cheeks the piteous dew. And, as the chieftains' eyes grew dim, They swore to stay and die with him. On holy grass whose every blade Was duly, pointing southward, laid, The Vanars sat them down and bent Their faces to the orient, While "Here, O comrades, let us die With Angad," was the general cry.

"Sweeter my slain lord's limbs to touch, Than Angad or a hundred such. No rule or right, a widowed dame, O'er Angad or the realm I claim. Sugriva is the uncle, he In every act supreme must be. I pray thee, chief, this plan resign, Nor claim from me what ne'er is mine. The father with his tender care Guards the dear child the mother bare, Where'er I be, no sweeter task, No happier joy I hope or ask Than thus to sit with loving eyes And watch the bed where Bali lies.

Then answered Rama, as he pressed The Vanar monarch to his breast: "O search for my lost Sita, strive To find her if she still survive: And in thy wondrous wisdom trace Fierce Ravan to his dwelling-place. And when by toil and search we know Where Sita lies and where the foe, With thee, dear friend, will I devise Fit means to end the enterprise. Not mine, not Lakshman's is the power To guide us in the doubtful hour. Thou, sovereign of the Vanars, thou Must be our hope and leader now."

The Vanar watched concealed: each word Of Sita and the fiends he heard, And in a maze of anxious thought His quick-conceiving bosom wrought. "At length my watchful eyes have seen, Pursued so long, the Maithil queen, Sought by our Vanar hosts in vain From east to west, from main to main. A cautious spy have I explored The palace of the Rakhshas lord, And thoroughly learned, concealed from sight, The giant monarch's power and might. And now my task must be to cheer The royal dame who sorrows here. For if I go, and soothe her not, A captive in this distant spot, She, when she finds no comfort nigh, Will sink beneath her woes and die. How shall my tale, if unconsoled I leave her, be to Rama told? How shall I answer Raghu's son, "No message from my darling, none?" The husband's wrath, to fury fanned, Will scorch me lifeless where I stand, Or if I urge my lord the king To Lanka's isle his hosts to bring, In vain will be his zeal, in vain The toil, the danger, and the pain. Yea, this occasion must I seize That from her guard the lady frees,(846) To win her ear with soft address And whisper hope in dire distress. Shall I, a puny Vanar, choose The Sanskrit men delight to use? If, as a man of Brahman kind, I speak the tongue by rules refined, The lady, yielding to her fears, Will think 'tis Ravan's voice she hears. I must assume my only plan-- The language of a common(847) man. Yet, if the lady sees me nigh, In terror she will start and cry; And all the demon band, alarmed, Will come with various weapons armed, With their wild shouts the grove will fill, And strive to take me, or to kill. And, at my death or capture, dies The hope of Rama's enterprise. For none can leap, save only me, A hundred leagues across the sea. It is a sin in me, I own, To talk with Janak's child alone. Yet greater is the sin if I Be silent, and the lady die. First I will utter Rama's name, And laud the hero's gifts and fame. Perchance the name she holds so dear Will soothe the faithful lady's fear."

Hope at the name of Rama woke, And thus the gentle lady spoke: "I am that Sita wooed and won By Dasaratha's royal son, The noblest of Ikshvaku's line; And every earthly joy was mine. But Rama left his royal home In Dandak's tangled wilds to roam. Where with Sumitra's son and me, He lived a saintly devotee. The giant Ravan came with guile And bore me thence to Lanka's isle. Some respite yet the fiend allows, Two months of life, to Rama's spouse. Two moons of hopeless woe remain, And then the captive will be slain."

Sumitra's son his words obeyed, Brought many a tree, and deftly made, With branches in the forest cut, As Rama bade, a leafy hut. Then Rama, when the cottage stood Fair, firmly built, and walled with wood, To Lakshman spake, whose eager mind To do his brother's will inclined: "Now, Lakshman as our cot is made, Must sacrifice be duly paid By us, for lengthened life who hope, With venison of the antelope. Away, O bright-eyed Lakshman, speed: Struck by thy bow a deer must bleed: As Scripture bids, we must not slight The duty that commands the rite."

The tyrant's troubled eye confessed The secret fear that filled his breast. With dread of coming woe dismayed He called his counsellors to aid; Then sternly silent, deep in thought, His chamber in the palace sought. Then, as the surest hope of all, The monarch bade his servants call Vidyujjihva, whom magic skill Made master of the means of ill. Then spake the lord of Lanka's isle: "Come, Sita with thine arts beguile. With magic skill and deftest care A head like Rama's own prepare. This head, long shafts and mighty bow, To Janak's daughter will we show."

With suppliant palm to palm applied King Janak to the strangers cried: "This gem of bows, O Brahman Sage, Our race has prized from age to age, Too strong for those who yet have reigned, Though great in might each nerve they strained. Titan and fiend its strength defies, God, spirit, minstrel of the skies. And bard above and snake below Are baffled by this glorious bow. Then how may human prowess hope With such a bow as this to cope? What man with valour's choicest gift This bow can draw, or string, or lift? Yet let the princes, holy Seer, Behold it: it is present here."

The Three-and-thirty,(187) freed from fear, Sought their bright homes with hopeful cheer. Still rose the great tempestuous sound As Sagar's children pierced the ground. When thus the whole broad earth was cleft, And not a spot unsearched was left, Back to their home the princes sped, And thus unto their father said: "We searched the earth from side to side, While countless hosts of creatures died. Our conquering feet in triumph trod On snake and demon, fiend and God; But yet we failed, with all our toil, To find the robber and the spoil. What can we more? If more we can, Devise, O King, and tell thy plan."

High on the royal car, that glowed With glory from his face, he rode; And tambour shell and drum pealed out, And joyful was each giant's shout. A mighty host, with eyeballs red Like flames of kindled fire, he led. He passed the city gate, and viewed, Arrayed, the Vanar multitude, Those wielding massy rocks, and these Armed with the stems of uptorn trees, And Rama with his eyes aglow With warlike ardour viewed the foe, And thus the brave Vibhishan, best Of weapon-wielding chiefs, addressed: "What captain leads this bright array Where lances gleam and banners play, And thousands armed with spear and sword Await the bidding of their lord?"

Beyond the moat that girt the wall Advanced the Vanar chiefs; and all Upon the plain in firm brigade, Impetuous warriors, stood arrayed. Red at the sight flashed Lakshman's eyes, His bosom heaved tumultuous sighs, And forth the fire of fury broke Like flame that flashes through the smoke. Like some fierce snake the hero stood: His bow recalled the expanded hood, And in his shaft-head bright and keen The flickering of its tongue was seen: And in his own all-conquering might The venom of its deadly bite. Prince Angad marked his angry look, And every hope his heart forsook. Then, his large eyes with fury red, To Angad Lakshman turned and said:

She ceased, and Hanuman replied, By shape and threat unterrified: "Brave Rama with his Maithil spouse Lodged in the shade of Dandak's boughs, Thence Ravan king of giants stole Sita the joy of Rama's soul. By Rama's high behest to her I go a willing messenger; And never shouldst them hinder one Who toils for Dasaratha's son. First captive Sita will I see, And him who sent and waits for me, Then come and to thy will submit, Yea, by my truth I promise it." "Nay, hope not thus thy life to save; Not such the boon that Brahma gave. Enter my mouth," was her reply, "Then forward on thy journey hie!"(796)

Soon as the shades of night had fled, Thus to the wise Sumantra said The happy king, while priest and peer, Each in his place, were standing near: "Let all my treasurers to-day, Set foremost in the long array, With gold and precious gems supplied In bounteous store, together ride. And send you out a mighty force, Foot, chariot, elephant, and horse. Besides, let many a car of state, And noblest steeds, my will await. Vasishtha, Vamadeva sage, And Markandeya's reverend age, Javali, Kasyap's godlike seed, And wise Katyayana, shall lead. Thy care, Sumantra, let it be To yoke a chariot now for me, That so we part without delay: These envoys hasten me away."

She spoke, and by his words relieved, The food from Indra's hand received, Yet ere she ate the balm he brought, On Lakshman and her lord she thought. "If my brave lord be still alive, If valiant Lakshman yet survive, May this my taste of heavenly food Bring health to them and bliss renewed!" She ate, and that celestial food Stayed hunger, thirst, and lassitude, And all her strength restored. Great joy her hopeful spirit stirred At the glad tidings newly heard Of Lakshman and her lord. And Indra's heart was joyful too: He bade the Maithil dame adieu, His saving errand done. With Sleep beside him parting thence He sought his heavenly residence To prosper Raghu's son.

The wives he left had both conceived-- So is the ancient tale believed:-- One, of her rival's hopes afraid, Fell poison in the viands laid. It chanced that Chyavan, Bhrigu's child, Had wandered to the pathless wild Where proud Himalaya's lovely height Detained him with a strange delight. Then came the other widowed queen With lotus eyes and beauteous mien, Longing a noble son to bear, And wooed the saint with earnest prayer. When thus Kalindi, fairest dame With reverent supplication came, To her the holy sage replied: "O royal lady, from thy side A glorious son shall spring ere long, Righteous and true and brave and strong; He, scourge of foes and lofty-souled, His ancient race shall still uphold."

As serpents cast their sloughs away And all their new born sheen display, So flash your mighty swords inlaid With burning gold on hilt and blade. Why are you silent, heroes? Why My questions hear nor deign reply? Sugriva, lord of virtuous mind, The foremost of the Vanar kind, An exile from his royal state, Roams through the land disconsolate. I, Hanuman, of Vanar race, Sent by the king have sought this place, For he, the pious, just, and true, In friendly league would join with you. Know, godlike youths, that I am one Of his chief lords, the Wind-God's son. With course unchecked I roam at will, And now from Rishyamuka's hill, To please his heart, his hope to speed, I came disguised in beggar's weed."

Nor would Sumitra's valiant son(982) The might of Kumbhakarna shun, Who through his harness felt the sting Of keen shafts loosened from the string. His heart confessed the warrior's power, And, bleeding from the ceaseless shower That smote him on the chest and side, With words like these the giant cried: "Well fought, well fought, Sumitra's son; Eternal glory hast thou won, For thou in desperate fight hast met The victor never conquered yet, Whom, borne on huge Airavat's back, E'en Indra trembles to attack. Go, son of Queen Sumitra, go: Thy valour and thy strength I know. Now all my hope and earnest will Is Rama in the fight to kill. Let him beneath my weapons fall, And I will meet and conquer all."

But in the monarch's palace, when Sped from the bower that lord of men, Up from the weeping women went A mighty wail and wild lament: "Ah, he who ever freely did His duty ere his sire could bid, Our refuge and our sure defence, This day will go an exile hence, He on Kausalya loves to wait Most tender and affectionate, And as he treats his mother, thus From childhood has he treated us. On themes that sting he will not speak, And when reviled is calm and meek. He soothes the angry, heals offence: He goes to-day an exile hence. Our lord the king is most unwise, And looks on life with doting eyes, Who in his folly casts away The world's protection, hope, and stay."

Sugriva moved by wondering awe The high-souled sons of Raghu saw, In all their glorious arms arrayed; And grief upon his spirit weighed. To every quarter of the sky He turned in fear his anxious eye, And roving still from spot to spot With troubled steps he rested not. He durst not, as he viewed the pair, Resolve to stand and meet them there; And drooping cheer and quailing breast The terror of the chief confessed. While the great fear his bosom shook, Brief counsel with his lords he took; Each gain and danger closely scanned, What hope in flight, what power to stand, While doubt and fear his bosom rent, On Raghu's sons his eyes he bent, And with a spirit ill at ease Addressed his lords in words like these:

"Behold a mighty task achieved, Which never heart but his conceived. Who else across the sea can spring, Save Vayu(896) and the Feathered King?(897) Who, pass the portals strong and high Which Nagas,(898) Gods, and fiends defy, Where Ravan's hosts their station keep,-- And come uninjured o'er the deep? By such a deed the Wind-God's son Good service to the king has done, And saved from ruin and disgrace Lakshman and me and Raghu's race. Well has he planned and bravely fought, And with due care my lady sought. But of the sea I sadly think, And the sweet hopes that cheered me sink. How can we cross the leagues of foam That keep us from the giant's home? What can the Vanar legions more Than muster on the ocean shore?"

Thus Rama spake: Sugriva heard, And mighty joy his bosom stirred: As thus his champion he addressed: "Now by thy favour, first and best Of heroes, shall thy friend obtain His realm and darling wife again Recovered from the foe. Check thou mine elder brother's might; That ne'er again his deadly spite May rob me of mine ancient right, Or vex my soul with woe." The league was struck, a league to bring To Sita fiends, and Vanar king(556) Apportioned bliss and bale. Through her left eye quick throbbings shot,(557) Glad signs the lady doubted not, That told their hopeful tale. The bright left eye of Bali felt An inauspicious throb that dealt A deadly blow that day. The fiery left eyes of the crew Of demons felt the throb, and knew The herald of dismay.

Then Lakshman round his brother threw His mighty arms in honour due, Bent lowly down his reverent head, And onward to the battle sped. Hanuman from afar beheld How Ravan's shafts the Vanars quelled: To meet the giant's car he ran, Raised his right arm and thus began: "If Brahma's boon thy life has screened From Yaksha, God, Gandharva, fiend, With these contending fear no ill, But tremble at a Vanar still." With fury flashing from his eye The lord of Lanka made reply: "Strike, Vanar, strike: the fray begin, And hope eternal fame to win. This arm shall prove thee in the strife And end thy glory and thy life." "Remember," cried the Wind-God's son, "Remember all that I have done, My prowess, King, thou knowest well, Shown in the fight when Aksha(963) fell."

They heard his voice: the flight was stayed; Again for war they stood arrayed, And hurled upon the foe a shower Of mountain peaks and trees in flower. Still on his limbs their missiles rained: Unmoved, their blows he still sustained, And seemed unconscious of the stroke When rocks against his body broke. Fierce as the flame when woods are dry He charged with fury in his eye. Like trees consumed with fervent heat They fell beneath the giant's feet. Some o'er the ground, dyed red with gore, Fled wild with terror to the shore, And, deeming that all hope was lost, Ran to the bridge they erst had crossed. Some clomb the trees their lives to save, Some sought the mountain and the cave; Some hid them in the bosky dell, And there in deathlike slumber fell.

Thus to Lord Indra, Thousand-eyed, Softly beseeching Diti sighed. When but a blighted bud was left, Which Indra's hand in seven had cleft:(213) "No fault, O Lord of Gods, is thine; The blame herein is only mine. But for one grace I fain would pray, As thou hast reft this hope away. This bud, O Indra, which a blight Has withered ere it saw the light-- From this may seven fair spirits rise To rule the regions of the skies. Be theirs through heaven's unbounded space On shoulders of the winds to race, My children, drest in heavenly forms, Far-famed as Maruts, Gods of storms. One God to Brahma's sphere assign, Let one, O Indra, watch o'er thine; And ranging through the lower air, The third the name of Vayu(214) bear. Gods let the four remaining be, And roam through space, obeying thee."

Skilled in the laws which Scriptures teach, He answered thus Vasishtha's speech: "O Saint, what warder bars the gate? Whose bidding can the king await? In one's own house what doubt is shown? This kingdom, Sage, is all thine own. E'en now the maidens may be found Within the sacrificial ground: Each vow is vowed and prayed each prayer, And they, like fire, are shining there. Here by the shrine my place I took Expecting thee with eager look, No bar the nuptial rites should stay: What cause have we for more delay?" When Janak's speech the monarch heard, To sons and saints he gave the word, And set them in the holy ring, Then to Vasishtha spoke the king Of Mithila: "O mighty Sage, Now let this task thy care engage, And lend thine aid and counsel wise The nuptial rites to solemnize."

They stood where trees of densest green Wove round their forms a veiling screen. O'er all the garden's pleasant shade The eyes of King Sugriva strayed, And, as on grass and tree he gazed, The fires of wrath within him blazed. Then like a mighty cloud on high, When roars the tempest through the sky, Girt by his friends he thundered out His dread sky-rending battle-shout Like some proud lion in his gait, Or as the sun begins his state, Sugriva let his quick glance rest On Rama whom he thus addressed: "There is the seat of Bali's sway, Where flags on wall and turret play, Which mighty bands of Vanars hold, Rich in all arms and store of gold. Thy promise to thy mind recall That Bali by thy hand shall fall. As kindly fruits adorn the bough. So give my hopes their harvest now."

Go seek him sunk in bliss and sloth, Forgetful of his royal oath, And as mine envoy thus upbraid The monarch for his help delayed: "Vile is the wretch who will not pay The favour of an earlier day, Hope in the supplicant's breast awakes, And then his plighted promise breaks. Noblest, mid all of women born, Who keeps the words his lips have sworn, Yea, if those words be good or ill, Maintains his faith unbroken still. The thankless who forget to aid The friend who helped them when they prayed, Dishonoured in their death shall lie, And dogs shall pass their corpses by. Sure thou wouldst see my strained arm hold My bow of battle backed with gold, Wouldst gaze upon its awful form Like lightning flashing through the storm, And hear the clanging bowstring loud As thunder from a labouring cloud."

"King Dasaratha," thus cried they, "Fervent in penance many a day, The sacrificial steed has slain, Longing for sons, but all in vain. Now, at the cry of us forlorn, Incarnate as his seed be born. Three queens has he: each lovely dame Like Beauty, Modesty, or Fame. Divide thyself in four, and be His offspring by these noble three. Man's nature take, and slay in fight Ravan who laughs at heavenly might: This common scourge, this rankling thorn Whom the three worlds too long have borne For Ravan in the senseless pride Of might unequalled has defied The host of heaven, and plagues with woe Angel and bard and saint below, Crushing each spirit and each maid Who plays in Nandan's(107) heavenly shade. O conquering Lord, to thee we bow; Our surest hope and trust art thou. Regard the world of men below, And slay the Gods' tremendous foe."

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."

"Whate'er a friend most wise and true, Who counsels for the best, should do, Whate'er his gentle part should be, Has been performed, dear friend, by thee. Taught by thy counsel, O my lord, I feel my native strength restored. A friend like thee is hard to gain, Most rare in time of grief and pain. Now strain thine utmost power to trace The Maithil lady's dwelling place, And aid me in my search to find Fierce Ravan of the impious mind. Trust thou, in turn, thy loyal friend, And say what aid this arm can lend To speed thy hopes, as fostering rain Quickens in earth the scattered grain. Deem not those words, that seemed to spring From pride, are false, O Vanar King. None from these lips has ever heard, None e'er shall hear, one lying word. Again I promise and declare, Yea, by my truth, dear friend, I swear."

That moment brought Vibhishan near. Sugriva knew the cause of fear, And ordered Jambavan, who led The bears, to check the hosts that fled. The king of bears his hest obeyed: The Vanars' headlong flight was stayed. A little while Vibhishan eyed The brothers fallen side by side. His giant fingers wet with dew Across the heroes' eyes he drew, Still on the pair his sad look bent, And spoke these word in wild lament: "Ah for the mighty chiefs brought low By coward hand and stealthy blow! Brave pair who loved the open fight, Slain by that rover of the night. Dishonest is the victory won By Indrajit my brother's son. I on their might for aid relied, And in my cause they fought and died. Lost is the hope that soothed each pain: I live, but live no more to reign, While Lanka's lord, untouched by ill, Exults in safe defiance still."

Then spoke the hermit pious-souled: "Rama, dear son, the bow behold." Then Rama at his word unclosed The chest wherein its might reposed, Thus crying, as he viewed it: "Lo! I lay mine hand upon the bow: May happy luck my hope attend Its heavenly strength to lift or bend." "Good luck be thine," the hermit cried: "Assay the task!" the king replied. Then Raghu's son, as if in sport, Before the thousands of the court, The weapon by the middle raised That all the crowd in wonder gazed. With steady arm the string he drew Till burst the mighty bow in two. As snapped the bow, an awful clang, Loud as the shriek of tempests, rang. The earth, affrighted, shook amain As when a hill is rent in twain. Then, senseless at the fearful sound, The people fell upon the ground: None save the king, the princely pair, And the great saint, the shock could bear.

Thus in loud tones the king exclaimed, And mute stood Malyavan ashamed, His reverend head he humbly bent, And slowly to his mansion went. But Ravan stayed, and deep in care Held counsel with his nobles there, All entrance to secure and close, And guard the city from their foes. He bade the chief Prahasta wait, Commander at the eastern gate, To fierce Mahodar, strong and brave, To keep the southern gate, he gave, Where Mahaparsva's might should aid The chieftain with his hosts arrayed. To guard the west--no chief more fit-- He placed the warrior Indrajit, His son, the giant's joy and boast, Surrounded by a Rakshas host: And mighty Saran hastened forth With Suka to protect the north.(945) "I will myself," the monarch cried, "Be present on the northern side." These orders for the walls' defence The tyrant gave, then parted thence, And, by the hope of victory fired, To chambers far within, retired.

He looked upon the burning waste, Then sought the queen in joyous haste, With words of hope consoled her heart, And made him ready to depart. He scaled Arishta's glorious steep Whose summits beetled o'er the deep. The woods in varied beauty dressed Hung like a garland round his crest, And clouds of ever changing hue A robe about his shoulders threw. On him the rays of morning fell To wake the hill they loved so well, And bid unclose those splendid eyes That glittered in his mineral dyes. He woke to hear the music made By thunders of the white cascade, While every laughing rill that sprang From crag to crag its carol sang. For arms, he lifted to the stars His towering stems of Deodars, And morning heard his pealing call In tumbling brook and waterfall. He trembled when his woods were pale And bowed beneath the autumn gale, And when his vocal reeds were stirred His melancholy moan was heard.

As thus the maid in wrath complained, Kaikeyi saw her heart was pained, And answered eager in defence Of Rama's worth and excellence: "Nay, Rama, born the monarch's heir, By holy fathers trained with care, Virtuous, grateful, pure, and true, Claims royal sway as rightly due. He, like a sire, will long defend Each brother, minister, and friend. Then why, O hump-back, art thou pained To hear that he the throne has gained? Be sure when Rama's empire ends, The kingdom to my son descends, Who, when a hundred years are flown, Shall sit upon his fathers' throne. Why is thine heart thus sad to see The joy that is and long shall be, This fortune by possession sure And hopes which we may count secure? Dear as the darling son I bore Is Rama, yea, or even more. Most duteous to Kausalya, he Is yet more dutiful to me. What though he rule, we need not fear: His brethren to his soul are dear. And if the throne Prince Rama fill Bharat will share the empire still."

Then met on high in bright array, With eyes that longed to see the fray, God and Gandharva, sage and saint, With beings pure from earthly taint. Blest for good works aforetime wrought, Thus each to other spake his thought: "Now joy to Brahmans, joy to kine, And all whom world count half divine! May Raghu's offspring slay in fight Pulastya's sons who roam by night!" In words like these and more, the best Of high-souled saints their hopes expressed, Bending their eager eyes from where Car-borne with Gods they rode in air. Beneath them stretching far, they viewed The giants' death-doomed multitude. They saw where, urged with fury, far Before the host rolled Khara's car, And close beside their leader came Twelve giant peers of might and fame. Four other chiefs(463) before the rest Behind their leader Dushan pressed. Impetuous, cruel, dark, and dread, All thirsting for the fray, The hosts of giant warriors sped Onward upon their way. With eager speed they reached the spot Where dwelt the princely two,-- Like planets in a league to blot The sun and moon from view.

Now all the giant race await, Destroyed by thee, a speedy fate, Ruled by a king so cruel-souled, Foolish in heart and uncontrolled. Think not I fear the sudden blow That threatens now to lay me low: I mourn the ruin that I see Impending o'er thy host and thee. Me first perchance will Rama kill, But soon his hand thy blood will spill. I die, and if by Rama slain And not by thee, I count it gain. Soon as the hero's face I see His angry eyes will murder me, And if on her thy hands thou lay Thy friends and thou are dead this day. If with my help thou still must dare The lady from her lord to tear, Farewell to all our days are o'er, Lanka and giants are no more. In vain, in vain, an earnest friend, I warn thee, King, and pray. Thou wilt not to my prayers attend, Or heed the words I say So men, when life is fleeting fast And death's sad hour is nigh, Heedless and blinded to the last Reject advice and die."

Sardula heard, but scarce might speak; His trembling tones were faint and weak: "O Giant King, in vain we try The purpose of the foe to spy. Their strength and number none may tell, And Rama guards his legions well. He leaves no hope to prying eyes, And parley with the chiefs denies: Each road and path a Vanar guard, Of mountain size, has closed and barred. Soon as my feet an entrance found By giants was I seized and bound, And wounded sore I fell beneath Their fists and knees and hands and teeth. Then trembling, bleeding, wellnigh dead To Rama's presence was I led. He in his mercy stooped to save, And freedom to the captive gave. With rocks and shattered mountains he Has bridged his way athwart the sea, And he and all his legions wait Embattled close to Lanka's gate. Soon will the host thy wall assail, And, swarming on, the rampart scale. Now, O my King, his consort yield, Or arm thee with the sword and shield. This choice is left thee: choose between Thy safety and the Maithil queen."(943)

Then Bharat rose at early morn, And in his noble chariot borne Drove forward at a rapid pace Eager to look on Rama's face. The priests and lords, a fair array, In sun-bright chariots led the way. Behind, a well appointed throng, Nine thousand elephants streamed along. Then sixty thousand cars, and then, With various arms, came fighting men. A hundred thousand archers showed In lengthened line the steeds they rode-- A mighty host, the march to grace Of Bharat, pride of Raghu's race. Kaikeyi and Sumitra came, And good Kausalya, dear to fame: By hopes of Rama's coming cheered They in a radiant car appeared. On fared the noble host to see Rama and Lakshman, wild with glee, And still each other's ear to please, Of Rama spoke in words like these: "When shall our happy eyes behold Our hero true, and pure, and bold, So lustrous dark, so strong of arm, Who keeps the world from woe and harm? The tears that now our eyeballs dim Will vanish at the sight of him, As the whole world's black shadows fly When the bright sun ascends the sky."

Then o'er the lady's soul and frame A sudden fear and trembling came, When, glowing in his youthful pride, She saw the monarch by her side. Silent she sat, her eyes depressed, Her soft arms folded o'er her breast, And,--all she could,--her beauties screened From the bold gazes of the fiend. There where the wild she-demons kept Their watch around, she sighed and wept. Then, like a severed bough, she lay Prone on the bare earth in dismay. The while her thoughts on love's fleet wings Flew to her lord the best of kings. She fell upon the ground, and there Lay struggling with her wild despair, Sad as a lady born again To misery and woe and pain, Now doomed to grief and low estate, Once noble fair and delicate: Like faded light of holy lore, Like Hope when all her dreams are o'er; Like ruined power and rank debased, Like majesty of kings disgraced: Like worship foiled by erring slips, The moon that labours in eclipse; A pool with all her lilies dead, An army when its king has fled: So sad and helpless wan and worn, She lay among the fiends forlorn.

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

The monarch heard the mournful tale: His heart was faint, his cheek was pale; His fleeting sense at length regained, In trembling tones he thus complained: "Ah me, my son, my pride: the boast And glory of the giant host. Could Lakshman's puny might defeat The foe whom Indra feared to meet? Could not thy deadly arrows split Proud Mandar's peaks, O Indrajit, And the Destroyer's self destroy? And wast thou conquered by a boy? I will not weep: thy noble deed Has blessed thee with immortal meed Gained by each hero in the skies Who fighting for his sovereign dies. Now, fearless of all meaner foes, The guardian Gods(993) will taste repose: But earth to me, with hill and plain, Is desolate, for thou art slain. Ah, whither hast thou fled, and left Thy mother, Lanka, me bereft; Left pride and state and wives behind, And lordship over all thy kind? I fondly hoped thy hand should pay Due honours on my dying day: And couldst thou, O beloved, flee And leave thy funeral rites to me? Life has no comfort left me, none, O Indrajit my son, my son."

As Queen Kaikeyi thus obeyed The sinful counsel of her maid She sank upon the chamber floor, As sinks in anguish, wounded sore, An elephant beneath the smart Of the wild hunter's venomed dart. The lovely lady in her mind Revolved the plot her maid designed, And prompt the gain and risk to scan She step by step approved the plan. Misguided by the hump-back's guile She pondered her resolve awhile, As the fair path that bliss secured The miserable lady lured, Devoted to her queen, and swayed By hopes of gain and bliss, the maid Rejoiced, her lady's purpose known, And deemed the prize she sought her own. Then bent upon her purpose dire, Kaikeyi with her soul on fire, Upon the floor lay, languid, down, Her brows contracted in a frown. The bright-hued wreath that bound her hair, Chains, necklets, jewels rich and rare, Stripped off by her own fingers lay Spread on the ground in disarray, And to the floor a lustre lent As stars light up the firmament. Thus prostrate in the mourner's cell, In garb of woe the lady fell, Her long hair in a single braid, Like some fair nymph of heaven dismayed.(272)

The root, the leaf, the fruit which thou Shalt give me from the earth or bough, Scanty or plentiful, to eat, Shall taste to me as Amrit sweet. As there I live on flowers and roots And every season's kindly fruits, I will not for my mother grieve, My sire, my home, or all I leave. My presence, love, shall never add One pain to make the heart more sad; I will not cause thee grief or care, Nor be a burden hard to bear. With thee is heaven, where'er the spot; Each place is hell where thou art not. Then go with me, O Rama; this Is all my hope and all my bliss. If thou wilt leave thy wife who still Entreats thee with undaunted will, This very day shall poison close The life that spurns the rule of foes. How, after, can my soul sustain The bitter life of endless pain, When thy dear face, my lord, I miss? No, death is better far than this. Not for an hour could I endure The deadly grief that knows not cure, Far less a woe I could not shun For ten long years, and three, and one."

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

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

"Lost was my power," the king replied, "All strength had fled, all hope had died. The Vanars owned another lord, But by thy grace was all restored. All this, O conqueror of the foe, To thee and Lakshman's aid I owe. And his should be the villain's shame Who durst deny the sacred claim. These Vanar chiefs of noblest birth Have at my bidding roamed the earth, And brought from distant regions all Our legions at their monarch's call: Fierce bears with monkey troops combined, And apes of every varied kind, Terrific in their forms, who dwell In grove and wood and bosky dell: The bright Gandharvas' brood, the seed Of Gods,(649) they change their shapes at need. Each with his legions in array, Hither, O Prince, they make their way. They come: and tens of millions swell To numbers that no tongue may tell.(650) For thee their armies will unite With chiefs, Mahendra's peers in might. From Meru and from Vindhya's chain They come like clouds that bring the rain. These round thee to the war will go, To smite to earth thy demon foe; Will slay the Rakshas and restore Thy consort when the fight is o'er."

Up sprang the Vanars from the ground And listened to the wondrous sound Of hurtling arm and thigh as through The region of the air he flew, Loud as the wind, when tempests rave, Roars in the prison of the cave. From crag to crag, from height to height; They bounded in their mad delight, And when he touched the mountain's crest, With reverent welcome round him pressed. They brought him of their woodland fruits, They brought him of the choicest roots, And laughed and shouted in their glee The noblest of their chiefs to see. Nor Hanuman delayed to greet Sage Jambavan with reverence meet; To Angad and the chiefs he bent For age and rank preeminent, And briefly spoke: "These eyes have seen, These lips addressed, the Maithil queen." They sat beneath the waving trees, And Angad spoke in words like these: "O noblest of the Vanar kind For valour power and might combined, To thee triumphant o'er the foe Our hopes, our lives and all we owe. O faithful heart in perils tried, Which toil nor fear could turn aside, Thy deed the lady will restore, And Rama's heart will ache no more."(890)

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

How fares the king? this night, I think, Some of the three in death will sink. With hopes upon Satrughna set My mother may survive as yet, But the sad queen will die who bore The hero, for her grief is sore. His cherished wish that would have made Dear Rama king, so long delayed, "Too late! too late!" the king will cry, And conquered by his misery die. When Fate has brought the mournful day Which sees my father pass away, How happy in their lives are they Allowed his funeral rites to pay. Our exile o'er, with him who ne'er Turns from the oath his lips may swear, May we returning safe and well gain in fair Ayodhya dwell." Thus Bharat stood with many a sigh Lamenting, and the night went by. Soon as the morning light shone fair In votive coils both bound their hair. And then I sent them safely o'er And left them on the farther shore. With Sita then they onward passed, Their coats of bark about them cast, Their locks like hermits' bound, The mighty tamers of the foe, Each with his arrows and his bow, Went over the rugged ground, Proud in their strength and undeterred Like elephants that lead the herd, And gazing oft around."

"Hear me, Maricha, while I speak, And tell thee why thy home I seek. Sick and distressed am I, and see My surest hope and help in thee. Of Janasthan I need not tell, Where Surpanakha, Khara, dwell, And Dushan with the arm of might, And Trisiras, the fierce in fight, Who feeds on human flesh and gore, And many noble giants more, Who roam in dark of midnight through The forest, brave and strong and true. By my command they live at ease And slaughter saints and devotees. Those twice seven thousand giants, all Obedient to their captain's call, Joying in war and ruthless deeds Follow where mighty Khara leads. Those fearless warrior bands who roam Through Janasthan their forest home, In all their terrible array Met Rama in the battle fray. Girt with all weapons forth they sped With Khara at the army's head. The front of battle Rama held: With furious wrath his bosom swelled. Without a word his hate to show He launched the arrows from his bow. On the fierce hosts the missiles came, Each burning with destructive flame, The twice seven thousand fell o'erthrown By him, a man, on foot, alone. Khara the army's chief and pride, And Dushan, fearless warrior, died, And Trisiras the fierce was slain, And Dandak wood was free again.

"Not for myself, O King, I grieve, For Tara or the friends I leave, As for sweet Angad, my dear son, My noble, only little one. For, nursed in luxury and bliss, His father he will mourn and miss, And like a stream whose fount is dry Will waste away and sink and die,-- My own dear child, my only boy, His mother Tara's hope and joy. Spare him, O son of Raghu, spare The child entrusted to thy care. My Angad and Sugriva treat E'en as thy heart considers meet, For thou, O chief of men, art strong To guard the right and punish wrong. O, if thou wilt thine ear incline To hear these dying words of mine, He and Sugriva will to thee As Bharat and as Lakshman be. Let not my Tara, left forlorn, Weep for Sugriva's wrathful scorn; Nor let him, for her lord's offence, Condemn her faithful innocence. And well and wisely may he reign If thy dear grace his power sustain: If, following thee his friend and guide, He turn not from thy hest aside: Thus may he reign with glory, nay Thus to the skies will win his way. Though stayed by Tara's fond recall, By thy dear hand I longed to fall. Against my brother rushed and fought, And gained the death I long have sought."

The city dames, with grief distressed, Thus once again their lords addressed: "Rama shall be your guard and guide, And Sita will for us provide. For who would care to linger here, Where all is sad and dark and drear? Who, mid the mourners, hope for bliss In a poor soulless town like this? If Queen Kaikeyi's treacherous sin, Our lord expelled, the kingdom win, We heed not sons or golden store, Our life itself we prize no more. If she, seduced by lust of sway, Her lord and son could cast away, Whom would she leave unharmed, the base Defiler of her royal race? We swear it by our children dear, We will not dwell as servants here; If Queen Kaikeyi live to reign, We will not in her realm remain. Bowed down by her oppressive hand, The helpless, lordless, godless land, Cursed for Kaikeyi's guilt will fall, And swift destruction seize it all. For, Rama forced from home to fly, The king his sire will surely die, And when the king has breathed his last Ruin will doubtless follow fast. Sad, robbed of merits, drug the cup And drink the poisoned mixture up, Or share the exiled Rama's lot, Or seek some land that knows her not. No reason, but a false pretence Drove Rama, Sita, Lakshman hence, And we to Bharat have been given Like cattle to the shambles driven."

Quick breathing like a furious snake, With tears and sobs the hero spake, With reddened eyes aglow with rage. And Bharadvaja, mighty sage, Supreme in wisdom, calm and grave, In words like these good counsel gave: "O Bharat, hear the words I say; On her the fault thou must not lay: For many a blessing yet will spring From banished Rama's wandering." And Bharat, with that promise cheered, Went circling round that saint revered, He humbly bade farewell, and then Gave orders to collect his men. Prompt at the summons thousands flew To cars which noble coursers drew, Bright-gleaming, glorious to behold, Adorned with wealth of burnished gold. Then female elephants and male, Gold-girthed, with flags that wooed the gale, Marched with their bright bells' tinkling chime Like clouds when ends the summer time: Some cars were huge and some were light, For heavy draught or rapid flight, Of costly price, of every kind, With clouds of infantry behind. The dames, Kausalya at their head, Were in the noblest chariots led, And every gentle bosom beat With hope the banished prince to meet. The royal Bharat, glory-crowned, With all his retinue around, Borne in a beauteous litter rode, Like the young moon and sun that glowed. The army as it streamed along, Cars, elephants, in endless throng, Showed, marching on its southward way, Like autumn clouds in long array.

Thus questioned by the prince, at length Kaikeyi's son regained his strength, And hand to hand in reverence laid, To Rama thus his answer made: "The great-armed monarch, O my lord, Has dared to do a thing abhorred, Left us, and grieving for his son, A home among the Gods has won. My mother Queen Kaikeyi gave The order to the king her slave, And at the bidding of the dame He wrought the sin which mars his fame. Athirst for sway, her hopes are crossed, She mourns her son, her husband lost, And through her impious crime will go For punishment to hell below. Now O my lord, forgive me all; Be gracious to thy lowly thrall: Anointed king, accept to-day Like Indra's self, the royal sway. Be gracious, Prince, to lord and peer, And widowed queens who seek thee here Accept the kingdom thine by right, And so thy faithful friends delight. Let the broad land no longer be All widowed and forlorn of thee: Let the full moon of autumn reign Triumphant o'er the night again. These lords and I before thee bend: O Rama, to our prayer attend. O do not thou this grace deny: Thy brother, pupil, slave am I. Look on this venerable ring, Advisers of our sire the king, From age to age so honoured: thou Shouldst grant their supplication now."

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

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

He saw her weep whose offspring feed In thousands over hill and mead, And knew that in a mother's eye Naught with a son, for love, can vie. He deemed her, when the tears that came From her sad eyes bedewed his frame, Laden with their celestial scent, Of living things most excellent. If she these tears of sorrow shed Who many a thousand children bred, Think what a life of woe is left Kausalya, of her Rama reft. An only son was hers and she Is rendered childless now by thee. Here and hereafter, for thy crime, Woe is thy lot through endless time. And now, O Queen, without delay, With all due honour will I pay Both to my brother and my sire The rites their several fates require. Back to Ayodhya will I bring The long-armed chief, her lord and king, And to the wood myself betake Where hermit saints their dwelling make. For, sinner both in deed and thought! This hideous crime which thou hast wrought I cannot bear, or live to see The people's sad eyes bent on me. Begone, to Dandak wood retire, Or cast thy body to the fire, Or bind around thy neck the rope: No other refuge mayst thou hope. When Rama, lord of valour true, Has gained the earth, his right and due, Then, free from duty's binding debt, My vanished sin shall I forget."