Ramayana on Marriage

"Long are his arms and large his eyes: A black deer's skin his dress supplies. King Dasaratha's son is he, Fair as Kandarpa's self to see. Adorned with many a golden band, A bow, like Indra's, arms his hand, And shoots a flood of arrows fierce As venomed snakes to burn and pierce. I looked, I looked, but never saw His mighty hand the bowstring draw That sent the deadly arrows out, While rang through air his battle-shout. I looked, I looked, and saw too well How with that hail the giants fell, As falls to earth the golden grain, Struck by the blows of Indra's rain. He fought, and twice seven thousand, all Terrific giants, strong and tall, Fell by the pointed shafts o'erthrown Which Rama shot on foot, alone. Three little hours had scarcely fled,-- Khara and Dushan both were dead, And he had freed the saints and made Asylum sure in Dandak's shade. Me of his grace the victor spared, Or I the giants' fate had shared. The high-souled Rama would not deign His hand with woman's blood to stain. The glorious Lakshman, justly dear, In gifts and warrior might his peer, Serves his great brother with the whole Devotion of his faithful soul: Impetuous victor, bold and wise, First in each hardy enterprise, Still ready by his side to stand, A second self or better hand. And Rama has a large-eyed spouse, Pure as the moon her cheek and brows, Dearer than life in Rama's sight, Whose happiness is her delight. With beauteous hair and nose the dame From head to foot has naught to blame. She shines the wood's bright Goddess, Queen Of beauty with her noble mien. First in the ranks of women placed Is Sita of the dainty waist. In all the earth mine eyes have ne'er Seen female form so sweetly fair. Goddess nor nymph can vie with her, Nor bride of heavenly chorister. He who might call this dame his own, Her eager arms about him thrown, Would live more blest in Sita's love Than Indra in the world above.

There many a crown and chain they wove Of blooms from that Asoka grove, And in their graceful sport the two Fresh beauty o'er the mountain threw. The lover let his love survey Each pleasant spot that round them lay, Then turned they to their green retreat Where all was garnished, gay, and neat. By brotherly affection led, Sumitra's son to meet them sped, And showed the labours of the day Done while his brother was away. There lay ten black-deer duly slain With arrows pure of poison stain, Piled in a mighty heap to dry, With many another carcass nigh. And Lakshman's brother saw, o'erjoyed, The work that had his hands employed, Then to his consort thus he cried: "Now be the general gifts supplied." Then Sita, fairest beauty, placed The food for living things to taste, And set before the brothers meat And honey that the pair might eat. They ate the meal her hands supplied, Their lips with water purified: Then Janak's daughter sat at last And duly made her own repast. The other venison, to be dried, Piled up in heaps was set aside, And Rama told his wife to stay And drive the flocking crows away. Her husband saw her much distressed By one more bold than all the rest, Whose wings where'er he chose could fly, Now pierce the earth, now roam the sky. Then Rama laughed to see her stirred To anger by the plaguing bird: Proud of his love the beauteous dame With burning rage was all aflame. Now here, now there, again, again She chased the crow, but all in vain, Enraging her, so quick to strike With beak and wing and claw alike: Then how the proud lip quivered, how The dark frown marked her angry brow! When Rama saw her cheek aglow With passion, he rebuked the crow. But bold in impudence the bird, With no respect for Rama's word, Fearless again at Sita flew: Then Rama's wrath to fury grew. The hero of the mighty arm Spoke o'er a shaft the mystic charm, Laid the dire weapon on his bow And launched it at the shameless crow.

"King Janak, just and brave and strong, Who loves the right and hates the wrong, Well skilled in what the law ordains For Warriors, o'er Videha reigns. Guiding one morn the plough, his hand Marked out, for rites the sacred land, When, as the ploughshare cleft the earth, Child of the king I leapt to birth. Then as the ground he smoothed and cleared, He saw me all with dust besmeared, And on the new-found babe, amazed The ruler of Videha gazed. In childless love the monarch pressed The welcome infant to his breast: "My daughter," thus he cried, "is she:" And as his child he cared for me. Forth from the sky was heard o'erhead As 'twere a human voice that said: "Yea, even so: great King, this child Henceforth thine own be justly styled." Videha's monarch, virtuous souled, Rejoiced o'er me with joy untold, Delighting in his new-won prize, The darling of his heart and eyes. To his chief queen of saintly mind The precious treasure he consigned, And by her side she saw me grow, Nursed with the love which mothers know. Then as he saw the seasons fly, And knew my marriage-time was nigh, My sire was vexed with care, as sad As one who mourns the wealth he had: "Scorn on the maiden's sire must wait From men of high and low estate: The virgin's father all despise, Though Indra's peer, who rules the skies." More near he saw, and still more near, The scorn that filled his soul with fear, On trouble's billowy ocean tossed, Like one whose shattered bark is lost. My father knowing how I came, No daughter of a mortal dame, In all the regions failed to see A bridegroom meet to match with me. Each way with anxious thought he scanned, And thus at length the monarch planned: "The Bride's Election will I hold, With every rite prescribed of old." It pleased King Varun to bestow Quiver and shafts and heavenly bow Upon my father's sire who reigned, When Daksha his great rite ordained. Where was the man might bend or lift With utmost toil that wondrous gift?

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

When Ravan, dreaded warrior, knew The slaughter of his giant crew: Ravan, the king, whose name of fear Earth, hell, and heaven all shook to hear: He bade the fiend Maricha aid The vengeful plot his fury laid. In vain the wise Maricha tried To turn him from his course aside: Not Ravan's self, he said, might hope With Rama and his strength to cope. Impelled by fate and blind with rage He came to Rama's hermitage. There, by Maricha's magic art, He wiled the princely youths apart, The vulture(31) slew, and bore away The wife of Rama as his prey. The son of Raghu(32) came and found Jatayu slain upon the ground. He rushed within his leafy cot; He sought his wife, but found her not. Then, then the hero's senses failed; In mad despair he wept and wailed. Upon the pile that bird he laid, And still in quest of Sita strayed. A hideous giant then he saw, Kabandha named, a shape of awe. The monstrous fiend he smote and slew, And in the flame the body threw; When straight from out the funeral flame In lovely form Kabandha came, And bade him seek in his distress A wise and holy hermitess. By counsel of this saintly dame To Pampa's pleasant flood he came, And there the steadfast friendship won Of Hanuman the Wind-God's son. Counselled by him he told his grief To great Sugriva, Vanar chief, Who, knowing all the tale, before The sacred flame alliance swore. Sugriva to his new-found friend Told his own story to the end: His hate of Bali for the wrong And insult he had borne so long. And Rama lent a willing ear And promised to allay his fear. Sugriva warned him of the might Of Bali, matchless in the fight, And, credence for his tale to gain, Showed the huge fiend(33) by Bali slain. The prostrate corse of mountain size Seemed nothing in the hero's eyes; He lightly kicked it, as it lay, And cast it twenty leagues(34) away. To prove his might his arrows through Seven palms in line, uninjured, flew. He cleft a mighty hill apart, And down to hell he hurled his dart.

Speak, brother, tell thy foeman's name Whom I, in conquering strife, May strip of followers and fame, Of fortune, or of life. Say, how may all this sea-girt land Be brought to own thy sway: Thy faithful servant here I stand To listen and obey." Then strove the bride of Raghu's race Sad Lakshman's heart to cheer, While slowly down the hero's face, Unchecked, there rolled a tear. "The orders of my sire," he cried, "My will shall ne'er oppose: I follow still, whate'er betide, The path which duty shows."

Kausalya saw the monarch lie With drooping frame and failing eye, And for her banished son distressed With these sad words her lord addressed: "Kaikeyi, cruel, false, and vile Has cast the venom of her guile On Rama lord of men, and she Will ravage like a snake set free; And more and more my soul alarm, Like a dire serpent bent on harm, For triumph crowns each dark intent, And Rama to the wild is sent. Ah, were he doomed but here to stray Begging his food from day to day, Or do, enslaved, Kaikeyi's will, This were a boon, a comfort still. But she, as chose her cruel hate, Has hurled him from his high estate, As Brahmans when the moon is new Cast to the ground the demons' due.(318) The long-armed hero, like the lord Of Nagas, with his bow and sword Begins, I ween, his forest life With Lakshman and his faithful wife. Ah, how will fare the exiles now, Whom, moved by Queen Kaikeyi, thou Hast sent in forests to abide, Bred in delights, by woe untried? Far banished when their lives are young, With the fair fruit before them hung, Deprived of all their rank that suits, How will they live on grain and roots? O, that my years of woe were passed, And the glad hour were come at last When I shall see my children dear, Rama, his wife, and Lakshman here! When shall Ayodhya, wild with glee, Again those mighty heroes see, And decked with wreaths her banners wave To welcome home the true and brave? When will the beautiful city view With happy eyes the lordly two Returning, joyful as the main When the dear moon is full again? When, like some mighty bull who leads The cow exulting through the meads, Will Rama through the city ride, Strong-armed, with Sita at his side? When will ten thousand thousand meet And crowd Ayodhya's royal street, And grain in joyous welcome throw Upon my sons who tame the foe? When with delight shall youthful bands Of Brahman maidens in their hands Bear fruit and flowers in goodly show, And circling round Ayodhya go?

To the fair homes of Gods we'll fly, And bright Gandharvas in the sky, Until we reach, where'er he be, The wretch who stole thy spouse from thee. Then if the Gods will not restore Thy Sita when the search is o'er, Then, royal lord of Kosal's land, No longer hold thy vengeful hand. If meekness, prayer, and right be weak To bring thee back the dame we seek, Up, brother, with a deadly shower Of gold-bright shafts thy foes o'erpower, Fierce as the flashing levin sent From King Mahendra's firmament.

"My brother, known by Bali's name, Had won by might a conqueror's fame. My father's eldest-born was he, Well honoured by his sire and me. My father died, and each sage lord Named Bali king with one accord; And he, by right of birth ordained, The sovereign of the Vanars reigned. He in his royal place controlled The kingdom of our sires of old, And I all faithful service lent To aid my brother's government. The fiend Mayavi,--him of yore To Dundubhi(563) his mother bore,-- For woman's love in strife engaged, A deadly war with Bali waged. When sleep had chained each weary frame To vast Kishkindha(564) gates he came, And, shouting through the shades of night, Challenged his foeman to the fight. My brother heard the furious shout, And wild with rage rushed madly out, Though fain would I and each sad wife Detain him from the deadly strife. He burned his demon foe to slay, And rushed impetuous to the fray. His weeping wives he thrust aside, And forth, impelled by fury, hied; While, by my love and duty led, I followed where my brother sped. Mayavi looked, and at the sight Fled from his foes in wild affright. The flying fiend we quickly viewed, And with swift feet his steps pursued. Then rose the moon, whose friendly ray Cast light upon our headlong way. By the soft beams was dimly shown A mighty cave with grass o'ergrown. Within its depths he sprang, and we The demon's form no more might see. My brother's breast was all aglow With fury when he missed the foe, And, turning, thus to me he said With senses all disquieted: "Here by the cavern's mouth remain; Keep ear and eye upon the strain, While I the dark recess explore And dip my brand in foeman's gore." I heard his angry speech, and tried To turn him from his plan aside. He made me swear by both his feet, And sped within the dark retreat. While in the cave he stayed, and I Watched at the mouth, a year went by. For his return I looked in vain, And, moved by love, believed him slain.

Some to the captive lady ran, And thus in joyous words began: "That copper-visaged monkey, he Who in the garden talked with thee, Through Lanka's town is led a show, And round his tail the red flames glow." The mournful news the lady heard That with fresh grief her bosom stirred. Swift to the kindled fire she went And prayed before it reverent: "If I my husband have obeyed, And kept the ascetic vows I made, Free, ever free, from stain and blot, O spare the Vanar; harm him not."

Thus Sarama her story told: And Sita's spirit was consoled, As when the first fresh rain is shed The parching earth is comforted. Then, filled with zeal for Sita's sake, Again in gentle tones she spake, And, skilled in arts that soothe and please, Addressed the queen in words like these: "Thy husband, lady, will I seek, Say the fond words thy lips would speak, And then, unseen of any eye, Back to thy side will swiftly fly. My airy flights are speedier far Than Garuda's and the tempest are."

In spite of all her tender care, Her noble son, her face most fair, Another queen I could prefer And for thy sake neglected her, But now, O Queen, my heart is grieved For love and care by thee received, E'en as the sickening wretch repents His dainty meal and condiments. And how will Queen Sumitra trust The husband whom she finds unjust, Seeing my Rama driven hence Dishonoured, and for no offence? Ah! the Videhan bride will hear A double woe, a double fear, Two whelming sorrows at one breath, Her lord's disgrace, his father's death. Mine aged bosom she will wring And kill me with her sorrowing, Sad as a fair nymph left to weep Deserted on Himalaya's steep. For short will be my days, I ween, When I with mournful eyes have seen My Rama wandering forth alone And heard dear Sita sob and moan. Ah me! my fond belief I rue. Vile traitress, loved as good and true, As one who in his thirst has quaffed, Deceived by looks, a deadly draught. Ah! thou hast slain me, murderess, while Soothing my soul with words of guile, As the wild hunter kills the deer Lured from the brake his song to hear. Soon every honest tongue will fling Reproach on the dishonest king; The people's scorn in every street The seller of his child will meet, And such dishonour will be mine As whelms a Brahman drunk with wine. Ah me, for my unhappy fate, Compelled thy words to tolerate! Such woe is sent to scourge a crime Committed in some distant time. For many a day with sinful care I cherished thee, thou sin and snare, Kept thee, unwitting, like a cord Destined to bind its hapless lord. Mine hours of ease I spent with thee, Nor deemed my love my death would be, While like a heedless child I played, On a black snake my hand I laid. A cry from every mouth will burst And all the world will hold me curst, Because I saw my high-souled son Unkinged, unfathered, and undone; "The king by power of love beguiled Is weaker than a foolish child, His own beloved son to make An exile for a woman's sake.

While fires of woe consumed her, such Her sad appeal, lamenting much; Then with a wild cry, anguish-wrung, About her husband's neck she clung. Like some she-elephant who bleeds Struck by the hunter's venomed reeds, So in her quivering heart she felt The many wounds his speeches dealt. Then, as the spark from wood is gained,(305) Down rolled the tear so long restrained: The crystal moisture, sprung from woe, From her sweet eyes began to flow, As runs the water from a pair Of lotuses divinely fair. And Sita's face with long dark eyes, Pure as the moon of autumn skies, Faded with weeping, as the buds Of lotuses when sink the floods. Around his wife his arms he strained, Who senseless from her woe remained, And with sweet words, that bade her wake To life again, the hero spake: "I would not with thy woe, my Queen, Buy heaven and all its blissful sheen. Void of all fear am I as He, The self-existent God, can be. I knew not all thy heart till now, Dear lady of the lovely brow, So wished not thee in woods to dwell; Yet there mine arm can guard thee well. Now surely thou, dear love, wast made To dwell with me in green wood shade. And, as a high saint's tender mind Clings to its love for all mankind, So I to thee will ever cling, Sweet daughter of Videha's king. The good, of old, O soft of frame, Honoured this duty's sovereign claim, And I its guidance will not shun, True as light's Queen is to the Sun. I cannot, pride of Janak's line, This journey to the wood decline: My sire's behest, the oath he sware, The claims of truth, all lead me there. One duty, dear the same for aye, Is sire and mother to obey: Should I their orders once transgress My very life were weariness. If glad obedience be denied To father, mother, holy guide, What rites, what service can be done That stern Fate's favour may be won? These three the triple world comprise, O darling of the lovely eyes. Earth has no holy thing like these Whom with all love men seek to please.

As thus he mourned his vanished dame A mighty trembling seized his frame, And by o'erpowering grief assailed, His troubled senses reeled and failed. Too great to bear his misery grew, And many a long hot sigh he drew, Then as he wept and sobbed and sighed, "O Sita, O my love!" he cried. Then Lakshman, joining palm to palm, Tried every art his woe to calm. But Rama in his anguish heard Or heeded not one soothing word, Still for his spouse he mourned, and shrill Rang out his lamentation still.

"No words of mine wouldst thou regard, And now thy bed is cold and hard. Upon the rude rough ground o'erthrown, Beneath thee naught but sand and stone. To thee the earth is dearer far Than I and my caresses are, If thou upon her breast wilt lie, And to my words make no reply. Ah my beloved, good and brave, Bold to attack and strong to save, Fate is Sugriva's thrall, and we In him our lord and master see. Lo, by thy bed, a mournful band, Thy Vanar chiefs lamenting stand. O hear thy nobles' groans and cries, O mark thy Angad's weeping eyes, O list to my entreaties, break The chains of slumber and awake. Ah me, my lord, this lowly bed Where rest thy limbs and fallen head, Is the cold couch where smitten lay Thy foemen in the bloody fray. O noble heart from blemish free, Lover of war, beloved by me. Why hast thou fled away and left Thy Tara of all hope bereft? Unwise the father who allows His child to be a warrior's spouse, For, hero, see thy consort's fate, A widow now most desolate, For ever broken is my pride, My hope of lasting bliss has died, And sinking in the lowest deep Of sorrow's sea I pine and weep. Ah, surely not of earthly mould, This stony heart is stern and cold, Or, in a hundred pieces rent, It had not lingered to lament. Dead, dead! my husband, friend, and lord In whom my loving hopes were stored, First in the field, his foemen's dread, My own victorious Bali, dead! A woman when her lord has died, Though children flourish by her side, Though stores of gold her coffers fill, Is called a lonely widow still. Alas, thy bleeding gashes make Around thy limbs a purple lake: Thus slumbering was thy wont to lie On cushions bright with crimson dye. Dark streams of welling blood besmear Thy limbs where dust and mire adhere, Nor have I strength, weighed down by woe, Mine arms about thy form to throw. The issue of this day has brought Sugriva all his wishes sought, For Rama shot one shaft and he Is freed from fear and jeopardy.

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

Thus Rama spake. Her lord's address The lady heard with deep distress, And, as the tear bedimmed her eye, In soft low accents made reply: "The perils of the wood, and all The woes thou countest to appal, Led by my love I deem not pain; Each woe a charm, each loss a gain. Tiger, and elephant, and deer, Bull, lion, buffalo, in fear, Soon as thy matchless form they see, With every silvan beast will flee. With thee, O Rama, I must go: My sire's command ordains it so. Bereft of thee, my lonely heart Must break, and life and I must part. While thou, O mighty lord, art nigh, Not even He who rules the sky, Though He is strongest of the strong, With all his might can do me wrong. Nor can a lonely woman left By her dear husband live bereft. In my great love, my lord, I ween, The truth of this thou mayst have seen. In my sire's palace long ago I heard the chief of those who know, The truth-declaring Brahmans, tell My fortune, in the wood to dwell. I heard their promise who divine The future by each mark and sign, And from that hour have longed to lead The forest life their lips decreed. Now, mighty Rama, I must share Thy father's doom which sends thee there; In this I will not be denied, But follow, love, where thou shalt guide. O husband, I will go with thee, Obedient to that high decree. Now let the Brahmans' words be true, For this the time they had in view. I know full well the wood has woes; But they disturb the lives of those Who in the forest dwell, nor hold Their rebel senses well controlled. In my sire's halls, ere I was wed, I heard a dame who begged her bread Before my mother's face relate What griefs a forest life await. And many a time in sport I prayed To seek with thee the greenwood shade, For O, my heart on this is set, To follow thee, dear anchoret. May blessings on thy life attend: I long with thee my steps to bend, For with such hero as thou art This pilgrimage enchants my heart.

Fierce Surpanakha with her train To Rama's dwelling came again, And to the eager giants showed Where Sita and the youths abode. Within the leafy cot they spied The hero by his consort's side, And faithful Lakshman ready still To wait upon his brother's will. Then noble Rama raised his eye And saw the giants standing nigh, And then, as nearer still they pressed. His glorious brother thus addressed, "Be thine a while, my brother dear, To watch o'er Sita's safety here, And I will slay these creatures who The footsteps of my spouse pursue."

But Sita hearing as she thought, Her husband's cry with anguish fraught, Called to her guardian, "Lakshman, run And in the wood seek Raghu's son. Scarce can my heart retain its throne, Scarce can my life be called mine own, As all my powers and senses fail At that long, loud and bitter wail. Haste to the wood with all thy speed And save thy brother in his need. Go, save him in the distant glade Where loud he calls, for timely aid. He falls beneath some giant foe-- A bull whom lions overthrow."

The blooms of bright Asokas(526) where The song of wild bees fills the air, And the soft whisper of the boughs Increase my longing for my spouse. The vernal flush of flower and spray Will burn my very soul away. What use, what care have I for life If I no more may see my wife Soft speaker with the glorious hair, And eyes with silken lashes fair? Now is the time when all day long The Koils fill the woods with song. And gardens bloom at spring's sweet touch Which my beloved loved so much. Ah me, Sumitra's son, the fire Of sorrow, sprung from soft desire, Fanned by the charms the spring time shows, Will burn my heart and end my woes, Whose sad eyes look on each fair tree, But my sweet love no more may see. Ah me, Ah me, from hour to hour Love in my soul will wax in power, And spring, upon whose charms I gaze, Whose breath the heat of toil allays, With thoughts of her for whom I strain My hopeless eyes, increase my pain. As fire in summer rages through The forests thick with dry bamboo, So will my fawn eyed love consume My soul o'erwhelmed with thoughts of gloom. Behold, beneath each spreading tree The peacocks dance(527) in frantic glee, And, stirred by all the gales that blow, Their tails with jewelled windows glow, Each bird, in happy love elate, Rejoices with his darling mate. But sights like these of joy and peace My pangs of hopeless love increase. See on the mountain slope above The peahen languishing with love. Behold her now in amorous dance Close to her consort's side advance. He with a laugh of joy and pride Displays his glittering pinions wide; And follows through the tangled dell The partner whom he loves so well. Ah happy bird! no giant's hate Has robbed him of his tender mate; And still beside his loved one he Dances beneath the shade in glee. Ah, in this month when flowers are fair My widowed woe is hard to bear. See, gentle love a home may find In creatures of inferior kind. See how the peahen turns to meet Her consort now with love-drawn feet.

"In the wide woodlands that extend Around us, lord most reverend, As frequent voice of rumour tells, Agastya, saintliest hermit, dwells. So vast the wood, I cannot trace The path to reach his dwelling place, Nor, searching unassisted, find That hermit of the thoughtful mind. I with my wife and brother fain Would go, his favour to obtain, Would seek him in his lone retreat And the great saint with reverence greet. This one desire, O Master, long Cherished within my heart, is strong, That I may pay of free accord My duty to that hermit lord."

Then Raghu's son, the good and brave, With a gay laugh his answer gave: "These shafts of mine which ne'er can fail, Before whose sheen the sun grows pale, Winged by my fury, fleet and fierce, The wicked Bali's heart shall pierce. Yea, mark the words I speak, so long Shall live that wretch who joys in wrong, Until these angered eyes have seen The robber of thy darling queen. I, taught by equal suffering, know What waves of grief above thee flow. This hand thy captive wife shall free, And give thy kingdom back to thee."

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."

The words the warder maiden said He heard with soul disquieted, And thus as fiercer grief assailed, His troubled senses wellnigh failed. Consumed by torturing fires of grief The king, the world's imperial chief, His lady lying on the ground In most unqueenly posture, found. The aged king, all pure within, Saw the young queen resolved on sin, Low on the ground, his own sweet wife, To him far dearer than his life, Like some fair creeping plant uptorn, Or like a maid of heaven forlorn, A nymph of air or Goddess sent From Swarga down in banishment.

Thus with his words he undeceived Kausalya's troubled heart, who grieved For son and husband reft away; Then prostrate on the ground he lay. Him as he lay half-senseless there, Freed by the mighty oaths he sware, Kausalya, by her woe distressed, With melancholy words addressed: "Anew, my son, this sorrow springs To rend my heart with keener stings: These awful oaths which thou hast sworn My breast with double grief have torn. Thy soul, and faithful Lakshman's too, Are still, thank Heaven! to virtue true. True to thy promise, thou shalt gain The mansions which the good obtain."

Thus having said, Vasishtha next Ordained the fast by rule and text, For Rama faithful to his vows And the Videhan dame his spouse. Then from the prince's house he hied With courteous honours gratified. Round Rama gathered every friend In pleasant talk a while to spend. He bade good night to all at last, And to his inner chamber passed. Then Rama's house shone bright and gay With men and maids in glad array, As in the morning some fair lake When all her lotuses awake, And every bird that loves the flood Flits joyous round each opening bud.

Then Sita took the gift the dame Bestowed on her in friendship's name, The balsam, gems, and robe divine, And garlands wreathed of bloomy twine; Then sat her down, with reverence meet, At saintly Anasuya's feet. The matron rich in rites and vows Turned her to Rama's Maithil spouse, And questioned thus in turn to hear A pleasant tale to charm her ear: "Sita, 'tis said that Raghu's son Thy hand, mid gathered suitors, won. I fain would hear thee, lady, tell The story as it all befell: Do thou repeat each thing that passed, Reviewing all from first to last."

"Say to what quarter of the sky The cruel fiend was seen to fly, Bearing afar my captured wife, My darling dearer than my life. Speak, Vanar King, that I may know Where dwells the cause of all my woe; The fiend for whose transgression all The giants by this hand shall fall. He who the Maithil lady stole And kindled fury in my soul, Has sought his fate in senseless pride And opened Death's dark portal wide. Then tell me, Vanar lord, I pray, The dwelling of my foe, And he, beneath this hand, to-day To Yama's halls shall go."

But Rama ceased not to upbraid, His brother for untimely aid, And thus, while anguish wrung his breast, The chief with eager question pressed: "Why, Lakshman, didst thou hurry hence And leave my wife without defence? I left her in the wood with thee, And deemed her safe from jeopardy. When first thy form appeared in view, I marked that Sita came not too. With woe my troubled soul was rent, Prophetic of the dire event. Thy coming steps afar I spied, I saw no Sita by thy side, And felt a sudden throbbing dart Through my left eye, and arm, and heart."

Then joy, too mighty for control, Rushed in full flood o'er Bharat's soul; His reeling sense and strength gave way, And fainting on the earth he lay, At length upspringing from the ground, His arms about Hanuman wound, With tender tears of rapture sprung, He dewed the neck to which he clung: "Art thou a God or man," he cried, "Whom love and pity hither guide? For this a hundred thousand kine, A hundred villages be thine. A score of maids of spotless lives To thee I give to be thy wives, Of golden hue and bright of face, Each lovely for her tender grace."

Then all, of peerless face and limb, Sang Rama's praise for love of him, And blent their voices, soft and sweet, From palace high and crowded street: "Now, sure, Kausalya's heart must swell To see the son she loves so well, Thee Rama, thee, her joy and pride, Triumphant o'er the realm preside." Then--for they knew his bride most fair Of all who part the soft dark hair, His love, his life, possessed the whole Of her young hero's heart and soul:-- "Be sure the lady's fate repays Some mighty vow of ancient days,(283) For blest with Rama's love is she As, with the Moon's, sweet Rohini."(284)

"Think not, sweet lady, of the shame Of broken vows, nor fear the blame. The saints approve with favouring eyes This union knit with marriage ties. O beauty, at thy radiant feet I lay my heads, and thus entreat. One word of grace, one look I crave: Have pity on thy prostrate slave. These idle words I speak are vain, Wrung forth by love's consuming pain, And ne'er of Ravan be it said He wooed a dame with prostrate head." Thus to the Maithil lady sued The monarch of the giant brood, And "She is now mine own," he thought, In Death's dire coils already caught.

Then round the helpless Sita drew With fiery eyes the hideous crew, And thus assailed her, all and each, With insult, taunt, and threatening speech: "What! can it be thou prizest not This happy chance, this glorious lot, To be the chosen wife of one So strong and great, Pulastya's son? Pulastya--thus have sages told-- Is mid the Lords of Life(838) enrolled. Lord Brahma's mind-born son was he, Fourth of that glorious company. Visravas from Pulastya sprang,-- Through all the worlds his glory rang. And of Visravas, large-eyed dame! Our king the mighty Ravan came. His happy consort thou mayst be: Scorn not the words we say to thee."

The prince, of courteous rule aware, Received, as meet, the lady's care. Then flowers came down in copious rain, And moving to the heavenly strain Of music in the skies that rang, The nymphs and minstrels danced and sang: And all the Gods with one glad voice Praised the great dame, and cried, "Rejoice! Through fervid rites no more defiled, But with thy husband reconciled." Gautam, the holy hermit knew-- For naught escaped his godlike view-- That Rama lodged beneath that shade, And hasting there his homage paid. He took Ahalya to his side, From sin and folly purified, And let his new-found consort bear In his austerities a share.

While in each house the women, pained At loss of Rama, still complained, Sank to his rest the Lord of Day, And night through all the sky held sway. The fires of worship all were cold, No text was hummed, no tale was told, And shades of midnight gloom came down Enveloping the mournful town. Still, sick at heart, the women shed, As for a son or husband fled, For Rama tears, disquieted: No child was loved as he. And all Ayodhya, where the feast, Music, and song, and dance had ceased, And merriment and glee, Where every merchant's store was closed That erst its glittering wares exposed, Was like a dried up sea.

"Expelled from power the woods I tread, My spouse is lost, the bird is dead. A fate so sad, I ween, would tame The vigour of the glorious flame. If I to cool my fever tried To cross the deep from side to side, The sea,--so hard my fate,--would dry His waters as my feet came nigh. In all this world there lives not one So cursed as I beneath the sun; So strong a net of misery cast Around me holds the captive fast, Best of all birds that play the wing, Loved, honoured by our sire the king, The vulture, in my fate enwound, Lies bleeding, dying on the ground."

When Rama heard that special hest To Hanuman above the rest, He from the monarch's favour drew Hope of success and trust anew That he on whom his lord relied, In toil and peril trained and tried, Would to a happy issue bring The task commanded by the king. He gave the ring that bore his name, A token for the captive dame, That the sad lady in her woe The missive of her lord might know. "This ring," he said, "my wife will see, Nor fear an envoy sent by me. Thy valour and thy skill combined, Thy resolute and vigorous mind, And King Sugriva's high behest, With joyful hopes inspire my breast."

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)

I feared to draw the arrow out, And pondered thus in painful doubt: "Now tortured by the shaft he lies, But if I draw it forth he dies." Helpless I stood, faint, sorely grieved: The hermit's son my thought perceived; As one o'ercome by direst pain He scarce had strength to speak again. With writhing limb and struggling breath, Nearer and ever nearer death "My senses undisturbed remain, And fortitude has conquered pain: Now from one tear thy soul be freed. Thy hand has made a Brahman bleed. Let not this pang thy bosom wring: No twice-born youth am I, O King, For of a Vaisya sire I came, Who wedded with a Sudra dame."

"Thou, fairer than their bloom, my spouse, Art hidden by Asoka boughs. Those blooms have power to banish care, But now they drive me to despair. Thine arms are like the plantain's stem: Why let the plantain cover them? Thou art not hidden, love; thy feet Betray thee in thy dark retreat. Thou runnest in thy girlish sport To flowery trees, thy dear resort. But cease, O cease, my love, I pray, To vex me with thy cruel play. Such mockery in a holy spot Where hermits dwell beseems thee not. Ah, now I see thy fickle mind To scornful mood too much inclined, Come, large-eyed beauty, I implore; Lone is the cot so dear before.

That night with all his children spent, At morn King Dasaratha went, Behind Vasishtha and the rest, To the fair ground for rites addressed. Then when the lucky hour was nigh Called Victory, of omen high, Came Rama, after vow and prayer For nuptial bliss and fortune fair, With the three youths in bright attire, And stood beside his royal sire. To Janak then Vasishtha sped, And to Videha's monarch said: "O King, Ayodhya's ruler now Has breathed the prayer and vowed the vow, And with his sons expecting stands The giver of the maidens' hands. The giver and the taker both Must ratify a mutual oath. Perform the part for which we wait, And rites of marriage celebrate."

Loving his friends with heart and soul, The joyful prince received the whole, Due honour to the envoys paid, And thus in turn his answer made: "Of Dasaratha tidings tell: Is the old king my father well? Is Rama, and is Lakshman, he Of the high-soul, from sickness free? And she who walks where duty leads, Kausalya, known for gracious deeds, Mother of Rama, loving spouse, Bound to her lord by well kept vows? And Lakshman's mother too, the dame Sumitra skilled in duty's claim, Who brave Satrughna also bare, Second in age,--her health declare. And she, in self-conceit most sage, With selfish heart most prone to rage, My mother, fares she well? has she Sent message or command to me?"

Then, by the saint Vasishtha pressed, And all the gathered priests beside, To Bharat's dutiful request The hermit graciously replied: "Worthy of thee, O Prince, this deed, True son of Raghu's ancient seed. I know thee reverent, well-controlled, The glory of the good of old. I grant thy prayer: in this pursuit I know thy heart is resolute. 'Tis for thy sake those words I said That wider still thy fame may spread. I know where Rama, duty-tried, His brother, and his wife abide. Where Chitrakuta's heights arise Thy brother Rama's dwelling lies. Go thither with the morning's light, And stay with all thy lords tonight: For I would show thee honour high, And do not thou my wish deny."

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."

She stooped, her hands with flowers to fill, But gazed upon the marvel still: Gazed on its back and sparkling side Where silver hues with golden vied. Joyous was she of faultless mould, With glossy skin like polished gold. And loudly to her husband cried And bow-armed Lakshman by his side: Again, again she called in glee: "O come this glorious creature see; Quick, quick, my lord, this deer to view. And bring thy brother Lakshman too." As through the wood her clear tones rang, Swift to her side the brothers sprang. With eager eyes the grove they scanned, And saw the deer before them stand. But doubt was strong in Lakshman's breast, Who thus his thought and fear expressed:

Thus Bali spoke in words severe; And then, unmoved by ruth or fear, Left me a single robe and sent His brother forth in banishment. He cast me out with scathe and scorn, And from my side my wife was torn. Now in great fear and ill at ease I roam this land with woods and seas, Or dwell on Rishyamuka's hill, And sorrow for my consort still. Thou hast the tale how first arose This bitter hate of brother foes. Such are the griefs neath which I pine, And all without a fault of mine. O swift to save in hour of fear, My prayer who dread this Bali, hear With gracious love assistance deign, And mine oppressor's arm restrain."

"Fair Queen," he said, "our task is done: The foe is slain and Lanka won. Triumphant mid triumphant friends Kind words of greeting Rama sends. "Blest for thy sake, O spouse most true, My deadly foe I met and slew. Mine eyes are strangers yet to sleep: I built a bridge athwart the deep And crossed the sea to Lanka's shore To keep the mighty oath I swore. Now, gentle love, thy cares dispel, And weep no more, for all is well. Fear not in Ravan's house to stay For good Vibhishan now bears sway, For constant truth and friendship known Regard his palace as thine own." He greets thee thus thy heart to cheer, And urged by love will soon be here."

When Visvamitra, glorious saint, Had heard the boy's heart-rending plaint. He soothed his grief, his tears he dried, Then called his sons to him, and cried: "The time is come for you to show The duty and the aid bestow For which, regarding future life, A man gives children to his wife. This hermit's son, whom here you see A suppliant, refuge seeks with me. O sons, the friendless youth befriend, And, pleasing me, his life defend. For holy works you all have wrought, True to the virtuous life I taught. Go, and as victims doomed to bleed, Die, and Lord Agni's hunger feed. So shall the rite completed end, This orphan gain a saving friend, Due offerings to the Gods be paid, And your own father's voice obeyed."

Then Guha quickly bade his train Give water to the steeds, and grain. And Rama, ere the night grew dark, Paid evening rites in dress of bark, And tasted water, on the strand, Drawn from the stream by Lakshman's hand. And Lakshman with observance meet Bathed his beloved brother's feet, Who rested with his Maithil spouse: Then sat him down 'neath distant boughs. And Guha with his bow sat near To Lakshman and the charioteer, And with the prince conversing kept His faithful watch while Rama slept. As Dasaratha's glorious heir, Of lofty soul and wisdom rare, Reclining with his Sita there Beside the river lay-- He who no troubles e'er had seen, Whose life a life of bliss had been-- That night beneath the branches green Passed pleasantly away.

Let this fair hill Ayodhya seem, Its silvan things her people deem, And let these waters as they flow Our own beloved Sarju show. How blest, mine own dear love, am I; Thou, fond and true, art ever nigh, And duteous, faithful Lakshman stays Beside me, and my word obeys. Here every day I bathe me thrice, Fruit, honey, roots for food suffice, And ne'er my thoughts with longing stray To distant home or royal sway. For who this charming brook can see Where herds of roedeer wander free, And on the flowery-wooded brink Apes, elephants, and lions drink, Nor feel all sorrow fly?" Thus eloquently spoke the pride Of Raghu's children to his bride, And wandered happy by her side Where Chitrakuta azure-dyed Uprears his peaks on high.

Thus king Sugriva, good and brave, In humble words his answer gave, Softened was Lakshman's angry mood Who thus his friendly speech renewed: "My brother, Vanar King, will see A champion and a friend in thee. So strong art thou, so brave and bold, So pure in thought, so humble-souled, That thou deservest well to reign And all a monarch's bliss to gain. Lend thou my brother aid, and all His foes beneath his arm will fall. Full well the words thou speakest suit A chieftain wise and resolute. With grateful heart that loves the right, And foot that never yields in fight. O come, and my sad brother cheer Who mourns the wife he holds so dear. O pardon, friend, my harsh address, And Rama's frantic bitterness."

Again her eyes with tears o'erflowed: She gazed upon the head he showed, Gazed on the bow so famed of yore, The glorious bow which Rama bore. She gazed upon his cheek and brows, The eyes of her beloved spouse; His lips, the lustre of his hair, The priceless gem that glittered there. The features of her lord she knew, And, pierced with anguish at the view, She lifted up her voice and cried: "Kaikeyi, art thou satisfied? Now all thy longings are fulfilled; The joy of Raghu's race is killed, And ruined is the ancient line, Destroyer, by that fraud of thine. Ah, what offence, O cruel dame, What fault in Rama couldst thou blame, To drive him clad in hermit dress With Sita to the wilderness?"

A stately ship, at early morn, The hermit's son away had borne. Loud roared the clouds, as on he sped, The sky grew blacker overhead; Till, as he reached the royal town, A mighty flood of rain came down. By the great rain the monarch's mind The coming of his guest divined. To meet the honoured youth he went, And low to earth his head he bent. With his own priest to lead the train, He gave the gift high guests obtain. And sought, with all who dwelt within The city walls, his grace to win. He fed him with the daintiest fare, He served him with unceasing care, And ministered with anxious eyes Lest anger in his breast should rise; And gave to be the Brahman's bride His own fair daughter, lotus-eyed.

"Art thou the brother of the Lord Of Gold by all the world adored, And sprung of that illustrious seed Wouldst now attempt this evil deed? I tell thee, impious Monarch, all The giants by thy sin will fall, Whose reckless lord and king thou art, With foolish mind and lawless heart. Yea, one may hope to steal the wife Of Indra and escape with life. But he who Rama's dame would tear From his loved side must needs despair. Yea, one may steal fair Sachi, dame Of Him who shoots the thunder flame, May live successful in his aim And length of day may see; But hope, O giant King, in vain, Though cups of Amrit thou may drain, To shun the penalty and pain Of wronging one like me."

He spoke, and Raghu's son who knew All sacred duties men should do. The friend of justice, void of guile, Thus answered with a gentle smile: "Great Vanar, friends who seek my aid Still find their trust with fruit repaid. Bali, thy foe, who stole away Thy wife this vengeful hand shall slay. These shafts which sunlike flash and burn, Winged with the feathers of the hern, Each swift of flight and sure and dread, With even knot and pointed head, Fierce as the crashing fire-bolt sent By him who rules the firmament,(555) Shall reach thy wicked foe and like Infuriate serpents hiss and strike. Thou, Vanar King, this day shalt see The foe who long has injured thee Lie, like a shattered mountain, low, Slain by the tempest of my bow."

Then with fierce eyes on Sita set They cried again with taunt and threat: Each licking with her fiery tongue The lip that to her bosom hung, And menacing the lady's life With axe, or spear or murderous knife: "Hear, Sita, and our words obey, Or perish by our hands to-day. Thy love for Raghu's son forsake, And Ravan for thy husband take, Or we will rend thy limbs apart And banquet on thy quivering heart. Now from her body strike the head, And tell the king the dame is dead. Then by our lord's commandment she A banquet for our band shall be. Come, let the wine be quickly brought That frees each heart from saddening thought. Then to the western gate repair, And we will dance and revel there."

The lion-lord of men, the best Of splendid heroes, thus addressed, To Sita spake with joyful cheer: "The king and queen, my lady dear, Touching the throning, for my sake Some salutary counsel take. The lady of the full black eye Would fain her husband gratify, And, all his purpose understood, Counsels the monarch to my good. A happy fate is mine, I ween, When he, consulting with his queen, Sumantra on this charge, intent Upon my gain and good, has sent. An envoy of so noble sort Well suits the splendour of the court. The consecration rite this day Will join me in imperial sway. To meet the lord of earth, for so His order bids me, I will go. Thou, lady, here in comfort stay, And with thy maidens rest or play."

Thus for their deep affection's sake The hero to his mother spake, Then to the half seven hundred too, Wives of his sire, paid reverence due. Thus Dasaratha's son addressed That crowd of matrons sore distressed: "If from these lips, while here I dwelt, One heedless taunt you e'er have felt, Forgive me, pray. And now adieu, I bid good-bye to all of you." Then straight, like curlews' cries, upwent The voices of their wild lament, While, as he bade farewell, the crowd Of royal women wept aloud, And through the ample hall's extent. Where erst the sound of tabour, blent With drum and shrill-toned instrument, In joyous concert rose, Now rang the sound of wailing high, The lamentation and the cry, The shriek, the choking sob, the sigh That told the ladies' woes.

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.

But Tara in the Vanar's hall Heard tidings of her husband's fall; Heard that a shaft from Rama's bow Had laid the royal Bali low. Her darling Angad by her side, Distracted from her home she hied. Then nigh the place of battle drew The Vanars, Angad's retinue. They saw the bow-armed Rama: dread Fell on them, and they turned and fled. Like helpless deer, their leaders slain, So wildly fled the startled train. But Tara saw, and nearer pressed, And thus the flying band addressed: "O Vanars, ye who ever stand About our king, a trusty band, Where is the lion master? why Forsake ye thus your lord and fly? Say, lies he dead upon the plain, A brother by a brother slain, Or pierced by shafts from Rama's bow That rain from far upon the foe?"