Ramayana on Pride

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

Her grief and woe she cast aside, Her lips with water purified, And thus her benison began That mother of the noblest man: "If thou wilt hear no words of mine, Go forth, thou pride of Raghu's line. Go, darling, and return with speed, Walking where noble spirits lead. May virtue on thy steps attend, And be her faithful lover's friend. May Those to whom thy vows are paid In temple and in holy shade, With all the mighty saints combine To keep that precious life of thine. The arms wise Visvamitra(292) gave Thy virtuous soul from danger save. Long be thy life: thy sure defence Shall be thy truthful innocence, And that obedience, naught can tire, To me thy mother and thy sire. May fanes where holy fires are fed, Altars with grass and fuel spread, Each sacrificial ground, each tree, Rock, lake, and mountain, prosper thee. Let old Viraj,(293) and Him who made The universe, combine to aid; Let Indra and each guardian Lord Who keeps the worlds, their help afford, And be thy constant friend the Sun, Lord Pusha, Bhaga, Aryuman.(294) Fortnights and seasons, nights and days, Years, months, and hours, protect thy ways, Vrihaspati shall still be nigh, The War-God, and the Moon on high, And Narad(295) and the sainted seven(296) Shall watch thee from their starry heaven. The mountains, and the seas which ring The world, and Varuna the King, Sky, ether, and the wind, whate'er Moves not or moves, for thee shall care. Each lunar mansion be benign, With happier light the planets shine; All gods, each light in heaven that glows, Protect my child where'er he goes. The twilight hours, the day and night, Keep in the wood thy steps aright. Watch, minute, instant, as they flee, Shall all bring happiness to thee. Celestials and the Titan brood Protect thee in thy solitude, And haunt the mighty wood to bless The wanderer in his hermit dress. Fear not, by mightier guardians screened, The giant or night-roving fiend; Nor let the cruel race who tear Man's flesh for food thy bosom scare.

Then Sita, best of womankind, Ascended, with a tranquil mind, Soon as her toilet task was done, That chariot brilliant as the sun. Rama and Lakshman true and bold Sprang on the car adorned with gold. The king those years had counted o'er, And given Sita robes and store Of precious ornaments to wear When following her husband there. The brothers in the car found place For nets and weapons of the chase, There warlike arms and mail they laid, A leathern basket and a spade. Soon as Sumantra saw the three Were seated in the chariot, he Urged on each horse of noble breed, Who matched the rushing wind in speed. As thus the son of Raghu went Forth for his dreary banishment, Chill numbing grief the town assailed, All strength grew weak, all spirit failed, Ayodhya through her wide extent Was filled with tumult and lament: Steeds neighed and shook the bells they bore, Each elephant returned a roar. Then all the city, young and old, Wild with their sorrow uncontrolled, Rushed to the car, as, from the sun The panting herds to water run. Before the car, behind, they clung, And there as eagerly they hung, With torrents streaming from their eyes, Called loudly with repeated cries: "Listen, Sumantra: draw thy rein; Drive gently, and thy steeds restrain. Once more on Rama will we gaze, Now to be lost for many days. The queen his mother has, be sure, A heart of iron, to endure To see her godlike Rama go, Nor feel it shattered by the blow. Sita, well done! Videha's pride, Still like his shadow by his side; Rejoicing in thy duty still As sunlight cleaves to Meru's hill. Thou, Lakshman, too, hast well deserved, Who from thy duty hast not swerved, Tending the peer of Gods above, Whose lips speak naught but words of love. Thy firm resolve is nobly great, And high success on thee shall wait. Yea, thou shalt win a priceless meed-- Thy path with him to heaven shall lead."

But soon by rankling grief oppressed The king awoke from troubled rest, And his sad heart was tried again With anxious thought where all was pain. Rama and Lakshman's mournful fate On Dasaratha, good and great As Indra, pressed with crushing weight, As when the demon's might assails The Sun-God, and his glory pales. Ere yet the sixth long night was spent, Since Rama to the woods was sent, The king at midnight sadly thought Of the old crime his hand had wrought, And thus to Queen Kausalya cried Who still for Rama moaned and sighed: "If thou art waking, give, I pray, Attention to the words I say. Whate'er the conduct men pursue, Be good or ill the acts they do, Be sure, dear Queen, they find the meed Of wicked or of virtuous deed. A heedless child we call the man Whose feeble judgment fails to scan The weight of what his hands may do, Its lightness, fault, and merit too. One lays the Mango garden low, And bids the gay Palasas grow: Longing for fruit their bloom he sees, But grieves when fruit should bend the trees. Cut by my hand, my fruit-trees fell, Palasa trees I watered well. My hopes this foolish heart deceive, And for my banished son I grieve. Kausalya, in my youthful prime Armed with my bow I wrought the crime, Proud of my skill, my name renowned, An archer prince who shoots by sound. The deed this hand unwitting wrought This misery on my soul has brought, As children seize the deadly cup And blindly drink the poison up. As the unreasoning man may be Charmed with the gay Palasa tree, I unaware have reaped the fruit Of joying at a sound to shoot. As regent prince I shared the throne, Thou wast a maid to me unknown, The early Rain-time duly came, And strengthened love's delicious flame. The sun had drained the earth that lay All glowing 'neath the summer day, And to the gloomy clime had fled Where dwell the spirits of the dead.

In kingless realms we ne'er behold Young maidens decked with gems and gold, Flock to the gardens blithe and gay To spend their evening hours in play. No lover in the flying car Rides with his love to woods afar. In kingless lands no wealthy swain Who keeps the herd and reaps the grain, Lies sleeping, blest with ample store, Securely near his open door. Upon the royal roads we see No tusked elephant roaming free, Of three-score years, whose head and neck Sweet tinkling bells of silver deck. We hear no more the glad applause When his strong bow each rival draws, No clap of hands, no eager cries That cheer each martial exercise. In kingless realms no merchant bands Who travel forth to distant lands, With precious wares their wagons load, And fear no danger on the road. No sage secure in self-control, Brooding on God with mind and soul, In lonely wanderings finds his home Where'er at eve his feet may roam. In kingless realms no man is sure He holds his life and wealth secure. In kingless lands no warriors smite The foeman's host in glorious fight. In kingless lands the wise no more, Well trained in Scripture's holy lore, In shady groves and gardens meet To argue in their calm retreat. No longer, in religious fear, Do they who pious vows revere, Bring dainty cates and wreaths of flowers As offerings to the heavenly powers. No longer, bright as trees in spring, Shine forth the children of the king Resplendent in the people's eyes With aloe wood and sandal dyes. A brook where water once has been, A grove where grass no more is green, Kine with no herdsman's guiding hand-- So wretched is a kingless land. The car its waving banner rears, Banner of fire the smoke appears: Our king, the banner of our pride, A God with Gods is glorified. In kingless lands no law is known, And none may call his wealth his own, Each preys on each from hour to hour, As fish the weaker fish devour.

Then Rama, like the lotus eyed, Descended from the mountain side, And to the Maithil lady showed The lovely stream that softly flowed. And thus Ayodhya's lord addressed His bride, of dames the loveliest, Child of Videha's king, her face Bright with the fair moon's tender grace: "How sweetly glides, O darling, look, Mandakini's delightful brook, Adorned with islets, blossoms gay, And sarases and swans at play! The trees with which her banks are lined Show flowers and fruit of every kind: The match in radiant sheen is she Of King Kuvera's Nalini.(373) My heart exults with pleasure new The shelving band and ford to view, Where gathering herds of thirsty deer Disturb the wave that ran so clear. Now look, those holy hermits mark In skins of deer and coats of bark; With twisted coils of matted hair, The reverend men are bathing there, And as they lift their arms on high The Lord of Day they glorify: These best of saints, my large-eyed spouse, Are constant to their sacred vows. The mountain dances while the trees Bend their proud summits to the breeze, And scatter many a flower and bud From branches that o'erhang the flood. There flows the stream like lucid pearl, Round islets here the currents whirl, And perfect saints from middle air Are flocking to the waters there. See, there lie flowers in many a heap From boughs the whistling breezes sweep, And others wafted by the gale Down the swift current dance and sail. Now see that pair of wild-fowl rise, Exulting with their joyful cries: Hark, darling, wafted from afar How soft their pleasant voices are. To gaze on Chitrakuta's hill, To look upon this lovely rill, To bend mine eyes on thee, dear wife, Is sweeter than my city life. Come, bathe we in the pleasant rill Whose dancing waves are never still, Stirred by those beings pure from sin, The sanctities who bathe therein: Come, dearest, to the stream descend, Approach her as a darling friend, And dip thee in the silver flood Which lotuses and lilies stud.

See where the rice plants scarce uphold Their full ears tinged with paly gold, Bending their ripe heads slowly down Fair as the date tree's flowery crown. Though now the sun has mounted high Seeking the forehead of the sky, Such mist obscures his struggling beams, No bigger than the moon he seems. Though weak at first, his rays at length Grow pleasant in their noonday strength, And where a while they chance to fall Fling a faint splendour over all. See, o'er the woods where grass is wet With hoary drops that cling there yet, With soft light clothing earth and bough There steals a tender glory now. Yon elephant who longs to drink, Still standing on the river's brink, Plucks back his trunk in shivering haste From the cold wave he fain would taste. The very fowl that haunt the mere Stand doubtful on the bank, and fear To dip them in the wintry wave As cowards dread to meet the brave. The frost of night, the rime of dawn Bind flowerless trees and glades of lawn: Benumbed in apathetic chill Of icy chains they slumber still. You hear the hidden saras cry From floods that wrapped in vapour lie, And frosty-shining sands reveal Where the unnoticed rivers steal. The hoary rime of dewy night, And suns that glow with tempered light Lend fresh cool flavours to the rill That sparkles from the topmost hill. The cold has killed the lily's pride: Leaf, filament, and flower have died: With chilling breath rude winds have blown, The withered stalk is left alone. At this gay time, O noblest chief, The faithful Bharat, worn by grief, Lives in the royal town where he Spends weary hours for love of thee. From titles, honour, kingly sway, From every joy he turns away: Couched on cold earth, his days are passed With scanty fare and hermit's fast. This moment from his humble bed He lifts, perhaps, his weary head, And girt by many a follower goes To bathe where silver Sarju flows.

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

Against his judgment sorely pressed By his imperious lord's behest, Maricha threats of death defied And thus with bitter words replied: "Ah, who, my King, with sinful thought This wild and wicked counsel taught, By which destruction soon will fall On thee, thy sons, thy realm and all? Who is the guilty wretch who sees With envious eye thy blissful ease, And by this plan, so falsely shown, Death's gate for thee has open thrown? With souls impelled by mean desire Thy foes against thy life conspire. They urge thee to destruction's brink, And gladly would they see thee sink. Who with base thought to work thee woe This fatal road has dared to show, And, triumph in his wicked eye, Would see thee enter in and die? To all thy counsellors, untrue, The punishment of death is due, Who see thee tempt the dangerous way, Nor strain each nerve thy foot to stay. Wise lords, whose king, by passion led, The path of sin begins to tread, Restrain him while there yet is time: But thine,--they see nor heed the crime. These by their master's will obtain Merit and fame and joy and gain. 'Tis only by their master's grace That servants hold their lofty place. But when the monarch stoops to sin They lose each joy they strive to win, And all the people people high and low Fall in the common overthrow. Merit and fame and honour spring, Best of the mighty, from the king. So all should strive with heart and will To keep the king from every ill. Pride, violence, and sullen hate Will ne'er maintain a monarch's state, And those who cruel deeds advise Must perish when their master dies, Like drivers with their cars o'erthrown In places rough with root and stone. The good whose holy lives were spent On duty's highest laws intent, With wives and children many a time Have perished for another's crime. Hapless are they whose sovereign lord, Opposed to all, by all abhorred, Is cruel-hearted, harsh, severe: Thus might a jackal tend the deer.

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

But when Sugriva saw her weep O'erwhelmed in sorrow's rushing deep, Swift through his bosom pierced the sting Of anguish for the fallen king. At the sad sight his eyes beheld A flood of bitter tears outwelled, And, with his bosom racked and rent, To Rama with his train he went. He came with faltering steps and slow Where Rama held his mighty bow And arrow like a venomed snake, And to the son of Raghu spake: "Well hast thou kept, O King, thy vow: The promised fruit is gathered now. But life is marred, my soul to-day Turns sickening from all joy away. For, while this queen laments and sighs Amid a mourning people's cries, And Angad weeps his father slain, How can my heart delight to reign? For outrage, fury, senseless pride, My brother, doomed of yore, has died. Yet, Raghu's son, in bitter woe I mourn his fated overthrow. Ah, better far in pain and ill To dwell on Rishyamuka still Than gain the heaven of Gods and all Its pleasures by my brother's fall. Did not he cry,--great-hearted foe,-- "Go, for I will not slay thee, Go"? With his brave soul those words agree: My speech, my deeds, are worthy me. How can a brother counterweigh His grievous loss with joys of sway, And see with dull unpitying eye So brave and good a brother die? His lofty soul was nobly blind: My death alas, he ne'er designed; But I, urged blindly on by hate, Sought with his life my rage to sate. He smote me with a splintered tree: I groaned aloud and turned to flee, From stern reproaches he forbore, And gently bade me sin no more. Serene and dutiful and good He kept the laws of brotherhood: I, fierce and greedy, vengeful, base, Showed all the vices of our race. Ah me, dear friend, my brother's fate Lays on my soul a crushing weight: A sin no heart should e'er conceive, But at the thought each soul should grieve: Sin such as Indra's when his blow Laid heavenly Visvarupa(610) low.

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

But Hanuman still onward pressed With Tara, Angad, and the rest, Through Vindhya's pathless glens he sped And left no spot unvisited. He gazed from every mountain height, He sought each cavern dark as night, And wandered through the bloomy shade By pool and river and cascade, But, though they sought in every place, Of Sita yet they found no trace. On fruit and woodland berries fed Through many a lonely wild they sped, And reached at last, untouched by fear, A desert terrible and drear: A fruitless waste, a land of gloom Where trees were bare of leaf and bloom, Where every scanty stream was dried, And niggard earth her roots denied. No elephants through all the ground, No buffaloes or deer are found. There roams no tiger, pard, or bear, No creature of the wood is there. No bird displays his glittering wings, No tree, no shrub, no creeper springs. There rise no lilies from the flood, Resplendent with their flower and bud, Where the delighted bees may throng About the fragrance with their song. There lived a hermit Kandu named, For truth and wealth of penance famed. Whom fervent zeal and holy rite Had dowered with all-surpassing might. His little son, a ten year child-- So chanced it--perished in the wild. His death with fury stirred the sage, Who cursed the forest in his rage, Doomed from that hour to shelter none, A waste for bird and beast to shun. They searched by every forest edge, They searched each cave and mountain ledge, And thickets whence the water fell Wandering through the tangled dell. Striving to do Sugriva's will They roamed along each leafy rill. But vain were all endeavours, vain The careful search, the toil and pain. Through one dark grove they scarce could wind, So thick were creepers intertwined. There as they struggled through the wood Before their eyes an Asur(750) stood. High as a towering hill, his pride The very Gods in heaven defied. When on the fiend their glances fell Each braced him for the combat well.

"Ah me! o'erwhelmed with shame and weak With wounds," I cried, "I scarce can speak. My hapless brother once and I Our strength of flight resolved to try. And by our foolish pride impelled Our way through realms of ether held. We vowed before the saints who tread The wilds about Kailasa's head, That we with following wings would chase The swift sun to his resting place. Up on our soaring pinions through The fields of cloudless air we flew. Beneath us far, and far away, Like chariot wheels bright cities lay, Whence in wild snatches rose the song Of women mid the gay-clad throng, With sounds of sweetest music blent And many a tinkling ornament. Then as our rapid wings we strained The pathway of the sun we gained. Beneath us all the earth was seen Clad in her garb of tender green, And every river in her bed Meandered like a silver thread. We looked on Meru far below And Vindhya and the Lord of Snow, Like elephants that bend to cool Their fever in a lilied pool. But fervent heat and toil o'ercame The vigour of each yielding frame, Our weary hearts began to quail, And wildered sense to reel and fail. We knew not, fainting and distressed, The north or south or east or west. With a great strain mine eyes I turned Where the fierce sun before me burned, And seemed to my astonished eyes The equal of the earth in size.(775) At length, o'erpowered, Jatayus fell Without a word to say farewell, And when to earth I saw him hie I followed headlong from the sky.(776) With sheltering wings I intervened And from the sun his body screened, But lost, for heedless folly doomed, My pinions which the heat consumed. In Janasthan, I hear them say, My hapless brother fell and lay. I, pinionless and faint and weak, Dropped upon Vindhya's woody peak. Now with my swift wings burnt away, Reft of my brother and my sway, From this tall mountain's summit I Will cast me headlong down and die."

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

At dead of night the Vanar bands Rushed on with torches in their hands. Scared by the coming of the host Each giant warder left his post. Where'er the Vanar legions came Their way was marked with hostile flame That spread in fury to devour Palace and temple, gate and tower. Down came the walls and porches, down Came stately piles that graced the town. In many a house the fire was red, On sandal wood and aloe fed. And scorching flames in billows rolled O'er diamonds and pearls and gold. On cloth of wool, on silk brocade, On linen robes their fury preyed. Wheels, poles and yokes were burned, and all The coursers' harness in the stall; And elephants' and chariots' gear, The sword, the buckler, and the spear. Scared by the crash of falling beams, Mid lamentations, groans and screams, Forth rushed the giants through the flames And with them dragged bewildered dames, Each, with o'erwhelming terror wild, Still clasping to her breast a child. The swift fire from a cloud of smoke Through many a gilded lattice broke, And, melting pearl and coral, rose O'er balconies and porticoes. The startled crane and peacock screamed As with strange light the courtyard gleamed, And fierce unusual glare was thrown On shrinking wood and heated stone. From burning stall and stable freed Rushed frantic elephant and steed, And goaded by the driving blaze Fled wildly through the crowded ways. As earth with fervent heat will glow When comes her final overthrow; From gate to gate, from court to spire Proud Lanka was one blaze of fire, And every headland, rock and bay Shone bright a hundred leagues away. Forth, blinded by the heat and flame Ran countless giants huge of frame; And, mustering for fierce attack, The Vanars charged to drive them back, While shout and scream and roar and cry Reechoed through the earth and sky. There Rama stood with strength renewed, And ever, as the foe he viewed, Shaking the distant regions rang His mighty bow's tremendous clang.

The hermit heard with high content That speech so wondrous eloquent, And while each hair with joy arose,(142) He thus made answer at the close: "Good is thy speech O noble King, And like thyself in everything. So should their lips be wisdom-fraught Whom kings begot, Vasishtha taught. The favour which I came to seek Thou grantest ere my tongue can speak. But let my tale attention claim, And hear the need for which I came. O King, as Scripture texts allow, A holy rite employs me now. Two fiends who change their forms at will Impede that rite with cursed skill.(143) Oft when the task is nigh complete, These worst of fiends my toil defeat, Throw bits of bleeding flesh, and o'er The altar shed a stream of gore. When thus the rite is mocked and stayed, And all my pious hopes delayed, Cast down in heart the spot I leave, And spent with fruitless labour grieve. Nor can I, checked by prudence, dare Let loose my fury on them there: The muttered curse, the threatening word, In such a rite must ne'er be heard. Thy grace the rite from check can free. And yield the fruit I long to see. Thy duty bids thee, King, defend The suffering guest, the suppliant friend. Give me thy son, thine eldest born, Whom locks like raven's wings adorn. That hero youth, the truly brave, Of thee, O glorious King, I crave. For he can lay those demons low Who mar my rites and work me woe: My power shall shield the youth from harm, And heavenly might shall nerve his arm. And on my champion will I shower Unnumbered gifts of varied power, Such gifts as shall ensure his fame And spread through all the worlds his name. Be sure those fiends can never stand Before the might of Rama's hand, And mid the best and bravest none Can slay that pair but Raghu's son. Entangled in the toils of Fate Those sinners, proud and obstinate, Are, in their fury overbold, No match for Rama mighty-souled. Nor let a father's breast give way Too far to fond affection's sway.

As thus the aged sire complained The mighty chief no answer deigned. To Rama only thus he cried: "Two bows, the Heavenly Artist's pride, Celestial, peerless, vast, and strong, By all the worlds were honoured long. One to the Three-eyed God(256) was given, By glory to the conflict driven, Thus armed fierce Tripura he slew: And then by thee 'twas burst in two. The second bow, which few may brave, The highest Gods to Vishnu gave. This bow I hold; before it fall The foeman's fenced tower and wall. Then prayed the Gods the Sire Most High By some unerring proof to try Were praise for might Lord Vishnu's due, Or his whose Neck is stained with Blue.(257) The mighty Sire their wishes knew, And he whose lips are ever true Caused the two Gods to meet as foes. Then fierce the rage of battle rose: Bristled in dread each starting hair As Siva strove with Vishnu there. But Vishnu raised his voice amain. And Siva's bowstring twanged in vain; Its master of the Three bright Eyes Stood fixt in fury and surprise. Then all the dwellers in the sky, Minstrel, and saint, and God drew nigh, And prayed them that the strife might cease, And the great rivals met in peace. 'Twas seen how Siva's bow has failed Unnerved, when Vishnu's might assailed, And Gods and heavenly sages thence To Vishnu gave preeminence. Then glorious Siva in his rage Gave it to Devarat the sage Who ruled Videha's fertile land, To pass it down from hand to hand. But this my bow, whose shafts smite down The foeman's fenced tower and town, To great Richika Vishnu lent To be a pledge and ornament, Then Jamadagni, Brahman dread, My sire, the bow inherited. But Arjun stooped to treachery vile And slew my noble sire by guile, Whose penance awful strength had gained, Whose hand the God-given bow retained. I heard indignant how he fell By mournful fate, too sad to tell. My vengeful fury since that time Scourges all Warriors for the crime. As generations spring to life I war them down in endless strife.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thus in his joy he cried; and she, Sweet speaker, on her lover's knee, Of faultless limb and perfect face, Grew closer to her lord's embrace. Reclining in her husband's arms, A goddess in her wealth of charms, She filled his loving breast anew With mighty joy that thrilled him through. His finger on the rock he laid, Which veins of sanguine ore displayed, And painted o'er his darling's eyes The holy sign in mineral dyes. Bright on her brow the metal lay Like the young sun's first gleaming ray, And showed her in her beauty fair As the soft light of morning's air. Then from the Kesar's laden tree He picked fair blossoms in his glee, And as he decked each lovely tress, His heart o'erflowed with happiness. So resting on that rocky seat A while they spent in pastime sweet, Then onward neath the shady boughs Went Rama with his Maithil spouse. She roaming in the forest shade Where every kind of creature strayed Observed a monkey wandering near, And clung to Rama's arm in fear. The hero Rama fondly laced His mighty arms around her waist, Consoled his beauty in her dread, And scared the Monkey till he fled. That holy mark of sanguine ore That gleamed on Sita's brow before, Shone by that close embrace impressed Upon the hero's ample chest. Then Sita, when the beast who led The monkey troop, afar had fled, Laughed loudly in light-hearted glee That mark on Rama's chest to see. A clump of bright Asokas fired The forest in their bloom attired: The restless blossoms as they gleamed A host of threatening monkeys seemed. Then Sita thus to Rama cried, As longingly the flowers she eyed: "Pride of thy race, now let us go Where those Asoka blossoms grow." He on his darling's pleasure bent With his fair goddess thither went And roamed delighted through the wood Where blossoming Asokas stood, As Siva with Queen Uma roves Through Himavan's majestic groves. Bright with purpureal glow the pair Of happy lovers sported there, And each upon the other set A flower-inwoven coronet.

Then spake Vasishtha who perceived That Rama's soul was wroth and grieved: "Well knows the sage Javali all The changes that the world befall; And but to lead thee to revoke Thy purpose were the words he spoke. Lord of the world, now hear from me How first this world began to be. First water was, and naught beside; There earth was formed that stretches wide. Then with the Gods from out the same The Self-existent Brahma came. Then Brahma(390) in a boar's disguise Bade from the deep this earth arise; Then, with his sons of tranquil soul, He made the world and framed the whole. From subtlest ether Brahma rose: No end, no loss, no change he knows. A son had he, Marichi styled, And Kasyap was Marichi's child. From him Vivasvat sprang: from him Manu, whose fame shall ne'er be dim. Manu, who life to mortals gave, Begot Ikshvaku good and brave: First of Ayodhya's kings was he, Pride of her famous dynasty. From him the glorious Kukshi sprang, Whose fame through all the regions rang. Rival of Kukshi's ancient fame, His heir the great Vikukshi came. His son was Vana, lord of might, His Anaranya, strong in fight. No famine marred his blissful reign, No drought destroyed the kindly grain; Amid the sons of virtue chief, His happy realm ne'er held a thief, His son was Prithu, glorious name, From him the wise Trisanku came: Embodied to the skies he went For love of truth preeminent. He left a son renowned afar, Known by the name of Dhundhumar. His son succeeding bore the name Of Yuvanasva dear to fame. He passed away. Him followed then His son Mandhata, king of men. His son was blest in high emprise, Susandhi, fortunate and wise. Two noble sons had he, to wit Dhruvasandhi and Prasenajit. Bharat was Dhruvasandhi's son: His glorious arm the conquest won, Against his son King Asit, rose In fierce array his royal foes, Haihayas, Talajanghas styled, And Sasivindhus fierce and wild. Long time he strove, but forced to yield Fled from his kingdom and the field.

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

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

Like some sad lily by the side Of waters which the sun has dried; Like the pale moon uprising through An autumn cloud of darkest hue, So was her perfect face between The arms of giant Ravan seen: Fair with the charm of braided tress And forehead's finished loveliness; Fair with the ivory teeth that shed White lustre through the lips' fine red, Fair as the lotus when the bud Is rising from the parent flood. With faultless lip and nose and eye, Dear as the moon that floods the sky With gentle light, of perfect mould, She seemed a thing of burnished gold, Though on her cheek the traces lay Of tears her hand had brushed away. But as the moon-beams swiftly fade Ere the great Day-God shines displayed, So in that form of perfect grace Still trembling in the fiend's embrace, From her beloved Rama reft, No light of pride or joy was left. The lady with her golden hue O'er the swart fiend a lustre threw, As when embroidered girths enfold An elephant with gleams of gold. Fair as the lily's bending stem,-- Her arms adorned with many a gem, A lustre to the fiend she lent Gleaming from every ornament, As when the cloud-shot flashes light The shadows of a mountain height. Whene'er the breezes earthward bore The tinkling of the zone she wore, He seemed a cloud of darkness hue Sending forth murmurs as it flew. As on her way the dame was sped From her sweet neck fair flowers were shed, The swift wind caught the flowery rain And poured it o'er the fiend again. The wind-stirred blossoms, sweet to smell, On the dark brows of Ravan fell, Like lunar constellations set On Meru for a coronet. From her small foot an anklet fair With jewels slipped, and through the air, Like a bright circlet of the flame Of thunder, to the valley came. The Maithil lady, fair to see As the young leaflet of a tree Clad in the tender hues of spring, Flashed glory on the giant king, As when a gold-embroidered zone Around an elephant is thrown.

Thus Ravan his commandment gave To those eight giants strong and brave, So thinking in his foolish pride Against all dangers to provide. Then with his wounded heart aflame With love he thought upon the dame, And took with hasty steps the way To the fair chamber where she lay. He saw the gentle lady there Weighed down by woe too great to bear, Amid the throng of fiends who kept Their watch around her as she wept: A pinnace sinking neath the wave When mighty winds around her rave: A lonely herd-forsaken deer, When hungry dogs are pressing near. Within the bower the giant passed: Her mournful looks were downward cast. As there she lay with streaming eyes The giant bade the lady rise, And to the shrinking captive showed The glories of his rich abode, Where thousand women spent their days In palaces with gold ablaze; Where wandered birds of every sort, And jewels flashed in hall and court. Where noble pillars charmed the sight With diamond and lazulite, And others glorious to behold With ivory, crystal, silver, gold. There swelled on high the tambour's sound, And burnished ore was bright around He led the mournful lady where Resplendent gold adorned the stair, And showed each lattice fair to see With silver work and ivory: Showed his bright chambers, line on line, Adorned with nets of golden twine. Beyond he showed the Maithil dame His gardens bright as lightning's flame, And many a pool and lake he showed Where blooms of gayest colour glowed. Through all his home from view to view The lady sunk in grief he drew. Then trusting in her heart to wake Desire of all she saw, he spake: "Three hundred million giants, all Obedient to their master's call, Not counting young and weak and old, Serve me with spirits fierce and bold. A thousand culled from all of these Wait on the lord they long to please. This glorious power, this pomp and sway, Dear lady, at thy feet I lay: Yea, with my life I give the whole, O dearer than my life and soul.

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

Again she bent her to the ground, Her arms about her husband wound. Sobbed on his breast, and sick and faint With anguish poured her wild complaint: "Brave in the charge of battle, boast And glory of the Vanar host, Why on the cold earth wilt thou lie And give no answer when I cry? Up, warrior, from thy lowly bed! A meeter couch for thee is spread. It ill beseems a glorious king On the bare ground his limbs to fling. Ah, surely must thy love be strong For her whom thou hast governed long, If thou, my hero, canst recline On her cold breast forsaking mine. Or, famed for justice through the land, Thou on the road to heaven hast planned Some city fairer far than this To be thy new metropolis. Are all our pleasures ended now, With those delicious hours which thou And I, dear lord, together spent In woods that breathed the honey's scent? Whelmed in my sorrow's boundless sea, There is no joy, no hope, for me, When my beloved lord, who led The Vanars to the fight, is dead, My widowed heart is stern and cold. Or, at the sight mine eyes behold, O'ermastered would it end this ache And in a thousand fragments break. Ah noble Vanar, doomed to pay The penalty of all today-- Sugriva from his home expelled, And Ruma(601) from his arms withheld. Our Vanar race and thee to save, Wise counsel for thy weal I gave; But thou, by wildest folly stirred, Wouldst give no credence to my word, And now wilt woo the nymphs above, And shake their souls with pangs of love. Ah, never could it be that thou Beneath Sugriva's power shouldst bow, Thy conqueror is none but Fate Whose mandates all who breathe await. And does no thrill of anguish run Through the stern breast of Raghu's son, Whose base hand dealt a coward's blow, And smote thee fighting with thy foe? Reft of my lord my days, alas! In bitter bitter woe will pass: And I, long blest with every good, Must bear my dreary widowhood.

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

Thus all the princely Vanars, true To their appointed tasks, withdrew. Sugriva deemed already done The work he planned for Raghu's son. Then Lakshman gently spoke and cheered Sugriva for his valour feared: "Now, chieftain, if thy will be so, Forth from Kishkindha let us go." Sugriva's heart swelled high with pride As to the prince he thus replied: "Come, speed we forth without delay: 'Tis mine thy mandate to obey." Sugriva bade the dames adieu, And Tara and the rest withdrew. Then at their chieftain's summons came The Vanars first in rank and fame, A trusty brave and reverent band, Meet e'en before a queen to stand. They at his call made haste to bring The litter of the glorious king. "Mount, O my friend." Sugriva cried, And straight Sumitra's son complied. Then took by Lakshman's side his place The sovereign of the woodland race, Upraised by Vanars, fleet and strong, Who bore the glittering load along. On high above his royal head A paly canopy was spread, And chouries white in many a hand The forehead of the monarch fanned, And shell and drum and song and shout Pealed round him as the king passed out. About the monarch went a throng Of Vanar warriors brave and strong, As onward to the mountain shade Where Rama dwelt his way he made. Soon as the lovely spot he viewed Where Rama lived in solitude, The Vanar monarch, far-renowed, With Lakshman, lightly stepped to ground, And to the son of Raghu went Joining his raised hands reverent. As their great leader raised his hands, So suppliant stood the Vanar bands. Well pleased the son of Raghu saw Those legions, hushed in reverent awe, Stand silent like the tranquil floods That raise their hands of lotus buds. But Rama, when the king, to greet His friend, had bowed him at his feet, Raised him who ruled the Vanar race, And held him in a close embrace: Then, when his arms he had unknit, Besought him by his side to sit, And thus with gentle words the best Of men the Vanar king addressed:

They looked upon the boundless main The awful seat of Varun's reign. And heard his waters roar and rave Terrific with each crested wave. Then, in the depths of sorrow drowned, They sat upon the bosky ground, And sadly, as they pondered, grieved For days gone by and naught achieved. Pain pierced them through with sharper sting When, gazing on the trees of spring, They saw each waving bough that showed The treasures of its glorious load, And helpless, fainting with the weight Of woe they sank disconsolate. Then, lion-shouldered, stout and strong, The noblest of the Vanar throng, Angad the prince imperial rose, And, deeply stricken by the woes That his impetuous spirit broke, Thus gently to the chieftains spoke: "Mark ye not, Vanars, that the day Our monarch fixed has passed away? The month is lost in toil and pain, And now, my friends, what hopes remain? On you, in lore of counsel tried, Our king Sugriva most relied. Your hearts, with strong affection fraught, His weal in every labour sought, And the true valour of your band Was blazoned wide in every land. Forth on the toilsome search you sped, By me--for so he willed it--led, To us, of every hope bereft, Death is the only refuge left. For none a happy life may see Who fails to do our king's decree. Come, let us all from food abstain, And perish thus, since hope is vain. Stern is our king and swift to ire, Imperious, proud, and fierce like fire, And ne'er will pardon us the crime Of fruitless search and wasted time. Far better thus to end our lives, And leave our wealth, our homes and wives, Leave our dear little ones and all, Than by his vengeful hand to fall. Think not Sugriva's wrath will spare Me Bali's son, imperial heir: For Raghu's royal son, not he, To this high place anointed me. Sugriva, long my bitter foe, With eager hand will strike the blow, And, mindful of the old offence, Will slay me now for negligence, Nor will my pitying friends have power To save me in the deadly hour.

The son of Raghu heard his speech: He cast a hasty look on each Of those brave Vanar chiefs, and while Upon his lips there played a smile, To Lakshman turned and thus expressed The thoughts that moved his gallant breast: "Well versed in Scripture's lore, and sage And duly reverent to age, Is he, with long experience stored, Who counsels like this Vanar lord. Yet here, methinks, for searching eyes Some deeper, subtler matter lies. To you and all the world are known The perils of a monarch's throne, While foe and stranger, kith and kin By his misfortune trust to win. By hope of such advantage led, Vibhishan o'er the sea has fled. He in his brother's stead would reign, And our alliance seeks to gain; And we his offer may embrace, A stranger and of alien race. But if he comes a spy and foe, What power has he to strike a blow In furtherance of his close design? What is his strength compared with mine? And can I, Vanar King, forget The great, the universal debt, Ever to aid and welcome those Who pray for shelter, friends or foes? Hast thou not heard the deathless praise Won by the dove in olden days, Who conquering his fear and hate Welcomed the slayer of his mate, And gave a banquet, to refresh The weary fowler, of his flesh? Now hear me, Vanar King, rehearse What Kandu(929) spoke in ancient verse, Saint Kanva's son who loved the truth And clave to virtue from his youth: "Strike not the suppliant when he stands And asks thee with beseeching hands For shelter: strike him not although He were thy father's mortal foe. No, yield him, be he proud or meek, The shelter which he comes to seek, And save thy foeman, if the deed Should cost thy life, in desperate need." And shall I hear the wretched cry, And my protecting aid deny? Shall I a suppliant's prayer refuse, And heaven and glory basely lose? No, I will do for honour sake E'en as the holy Kandu spake, Preserve a hero's name from stain, And bliss in heaven and glory gain.

He ceased: Vidyujjihva obeyed, And wondrous magic skill displayed; And Ravan for the art he showed An ornament of price bestowed. Then to the grove where Sita lay The lord of Lanka took his way. Pale, wasted, weeping, on the ground The melancholy queen he found, Whose thoughts in utmost stress of ill Were fixed upon her husband still. The giant king approached the dame, Declared in tones of joy his name; Then heeding naught her wild distress Bespake her, stern and pitiless: "The prince to whom thy fancies cling Though loved and wooed by Lanka's king, Who slew the noble Khara,--he Is slain by warriors sent by me. Thy living root is hewn away, Thy scornful pride is tamed to-day. Thy lord in battle's front has died, And Sita shall be Ravan's bride. Hence, idle thoughts: thy hope is fled; What wilt thou, Sita, with the dead? Rise, child of Janak, rise and be The queen of all my queens and me. Incline thine ear, and I will tell, Dear lady, how thy husband fell. He bridged his way across the sea With countless troops to fight with me. The setting sun had flushed the west When on the shore they took their rest. Weary with toil no watch they kept, Securely on the sands they slept. Prahasta's troops assailed our foes, And smote them in their deep repose. Scarce could their bravest prove their might: They perished in the dark of night. Axe, spear, and sword, directed well, Upon the sleeping myriads fell. First in the fight Prahasta's sword Reft of his head thy slumbering lord. Roused at the din Vibhishan rose, The captive of surrounding foes, And Lakshman through the woods that spread Around him with his Vanars fled. Hanuman fell: one deadly stroke The neck of King Sugriva broke, And Mainda sank, and Dwivid lay Gasping in blood his life away. The Vanars died, or fled dispersed Like cloudlets when the storm has burst. Some rose aloft in air, and more Ran to the sea and filled the shore. On shore, in woods, on hill and plain Our conquering giants left the slain.

"False are they all, proved false to-day, The prophets of my fortune, they Who in the tranquil time of old A blessed life for me foretold, Predicting I should never know A childless dame's, a widow's woe, False are they all, their words are vain, For thou, my lord and life, art slain. False was the priest and vain his lore Who blessed me in those days of yore By Rama's side in bliss to reign: For thou, my lord and life, art slain. They hailed me happy from my birth, Proud empress of the lord of earth. They blessed me--but the thought is pain-- For thou, my lord and life, art slain. Ah, fruitless hope! each glorious sign That stamps the future queen is mine, With no ill-omened mark to show A widow's crushing hour of woe. They say my hair is black and fine, They praise my brows' continuous line; My even teeth divided well, My bosom for its graceful swell. They praise my feet and fingers oft; They say my skin is smooth and soft, And call me happy to possess The twelve fair marks that bring success.(955) But ah, what profit shall I gain? Thou, O my lord and life, art slain. The flattering seer in former days My gentle girlish smile would praise, And swear that holy water shed By Brahman hands upon my head Should make me queen, a monarch's bride: How is the promise verified? Matchless in might the brothers slew In Janasthan the giant crew. And forced the indomitable sea To let them pass to rescue me. Theirs was the fiery weapon hurled By him who rules the watery world;(956) Theirs the dire shaft by Indra sped; Theirs was the mystic Brahma's Head.(957) In vain they fought, the bold and brave: A coward's hand their death-wounds gave. By secret shafts and magic spell The brothers, peers of Indra, fell. That foe, if seen by Rama's eye One moment, had not lived to fly. Though swift as thought, his utmost speed Had failed him in the hour of need. No might, no tear, no prayer may stay Fate's dark inevitable day.

While thus they wept, supreme in place, The loveliest for form and face, Mandodari drew near alone, Looked on her lord and made her moan: "Ah Monarch, Indra feared to stand In fight before thy conquering hand. From thy dread spear the Immortals ran; And art thou murdered by a man? Ah, 'twas no child of earth, I know, That smote thee with that mortal blow. 'Twas Death himself in Rama's shape, That slew thee: Death whom none escape. Or was it he who rules the skies Who met thee, clothed in man's disguise? Ah no, my lord, not Indra: he In battle ne'er could look on thee. One only God thy match I deem: 'Twas Vishnu's self, the Lord Supreme, Whose days through ceaseless time extend And ne'er began and ne'er shall end: He with the discus, shell, and mace, Brought ruin on the giant race. Girt by the Gods of heaven arrayed Like Vanar hosts his strength to aid, He Rama's shape and arms assumed And slew the king whom Fate had doomed. In Janasthan when Khara died With giant legions by his side, No mortal was the unconquered foe In Rama's form who struck the blow. When Hanuman the Vanar came And burnt thy town with hostile flame, I counselled peace in anxious fear: I counselled, but thou wouldst not hear. Thy fancy for the foreign dame Has brought thee death and endless shame. Why should thy foolish fancy roam? Hadst thou not wives as fair at home? In beauty, form and grace could she, Dear lord, surpass or rival me? Now will the days of Sita glide In tranquil joy by Rama's side: And I--ah me, around me raves A sea of woe with whelming waves. With thee in days of old I trod Each spot beloved by nymph and God; I stood with thee in proud delight On Mandar's side and Meru's height; With thee, my lord, enchanted strayed In Chaitraratha's(1013) lovely shade, And viewed each fairest scene afar Transported in thy radiant car. But source of every joy wast thou, And all my bliss is ended now."

By chaste and holy vows restrained, By reverend teachers duly trained. When he his virtue's fruit should taste He falls by sin and woe disgraced." Two words will all his answer be When I pronounce the stern decree, "Hence, Rama, to the woods away," All he will say is, I obey. O, if he would my will withstand When banished from his home and land, This were a comfort in my woe; But he will ne'er do this, I know. My Rama to the forest fled, And curses thick upon my head, Grim Death will bear me hence away, His world-abominated prey. When I am gone and Rama too. How wilt thou those I love pursue? What vengeful sin will be designed Against the queens I leave behind? When thou hast slain her son and me Kausalya soon will follow: she Will sink beneath her sorrows' weight, And die like me disconsolate. Exist, Kaikeyi, in thy pride, And let thy heart be gratified, When thou my queens and me hast hurled, And children, to the under world. Soon wilt thou rule as empress o'er My noble house unvext before. But then to wild confusion left, Of Rama and of me bereft. If Bharat to thy plan consent And long for Rama's banishment, Ne'er let his hands presume to pay The funeral honours to my clay. Vile foe, thou cause of all mine ill, Obtain at last thy cursed will. A widow soon shalt thou enjoy The sweets of empire with thy boy. O Princess, sure some evil fate First brought thee here to devastate, In whom the night of ruin lies Veiled in a consort's fair disguise. The scorn of all and deepest shame Will long pursue my hated name, And dire disgrace on me will press, Misled by thee to wickedness. How shall my Rama, whom, before, His elephant or chariot bore, Now with his feet, a wanderer, tread The forest wilds around him spread? How shall my son, to please whose taste, The deftest cooks, with earrings graced, With rivalry and jealous care The dainty meal and cates prepare-- How shall he now his life sustain With acid fruit and woodland grain?

Then Rama, smitten with the pain His heaving heart could scarce restrain, Groaned like an elephant and strode With Lakshman to the queen's abode. A warder there, whose hoary eld In honour high by all was held, Guarding the mansion, sat before The portal, girt with many more. Swift to their feet the warders sprang, And loud the acclamation rang, Hail, Rama! as to him they bent, Of victor chiefs preeminent. One court he passed, and in the next Saw, masters of each Veda text, A crowd of Brahmans, good and sage, Dear to the king for lore and age. To these he bowed his reverent head, Thence to the court beyond he sped. Old dames and tender girls, their care To keep the doors, were stationed there. And all, when Rama came in view, Delighted to the chamber flew, To bear to Queen Kausalya's ear The tidings that she loved to hear. The queen, on rites and prayer intent, In careful watch the night had spent, And at the dawn, her son to aid, To Vishnu holy offerings made. Firm in her vows, serenely glad, In robes of spotless linen clad, As texts prescribe, with grace implored, Her offerings in the fire she poured. Within her splendid bower he came, And saw her feed the sacred flame. There oil, and grain, and vases stood, With wreaths, and curds, and cates, and wood, And milk, and sesamum, and rice, The elements of sacrifice. She, worn and pale with many a fast And midnight hours in vigil past, In robes of purest white arrayed, To Lakshmi Queen drink-offerings paid. So long away, she flew to meet The darling of her soul: So runs a mare with eager feet To welcome back her foal. He with his firm support upheld The queen, as near she drew, And, by maternal love impelled, Her arms around him threw. Her hero son, her matchless boy She kissed upon the head: She blessed him in her pride and joy With tender words, and said: "Be like thy royal sires of old, The nobly good, the lofty-souled! Their lengthened days and fame be thine, And virtue, as beseems thy line!

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

The daughter of Videha's king, While Rama strove to soothe the sting Of her deep anguish, thus began Once more in furtherance of her plan: And with her spirit sorely tried By fear and anger, love and pride, With keenly taunting words addressed Her hero of the stately breast: "Why did the king my sire, who reigns O'er fair Videha's wide domains, Hail Rama son with joy unwise, A woman in a man's disguise? Now falsely would the people say, By idle fancies led astray, That Rama's own are power and might, As glorious as the Lord of Light. Why sinkest thou in such dismay? What fears upon thy spirit weigh, That thou, O Rama, fain wouldst flee From her who thinks of naught but thee? To thy dear will am I resigned In heart and body, soul and mind, As Savitri gave all to one, Satyavan, Dyumatsena's son.(304) Not e'en in fancy can I brook To any guard save thee to look: Let meaner wives their houses shame, To go with thee is all my claim. Like some low actor, deemst thou fit Thy wife to others to commit-- Thine own, espoused in maiden youth, Thy wife so long, unblamed for truth? Do thou, my lord, his will obey For whom thou losest royal sway, To whom thou wouldst thy wife confide-- Not me, but thee, his wish may guide. Thou must not here thy wife forsake, And to the wood thy journey make, Whether stern penance, grief, and care, Or rule or heaven await thee there. Nor shall fatigue my limbs distress When wandering in the wilderness: Each path which near to thee I tread Shall seem a soft luxurious bed. The reeds, the bushes where I pass, The thorny trees, the tangled grass Shall feel, if only thou be near, Soft to my touch as skins of deer. When the rude wind in fury blows, And scattered dust upon me throws, That dust, beloved lord, to me Shall as the precious sandal be. And what shall be more blest than I, When gazing on the wood I lie In some green glade upon a bed With sacred grass beneath us spread?

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.

Then Rama having calmly heard His wretched father speak each word, With Lakshman standing by his side Thus, humbly, to the King replied: "If dainties now my taste regale, To-morrow must those dainties fail. This day departure I prefer To all that wealth can minister. O'er this fair land, no longer mine, Which I, with all her realms, resign, Her multitudes of men, her grain, Her stores of wealth, let Bharat reign. And let the promised boon which thou Wast pleased to grant the queen ere now, Be hers in full. Be true, O King, Kind giver of each precious thing. Thy spoken word I still will heed, Obeying all thy lips decreed: And fourteen years in woods will dwell With those who live in glade and dell. No hopes of power my heart can touch, No selfish joys attract so much As son of Raghu, to fulfil With heart and soul my father's will. Dismiss, dismiss thy needless woe, Nor let those drowning torrents flow: The Lord of Rivers in his pride Keeps to the banks that bar his tide. Here in thy presence I declare; By thy good deeds, thy truth, I swear; Nor lordship, joy, nor lands I prize; Life, heaven, all blessings I despise. I wish to see thee still remain Most true, O King, and free from stain. It must not, Sire, it must not be: I cannot rest one hour with thee. Then bring this sorrow to an end, For naught my settled will can bend. I gave a pledge that binds me too, And to that pledge I still am true. Kaikeyi bade me speed away: She prayed me, and I answered yea. Pine not for me, and weep no more; The wood for us has joy in store, Filled with the wild deer's peaceful herds And voices of a thousand birds. A father is the God of each, Yea, e'en of Gods, so Scriptures teach: And I will keep my sire's decree, For as a God I honour thee. O best of men, the time is nigh, The fourteen years will soon pass by And to thine eyes thy son restore: Be comforted, and weep no more.

When Rama saw the giant nigh, On foot, alone, with mace reared high, In mild reproof at first he spoke, Then forth his threatening anger broke: "Thou with the host 'twas thine to lead, With elephant and car and steed, Hast wrought an act of sin and shame, An act which all who live must blame. Know that the wretch whose evil mind Joys in the grief of human kind, Though the three worlds confess him lord, Must perish dreaded and abhorred. Night-rover, when a villain's deeds Distress the world he little heeds, Each hand is armed his life to take, And crush him like a deadly snake. The end is near when men begin Through greed or lust a life of sin, E'en as a Brahman's dame, unwise, Eats of the fallen hail(475) and dies. Thy hand has slain the pure and good, The hermit saints of Dandak wood, Of holy life, the heirs of bliss; And thou shalt reap the fruit of this. Not long shall they whose cruel breasts Joy in the sin the world detests Retain their guilty power and pride, But fade like trees whose roots are dried. Yes, as the seasons come and go, Each tree its kindly fruit must show, And sinners reap in fitting time The harvest of each earlier crime. As those must surely die who eat Unwittingly of poisoned meat, They too whose lives in sin are spent Receive ere long the punishment. And know, thou rover of the night, That I, a king, am sent to smite The wicked down, who court the hate Of men whose laws they violate. This day my vengeful hand shall send Shafts bright with gold to tear and rend, And pass with fury through thy breast As serpents pierce an emmet's nest. Thou with thy host this day shalt be Among the dead below, and see The saints beneath thy hand who bled, Whose flesh thy cruel maw has fed. They, glorious on their seats of gold, Their slayer shall in hell behold. Fight with all strength thou callest thine, Mean scion of ignoble line, Still, like the palm-tree's fruit, this day My shafts thy head in dust shall lay."

When Rama saw his brother stand With none beside him, all unmanned, Eager he questioned why he came So far without the Maithil dame: "Where is my wife, my darling, she Who to the wild wood followed me? Where hast thou left my lady, where The dame who chose my lot to share? Where is my love who balms my woe As through the forest wilds I go, Unkinged and banished and disgraced,-- My darling of the dainty waist? She nerves my spirit for the strife, She, only she gives zest to life, Dear as my breath is she who vies In charms with daughters of the skies. If Janak's child be mine no more, In splendour fair as virgin ore, The lordship of the skies and earth To me were prize of little worth. Ah, lives she yet, the Maithil dame, Dear as the soul within this frame? O, let not all my toil be vain, The banishment, the woe and pain! O, let not dark Kaikeyi win The guerdon of her treacherous sin, If, Sita lost, my days I end, And thou without me homeward wend! O, let not good Kausalya shed Her bitter tears to mourn me dead, Nor her proud rival's hest obey, Strong in her son and queenly sway! Back to my cot will I repair If Sita live to greet me there, But if my wife have perished, I Reft of my love will surely die. O Lakshman, if I seek my cot, Look for my love and find her not Sweet welcome with her smile to give, I tell thee, I will cease to live. O answer,--let thy words be plain,-- Lives Sita yet, or is she slain? Didst thou thy sacred trust betray Till ravening giants seized the prey? Ah me, so young, so soft and fair, Lapped in all bliss, untried by care, Rent from her own dear husband, how Will she support her misery now? That voice, O Lakshman smote thine ear, And filled, I ween, thy heart with fear, When on thy name for succour cried The treacherous giant ere he died. That voice too like mine own, I ween, Was heard by the Videhan queen.

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.

"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.

But if the needful power were bought By strength of mind and brooding thought, No triumph shall attend the dame Who dooms her son to lasting shame. Now should no doubt that son prevent From quitting thee on evil bent. But Rama's love o'erpowers my will, Who holds thee as his mother still. Whence did the thought, O thou whose eyes Are turned to sinful deeds, arise-- A plan our ancient sires would hate, O fallen from thy virtuous state? For in the line from which we spring The eldest is anointed king: No monarchs from the rule decline, And, least of all, Ikshvaku's line. Our holy sires, to virtue true, Upon our race a lustre threw, But with subversive frenzy thou Hast marred our lineal honour now, Of lofty birth, a noble line Of previous kings is also thine: Then whence this hated folly? whence This sudden change that steals thy sense? Thou shalt not gain thine impious will, O thou whose thoughts are bent on ill, Thou from whose guilty hand descend These sinful blows my life to end. Now to the forest will I go, Thy cherished plans to overthrow, And bring my brother, free from stain, His people's darling, home again. And Rama, when again he turns, Whose glory like a beacon burns, In me a faithful slave shall find To serve him with contented mind."

Thus Rama spoke, and took the road To Sarabhanga's pure abode. But near that saint whose lustre vied With Gods, by penance purified, With startled eyes the prince beheld A wondrous sight unparalleled. In splendour like the fire and sun He saw a great and glorious one. Upon a noble car he rode, And many a God behind him glowed: And earth beneath his feet unpressed(411) The monarch of the skies confessed. Ablaze with gems, no dust might dim The bright attire that covered him. Arrayed like him, on every side High saints their master glorified. Near, borne in air, appeared in view His car which tawny coursers drew, Like silver cloud, the moon, or sun Ere yet the day is well begun. Wreathed with gay garlands, o'er his head A pure white canopy was spread, And lovely nymphs stood nigh to hold Fair chouris with their sticks of gold, Which, waving in each gentle hand, The forehead of their monarch fanned. God, saint, and bard, a radiant ring, Sang glory to their heavenly King: Forth into joyful lauds they burst As Indra with the sage conversed. Then Rama, when his wondering eyes Beheld the monarch of the skies, To Lakshman quickly called, and showed The car wherein Lord Indra rode: "See, brother, see that air-borne car, Whose wondrous glory shines afar: Wherefrom so bright a lustre streams That like a falling sun it seems: These are the steeds whose fame we know, Of heavenly race through heaven they go: These are the steeds who bear the yoke Of Sakra,(412) Him whom all invoke. Behold these youths, a glorious band, Toward every wind a hundred stand: A sword in each right hand is borne, And rings of gold their arms adorn. What might in every broad deep chest And club-like arm is manifest! Clothed in attire of crimson hue They show like tigers fierce to view. Great chains of gold each warder deck, Gleaming like fire beneath his neck.

"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.

"Lord of the mighty arm, of yore A shape transcending thought I wore, And through the triple world's extent My fame for might and valour went. Scarce might the sun and moon on high, Scarce Sakra, with my beauty vie. Then for a time this form I took, And the great world with trembling shook. The saints in forest shades who dwelt The terror of my presence felt. But once I stirred to furious rage Great Sthulasiras, glorious sage. Culling in woods his hermit food My hideous shape with fear he viewed. Then forth his words of anger burst That bade me live a thing accursed: "Thou, whose delight is others' pain, This grisly form shalt still retain."

But thou, in duty's claims untaught, Thy breast with blinding passion fraught, Assailest me who still have clung To duty, with thy bitter tongue."

Yet earth, the waters of the seas, The race of women and the trees Were fain upon themselves to take The weight of sin for Indra's sake. But who a Vanar's soul will free, Or ease the load that crushes me? Wretch that I am, I may not claim The reverence due to royal name. How shall I reign supreme, or dare Affect the power I should not share? Ah me, I sorrow for my sin, The ruin of my race and kin, Polluted by a hideous crime World-hated till the end of time. Alas, the floods of sorrow roll With whelming force upon my soul: So gathers the descending rain In the deep hollow of the plain."

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

"Thy lord his days in pleasure spends, Heedless of duty and of friends, Nor dost thou mark, though fondly true, The evil path his steps pursue. He cares not for affairs of state, Nor us forlorn and desolate, But sits a mere spectator still, A sensual slave to pleasure's will. Four months were fixed, the time agreed When he should help us in our need: But, bound in toils of pleasure fast, He sees not that the months are past. Where beats the heart which draughts of wine To virtue or to gain incline? Hast thou not heard those draughts destroy Virtue and gain and love and joy? For those who, helped at need, refuse Their aid in turn, their virtue lose: And they who scorn a friend disdain A treasure naught may buy again. Thy lord has cast his friend away, Nor feared from virtue's path to stray, If this be true, declare, O dame Who knowest duty's every claim, What further work remains for us Deceived and disappointed thus."

Then every lovely tree that bore Fair blossoms, from the soil he tore, Till each green bough that lent its shade To singing birds on earth was laid. The wilderness he left a waste, The fountains shattered and defaced: O'erthrew and levelled with the ground Each shady seat and pleasure-mound. Each arbour clad with climbing bloom, Each grotto, cell, and picture room, Each lawn by beast and bird enjoyed, Each walk and terrace was destroyed. And all the place that was so fair Was left a ruin wild and bare, As if the fury of the blast Or raging fire had o'er it passed.