Ramayana on Work

Then Gandhamadan thus replied With lips that toil and thirst had dried; "Obey his words, for wise and true Is all that he has counselled you. Come, let your hosts their toil renew And search each grove and desert through, Each towering hill and forest glade. By lake and brook and white cascade, Till every spot, as our great lord Commanded, be again explored."

He spoke: the conquering Lakshman heard, Obedient to his brother's word. Raised by his toil a cottage stood To shelter Rama in the wood, Of ample size, with leaves o'erlaid, Of hardened earth the walls were made. The strong bamboos his hands had felled For pillars fair the roof upheld, And rafter, beam, and lath supplied Well interwrought from side to side. Then Sami(451) boughs he deftly spread Enlaced with knotted cord o'erhead, Well thatched above from ridge to eaves With holy grass, and reed, and leaves. The mighty chief with careful toil Had cleared the ground and smoothed the soil Where now, his loving labour done, Rose a fair home for Raghu's son. Then when his work was duly wrought, Godavaris sweet stream he sought, Bathed, plucked the lilies, and a store Of fruit and berries homeward bore. Then sacrifice he duly paid, And wooed the Gods their hopes to aid, And then to Rama proudly showed The cot prepared for his abode. Then Raghu's son with Sita gazed Upon the home his hands had raised, And transport thrilled his bosom through His leafy hermitage to view. The glorious son of Raghu round His brother's neck his arms enwound, And thus began his sweet address Of deep-felt joy and gentleness: "Well pleased am I, dear lord, to see This noble work performed by thee. For this,--sole grace I can bestow,-- About thy neck mine arms I throw. So wise art thou, thy breast is filled With grateful thoughts, in duty skilled, Our mighty father, free from stain, In thee, his offspring, lives again."

Then Angad spake: "We Vanars well Have searched each valley, cave, and dell, And hill, and brook, and dark recess, And tangled wood, and wilderness. But all in vain: no eye has seen The robber or the Maithil queen. A dreary time has passed away, And stern is he we all obey. Come, cast your grief and sloth aside: Again be every effort tried; So haply may our toil attain The sweet success that follows pain. Laborious effort, toil, and skill, The firm resolve, the constant will Secure at last the ends we seek: Hence, O my friends, I boldly speak. Once more then, noble hearts, once more Let us to-day this wood explore, And, languor and despair subdued, Purchase success with toil renewed. Sugriva is a king austere, And Rama's wrath we needs must fear. Come, Vanars, ye think it wise, And do the thing that I advise."

To him by toil and sorrow tried The prudent Lakshman thus replied: "Come, though our labour yet be vain, And search through Janasthan again,-- A realm where giant foes abound, And trees and creepers hide the ground. For there are caverns deep and dread, By deer and wild birds tenanted, And hills with many a dark abyss, Grotto and rock and precipice. There bright Gandharvas love to dwell, And Kinnars in each bosky dell. With me thy eager search to aid Be every hill and cave surveyed. Great chiefs like thee, the best of men, Endowed with sense and piercing ken, Though tried by trouble never fail, Like rooted hills that mock the gale."

"Slain by mine arrows Rama lies, And closed in death are Lakshman's eyes. Dead are the mighty princes who Dushan and Khara smote and slew. The Gods and fiends may toil in vain To free them from the binding chain. The haughty chief, my father's dread, Who drove him sleepless from his bed, While Lanka, troubled like a brook In rain time, heard his name and shook: He whose fierce hate our lives pursued Lies helpless by my shafts subdued. Now fruitless is each wondrous deed Wrought by the race the forests breed, And fruitless every toil at last Like cloudlets when the rains are past." Then rose the shout of giants loud As thunder from a bursting cloud, When, deeming Rama, dead, they raised Their voices and the conqueror praised.

Sugriva heard, and, trained and tried In counsel, to his lords replied: "No deed of mine, no hasty word The anger of the prince has stirred. But haply some who hate me still And watch their time to work me ill, Have slandered me to Raghu's son, Accused of deeds I ne'er have done. Now, O my lords--for you are wise-- Speak truly what your hearts advise, And, pondering each event, inquire The reason of the prince's ire. No fear have I of Lakshman: none: No dread of Raghu's mightier son. But wrath, that fires a friendly breast Without due cause, disturbs my rest. With labour light is friendship gained, But with severest toil maintained. And doubt is strong, and faith is weak, And friendship dies when traitors speak. Hence is my troubled bosom cold With fear of Rama lofty-souled; For heavy on my spirit weigh His favours I can ne'er repay."

Then Rama answered. "Hatred dies When low in dust the foeman lies. Now triumph bids the conflict cease, And knits us in the bonds of peace. Let funeral rites be duly paid. And be it mine thy toil to aid."

Thus Rama by his grief distraught Wept for the wife he vainly sought, And Lakshman whose fraternal breast Longed for his weal, the chief addressed Whose soul gave way beneath the pain When all his eager search was vain, Like some great elephant who stands Sinking upon the treacherous sands: "Not yet, O wisest chief, despair; Renew thy toil with utmost care. This noble hill where trees are green Has many a cave and dark ravine. The Maithil lady day by day Delighted in the woods to stray, Deep in the grove she wanders still, Or walks by blossom-covered rill, Or fish-loved river stealing through Tall clusters of the dark bamboo. Or else the dame with arch design To prove thy mood, O Prince, and mine, Far in some sheltering thicket lies To frighten ere she meet our eyes. Then come, renew thy labour, trace The lady to her lurking-place, And search the wood from side to side To know where Sita loves to bide. Collect thy thoughts, O royal chief, Nor yield to unavailing grief."

"What further deed remains to do To vex the Rakshas king anew? The beauty of his grove is marred, Killed are the bravest of his guard. The captains of his host are slain; But forts and palaces remain, Swift is the work and light the toil Each fortress of the foe to spoil."

Yet, trained in war and practised well, O'ermatched by thee, they fought and fell, Stay in thy royal home, nor care The battle and the toil to share; But let the easy fight be won By Indrajit(913) thy matchless son. All, all shall die, if thou permit, Slain by the hand of Indrajit."

And for the son of Raghu's sake The toil and danger undertake: For breach of faith were grievous wrong, Nor wouldst thou be unpunished long. Now, brother, take this chain of gold, Gift of celestial hands of old, Or when I die its charm will flee, And all its might be lost with me."

A thousand years had thus flown by When all the Gods within the sky, Eager that he the fruit might gain Of fervent rite and holy pain, Approached the great ascetic, now Bathed after toil and ended vow. Then Brahma speaking for the rest With sweetest words the sage addressed: "Hail, Saint! This high and holy name Thy rites have won, thy merits claim."

Then all the Blest, by Brahma led, Approached the saint and sweetly said: "Hail, Brahman Saint! for such thy place: Thy vows austere have won our grace. A Brahman's rank thy penance stern And ceaseless labour richly earn. I with the Gods of Storm decree Long life, O Brahman Saint, to thee. May peace and joy thy soul possess: Go where thou wilt in happiness."

Thus faithful Lakshman strove to cheer The prince with counsel wise and clear. Who, prompt to seize the pith of all, Let not that wisdom idly fall. With vigorous effort he restrained The passion in his breast that reigned, And leaning on his bow for rest His brother Lakshman thus addressed: "How shall we labour now, reflect; Whither again our search direct? Brother, what plan canst thou devise To bring her to these longing eyes?"

When worn with toil and love I strayed With Sita through the forest shade, No trace of grief was seen in her, My kind and thoughtful comforter. How shall my faltering tongue relate To Queen Kausalya Sita's fate? How answer when in wild despair She questions, Where is Sita, where? Haste, brother, haste: to Bharat hie, On whose fond love I still rely. My life can be no longer borne, Since Sita from my side is torn."

But Diti, when her sons were slain, Wild with a childless mother's pain, To Kasyap spake, Maricha's son, Her husband: "O thou glorious one! Dead are the children, mine no more, The mighty sons to thee I bore. Long fervour's meed, I crave a boy Whose arm may Indra's life destroy. The toil and pain my care shall be: To bless my hope depends on thee. Give me a mighty son to slay Fierce Indra, gracious lord! I pray."

When, of the thousand years ordained, Ten only unfulfilled remained, Thus to her son, the Thousand-eyed, The Goddess in her triumph cried: "Best of the mighty! there remain But ten short years of toil and pain; These years of penance soon will flee, And a new brother thou shalt see. Him for thy sake I'll nobly breed, And lust of war his soul shall feed; Then free from care and sorrow thou Shalt see the worlds before him bow."(212)

Thus royal sage and Brahman saint, Spirit, and Virtue free from taint, And all the Gods of heaven who rode On golden cars, their longing showed. Their hearts with doubt and terror rent, They saw the giants' armament, And Rama clothed in warrior might, Forth standing in the front of fight. Lord of the arm no toil might tire, He stood majestic in his ire, Matchless in form as Rudra(465) when His wrath is fierce on Gods or men.

"O Raghu's son, I cannot tell Where now that cruel fiend may dwell, Declare his power and might, or trace The author of his cursed race. Still trust the promise that I make And let thy breast no longer ache. So will I toil, nor toil in vain, That thou thy consort mayst regain. So will I work with might and skill That joy anew thy heart shall fill: The valour of my soul display, And Ravan and his legions slay. Awake, awake! unmanned no more Recall the strength was thine of yore. Beseems not men like thee to wear A weak heart yielding to despair. Like troubles, too, mine eyes have seen, Lamenting for a long-lost queen; But, by despair unconquered yet, My strength of mind I ne'er forget. Far more shouldst thou of lofty soul Thy passion and thy tears control, When I, of Vanar's humbler strain, Weep not for her in ceaseless pain. Be firm, be patient, nor forget The bounds the brave of heart have set In loss, in woe, in strife, in fear, When the dark hour of death is near. Up! with thine own brave heart advise: Not thus despond the firm and wise. But he who gives his childish heart To choose the coward's weakling part, Sinks, like a foundered vessel, deep In waves of woe that o'er him sweep. See, suppliant hand to hand I lay, And, moved by faithful love, I pray. Give way no more to grief and gloom, But all thy native strength resume. No joy on earth, I ween, have they Who yield their souls to sorrow's sway. Their glory fades in slow decline: 'Tis not for thee to grieve and pine. I do but hint with friendly speech The wiser part I dare not teach. This better path, dear friend, pursue, And let not grief thy soul subdue."

Vibhandak took his homeward road, And wearied by the heavy load Of roots and woodland fruit he bore Entered at last his cottage door. Fain for his son he looked around, But desolate the cell he found. He stayed not then to bathe his feet, Though fainting with the toil and heat, But hurried forth and roamed about Calling the boy with cry and shout, He searched the wood, but all in vain; Nor tidings of his son could gain.

"Needs not to you who know declare How ever with paternal care My fathers of Ikshvaku's line Have ruled the realm which now is mine. I too have taught my feet to tread The pathway of the mighty dead, And with fond care that never slept Have, as I could, my people kept. So toiling still, and ne'er remiss For all my people's weal and bliss, Beneath the white umbrella's(260) shade. Old age is come and strength decayed. Thousands of years have o'er me flown, And generations round me grown And passed away. I crave at length Repose and ease for broken strength. Feeble and worn I scarce can bear The ruler's toil, the judge's care, With royal dignity, a weight That tries the young and temperate. I long to rest, my labour done, And in my place to set my son, If to the twice-born gathered here My counsel wise and good appear. For greater gifts than mine adorn Rama my son, my eldest-born. Like Indra brave, before him fall The foeman's cities, tower and wall. Him prince of men for power and might, The best maintainer of the right, Fair as the moon when nothing bars His glory close to Pushya's stars, Him with to-morrow's light I fain Would throne the consort of my reign. A worthy lord for you, I ween, Marked as her own by Fortune's Queen. The triple world itself would be Well ruled by such a king as he. To such high bliss and happy fate Will I the country dedicate, And my sad heart will cease to grieve If he the precious charge receive. Thus is my careful plan matured, Thus for myself is rest secured; Lieges, approve the words I say, Or point ye out some wiser way. Devise your prudent plan. My mind Is fondly to this thought inclined, But men by keen debating move Some middle course which all approve."

"How lovely Pampa's waters show, Where streams of lucid crystal flow! What glorious trees o'erhang the flood Which blooms of opening lotus stud! Look on the banks of Pampa where Thick groves extend divinely fair; And piles of trees, like hills in size, Lift their proud summits to the skies. But thought of Bharat's(523) pain and toil, And my dear spouse the giant's spoil, Afflict my tortured heart and press My spirit down with heaviness. Still fair to me though sunk in woe Bright Pampa and her forest show. Where cool fresh waters charm the sight, And flowers of every hue are bright. The lotuses in close array Their passing loveliness display, And pard and tiger, deer and snake Haunt every glade and dell and brake. Those grassy spots display the hue Of topazes and sapphires' blue, And, gay with flowers of every dye, With richly broidered housings vie. What loads of bloom the high trees crown, Or weigh the bending branches down! And creepers tipped with bud and flower Each spray and loaded limb o'erpower. Now cool delicious breezes blow, And kindle love's voluptuous glow, When balmy sweetness fills the air, And fruit and flowers and trees are fair. Those waving woods, that shine with bloom, Each varied tint in turn assume. Like labouring clouds they pour their showers In rain or ever-changing flowers. Behold, those forest trees, that stand High upon rock and table-land, As the cool gales their branches bend, Their floating blossoms downward send. See, Lakshman, how the breezes play With every floweret on the spray. And sport in merry guise with all The fallen blooms and those that fall. See, brother, where the merry breeze Shakes the gay boughs of flowery trees, Disturbed amid their toil a throng Of bees pursue him, loud in song. The Koils,(524) mad with sweet delight, The bending trees to dance invite; And in its joy the wild wind sings As from the mountain cave he springs.

The demon raised his arm on high, And rushed upon them with a cry. Him Angad smote,--for, sure, he thought This was the fiend they long had sought. From his huge mouth by Angad felled, The blood in rushing torrents welled, As, like a mountain from his base Uptorn, he dropped upon his face. Thus fell the mighty fiend: and they Through the thick wood pursued their way; Then, weary with the toil, reclined Where leafy boughs to shade them twined.

"The high-souled king no toil has spared, But nobly for his rite prepared, How many thousand Brahmans here, From every region, far and near, Well read in holy lore, appear! How many tents, that sages screen, With wains in hundreds, here are seen! Great Brahman, let us find a place Where we may stay and rest a space." The hermit did as Rama prayed, And in a spot his lodging made, Far from the crowd, sequestered, clear, With copious water flowing near.

The prince whose merits grew, acquired By rites performed as he desired, Would now a store of merit gain Bought by his body's toil and pain. Those limbs to which pure sandal lent The freshness of its fragrant scent, Exposed to sun, and dust, and rain, Are now defiled with many a stain. And I the wretched cause why this Falls on the prince whose right is bliss! Ah me, that ever I was born To be the people's hate and scorn!"

Thus Bharat, strong-armed hero spake, And walked within the pathless brake. O'er plains where gay trees bloomed he went, Through boughs in tangled net-work bent, And then from Rama's cot appeared The banner which the flame upreared. And Bharat joyed with every friend To mark those smoky wreaths ascend: "Here Rama dwells," he thought; "at last The ocean of our toil is passed." Then sure that Rama's hermit cot Was on the mountain's side He stayed his army on the spot, And on with Guha hied.

Preserve us, for on thee we call, Our sire, Kaikeyi, me and all Thy citizens, thy kith and kin; Preserve us and reverse the sin. To live in woods a devotee Can scarce with royal tasks agree, Nor can the hermit's matted hair Suit fitly with a ruler's care. Do not, my brother, do not still Pursue this life that suits thee ill. Mid duties of a king we count His consecration paramount, That he with ready heart and hand May keep his people and his land. What Warrior born to royal sway From certain good would turn away, A doubtful duty to pursue, That mocks him with the distant view? Thou wouldst to duty cleave, and gain The meed that follows toil and pain. In thy great task no labour spare: Rule the four castes with justest care. Mid all the four, the wise prefer The order of the householder:(383) Canst thou, whose thoughts to duty cleave, The best of all the orders leave? My better thou in lore divine, My birth, my sense must yield to thine: While thou, my lord, art here to reign, How shall my hands the rule maintain? O faithful lover of the right, Take with thy friends the royal might, Let thy sires' realm, from trouble free, Obey her rightful king in thee. Here let the priests and lords of state Our monarch duly consecrate, With prayer and holy verses blessed By saint Vasishtha and the rest. Anointed king by us, again Seek fair Ayodhya, there to reign, And like imperial Indra girt By Gods of Storm, thy might assert. From the three debts(384) acquittance earn, And with thy wrath the wicked burn, O'er all of us thy rule extend, And cheer with boons each faithful friend. Let thine enthronement, lord, this day Make all thy lovers glad and gay, And let all those who hate thee flee To the ten winds for fear of thee. Dear lord, my mother's words of hate With thy sweet virtues expiate, And from the stain of folly clear The father whom we both revere.

He ceased: and in the Vanars' view Forth from his side young pinions grew, And boundless rapture filled his breast As thus the chieftains he addressed: "Joy, joy! the pinions, which the Lord Of Day consumed, are now restored Through the dear grace & boundless might Of that illustrious anchorite. The fire of youth within me burns, And all my wonted strength returns. Onward, ye Vanars, toil strive, And you shall find the dame alive. Look on these new-found wings, and hence Be strong in surest confidence."

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.

Then from Himalaya's heights of snow, The glorious saint prepared to go, And dwelling in the distant east His penance and his toil increased. A thousand years his lips he held Closed by a vow unparalleled, And other marvels passing thought, Unrivalled in the world, he wrought. In all the thousand years his frame Dry as a log of wood became. By many a cross and check beset, Rage had not stormed his bosom yet. With iron will that naught could bend He plied his labour till the end. So when the weary years were o'er, Freed from his vow so stern and sore, The hermit, all his penance sped, Sate down to eat his meal of bread. Then Indra, clad in Brahman guise, Asked him for food with hungry eyes. The mighty saint, with steadfast soul, To the false Brahman gave the whole, And when no scrap for him remained, Fasting and faint, from speech refrained. His silent vow he would not break: No breath he heaved, no word he spake, Then as he checked his breath, behold! Around his brow thick smoke-clouds rolled And the three worlds, as if o'erspread With ravening flames, were filled with dread. Then God and saint and bard, convened, And Naga lord, and snake, and fiend, Thus to the General Father cried, Distracted, sad, and terrified: "Against the hermit, sore assailed, Lure, scathe, and scorn have naught availed, Proof against rage and treacherous art He keeps his vow with constant heart. Now if his toils assist him naught To gain the boon his soul has sought, He through the worlds will ruin send That fixt and moving things shall end, The regions now are dark with doom, No friendly ray relieves the gloom. Each ocean foams with maddened tide, The shrinking hills in fear subside. Trembles the earth with feverous throe The wind in fitful tempest blows. No cure we see with troubled eyes: And atheist brood on earth may rise. The triple world is wild with care, Or spiritless in dull despair. Before that saint the sun is dim, His blessed light eclipsed by him.

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.

That scholar justly observes: "The eleventh chapter, Description of Evening, is certainly the work of the Rhapsodists and an interpolation of later date. The chapter might be omitted without any injury to the action of the poem, and besides the metre, style, conceits and images differ from the general tenour of the poem; and that continual repetition of the same sounds at the end of each hemistich which is not exactly rime, but assonance, reveals the artificial labour of a more recent age." The following sample will probably be enough.

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

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

"To me, O saints, ye need not sue: I wait the hests of all of you. I by mine own occasion led This mighty forest needs must tread, And while I keep my sire's decree Your lives from threatening foes will free. I hither came of free accord To lend the aid by you implored, And richest meed my toil shall pay, While here in forest shades I stay. I long in battle strife to close. And slay these fiends, the hermits' foes, That saint and sage may learn aright My prowess and my brother's might."

Thus, all his thoughts on Sita bent, To Janasthan the chieftain went, Hastening on with eager stride, And Lakshman hurried by his side. With toil and thirst and hunger worn, His breast with doubt and anguish torn, He sought the well-known spot. Again, again he turned to chide With quivering lips which terror dried: He looked, and found her not. Within his leafy home he sped, Each pleasant spot he visited Where oft his darling strayed. "'Tis as I feared," he cried, and there, Yielding to pangs too great to bear, He sank by grief dismayed.

Thus to Prayag the hero went, Thus saw the saint preeminent, And varied speeches heard and said: Then holy night o'er heaven was spread. And Rama took, by toil oppressed, With Sita and his brother, rest; And so the night, with sweet content, In Bharadvaja's grove was spent. But when the dawn dispelled the night, Rama approached the anchorite, And thus addressed the holy sire Whose glory shone like kindled fire: "Well have we spent, O truthful Sage, The night within thy hermitage: Now let my lord his guests permit For their new home his grove to quit."

Supported on his golden throne, With failing eye and humbled tone, "Giants," he cried, "the toil is vain, Fruitless the penance and the pain, If I whom Indra owned his peer, Secure from Gods, a mortal fear. My soul remembers, now too late, Lord Brahma's words who spoke my fate: "Tremble, proud Giant," thus they ran, "And dread thy death from slighted man. Secure from Gods and demons live, And serpents, by the boon I give. Against their power thy life is charmed, But against man is still unarmed." This Rama is the man foretold By Anaranya's(965) lips of old:

Uprose the Vanars one and all, Obedient to the chieftain's call, And over the southern region sped Where Vindhya's tangled forests spread. They clomb that hill that towers on high Like a huge cloud in autumn's sky, Where many a cavern yawns, and streaks Of radiant silver deck the peaks. In eager search they wandered through The forests where the Lodh trees grew, Where the dark leaves were thick and green, But found not Rama's darling queen. Then faint with toil, their hearts depressed, Descending from the mountain's crest, Their weary limbs a while to ease They lay beneath the spreading trees.

The Wind-God's son, in form a man, Raised reverent hands and thus began: "Fond greeting, Prince, I bring to thee, And Rama's self has sent it: he For whom thy spirit sorrows yet As for a hapless anchoret In Dandak wood, in dire distress, With matted hair and hermit dress. This sorrow from thy bosom fling, And hear the tale of joy I bring. This day thy brother shalt thou meet Exulting in his foe's defeat, Freed from his toil and lengthened vow, The light of victory on his brow, With Sita, Lakshman and his friends Homeward at last his steps he bends."

Bhagirath, rich in glory's light, The hero with the arm of might, Thus to the Lord of earth and sky Raised suppliant hands and made reply: "If the great God his favour deigns, And my long toil its fruit obtains, Let Sagar's sons receive from me Libations that they long to see. Let Ganga with her holy wave The ashes of the heroes lave, That so my kinsmen may ascend To heavenly bliss that ne'er shall end. And give, I pray, O God, a son, Nor let my house be all undone. Sire of the worlds! be this the grace Bestowed upon Ikshvaku's race."

King Dasaratha, thus addressed, With anger raging in his breast, Sank for a while beneath the pain, Then to Kaikeyi spoke again: "Childless so long, at length I won, With mighty toil, from Heaven a son, Rama, the mighty-armed; and how Shall I desert my darling now? A scholar wise, a hero bold, Of patient mood, with wrath controlled, How can I bid my Rama fly, My darling of the lotus eye? In heaven itself I scarce could bear, When asking of my Rama there, To hear the Gods his griefs declare, And O, that death would take me hence Before I wrong his innocence!"

Thus spake the God who rules the skies, Indra, the Lord supremely wise; And gentle Surabhi, well learned In eloquence, this speech returned: "Not thine the fault, great God, not thine And guiltless are the Lords divine: I mourn two children faint with toil, Labouring hard in stubborn soil. Wasted and sad I see them now, While the sun beats on neck and brow, Still goaded by the cruel hind,-- No pity in his savage mind. O Indra, from this body sprang These children, worn with many a pang. For this sad sight I mourn, for none Is to the mother like her son."

Ah, who the cruel deed can praise Whose idle toil no fruit repays, As impious as the wretch's crime Who dares his master's bed to climb? Nor does my parting spirit grieve But for the life which thus I leave: Alas, my mother and my sire,-- I mourn for them when I expire. Ah me, that aged, helpless pair, Long cherished by my watchful care, How will it be with them this day When to the Five(336) I pass away? Pierced by the self-same dart we die, Mine aged mother, sire, and I. Whose mighty hand, whose lawless mind Has all the three to death consigned?"

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

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

"Why fervent thus in toil and pain? What brings thee here? what boon to gain? Thy heart's desire, O Monarch, speak: I grant the boons which mortals seek." The king, his adoration paid, To Mahadeva answer made: "If thou hast deemed me fit to win Thy favour, O thou void of sin, On me, O mighty God, bestow The wondrous science of the bow, All mine, complete in every part, With secret spell and mystic art. To me be all the arms revealed That Gods, and saints, and Titans wield, And every dart that arms the hands Of spirits, fiends and minstrel bands, Be mine, O Lord supreme in place, This token of thy boundless grace."

Then spoke again the great recluse: "This mighty bow, O King, produce." King Janak, at the saint's request, This order to his train addressed: "Let the great bow be hither borne, Which flowery wreaths and scents adorn." Soon as the monarch's words were said, His servants to the city sped, Five thousand youths in number, all Of manly strength and stature tall, The ponderous eight-wheeled chest that held The heavenly bow, with toil propelled. At length they brought that iron chest, And thus the godlike king addressed: "This best of bows, O lord, we bring, Respected by each chief and king, And place it for these youths to see, If, Sovereign, such thy pleasure be."

Then, reverent hand to hand applied, Thus Bharat to his brother cried: "Thy realm, O King, is now restored, Uninjured to the rightful lord. This feeble arm with toil and pain, The weighty charge could scarce sustain. And the great burthen wellnigh broke The neck untrained to bear the yoke. The royal swan outspeeds the crow: The steed is swift, the mule is slow, Nor can my feeble feet be led O'er the rough ways where thine should tread. Now grant what all thy subjects ask: Begin, O King, thy royal task. Now let our longing eyes behold The glorious rite ordained of old, And on the new-found monarch's head Let consecrating drops be shed."

Distracted with the toil and thirst, With woeful mien, away he burst, Swift to the hermit's breast he flew, And weeping thus began to sue: "No sire have I, no mother dear, No kith or kin my heart to cheer: As justice bids, O Hermit, deign To save me from the threatened pain. O thou to whom the wretched flee, And find a saviour, Saint, in thee, Now let the king obtain his will, And me my length of days fulfil, That rites austere I too may share, May rise to heaven and rest me there. With tender soul and gentle brow Be guardian of the orphan thou, And as a father pities, so Preserve me from my fear and woe."

Vasishtha with his soul athirst To look again on Rama, first In line the royal widows placed, And then the way behind them traced. The ladies moving, faint and slow, Saw the fair stream before them flow, And by the bank their steps were led Which the two brothers visited. Kausalya with her faded cheek And weeping eyes began to speak, And thus in mournful tones addressed The queen Sumitra and the rest: "See in the wood the bank's descent, Which the two orphan youths frequent, Whose noble spirits never fall, Though woes surround them, reft of all. Thy son with love that never tires Draws water hence which mine requires. This day, for lowly toil unfit, His pious task thy son should quit."

His hands he joined, his head he bent And spoke in answer reverent To the most high and radiant sage Who issued from his hermitage: "Well have I passed the night: thy feast Gave joy to every man and beast; And I, great lord, and every peer Were satisfied with sumptuous cheer, Thy banquet has delighted all From highest chief to meanest thrall, And rich attire and drink and meat Banished the thought of toil and heat. And now, O Hermit good and great, A boon of thee I supplicate. To Rama's side my steps I bend: Do thou with friendly eye commend. O tell me how to guide my feet To virtuous Rama's lone retreat: Great Hermit, I entreat thee, say How far from here and which the way."

But now my search must I pursue Until the Maithil queen I view: And, when I find the captive dame, Make victory mine only aim. But, if I wear my present shape, How shall I enter and escape The Rakshas troops, their guards and spies, And sleepless watch of cruel eyes? The fiends of giant race who hold This mighty town are strong and bold; And I must labour to elude The fiercely watchful multitude. I in a shape to mock their sight Must steal within the town by night, Blind with my art the demons' eyes, And thus achieve my enterprise. How may I see, myself unseen Of the fierce king, the captive queen, And meet her in some lonely place, With none beside her, face to face?"

I weet not who he is: the sight Has filled my spirit with affright." Some pressed round Sita in a ring; Some bore the story to their king: "A mighty creature of our race, In monkey form, has reached the place. He came within the grove," they cried, "He stood and talked by Sita's side, He comes from Indra's court to her, Or is Kuvera's messenger; Or Rama sent the spy to seek His consort, and her wrongs to wreak. His crushing arm, his trampling feet Have marred and spoiled that dear retreat, And all the pleasant place which thou So lovest is a ruin now. The tree where Sita sat alone Is spared where all are overthrown. Perchance he saved the dame from harm: Perchance the toil had numbed his arm."

Then Angad seized a shattered hill, Whereon the trees were flowering still, And with full force the jagged peak Fell crashing on the giant's cheek. He staggered, reeled, and fell: the blood Gushed from the giant in a flood. Reft of his might, each sense astray, A while upon the sand he lay. But strength and wandering sense returned Again his eyes with fury burned, And with his mace upraised on high He wounded Angad on the thigh. Then from his hand his mace he threw, And closer to his foeman drew. Then with their fists they fought, and smote On brow and cheek and chest and throat. Worn out with toil, their limbs bedewed, With blood, the strife they still renewed, Like Mercury and fiery Mars Met in fierce battle mid the stars.

Forth from the mountain cavern came The hero Lakshman with the dame. And rapture beaming from his face, Resought the hermit dwelling-place. Then when the mighty saints had paid Due honour for the victor's aid, The glorious Rama honoured too By Lakshman to his cot withdrew. When Sita looked upon her lord, His foemen slain, the saints restored, In pride and rapture uncontrolled She clasped him in her loving hold. On the dead fiends her glances fell: She saw her lord alive and well, Victorious after toil and pain, And Janak's child was blest again. Once more, once more with new delight Her tender arms she threw Round Rama whose victorious might Had crushed the demon crew. Then as his grateful reverence paid Each saint of lofty soul, O'er her sweet face, all fears allayed, The flush of transport stole.

Thus Lakshman, by attention stirred, To fresh attempts his brother spurred, And Rama, as he ceased, began With Lakshman's aid each spot to scan. In eager search their way they took Through wood, o'er hill, by pool and brook, They roamed each mount, nor spared to seek On ridge and crag and towering peak. They sought the dame in every spot; But all in vain; they found her not. Above, below, on every side They ranged the hill, and Rama cried, "O Lakshman, O my brother still No trace of Sita on the hill!" Then Lakshman as he roamed the wood Beside his glorious brother stood, And while fierce grief his bosom burned This answer to the chief returned: "Thou, Rama, after toil and pain Wilt meet the Maithil dame again, As Vishnu, Bali's might subdued, His empire of the earth renewed."(508)

King Sagar in his crowded court Gave ear unto the priests' report. He summoned straightway to his side His sixty thousand sons, and cried: "Brave sons of mine, I knew not how These demons are so mighty now: The priests began the rite so well All sanctified with prayer and spell. If in the depths of earth he hide, Or lurk beneath the ocean's tide, Pursue, dear sons, the robber's track; Slay him and bring the charger back. The whole of this broad earth explore, Sea-garlanded, from shore to shore: Yea, dig her up with might and main Until you see the horse again. Deep let your searching labour reach, A league in depth dug out by each. The robber of our horse pursue, And please your sire who orders you. My grandson, I, this priestly train, Till the steed comes, will here remain."

For wandering fiends, whose watchful spite Waits eagerly to spoil each rite, Hunting with keenest eye detect The slightest slip, the least neglect; And when the sacred work is crossed The workman is that moment lost. Let preparation due be made: Your powers the charge can meet: That so the noble rite be paid In every point complete." And all the Brahmans answered, Yea, His mandate honouring, And gladly promised to obey The order of the king. They cried with voices raised aloud: "Success attend thine aim!" Then bade farewell, and lowly bowed, And hastened whence they came. King Dasaratha went within, His well loved wives to see: And said: "Your lustral rites begin, For these shall prosper me. A glorious offering I prepare That precious fruit of sons may bear." Their lily faces brightened fast Those pleasant words to hear, As lilies, when the winter's past, In lovelier hues appear.

"She whom like some sweet herb of grace Thou seekest in this lonely place, Fair lady, is fierce Ravan's prey, Who took, beside, my life away. Lakshman and thou had parted hence And left the dame without defence. I saw her swiftly borne away By Ravan's might which none could stay. I hurried to the lady's aid, I crushed his car and royal shade, And putting forth my warlike might Hurled Ravan to the earth in fight. Here, Rama, lies his broken bow, Here lie the arrows of the foe. There on the ground before thee are The fragments of his battle car. There bleeds the driver whom my wings Beat down with ceaseless buffetings. When toil my aged strength subdued, His sword my weary pinions hewed. Then lifting up the dame he bare His captive through the fields of air. Thy vengeful blows from me restrain, Already by the giant slain."