But the great three, the host who led, Enraged to see their chieftain dead, As though Death's toils were round them cast, Rushed upon Rama fierce and fast, Mahakapala seized, to strike His foeman down, a ponderous pike: Sthulaksha charged with spear to fling, Pramathi with his axe to swing. When Rama saw, with keen darts he Received the onset of the three, As calm as though he hailed a guest In each, who came for shade and rest. Mahakapala's monstrous head Fell with the trenchant dart he sped. His good right hand in battle skilled Sthulaksha's eyes with arrows filled, And trusting still his ready bow He laid the fierce Pramathi low, Who sank as some tall tree falls down With bough and branch and leafy crown. Then with five thousand shafts he slew The rest of Dushan's giant crew: Five thousand demons, torn and rent, To Yama's gloomy realm he sent.Ramayana 3.163b · Ramayana · 3
Ramayana 3.163b
Ramayana · translated by Ralph T.H. Griffith
Themes in this passage
Death in other traditions
The same theme, as Christianity, Islam, Taoism and Hellenism address it.
And the children of Israel spake unto Moses, saying, Behold, we die, we perish, we all perish.Numbers 17:12 · Bible · Numbers
Lo! thou wilt die, and lo! they will die;Quran 39:30 · Quran · The Companies
The people do not fear death; to what purpose is it to (try to) frighten them with death? If the people were always in awe of death, and I could always seize those who do wrong, and put them to death, who would dare to do wrong?Tao Te Ching 74.1 · Tao Te Ching
These words, attended with a shower of tears, The youth address’d to unrelenting ears: “Talk not of life, or ransom (he replies): Patroclus dead, whoever meets me, dies: In vain a single Trojan sues for grace; But least, the sons of Priam’s hateful race. Die then, my friend! what boots it to deplore? The great, the good Patroclus is no more! He, far thy better, was foredoom’d to die, And thou, dost thou bewail mortality? Seest thou not me, whom nature’s gifts adorn, Sprung from a hero, from a goddess born? The day shall come (which nothing can avert) When by the spear, the arrow, or the dart, By night, or day, by force, or by design, Impending death and certain fate are mine! Die then,”—He said; and as the word he spoke, The fainting stripling sank before the stroke: His hand forgot its grasp, and left the spear, While all his trembling frame confess’d his fear: Sudden, Achilles his broad sword display’d, And buried in his neck the reeking blade. Prone fell the youth; and panting on the land, The gushing purple dyed the thirsty sand. The victor to the stream the carcase gave, And thus insults him, floating on the wave:Iliad 21.7 · Iliad · 21
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