*********
OM. [2]
To sainted Nárad, prince of those
Whose lore in words of wisdom flows.
Whose constant care and chief delight
Were Scripture and ascetic rite,
The good Válmíki, first and best
[ p. 2 ]
Of hermit saints, these words addressed: [3]
‘In all this world, I pray thee, who
Is virtuous, heroic, true?
Firm in his vows, of grateful mind,
To every creature good and kind?
Bounteous, and holy, just, and wise,
Alone most fair to all men’s eyes?
Devoid of envy, firm, and sage,
Whose tranquil soul ne’er yields to rage?
Whom, when his warrior wrath is high,
Do Gods embattled fear and fly?
Whose noble might and gentle skill
The triple world can guard from ill?
Who is the best of princes, he
Who loves his people’s good to see?
The store of bliss, the living mine
Where brightest joys and virtues shine?
Queen Fortune’s [4] best and dearest friend,
Whose steps her choicest gifts attend?
Who may with Sun and Moon compare,
With Indra, [5] Vishnu, [6] Fire, and Air?
Grant, Saint divine, [7] the boon I ask,
For thee, I ween, an easy task,
To whom the power is given to know
If such a man breathe here below.’
Then Nárad, clear before whose eye
The present, past, and future lie, [8]
Made ready answer: 'Hermit, where
Are graces found so high and rare?
Yet listen, and my tongue shall tell
In whom alone these virtues dwell.
From old Ikshváku’s [9] line he came,
Known to the world by Ráma’s name:
With soul subdued, a chief of might,
In Scripture versed, in glory bright,
His steps in virtue’s paths are bent,
Obedient, pure, and eloquent.
In each emprise he wins success,
And dying foes his power confess.
Tall and broad-shouldered, strong of limb,
Fortune has set her mark on him.
Graced with a conch-shell’s triple line,
His threat displays the auspicious sign. [10]
[ p. 3 ]
High destiny is clear impressed
On massive jaw and ample chest,
His mighty shafts he truly aims,
And foemen in the battle tames.
Deep in the muscle, scarcely shown,
Embedded lies his collar-bone.
His lordly steps are firm and free,
His strong arms reach below his knee; [11]
All fairest graces join to deck
His head, his brow, his stately neck,
And limbs in fair proportion set:
The manliest form e’er fashioned yet.
Graced with each high imperial mark,
His skin is soft and lustrous dark.
Large are his eyes that sweetly shine
With majesty almost divine.
His plighted word he ne’er forgets;
On erring sense a watch he sets.
By nature wise, his teacher’s skill
Has trained him to subdue his will.
Good, resolute and pure, and strong,
He guards mankind from scathe and wrong,
And lends his aid, and ne’er in vain,
The cause of justice to maintain.
Well has he studied o’er and o’er
The Vedas [12] and their kindred lore.
Well skilled is he the bow to draw, [13]
Well trained in arts and versed in law;
High-souled and meet for happy fate,
Most tender and compassionate;
The noblest of all lordly givers,
Whom good men follow, as the rivers
Follow the King of Floods, the sea:
So liberal, so just is he.
The joy of Queen Kaus’alyá’s [14] heart,
In every virtue he has part:
Firm as Himálaya’s [15] snowy steep,
Unfathomed like the mighty deep:
The peer of Vishnu’s power and might,
And lovely as the Lord of Night; [16]
Patient as Earth, but, roused to ire,
Fierce as the world-destroying fire;
In bounty like the Lord of Gold, [17]
And Justice self ia human mould.
With him, his best and eldest son,
By all his princely virtues won
King Das’aratha [18] willed to share
His kingdom as the Regent Heir.
But when Kaikeyí, youngest queen,
With eyes of envious hate had seen
The solemn pomp and regal state
Prepared the prince to consecrate,
She bade the hapless king bestow
Two gifts he promised long ago,
That Ráma to the woods should flee,
And that her child the heir should be.
By chains of duty firmly tied,
Thw wretched king perforce complied.
[ p. 4 ]
Ráma, to please Kaikeyí went
Obedient forth to banishment.
Then Lakshman’s truth was nobly shown,
Then were his love and courage known,
When for his brother’s sake he dared
All perils, and his exile shared.
And Sítá, Ráma’s darling wife,
Loved even as he loved his life,
Whom happy marks combined to bless,
A miracle of loveliness,
Of Janak’s royal lineage sprung,
Most excellent of women, clung
To her dear lord, like Rohiní
Rejoicing with the Moon to be. [19]
The King and people, sad of mood,
The hero’s car awhile pursued.
But when Prince Ráma lighted down
At S’riugavera’s pleasant town,
Where Gangá’s holy waters flow,
He bade his driver turn and go.
Guha, Nishádas’ king, he met,
And on the farther bank was set.
Then on from wood to wood they strayed,
O’er many a stream, through constant shade,
As Bharadvája bade them, till
They came to Chitrakúta’s hill.
And Ráma there, with Lakshman’s aid,
A pleasant little cottage made,
And spent his days with Sítá, dressed
In coat of bark and deerskin vest. [20]
And Chitrakuta grew to be
As bright with those illustrious three
An Meru’s [21] sacred peaks that shine
With glory, when the Gods recline
Beneath them: Siva’s [22] self between
The Lord of Gold and Beauty’s Queen.
The aged king for Rama pined,
And for the skies the earth resigned,
Bharat, his son, refused to reign,
Though urged by all the twice-born [23] train.
Forth to the woods he fared to meet
Hia brother, fell before his feet,
And cried, 'Thy claim all men allow:
O come, our lord and king be thou.’
But Rama nobly chose to be
Observant of his sire’s decree.
He placed his sandals [24] in his hand
A pledge that he would rule the land:
And bade his brother turn again.
Then Bharat. finding prayer was vain,
The sandals took and went away;
Nor in Ayodhyá would he stay.
But turned to Nandigráma, where
He ruled the realm with watchful care,
Still longing eagerly to learn
Tidings of Ráma’s safe return.
Then lest the people should repeat
Their visit to his calm retreat,
Away from Chitrakúta’s hill
Fared Ráma ever onward till
[ p. 5 ]
Beneath the shady trees he stood
Of Dandaká’s primeval wood,
Virádha, giant fiend, he slew,
And then Agastya’s friendship knew.
Counselled by him he gained the sword
And bow of Indra, heavenly lord:
A pair of quivers too, that bore
Of arrows an exhaustless store.
While there he dwelt in greenwood shade
The trembling hermits sought his aid,
And bade him with his sword and bow
Destroy the fiends who worked them woe:
To come like Indra strong and brave,
A guardian God to help and save.
And Ráma’s falchion left its trace
Deep cut on Súrpanakhá’s face:
A hideous giantess who came
Burning for him with lawless flame.
Their sister’s cries the giants heard.
And vengeance in each bosom stirred:
The monster of the triple head.
And Dúshan to the contest sped.
But they and myriad fiends beside
Beneath the might of Ráma died.
When Rávan, dreaded warrior, knew
The slaughter of his giant crew:
Rávan, the king, whose name of fear
Earth, hell, and heaven all shook to hear:
He bade the fiend Márícha aid
The vengeful plot his fury laid.
In vain the wise Márícha tried
To turn him from his course aside:
Not Rávan’s self, he said, might hope
With Ráma and his strength to cope.
Impelled by fate and blind with rage
He came to Ráma’s hermitage.
There, by Márícha’s magic art,
He wiled the princely youths apart,
The vulture [25] slew, and bore away
The wife of Ráma as his prey.
The son of Raghu [26] came and found
Jatáyu slain upon the ground.
He rushed within his leafy cot;
He sought his wife, but found her not.
Then, then the hero’s senses failed;
In mad despair he wept and wailed,
Upon the pile that bird he laid,
And still in quest of Sitá strayed.
A hideous giant then he saw,
Kabandha named, a shape of awe.
The monstrous fiend he smote and slew,
And in the flame the body threw;
When straight from out the funeral flame
In lovely form Kabandha came,
And bade him seek in his distress
A wise and holy hermitess.
By counsel of this saintly dame
To Pampá’s pleasant flood he came,
And there the steadfast friendship won
Of Hanumán the Wind-God’s son.
Counselled by him he told his grief
To great Sugríva, Vánar chief,
Who, knowing all the tale, before
The sacred flame alliance swore.
Sugríva to his new-found friend
Told his own story to the end:
His hate of Báli for the wrong
And insult he had borne so long.
And Ráma lent a willing ear
And promised to allay his fear.
Sugríva warned him of the might
Of Báli, matchless in the fight,
And, credence for his tale to gain,
Showed the huge fiend [27] by Báli slain.
The prostrate corpse of mountain size
Seemed nothing in the hero’s eyes;
He lightly kicked it, as it lay,
And cast it twenty leagues [28] away.
To prove his might his arrows through
Seven palms in line, uninjured, flew.
He cleft a mighty hill apart,
And down to hell he hurled his dart,
Then high Sugríva’s spirit rose,
Assured of conquest o’er his foes.
With his new champion by his side
To vast Kishkindhá’s cave he hied.
Then, summoned by his awful shout,
King Báli came in fury out,
First comforted his trembling wife,
Then sought Sugríva in the strife.
One shaft from Ráma’s deadly bow
The monarch in the dust laid low.
Then Ráma bade Sugríva reign
In place of royal Báli slain.
Then speedy envoys hurried forth
Eastward and westward, south and north,
Commanded by the grateful king
Tidings of Ráma’s spouse to bring.
Then by Sampáti’s counsel led,
Brave Hanumán, who mocked at dread,
Sprang at one wild tremendous leap
Two hundred leagues across the deep.
To Lanká’s [29] town he urged his way,
Where Rávan held his royal sway.
[ p. 6 ]
There pensive ‘neath As’oka [30] boughs
He found poor Sitá, Ráma’s spouse.
He gave the hapless girl a ring,
A token from her lord and king.
A pledge from her fair hand he bore;
Then battered down the garden door.
Five captains of the host be slew,
Seven sons of councillors o’erthrew;
Crushed youthful Aksha on the field,
Then to his captors chose to yield.
Soon from their bonds his limbs were free,
But honouring the high decree
Which Brahmá had pronounced of yore, [31]
He calmly all their insults bore.
The town he burnt with hostile flame,
And spoke again with Ráma’s dame,
Then swiftly back to Ráma flew
With tidings of the interview.
Then with Sugríva for his guide,
Came Ráma to the ocean side.
He smote the sea with shafts as bright
As sunbeams in their summer height,
And quick appeared the Rivers’ King [32]
Obedient to the summoning.
A bridge was thrown by Nala o’er
The narrow sea from shore to shore. [33]
They crossed to Lanká’s golden town,
Where Ráma’s hand smote Rávan down.
Vibhishan there was left to reign
Over his brother’s wide domain.
To meet her husband Sitá came;
But Ráma, stung with ire and shame,
With bitter words his wife addressed
Before the crowd that round her pressed.
But Sitá, touched with noble ire,
Gave her fair body to the fire.
Then straight the God of Wind appeared,
And words from heaven her honour cleared.
And Ráma clasped his wife again,
Uninjured, pure from spot and stain,
Obedient to the Lord of Fire
And the high mandate of his sire.
Led by the Lord who rules the sky,
The Gods and heavenly saints drew nigh,
And honoured him with worthy meed,
Rejoicing in each glorious deed.
His task achieved, his foe removed,
He triumphed, by the Gods approved,
By grace of Heaven he raised to life
The chieftains slain in mortal strife;
Then in the magic chariot through
The clouds to Nandigráma flew.
Met by his faithful brothers there,
He loosed his votive coil of hair:
Thence fair Ayodhyá’s town he gained,
And o’er his father’s kingdom reigned.
Disease or famine ne’er oppressed
His happy people, richly blest
With all the joys of ample wealth,
Of sweet content and perfect health.
No widow mourned her well-loved mate,
No sire his son’s untimely fate.
They feared not storm or robber’s hand;
No fire or flood laid waste the land:
The Golden Age [34] had come again
To bless the days of Ráma’s reign.
From him, the great and glorious king,
Shall many a princely scion spring.
And he shall rule, beloved by men,
Ten thousand years and hundreds ten, [35]
And when his life on earth is past
To Brahmá’s world shall go at last.’
Whoe’er this noble poem reads
That tells the tale of Ráma’s deeds,
Good as the Scriptures, he shall be
From every sin and blemish free.
Whoever reads the saving strain,
With all his kin the heavens shall gain.
Bráhmans who read shall gather hence
The highest praise for eloquence.
The warrior, o’er the laud shall reign,
The merchant, luck in trade obtain;
And S’údras listening [36] ne’er shall fail
To reap advantage from the tale. [37]
[ p. 7 ]
Válmíki, graceful speaker,heard,
To highest admiration stirred.
To him whose fame the tale rehearsed
He paid his mental worship first;
Then with his pupil humbly bent
Before the saint most eloquent.
Thus honoured and dismissed the seer
Departed to his heavenly sphere.
Then from his cot Válmíki hied
To Tamasá’s [38] sequestered side,
Not far remote from Gangáa’s tide.
He stood and saw the ripples roll
Pellucid o’er a pebbly shoal.
To Bharadvája [39] by his side
He turned in ecstasy, and cried:
‘See, pupil dear, this lovely sight,
The smooth-floored shallow, pure and bright,
With not a speck or shade to mar,
And clear as good men’s bosoms are.
Here on the brink thy pitcher lay,
And bring my zone of bark, I pray.
Here will I bathe: the rill has not,
To lave the limbs a fairer spot.
Do quickly as I bid, nor waste
The precious time; away, and haste.’
Obedient to his master’s best
Quick from the cot he brought the vest;
The hermit took it from his hand,
And tightened round his waist the band;
Then duly dipped and bathed him there,
And muttered low his secret prayer.
To spirits and to Gods he made
Libation of the stream, and strayed
Viewing the forest deep and wide
That spread its shade on every side.
Close by the bank he saw a pair
Of curlews sporting fearless there.
But suddenly with evil mind
An outcast fowler stole behind,
And, with an aim too sure and true,
The male bird near the hermit slew.
The wretched hen in wild despair
With fluttering pinions beat the air,
And shrieked a long and bitter cry
When low on earth she saw him lie,
Her loved companion, quivering, dead,
His dear wings with his lifebiood red;
And for her golden crested mate
She mourned, and was disconsolate.
The hermit saw the slaughtered bird,
And all his heart with ruth was stirred.
The fowler’s impious deed distressed
His gentle sympathetic breast,
And while the curlew’s sad cries rang
Within his ears, the hermit sang:
‘No fame be thine for endless time,
Because, base outcast, of thy crime,
Whose cruel hand was fain to slay
One of this gentle pair at play!’
E’en as he spoke his bosom wrought
And laboured with the wondering thought
What was the speech his ready tongue
Had uttered when his heart was wrung.
He pondered long upon the speech,
Recalled the words and measured each,
And thus exclaimed the saintly guide
To Bharadvája by his side:
‘With equal lines of even feet,
With rhythm and time and tone complete,
The measured form of words I spoke
In shock of grief be termed a s’loke.’ [40]
And Bharadvája, nothing slow
His faithful love and zeal to show,
Answered those words of wisdom, 'Be
The name, my lord, as pleases thee.’
As rules prescribe the hermit took
Some lustral water from the brook.
But still on this his constant thought
Kept brooding, as his home he sought;
While Bharadvája paced behind,
A pupil sage of lowly mind,
And in his hand a pitcher bore
With pure fresh water brimming o’er.
Soon as they reached their calm retreat
The holy hermit took his seat;
His mind from worldly cares recalled,
And mused in deepest thought enthralled.
Then glorious Brahmá, [41] Lord Most High.
Creator of the earth and sky,
[ p. 8 ]
The four-faced God, to meet the sage
Came to Válmíki’s hermitage.
Soon as the mighty God he saw,
Up sprang the saint in wondering awe.
Mute, with clasped hands, his head he bent,
And stood before him reverent.
His honoured guest he greeted well,
Who bade him of his welfare tell;
Gave water for his blessed feet,
Brought offerings, [42] and prepared a seat,
In honoured place the God Most High
Sate down, and bade the saint sit nigh.
There sate before Válmíki’s eyes
The Father of the earth and skies;
But still the hermit’s thoughts were bent
On one thing only, all intent
On that poor curlew’s mournful fate
Lamenting for her slaughtered mate;
And still his lips, in absent mood,
The verse that told his grief, renewed:
‘Woe to the fowler’s impious hand
That did the deed that folly planned;
That could to needless death devote
The curlew of the tuneful throat!’
The heavenly Father smiled in glee,
And said, ‘O best of hermits’, see,
A verse, unconscious thou hast made;
No longer be the task delayed.
Seek not to trace, with labour vain,
The unpremeditated strain.
The tuneful lines thy lips rehearsed
Spontaneous from thy bosom burst,
Then come, O best of seers, relate
The life of Ráma good and great,
The tale that saintly Nárad told,
In all its glorious length unfold.
Of all the deeds his arm has done
Upon this earth, omit not one,
And thus the noble life record
Of that wise, brave, and virtuous lord.
His every act to day displayed,
His secret life to none betrayed:
How Lakshman, how the giants fought;
With high emprise and hidden thought:
And all that Janak’s child 1b befell
Where all could see, where none could tell,
The whole of this shall truly be
Made known, O best of saints, to thee.
In all thy poem, through my grace,
No word of falsehood shall have place.
Begin the story, aud rehearse
The tale divine in charming verse.
As long as in this firm-set land
The streams shall flow, the mountains stand,
So long throughout the world, be sure,
The great Rámáyan shall endure. 2b
While the Rámáyan’s ancient strain
Shall glorious in the earth remain,
To higher spheres shalt thou arise
And dwell with me above the skies!
He spoke, and vanished into air,
And left Válmíki wondering there.
The pupils of the holy man,
Moved by their love of him, began
To chant that verse, and ever more
They marvelled as they sang it o’er:
‘Behold, the four-lined balanced rime,
Repeated over many a time,
In words that from the hermit broke
In shock of grief, becomes a s’loke.’
This measure now Válmíki chose
Wherein his story to compose.
In hundreds of such verses, sweet
With equal lines and even feet,
The saintly poet, lofty-souled,
The glorious deeds of Ráma told.
The hermit thus with watchful heed
Received the poem’s pregnant seed,
And looked with eager thought around
If fuller knowledge might be found.
[ p. 9 ]
His lips with water first bedewed, [43]
He sate, in reverent attitude
On holy grass, [44] the points all bent
Together toward the orient; [45]
And thus in meditation he
Entered the path of poesy.
Then clearly, through his virtue’s might,
All lay discovered to his sight,
Whate’er befell, through all their life,
Ráma, his brother, and his wife:
And Das’aratha and each queen
At every time, in every scene:
His people too, of every sort;
The nobles of his princely court:
Whate’er was said, whate’er decreed,
Each time they sate each plan and deed:
For holy thought and fervent rite
Had so refined his keener sight
That by his sanctity his view
The present, past, and future knew,
And he with mental eye could grasp,
Like fruit within his fingers clasp,
The life of Ráma, great and good,
Roaming with Sitá in the wood.
He told, with secret piercing eyes,
The tale of Ráma’s high emprise.
Each listening ear that shall entice,
A sea of pearls of highest price.
Thus good Válmíki, sage divine,
Rehearsed the tale of Raghu’s line,
As Nárad, heavenly saint, before
Had traced the story’s outline o’er.
He sang of Ráma’s princely birth,
His kindness and heroic worth;
His love for all, his patient youth,
His gentleness and constant truth,
And many a tale and legend old
By holy Vis’vámitra told.
How Janak’s child he wooed and won,
Aud broke the bow that bent to none.
How he with every virtue fraught
His namesake Ráma [46] met and fought.
The choice of Ráma for the throne;
The malice by Kalseyí shown,
Whose evil counsel marred the plan
And drove him forth a banisht man.
How the king grieved and groaned,and cried,
And swooned away and pining died.
The subjects’ woe when thus bereft;
And how the following crowds he left:
With Guha talked, and firmly stern
Ordered his driver to return.
How Gangá’s farther shore he gained;
By Bharadvája entertained,
By whose advice be journeyed still
And came to Chitrakúta’s hill.
How there he dwelt and built a cot;
How Bharat journeyed to the spot;
His earnest supplication made;
Drink-offerings to their father paid;
The sandals given by Ráma’s hand,
As emblems of his right to stand:
How from his presence Bharat went
And years in Nandigráma spent.
How Ráma entered Dandak wood
And in Sutíkhna’s presence stood.
The favour Anasúyá showed,
The wondrous balsam she bestowed.
How Sárabhangá’s dwelling place
They sought; saw Indra face to face;
The meeting with Agastya gained;
The heavenly bow from him obtained.
How Ráma with Virádha met;
Their home in Panchavata set.
How S’úrpanakhá underwent
The mockery and disfigurement.
Of Trígirá’s and Khara’s fall,
Of Rávan roused at vengeance call,
Máricha doomed, without escape;
The fair Videhan [47] lady’s rape.
How Ráma wept and raved in vain,
And how the Vulture-king was slain.
How Ráma fierce Kabandha slew;
Then to the side of Pampá drew.
Met Hanumán, and her whose vows
Were kept beneath the greenwood boughs.
How Raghu’s son the lofty-souled,
On Pampá’s bank wept uncontrolled,
Then journeyed, Rishyamúk to reach,
And of Sugríva then had speech.
The friendship made, which both had sought:
How Báli and Sugríva fought.
How Báli in the strife was slain,
And how Sugríva came to reign.
The treaty, Tára’s wild lament;
The rainy nights in watching spent.
The wrath of Raghu’s lion son;
The gathering of the hosts in one.
The sending of the spies about,
And all the regions pointed out.
The ring by Ráma’s hand bestowed;
The cave wherein the bear abode.
The fast proposed, their lives to end;
Sampati gained to be their friend.
[ p. 10 ]
The scaling of the hill, the leap
Of Hanumán across the deep.
Ocean’s command that bade them seek
Maináka of the lofty peak.
The death of Sinhiká, the sight
Of Lanká with her palace bright
How Hanuman stole in at eve;
His plan the giants to deceive.
How through the square he made his way
To chambers where the women lay,
Within the As’oka garden came
And there found Ráma’s captive dame,
His colloquy with her he sought,
And giving of the ring he brought.
How Sítá gave a gem o’erjoyed;
How Hanumán the grove destroyed,
How giantesses trembling fled,
And servant fiends were smitten dead.
How Hanumán was seized; their ire
When Lanká blazed with hostile fire.
His leap across the sea once more;
The eating of the honey store,
How Ráma he consoled, and how
He showed the gem from Sítá’s brow,
With Ocean, Ráma’s interview;
The bridge that Nala o’er it threw.
The crossing, and the sitting down
At night round Lanká’s royal town.
The treaty with Vibhíshan made:
The plan for Rávan’s slaughter laid.
How Kumbhakarna in his pride
And Meghanáda fought and died.
How Rávan in the fight was slain,
And captive Sítá brought again.
Vibhíshan set upon the throne;
The flying chariot Pushpak shown.
How Brahmá and the Gods appeared,
And Sítá’s doubted honour cleared.
How In the flying car they rode
To Bháradvája’s cabin abode,
The Wind-God’s son sent on afar;
How Bharat met the flying car.
How Ráma then was king ordained;
The legions their discharge obtained.
How Ráma cast his queen away;
How grew the people’s love each day.
Thus did the saint Válmíki tell
Whate’er in Ráma’s life befell,
And in the closing verse all
That yet to come will once befall
When to the end the tale was brought,
Rose in the sage’s mind the thought;
Now who throughout this earth will go,
And tell it forth that all may know?’
As thus he mused with anxious breast,
Behold, in hermit’s raiment dressed,
Kus’a and Lava [48] came to greet
Their master and embrace his feet.
The twins he saw, that princely pair
Sweet-voiced, who dwelt beside him there
None for the task could be more fit,
For skilled were they in Holy Writ;
And so the great Rámáyan, fraught
With lore divine, to them he taught:
The lay whose verses sweet and clear
Take with delight the listening ear,
That tell of Sítá’s noble life
And Rávan’s fall in battle strife.
Great joy to all who hear they bring,
Sweet to recite and sweet to sing.
For music’s sevenfold notes are there,
And triple measure, [49] wrought with care
With melody and tone and time,
And flavours [50] that enhance the rime:
Heroic might has ample place,
And loathing of the false and base,
With anger, mirth, and terror, blent
With tenderness, surprise, content.
When, half the hermit’s grace to gain,
And half because they loved the strain,
The youth within their hearts had stored
The poem that his lips outpoured,
Válmíki kissed them on the head,
As at his feet they bowed, and said
‘Recite ye this heroic song
In tranquil shades where sages throng
Recite it where the good resort,
In lowly home and royal court,’
The hermit ceased. The tuneful pair
Like heavenly minstrels sweet and fair
In music’s art divinely skilled,
Their saintly master’s word fulfilled.
Like Ráma’s self, from whom they came,
They shared their size in face and frame,
[ p. 11 ]
As though from some fair sculptured stone
Two selfsame images had grown.
Sometimes the pair rose up to sing,
Surrounded by a holy ring,
Where seated on the grass bad met
Full many a musing anchoret.
Then tears bedimmed those gentle eyes,
As transport took them and surprise,
And as they listened every one
Cried in delight, Well done! Well done!
Those sages versed in holy lore
Praised the sweet minstrels more and more:
And wondered at the singers’ skill,
And the bard’s verses sweeter still,
Which laid so clear before the eye
The glorious deeds of days gone by.
Thus by the virtuous hermits praised,
Inspirited their voice they raised.
Pleased with the song this holy man
Would give the youths a water-can;
One gave a fair ascetic dress,
Or sweet fruit from the wilderness.
One saint a black-deer’s hide would bring,
And one a sacrificial string:
One, a clay pitcher from his hoard,
And one, a twisted munja cord. [51]
One in his joy an axe would find,
One, braid, their plaited locks to bind.
One gave a sacrificial cup,
One rope to tie their fagots up;
While fuel at their feet was laid,
Or hermit’s stool of fig-tree made.
All gave, or if they gave not, none
Forgot at least a benison.
Some saints, delighted with their lays,
Would promise health and length of days;
Others with surest words would add
Some boon to make their spirit glad.
In such degree of honour then
That song was held by holy men:
That living song which life can give,
By which shall many a minstrel live.
In seat of kings, in crowded hall,
They sang the poem, praised of all.
And Ráma chanced to hear their lay,
While he the votive steed [52] would slay,
And sent fit messengers to bring
The minstrel pair before the king.
They came, and found the monarch high
Enthroned in gold, his brothers nigh;
While many a minister below,
And noble, sate in lengthened row.
The youthful pair awhile he viewed
Graceful in modest attitude,
And then in words like these addressed
His brother Lakshman and the rest:
‘Come, listen to the wondrous strain
Recited by these godlike twain.
Sweet singers of a story fraught
With melody and lofty thought.’
The pair, with voices sweet and strong,
Rolled the full tide of noble song,
With tone and accent deftly blent
To suit the changing argument.
Mid that assembly loud and clear
Rang forth that lay so sweet to hear,
That universal rapture stole
Through each man’s frame and heart and soul.
‘These minstrels, blest with every sign
That marks a high and princely line,
In holy shades who dwell,
Enshrined in Saint Válmiki’s lay,
A monument to live for aye,
My deeds in song shall tell.’
Thus Ráma spoke: their breasts were fired,
And the great tale, as if inspired,
The youths began to sing,
While every heart with transport swelled,
And mute and rapt attention held
The concourse and the king,
'Ikshváku’s sons from days of old
Were ever brave and mighty-souled.
The land their arms had made their own
Was bounded by the sea alone.
Their holy works have won them praise,
Through countless years, from Manu’s days.
Their ancient sire was Sagar, he
Whose high command dug out the sea: [53]
With sixty thousand sons to throng
Around him as he marched along.
From them this glorious tale proceeds;
The great Rámáyan tells their deeds.
This noble song whose lines contain,
Lessons of duty, love, and gain,
We two will now at length recite,
While good men listen with delight.
On Sarjú’s [54] bank, of ample size,
The happy realm of Kos’al lies,
[ p. 12 ]
With fertile length of fair champaign
And flocks and herds and wealth of grain.
There, famous in her old renown,
Ayodhyá [55] stands, the royal town,
In bygone ages built and planned
By sainted Manu’s [56] princely hand.
Imperial seat! her walls extend
Twelve measured leagues from end to end,
And three in width from side to side,
With square and palace beautified.
Her gates at even distance stand;
Her ample roads are wisely planned.
Right glorious is her royal street
Where streams allay the dust and heat.
On level ground in even row
Her houses rise in goodly show:
Terrace and palace, arch and gate
The queenly city decorate.
High are her ramparts, strong and vast,
By ways at even distance passed,
With circling moat, both deep and wide,
And store of weapons fortified.
King Das’aratha, lofty-souled,
That city guarded and controlled,
With towering Sál trees belted round, [57]
And many a grove and pleasure ground,
As royal Indra, throned on high,
Rules his fair city in the sky. [58]
She seems a painted city, fair
With chess-board line and even square. [59]
And cool boughs shade the lovely lake
Where weary men their thirst may slake.
There gilded chariots gleam and shine,
And stately piles the Gods enshrine.
There gay sleek people ever throng
To festival and dance and song.
A mine is she of gems and sheen,
The darling home of Fortune’s Queen.
With noblest sort of drink and meat,
The fairest rice and golden wheat,
And fragrant with the chaplet’s scent
With holy oil and incense blent.
With many an elephant and steed,
And wains for draught and cars for speed.
With envoys sent by distant kings,
And merchants with their precious things,
With banners o’er her roofs that play,
And weapons that a hundred slay; 1b
All warlike engines framed by man,
And every class of artisan.
A city rich beyond compare
With bards and minstrels gathered there,
And men and damsels who entrance
The soul with play and song and dance.
In every street is heard the lute,
The drum, the tabret, and the flute,
The Veda chanted soft and low,
The ringing of the archer’s bow;
With bands of godlike heroes skilled
In every warlike weapon, filled,
And kept by warriors from the foe,
As Nágas guard their home below. 2b
There wisest Bráhmans evermore
The flame of worship feed,
And versed in all the Vedas’ lore,
Their lives of virtue lead.
Truthful and pure, they freely give;
They keep each sense controlled,
And in their holy fervour live
Like the great saints of old.
There reigned a king of name revered,
To country and to town endeared,
Great Das’aratha, good and sage.
Well read in Scripture’s holy page:
[ p. 13 ]
Upon his kingdom’s weal intent,
Mighty and brave and provident;
The pride of old Ikshváku’s seed
For lofty thought and righteous deed.
Peer of the saints, for virtues famed,
For foes subdued and passions tamed:
A rival in his wealth untold
Of Indra and the Lord of Gold.
Like Manu first of kings, he reigned.
And worthily his state maintained,
For firm and just and ever true
Love, duty, gain he kept in view,
And ruled his city rich and free,
Like Indra’s Amarávatí.
And worthy of so fair a place
There dwelt a just and happy race
With troops of children blest.
Each man contented sought no more,
Nor longed with envy for the store
By richer friends possessed.
For poverty was there unknown,
And each man counted as his own
Kine, steeds, and gold, and grain.
All dressed in raiment bright and clean,
And every townsman might be seen
With earrings, wreath, or chain.
None deigned to feed on broken fare,
And none was false or stingy there.
A piece of gold, the smallest pay,
Was earned by labour for a day.
On every arm were bracelets worn,
And none was faithless or forsworn,
A braggart or unkind.
None lived upon another’s wealth,
None pined with dread or broken health,
Or dark disease of mind.
High-souled were all. The slanderous word,
The boastful lie, were never heard.
Each man was constant to his vows,
And lived devoted to his spouse.
No other love his fancy knew,
And she was tender, kind, and true.
Her dames were fair of form and face,
With charm of wit and gentle grace,
With modest raiment simply neat,
And winning manners soft and sweet.
The twice-born sages, whose delight
Was Scripture’s page and holy rite,
Their calm and settled course pursued,
Nor sought the menial multitude.
In many a Scripture each was versed,
And each the flame of worship nursed,
And gave with lavish hand.
Each paid to Heaven the offerings due,
And none was godless or untrue
In all that holy band.
To Bráhmans, as the laws ordain,
The Warrior caste were ever fain
The reverence due to pay;
And these the Vais’yas’ peaceful crowd,
Who trade and toil for gain, were proud
To honour and obey;
And all were by the S’údras [60] served,
Who never from their duty swerved,
Their proper worship all addressed
To Bráhman, spirits, God, and guest.
Pure and unmixt their rites remained,
Their race’s honour ne’er was stained. [61]
Cheered by his grandsons, sons, and wife,
Each passed a long and happy life.
Thus was that famous city held
By one who all his race excelled,
Blest in his gentle reign,
As the whole land aforetime swayed
By Manu, prince of men, obeyed
Her king from main to main.
And heroes kept her, strong and brave,
As lions guard their mountain cave:
Fierce as devouring flame they burned,
And fought till death, but never turned.
Horses had she of noblest breed,
Like Indra’s for their form and speed,
From Váhlí’s [62] hills and Sindhu’s [63] sand,
Vanáyu [64] and Kámboja’s land. [65]
[ p. 14 ]
Her noble elephants had strayed
Through Vindhyan and Himálayan shade,
Gigantic in their bulk and height,
Yet gentle in their matchless might.
They rivalled well the world-spread fame
Of the great stock from which they came,
Of Váman, vast of size,
Of Mahápadma’s glorious line,
Thine, Aujan, and, Airávat, thine. 1
Upholders of the skies.
With those, enrolled in fourfold class,
Who all their mighty kin surpass,
Whom men Matangas name,
And Mrigas spotted black and white,
And Bhadras of unwearied might,
And Mandras hard to tame. 2
Thus, worthy of the name she bore, 3
Ayodhyá for a league or more
Cast a bright glory round,
Where Das’aratha wise and great
Governed his fair ancestral state,
With every virtue crowned.
Like Indra in the skies he reigned
In that, good town whose wall contained
High domes and turrets proud,
With gates and arcs of triumph decked,
And sturdy barriers to protect
Her gay and countless crowd.
Two sages, holy saints, had he,
His ministers and priests to be:
Vasishtha, faithful to advise.
And Vámadeva, Scripture-wise.
Eight other lords around him stood,
All skilled to counsel, wise and good;
Jayanta, Vijay, Dhrishti bold
In fight, affairs of war controlled:
Siddhárth and Arthasádhak true
Watched o’er expense and revenue,
And Dharmapál and wise Aœok
Of right and law and justice spoke.
With these the sage Sumantra, skilled
To urge the car, high station filled.
All these in knowledge duly trained
Each passion and each sense restrained:
With modest manners, nobly bred
Each plan and nod and look they read,
Upon their neighbours’ good intent,
Most active and benevolent:
As sit the Vasus [66] round their king.
They sate around him counselling.
They ne’er in virtue’s loftier pride
Another’s lowly gifts decried.
In fair and seemly garb arrayed,
No weak uncertain plans they made.
Well skilled in business, fair and just,
They gained the people’s love and trust,
And thus without oppression stored
The swelling treasury of their lord,
Bound in sweet friendship each to each,
They spoke kind thoughts in gentle speech.
They looked alike with equal eye
On every caste, on low and high.
Devoted to their king, they sought,
Ere his tongue spoke, to learn his thought.
And knew, as each occasion rose,
To bide their counsel or disclose.
In foreign land—or in their own
Whatever passed, to them was known.
By secret spies they timely knew
What men were doing or would do.
Skilled in the grounds of war and peace
They saw the monarch’s state increase,
Watching his weal with conquering eye
That never let occasion by,
While nature lent her aid to bless
Their labours with unbought success.
Never for anger, lust, or gain,
Would they their lips with falsehood stain.
Inclined to mercy they could scan
The weakness and the strength of man.
They fairly judged both high and low,
And ne’er would wrong a guiltless foe;
Yet if a fault were proved, each one
Would punish e’en his own dear son.
But there and in the kingdom’s bound
No thief or man impure was found:
None of loose life or evil fame,
No temper of another’s dame.
Contented with their lot each caste
[ p. 15 ]
Calm days in blissful quiet passed;
And, all in fitting tasks employed,
Country and town deep rest enjoyed,
With these wise lords around his throne
The monarch justly reigned,
And making every heart his own
The love of all men gained.
With trusty agents, as beseems,
Each distant realm he scanned,
As the sun visits with his beams
Each corner of the land.
Ne’er would he on a mightier foe
With hostile troops advance,
Nor at an equal strike a blow
In war’s delusive chance.
These lords in council bore their part
With ready brain and faithful heart,
With skill and knowledge, sense and tact,
Good to advise and bold to act.
And high and endless fame he won
With these to guide his schemes,
As, risen in his might, the sun
Wins glory with his beams.
But splendid, just, and great of mind,
The childless king for offspring pined.
No son had he his name to grace,
Transmitter of his royal race.
Long had his anxious bosom wrought,
And as he pondered rose the thought:
‘A votive steed 'twere good to slay,
So might a son the gift repay.’
Before his lords his plan he laid,
And bade them with their wisdom aid:
Then with these words Sumantra, best
Of royal counsellors, addressed:
‘Hither, Vas’ishtha at their head,
Let all my priestly guides be led.’
To him Sumantra made reply:
‘Hear, Sire, a tale of days gone by.
To many a sage in time of old,
Sanatkumár, the saint, foretold
How from thine ancient line, O King,
A son, when years came round, should spring.
‘Here dwells,’ 'twas thus the seer began,
‘Of Kas’yap’s [67] race, a holy man,
Vibhándak named: to him shall spring
A son, the famous Rishyas’ring.
Bred with the deer that round him roam,
The wood shall be that hermit’s home.
To him no mortal shall be known
Except his holy sire alone.
Still by those laws shall he abide
Which lives of youthful Bráhmans guide,
Obedient to the strictest rule
That forms the young ascetic’s school:
And all the wondering world shall hear
Of his stern life and penance drear;
His care to nurse the holy fire
And do the bidding of his sire.
Then, seated on the Angas’ [68] throne,
Shall Lomapád to fame be known.
But folly wrought by that great king
A plague upon the land shall bring;
No rain for many a year shall fall
And grievous drought shall ruin all.
The troubled king with many a prayer
Shall bid the priests some cure declare:
‘The lore of Heaven 'tis yours to know,
Nor are ye blind to things below:
Declare, O holy men, the way
This plague to expiate and stay.’
Those best of Bráhmans shall reply:
‘By every art, O Monarch, try
Hither to bring Vibhándak’s child,
Persuaded, captured, or beguiled.
And when the boy is hither led
To him thy daughter duly wed.’
But how to bring that wondrous boy
His troubled thoughts will long employ,
And hopeless to achieve the task
He counsel of his lords will ask,
And bid his priests and servants bring
With honour saintly Rishyas’ring.
But when they hear the monarch’s speech,
All these their master will beseech,
With trembling hearts and looks of woe,
To spare them, for they fear to go.
And many a plan will they declare
And crafty plots will frame,
And promise fair to show him there,
Unforced, with none to blame.
On every word his lords shall say,
The king will meditate,
And on the third returning day
Recall them to debate.
Then this shall be the plan agreed,
That damsels shall be sent
Attired in holy hermits’ weed,
And skilled in blandishment,
That they the hermit may beguile
With every art and amorous wile
[ p. 16 ]
Whose use they know so well,
And by their witcheries seduce
The unsuspecting young recluse
To leave his father’s cell.
Then when the boy with willing feet
Shall wander from his calm retreat
And in that city stand,
The troubles of the king shall end,
And streams of blessed rain descend
Upon the thirsty land.
Thus shall the holy Rishyas’ring
To Lomapád, the mighty king,
By wedlock be allied;
For S’ántá, fairest of the fair,
In mind and grace beyond compare,
Shall be his royal bride.
He, at the Offering of the Steed,
The flames with holy oil shall feed,
And for King Das’aratha gain
Sons whom his prayers have begged in vain.’
‘I have repeated, Sire, thus far,
The words of old Sanatkumár,
In order as he spoke them then
Amid the crowd of holy men.’
Then Das’aratha cried with joy,
‘Say how they brought the hermit boy.’
The wise Sumantra, thus addressed,
Unfolded at the king’s behest
The plan the lords in council laid
To draw the hermit from the shade:
‘The priest, amid the lordly crowd,
To Lomapád thus spoke aloud:
‘Hear, King, the plot our thoughts have framed,
A harmless trick by all unblamed.
Far from the world that hermit’s child
Lives lonely in the distant wild:
A stranger to the joys of sense,
His bliss is pain and abstinence;
And all unknown are women yet
To him, a holy anchoret.
The gentle passions we will wake
That with resistless influence shake
The hearts of men; and he
Drawn by enchantment strong and sweet
Shall follow from his lone retreat,
And come and visit thee.
Let ships be formed with utmost care
That artificial trees may bear,
And sweet fruit deftly made;
Let goodly raiment, rich and rare,
And flowers, and many a bird be there
Beneath the leafy shade.
Upon the ships thus decked a band
Of young and lovely girls shall stand,
Rich in each charm that wakes desire,
And eyes that burn with amorous fire;
Well skilled to sing, and play, and dance
And ply their trade with smile and glance
Let these, attired in hermits’ dress,
Betake them to the wilderness,
And bring the boy of life austere
A voluntary captive here.’
He ended; and the king agreed,
By the priest’s counsel won.
And all the ministers took heed
To see his bidding done.
In ships with wondrous art prepared
Away the lovely women fared,
And soon beneath the shade they stood
Of the wild, lonely, dreary wood.
And there the leafy cot they found
Where dwelt the devotee,
And looked with eager eyes around
The hermit’s son to see.
Still, of Vibhándak sore afraid,
They hid behind the creepers’ shade.
But when by careful watch they knew
The elder saint was far from view,
With bolder steps they ventured nigh
To catch the youthful hermit’s eye.
Then all the damsels, blithe and gay,
At various games began to play.
They tossed the flying ball about
With dance and song and merry shout,
And moved, their scented tresses bound
With wreaths, in mazy motion round.
Some girls as if by love possessed,
Sank to the earth in feigned unrest,
Up starting quickly to pursue
Their intermitted game anew.
It was a lovely sight to see
Those fair ones, as they played,
While fragrant robes were floating free,
And bracelets clashing in their glee
A pleasant tinkling made.
The anklet’s chime, the Koïl’s [69] cry
With music filled the place
As 'twere some city in the sky
Which heavenly minstrels grace.
With each voluptuous art they strove
To win the tenant of the grove,
And with their graceful forms inspire
His modest soul with soft desire.
With arch of brow, with beck and smile,
With every passion-waking wile
[ p. 17 ]
Of glance and lotus hand,
With all enticements that excite
The longing for unknown delight
Which boys in vain withstand.
Forth came the hermit’s son to view
The wondrous sight to him so new,
And gazed in rapt surprise,
For from his natal hour till then
On woman or the sons of men
He ne’er had cast his eyes.
He saw them with their waists so slim,
With fairest shape and faultless limb,
In variegated robes arrayed,
And sweetly singing as they played.
Near and more near the hermit drew,
And watched them at their game,
And stronger still the impulse grew
To question whence they came.
They marked the young ascetic gaze
With curious eye and wild amaze,
And sweet the long-eyed damsels sang,
And shrill their merry laughter rang,
Then came they nearer to his side,
And languishing with passion cried:
‘Whose son, O youth, and who art thou,
Come suddenly to join us now?
And why dost thou all lonely dwell
In the wild wood? We pray thee, tell,
We wish to know thee, gentle youth;
Come, tell us, if thou wilt, the truth.’
He gazed upon that sight he ne’er
Had seen before, of girls so fair,
And out of love a longing rose
His sire and lineage to disclose:
‘My father,’ thus he made reply,
‘Is Kas’yap’s son, a saint most high,
Vibhándak styled; from him I came,
And Rishyaœring he calls my name,
Our hermit cot is near this place:
Come thither, O ye fair of face;
There be it mine, with honour due,
Ye gentle youths, to welcome you.’
They heard his speech, and gave consent,
And gladly to his cottage went.
Vibhándak’s son received them well
Beneath the shelter of his cell
With guest-gift, water for their feet,
And woodland fruit and roots to eat,
They smiled, and spoke sweet words like these,
Delighted with his courtesies:
‘We too have goodly fruit in store,
Grown on the trees that shade our door;
Come, if thou wilt, kind Hermit, haste
The produce of our grove to taste;
And let, O good Ascetic, first
This holy water quench thy thirst.’
They spoke, and gave him comfits sweet
Prepared ripe fruits to counterfeit;
And many a dainty cake beside
And luscious mead their stores supplied.
The seeming fruits, in taste and look,
The unsuspecting hermit took,
For, strange to him, their form beguiled
The dweller in the lonely wild.
Then round his neck fair arms were flung,
And there the laughing damsels clung,
And pressing nearer and more near
With sweet lips whispered at his ear;
While rounded limb and swelling breast
The youthful hermit softly pressed.
The pleasing charm of that strange bowl,
The touch of a tender limb,
Over his yielding spirit stole
And sweetly vanquished him.
But vows, they said, must now be paid;
They bade the boy farewell,
And, of the aged saint afraid,
Prepared to leave the dell.
With ready guile they told him where
Their hermit dwelling lay:
Then, lest the sire should find them there,
Sped by wild paths away.
They fled and left him there alone
By longing love possessed;
And with a heart no more his own
He roamed about distressed.
The aged saint came home, to find
The hermit boy distraught,
Revolving in his troubled mind
One solitary thought.
‘Why dost thou not, my son,’ he cried,
'Thy due obeisance pay?
Why do I see thee in the tide
Of whelming thought to-day?
A devotee should never wear
A mien so sad and strange.
Come, quickly, dearest child, declare
The reason of the change.’
And Rishyas’ring, when questioned thus,
Made answer in this wise:
‘O sire, there came to visit us
Some men with lovely eyes.
About my neck soft arms they wound
And kept me tightly held
To tender breasts so soft and round,
That strangely heaved and swelled.
They sing more sweetly as they dance
Than e’er I heard till now,
And play with many a sidelong glance
And arching of the brow.’
‘My son,’ said he, 'thus giants roam
Where holy hermits are,
And wander round their peaceful home
Their rites austere to mar.
I charge thee, thou must never lay
Thy trust in them, dear boy:
They seek thee only to betray,
And woo but to destroy.’
Thus having warned him of his foes
That night at home he spent.
And when the morrow’s sun arose
[ p. 18 ]
Forth to the forest went.
But Rishyas’ring with eager pace
Sped forth and hurried to the place
Where he those visitants had seen
Of daintly waist and charming mien.
When from afar they saw the son
Of Saint Vibhándak toward them run,
To meet the hermit boy they hied,
And hailed him with a smile, and cried:
‘O come, we pray, dear lord, behold
Our lovely home of which we told
Due honour there to thee we’ll pay,
And speed thee on thy homeward way.’
Pleased with the gracious words they said
He followed where the damsels led.
As with his guides his steps he bent,
That Bráhman high of worth,
A flood of rain from heaven was sent
That gladdened all the earth.
Vibhándak 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.
One day beyond the forest’s bound
The wandering saint a village found,
And asked the swains and neatherds there
Who owned the land so rich and fair,
With all the hamlets of the plain,
And herds of kine and fields of grain.
They listened to the hermit’s words,
And all the guardians of the herds,
With suppliant hands together pressed,
This answer to the saint addressed:
The Angas’ lord who bears the name
Of Lomapád, renowned by fame,
Bestowed these hamlets with their kine
And all their riches, as a sign
Of grace, on Rishyas’ring: and he
Vibhándak’s son is said to be.’
The hermit with exulting breast
The mighty will of fate confessed,
By meditation’s eye discerned;
And cheerful to his home returned.
A stately ship, at early morn,
The hermit’s son away had borne.
Loud roared the clouds, as on he sped,
The sky grew blacker overhead;
Till, as he reached the royal town,
A mighty flood of rain came down.
By the great rain the monarch’s mind
The coming of his guest divined.
To meet the honoured youth he went,
And low to earth his head he bent.
With his own priest to lead the train,
He gave the gift high guests obtain.
And sought, with all who dwelt within
The city walls, his grace to win.
He fed him with the daintiest fare,
He served him with unceasing care,
And ministered with anxious eyes
Lest anger in his breast should rise;
And gave to be the Bráhman’s bride
His own fair daughter, lotus-eyed.
Thus loved and honoured by the king,
The glorious Bráhman Rishyas’ring
Passed in that royal town his life
With S’ántá his beloved wife.’
‘Again, O best of kings, give ear:
My saving words attentive hear,
And listen to the tale of old
By that illustrious Bráhman told,
‘Of famed Ikshváku’s line shall spring
(‘Twas thus he spoke) a pious king,
Named Das’aratha, good and great,
True to his word and fortunate.
He with the Angas’ mighty lord
Shall ever live in sweet accord,
And his a daughter fair shall be,
S’ántá of happy destiny.
But Lomapád, the Angas’ chief,
Still pining in his childless grief,
To Das’aratha thus shall say:
‘Give me thy daughter, friend, I pray,
Thy S’ántá of the tranquil mind,
The noblest one of womankind.’
The father, swift to feel for woe,
Shall on his friend his child bestow;
And he shall take her and depart
To his own town with joyous heart.
The maiden home in triumph led,
To Rishyas’ring the king shall wed.
And he with loving joy and pride
Shall take her for his honoured bride.
And Das’aratha to a rite
That best of Bráhmans shall invite
With supplicating prayer,
To celebrate the sacrifice
To win him sons and Paradise, [70]
That he will fain prepare.
[ p. 19 ]
From him the lord of men at length
The boon he seeks shall gain,
And see four sons of boundless strength
His royal line maintain.’
‘Thus did the godlike saint of old
The will of fate declare,
And all that should befall unfold
Amid the sages there.
O Prince supreme of men, go thou,
Consult thy holy guide,
And win, to aid thee in thy vow,
This Bráhman to thy side.’
Sumantra’s counsel, wise and good,
King Das’aratha heard,
Then by Vas’ishtha’s side he stood
And thus with him conferred:
‘Sumantra counsels thus: do thou
My priestly guide, the plan allow.’
Vas’ishtha gave his glad consent,
And forth the happy monarch went
With lords and servants on the road
That led to Rishyas’ring’s abode.
Forests and rivers duly past,
He reached the distant town at last
Of Lomapád the Angas’ king,
And entered it with welcoming.
On through the crowded streets he came,
And, radiant as the kindled flame,
He saw within the monarch’s house
The hermit’s son most glorious.
There Lomapád, with joyful breast,
To him all honour paid,
For friendship for his royal guest
His faithful bosom swayed.
Thus entertained with utmost care
Seven days, or eight, he tarried there,
And then that best men thus broke
His purpose to the king, and spoke:
‘O King of men, mine ancient friend,
(Thus Das’aratha prayed)
Thy S’antá with her husband send
My sacrifice to aid.
Said he who ruled the Angas, Yea,
And his consent was won:
And then at once he turned away
To warn the hermit’s son.
He told him of their ties beyond
Their old affection’s faithful bond:
‘This king,’ he said, ‘from days of old
A well beloved friend I hold.
To me this pearl of dames he gave
From childless woe mine age to save,
The daughter whom he loved so much,
Moved by compassion’s gentle touch.
In him thy S’antá’s father see:
As I am even so is he.
For sons the childless monarch yearns:
To thee alone for help he turns.
Go thou, the sacred rite ordain
To win the sons he prays to gain:
Go, with thy wife thy succour lend,
And give his vows a blissful end.’
The hermit’s son with quick accord
Obeyed the Angas’ mighty lord,
And with fair S’antá at his side
To Das’aratha’s city hied.
Each king, with suppliant hands upheld,
Gazed on the other’s face:
And then by mutual love impelled
Met in a close embrace.
Then Das’aratha’s thoughtful care,
Before he parted thence,
Bade trusty servants homeward bear
The glad intelligence:
‘Let all the town be bright and gay
With burning incense sweet;
Let banners wave, and water lay
The dust in every street,’
Glad were the citizens to learn
The tidings of their lord’s return,
And through the city every man
Obedienly his task began.
And fair and bright Ayodhyá showed,
As following his guest he rode
Through the full streets where shell and drum
Proclaimed aloud the king was come.
And all the people with delight
Kept gazing on their king,
Attended by that youth so bright,
The glorious Rishyas’ring.
When to his home the king had brought
The hermit’s saintly son,
He deemed that all his task was wrought,
And all he prayed for won.
And lords who saw that stranger dame
So beautiful to view,
Rejoiced within their hearts, and came
And paid her honour too.
There Rishyasring passed blissful days,
Graced like the king with love and praise
And shone in glorious light with her,
Sweet S’ántá, for his minister,
As Brahmá’s son Vas’ishtha, he
Who wedded Saint Arundhati. 1
Os aedae ta t eonta, ta t essomena, pro t eonta.
‘That sacred seer, whose comprehensive view, The past, the present, and the future knew.’
The Bombay edition reads trilokajna, who knows the three worlds (earth, air and heaven.) ‘It is by topas (austere fervour) that rishis of subdued souls, subsisting on roots, fruits and air, obtain a vision of the three worlds with all things moving and stationary.’ MANU, XI. 236.
‘As the language of the Veda, the Sanskrit, is the most ancient type of the English of the present day, (Sanskrit and English are but varieties of one and the same language,) so its thoughts and feelings contain in reality the first roots and germs of that intellectual growth which by an unbroken chain connects our own generation with the ancestors of the Aryan race,—with those very people who at the rising and setting of the sun listened with trembling hearts to the songs of the Veda, that told them of bright powers above, and of a life to come after the sun of their own lives had set in the clouds of the evening. These men were the true ancestors of our race, and the Veda is the oldest book we have in which to study the first beginnings of our language, and of all that is embodied in language. We are by nature Aryan, Indo-European, not Semitic: our spiritual kith and kin are to be found in India, Persia, Greece, Italy, Germany: not in Mesopotamia, Egypt, or Palestine.’ Chips from a German Workshop, Vol. I. pp. 8. 4.
Dum stabunt montes, campis dum flumina current, Usque tuum toto carmen, celebrabitur orbe.’
Manu as a legislator is identified with the Cretan Minos, as progenitor of mankind with the German Mannus: ‘Celebrant carminibus antiquis, quod unum apud illos memoriae et annalium genus est, Tuisconem deum terra editum, et fllium Mannum, originem gentis conditoresque.’ TACITUS, Germania, Cap. II.
The Hebrew form is Hodda (Esther, 1. I.) In Zend it appears as Hendu in a somewhat wider sense. With the Persians later the signification of Hind seems to have co-extended with their increasing acquaintance with the country. The weak Ionic dialect omitted the Persian h, and we find in Hecatæus and Herodotus Indos and hae Indikae. In this form the Romans received the names and transmitted them to us. The Arabian geographers in their ignorance that Hind and Sind are two forms of the same word have made of them two brothers and traced their decent from Noah. See Lassen’s Indische Alterthumskunde Vol. I. pp. 2, 3.
1:4b A divine saint, son of Brahmá. He is the eloquent messenger of the Gods, a musician of exquisite skill, and the inventor of the viná or Indian lute. He bears a strong resemblance to Hermes or Mercury. ↩︎
1:5b This mystic syllable, said to typify the supreme Deity, the Gods collectively, the Vedas, the three spheres of the world, the three holy fires, the three steps of Vishnu etc., prefaces the prayers and most venerated writings of the Hindus. ↩︎
2:1 This colloquy is supposed to have taken place about sixteen years after Ráma’s return from his wanderings and occupation of his ancestral throne. ↩︎
2:2 Called also S’ri and Lakshmi, the consort of Vishnu, the Queen of Beauty as well as the Dea Fortuna. Her birth ‘from the full-flushed wave’ is described in Canto XLV of this Book. ↩︎
2:3 One of the most prominent objects of worship in the Rig-veda, Indra was superseded in later times by the more popular deities Vishnu and S’iva. He is the God of the firmament, and answers in many respects to the Jupiter Pluvius of the Romans. See Additional Notes. ↩︎
2:4 The second God of the Trimúrti or Indian Trinity. Derived from the root vis’ to penetrate, the meaning of the name appears to be he who penetrates or pervades all things. An embodiment of the preserving power of nature, he is worshipped as a Saviour who has nine times been incarnate for the good of the world and will descend on earth once more. See Additional Notes and Muir’s Sanskrit Texts passim. ↩︎
2:5 In Sanskrit devarshi. Rishi is the general appellation of sages, and another word is frequently prefixed to distinguish the degrees. A Brahmarshi is a theologian or Bráhmanical sage; a Rájarshi is a royal sage or sainted king; a Devarshi is a divine or deified sage or saint. ↩︎
2:1b Trikálaj’na. Literally knower of the three times. Both Schlegel and Gorresio quote Homer’s. ↩︎
2:2b Son of Manu, the first king of Kos’ala and founder of the solar dynasty or family of the Children of the Sun, the God of that luminary being the father of Manu. ↩︎
2:3b The Indians paid great attention to the art of physiognomy and believed that character and fortune could be foretold not from the face only, but from marks upon the neck and hands. Three lines under the chin like those at the mouth of a conch (S’an’kha) were regarded as a peculiarly auspicious sign indicating, as did also the mark of Vishnu’s discus on the hand, one born to be a chakravartin or universal emperor. In the palmistry of Europe the line of fortune, as well as the line of life, is in the hand. Cardan says that marks on the nails and teeth also show what is to happen to us: ‘Sunt etiam in nobis vestigia quædam futurorum eyentuum in unguibus atque etiam in dentibus.’ Though the palmy days of Indian chiromancy have passed away, the art is still to some extent studied and believed in. ↩︎
3:1 Long arms were regarded as a sign of heroic strength. ↩︎
3:2 ‘Veda means originally knowing or knowledge, and this name ia given by the Bráhmans not to one work, but to the whole body of their most ancient sacred literature. Veda is the same word which appears in the Greek οἰδα, I know, and in the English wise, wisdom, to wit. The name of Veda is commonly given to four collections of hymns, which are respectively known by the names of Rig-veda, Yajur-veda, Sáma-veda, and Atharva-veda.’ ↩︎
3:1b As with the ancient Persians and Scythians, Indian princes were carefully instructed in archery which stands for military science in general, of which, among Hindu heroes, it was the most important branch. ↩︎
3:2b Chief of the three queens of Das’aratha and mother of Ráma. ↩︎
3:3b From hima snow, (Greek χειμ-ών Latin hiems) and álaya abode, the Mansion of snow. ↩︎
3:4b The moon (Soma, Indu, Chandra etc.) is masculine with the Indians as with the Germans. ↩︎
3:5b Kuvera, the Indian Plutus, or God of Wealth. ↩︎
3:6b The events here briefly mentioned will be related fully in the course of the poem. The first four cantos are introductory, and are evidently the work of a later hand than Valmiki’s. ↩︎
4:1 ‘Chandra, or the Moon, is fabled to have been married to the twenty-seven daughters of the patriarch Daksha, or Asviní and the rest, who are in fact personifications of the Lunar Asterisms. His favourite amongst them was Rohiní to whom he so wholly devoted himself as to neglect the rest. They complained to their father, and Daksha repeatedly interposed, till, finding his remonstrances vain, he denounced a curse upon his son-in-law, in consequence of which he remained childless and became affected by consumption. The wives of Chandra having interceded in his behalf with their father, Daksha modified an imprecation which he could not recall, and pronounced that the decay should be periodical only, not permanent, and that it should alternate with periods of recovery. Hence the successive wane and increase of the Moon. Padma, Purána, Swarga-Khanda, Sec. II. Rohini in Astronomy is the fourth lunar mansion, containing live stars, the principal of which is Aldebaran.’ WILSON, Specimens of the Hindu Theatre. Vol. I. p. 234.
The Bengal recension has a different reading:
‘Shone with her husband like the light
Attendant on the Lord of Night.’ ↩︎
4:1b The garb prescribed for ascetics by Manu. ↩︎
4:2b Mount Meru, situated like Kailása in the lofty regions to the north of the Himálayas, is celebrated in the traditions and myths of India. Meru and Kailása are the two Indian Olympi. Perhaps they were held in such veneration because the Sanskrit-speaking Indians remembered the ancient home where they dwelt with the other primitive peoples of their family before they descended to occupy the vast plains which extend between the Indus and the Ganges.’ GOBRESIO. ↩︎
4:3b The third God of the Indian Triad, the God of destruction and reproduction. See Additional Notes. ↩︎
4:4b The epithet dmija, or twice-born, is usually appropriate to Bráhmans, but is applicable to the three higher castes. Investiture with the sacred thread and initiation of the neophyte into certain religious mysteries are regarded as his regeneration or second birth. ↩︎
4:5b His shoes to be a memorial of the absent heir and to maintain his right. Kálidása (Raghuvans’a, XII. 17.) says that they were to be ahidevate or guardian deities of the kingdom. ↩︎
5:1 Jatáyu, a semi-divine bird, the friend of Ráma, who fought in defence of Sitá. ↩︎
5:2 Raghu was one of the most celebrated ancestors of Ráma whose commonest appellation is, therefore, Rághava or descendant of Raghu. Kálidása in the Raghuvans’a makes him the son of Dilipa and great-grandfather of Ráma. See Idylls from the Sanskrit, ‘Aja’ and ‘Dilipa’. ↩︎
5:1b Dundhubi ↩︎
5:2b Literally ten yojanas. The yojana is a measure of uncertain length variously reckoned as equal to nine miles, five, and a little less. ↩︎
5:3b Ceylon ↩︎
6:1 The Jonesia As’oka is a most beautiful tree bearing a profusion of red blossoms. ↩︎
6:2 Brahmá, the Creator, is usually regarded as the first God of the Indian Trinity, although, as Kálidása says:
‘Of Brahma, Vishnu, S’iva, each may be First, second, third, amid the blessed Three.’
Brahmá had guaranteed Rávan’s life against all enemies except man. ↩︎
6:3 Ocean personified. ↩︎
6:4 The rocks lying between Ceylon and the mainland are still called Ráma’s Bridge by the Hindus. ↩︎
6:1b The Bráhmans, with a system rather cosmogonical than chronological, divide the present mundane period into four ages or yugas as they call them: the Krita, the Tretá, the Dwápara, and the Kali. The Krita, cailed also the Deva-yuga or that of the Gods, is the age of truth, the perfect age, the Tretá is the age of the three sacred fires, domestic and sacrificial; the Dwápara is the age of doubt; the Kali, the present age, is the age of evil.’ GORRESIO. ↩︎
6:2b The ancient kings of India enjoyed lives of more than patriarchal length as will appear in the course of the poem. ↩︎
6:3b S’údras, men of the fourth and lowest pure caste, were not allowed to read the poem, but might hear it recited. ↩︎
6:4b The three s’lokas or distichs which these twelve lines represent are evidently a still later and very awkward addition to the introduction. ↩︎
7:1 There are several rivers in India of this name, now corrupted into Tarse. The river here spoken of is that which falls into the Ganges a little below Allahabad. ↩︎
7:2 In Book II, Canto LIV, we meet with a saint of this name presiding over a convent of disciples in his hermitage at the confluence of the Ganges and the Jumna. Thence the later author of these introductory cantos has borrowed the name and person, inconsistently indeed, but with the intention of enhancing the dignity of the poet by ascribing to him so celebrated a disciple. SCHLEGEL ↩︎
7:1b The poet plays upon the similarity in sound of the two words: s’oka, means grief, s’loka, the heroic measure in which the poem is composed. It need scarcely be said that the derivation is fanciful. ↩︎
7:2b Brahmá, the Creator, is usually regarded as the first person of the divine triad of India. Tne four heads with which he is represented are supposed to have allusion to the four corners of the earth which he is sometimes considered to personify. As an object of adoration Brahmá has been entirely superseded by S’iva and Vishnu. In the whole of India there is, I believe, but one temple dedicated to his worship. In this point the first of the Indian triad curiously resembles the last of the divine fraternity of Greece, Aïdes the brother of Zeus and Foseidon. 'In all Greece, says Pausanias, there is no single temple of Aïdes except at a single spot in Ehs. See Gladstone’s Juventus Mundi, p. 253. ↩︎
8:1 The argha or arghya was a libation or offering to a deity, a Bráhman, or other venerable personage. According to one authority it consisted of water, milk, the points of Kúsa-grass, curds, clarified butter, rice, barley, and white mustard, according to another, of saffron, bel, unbroken grain, flowers, curds, dúrbá-grass, kúsa-grass, and sesamum. ↩︎
9:1 ‘The sipping of water is a requisite introduction of all rites: without it, says the Sámha Purana, all acts of religion are vain.’ COLEBROOKE. ↩︎
9:2 The darhha or kus’a (Pea cynosuroides), a kind of grass used in sacrifice by the Hindus as cerbena was by the Romans. ↩︎
9:3 The direction in which the grass hould be placed upon the ground as a seat for the Gods, on occasion of offerings made to them. ↩︎
9:4 Parasúráma or Ráma with the Axe. See Canto LXXIV. ↩︎
9:1b Sitá. Videha was the country of which Mithilá was the capital. ↩︎
10:1 The twin sons if Ráma and Sítá, born after Ráma had repartiated Sítá, and brought up in the hermitage of Válmíki. As they were the first rhapsodists the combined name Kus’alava signifies a reciter of paeans or an improvisatore even to the present day. ↩︎
10:2 Perhaps the base, tenor, and treble, or quick, slow and middle times. We know but little of the ancient music of the Hindus. ↩︎
10:3 Eight flavours or sentiments are usually enumerated, love, mirth, tenderness, anger, heroism, terror, disgust, and surprise; tranquility or content, or paternal tenderness, is sometimes considered the ninth. WILSON. See the Sáhitya Darpana or Mirror of Composition translated by Dr. Ballantyne and Bábá Pramadádása Mitra in the Bibliotheca Indica. ↩︎
11:1 Saccharum Munja is a plant from whose fibres is twisted the sacred string which a Bráhman wears over one shoulder after he has been initiated by a rite which in some respects answers to confirmation. ↩︎
11:2 A description of an As’vamedha or horse sacrifice is given in Canto XIII. of this Book. ↩︎
11:1b This exploit is related in Canto XI. ↩︎
11:2b The Sarjú or Ghaghra, anciently called Sarayú, rises in the Himalayas, and after flowing through the province of Oudb, falls into the Gauges. ↩︎
12:1 The ruins of the ancient capital of Rama and the Children of the Sun may still be traced in the present Ajudhyá near Fyzabad. Ajudhyá is the Jerusalem or Mecca of the Hindus. ↩︎
12:2 A legislator and saint, the son of Brahmá or a personification of Brahmá himself, the creator of the world, and progenitor of mankind. Derived from the root man to think, the word means originally man, the thinker, and is found in this sense in the Rig-veda. ↩︎
12:3 The Sál (Shorea Robusta) is a valuable timber tree of considerable height. ↩︎
12:4 The city of Indra is called Amarávati or Home of the Immortals. ↩︎
12:5 Schlegel thinks that this refers to the marble of different colours with which the houses were adorned. It seems more natural to understand it as implying the regularity of the streets and houses. ↩︎
13:1 The fourth and lowest pure caste whose duty was to serve the three first classes. ↩︎
13:2 By forbidden marriages between persons of different castes. ↩︎
13:3 Váhlí or Váhlika is Bactriana; its name is preserved in the modern Balkh. ↩︎
13:4 The Sanskrit word Sindhu is in the singular the name of the river Indus, in the plural of the people and territories on its banks. The name appears as Hidhu in the cuneiform inscription of Darius son of Hystaspes, in which the nations tributary to that king are enumerated. ↩︎
13:5 The situation of Vanáyu is not exactly determined: it seems to have lain to the north-west of India. ↩︎
13:6 Kámboja was probably still further to the north-west. Lassen thinks that the p. 14 name is etymologically connected with Cambyses which in the cuneiform inscription of Behistun is written Ka(m)bujia. ↩︎
14:1b Attendants of Indra, eight Gods whose names signify fire, light aud its phenomena. ↩︎
15:1 Kas’yap was a grandson of the God Brahmá. He is supposed to have given his name to Kashmír = Kas’yapa-míra, Kas’yap’s Lake. ↩︎
15:1b The people of Anga. ‘Anga is said in the lexicons to be Bengal; but here certainly another region is intended situated at the confluence of the Sarjú with the Ganges, and not far distant from Das’aratha’s dominions.’ GORRESIO. It comprised part of Behar and Bhagulpur. ↩︎
16:1 The Koïl or kokila (Cuculus Indicus) as the harbinger of spring and love is a universal favourite with Indian poets. His voice when first heard in a glorious spring morning is not unpleasant, but becomes in the hot season intolerably wearisome to European ears. ↩︎
18:1 ‘Sons and Paradise are intimately connected in Indian belief. A man desires above every thing to have a son to perpetuate his race, and to assist with sacrifices and funeral rites to make him worthy to obtain a lofty seat in heaven or to preserve that which he has already obtained.’ GORRESIO. ↩︎