When Ráma, valiant hero, stood
In the vast shade of Dandak wood,
His eyes on every side he bent
And saw a hermit settlement,
Where coats of bark were hung around,
And holy grass bestrewed the ground.
Bright with Bráhmanic lustre glowed
That circle where the saints abode:
Like the hot sun in heaven it shone,
Too dazzling to be looked upon.
Wild creatures found a refuge where
The court, well-swept, was bright and fair:
And countless birds and roedeer made
Their dwelling in the friendly shade.
Beneath the boughs of well-loved trees
Oft danced the gay Apsarases. [1]
Around was many an ample shed
Wherein the holy fire was fed;
With sacred grass and skins of deer,
Ladles and sacrificial gear,
And roots and fruit, and wood to burn,
And many a brimming water-urn.
Tall trees their hallowed branches spread,
Laden with pleasant fruit, o’erhead;
And gifts which holy laws require, [2]
And solemn offerings burnt with fire, [3]
And Veda chants on every side
That home of hermits sanctified.
There many a flower its odour shed,
And lotus blooms the lake o’erspred.
There, clad in coats of bark and hide,—
Their food by roots and fruit supplied,—
Dwelt many an old and reverend sire
Bright as the sun or Lord of Fire,
All with each worldly sense subdued,
A pure and saintly multitude.
The Veda chants, the saints who trod
The sacred ground and mused on God,
Made that delightful grove appear
Like Brahmá’s own most glorious sphere.
As Raghu’s splendid son surveyed
That hermit home and tranquil shade,
He loosed his mighty bow-string, then
Drew nearer to the holy men.
[ p. 230 ]
With keen celestial sight endued
Those mighty saints the chieftain viewed,
With joy to meet the prince they came,
And gentle Sítá dear to fame.
They looked on virtuous Ráma, fair
As Soma [4] in the evening air,
And Lakshman by his brother’s side,
And Sítá long in duty tried,
And with glad blessings every sage
Received them in the hermitage.
Then Ráma’s form and stature tall
Entranced the wondering eyes of all,—
His youthful grace, his strength of limb,
And garb that nobly sat on him.
To Lakshman too their looks they raised,
And upon Sítá’s beauty gazed
With eyes that closed not lest their sight
Should miss the vision of delight.
Then the pure hermits of the wood,
Rejoicing in all creatures’ good,
Their guest, the glorious Ráma, led
Within a cot with leaves o’erhead.
With highest honour all the best
Of radiant saints received their guest,
With kind observance, as is meet,
And gave him water for his feet.
To highest pitch of rapture wrought
Their stores of roots and fruit they brought.
They poured their blessings on his head,
And ‘All we have is thine,’ they said.
Then, reverent hand to hand applied, [5]
Each duty-loving hermit cried:
‘The king is our protector, bright
In fame, maintainer of the right.
He bears the awful sword, and hence
Deserves an elder’s reverence.
One fourth of Indra’s essence, he
Preserves his realm from danger free,
Hence honoured by the world of right
The king enjoys each choice delight.
Thou shouldst to us protection give,
For in thy realm, dear lord, we live:
Whether in town or wood thou be,
Thou art our king, thy people we,
Our wordly aims are laid aside,
Our hearts are tamed and purified.
To thee our guardian, we who earn
Our only wealth by penance turn.’
Then the pure dwellers in the shade
To Raghu’s son due honour paid,
And Lakshman, bringing store of roots,
And many a flower, and woodland fruits.
And others strove the prince to please
With all attentive courtesies.
Thus entertained he passed the night,
Then, with the morning’s early light,
To all the hermits bade adieu
And sought his onward way anew.
He pierced the mighty forest where
Roamed many a deer and pard and bear:
Its ruined pools he scarce could see.
For creeper rent and prostrate tree,
Where shrill cicada’s cries were heard,
And plaintive notes of many a bird.
Deep in the thickets of the wood
With Lakshman and his spouse he stood,
There in the horrid shade he saw
A giant passing nature’s law:
Vast as some mountain-peak in size,
With mighty voice and sunken eyes,
Huge, hideous, tall, with monstrous face,
Most ghastly of his giant race.
A tiger’s hide the Rákshas wore
Still reeking with the fat and gore:
Huge-faced, like Him who rules the dead,
All living things he struck with dread.
Three lions, tigers four, ten deer
He carried on his iron spear,
Two wolves, an elephant’s head beside
With mighty tusks which blood-drops dyed.
When on the three his fierce eye fell,
He charged them with a roar and yell
As furious as the grisly King
When stricken worlds are perishing.
Then with a mighty roar that shook
The earth beneath their feet, he took
The trembling Sítá to his side.
Withdrew a little space, and cried:
‘Ha, short lived wretches, ye who dare,
In hermit dress with matted hair,
Armed each with arrows, sword, and bow,
Through Dandak’s pathless wood to go:
How with one dame, I bid you tell,
Can you among ascetics dwell?
Who are ye, sinners, who despise
The right, in holy men’s disguise?
The great Virádha, day by day
Through this deep-tangled wood I stray,
And ever, armed with trusty steel,
I seize a saint to make my meal.
This woman young and fair of frame
Shall be the conquering giant’s dame:
Your blood, ye things of evil life,
My lips shall quaff in battle strife.’
He spoke: and Janak’s hapless child,
Scared by his speech so fierce and wild,
[ p. 231 ]
Trembled for terror, as a frail
Young plantain shivers in the gale.
When Ráma saw Virádha clasp
Fair Sítá in his mighty grasp,
Thus with pale lips that terror dried
The hero to his brother cried:
‘O see Virádha’s arm enfold
My darling in its cursed hold,—
The child of Janak best of kings,
My spouse whose soul to virtue clings,
Sweet princess, with pure glory bright,
Nursed in the lap of soft delight.
Now falls the blow Kaikeyí meant,
Successful in her dark intent:
This day her cruel soul will be
Triumphant over thee and me.
Though Bharat on the throne is set,
Her greedy eyes look farther yet:
Me from my home she dared expel,
Me whom all creatures loved so well.
This fatal day at length, I ween,
Brings triumph to the younger queen.
I see with bitterest grief and shame
Another touch the Maithil dame.
Not loss of sire and royal power
So grieves me as this mournful hour.’
Thus in his anguish cried the chief:
Then drowned in tears, o’erwhelmed by grief,
Thus Lakshman in his anger spake,
Quick panting like a spell-bound snake:
‘Canst thou, my brother, Indra’s peer,
When I thy minister am near.
Thus grieve like some forsaken thing,
Thou, every creature’s lord and king?
My vengeful shaft the fiend shall slay,
And earth shall drink his blood to-day.
The fury which my soul at first
Upon usurping Bharat nursed,
On this Virádha will I wreak
As Indra splits the mountain peak.
Winged by this arm’s impetuous might
My shaft with deadly force
The monster in the chest shall smite,
And fell his shattered corse.’
* * * * *
Virádha with a fearful shout
That echoed through the wood, cried out:
‘What men are ye, I bid you say,
And whither would ye bend your way?’
To him whose mouth shot fiery flame
The hero told his race and name:
‘Two Warriors, nobly bred, are we,
And through this wood we wander free.
But who art thou, how born and styled,
Who roamest here in Dandak’s wild?’
To Ráma, bravest of the brave,
His answer thus Virádha gave:
‘Hear, Raghu’s son, and mark me well,
And I my name and race will tell.
Of S’atahradá born, I spring
From Java as my sire, O King:
Me, of this lofty lineage, all
Giants on earth Virádha call.
The rites austere I long maintained
From Brahmá’s grace the boon have gained
To bear a charmed frame which ne’er
Weapon or shaft may pierce or tear.
Go as ye came, untouched by fear,
And leave with me this woman here;
Go, swiftly from my presence fly,
Or by this hand ye both shall die.’
Then Ráma with his fierce eyes red
With fury to the giant said:
‘Woe to thee, sinner, fond and weak,
Who madly thus thy death wilt seek!
Stand, for it waits thee in the fray:
With life thou ne’er shalt flee away.’
He spoke, and raised the cord whereon
A pointed arrow flashed and shone,
Then, wild with anger, from his bow,
He launched the weapon on the foe.
Seven times the fatal cord he drew,
And forth seven rapid arrows flew,
Shafts winged with gold that left the wind
And e’en Suparna’s [6] self behind.
Full on the giant’s breast they smote,
And purpled like the peacock’s throat,
Passed through his mighty bulk and came
To earth again like flakes of flame.
The fiend the Maithil dame unclasped;
In his fierce hand his spear he grasped,
And wild with rage, pierced through and through,
At Ráma and his brother flew.
So loud the roar which chilled with fear,
So massy was the monster’s spear,
He seemed, like Indra’s flagstaff, dread
As the dark God who rules the dead.
On huge Virádha fierce as He [7]
Who smites, and worlds have ceased to be,
The princely brothers poured amain
Their fiery flood of arrowy rain.
Unmoved he stood, and opening wide
His dire mouth laughed unterrified,
And ever as the monster gaped
Those arrows from his jaws escaped.
Preserving still his life unharmed,
By Brahmá’s saving promise charmed,
His mighty spear aloft in air
He raised, and rushed upon the pair.
From Ráma’s bow two arrows flew
And cleft that massive spear in two,
[ p. 232 ]
Dire as the flaming levin sent
From out the cloudy firmament.
Cut by the shafts he guided well
To earth the giant’s weapon fell:
As when from Meru’s summit, riven
By fiery bolts, a rock is driven.
Then swift his sword each warrior drew,
Like a dread serpent black of hue,
And gathering fury for the blow
Rushed fiercely on the giant foe.
Around each prince an arm he cast,
And held the dauntless heroes fast:
Then, though his gashes gaped and bled,
Bearing the twain he turned and fled.
Then Ráma saw the giant’s plan,
And to his brother thus began:
‘O Lakshman, let Virádha still
Hurry us onward as he will,
For look, Sumitra’s son, he goes
Along the path we freely chose.’
He spoke: the rover of the night
Upraised them with terrific might,
Till, to his lofty shoulders swung,
Like children to his neck they clung.
Then sending far his fearful roar,
The princes through the wood he bore,—
A wood like some vast cloud to view,
Where birds of every plumage flew,
And mighty trees o’erarching threw
Dark shadows on the ground;
Where snakes and silvan creates made
Their dwelling, and the jackal strayed
Through tangled brakes around.
But Sítá viewed with wild affright
The heroes hurried from her sight.
She tossed her shapely arms on high,
And shrieked aloud her bitter cry:
‘Ah, the dread giant bears away
The princely Ráma as his prey,
Truthful and pure, and good and great,
And Lakshman shares his brother’s fate.
The brindled tiger and the bear
My mangled limbs for food will tear.
Take me, O best of giants, me,
And leave the sons of Raghu free.’
Then, by avenging fury spurred,
Her mournful cry the heroes heard,
And hastened, for the lady’s sake,
The wicked monster’s life to take.
Then Lakshman with resistless stroke
The foe’s left arm that held him broke,
And Rama too, as swift to smite,
Smashed with his heavy hand the right.
With broken arms and tortured frame
To earth the fainting giant came,
Like a huge cloud, or mighty rock
Bent, sundered by the levin’s shock.
Then rushed they on, and crushed and bent
Their foe with arms and fists and feet,
And nerved each mighty limb to pound
And bray him on the level ground.
Keen arrows and each biting blade
Wide rents in breast and side had made;
But crushed and torn and mangled, still
The monster lived they could not kill.
When Ráma saw no arms might slay
The fiend who like a mountain lay,
The glorious hero, swift to save
In danger, thus his counsel gave:
‘ O Prince of men, his charmed life
No arms may take in battle strife:
Now dig we in this grove a pit
His elephantine bulk to fit,
And let the hollowed earth enfold
The monster of gigantic mould.’
This said, the son of Raghu pressed
His foot upon the giant’s breast.
With joy the prostrate monster heard
Victorious Ráma’s welcome word,
And straight Kakutstha’s son, the best
Of men, in words like these addressed:
‘I yield, O chieftain, overthrown
By might that vies with Indra’s own.
Till now my folly-blinded eyes
Thee, hero, failed to recognize.
Happy Kaus’alyá! blest to be
The mother of a son like thee!
I know thee well, O chieftain, now:
Ráma, the prince of men, art thou.
There stands the high-born Maithil dame,
There Lakshman, lord of mighty fame.
My name was Tumburu [8], for song
Renowned among the minstrel throng:
Cursed by Kuvera’s stern decree
I wear the hideous shape you see.
But when I sued, his grace to crave,
The glorious God this answer gave:
‘When Ráma, Das’aratha’s son,
Destroys thee and the light is won,
Thy proper shape once more assume,
And heaven again shall give thee room.’
When thus the angry God replied,
No prayers could turn his wrath aside,
And thus on me his fury fell
For loving Rambhá’s [9] charms too well.
Now through thy favour am I freed
From the stern fate the God decreed,
And saved, O tamer of the foe,
[ p. 233 ]
By thee, to heaven again shall go.
A league, O Prince, beyond this spot
Stands holy S’arabhanga’s cot:
The very sun is not more bright
Than that most glorious anchorite:
To him, O Ráma, quickly turn,
And blessings from the hermit earn.
First under earth my body throw,
Then on thy way rejoicing go.
Such is the law ordained of old
For giants when their days are told:
Their bodies laid in earth, they rise
To homes eternal in the skies.’
Thus, by the rankling dart oppressed,
Kakutstha’s offspring he addressed:
In earth his mighty body lay,
His spirit fled to heaven away.
Thus spake Virádha ere he died;
And Ráma to his brother cried:
‘Now dig we in this grove a pit
His elephantine bulk to fit.
And let the hollowed earth enfold
This mighty giant fierce and bold.’
This said, the valiant hero put
Upon the giant’s neck his foot.
His spade obedient Lakshman plied,
And dug a pit both deep and wide
By lofty souled Virádha’s side.
Then Raghu’s son his foot withdrew,
And down the mighty form they threw;
One awful shout of joy he gave
And sank into the open grave.
The heroes, to their purpose true,
In fight the cruel demon slew,
And radiant with delight
Deep in the hollowed earth they cast
The monster roaring to the last,
In their resistless might.
Thus when they saw the warrior’s steel
No life-destroying blow might deal,
The pair, for lore renowned,
Deep in the pit their hands had made
The unresisting giant laid,
And killed him neath the ground.
Upon himself the monster brought
From Ráma’s hand the death he sought
With strong desire to gain:
And thus the rover of the night
Told Ráma, as they strove in fight,
That swords might rend and arrows smite
Upon his breast in vain.
Thus Ráma, when his speech he heard,
The giant’s mighty form interred,
Which mortal arms defied.
With thundering crash the giant fell,
And rock and cave and forest dell
With echoing roar replied.
The princes, when their task was done
And freedom from the peril won,
Rejoiced to see him die.
Then in the boundless wood they strayed,
Like the great sun and moon displayed
Triumphant in the sky. 1
* * * * *
Then Ráma, having slain in fight
Virádha of terrific might,
With gentle words his spouse consoled,
And clasped her in his loving hold.
Then to his brother nobly brave
The valiant prince his counsel gave:
‘Wild are these woods around us spread;
And hard and rough the ground to tread:
We, O my brother, ne’er nave viewed
So dark and drear a solitude:
To S’arabhanga let us haste,
Whom wealth of holy works has graced.’
Thus Ráma spoke, and took the road
To S’arabhanga’s pure abode.
But near that saint whose lustre vied
With Gods, by penance purified,
With startled eyes the prince beheld
A wondrous sight unparalleled.
In splendour like the fire and sun
He saw a great and glorious one.
Upon a noble car he rode,
And many a God behind him glowed:
And earth beneath his feet unpressed [10]
The monarch of the skies confessed.
Ablaze with gems, no dust might dim
The bright attire that covered him.
Arrayed like him, on every side
High saints their master glorified.
Near, borne in air, appeared in view
His car which tawny coursers drew,
Like silver cloud, the moon, or sun
Ere yet the day is well begun.
Wreathed with gay garlands, o’er his head
A pure white canopy was spread,
And lovely nymphs stood nigh to hold
Fair chouris with their sticks of gold,
Which, waving in each gentle hand,
The forehead of their monarch fanned.
God, saint, and bard, a radiant ring,
5ang glory to their heavenly King:
Forth into joyful lauds they burst
As Indra with the sage conversed.
Then Ráma, when his wondering eyes
Beheld the monarch of the skies,
[ p. 234 ]
To Lakshman quickly called, and showed
The car wherein Lord Indra rode:
‘See, brother, see that air-borne car,
Whose wondrous glory shines afar:
Wherefrom so bright a lustre streams
That like a falling sun it seems
These are the steeds whose fame we know,
Of heavenly race through heaven they go:
These are the steeds who bear the yoke
Of S’akra, [11] Him whom all invoke.
Behold these youths, a glorious band,
Toward every wind a hundred stand:
A sword in each right hand is borne,
And rings of gold their arms adorn.
What might in every broad deep chest
And club-like arm is manifest!
Clothed in attire of crimson hue
They show like tigers fierce to view.
Great chains of gold each warder deck,
Gleaming like fire beneath his neck.
The age of each fair youth appears
Some score and five of human years:
The ever-blooming prime which they
Who live in heaven retain for aye:
Such mien these lordly beings wear,
Heroic youths, most bright and fair.
Now, brother, in this spot, I pray,
With the Videhan lady stay,
Till I have certain knowledge who
This being is, so bright to view.’
He spoke, and turning from the spot
Sought S’arabhanga’s hermit cot.
But when the lord of S’achí [12] saw
The son of Raghu near him draw,
He hastened of the sage to take
His leave, and to his followers spake:
'See, Ráma bends his steps this way,
But ere he yet a word can say,
Come, fly to our celestial sphere;
It is not meet he see me here.
Soon victor and triumphant he
In fitter time shall look on me.
Before him still a great emprise,
A task too hard for others, lies.’
Then with all marks of honour high
The Thunderer bade the saint good-bye,
And in his car which coursers drew
Away to heaven the conqueror flew.
Then Ráma, Lakshman, and the dame,
To S’arabhanga nearer came,
Who sat beside the holy flame.
Before the ancient sage they bent,
And clasped his feet most reverent;
Then at his invitation found
A seat beside him on the ground.
Then Ráma prayed the sage would deign
Lord Indra’s visit to explain;
And thus at length the holy man
In answer to his prayer began:
'This Lord of boons has sought me here
To waft me hence to Brahmá’s sphere,
Won by my penance long and stern,—
A home the lawless ne’er can earn.
But when I knew that thou wast nigh,
To Brahmá’s world I could not fly
Until these longing eyes were blest
With seeing thee, mine honoured guest.
Since thou, O Prince, hast cheered my sight,
Great-hearted lover of the right,
To heavenly spheres will I repair
And bliss supreme that waits me there.
For I have won, dear Prince, my way
To those fair worlds which ne’er decay,
Celestial seat of Brahmá’s reign:
Be thine, with me, those worlds to gain.’
Then master, of all sacred lore,
Spake Ráma to the saint once more:
'I, even I, illustrious sage,
Will make those worlds mine heritage:
But now, I pray, some home assign
Within this holy grove of thine.’
Thus Ráma, Indra’s peer in might,
Addressed the aged anchorite:
And he, with wisdom well endued,
To Raghu’s son his speech renewed:
'Sutíkshna’s woodland home is near,
A glorious saint of life austere,
True to the path of duty; he
With highest bliss will prosper thee.
Against the stream thy course must be
Of this fair brook Mandákiní,
Whereon light rafts like blossoms glide;
Then to his cottage turn aside.
There lies thy path: but ere thou go,
Look on me, dear one, till I throw
Aside this mould that girds me in,
As casts the snake his withered skin.’
He spoke, the fire in order laid
With holy oil due offerings made,
And S’arábhanga, glorious sire,
Laid down his body in the fire.
Then rose the flame above his head,
On skin, blood, flesh, and bones it fed,
Till forth, transformed, with radiant hue
Of tender youth, he rose anew,
Far-shining in his bright attire
Came S’arábhanga from the pyre:
Above the home of saints, and those
Who feed the quenchless flame, [13] he rose:
Beyond the seat of Gods he passed,
And Brahmá’s sphere was gained at last.
[ p. 235 ]
The noblest of the twice-born race,
For holy works supreme in place,
The Mighty Father there beheld
Girt round by hosts unparalleled;
And Brahmá joying at the sight
Welcomed the glorious anchorite.
* * * * *
When he his heavenly home had found,
The holy men who dwelt around
To Ráma flocked, whose martial fame
Shone glorious as the kindled flame:
Vaikhánasas [14] who love the wild.
Pure hermits Bálakhilyas [15] styled,
Good Samprakshálas, [16] saints who live
On rays which moon and daystar give:
Those who with leaves their lives sustain
And those who pound with stones their grain:
And they who lie in pools, and those
Whose corn, save teeth, no winnow knows:
Those who for beds the cold earth use,
And those who every couch refuse:
And those condemned to ceaseless pains,
Whose single foot their weight sustains:
And those who sleep neath open skies,
Whose food the wave or air supplies,
And hermits pure who spend their nights
On ground prepared for sacred rites;
Those who on hills their vigil hold,
Or dripping clothes around them fold:
The devotees who live for prayer,
Or the five fires [17] unflinching bear.
On contemplation all intent,
With light that heavenly knowledge lent,
They came to Ráma, saint and sage,
In S’arabhaga’s hermitage.
The hermit crowd around him pressed,
And thus the virtuous chief addressed:
‘The lordship of the earth is thine,
O Prince of old Ikshváku’s line.
Lord of the Gods is Indra, so
Thou art our lord and guide below.
Thy name, the glory of thy might,
Throughout the triple world are bright:
Thy filial love so nobly shown.
Thy truth and virtue well are known.
To thee, O lord, for help we fly,
And on thy love of right rely:
With kindly patience hear us speak,
And grant the boon we humbly seek.
That lord of earth were most unjust,
Foul traitor to his solemn trust,
Who should a sixth of all [18] require,
Nor guard his people like a sire.
But he who ever watchful strives
To guard his subjects’ wealth and lives,
Dear as himself or, dearer still,
His sons, with earnest heart and will,—
That king, O Raghu’s son, secures
High fame that endless years endures,
And he to Brahmá’s world shall rise,
Made glorious in the eternal skies,
Whate’er, by duty won, the meed
Of saints whom roots and berries feed,
One fourth thereof, for tender care
Of subjects, is the monarch’s share.
These, mostly of the Bráhman race,
Who make the wood their dwelling-place,
Although a friend in thee they view,
Fall friendless neath the giant crew.
Come, Ráma, come, and see hard by
The holy hermits’ corpses lie,
Where many a tangled pathway shows
The murderous work of cruel foes.
These wicked fiends the hermits kill—
Who live on Chitrakúta’s hill,
And blood of slaughtered saints has dyed
Mandákiní and Pampá’s side.
No longer can we bear to see
The death of saint and devotee
Whom through the forest day by day
These Rákshases unpitying slay.
To thee, O Prince, we flee, and crave
Thy guardian help our lives to save.
From these fierce rovers of the night
Defend each stricken anchorite.
Throughout the world 'twere vain to seek
An arm like thine to aid the weak.
O Prince, we pray thee hear our call,
And from these fiends preserve us all.’
The son of Raghu heard the plaint
Of penance-loving sage and saint,
And the good prince his speech renewed
To all the hermit multitude:
'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,
[ p. 236 ]
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 to’the saints his promise gave
That prince who still to virtue clave
With never-wandering thought:
And then with Lakshman by his side,
With penance-wealthy men to guide,
Sutíkshna’s home he sought.
So Raghu’s son, his foemen’s dread,
With Sítá and his brother sped,
Girt round by many a twice-born sage,
To good Sutikshna’s hermitage. [19]
Through woods for many a league he passed,
O’er rushing rivers full and fast,
Until a mountain fair and bright
As lofty Meru rose in sight.
Within its belt of varied wood
Ikshváku’a sons and Sítá stood,
Where trees of every foliage bore
Blossom and fruit in endless store.
There coats of bark, like garlands strung,
Before a lonely cottage hung,
And there a hermit, dust-besmeared,
A lotus on his breast, appeared.
Then Ráma with obeisance due
Addressed the sage, as near he drew:
‘My name is Ráma, lord; I seek
Thy presence, saint, with thee to speak.
O sage, whose merits ne’er decay,
Some word unto thy servant say.’
The sage his eyes on Ráma bent,
Of virtue’s friends preëminent;
Then words like these he spoke, and pressed
The son of Raghu to his breast:
‘Welcome to thee, illustrious youth,
Best champion of the rights of truth!
By thine approach this holy ground
A worthy lord this day has found.
I could not quit this mortal frame
Till thou shouldst, come, O dear to fame:
To heavenly spheres I would not rise,
Expecting thee with eager eyes.
I knew that thou, unkinged, hadst made
Thy home in Chitrakúta’s shade.
E’en now, O Ráma, Indra, lord
Supreme by all the Gods adored,
King of the Hundred Offerings, [20] said,
When he my dwelling visited,
That the good works that I have done
My choice of all the worlds have won.
Accept this meed of holy vows,
And with thy brother and thy spouse,
Roam, through my favour, in the sky
Which saints celestial glorify.’
To that bright sage, of penance stern,
The high-souled Ráma spake in turn,
As Vásava [21] who rules the skies
To Brahmá’s gracious speech replies:
I of myself those worlds will win,
O mighty hermit pure from sin:
But now, O saint, I pray thee tell
Where I within this wood may dwell:
For I by S’arabhanga old,
The son of Gautama, was told
That thou in every lore art wise,
And seest all with loving eyes.’
Thus to the saint, whose glories high
Filled all the world, he made reply:
And thus again the holy man
His pleasant speech with joy began:
‘This calm retreat, O Prince, is blest
With many a charm: here take thy rest.
Here roots and kindly fruits abound,
And hermits love the holy ground.
Fair silvan beasts and gentle deer
In herds unnumbered wander here:
And as they roam, secure from harm,
Our eyes with grace and beauty charm:
Except the beasts in thickets bred,
This grove of ours has naught to dread.”
The hermit’s speech when Ráma heard,—
The hero ne’er by terror stirred,—
On his great bow his hand he laid,
And thus in turn his answer made:
‘O saint, my darts of keenest steel,
Armed with their murderous barbs, would deal
Destruction mid the silvan race
That flocks around thy dwelling-place.
Most wretched then my fate would be
For such dishonour shown to thee:
And only for the briefest stay
Would I within this grove delay.’
He spoke and ceased. With pious care
He turned him to his evening prayer,
Performed each customary rite,
And sought his lodging for the night,
With Sítá and his brother laid
[ p. 237 ]
Beneath the grove’s delightful shade,
First good Sútíkshnu, when he saw
The shades of night around them draw,
With hospitable care
The princely chieftains entertained
With store of choicest food ordained
For holy hermit’s fare.
So Ráma and Sumttrá’s son,
When every honour due was done,
Slept through the night. When morning
broke,
The heroes from their rest awoke.
Betimes the son of Raghu rose,
With gentle Sítá, from repose,
And sipped the cool delicious wave
Sweet with the scent the lotus gave,
Then to the Gods and sacred flame
The heroes and the lady came,
And bent their heads in honour meet
Within the hermit’s pure retreat.
When every stain was purged away,
They saw the rising Lord of Day:
Then to Sutíkhna’s side they went,
And softly spoke, most reverent:
‘Well have we slept, O holy lord,
Honoured of thee by all adored:
Now leave to journey forth we pray:
These hermits urge us on our way.
We haste to visit, wandering by,
The ascetics’ homes that round you lie,
And roaming Dandak’s mighty wood
To view each saintly brotherhood,
For thy permission now we sue,
With these high saints to duty true,
By penance taught each sense to tame,—
In lustre like the smokeless flame.
Ere on our brows the sun can beat
With fierce intolerable heat.
Like some unworthy lord who wins
His power by tyranny and sins,
O saint, we fain would part.’ The three
Bent humbly to the dovotee.
He raised the princes as they pressed
His feet, and strained them to his breast;
And then the chief of devotees
Bespake them both in words like these.
‘Go with thy brother, Ráma, go,
Pursue thy path untouched by woe:
Go with thy faithful Sítá, she
Still like a shadow follows thee
Roam Dandak wood observing well
The pleasant homes where hermits dwell,—
Pure saints whose ordered souls adhere
To penance rites and vows austere.
There plenteous roots and berries grow,
And noble trees their blossoms show,
And gentle deer and birds of air
In peaceful troops are gathered there.
There see the full-blown lotus stud
The bosom of the lucid flood,
And watch the joyous mallard shake
The reeds that fringe the pool and lake.
See with delighted eye the rill
Leap sparkling from her parent hill,
And hear the woods that round thee lie
Reëcho to the peacock’s cry.
And as I bid thy brother, so,
Sumitrá’s child, I bid thee go.
Go forth, these varied beauties see,
And then once more return to me.’
Thus spake the sage Sutikshna: both
The chiefs assented, nothing loth.
Round him with circling steps they paced,
Then for the road prepared with haste.
Tnere Sítá stood, the dame long-eyed,
Fair quivers round their waists she tied,
And gave each prince his trusty bow,
And sword which ne*er a spot might know.
Each took his quiver from her *and.
And clanging bow and gleaming brand:
Then from the hermits’ home the two
Went forth each woodland scene to view.
Eavh beauteous in the bloom of age,
Dismissed by that illustrious sage,
With bow and sword accoutred, hied
Away, and Sítá by their side.
Blest by the sage, when Raghu’s son
His onward journey had begun,
Thus in her soft tone Sítá, meek
With modest fear, began to speak:
‘One little slip the great may lead
To shame that follows lawless deed:
Such shame, my lord, as still must cling
To faults from low desire that spring.
Three several sins defile the soul,
Born of desire that spurns control:
First, utterance of a lying word,
Then, viler both, the next, and third:
The lawless love of other’s wife,
The thirst of blood uncaused by strife.
The first, O Ragnu’s son, in thee
None yet has found, none e’er shall see.
Love of another’s dame destroys
All merit, lost for guilty joys:
Ráma, such crime in thee, I ween,
Has ne’er been found, shall ne’er be seen:
The very thought, my princely lord,
Is in thy secret soul abhorred.
[ p. 238 ]
For thou hast ever been the same
Fond lover of thine own dear dame,
Content with faithful heart to do
Thy father’s will, most just and true:
Justice, and faith, and many a grace
In thee have found a resting-place.
Such virtues, Prince, the good may gain
Who empire o’er each sense retain;
And well canst thou, with loving view
Regarding all, each sense subdue,
But for the third, the lust that strives,
Insatiate still, for others’ lives,—
Fond thirst of blood where hate is none,—
This, O my lord, thou wilt not shun.
Thou hast but now a promise made,
The saints of Danndak wood to aid:
And to protect their lives from ill
The giants’ blood in tight wilt spill:
And from thy promise lasting fame
Will glorify the forest’s name.
Armed with thy bow and arrows thou
Forth with thy brother journeyest now
While as I think how true thou art
Fears for thy bliss assail my heart,
And all my spirit at the sight
Is troubled with a strange affright.
I like it not—it seems not good—
Thy going thus to Damdak wood:
And I, if thou wilt mark me well,
The reason of my fear will tell.
Thou with thy brother, bow in hand,
Beneath those ancient trees wilt stand,
And thy keen arrows will not spare
Wood-rovers who will meet thee there.
For as the fuel food supplies
That bids the dormant flame arise,
Thus when the warrior grasps his bow
He feels his breast with ardour glow.
Deep in a holy grove, of yore,
Where bird and beast from strife forbore,
S’achi beneath the sheltering boughs,
A truthful hermit kept his vows.
Then Indra, S’achi’s heavenly lord,
Armed like a warrior with a sword,
Came to his tranquil home to spoil
The hermit of his holy toil,
And left the glorious weapon there
Entrusted to the hermit’s care,
A pledge for him to keep, whose mind
To fervent zeal was all resigned.
He took the brand: with utmost heed
He kept it for the warrior’s need:
To keep his trust he fondly strove
When roaming in the neighbouring grove:
Whene’er for roots and fruit he strayed
Still by his side he bore the blade:
Still on his sacred charge intent,
He took his treasure when he went.
As day by day that brand he wore,
The hermit, rich in merit’s store
From penance rites each thought withdrew,
And fierce and wild his spirit grew.
With heedless soul he spurned the right,
And found in cruel deeds delight.
So, living with the sword, he fell,
A ruined hermit, down to hell.
This tale applies to those who deal
Too closely with the warrior’s steel:
The steel to warriors is the same
As fuel to the smouldering flame.
Sincere affection prompts my speech:
I honour where I fain would teach.
Mayst thou, thus armed with shaft and bow,
So dire a longing never know
As, when no hatred prompts the fray,
These giants of the wood to slay:
For he who kills without offence
Shall win but little glory thence
The bow the warrior joys to bend
Is lent him for a nobler end,
That he may save and succour those
Who watch in woods when pressed by foes.
What, matched with woods, is bow or steel?
What, warrior’s arm with hermit’s zeal?
We with such might have naught to do:
The forest rule should guide us too.
But when Ayodhyá hails thee lord,
Be then thy warrior life restored:
So shall thy sire [22] and mother joy
In bliss that naught may e’er destroy.
And if, resigning empire, thou
Submit thee to the hermit’s vow,
The noblest gain from virtue springs,
And virtue joy unending brings.
All earthly blessings virtue sends:
On virtue all the world depends.
Those who with vow and fasting tame
To due restraint the mind and frame,
Win by their labour, nobly wise,
The highest virtue for their prize.
Pure in the hermit’s grove remain,
True to thy duty, free from stain.
But the three worlds are open thrown
To thee, by whom all things are known.
Who gave me power that I should dare
His duty to my lord declare?
‘Tis woman’s fancy, light as air,
That moves my foolish breast.
Now with thy brother counsel take,
Reflect, thy choice with judgment make,
And do what seems the best.’
[ p. 239 ]
The words that Sítá uttered, spurred
By truest love, the hero heard:
Then he who ne’er from virtue strayed
To Janak’s child his answer made:
‘In thy wise speech, sweet love, I find
True impress of thy gentle mind,
Well skilled the warrior’s path to trace,
Thou pride of Janak’s ancient race.
What fitting answer shall I frame
To thy good words, my honoured dame?
Thou sayst the warrior bears the bow
That misery’s tears may cease to flow;
And those pure saints who love the shade
Of Dandak wood are sore dismayed.
They sought me of their own accord,
With suppliant prayers my aid implored:
They, fed on roots and fruit, who spend
Their lives where bosky wilds extend,
My timid love, enjoy no rest
By these malignant fiends distressed.
These make the flesh of man their meat:
The helpless saints they kill and eat.
The hermits sought my side, the chief
Of Brahman race declared their grief.
I heard, and from my lips there fell
The words which thou rememberest well:
I listened as the hermits cried,
And to their prayers I thus replied:
'Your favour, gracious lords, I claim,
O’erwhelmed with this enormous shame
That Bráhmans, great and pure as you,
Who should be sought, to me should sue.’
And then before the saintly crowd,
‘What can I do?’ I cried aloud.
Then from the trembling hermits broke
One long sad cry, and thus they spoke:
‘Fiends of the wood, who wear at will
Each varied shape, afflict us still.
To thee in our distress we fly:
O help us, Ráma, or we die.
When sacred rites of fire are due,
When changing moons are full or new,
These fiends who bleeding flesh devour
Assail us with resistless power.
They with their cruel might torment
The hermits on their vows intent:
We look around for help and see
Our surest refuge, Prince, in thee.
We, armed with powers of penance, might
Destroy the rovers of the night:
But loth were we to bring to naught
The merit years of toil have bought.
Our penance rites are grown too hard,
By many a check and trouble barred,
But though our saints for food are slain
The withering curse we yet restrain.
Thus many a weary day distressed
By giants who this wood infest,
We see at length deliverance, thou
With Lakshman art our guardian now.’
As thus the troubled hermits prayed,
I promised, dame, my ready aid,
And now—for truth I hold most dear—
Still to my word must I adhere.
My love, I might endure to be
Deprived of Lakshman, life, and thee,
But ne’er deny my promise, ne’er
To Bráhmans break the oath I sware.
I must, enforced by high constraint,
Protect them all. Each suffering saint
In me, unasked, his help had found;
Still more in one by promise bound.
I know thy words, mine own dear dame,
From thy sweet heart’s affection came:
I thank thee for thy gentle speech,
For those we love are those we teach.
‘Tis like thyself, O fair of face,
‘Tis worthy of thy noble race:
Dearer than life, thy feet are set
In righteous paths they ne’er forget.’
Thus to the Maithil monarch’s child,
His own dear wife, in accents mild
The high-souled hero said:
Then to the holy groves which lay
Beyond them fair to see, their way
The bow-armed chieftain led.
229:1 Heavenly nymphs. ↩︎
229:2 The (illegible) present food to all created beings. ↩︎
229:3 The clarified butter &c. cast into the sacred fire. ↩︎
230:1 The Moon-God: ‘he is,’ says the commentator, ‘the special deity of bráhmans.’ ↩︎
230:2 Because he was an incarnation of the deity,’ says the commentator, ‘otherwise such honour paid by men of the sacerdotal caste to one of the military would be improper.’ ↩︎
231:1 The King of birds. ↩︎
231:2 Kálántakayamopamam, resembling Yama the destroyer. ↩︎
232:1 Somewhat inconsistently with this part of the story Tumburu is mentioned in Book II, Canto XII as one of the Gandharvas or heavenly minstrels summoned to perform at Bharadvája’s feast. ↩︎
232:2 Rambhá appears in Book I, Canto LXIV as the temptress of Visvámitra. ↩︎
233:2 ‘Even when he had alighted,’ says the commentator: The feet of Gods do not touch the ground. ↩︎
234:1 A name of Indra ↩︎
234:2 S’achí is the consort of lndra. ↩︎
234:1b The spheres or mansions gained by those who have duly performed the sacrifices required of them. Different situations are assigned to these spheres, some placing them near the sun, others near the moon. ↩︎
235:1 Hermits who live upon roots which they dig out of the earth: literally diggers, derived from the prefix vi and khan to dig. ↩︎
235:2 Generally, divine personages of the height of a man’s thumb, produced from Brahmá’s hair: here, according to the commentator followed by Gorresio, hermits who when they have obtained fresh food throw away what they had laid up before. ↩︎
235:3 Sprung from the washings of Vishnu’s feet. ↩︎
235:4 Four fires burning round them, and the sun above. ↩︎
235:1b The tax allowed to the king by the Laws of Manu. ↩︎
236:1 Near the celebrated Rámagiri or Ráma’s Hill, now Rám-tek, near Nagpore —the scene of the Yaksha’s exile in the Messenger Cloud. ↩︎
236:1b A hundred As’vamedhas or sacrifices of a horse raise the sacrificer to the dignity of Indra. ↩︎
236:2b Indra. ↩︎
238:1 Gorresio observes that Das’aratha was dead and that Sitá had been informed of his death. In his translation he substitutes for the words of the text ‘thy relations and mine.’ This is quite superfluous. Das’aratha though in heaven still took a loving interest in the fortunes of his son. ↩︎