Ráma went foremost of the three,
Next Sítá, followed, fair to see,
And Lakshman with his bow in hand
Walked hindmost of the little band.
As onward through the wood they went,
With great delight their eyes were bent
On rocky heights beside the way
And lofty trees with blossoms gay;
And streamlets running fair and fast
The royal youths with Sítá passed.
They watched the sáras and the drake
On islets of the stream and lake,
And gazed delighted on the floods
Bright with gay birds and lotus buds.
They saw in startled herds the roes,
The passion-frenzied buffaloes,
Wild elephants who fiercely tore
The tender trees, and many a boar.
A length of woodland way they passed,
And when the sun was low at last
A lovely stream-fed lake they spied,
Two leagues across from side to side.
Tall elephants fresh beauty gave
To grassy bank and lilied wave,
[ p. 240 ]
By many a swan and sáras stirred,
Mallard, and gay-winged water-bird.
From those sweet waters, loud and long,
Though none was seen to wake the song,
Swelled high the singer’s music blent
With each melodious instrument.
Ráma and car-borne Lakshman heard
The charming strain, with wonder stirred,
Turned on the margent of the lake
To Dharmabhait * [1] the sage, and spake:
'Our longing souls, O hermit, burn
This music of the lake to learn:
We pray thee, noblest sage, explain
The cause of the mysterious strain.’
He, as the son of Raghu prayed,
With swift accord his answer made,
And thus the hermit, virtuous-souled,
The story of the fair lake told:
'Through every age ‘tis known to fame,
Panchápsaras [2] its glorious name,
By holy Mándakarni wrought
With power his rites austere had bought.
For he, great votarist, intent
On strictest rule his stern life spent.
Ten thousand years the stream his bed,
Ten thousand years on air he fed.
Then on the blessed Gods who dwell
In heavenly homes great terror fell:
They gathered all, by Agni led,
And counselled thus disquieted:
‘The hermit by ascetic pain
The seat of one of us would gain.’
Thus with their hearts by fear oppressed
In full assembly spoke the Blest,
And bade five loveliest nymphs, as fair
As lightning in the evening air,
Armed with their winning wiles, seduce
From his stern vows the great recluse.
Though lore of earth and heaven he knew,
The hermit from his task they drew,
And made the great ascetic slave
To conquering love, the Gods to save.
Bach of the heavenly five became,
Bound to the sage, his wedded dame;
And he, for his beloved’s sake,
Formed a fair palace neath the lake.
Under the flood the ladies live,
To joy and ease their days they give,
And lap in bliss the hermit wooed
From penance rites to youth renewed.
So when the sportive nymphs within
Those secret bowers their play begin,
You hear the singers’ dulcet tones
Blend sweetly with their tinkling zones.’
‘How wondrous are these words of thine!’
Cried the famed chiefs of Raghu’s line,
As thus they heard the sage unfold
The marvels of the tale he told.
As Ráma spake, his eyes were bent
Upon a hermit settlement
With light of heavenly lore endued,
With sacred grass and vesture strewed.
His wife and brother by his side,
Within the holy bounds he hied,
And there, with honour entertained
By all the saints, a while remained.
In time, by due succession led,
Each votary’s cot he visited,
And then the lord of martial lore,
Returned where he had lodged before.
Here for the months, content, he stayed,
There for a year his visit paid:
Here for four months his home would fix,
There, as it chanced, for five or six.
Here for eight months and there for three
The son of Raghu’s stay would be:
Here weeks, there fortnights, more or less,
He spent in tranquil happiness.
As there the hero dwelt at ease
Among those holy devotees,
In days untroubled o’er his head
Ten circling years of pleasure fled.
So Raghu’s son in duty trained
A while in every cot remained,
Then with his dame retraced the road
To good Sutíkshna’s calm abode.
Hailed by the saints with honours due
Near to the hermit’s home he drew,
And there the tamer of his foes
Dwelt for a time in sweet repose.
One day within that holy wood
By saint Sutíkstma Ráma stood,
And thus the prince with reverence meek
To that high sage began to speak:
'In the wide woodlands that extend
Around us, lord most reverend,
As frequent voice of rumour tells,
Agastya, saintliest hermit, dwells.
So vast the wood, I cannot trace
The path to reach his dwelling place,
Nor, searching unassisted, find
That hermit of the thoughtful mind.
I with my wife and brother fain
Would go, his favour to obtain,
Would seek him in his lone retreat
And the great saint with reverence greet.
This one desire, O Master, long
Cherished within my heart, is strong,
That I may pay of free accord
My duty to that hermit lord.’
As thus the prince whose heart was bent
On virtue told his firm intent,
The good Sutíkshna’s joy rose high,
And thus in turn he made reply:
The very thing, O Prince, which thou
Hast sought, I wished to urge but now,
Bid thee with wife and brother see
[ p. 241 ]
Agastya, glorious devotee.
I count this thing an omen fair
That thou shouldst thus thy wish declare,
And I, my Prince, will gladly teach
The way Agastya’s home to reach.
Southward, dear son, direct thy feet
Eight leagues beyond this still retreat:
Agastya’s hermit brother there
Dwells in a home most bright and fair.
‘Tis on a knoll of woody ground,
With many a branching Pippal [3] crowned:
There sweet birds’ voices ne’er are mute,
And trees are gay with flower and fruit.
There many a lake gleams bright and cool,
And lilies deck each pleasant pool,
While swan, and crane, and mallard’s wings
Are lovely in the water-springs.
There for one night, O Ráma, stay,
And with the dawn pursue thy way.
Still farther, bending southward, by
The thicket’s edge the course must lie,
And thou wilt see, two leagues from thence
Agastya’s lovely residence,
Set in the woodland’s fairest spot,
All varied foliage decks the cot:
There Si’ta’, Lakshman thou, at ease
May spend sweet hours neath shady trees,
For all of noblest growth are found
Luxuriant on that *bosky ground,
If it be still thy firm intent
To see that saint pree*minent,
O mighty counsellor, this day
Depart upon thine onward way.’
The hermit spake, and Ráma bent
His head, with Lakshman, reverent,
And then with him and Janak’s child
Set out to trace the forest wild.
He saw dark woods that fringed the road,
And distant hills like clouds that showed,
And, as the way he followed, met
With many a lake and rivulet.
So passing on with ease where led
The path Sutikshna bade him tread,
The hero with exulting breast
His brother in these words addressed:
'Here, surely, is the home, in sight,
Of that illustrious anchorite:
Here great Agastya’s brother leads
A life intent on holy deeds.
Warned of each guiding mark and sign,
I see them all herein combine:
I see the branches bending low
Beneath the flowers and fruit they show.
A soft air from the forest springs,
Fresh from the odorous grass, and brings
A spicy fragrance as it flees
O’er the ripe fruit of Pippal trees.
See, here and there around us high
Piled up in heaps cleft billets lie,
And holy grass is gathered, bright
As strips of shining lazulite.
Full in the centre of the shade
The hermits’ holy fire is laid:
I see its smoke the pure heaven streak
Dense as a big cloud’s dusky peak.
The twice-born men their steps retrace
From each sequestered bathing place,
And each his sacred gift has brought
Of blossoms which his hands have sought.
Of all these signs, dear brother, each
Agrees with good Sutikshna’s speech,
And doubtless in this holy bound
Agastya’s brother will be found.
Agastya once, the worlds who viewed
With love, a Deathlike fiend subdued,
And armed with mighty power, obtained
By holy works, this grove ordained
To be a refuge and defence
From all oppressors’ violence.
In days of yore within this place
Two brothers fierce of demon race,
Va’ta’pi* dire and Ilval, dwelt,
And slaughter mid the Bra’hmans dealt.
A Bra’hman’s form, the fiend to cloak,
Fierce Ilval wore, and Sanskrit spoke,
And twice-born sages would invite
To solemnize some funeral rite.
His brother’s flesh, concealed within
A ram’s false shape and borrowed skin,—
As men are wont at funeral feasts,—
He dressed and fed those gathered priests.
The holy men, unweeting ill,
Took of the food and ate their fill.
Then Ilval with a mighty shout
Exclaimed ‘Vatapi, issue out.’
Soon as his brother’s voice he heard,
The fiend with ram-like bleating stirred:
Bending in pieces every frame,
Forth from the dying priests he came.
So they who changed their forms at will
Thousands of Brahmans dared to kill,-
Fierce fiends who loved each cruel deed,
And joyed on bleeding flesh to feed.
Agastya, mighty hermit, pressed
To funeral banquet like the rest,
Obedient to the Gods’ appeal
Ate up the monster at a meal.
‘Tis done,‘tis done,’ fierce Ilval cried,
And water for his hands supplied:
Then lifting up his voice he spake:
‘Forth, brother, from thy prison break.’
Then him who called the fiend, who long
Had wrought the suffering Bra’hmans wrong,
Thus thoughtful-souled Agastya, best
Of hermits, with a smile addresed:
‘How, Ra’kshas, is the fiend empowered
To issue forth whom I devoured?
Thy brother in a ram’s disguise-
Is gone where Yama’s kingdom lies.’
[ p. 242 ]
When from the words Agastya said
He knew his brother fiend was dead,
His soul on fire with vengeful rage,
Rushed the night-rover at the sage.
One lightning glance of fury, hot
As fire, the glorious hermit shot,
As the fiend neared him in his stride,
And straight, consumed to dust, he died.
In pity for the Brahmans’ plight
Agastya wrought this deed of might:
This grove which lakes and fair trees grace
In his great brother’s dwelling place.
As Ráma thus the tale rehearsed,
And with Sumitrá’s son conversed,
The setting sun his last rays shed,
And evening o’er the land was spread.
A while the princely brothers stayed
And even rites in order paid,
Then to the holy grove they drew
And hailed the saint with honour due.
With courtesy was Rama met
By that illustrious anchoret,
And for one night he rested there
Regaled with fruit and hermit fare.
But when the night had reached its close,
And the sun’s glorious circle rose,
The son of Raghu left his bed
And to the hermit’s brother said:
‘Well rested in thy hermit cell,
I stand, O saint, to bid farewell;
For with thy leave I journey hence
Thy broher saint to reverence.’
‘Go, Ráma go,’ the sage replied:
Then from the cot the chieftain hied.
And while the pleasant grove he viewed,
The path the hermit showed, pursued.
Of every leaf, of changing hue.
Plants, trees by hundreds round him grew,
With joyous eyes he looked on all,
Then Jak, [4] the wild rice, and Sal; [5]
He saw the red Hibiscus glow,
He saw the flower-tipped creeper throw
The glory of her clusters o’er
Tall trees that loads of blossom bore.
Some, elephants had prostrate laid,
In some the monkeys leapt and played,
And through the whole wide forest rang
The charm of gay birds as they sang.
Then Ráma of the lotus eye
To Lakshman turned who followed nigh,
And thus the hero youth impressed
With Fortune’s favouring signs, addressed:
'How soft the leaves of every tree,
How tame each bird and beast we see!
Soon the fair home shall we behold
Of that great hermit tranquil-souled.
The deed the good Agastya wrought
High fame throughout the world has bought:
I see, I see his calm retreat
That balms the pain of weary feet.
Where white clouds rise from flames beneath,
Where bark-coats lie with many a wreath,
Where silvan things, made gentle, throng,
And every bird is loud in song.
With ruth for suffering creatures filled,
A deathlike fiend with might he killed,
And gave this southern realm to be
A refuge, from oppression free.
There stands his home, whose dreaded might
Has put the giant crew to flight,
Who view with envious eyes afar
The peaceful shades they cannot mar.
Since that most holy saint has made
His dwelling in this lovely shade,
Checked by his might the giant brood
Have dwelt in peace with souls subdued.
And all this southern realm, within
Whose bounds no fiend may entrance win,
Now bears a name which naught may dim,
Made glorious through the worlds by him.
When Vindhya, best of hills, would stay
The journey of the Lord of Day,
Obedient to the saint’s behest
He bowed for aye his humbled crest.
That hoary hermit, world-renowned
For holy deeds, within this ground
Has set his pure and blessed home,
Where gentle silvan creatures roam.
Agastya, whom the worlds revere,
Pure saint to whom the good are dear,
To us his guests all grace will show,
Enriched with blessings ere we go.
I to this aim each thought will turn,
The favour of the saint to earn,
That here in comfort may be spent
The last years of our banishment.
Here sanctities and high saints stand,
Gods, minstrels of the heavenly band;
Upon Agastya’s will they wait,
And serve him, pure and temperate.
The liar’s tongue, the tyrant’s mind
Within these bounds no home may find:
No cheat, no sinner here can be:
So holy and so good is he.
Here birds and lords of serpent race,
Spirits and Gods who haunt the place,
Content with scanty fare remain,
As merit’s meed they strive to gain.
Made perfect here, the paints supreme,
On cars that mock the Day-God’s gleam,—
Their mortal bodies cast aside,—
Sought heaven transformed and glorified,
Here Gods to living things, who win
Their favour, pure from cruel sin,
Give royal rule and many a good,
[ p. 243 ]
Immortal life and spirithood. I
Now, Lakshman, we are near the place:
Do thou precede a little space,
And tell the mighty saint that I
With Sítá at my side am nigh,”
He spoke: the younger prince obeyed:
Within the bounds his way he made,
And thus addressed, whom first he met,
A pupil of the anchoret:
'Brave Ráma, eldest born, who springs,
From Das’aratha, hither brings
His wife the lady Sítá: he
Would fain the holy hermit see.
Lakshman am I—if happy fame
E’er to thine ears has brought the name—
His younger brother, prompt to do
His will, devoted, fond, and true.
We, through our royal sire’s decree,
To the dread woods were forced to flee.
Tell the great Master, I entreat,
Our earnest wish our lord to greet.”
He spoke: the hermit rich in store
Of fervid zeal and sacred lore,
Sought the pure shrine which held the fire,
To bear his message to the sire.
Soon as he reached the saint most bright
In sanctity’s surpassing might,
He cried, uplifting reverent hands:
‘Lord Ráma near thy cottage stands.’
Then spoke Agastya’s pupil dear
The message for his lord to hear:
‘Ráma and Lakshman, chiefs who spring
From Das’aratha, glorious king,
Thy hermitage e’en now have sought,
And lady Sítá with them brought.
The tamers of the foe are here
To see thee, Master, and revere.
‘Tis thine thy further will to say:
Deign to command, and we obey.’
When from his pupil’s lips he knew
The presence of the princely two.
And Sítá born to fortune high.
The glorious hermit made reply:
‘Great joy at last is mine this day
That Ráma hither finds his way,
For long my soul has yearned to see
The prince who comes to visit me.
Go forth, go forth, and hither bring
The royal three with welcoming:
Lead Ráma in and place him near:
Why stands he not already here?’
Thus ordered by the hermit, who,
Lord of his thought, all dutv knew.
His reverent hands together laid.
The pupil answered and obeyed.
Forth from the place with speed he ran,
To Lakshman came and thus began:
‘Where is he? let not Ráma wait,
But speed, the sage to venerate.’
Then with the pupil Lakshman went
Across the hermit settlement,
And showed him Ráma where he stood
With Janak’s daughter in the wood.
The pupil then his message spake
Which the kind hermit bade him take;
Then led the honoured Ráma thence
And brought him in with reverence.
As nigh the royal Ráma came
With Lakshman and the Maithil dame,
He viewed the herds of gentle deer
Roaming the garden free from fear.
As through the sacred grove he trod
He viewed the seat of many a God,
Brahmá and Agni, [6] Sun and Moon,
And His who sends each golden boon; [7]
Here Vishnu’s stood, there Bhaga’s [8] shrine,
And there Mahendra’s Lord divine;
Here His who formed this earthly frame, [9]
His there from whom all beings came. [10]
Váyu’s, [11] and His who loves to hold
The great noose, Varim [12] mighty-souled:
Here was the Vasus’ [13] shrine to see,
Here that of sacred Gáyatrí, [14]
The king of serpents [15] here had place,
And he who rules the feathered race. [16]
Here Kártikeya, [17] warrior lord,
And there was Justice’ King adored.
Then with disciples girt about
The mighty saint himself came out:
Through fierce devotion bright as flame
Before the rest the Master came:
And then to Lakshman, fortune blest,
Ráma these hasty words addressed:
‘Behold, Agastya’s self draws near,
The mighty saint, whom all revere:
With spirit raised I meet my lord
With richest wealth of penance stored.’
The strong-armed hero spake, and ran
Forward to meet the sunbright man.
Before him, as he came, he bent
And clasped his feet most reverent,
Then rearing up his stately height
Stood suppliant by the anchorite,
While Lakshman’s strength and Sítá’s grace
Stood by the pride of Raghu’s race.
[ p. 244 ]
The sage his arms round Rama threw
And welcomed him with honours due,
Asked, was all well, with question sweet.
And bade the hero to a seat.
With holy oil he fed the flame,
He brought the gifts which strangers claim,
And kindly waiting on the three
With honours due to high degree,
He gave with hospitable care
A simple hermit’s woodland fare.
Then sat the reverend father, first
Of hermits, deep in duty versed.
And thus to suppliant Ráma, bred
In all the lore of virtue, said:
‘Did the false hermit, Prince, neglect
To hail his guest with due respect,
He must,—the doom the perjured meet,—
His proper flesh hereafter eat.
A car-borne king a lord who sways
The earth, and virtue’s law obeys,
Worthy of highest honour, thou
Hast sought, dear guest, my cottage now.’
He spoke: with fruit and hermit fare,
With every bloom the branches bare,
Agastya graceed his honoured guest,
And thus with gentle words addressed:
‘Accept this mighty bow, divine.
Whereon red gold and diamonds shine;
‘Twas by the Heavenly Artist planned
For Vishnu’s own almighty hand:
This God-sent shaft of sunbright hue,
Whose deadly flight is ever true,
By Lord Mahendra given of yore:
This quiver with its endless store.
Keen arrows hurtling to their aim
Like kindled fires that flash and flame:
Accept, in golden sheath encased,
This sword with hilt of rich gold graced.
Armed, whilom, with this best of bows
Lord Vishnu slew his demon foes,
And mid the dwellers in the skies
Won brilliant glory for his prize.
The bow, the quivers, shaft, and sword
Received from me, O glorious lord:
These conquest to thine arm shall bring,
As thunder to the thunder’s King.’
The splendid hermit bade him take
The noble weapons as he spake,
And as the prince accepted each
In words like these renewed his speech:
‘O Ráma, great delight I feel,
Pleased, Lakshman, with thy faithful zeal,
That you within these shades I see
Vith Sitá come to honour me.
But wandering through the rough rude wild
Has wearied Janak’a gentle child:
With labours of the way oppressed
The Maithil lady Iongs for rest.
Young, delicate, und soft, and fair,
Such toils as these untrained to bear,
Her wifely love the dame has led
The forest’s troubled ways to tread.
Here, Ráma, see that naught annoy
Her easy hours of tranquil joy:
A glorious task has she assayed,
To follow thee through woodland shade.
Since first from Nature’s hand she came,
A woman’s mood is still the same,
When Fortune smiles, her love to show,
And leave her lord in want and woe.
No pity then her heart can feel,
She arms her soul with warrior’s steel,
Swift as the storm or Feathered King,
Uncertain as the lightning’s wing.
Not so thy spouse: her purer mind
Shrinks from the faults of womankind;
Like chaste Arundhatí [18] above,
A paragon of faithful love.
Let these blest shades, dear Ráma, be
A home for Lakshman, her, and thee.’
With raised hands reverently meek
He heard the holy hermit speak,
And humbly thus addressed the sire
Whose glory shone like kindled fire:
'How blest am I, what thanks I owe
That our great Master deigns to show
His favour, that his heart can be
Content with Lakshman, Sitá, me.
Show me, I pray, some spot of ground
Where thick trees wave aud springs abound,
That I may raise my hermit cell
And there in tranquil pleasure dwell.’
Then thus replied Agaatya, best
Of hermits, to the chief’s request:
When for a little he had bent
His thoughts, upon that prayer intent:
'Beloved son, four leagues away
Is Panchavati bright and gay:
Thronged with its deer, most fair it looks
With berries, fruit, and water-brooks.
There build thee with thy brother’s aid
A cottage in the quiet shade,
And faithful to thy sire’s behest,
Obedient to the sentence, rest.
For well, O sinless chieftain, well
I know thy tale, how all befell:
Stern penance and the love I bore
Thy royal sire supply the lore.
To me long rites and fervid zeal
The wish that stirs thy heart reveal,
And hence my guest I bade thee be,
That this pure grove might shelter thee.
[ p. 245 ]
So now, thereafter, thus I speak:
The shades of Panchavatí seek;
That tranquil spot is bright and fair,
And Sítá will be happy there.
Not far remote from here it lies,
A grove to charm thy loving eyes,
Godávarí’s pure stream is nigh:
There Sítá’s days will sweetly fly.
Pure, lovely, rich in many a charm,
O hero of the mighty arm,
‘Tis gay with every plant and fruit,
And throngs of gay buds never mute.
Thou, true to virtue’s path, hast might
To screen each trusting anchorite,
And wilt from thy new home defend
The hermits who on thee depend.
Now yonder, Prince, direct thine eyes
Where dense Madhúka 1 woods arise:
Pierce their dark shade, and issuing forth
Turn to a fig-tree on the north:
Then onward up a sloping mead
Flanked by a hill the way will lead:
There Panchavatí, ever gay
With ceaseless bloom, thy steps will stay,’
The hermit ceased: the princely two
With seemly honours bade adieu:
With reverential awe each youth
Bowed to the saint whose word was truth,
And then, dismissed with Sítá, they
To Panchavatí took their way.
Thus when each royal prince had grasped
His warrior’s mighty bow, and clasped
His quiver to his side,
With watchful eyes along the road
The glorious saint Agastya showed,
Dauntless in fight the brothers strode,
And Sítá with them hied.
Then as the son of Raghu made
His way to Panchavatí’s shade,
A mighty vulture he beheld
Of size and strength unparalleled.
The princes, when the bird they saw,
Approached with reverence and awe,
And as his giant form they eyed,
‘Tell who thou art,’ in wonder cried.
The bird, as though their hearts to gain,
Addressed them thus in gentlest strain;
‘In me, dear sons, the friend behold
Your royal father loved of old.’
He spoke: nor long did Ráma wait
His sire’s dear friend to venerate:
He bade the bird declare his name
And the high race of which he came.
When Raghu’s son had spoken, he
Declared his name and pedigree,
His words prolonging to disclose
How all the things that be arose:
‘List while I tell, O Raghu’s son,
The first-born Fathers, one by one,
Great Lords of Life, whence all in earth
And all in heaven derive their birth.
First Kardam heads the glorious race
Where Vikrit holds the second place,
With S’esha, Sans’ray next in line,
And Bahuputra’s might divine.
Then Sthánu and Maríchi came,
Atri, and Kratu’s forceful frame.
Pulastya followed, next to him
Angiras’ name shall ne’er be dim.
Prachetas, Pulah next, and then
Daksha, Vivasvat praised of men:
Aríshtanemi next, and last
Kas’yap in glory unsurpassed.
From Daksha,—fame the tale has told—
Three-score bright daughters sprang of old.
Of these fair-waisted nymphs the great
Lord Kas’yap sought and wedded eight,
Aditi, Diti, Kálaká,
Támrá, Danú, and Analá,
And Krodhavasá swift to ire,
And Manu [19] glorious as her sire.
Then when the mighty Kas’yap cried
Delighted to each tender bride:
‘Sons shalt thou bear, to rule the three
Great worlds, in might resembling me,’
[ p. 246 ]
Aditi, Diti, and Danú
Obeyed his will as consorts true,
And Kálaká; but all the rest
Refused to hear their lord’s behest.
First Aditi conceived, and she,
Mother of thirty Gods and three,
The Vasus and A’dityas bare,
Kudras, and A’svins, heavenly pair.
Of Diti sprang the Daityas: fame
Delights to laud their ancient name.
In days of yore their empire dread
O’er earth and woods and ocean spread.
Danú was mother of a child,
O hero, As’vagríva styled,
And Narak next and Kálak came
Of Kálaká, celestial dame.
Of Támrá, too, five daughters bright
In deathless glory sprang to light.
Ennobling fame still keeps alive
The titles of the lovely five:
Immortal honour still she claims
For Kraunchí, Bhasí, S’yení’s names.
And wills not that the world forget
S’ukí or Dhritaráshtrí yet.
Then Kraunchí bare the crane and owl,
And Bhásí tribes of water fowl:
Vultures and hawks that race through air
With storm-fleet pinions S’yení bare.
All swans and geese on mere and brook
Their birth from Dhritaráshtrí took,
And all the river-haunting brood
Of ducks, a countless multitude.
From S’ukí Nalá sprang, who bare
Dame Vinatá surpassing fair.
From fiery Krodhavas’á, ten
Bright daughters sprang, O King of men:
Mrigí and Mrigamadá named,
Hari and Bhadiamadá famed,
S’árdúlí, S’vetá fair to see,
Mátangi bright, and Surabhi,
Surasá marked with each fair sign,
And Kadrumá, all maids divine.
Mrigí, O prince without a peer,
Was mother of the herds of deer,
The bear, the yak, the mountain roe
Their birth to Mrigamandá owe;
And Bhadramadá joyed to be
Mother of fair Irávatí,
Who bare Airávat, [20] huge of mould,
Mid warders of the earth enrolled,
From Harí lordly lions trace,
With monkeys of the wild, their race.
From the great dame S’árdúlí styled
Sprung pards, Lángúrs, [21] and tigers wild.
Mátangi, Prince, gave birth to all
Mátangas, elephants strong and tall,
And S’vet’a bore the beasts who stand
One at each wind, earth’s warder band. [22]
Next Surabhí the Goddess bore
Two heavenly maids, O Prince, of yore,
Gandharvi—dear *as fa??* is she—
And her sweet sister Rohiní.
With kine this daughter filled each mead,
And bright Gandharví bore the steed. [23]
Surasá bore the serpents: [24] all
The snakes Kadrú their mother call.
Then Manu, high-souled Kas’yap’s [25] wife,
To all the race of men gave life,
The Bráhmans first, the Kshatriya caste,
Then Vais’yas, and the S’údras last.
Sprang from her mouth the Brahman race;
Her chest the Kshatriyas’ natal place:
The Vais’yas from her thighs,‘tis said,
The S’údras from her feet were bred.
From Analá all trees that hang
Their fair fruit-laden branches sprang.
The child of beauteous S’ukí bore
Vinatá, as I taught before:
And Surasá and Kadrú were
Born of one dame, a noble pair.
Kadrú gave birth to countless snakes
That roam the earth in woods and brakes.
Arun and Garud swift of flight
By V’inatá were given to light,
And sons’ of Arun red as morn
Sampati first, then I was born,
Me then, O tamer of the toe,
Jutáyus, son of S’yení, know.
Thy ready helper will I be,
And guard thy house, if thou agree:
When thou and Lakshman urge the chase
By Sítá’s side shall be my place.’
With courteous thanks for promised aid,
The prince, to rapture stirred,
Bent low, and due obeisance paid,
Embraced the royal bird.
[ p. 247 ]
He often in the days gone by
Had heard his father tell
How, linked with him in friendship’s tie,
He loved Jatáyus well.
He hastened to his trusted friend
His darling to confide,
And through the wood his steps to bend
By strong Jatáyus’ side.
On to the grove, with Lakshman near,
The prince his way pursued
To free those pleasant shades from fear
And slay the giant brood.
Arrived at Panchavatí’s shade
Where silvan life and serpents strayed,
Ráma in words like these addressed
Lakshman of vigour unrepressed:
‘Brother, our home is here: behold
The grove of which the hermit told:
The bowers of Panchavatí see
Made fair by every blooming tree.
Now, brother, bend thine eyes around;
With skilful glance survey the grouud:
Here be some spot selected, best
Approved for gentle hermits’ rest,
Where thou, the Maithil dame, and I
May dwell while seasons sweetly fly.
Some pleasant spot be chosen where
Pure waters gleam and trees are fair,
Some nook where flowers and wood are found
And sacred grass and springs abound.’
Then Lakshman, Sitá standing by,
Raised reverent hands, and made reply:
‘A hundred years shall flee, and still
Will I obey my brothers will:
Select thyself a pleasant spot;
Be mine the care to rear the cot.’
The glorious chieftain, pleased to hear
That loving speech that soothed his ear,
Selected with observant care
A spot with every charm most fair.
He stood within that calm retreat,
A shade for hermits’ home most meet,
And thus Sumitrá’s son addressed,
While his dear hand in his he pressed:
'See, see this smooth and lovely glade
Which flowery trees encircling shade:
Do thou, beloved Lakshman rear
A pleasant cot to lodge us here.
I see beyond that feathery brake
The gleaming of a lilied lake,
Where flowers in sunlike glory throw
Fresh odours from the wave below.
Agastva’s words now find we true,
He told the charms which here we view:
Here are the trees that blossom o’er
Godávarí’s most lovely shore.
Whose pleasant flood from side to side
With swans and geese is beautified,
And fair banks crowded with the deer
That steal from every covert near.
The peacock’s cry is loud and shrill
From many a tall and lovely hill,
Green-belted by the trees that wave
Full blossoms o’er the rock and cave.
Like elephants whose huge fronts glow
With painted streaks, the mountains show
Long lines of gold and silver sheen
With copper’s darker hues between.
With every tree each hill is graced,
Where creepers blossom interlaced.
Look where the Sál’s long branches sway,
And palms their fanlike leaves display;
The date-tree And the Jak are near,
And their long stems Tamálas rear.
See the tall Mango lift his head,
As’okas all their glory spread,
The Ketak her sweet buds unfold,
And Champacs hang their cups of gold. [26]
The spot is pure and pleasant here
Are multitudes of birds and deer.
O Lakshman, with our father’s friend
What happy hours we here shall spend!’
He spoke: the conquering Lakshman heard.
Obedient to his brother’s word.
Raised by his toil a cottage stood
To shelter Ráma in the wood
Of ample size, with leaves o’erlaid,
Of hardened earth the walls were made.
The strong bamboos his hands had felled
For pillars fair the roof upheld,
And rafter, beam, and lath supplied
Well interwrought from side to side.
Then Samí [27] boughs he deftly spread
Enlaced with knotted cord o’erhead,
Well thatched above from ridge to eaves
With holy grass, and reed, and leaves.
The mighty chief with careful toil
Had cleared the ground and smoothed the soil
[ p. 248 ]
Where now, his loving labour done,
Rose a fair home for Raghu’s son.
Then when his work was duly wrought,
Godávarís sweet stream he sought,
Bathed, plucked the lilies, and a store
Of fruit and berries homeward bore.
Then sacrifice he duly paid,
And wooed the Gods their hopes to aid,
And then to Ráma proudly showed
The cot prepared for his abode,
Then Raghu’s son with Sítá gazed
Upon the home his hands had raised,
And transport thrilled his bosom through
His leafy hermitage to view.
The glorious son of Raghu round
His brother’s neck his arms enwound,
And thus began his sweet address
Of deep-felt joy and gentleness:
‘Well pleased am I, dear lord, to see
This noble work performed by thee.
For this,—sole grace I can bestow,—
About thy neck mine arms I throw.
So wise art thou, thy breast is filled
With grateful thoughts, in duty skilled,
Our mighty father, free from stain,
In thee, his offspring, lives again.’
Thus spoke the prince, who lent a grace
To fortune, pride of Raghu’s race;
Then in that spot whose pleasant shade
Gave store of fruit, content he stayed.
With Lakshman and his Maithil spouse
He spent his day’s neath sheltering boughs,
As happy as a God on high
Lives in his mansion in the sky.
While there the high-souled hero spent
His tranquil hours in sweet content,
The glowing autumn passed, and then
Came winter so beloved of men.
One morn, to bathe, at break of day
To the fair stream he took his way.
Behind him, with the Maithil dame
Bearing a pitcher Lakshman came,
And as he went the mighty man
Thus to his brother chief began:
‘The time is come, to thee more dear
Than all the months that mark the year
The gracious seasons’ joy and pride,
By which the rest are glorified.
A robe of hoary rime is spread
O’er earth, with cold engarlanded.
The streams we loved no longer please,
But near the fire we take our ease,
Now pious men to God and shade
Offer young corn’s fresh sprouted blade,
And purge away their sins with fire
Bestowed in humble sacrifice.
Rich stores of milk delight the swain,
And hearts are cheered that longed for gain.
Proud kings whose breasts for conquests glow
Lead bannered troops to smite the foe.
Dark is the north: the Lord of Day
To Yama’s south [28] has turned away:
And she—sad widow—shines no more,
Reft of the bridal mark [29] she wore.
Himálaya’s hill, ordained of old
The treasure-house of frost and cold,
Scarce conscious of the feebler glow,
Is truly now the Lord of Snow.
Warmed by the noontide’s genial rays
Delightful are the glorious days:
But how we shudder at the chill
Of evening shadows and the rill!
How weak the sun, how cold the breeze!
How white the rime on grass and trees!
The leaves are sere, the woods have lost
Their blossoms killed by nipping frost.
Neath open skies we sleep no more:
December’s nights with rime are hoar:
Their triple watch [30] in length extends
With hours the shortened daylight lends.
No more the moon’s sun-borrowed rays
Are bright, involved in misty haze,
As when upon the mirror’s sheen
The breath’s obscuring cloud is seen.
E’en at the full the faint beams fail
To struggle through the darksome veil:
Changed like her hue, they want the grace
That parts not yet from Sítá’s face.
Cold is the western wind, but how
Its piercing chill is heightened now,
Blowing at early morning twice
As furious with its breath of ice!
See how the dewy tears they weep
The barley, wheat, and woodland steep,
Where, as the sun goes up the sky.
The curlew and the sáras cry.
See where the rice plants scarce uphold
Their full ears tinged with paly gold,
Bending their ripe heads slowly down
Fair as the date tree’s flowery crown.
Though now the sun has mounted high
Seeking the forehead of the sky,
Such mist obscures his struggling beams,
No bigger than the moon he seems.
Though weak at first, his rays at length
Grow pleasant in their noonday strength,
And where a while they chance to fall
Fling a faint splendour over all.
[ p. 249 ]
See, o’er the woods where grass is wet
With hoary drops that cling there yet,
With soft light clothing earth and bough
There steals a tender glory now.
Yon elephant who longs to drink,
Still standing on the river’s brink,
Plucks back his trunk in shivering haste
From the cold wave he fain would taste.
The very fowl that haunt the mere
Stand doubtful on the bank, and fear
To dip them in the wintry wave
As cowards dread to meet the brave.
The frost of night, the rime of dawn
Bind flowerless trees and glades of lawn:
Benumbed in apathetic chill
Of icy chains they slumber still.
You hear the hidden sáras cry
From floods that wrapped in vapour lie,
And frosty-shining sands reveal
Where the unnoticed rivers steal.
The hoary rime of dewy night,
And suns that glow with tempered light
Lend fresh cool flavours to the rill
That sparkles from the tompost hill.
The cold has killed the lily’s pride:
Leaf, filament, and flower have died:
With chilling breath rude winds have blown,
The withered stalk is left alone.
At this gay time, O noblest chief,
The faithful Bharat, worn by grief,
Lives in the royal town where he
Spends weary hours for love of thee.
From titles, honour, kingly sway,
From every joy he turns away:
Couched on cold earth, his days are passed
With scanty fare and hermit’s fast.
This moment from his humble bed
He lifts, perhaps, his weary head,
And girt by many a follower goes
To bathe where silver Sarjú flows.
How, when the frosty morn is dim,
Shall Sarjú be a bath for him
Nursed with all love and tender care,
So delicate and young and fair.
How bright his hue! his brilliant eye
With the broad lotus leaf may vie.
By fortune stamped for happy fate,
His graceful form is tall aud straight.
In duty skilled, his words are truth:
He proudly rules each lust of youth.
Though his strong arm smites down the foe,
In gentle speech his accents flow.
Yet every joy has he resigned
And cleaves to thee with heart and mind.
Thus by the deeds that he has done
A name in heaven has Bharat won,
For in his life he follows yet
Thy steps, O banished anchoret.
Thus faithful Bharat, nobly wise,
The proverb of the world belies:
‘No men, by mothers’ guidance led,
The footsteps of their fathers tread.’
How could Kaikeyí, blest to be
Spouse of the king our sire, and see
A son like virtuous Bharat, blot
Her glory with so foul a plot!’
Thus in fraternal love he spoke,
And from his lips reproaches broke:
But Ráma grieved to hear him chide
The absent mother, and replied:
'Cease, O beloved, cease to blame
Our royal father’s second dame.
Still speak of Bharat first in place
Of old Ikshváku’s princely race.
My heart, so firmly bent but now
To dwell in woods and keep my vow,
Half melting as I hear thee speak
Of Bharat’s love, grows soft and weak,
With tender joy I bring to mind
His speeches ever sweet and kind.
That dear as Amrit took the sense
With most enchanting influence.
Ah, when shall I, no more to part,
Meet Bharat of the mighty heart?
When, O my brother, when shall we
The good and brave S’atrughna see?’
Thus as he poured his fond lament
The son of Raghu onward went:
They reached the river, and the three
Bathed them in fair Godávarí.
Libations of the stream they paid
To every deity and shade,
With hymns of praise, the Sun on high
And sinless Gods to glorify.
Fresh from the purifying tide
Resplendent Ráma came,
With Lakshman ever by his side,
And the sweet Maithil dame.
So Rudra shines by worlds adored,
In glory undefiled,
When Nandi 1 stands beside his lord,
And King Himálaya’s child. 2
The bathing and the prayer were o’er;
He turned him from the grassy shore,
And with his brother and his spouse
Sought his fair home beneath the boughs,
Sitá and Lakshman by his side,
On to his cot the hero hied,
And after rites at morning due
Within the leafy shade withdrew.
[ p. 250 ]
Then, honoured by the devotees,
As royal Ráma sat at ease,
With Sítá near him, o’er his head
A canopy of green boughs spread,
He shone as shines the Lord of Night
By Chitrá’s [31] side, his dear delight.
With Lakshman there he sat and told
Sweet stories of the days of old,
And as the pleasant time he spent
With heart upon each tale intent,
A giantess, by fancy led,
Came wandering to his leafy shed.
Fierce S’úrpanakhí,—her of yore
The Ten-necked tyrant’s mother bore,—
Saw Ráma with his noble mien
Bright as the Gods in heaven are seen;
Him from whose brow a glory gleamed,
Like lotus leaves his full eyes beamed:
Long-armed, of elephantine gait,
With hair close coiled in hermit plait:
In youthful vigour, nobly framed,
By glorious marks a king proclaimed:
Like some bright lotus lustrous-hued,
With young Kandarpa’s [32] grace endued:
As there like Indra’s self he shone,
She loved the youth she gazed upon.
She grim of eye and foul of face
Loved his sweet glance and forehead’s grace:
She of unlovely figure, him
Of stately form and shapely limb:
She whose dim locks disordered hung,
Him whose bright hair on high brows clung:
She whose fierce accents counselled fear,
Him whose soft tones were sweet to hear:
She whose dire form with age was dried,
Him radiant in his youthful pride:
She whose false lips maintained the wrong,
Him in the words of virtue strong:
She cruel-hearted, stained with sin,
Him just in deed and pure within.
She, hideous fiend, a thing to hate,
Him formed each eye to captivate:
Fierce passion in her bosom woke,
And thus to Raghu’s son she spoke:
'With matted hair above thy brows,
With bow and shaft and this thy spouse,
How hast thou sought in hermit dress
The giant-haunted wilderness?
What dost thou here? The cause explain:
Why art thou come, and what to gain?’
As S’úrpanakhá questioned so,
Ráma, the terror of the foe,
In answer to the monster’s call,
With fearless candour told her all.
‘King Das’aratha reigned of old,
Like Gods celestial brave and bold.
I am his eldest son and heir,
And Ráma is the name I bear.
This brother, Lakshman, younger born,
Most faithful love to me has sworn.
My wife, this princess, dear to fame,
Is Sitá the Videhan dame.
Obedient to my sire’s behest
And by the queen my mother pressed,
To keep the law and merit win,
I sought this wood to harbour in.
But speak, for I of thee in turn
Thy name, and race, and sire would learn.
Thou art of giant race, I ween.
Changing at will thy form and mien.
Speak truly, and the cause declare
That bids thee to these shades repair.’
Thus Ráma spoke: the demon heard,
And thus replied by passion spurred:
‘Of giant race, what form soe’er
My fancy wills, 'tis mine to wear.
Named S’úrpanakhá here I stray,
And where I walk spread wild dismay.
King Rávan is my brother: fame
Has taught perchance his dreaded name,
Strong Kumbhakama slumbering deep
In chains of never-ending sleep:
Vibhíshan of the duteous mind.
In needs unlike his giant kind:
Dúshan and Khara, brave and bold
Whose fame by every tongue is told:
Their might by mine is far surpassed;
But when, O best of men, I cast
These fond eyes on thy form, I see
My chosen love and lord in thee.
Endowed with wondrous might am I:
Where’er my fancy leads I fly.
The poor misshapen Sitá leave,
And me, thy worthier bride receive.
Look on my beauty, and prefer
A spouse more meet than one like her:
I’ll eat that ill-formed woman there:
Thy brother too her fate shall share.
But come, beloved, thou shalt roam
With me through all our woodland home;
Each varied grove with me shalt seek,
And gaze upon each mountain peak.’
As thus she spoke, the monster gazed
With sparkling eyes where passion blazed:
Then he, in lore of language learned,
This answer eloquent returned:
* * * * *
On her ensnared in Ráma’s net
His eyes the royal Rama set,
[ p. 251 ]
And thus, her passion to beguile,
Addressed her with a gentle smile:
'I have a wife: behold her here,
My Sítá ever true and dear:
And one like thee will never brook
Upon a rival spouse to look.
But there my brother Lakshman stands:
Unchained is he by nuptial bands:
A youth heroic, loved of all,
Gracious and gallant, fair and tall.
With winning looks, most nobly bred,
Unmatched till now, he longs to wed.
Meet to enjoy thy youthful charms,
O take him to thy loving arms.
Enamoured on his bosom lie,
Fair damsel of the radiant eye,
As the warm sunlight loves to rest
Upon her darling Meru’s breast.’
The hero spoke, the monster heard,
While passion still her bosom stirred.
Away from Ráma’s side she broke,
And thus in turn to Lakshman spoke:
‘Come, for thy bride take me who shine
In fairest grace that suits with thine.
Thou by my side from grove to grove
Of Dandak’s wild in bliss shalt rove.’
Then Lakshman, skilled in soft address,
Wooed by the amorous giantess,
With art to turn her love aside,
To Súrpanakhí thus replied:
'And can so high a dame agree
The slave-wife of a slave to be?
I, lotus-hued! in good and ill
Am bondsman to my brother’s will.
Be thou, fair creature radiant-eyed,
My honoured brother’s younger bride:
With faultless tint and dainty limb,
A happy wife, bring joy to him.
He from his spouse grown old and grey,
Deformed, untrue, will turn away,
Her withered charms will gladly leave,
And to his fair young darling cleave.
For who could be so fond and blind,
O loveliest of all female kind,
To love another dame and slight
Thy beauties rich in all delight?’
Thus Lakshman praised in scornful jest
The long-toothed fiend with loathly breast,
Who fondly heard his speech, nor knew
His mocking words were aught but true.
Again inflamed with love she fled
To Ráma, in his leafy shed
Where Sítá rested by his side,
And to the mighty victor cried:
'What, Ráma, canst thou blindly cling
To this old false misshapen thing?
Wilt thou refuse the charms of youth
For withered breast and grinning tooth!
Canst thou this wretched creature prize
And look on me with scornful eyes?
This aged crone this very hour
Before thy face will I devour:
Then joyous, from all rivals free.
Through Dandak will I stray with thee.’
She spoke, and with a glance of flame
Rushed on the fawn-eyed Maithil dame:
So would a horrid meteor mar
Fair Rohiní’s soft beaming star.
But as the furious fiend drew near,
Like Death’s dire noose which chills with fear,
The mighty chief her purpose stayed,
And spoke, his brother to upbraid:
‘Ne’er should we jest with creatures rude.
Of savage race and wrathful mood.
Think, Lakshman, think how nearly slain
My dear Videhan breathes again.
Let not the hideous wretch escape
Without a mark to mar her shape.
Strike, lord of men, the monstrous fiend,
Deformed, and foul, and evil-miened.’
He spoke: then Lakshman’s wrath rose high,
And there before his brother’s eye,
He drew that sword which none could stay,
And cleft her nose and ears away.
Noseless and earless, torn and maimed,
With fearful shrieks the fiend exclaimed,
And frantic in her wild distress
Resought the distant wilderness.
Deformed, terrific, huge, and dread.
As on she moved, her gashes bled,
And groan succeeded groan as loud
As roars, ere rain, the thunder cloud.
Still on the fearful monster passed,
While streams of blood kept falling fast,
And with a roar, and arms outspread
Within the boundless wood she fled.
To Janasthán the monster flew;
Fierce Khara there she found,
With chieftains of the giant crew
In thousands ranged around.
Before his awful feet she bent
And fell with piercing cries,
As when a bolt in swift descent
Comes flashing from the skies.
There for a while with senses dazed
Silent she lay and scared:
At length her drooping head she raised,
And all the tale declared,
How Ráma, Lakshman, and the dame
Had reached that lonely place:
Then told her injuries and shame,
And showed her bleeding face.
* * * * *
When Khara saw his sister lie
With blood-stained limbs and troubled eye,
[ p. 252 ]
Wild fury in his bosom woke,
And thus the monstrous giant spoke;
'Arise, my sister; cast away
This numbing terror and dismay,
And straight the impious hand declare
That marred those features once so fair.
For who his finger tip will lay
On the black snake in childish play,
And unattacked, with idle stroke
His poison-laden fang provoke?
Ill-fated fool, he little knows
Death’s noose around his neck he throws,
Who rashly met thee, and a draught
Of life-destroying poison quaffed.
Strong, fierce as death, 'twas thine to choose
Thy way at will, each shape to use;
In power and might like one of us:
What hand has maimed and marred thee thus?
What God or fiend this deed has wrought,
What bard or sage of lofty thought
Was armed with power supremely great
Thy form to mar and mutilate?
In all the worlds not one I see
Would dare a deed to anger me:
Not Indra’s self, the Thousand-eyed,
Beneath whose hand fierce Páka [33] died.
My life-destroying darts this day
His guilty breath shall rend away,
E’en as the thirsty wild swan drains
Each milk-drop that the wave retains.
Whose blood in foaming streams shall burst
O’er the dry ground which lies athirst,
When by my shafts transfixed and slain
He falls upon the battle plain?
From whose dead corpse shall birds of air
The mangled flesh and sinews tear,
And in their gory feast delight,
When I have slain him in the fight?
Not God or bard or wandering ghost,
No giant of our mighty host
Shall step between us, or avail
To save the wretch when I assail.
Collect each scattered sense, recall
Thy troubled thoughts, and tell me all.
What wretch attacked thee in the way,
And quelled thee in victorious fray?’
His breast with burning fury fired,
Thus Khara of the fiend inquired:
And then with many a tear and sigh
Thus S’úrpanakhá made reply:
''Tis Das’aratha’s sons, a pair
Strong, resolute, and young, and fair:
In coats of dark and blackdeer’s hide,
And like the radiant lotus eyed:
On berries roots and fruit they feed,
And lives of saintly virtue lead:
With ordered senses undefiled,
Ráma and Lakshman are they styled.
Fair as the Minstrels’ King 1b are they,
And stamped with signs of regal sway.
I know not if the heroes trace
Their line from Gods or Dánav 2b race.
There by these wondering eyes between
The noble youths a dame was seen,
Fair, blooming, young, with dainty waist,
And all her bright apparel graced.
For her with ready heart and mind
The royal pair their strength combined,
And brought me to this last distress,
Like some lost woman, comfortless.
Perfidious wretch! my soul is fain
Her foaming blood and theirs to drain.
O let me head the vengeful fight,
And with this hand my murderers smite.
Come, brother, hasten to fulfil
This longing of my eager will.
On to the battle! Let me drink
Their lifeblood as to earth they sink.’
Then Khara, by his sister pressed,
Inflamed with fury, gave his hest
To twice seven giants of his crew,
Fierce as the God of death to view:
‘Two men equipped with arms, who wear
Deerskin and bark and matted hair,
Leading a beauteous dame, have strayed
To the wild gloom of Dandak’s shade.
These men, this cursed woman slay,
And hasten back without delay,
That this my sister’s lips may be
Red with the lifeblood of the three.
Giants, my wounded sister longs
To take this vengeance for her wrongs.
With speed her dearest wish fulfil,
And with your might these creatures kill.
Soon as your matchless strength shall lay
These brothers dead in battle fray,
She in triumphant joy will laugh,
And their hearts’ blood delighted quaff.’
The giants heard the words he said,
And forth with S’úrpanakhá sped,
As mighty clouds in autumn fly
Urged by the wind along the sky.
* * * * *
Fierce S’úrpanakhá with her train
To Ráma’s dwelling came again,
And to the eager giants showed
Where Sítá and the youths abode.
Within the leafy cot they spied
The hero by his consort’s side,
And faithful Lakshman ready still
To wait upon his brother’s will.
[ p. 253 ]
Then noble Ráma raised his eye
And saw the giants standing nigh,
And then, as nearer still they pressed.
His glorious brother thus addressed,
‘Be thine a while, my brother dear,
To watch o’er Sítá’s safety here,
And I will slay these creatures who
The footsteps of my spouse pursue.’
He spoke, and reverent Lakshman heard
Submissive to his brother’s word.
The son of Raghu, virtuous-souled,
Strung his great bow adorned with gold,
And, with the weapon in his hand,
Addressed him to the giant band:
‘Ráma and Lakshman we, who spring
From Das’aratha, mighty King;
We dwell a while with Sítá here
In Dandak forest wild and drear.
On woodland roots and fruit we feed,
Aud lives of strictest rule we lead.
Say why would ye our lives oppress
Who sojourn in the wilderness.
Sent hither by the hermits’ prayer
With bow and darts unused to spare,
For vengeance am I come to slay
Your sinful band in battle fray.
Rest as ye are: remain content,
Nor try the battle’s dire event.
Unless your offered lives ye spurn,
O rovers of the night, return.’
They listened while the hero spoke,
Aud fury in each breast awoke.
The Bráhman-slayers raised on high
Their mighty spears and made reply:
They spoke with eyes aglow with ire,
While Ráma’s burnt with vengeful tire,
Aud answered thus, in fury wild,
That peerless chief whose tones were mild:
‘Nay thou hast angered, overbold,
Khara our lord, the mighty-souled,
And for thy sin, in battle strife
Shalt yield to us thy forfeit life.
No power hast thou alone to stand
Against the numbers of our band.
‘Twere vain to match thy single might
Against us in the front of fight.
When we equipped for fight advance
With brandished pike and mace and lance,
Thou, vanquished in the desperate field,
Thy bow, thy strength, thy life shalt yield.’
With bitter words and threatening mien
Thus furious spoke the fierce fourteen,
And raising scymitar and spear
On Ráma rushed in wild career.
Their levelled spears the giant crew
Against the matchless hero threw.
His bow the son of Raghu bent,
And twice seven shafts to meet them sent,
And every javelin sundered fell
By the bright darts he aimed so well.
The hero saw: his anger grew
To fury: from his side he drew
Fresh sunbright arrows pointed keen,
In number, like his foes, fourteen.
His bow he grasped, the string he drew,
And gazing on the giant crew,
As Indra casts the levin, so
Shot forth his arrrows at the foe.
The hurtling arrows, stained with gore,
Through the fiends’ breasts a passage tore,
And in the earth lay buried deep
As serpents through an ant-hill creep
Like trees uptorn by stormy blast
The shattered fiends to earth were cast,
And there with mangled bodies they,
Bathed in their blood and breathless, lay.
With fainting heart and furious eye
The demon saw her champions die.
With drying wounds that scarcely bled
Back to her brother’s home she fled.
Oppressed with pain, with loud lament
At Khara’s feet the monster bent.
There like a plant whence slowly come
The trickling drops of oozy gum,
With her grim features pale with pain
She poured her tears in ceaseless rain,
There routed S’úrpanakhá lay,
And told her brother all,
The issue of the bloody fray,
Her giant champions’ fall.
* * * * *
240:1 One of the hermits who had followed Ráma. ↩︎
240:2 The lake of the five nymphs. ↩︎
241:1 The holy fig-tree. ↩︎
242:1 The bread-fruit tree, Artocarpus integri folia. ↩︎
242:2 A fine timber tree, Shores robusta. ↩︎
243:1 The God of fire. ↩︎
243:2 Kuera, the God of riches. ↩︎
243:3 The Sun. ↩︎
243:4 Brahma, the creator. ↩︎
243:5 Siva. ↩︎
243:6 The Wind-God. ↩︎
243:7 The God of the sea. ↩︎
243:8 A class of demi-gods, eight in number. ↩︎
243:9 The holiest text of the Vedas, deified. ↩︎
243:10 Vásaki ↩︎
243:11 Garnd * ↩︎
243:12 The War-God. ↩︎
244:1 One of the Pleiades generally regarded as the model of wifely excellence. ↩︎
245:1b ‘I should have doubted whether Manu could have been the right reading here, but that it occurs again in verse 29, where it is in like manner followed in verse 31 by Analá, so that it would certainly seem that the name Manu is intended to stand for a female, the daughter of Daksha. The Gauda recension, followed by Signor Gorresio (III 20, 12), adopts an entirely different reading at the end of the line, viz. Balám Atibalám api, “Balá and Atibilá,” instead of Manu and Analá. I see that Professor Roth s.v. adduces the authority of the Amara Kosha and of the Commentator on Pánini for stating that the word sometimes means “the wife of Manu.” In the following text of the Mahábhárata I. 2553. also, Manu appears to be the name of a female: Anaradyam, Manum, Vansám, Asurám, Márganapriyám, Anúpám, Subhagdm, Bhásím iti Prádhá vyajayata. “Prádhá (daughter of Daksha) bore Anavadyá, Manu, Vans’á, Márganaprivá, Anúpá, Subhagá. and Bhásí.”’ Muir’s Sanskrit Text, Vol. I. p. 116. ↩︎
246:1 The elephant of Indra. ↩︎
246:2 Golingúlas, described as a kind of monkey, of a black colour, and having a tail like a cow. ↩︎
246:1b Eight elephants attached to the four quarters and intermediate points of the compass, to support and guard the earth. ↩︎
246:2b Some scholars identify the centaurs with the Gandharvas. ↩︎
246:3b The hooded serpents, says the commentator Tírtha, were the offspring of Surasá: all others of Kadrú. ↩︎
246:4b The text reads Kás’yapa, “a descendant of Kas’yapa,” who according to Rám. II. l0, 6, ought to be Vivasvat. But as it is stated in the preceding part of this passage III. 14, 11 f. that Manu was one of Kasyapa’s eight wives, we must here read Kasyapa. The Ganda recension reads (III, 20, 30) Manur manushyams cha tutha janayámása Raghana**, instead of the corresponding line in the Bombay edition.’ Muir’s Sanskrit Text, Vol I, p. 117. ↩︎
247:1 The original verses merely name the trees. I have been obliged to amplify slightly and to omit some quas versu dicere non est; e.g. the tinis’a (Dalbergia ougeiniensis), punnága (Rottleria tinctoria) tilaka (not named), syandana (Dalbergia ougeiniensis again) vandana (unknown) nipa (Nauclea Kadamba) lakucha (Artoearpus lacucha), dhava (Grislea tomentosa), As’vakarna (another name for the Sál), S’amí (Acacia Suma) khad*ra (Mimosa*catechu) kins’*ka (Buteafrondosa) pátala (Bignonia suaveolens). ↩︎
247:2 Acacia Suma. ↩︎
248:1 The south is supposed to be the residence of the departed. ↩︎
248:2 The sun. ↩︎
248:3 The night is divided into three watches of four hours each. ↩︎
250:1 A star, one of the favourites of the Moon. ↩︎
250:2 The God of love. ↩︎
252:1 A demon slain by Indra. ↩︎