Against his judgment sorely pressed
By his imperious lord’s behest,
Márícha threats of death defied
And thus with bitter words replied:
‘Ah, who, my King, with sinful thought
This wild and wicked counsel taught,
By which destruction soon will fall
On thee, thy sons, thy realm and all?
Who is the guilty wretch who sees
With envious eye thy blissful ease,
And by this plan, so falsely shown,
Death’s gate for thee has open thrown!
With souls impelled by mean degire
Thy foes against thy life conspire.
They urge thee to destruction’s brink,
And gladly would they see thee sink.
Who with base thought to work thee woe
This fatal road has dared to show,
And, triumph in his wicked eye,
Would see thee enter io and die!
To all thy counsellors, untrue,
The punishment of death is due,
Who see thee tempt the dangerous way,
Nor strain each nerve thy foot to stay.
Wise lords, whose king, by passion led,
The path of sin begins to tread,
Restrain him while there yet is time:
But thine,—they see nor heed the crime.
These by their master’s will obtain
Mirit and fame and joy and gain.
“Tis only by their master’s grace
That servaits hold their lofty place.
But when tbc monarch stoops to sin
They lose each joy they strive to win,
And all the people people high and low
Fall in the common overthrow.
[ p. 277 ]
Merit and fame and honour spring,
Best of the mighty, from the king.
So all should strive with heart and will
To keep the king from every ill.
Pride, violence, and sullen hate
Will ne’er maintain a monarch’s state,
And those who cruel deeds advise
Must perish when their master dies,
Like drivers with their cars o’erthrown
In places rough with root and stone.
The good whose holy lives were spent
On duty’s highest laws intent,
With wives and children many a time
Have perished for another’s crime.
Hapless are they whose sovereign lord,
Opposed to all, by all abhorred,
Is cruel-hearted, harsh, severe:
Thus might a jackal tend the deer.
Now all the giant race await,
Destroyed by thee, a speedy fate,
Ruled by a king so cruel-souled,
Foolish in heart and uncontrolled.
Think not I fear the sudden blow
That threatens now to lay me low:
I mourn the ruin that I see
Impending o’er thy host and thee.
Me first perchance will Ráma kill,
But soon his hand thy blood will spill.
I die, and if by Ráma slain
And not by thee, I count it gain.
Soon as the hero’s face I see
His angry eyes will murder me,
And if on her thy hands thou lay
Thy friends and thou are dead this day.
If with my help thou still must dare
The lady from her lord to tear,
Farewell to all our days are o’er,
Lanká and giants are no more.
In vain, in vain, an earnest friend,
I warn thee, King, and pray.
Thou wilt not to my prayers attend,
Or heed the words I say
So men when life is fleeting fast
And death’s sad hour is nigh,
Heedless and blinded to the last
Reject advice and die.’
Márícha thus in wild unrest
With bitter words the king addressed.
Then to his giant lord in dread,
‘Arise, and let us go,’ he said.
‘Ah, I have met that mighty lord
Armed with his shafts and bow and sword,
And if again that bow he bend
Our lives that very hour will end.
For none that warrior can provoke
And think to fly his deadly stroke.
Like Yama with his staff is he,
And his dread hand will slaughter thee.
What can I more? My words can find
No passage to thy stubborn mind.
I go, great King, thy task to share,
And my success attend thee there.’
With that reply and bold consent
The giant king was well content.
He strained Márícha to his breast
And thus with joyful words addressed:
‘There spoke a hero dauntless still,
Obedient to his master’s will,
Márícha’s proper self once more:
Some other took thy shape before.
Come, mount my jewelled car that flies.
Will-governed, through the yielding skies,
These asses, goblin-faced, shall bear
Us quickly through the fields of air.
Attract the lady with thy shape,
Then through the wood, at will, escape.
And I, when she has no defence,
Will seize the dame and bear her thence.
Again Márícha made reply,
Consent and will to signify.
With rapid speed the giants two
From the calm hermit dwelling flew,
Borne in that wondrous chariot, meet
For some great God’s celestial seat.
They from their airy path looked down
On many a wood and many a town,
On lake and river, brook and rill,
City and realm and towering hill.
Soon he whom giant hosts obeyed,
Márícha by his side, surveyed
The dark expanse of Dandak wood
Where Ráma s hermit cottage stood.
They left the flying car, whereon
The wealth of gold and jewels shone,
And thus the giant king addressed
Márícha as his hand he pressed:
'Márícha, look! before our eyes
Round Ráma’s home the plantains rise.
His hermitage is now in view:
Quick to the work we came to do!’
Thus Rávan spoke, Márícha heard
Obedient to his master’s word,
Threw off his giant shape and near
The cottage strayed a beauteous deer.
With magic power, by rapid change.
His borrowed form was fair and strange.
A sapphire tipped each horn with light;
His face was black relieved with white.
The turkis and the ruby shed
A glory from his ears and head.
His arching neck was proudly raised,
And lazuares* beneath it blazed.
With roseate bloom his flanks were dyed,
And lotus tints adorned his hide.
His shape was fair*, compact*, and slight;
[ p. 278 ]
His hoofs—were carven lazulite.
His tail with every changing glow
Displayed the hues of Indra’s bow.
With glossy skin so strangely flecked,
With tints of every gem bedecked.
A light o’er Ráma’s home he sent,
And through the wood, where’er he went.
The giant clad in that strange dress
That took the soul with loveliness,
To charm the fair Videhan’s eyes
With mingled wealth of mineral dyes,
Moved onward, cropping in his way,
The grass and grain and tender spray,
His coat with drops of silver bright,
A form to gaze on with delight,
He raised his fair neck as he went
To browse on bud and filament.
Now in the Cassia grove he strayed,
Now by the cot in plantains’ shade.
Slowly and slowly on he came
To catch the glances of the dame,
And the tall deer of splendid hue
Shone full at length in Sítá’s view.
He roamed where’er his fancy chose
Where Ráma’s leafy cottage rose.
Now near, now far, in careless ease,
He came and went among the trees.
Now with light feet he turned to fly,
Now, reassured, again drew nigh:
Now gambolled close with leap and bound,
Now lay upon the grassy ground:
Now sought the door, devoid of fear,
And mingled with the troop of deer;
Led them a little way, and thence
Again returned with confidence.
Now flying far, now turning back
Emboldened on his former track,
Seeking to win the lady’s glance
He wandered through the green expanse.
Then thronging round, the woodland deer
Gazed on his form with wondering fear;
A while they followed where he led,
Then snuffed the tainted gale and fled.
The giant, though he longed to slay
The startled quarry, spared the prey,
And mindful of the shape he wore
To veil his nature, still forbore.
Then Sítá of the glorious eye,
Returning from her task drew nigh;
For she had sought the wood to bring
Each loveliest flower of early spring.
Now would the bright-eyed lady choose
Some gorgeous bud with blending hues,
Now plucked the mango’s spray, and now
The bloom from an As’oka bough.
She with her beauteous form, unmeet
For woodland life and lone retreat,
That wondrous dappled deer beheld
Gemmed with rich pearls, unparalleled,
His silver hair the lady saw,
His radiant teeth and lips and jaw,
And gazed with rapture as her eyes
Expanded in their glad surprise.
And when the false deer’s glances fell
On her whom Ráma loved so well,
He wandered here and there, and cast
A luminous beauty as be passed;
And Janak’s child with strange delight
Kept gazing on the unwonted sight.
She stooped, her hands with flowers to fill,
But gazed upon the marvel still:
Gazed on its back and sparkling side
Where silver hues with golden vied.
Joyous was she of faultless mould,
With glossy skin like polished gold.
And loudly to her husband cried
And bow-armed Lakshman by his side:
Again, again she called in glee:
‘O come this glorious creature see;
Quick, quick, my lord, this deer to view.
And bring thy brother Lakshman too.’
As through the wood her clear tones rang,
Swift to her side the brothers sprang.
With eager eyes the grove they scanned,
And saw the deer before them stand.
But doubt was strong in Lakshman’s breast,
Who thus his thought and fear expressed:
‘Stay, for the wondrous deer we see
The fiend Márícha’s self may be.
Ere now have kings who sought this place
To take their pastime in the chase,
Met from his wicked art defeat,
And fallen slain by like deceit.
He wears, well trained in magio guile,
The figure of a deer a while,
Bright as the very sun, or place
Where dwell the gay Gaudharya race.
No deer, O Ráma, e’er was seen
Thus decked with gold und jewels’ sheen.
‘Tis magic, for the world has ne’er,
Lord of the world, shown aught so fair.’
But Sítá of the lovely smile,
A captive to the giant’s wile,
Turned Lakshman’s prudent speech aside
And thus with eager words replied:
Mv honoured lord, this deer I see
With beauty rare enraptures me.
Go, chief of mighty arm, and bring
For my delight this precious thing.
Fair creatures ot the woodland roam
Untroubled near our hermit home.
The forest cow and stag are there,
The fawn, the monkey, and the bear,
Where spotted deer delight to play,
[ p. 279 ]
And strong and beauteous Kinnars [1] stray.
But never, as they wandered by,
Has such a beauty charmed mine eye
As this with limbs so fair and slight,
So gentle, beautiful and bright.
O see, how fair it is to view
With jewels of each varied hue:
Bright as the rising moon it glows,
Lighting the wood where’er it goes.
Ah me, what form and grace are there!
Its limbs how fine, its hues how fair!
Transcending all that words express,
It takes my soul with loveliness.
O, if thou would, to please me, strive
To take the beauteous thing alive,
How thou wouldst gaze with wondering eyes
Delighted on the lovely prize!
And when our woodland life is o’er,
And we enjoy our realm once more,
The wondrous animal will grace
The chambers of my dwelling-place,
And a dear treasure will it be
To Bharat and the queens and me,
And all with rapture and amaze
Upon its heavenly form will gaze.
But if the beauteous deer, pursued,
Thine arts to take it still elude,
Strike it, O chieftain, and the akin
Will be a treasure, laid within.
O, how I long my time to pass
Sitting upon the tender grass,
With that soft fell beneath me spread
Bright with its hair of golden thread!
This strong desire, this eager will,
Befits a gentle lady ill:
But when I first beheld, its look
My breast with fascination took.
See, golden hair its flank adorns,
And sapphires tip its branching horns.
Resplendent as the lunar way,
Or the first blush of opening day,
With graceful form and radiant hue
It charmed thy heart, O chieftain, too.’
He heard her speech with willing ear,
He looked again upon the deer.
Its lovely shape his breast beguiled
Moved by the prayer of Janak’s child,
And yielding for her pleasure’s sake,
To Lakshman Ráma turned and spake:
'Mark, Lakshman, mark how Sítá’s breast
With eager longing is possessed.
To-day this deer of wondrous breed
Must for his passing beauty bleed,
Brighter than e’er in Nandan strayed,
Or Chaitraratha’s heavenly shade.
How should the groves of earth possess
Such all-surpassing loveliness!
The hair lies smooth and bright and fine,
Or waves upon each curving line,
And drops of living gold bedeck
The beauty of his side and neck.
O look, his crimson tongue between
His teeth like flaming fire is seen,
Flashing, whene’er his lips he parts,
As from a cloud the lightning darts.
O see his sunlike forehead shine
With emerald tints and almandine,
While pearly light and roseate glow
Of shells adorn his neck below.
No eye on such a deer can rest
But soft enchantment takes the breast:
No man so fair a thing behold
Ablaze with light of radiant gold.
Celestial, bright with jewels’ sheen,
Nor marvel when his eyes have seen,
A king equipped with bow and shaft
Delights in gentle forest craft,
And as in boundless woods he strays
The quarry for the venison slays.
There as he wanders with his train
A store of wealth he oft may gain.
He claims by right the precious ore.
He claims the jewels’ sparkling store.
Such gains are dearer in his eyes
Than wealth that in his chamber lies.
The dearest things his spirit knows,
Dear as the bliss which Sukra chose.
But oft the rich expected gain
Which heedless men pursue in vain.
The sage, who prudent counsels know,
Explain and in a moment show.
This best of deer, this gem of all,
To yield his precious spoils must fall,
And tender Sítá by my side
Shall sit upon the golden hide.
Ne’er could I find so rich a coat
On spotted deer or sheep or goat.
No buck or antelope has such,
So bright to view, so soft to touch.
This radiant deer and one on high
That moves in glory through the sky,
Alike in heavenly beauty are,
One on the earth and one a star.
But, brother, if thy fears be true,
And this bright creature that we view
Be fierce Márícha in disguise,
Then by this hand he surely dies.
For that dire fiend who spurns control
With bloody hand and cruel soul,
Has roamed this forest and dismayed
The holiest saints who haunt the shade.
Great archers, sprung of royal race.
Pursuing in the wood the chase,
Have fallen by his wicked art,
And now my shaft shall strike his heart.
Vatápi, by his magic power
[ p. 280 ]
Made heedless saints his flesh devour,
Then, from within their frames he rent
Forth bursting from imprisonment,
But once his art in senseless pride
Upon the mightiest saint he tried,
Agastya’s self, and caused him taste
The baited meal before him placed.
Vátápi, when the rite* was o’er,
Would take the giant form he wore,
But Saint Agastya knew his wile
And checked the giant with smile
‘Vatápi, thou with cruel spite
Hast conquered many an achorite
The noblest of the Brahman ask*—
And now thy ruin comes at last’
Now if my power he thus defies,
This giant, like Vatápi dies,
Daring to scorn a man like me,
A self subduing devotee.
Yea, as Agastya slew the foe,
My hand shall lay Mancha low
Clad in thine arms thy bow in hand,
To guard the Maithil lady stand,
With watchful eye and thoughtful breast
Keeping each word of my behest
I go, and hunting through the brake
This wondrous deer will bring or take.
Yea surely I will bring the spoil
Returning from my hunter’s toil
See, Lakshman how my contort’s eyes
Are longing for the lovely prize
This day it falls, that I may win
The treasure of so fair a skin.
Do thou and Sítá watch with care
Lest danger seize you unaware.
Swift from my bow one shaft will fly;
The stricken deer will fall and die
Then quickly will I stop the game
And bring the trophy to my dame.
Jatavus, guardian good and wise,
Our old and faithful friend,
The best and strongest bird that flies,
His willing aid will lend
The Maithil lady well protect,
For every chance provide,
And in thy tender care suspect
A foe on every side.
Thus having warned his brother hold
He grasped his sword with * gold*
And followed with the *** in went
His wr* *ght and *
Then *
And *
Soon *
The *
A while with trembling heart he fled,
The * and showed his stately head.
With sword and bow the chief pursued
Where’or the fleeing deer he viewed
Sending* from dell* and lone recess
The splendid ** his loveliness
Now full in view the creature stood
Now vanished in the depth of wood;
Now running with a languid flight,
Now like a meteor lost to sight.
With trembling limbs away he sped;
Then like the moon with clouds o’erspread
Gleamed for a moment bright between
The trees, and was again unseen
Thus in the magic deer’s disguise
Mancha lured him to the prize,
And seen a while, then lost to view,
Far from his cot the hero drew.
Still by the flying game deceived
The hunter’s heart was wroth and grieved,
And wearied with the fruitless chase
He stayed him in a shady place.
Again the river of the night
*ged the chieftain* full in sight,
Slow moving in the coppice near,
Surrounded by the woodland deer
Again the hunter sought the game
That seemed a while to court his aim:
But seized again with sudden dread,
Beyond his sight the creature fled.
Again the hero left the shade,
Again the deer before him strayed.
With surer hope and stronger will
The hunter longed his prey to kill.
Then as his soul impatient grew,
An arrow from his side he drew,
Besplendent at the sunbeam’s glow,
The crusher of the smitten foe,
With skillful bead the mighty lord
Fixed well shaft and strained the cord.
Upon the deer his eyes he bent,
And like a fiery ** went
The arrow Brahma’s self had framed,
Alive with sparks that hissed and flamed,
Like Indra’s flashing levin, true
To the false deer the missile flew
Cleaving his flesh that wonderous dart
Stood quivering in Mancha’s heart.
Scarce from the ground one foot he sprang,
Then stricken fell with deadly pang.
Ha* **, as he pressed* the ground,
He gave a roar of awful sound
And *e the wounded giant died
He threw his borrowed form aside
Remembering still his lord’s behest
He pondered in his heart how best
Sítá’s plight ** ** guard away,
And Ravan seize the helpless prey
The monster knew the time was nigh.
And called aloud with eager cry,
‘Hi*, Sítá, Lakshman* and the tone
[ p. 281 ]
He borrowed was like Ráma’s own
So by that matchless arrow cleft,
The deer’s bright form Márícha left,
Resumed his giant shape and size
And closed in death his languid eyes
When Ráma saw his awful foe
Gasp, smeared with blood, in deadly throe,
His anxious thoughts to Sítá sped,
And the wise words that Lakshman said,
That this was false Márícha’s art,
Returned again upon his heart.
He knew the foe he triumphed o’er
The name of great Márícha bore.
‘The fiend,’ he pondered, 'ere has died,
‘Ho Lakshman! ho, my Sítá!’ cried
Ah, if that cry has reached her ear,
How dire must be my darling’s fear!
And Lakshman of the mighty arm,
What thinks he in his wild alarm?
As thus he thought in sad surmise,
Each startled hair began to rise,
And when he saw the giant slain
And thought upon that cry again,
His spirit sank and terror pressed
Full sorely on the hero’s breast
Another deer he chased and struck.
He bore away the the fallen puck,
To Janasthán then turned his face
And hastened to his dwelling place.
But Sitá hearing as she thought,
Her husband’s cry with anguish fraught.
Called to her guardian, 'Lakshman, run
And in the wood seek Raghu’s son.
Scarce can my heart retain its throne,
Scarce can my life be called mine own,
Assail my powers and senses fail
At that long loud and bitter wail.
Haste to the wood with all thy speed
And save thy brother in his need
Go, save him in the distant glade
Where loud he calls, for timely aid.
He * beneath some giant foe,
A * whom * overthrown’
* to her prayer,* step he stirred
Obedient to his mother’s word
T * Janak’s child, with inflamed,
* scorn *
Sumitrá’s son, a friend *
* they brother’s foe
W* at such *
* and neglect *
* Lakshman, * of me
* couldst see,
* thy *
* thy feet so *
Thou hast no love for Ráma, no
Thy joy is vice thy thoughts are low
Hence thus unmoved thou yet canst stay
While my dear lord is far away.
If aught of ill my lord betide
Who led thee here, thy chief and guide
Ah what will be my hapless fate
Left in the wild wood desolate!’
Thus spoke the lady sad with fear.
With many a sigh and many a tear,
Still trembling like a captured doe:
And Lakshman spoke to calm her woe:
‘Videhan Queen, be sure of this,—
And at the thought thy fear dismiss,—
Thy husband’s mightier power defies
All Gods and angels of the skies,
Gandharvas, and the sons of light,
Serpents, and rovers of the night
I tell thee, of the sons of earth,
Of Gods who boast celestial birth,
Of beasts and birds and giant hosts,
Of demigods, Gandharvas ghosts,
Of awful fiends, O thou most fair,
There lives not one whose heart would dare
To meet thy Ráma in the fight,
Like Indra’s self unmatched in might.
Such idle words thou must not say
Thy Ráma lives whom none may slay.
I will not, cannot leave thee here
In the wild wood till he be near.
The mightiest strength can ne’er withstand
His eager force, his vigorous hand.
No, not the triple world allied
With all the immortal Gods beside.
Dismiss thy fear, again take heart,
Let all thy doubt and woe depart.
Thy lord, be sure, will soon be here
And bring thee back that best of deer,
Not his, not his that mournful cry,
Nor haply came it from the sky.
Some giant’s art was busy there
And framed a castle based on air
A precious pledge art thou, consigned
To me by him of noblest mind,
Nor can I fairest dame, forsake
The pledge which Ráma bade me take.
Upon our heads, O Queen, we drew
The giants’ hate when Ráma slew
Their chieftain Khara, and the shade
Of Janasthán in ruin laid.
Through all this mighty wood they rove
With varied cries from grove to grove
On * bent they wander here.
But O dismiss thy causeless fear.’
Bright flashed her eye as Lashman spoke
And forth her words of fury broke
Upon her truthful guardian, flung
With bitter taunts that pierced and stung;
‘Shame on such false compassion, base
* of thy glorious race!
* joyous sight I ween to thee
[ p. 282 ]
My lord in direst strait to see.
Thou knowest Ráma sore bested,
Or word like this thou ne’er hadst said.
No marvel if we find such sin
In rivals false to kith and kin.
Wretches like thee of evil kind,
Concealing crime with crafty mind.
Thou, wretch, thine aid wilt still deny,
And leave my lord alone to die.
Has love of me unnerved thy hand,
Or Bharat’s art this ruin planned?
But be the treachery his or thine,
In vain, in vain the base design.
For how shall I, the chosen bride
Of dark-hued Ráma, lotus-eyed,
The queen who once called Ráma mine,
To love of other men decline?
Believe me, Lakshman, Ráma’s wife
Before thine eyes will quit this life,
And not a moment will she stay
If her dear lord have passed away.’
The lady’s bitter speech, that stirred
Each hair upon his frame, he heard.
With lifted hands together laid,
His calm reply he gently made:
'No words have I to answer now:
My deity, O Queen, art thou.
But 'tis no marvel, dame, to find
Such lack of sense in womankind.
Throughout this world, O Maithil dame,
Weak women’s hearts are still the same.
Inconstant, urged by envious spite,
They sever friends and hate the right.
I cannot brook, Videhan Queen,
Thy words intolerably keen.
Mine ears thy fierce reproaches pain
As boiling water seethes the brain.
And now to bear me witness all
The dwellers in the wood I call,
That, when with words of truth I plead,
This harsh reply is all my meed.
Ah, woe is thee! Ah, grief, that still
Eager to do my brother’s will,
Mourning thy woman’s nature, I
Must see thee doubt my truth and die.
I fly to Ráma’s side, and Oh,
May bliss attend thee while I go!
May all attendant wood-gods screen
Thy head from harm, O large-eyed Queen
And though dire omens meet my sight
And fill my soul with wild affright,
May I return in peace and see
The son of Raghu safe with thee!’
The child of Janak heard him speak,
And the hot tear-drops down her cheek,
Increasing to a torrent, ran,
Aa thus once more the dame began:
‘O Lakshman, if I widowed be
Godávan’s** flood shall cover me,
Or I will die by cord, or leap,
Life weary, from yon rocky steep;
Or deadly poison will I drink,
Or 'neath the kindled flames will sink,
But never, reft of Ráma, can
Consent to touch a meaner man.’
The Maithil dame with many sighs,
And torrents pouring from her eyes,
The faithful Lakshman thus adressed,
And smote her hands upon her breast.
Sumitrá’s son, o’erwhelmed by fears,
Looked on the large-eyed queen:
He saw that flood of burning tears,
He saw that piteous mien.
He yearned sweet comfort to afford,
He strove to soothe her pain
But to the brother of her lord
She spoke no word again.
His reverent hands once more he raised,
His head he slightly bent,
Upon her face he sadly gazed,
And then toward Ráma went.
The angry Lakshman scarce could brook
Her bitter words, her furious look.
With dark forebodings in his breast
To Ráma’s side he quickly pressed.
Then ten necked Rávan saw the time
Propitious for his purposed crime.
A mendicant in guise he came
And stood before the Maithil dame.
His garb was red, with tufted hair
And sandalled feet a shade he bare,
And from the fiend’s left shoulder slung
A staff and water-vessel hung.
Near to the lovely dame he drew,
While both the chiefs were far from view,
As darkness takes the evening air
When neither sun nor moon is there.
He bent his eye upon the dame,
A princess fair, of spotless fame:
So might some baleful planet be
Near Moon-forsaken Rohini. [2]
As the fierce tyrant nearer drew,
The trees in Janasthán that grew
Waved not a leaf for fear and woe,
And the hushed wind forbore to blow.
Godávarí’s waters as they fled,
Saw his fierce eye-balls flashing red,
And from each swiftly-gliding wave
A melancholy murmur gave.
Then Rávan, when his eager eye
Beheld the longed-for moment nigh,
In mendicant’s apparel dressed
Near to the Maithil lady pressed.
[ p. 283 ]
In holy guise, a fiend abhorred,
He found her mourning for her lord.
Thus threatening draws S’anis’char [3] nigh
To Chitrá [4] in the evening sky:
Thus the deep well by grass concealed
Yawns treacherous in the verdant field.
He stood and looked upon the dame
Of Ráma, queen of spotless fame
With her bright teeth and each fair limb
Like the full moon she seemed to him,
Sitting within her leafy cot.
Weeping for woe that left her not.
Thus, while with joy his pulses beat,
He saw her in her lone retreat,
Eyed like the lotus, fair to view
In bilken robes of amber hue.
Pierced to the core by Káma’s dart
He murmured texts with lying art,
And questioned with a soft address
The lady in her loneliness.
The fiend essayed with gentle speech
The heart of that fair dame to reach,
Pride of the worlds, like Beauty’s Queen
Without her darling lotus seen:
'O thou whose silken robes enfold
A form more rare than finest gold,
With lotus garland on thy head,
Like a sweet spring with bloom o’erspread,
Who art thou, fair one, what thy name,
Beauty, or Honour, Fortune, Fame,
Spirit, or nymph, or Queen of love
Descended from thy home above?
Bright as the dazzling jasmine shine
Thy small square teeth in level line.
Like two black stars aglow with light
Thine eyes are large and pure and bright.
Thy charms of smile and teeth and hair
And winning eyes, O thou most fair,
Steal all my spirit, as the flow
Of rivers mines the bank below.
How bright, how fine each flowing trees!
How firm those orbs beneath thy dress!
That dainty waist with ease were spanned,
Sweet lady, by a lover’s hand.
Mine eyes, O beauty, ne’er have seen
Goddess or nymph so fair of mien,
Or bright Gandharva’s heavenly dame,
Or woman of so perfect frame.
In youth’s soft prime thy years are few,
And earth has naught so fair to view.
I marvel one like thee in face
Should make the woods her dwelling-place.
Leave, lady, leave this lone retreat
In forest wilds for thee unmeet,
Where giants fierce and strong assume
All shapes and wander in the gloom.
These dainty feet were formed to tread
Some palace floor with carpets spread,
Or wander in trim gardens where
Each opening bud perfumes the air
The richest robe thy form should deck,
The rarest gems adorn thy neck.
The sweetest wreath should bind thy hair,
The noblest lord thy bed should share.
Art thou akin, O fair of form,
To Rudras, [5] or the Gods of storm, [6]
Or to the glorious Vasus [7]? How
Can less than these be bright as thou?
But never nymph or heavenly maid
Or Goddess haunts this gloomy shade.
Here giants roam, a savage race;
What led thee to so dire a place?
Here monkeys leap from tree to tree,
And bears and tigers wander free;
Here ravening lions prowl, and fell
Hyenas in the thickets yell,
And elephants infuriate roam,
Mighty and fierce, their woodland home.
Dost thou not dread, so soft and fair,
Tiger and lion, wolf and bear?
Hast thou, O beauteous dame, no fear
In the wild wood so lone and drear?
Whose and who art thou? whence and why
Sweet lady, with no guardian nigh,
Dost thou this awful forest tread
By giant bands inhabited?’
The praise the high-souled Rávan spoke
No doubt within her bosom woke. ’
His saintly look and Bráhman guise
Deceived the lady’s trusting eyes.
With due attention on the guest
Her hospitable rites she pressed.
She bade the stranger to a seat,
And gave him water for his feet.
The bowl and water-pot he bare,
And garb which wandering Bráhmans wear
Forbade a doubt to rise.
Won by his holy look she deemed
The stranger even as he seemed
To her deluded eyes.
Intent on hospitable care,
She brought her best of woodland fare.
And showed her guest a seat.
She bade the saintly stranger lave
His feet in water which she gave,
And sit and rest and eat.
He kept his eager glances bent
On her so kindly eloquent,
Wife of the noblest king;
And longed in heart to steal her thence,
Preparing by the dire offence,
Death on his head to bring.
[ p. 284 ]
The lady watched with anxious face
For Ráma coming from the chase
With Lakshman by his side:
But nothing met her wandering glance
Save the wild forest’s green expanse
Extending far aud wide.
As, clad in mendicant’s disguise,
He questioned thus his destined prize,
She to the seeming saintly man
The story of her life began.
‘My guest is he,’ she thought, 'and I,
To ‘scape his curse, must needs reply:’
‘Child of a noble sire I spring
From Janak, fair Videha’s king.
May every good be thine! my name
Is Sítá, Ráma’s cherished dame.
Twelve winters with my lord I spent
Most happily with sweet content
In the rich home of Raghu’s line,
And every earthly joy was mine.
Twelve pleasant years flew by, and then
His peers advised the king of men,
Ráma, my lord, to consecrate
Joint ruler of his ancient state.
But when the rites were scarce begun,
To consecrate Ikshváku’s son,
The queen Kaikeyí, honoured dame,
Sought of her lord an ancient claim.
Her plea of former service pressed,
And made him grant her new request,
To banish Ráma to the wild
And consecrate instead her child.
This double prayer on him, the best
And truest king, she strongly pressed
‘Mine eyes in sleep I will not close,
Nor eat, nor drink, nor take repose.
This very day my death shall bring
If Ráma be anointed king.’
As thus she spake in envious ire,
The aged king, my husband’s sire,
Besought with fitting words, but she
Was cold and deaf to every plea.
As yet my days are few; eighteen
The years of life that I have seen;
And Ráma, best of all alive,
Has passed of years a score and five-
Ráma the great and gentle, through
All region famed as pure and true,
Large-eyed and mighty-armed and tall.
With tender heart that cares for all.
But Das’aratha, led astray
By woman’s wile and passion’s sway,
By his strong love of her impelled,
The consecrating rites withheld.
When, hopeful of the promised grace,
My Ráma sought his father’s face,
The queen Kaikeyí, ill at ease,
Spoke to my lord brief words like these:
‘Hear, son of Raghu, hear from me
The words thy father says to thee:
‘I yield this day to Bharat’s hand,
Free from all foes, this ancient land.
Fly from this home no longer thine,
And dwell in woods five years and nine.
Live in the forest and maintain
Mine honour pure from falsehood’s stain.’
Then Ráma spoke, untouched by dread;
‘Yea, it shall be as thou hast said ’.
And answered, faithful to his vows,
Obeying Das’aratha’s spouse:
‘The offered realm I would not take,
But still keep true the words he spake.’
Thus, gentle Bráhman, Ráma still
Clung to his vow with firmest will.
And valiant Lakshman, dear to fame,
His brother by a younger dame,
Bold victor in the deadly fray,
Would follow Ráma on his way.
On sternest vows his heart was set,
And he, a youthful anchoret,
Bound up in twisted coil his hair
And took the garb which hermits wear;
Then with his bow to guard us, he
Went forth with Ráma and with me.
By Queen Kaikeyí’s art bereft
The kingdom and our home we left,
And bound by stern religious vows
We sought this shade of forest boughs.
Now, best of Bráhmans, here we tread
These pathless regions dark and dread.
But come, refresh thy soul, and rest
Here for a while an honoured guest.
For he, my lord, will soon be here
With fresh supply of woodland cheer,
Large store of venison of the buck,
Or some great boar his hand has struck.
Meanwhile, O stranger, grant my prayer:
Thy name, thy race, thy birth declare,
And why with no companion thou
Roamest in Dandak forest now.’
Thus questioned Sítá, Ráma’s dame.
Then fierce the stranger’s answer came:
‘Lord of the giant legions, he
From whom celestial armies flee,—
The dread of hell and earth and sky,
Rávan the Rákshas king am I.
Now when thy gold-like form I view
Arrayed in silks of amber hue,
My love, O thou of perfect mould,
For all my dames is dead and cold.
A thousand fairest women, torn
From many a land my home adorn.
But come, loveliest lady, be
The queen of every dame and me.
My city Lanká, glorious town,
Looks from a mountain’s forehead down
[ p. 285 ]
Where ocean with his flash and foam
Beats madly on mine island home.
With me, O Sítá, shalt thou rove
Delighted through each shady grove,
Nor shall thy happy breast retain
Fond memory of this life of pain.
In gay attire, a glittering band*,
Five thousand maids shall round thee stand,
And serve thee at thy beck and sign,
If thou, fair Sítá, wilt be mine.’
Then forth her noble passion broke
As thus in turn the lady spoke:
‘Me, me the wife of Ráma, him
The lion lord with lion’s limb,
Strong as the sea, firm as the rock,
Like Indra in the battle shook.
Tue lord of each auspicious sign,
The glory of his princely line,
Like some fair Bodh tree strong and tall,
The noblest and the best of all,
Ráma, the heir of happy fate
Who keeps his word inviolate,
Lord of the lion gait, possessed
Of mighty arm and ample chest,
Rama the lion-warrior, him
Whose moon bright face no fear can dim,
Ráma, his bridled passions’ lord,
The darling whom his sire adored,—
Me, me the true and loving dame
Of Ráma, prince of deathless fame—
Me wouldst, thou vainly woo and press?
A jackal woo a lioness!
Steal from the sun his glory! such
Thy hope Lord Ráma’s wife to touch.
Ha! Thou hast seen the trees of gold,
The sign which dying eyes behold,
Thus seeking, weary of thy life,
To win the love of Ráma’s wife.
Fool! wilt thou dare to rend away
The famished lion’s bleeding prey,
Or from the threatening jaws to take
The fang of some envenomed snake?
What, wouldst thou shake with puny hand
Mount Mandar, [8] towering o’er the laud,
Put poison to thy lips and think
The deadly cup a harmless drink?
With pointed needle touch thine eye,
A razor to thy tongue apply,
Who wouldst pollute with impious touch
The wife whom Ráma loves so much?
Be round thy neck a millstone tied,
And swim the sea from side to side;
Or raising both thy hands on high
Pluck sun and moon from yonder sky;
Or let the kindled flame be pressed,
Wrapt in thy garment, to thy breast;
More wild the thought that seeks to win
Ráma’s dear wife who knows not sin.
The fool who thinks with idle aim
To gain the love of Rama’s dame,
With dark and desperate footing makes
His way o’er points of iron stakes.
As Ocean to a bubbling spring,
The lion to a fox, the king
Of all the birds that ply the wing
To an ignoble crow
As gold to lead of little price,
As to the drainings of the rice
The drink they quaff in Paradise,
The Amrit’s heavenly flow,
As sandal dust with perfume sweet
Is to the mire that soils our feet,
A tiger to a cat,
As the white swan is to the owl,
The peacock to the waterfowl,
An eagle to a bat,
Such is my lord compared with thee;
And when with bow and arrows he,
Mighty as Indra’s self shall see
His foeman, armed to slay.
Thou, death-doomed like the fly that sips
The oil that on the altar drips,
Shalt cast the morsel from thy lips
And lose thy half-won prey.’
Thus in high scorn the lady flung
The biting arrows of her tongue
In bitter words that pierced and stung
The rover of the night.
She ceased. Her gentle cheek grew pale,
Her loosened limbs began to fail,
And like a plantain in the gale
She trembled with affright.
He terrible as Death stood nigh,
And watched with fierce exulting eye
The fear that shook her frame.
To terrify the lady more,
He counted all his triumphs o’er,
Proclaimed the titles that he bore,
His pedigree and name.
With knitted brow and furious eye
The stranger made his fierce reply;
‘In me O fairest dame, behold
The brother of the King of Gold.
The Lord of Ten Necks my title, named
Rávan, for might and valour famed.
Gods and Gandharva hosts I scare;
Snakes, spirits, birds that roam the air
Fly from my coming, wild with fear,
Trembling like men when Death is near
Vais’ravan once, my brother, wrought
To ire, encountered me aud fought,
[ p. 286 ]
But yielding to superior might
Fled from his home in sore affright.
Lord of the man-drawn chariot, still
He dwells on famed Kailása’s hill.
I made the vanquished king resign
The glorious car which now is mine,—
Pushpak, the far-renowned, that flies
Will-guided through the buxom skies.
Celestial hosts by Indra led
Flee from my face disquieted,
And where my dreaded feet appear
The wind is hushed or breathless is fear.
Where’er I stand, where’er I go
The troubled waters cease to flow,
Each spell-bound wave is mute and still
And the fierce sun himself is chill.
Beyond the sea my Lanká stands
Filled with fierce forms and giant bands,
A glorious city fair to see
As Indra’s Amarávatí.
A towering height of solid wall,
Flashing afar, surrounds it all,
Its golden courts enchant the sight,
And gates aglow with lazulite.
Steeds, elephants, and cars are there,
And drums’ loud music fills the air,
Fair trees in lovely gardens grow
Whose boughs with varied fruitage glow.
Thou, beauteous Queen, with me shalt dwell
In halls that suit a princess well,
Thy former fellows shall forget
Nor think of women with regret,
No earthly joy thy soul shall miss,
And take its fill of heavenly bliss.
Of mortal Ráma think no more,
Whose terms of days will soon be o’er.
King Das’aratha looked in scorn
On Ráma though the eldest born,
Sent to the woods the weakling fool,
And set his darling son to rule
What, O thou large-eyed dame, hast thou
To do with fallen Ráma now,
From home and kingdom forced to fly,
A wretched hermit soon to die
Accept thy lover, nor refuse
The giant king who fondly woos.
O listen, nor reject in scorn
A heart by Káma’s arrows torn.
If thou refuse to hear my prayer,
Of grief and coming woe beware;
For the sad fate will fall on thee
Which came on hapless Urvas’í,
When with her foot she chanced to touch
Purúravas, and sorrowed much. [9]
My little finger raised in fight
Were more than match for Ráma’s might
O fairest, blithe and happy be
With him whom fortune sends to thee.’
Such were the words the giant said,
And Sítá’s angry eyes were red.
She answered in that lonely place
The monarch of the giant race:
'Art thou the brother of the Lord
Of Gold by all the world adored,
And sprung of that illustrious seed
Wouldst now attempt this evil deed?
I tell thee, impious Monarch, all
The giants by thy sin will fall,
Whose reckless lord and king thou art,
With foolish mind and lawless heart.
Yea, one may hope to steal the wife
Of Indra and escape with life.
But he who Ráma’s dame would tear
From his loved side must needs despair,
Yea, one may steal fair S’achí, dame
Of Him who shoots the thunder flame,
May live successful in his aim
And length of day may see;
But hope, O giant King, in vain,
Though cups of Amrit thou may drain,
To shun the penalty and pain
Of wronging one like me.’
The Rákshas monarch, thus addressed,
His hands a while together pressed,
And straight before her startled eyes
Stood monstrous in his giant size.
Then to the lady, with the lore
Of eloquence, he spoke once more:
‘Thou scarce,’ he cried, 'hast heard aright
The glories of my power and might,
I borne sublime in air can stand
And with these arms upheave the land,
Drink the deep flood of Ocean dry
And Death with conquering force defy.
Pierce the great sun with furious dart
And to her depths cleave earth apart.
See, thou whom love and beauty blind,
I wear each form as wills my mind.”
As thus he spake in burning ire,
His glowing eyes were red with fire.
His gentle garb aside was thrown
And all his native shape was shown.
Terrific, monstrous, wild, and dread
As the dark God who rules the dead,
His fiery eyes in fury rolled,
His limbs were decked with glittering gold.
Like some dark cloud the monster showed,
And his fierce breast with fury glowed.
The ten-faced rover of the night,
With twenty arms exposed to sight,
His saintly guise aside had laid
And all his giant height displayed.
[ p. 287 ]
Attired in robes of crimson dye
He stood and watched with angry eye
The lady in her bright array
Resplendent as the dawn of day
When from the east the sunbeams break,
And to the dark-haired lady spake:
‘If thou would call that lord thine own
Whose fame in every world is known,
Look kindly on my love, and be
Bride of a consort meet for thee.
With me let blissful years be spent,
For ne’er thy choice shalt thou repent.
No deed of mine shall e’er displease
My darling as she lives at ease.
Thy love for mortal man resign,
And to a worthier lord incline.
Ah foolish lady, seeming wise
In thine own weak and partial eyes,
By what fair graces art thou held
To Ráma from his realm expelled?
Misfortunes all his life attend.
And his brief days are near their end.
Unworthy prince, infirm of mind!
A woman spoke and he resigned
His home and kingdom and withdrew
From troops of friends and retinue.
And sought this forest dark and dread
By savage beasts inhabited.’
Thus Rávan urged the lady meet
For love, whose words were soft and sweet.
Near and more near the giant pressed
As love’s hot fire inflamed his breast.
The leader of the giant crew
His arm around the lady threw:
Thus Budha [10] with ill-omened might
Steals Rohini’s delicious light.
One hand her glorious tresses grasped,
One with its ruthless pressure clasped
The body of his lovely prize,
The Maithil dame with lotus eyes.
The silvan Gods in wild alarm
Marked his huge teeth and ponderous arm,
And from that Death-like presence fled,
Of mountain size and towering head.
Then seen was Rávan’s magic car
Aglow with gold which blazed afar,—
The mighty car which asses drew
Thundering as it onward flew.
He spared not harsh rebuke to chide
The lady as she moaned and cried,
Then with his arm about her waist
His captive in the car he placed.
In vain he threatened: long and shrill
Rang out her lamentation still,
O Ráma! which no fear could stay:
But her dear lord was far away
Then rose the fiend, and toward the skies
Bore his poor helpless struggling prize:
Hurrying through the air above
The dame who loathed his proffered love
So might a soaring eagle bear
A serpent’s consort through the air.
As on he bore her through the sky
She shrieked aloud her bitter cry.
As when some wretch’s lips complain
In agony of maddening pain;
‘O Lakshman, thou whose joy is still
To do thine eider brother’s will,
This fiend, who all disguises wears,
From Ráma’s side his darling tears.
Thou who couldst leave bliss, fortune, all,
Yea life itselt at duty’s call,
Dost thou not see this outrage done
To hapless me, O Raghu’s son?
‘Tis thine, O victor of the foe,
To bring the haughtiest spirit low,
How canst thou such an outrage see
And let the guilty fiend go free?
Ah, seldom in a moment’s time
Comes bitter fruit of sin and crime,
But in the day of harvest pain
Comes like the ripening of the grain.
So thou whom fate and folly lead
To ruin for this guilty deed,
Shalt die by Ráma’s arm ere long
A dreadful death for hideous wrong.
Ah, too successful in their ends
Are Queen Kaikeyí and her friends,
When virtuous Ráma, dear to fame,
Is mourning for his ravished dame.
Ah me, ah me! a long farewell
To lawn and glade and forest dell
In Janasthán’s wild region, where
The Cassia trees are bright and fair
With all your tongues to Ráma say
That Rávan bears his wife away.
Farewell, a long farewell to thee,
O pleasant stream Godávari,
Whose rippling waves are ever stirred
By many a glad wild water bird!
All ye to Ráma’s ear relate
The giant’s deed and Sítá’s fata.
O all ye Gods who love this ground
Where trees of every leaf abound,
Tell Ráma I am stolen hence,
I pray you all with reverence.
On all the living things beside
That these dark boughs and coverts hide,
Ye flocks of birds ye troops of deer,
I call on you my prayer to hear.
All we to Ráma’s ear proclaim
That Rávan tears away his dame
Witn forceful arms—his darling wife,
Dearer to Ráma than his life.
O, if he knew I dwelt in hell,
My mighty lord, I know full well,
Would bring me, conqueror, back to-day,
Though Yama’s self reclaimed his prey.’
Thus from the air the lady sent
[ p. 288 ]
With piteous voice her last lament,
And as she wept she chanced to see
The vulture on a lofty tree.
As Rávan bore her swiftly by,
On the dear bird she bent her eye,
And with a voice which woe made faint
Renewed to him her wild complaint:
‘O see, the king who rules the race
Of giants, cruel, fierce and base,
Rávan the spoiler bears me hence
The helpless prey of violence.
This fiend who roves in midnight shade
By thee, dear bird, can ne’er be stayed,
For he is armed and fierce and strong
Triumphant in the power to wrong.
For thee remains one only task,
To do, kind friend, the thing I ask.
To Ráma’s ear by thee be borne
How Sítá from her home is torn,
And to the valiant Lakshman tell
The giant’s deed and what befell.’
The vulture from his slumber woke
And heard the words which Sítá spoke.
He raised his eye and looked on her,
Looked on her giant ravisher.
That noblest bird with pointed beak,
Majestic as a mountain peak,
High on the tree addressed the king
Of giants, wisely counselling:
‘O Ten-necked lord, I firmly hold
To faith and laws ordained of old,
And thou, my brother, shouldst refrain
From guilty deeds that shame and stain.
The vulture king supreme in air,
Jatayus is the name I bear.
Thy captive, known by Sítá’s name,
Is the dear consort and the dame
Of Ráma Das’aratha’s heir,
Who makes the good of all his care.
Lord of the world in might he vies
With the great Gods of seas and skies.
The law he boasts to keep allows
No king to touch another’s spouse,
And, more than all, a prince’s dame
High honour and respect may claim.
Back to the earth thy way incline,
Nor think of one who is not thine.
Heroic souls should hold it shame
To stoop to deeds which others blame,
And all respect by them is shown
To dames of others as their own.
Not every case of bliss and gain
The Scripture’s holy texts explain,
And subjects, when that light is dim,
Look to their prince and follow him.
The king is bliss and profit, he
Is store of treasures fair to see,
And all the people’s fortunes spring,
Their joy and misery, from the king.
If, lord of giant race, thy mind
Be fickle, false, to sin inclined,
How wilt thou kingly place retain?
High thrones in heaven no sinners gain.
The soul which gentle passions sway
Ne’er throws its nobler part away,
Nor ill the mansion of the base
Long be the good man’s dwelling-place.
Prince Ráma, chief of high renown,
Has wronged thee not in field or town.
Ne’er has he sinned against thee: how
Canst thou resolve to harm him now?
If moved by S’úrpankhá’s prayer
The giant Khara sought him there,
And fighting fell with baffled aim,
His and not Ráma’s is the blame.
Say, mighty lord of giants, say
What fault on Ráma canst thou lay?
What has the world’s great master done
That thou should steal his precious one?
Quick, quick the Maithil dame release;
Let Ráma’s consort go in peace,
Lest scorched by his terrific eye
Beneath his wrath thou fall and die
Like Vritra when Lord Indra threw
The lightning flame that smote and slew.
Ah fool, with blinded eyes to take
Home to thy heart a venomed snake!
Ah foolish eyes, too blind to see
That Death’s dire coils entangle thee!
The prudent man his strength will spare,
Nor lift a load too great to bear.
Content is he with wholsome food
Which gives him life and strength renewed
But who would dare the guilty deed
That brings no fame or glorious meed,
Where merit there is none to win
And vengeance soon o’ertakes the sin?
My course of life, Pulastya’s son,
For sixty thousand years has run.
Lord of my kind I still maintain
Mine old hereditary reign.
I, worn by years, am older far
Than thou, young lord of bow and car,
In coat of glittering mail encased
And armed with arrows at thy waist,
But not unchallenged shalt thou go,
Or steal the dame without a blow.
Thou canst not, King, before mine eyes
Hear off unchecked thy lovely prize,
Safe as the truth of Scripture bent
By no close logic’s argument.
Stay if thy courage let thee, stay
And meet me in the battle fray,
And thou shalt stain the earth with gore
Falling as Khara fell before.
Soon Ráma, clothed in bark shall smite.
[ p. 289 ]
Thee, his proud foe, in deadly fight,—
Ráma, from whom have oft times fled
The Daitya hosts discomfited.
No power have I to kill or slay:
The princely youths are far away,
But soon shalt thou with fearful eye
Struck down beneath their arrows lie,
But while I yet have life and sense,
Thou shalt not, tyrant, carry hence
Fair Sítá, Ramá’s honoured queen,
With lotus eyes and lovely mien.
Whate’er the pain, whate’er the cost,
Though in the struggle life be lost,
The will of Raghu’s noblest son
And Das’aratha must be done.
Stay for a while, O Rávan, stay,
One hour thy flying car delay,
And from that glorious chariot thou
Shalt fall like fruit from shaken bough,
For I to thee, while yet I live,
The welcome of a foe will give.’
279:1 A race of beings of human shape but with the heads of horses, like centaurs reversed. ↩︎
282:1 The favourite wife of the Moon. ↩︎
283:1 The planet Saturn. ↩︎
283:2 Another favourite of the Moon; one of the lunar mansions. ↩︎
283:1b The Rudras, agents in creation, are eight in number; they sprang from the forehead of Brahmá. ↩︎
283:2b Maruts, the attendants of Indra. ↩︎
283:3b Radiant demi-gods. ↩︎
285:1 The mountain which was used by the Gods as a churning stick at the Churning of the Ocean. ↩︎
286:1 The story will be found in GARRETT’S Classical Dictionary, See ADDITIONAL NOTES ↩︎
287:1 Mercury: to be carefully distinguished hum Buddha. ↩︎