‘I doubt not, Prince, thy peerless might,
Armed with these shafts so keen and bright,
Like all-destroying fires of fate,
The worlds could burn and devastate.
But lend thou first thy mind and ear
Of Báli’s power and might to hear.
How bold, how firm, in battle tried,
Is Báli’s heart; and then decide.
From east to west, from south to north
On restless errand hunting forth,
From farthest sea to sea he flies
Before the sun has lit the skies.
A mountain top he oft will seek.
Tear from its root a towering peak.
Hurl it aloft, as ‘twere a ball,
And catch it ere to earth it fall.
And many a tree that long has stood
In health and vigour in the wood,
His single arm to earth will throw,
The marvels of his might to show.
Shaped like a bull, a monster bore
The name of Dundubhi of yore:
He matched in size a mountain height,
A thousand elephants in might.
By pride of wondrous gifts impelled,
And strength he deemed unparalleled,
To Ocean, lord of stream and brook,
Athirst for war, his way he took.
He reached the king of rolling waves
Whose gems are piled in sunless caves,
And threw his challenge to the sea;
‘Come forth, O King, and fight with me.’
He spoke, and from his ocean bed
The righteous [1] monarch heaved his head,
And gave, sedate, his calm reply
To him whom fate impelled to die:
‘Not mine, not mine the power,’ he cried,
‘To cope with thee in battle tried;
But listen to my voice, and seek
The worthier foe of whom I speak.
The Lord of Hills, where hermits live
And love the home his forests give,
Whose child is S’ankar’s darling queen, [2]
The King of Snows is he I mean.
Deep caves has he, and dark boughs shade
The torrent and the wild cascade.
From him expect the fierce delight
Which heroes feel in equal fight.’
He deemed that fear checked ocean’s king,
And, like an arrow from the string,
To the wild woods that clothe the side
Of Lord Himálaya’s hills he hied.
Then Dundubhi, with hideous roar.
Huge fragments from the summit tore
Vast as Airávat, [3] white with snow,
And hurled them to the plains below.
Then like a white cloud soft, serene.
The Lord of Mountains’ form was seen.
It sat upon a lofty crest.
And thus the furious fiend addressed:
‘Beseems thee not, O virtue’s friend,
My mountain tops to rive and rend;
[ p. 336 ]
For I, the hermit’s calm retreat,
For deeds of war am all unmeet,’
The demon’s eye with rage grew red,
And thus in furious tone he said:
‘If thou from fear or sloth decline
To match thy strength in war with mine,
Where shall I find a champion, say,
To meet me burning for the fray?’
He spoke: Himálaya, skilled in lore
Of eloquence, replied once more,
And, angered in his righteous mind,
Addressed the chief of demon kind:
‘The Vánar Báli, brave and wise,
Son of the God who rules the sides, [4]
Sways, glorious in his high renown,
Kishkindhá his imperial town.
Well may that valiant lord who knows
Each art of war his might oppose
To thine, in equal battle set,
As Namuehi [5] and Indra met.
Go, if thy soul desire the fray;
To Báli’s city speed away,
And that uoconquered hero meet
Whose fame is high for warlike feat.’
He listened to the Lord of Snow,
And, his proud heart with rage aglow,
Sped swift away and lighted down
By vast Kishkindhá, Báli’s town.
With pointed horns to strike and gore
The semblance of a bull he bore,
Huge as a cloud that downward bends
Ere the full flood of rain descends.
Impelled by pride and rage and hate,
He thundered at Kishkindhá’s gate;
And with his bellowing, like the sound
Of pealing drums, he shook the ground,
He rent the earth and prostrate threw
The trees that near the portal grew.
King Báli from the bowers within
Indignant heard the roar and din.
Then, moonlike mid the stars, with all
His dames he hurried to the wall;
And to the fiend this speech, expressed
In clear and measured words, addressed:
‘Know me for monarch. Báli styled,
Of Vánar tribes that roam the wild.
Say why dost thou this gate molest,
And bellowing thus disturb our rest?
I know thee, mighty fiend: beware
And guard thy life with wiser care.’
He spoke: and thus the fiend returned,
While red with rage his eyeballs burned:
‘What! speak when all thy dames are nigh
And hero-like thy foe defy?
Come, meet me in the fight this day,
And learn my strength by bold assay.
Or shall I spare tbee, and relent
Until the coming night be spent?
Take then the respite of a night
And yield thee to each soft delight.
Then, monarch of the Vánar race.
With loving arms thy friends embrace.
Gifts on thy faithful lords bestow,
Bid each and all farewell, and go.
Show in the streets once more thy face,
Instal thy son to fill thy place.
Dally a while with each dear dame;
And then my strength thy pride shall tame
For, should I smite thee drunk with wine
Enamoured of those dames of thine,
Beneath diseases bowed and bent,
Or weak, unarmed, or negligent,
My deed would merit hate and scorn
As his who slays the child unborn.’
Then Báli’s soul with rage was tired,
Queen Tárá and the dames retired;
And slowly, with a laugh of pride,
The king of Vánars thus replied:
‘Me, fiend, thou deemest drunk with wine:
Unless thy fear the fight decline,
Come, meet me in the fray, and test
The spirit of my valiant breast.’
He spoke in wrath and high disdain;
And, laying down his golden chain,
Gift of his sire Mahendra, dared
The demon, for the fray prepared;
Seized by the horns the monster, vast
As a huge hill, and held him fast,
Then fiercely dragged him round and round,
And, shouting, hurled him to the ground.
Blood streaming from his ears, he rose,
And wild with fury strove the foes.
Then Báli, match for Indra’s might,
With every arm renewed the fight.
He fought with fists, and feet, and knees,
With fragments of the rock, and trees.
At last the monster’s strength, assailed
By S’akra’s [6] conquering offspring, failed.
Him Bali raised with mighty strain.
And dashed upon the ground again;
Where, bruised and shattered, in a tide
Of rushing blood, the demon died.
King Báli saw the lifeless corse,
And bending, with tremendous force
Raised the huge bulk from where it lay,
And hurled it full a league away.
As through the air the body flew,
Some blood-drops, caught by gales that blew,
Welled from his shattered jaw and fell
By Saint Matanga’s hermit cell:
Matanga saw, illustrious sage,
Those drops defile his hermitage,
[ p. 337 ]
And, as he marvelled whence they came,
Fierce anger filled his soul with flame:
‘Who is the villain, evil-souled,
With childish thoughts unwise and bold,
Who is the impious wretch,’ he cried,
‘By whom my grove with blood is dyed?’
Thus spoke Matanga in his rage,
And hastened from the hermitage,
When lo, before his wondering eyes
Lay the dead bull of mountain size
His hermit soul was nothing slow
The doer of the deed to know,
And thus the Vánar in a burst
Of wild tempestuous wrath he cursed:
‘Ne’er let that Vánar wander here,
For, if he come, his death is near.
Whose impious hand with blood has dyed
The holy place where I abide,
Who threw this demon corse and made
A ruin of the pleasant shade.
If e’er he plant his wicked feet
Within one league of my retreat;
Yea, if the villain come so nigh
That very hour he needs must die.
And let the Vánar lords who dwell
In the dark woods that skirt my cell
Obey my words, and speeding hence
Find them some meeter residence.
Here if they dare to stay, on all
The terrors of my curse shall fall.
They spoil the tender saplings, dear
As children which I cherish here,
Mar root and branch and leaf and spray,
And steal the ripening fruit away.
One day I grant, no further hour,
To-morrow shall my curse have power,
And then each Vánar I may see
A stone through countless years shall be.’
The Vánars heard the curse and hied
From sheltering wood and mountain side.
King Báli marked their haste and dread,
And to the flying leaders said:
‘Speak, Vánar chiefs, and tell me why
From Saint Matanga’s grove ye fly
To gather round me: is it well
With all who in those woodlands dwell?’
He spoke: the Vánar leaders told
King Báli with his chain of gold
What curse the saint had on them laid,
Which drove them from their ancient shade.
Then royal Báli sought the sage,
With reverent hands to soothe his rage.
The holy man his suppliant spurned,
And to his cell in anger turned.
That curse on Báli sorely pressed.
And long his conscious soul distressed.
Him still the curse and terror keep
Afar from Rishyamúka’s steep.
He dares not to the grove draw nigh,
Nay scarce will hither turn his eye.
We know what terrors warm him hence,
And roam these woods in confidence.
Look, Prince, before thee white and dry
The demon’s bones uncovered lie,
Who, like a hill in bulk and length,
Fell ruind for his pride of strength.
See those high Sál trees seven in row
That droop their mighty branches low,
These at one grasp would Báli seize,
And leafless shake the trembling trees.
These tales I tell, O Prince, to show
The matchless power that arms the foe.
How canst thou hope to slay him? how
Meet Báli in the battle now?’
Sugríva spoke and sadly sighed:
And Lakshman with a laugh replied:
‘What show of power, what proof and test
May still the doubts that fill thy breast?’
He spoke. Sugríva thus replied:
‘See yonder Sál trees side by side.
King Báli here would take his stand
Grasping his bow with vigorous hand,
And every arrow, keen and true.
Would strike its tree and pierce it through
If Ráma now his bow will bend,
And through one trunk an arrow send;
Or if his arm can raise and throw
Two hundred measures of his bow,
Grasped by a foot and hurled through air,
The demon bull that moulders there,
My heart will own his might and fain
Believe my foe already slain.’
Sugríva spoke inflamed with ire,
Scanned Ráma with a glance of fire,
Pondered a while in silent mood.
And thus again his speech renewed:
‘All lands with Báli’s glories ring,
A valiant, strong, and mighty king;
In conscious power unused to yield;
A hero first in every field.
His wondrous deeds his might declare,
Deeds Gods might scarcely do or dare;
And on this power reflecting still
I roam on Rishyamúka’s hill.
Awed by my brother’s might I rove,
In doubt and fear, from grove to grove,
While Hanumán, my chosen friend,
And faithful lords my steps attend;
And now, O true to friendship’s tie,
I hail in thee my best ally.
My surest refuge from my foes,
And steadfast as the Lord of Snows.
Still, when I muse how strong and bold
Is cruel Báli, evil-souled,
But ne’er, O chief of Raghu’s line,
Have seen what strength in war is thine,
Though in my heart I may not dare
Doubt thy great might, despise, compare,
Thoughts of his fearful deeds will rise
And fill my soul with sad surmise.
Speech, form, and trust which naught may move
[ p. 338 ]
Thy secret strength and glory prove,
As smouldering ashes dimly show
The dormant fires that live below.’
He ceased: and Ráma answered, while
Played o’er his lips a gracious smile:
‘Not yet convinced? This clear assay
Shall drive each lingering doubt away.’
Thus Ráma spoke his heart to cheer,
To Dundubhi’s vast frame drew near:
He touched it with his foot in play
And sent it twenty leagues away.
Sugríva marked what easy force
Hurled through the air that demon’s corse
Whose mighty bones were white and dried,
And to the son of Raghu cried:
‘My brother Báli, when his might
Was drunk and weary from the fight,
Hurled forth the monster body, fresh
With skin and sinews, blood and flesh.
Now flesh and blood are dried away.
The crumbling bones are light as hay,
Which thou, O Raghu’s son, hast sent
Flying through air in merriment.
This test alone is weak to show
If thou be stronger or the foe.
By thee a heap of mouldering bone,
By him the recent corse was thrown.
Thy strength, O Prince, is yet untried:
Come, pierce one tree: let this decide.
Prepare thy ponderous bow and bring
Close to thine ear the straining string.
On yonder Sál tree fix thine eye,
And let the mighty arrow fly,
I doubt not, chief, that I shall see
Thy pointed shaft transfix the tree.
Then come, assay the easy task,
And do for love the thing I ask.
Best of all lights, the Day-God fills
With glory earth and sky:
Himálaya is the lord of hills
That heave their heads on high.
The royal lion is the best
Of beasts that tread the earth;
And thou, O hero, art confessed
First in heroic worth.’
Then Ráma, that his friend might know
His strength unrivalled, grasped his bow,
That mighty bow the foe’s dismay,—
And on the string an arrow lay.
Next on the tree his eye he bent,
And forth the hurtling weapon went.
Loosed from the matchless hero’s hold,
That arrow, decked with burning gold,
Cleft the seven palms in line, and through
The hill that rose behind them flew:
Six subterranean realms it passed,
And reached the lowest depth at last,
Whence speeding back through earth and air
It sought the quiver, and rested there. [7]
Upon the cloven trees amazed.
The sovereign of the Vánars gazed.
With all his chains and gold outspread
Prostrate on earth he laid his head.
Then, rising, palm to palm he laid
In reverent act, obeisance made,
And joyously to Ráma, best
Of war-trained chiefs, these words addressed:
'What champion, Raghu’s son, may hope
With thee in deadly fight to cope,
Whose arrow, leaping from the bow.
Cleaves tree and hill and earth below?
Scarce might the Gods, arrayed for strife
By Indra’s self, escape, with life
Assailed by thy victorious hand:
And how may Báli hope to stand?
All grief and care are past away,
And joyous thoughts my bosom sway,
Who have in thee a friend, renowned.
As Varun [8] or as Indra, found.
Then on! subdue,—'tis friendship’s claim,—
My foe who bears a brother’s name.
Strike Báli down beneath thy feet:
With suppliant hands I thus entreat,’
Sugríva ceased, and Ráma pressed
The grateful Vánar to his breast;
And thoughts of kindred feeling woke
In Lakshman’s bosom, as he spoke:
‘On to Kishkindhá, on with speed!
Thou, Vánar King, our way shalt lead,
Then challenge Báli forth to fight.
Thy foe who scorns a brother’s right.’
They sought Kishkindhá’s gate and stood
Concealed by trees in densest wood,
Sugríva, to the fight addressed,
More closely drew his cinctured vest,
And raised a wild sky-piercing shout
[ p. 339 ]
To call the foeman Báli out.
Forth came impetuous Báli, stirred
To fury by the shout he heard.
So the great sun, ere night has ceased,
Springs up impatient to the east.
Then fierce and wild the conflict raged
As hand to hand the foes engaged,
As though in battle mid the stars
Fought Mercury and fiery Mars. [9]
To highest pitch of frenzy wrought
With fists like thunderbolts they fought,
While near them Ráma took his stand,
And viewed the battle, bow in hand.
Alike they stood in form and might,
Like heavenly As’vins [10] paired in fight,
Nor might the son of Raghu know
Where fought the friend and where the foe;
So, while his bow was ready bent.
No life-destroying shaft he sent.
Crushed down by Báli’s mightier stroke
Sugríva’s force now sank and broke,
Who, hoping naught from Ráma’s aid,
To Rishyamúka fled dismayed,
Weary, and faint, and wounded sore,
His body bruised and dyed with gore,
From Báli’s blows, in rage and dread,
Afar to sheltering woods he fled.
Nor Báli farther dared pursue,
The curbing curse too well he knew.
‘Fled from thy death!’ the victor cried,
And home the mighty warrior hied.
Hanúmán, Lakshman, Raghu’s son
Beheld the conquered Vánar run.
And followed to the sheltering shade
Where yet Sugríva stood dismayed.
Near and more near the chieftains came,
Then, for intolerable shame,
Not daring yet to lift his eyes,
Sugríva spoke with burning sighs:
‘Thy matchless strength I first beheld,
And dared my foe, by thee impelled.
Why hast thou tried me with deceit
And urged me to a sure defeat?
Thou shouldst have said, 'I will not slay
Thy foeman in the coming fray.’
For had I then thy purpose known
I had not waged the fight alone.’
The Vánar sovereign, lofty-souled,
In plaintive voice his sorrows told.
Then Ráma spake: 'Sugríva, list,
All anger from thy heart dismissed,
And I will tell the cause that stayed
Mine arrow, and withheld the aid.
In dress, adornment, port, and height,
In splendour, battle-shout, and might,
No shade of difference could I see
Between thy foe, O King, and thee.
So like was each, I stood at gaze,
My senses lost in wildering maze,
Nor loosened from my straining bow
A deadly arrow at the foe,
Lest in my doubt the shaft should send
To sudden death our surest friend.
O, if this hand in heedless guilt
And rash resolve thy blood had spilt,
Through every land, O Vánar King,
My wild and foolish act would ring,
Sore weight of sin on him must lie
By whom a friend is made to die;
And Lakshman, I, and Sítá, best
Of dames, on thy protection rest.
On, warrior! for the fight prepare;
Nor fear again thy foe to dare.
Within one hour thine eye shall view
My arrow strike thy foeman through;
Shall see the stricken Báli lie
Low on the earth, and gasp and die.
But come, a badge about thee bind,
O monarch of the Vánar kind.
That in the battle shock mine eyes
The friend and foe may recognize.
Come, Lakshman, let that creeper deck
With brightest bloom Sugríva’s neck,
And be a happy token, twined
Around the chief of lofty mind.’
Upon the mountain slope there grew
A threading creeper fair to view,
And Lakshman plucked the bloom and round
Sugríva’s neck a garland wound,
Graced with the flowery wreath he wore,
The Vánar chief the semblance bore
Of a dark cloud at close of day
Engarlanded with cranes at play,
In glorious light the Vánar glowed
As by his comrade’s side he strode.
And, still on Ráma’s word intent,
His steps to great Kishkindhá bent.
[ p. 340 ]
Thus with Sugríva, from the side
Of Rishyamuka, Ráma hied,
And stood before Kishkindhá’s gate
Where Báli kept his regal state.
The hero in his warrior hold
Raised his great bow adorned with gold,
And drew his pointed arrow bright
As sunbeams, finisher of fight.
Strong-necked Sugríva led the way
With Lakshman mighty in the fray.
Nala and Níla came behind
With Hanumán of lofty mind.
And valiant Tára, last in place,
A leader of the Vánar race.
They gazed on many a tree that showed
The glory of its pendent load,
And brook and limpid rill that made
Sweet murmurs as they seaward strayed.
They looked on caverns dark and deep,
On bower and glen and mountain steep,
And saw the opening lotus stud
With roseate cup the crystal flood,
While crane and swan and coot and drake
Made pleasant music on the lake,
And from the reedy bank was heard
The note of many a happy bird.
In open lawns, in tangled ways,
They saw the tall deer stand at gaze,
Or marked them free and fearless roam,
Fed with sweet grass, their woodland home.
At times two flashing tusks between
The wavings of the wood were seen,
And some mad elephant, alone,
Like a huge moving hill, was shown.
And scarcely less in size appeared
Great monkeys all with dust besmeared.
And various birds that roam the skies,
And silvan creatures, met their eyes,
As through the wood the chieftains sped,
Anil followed where Sugríva led.
Then Ráma, as their way they made,
Saw near at hand a lovely shade,
And, as he gazed upon the trees,
Spake to Sugríva words like these;
‘Those stately trees in beauty rise,
Fair as a cloud in autumn skies,
I fain, my friend, would learn from thee
What pleasant grove is that I see.’
Thus Ráma spake, the mighty souled;
And thus his tale Sugríva told:
'That, Ráma, is a wide retreat
That brings repose to weary feet.
Bright streams and fruit and roots are there,
And shady gardens passing fair.
There, neath the roof of hanging boughs,
The sacred Seven maintained their vows.
Their heads in dust were lowly laid,
In streams their nightly beds were made.
Each seventh night they broke their fast,
But air was still their sole repast,
And when seven hundred years were spent
To homes in heaven the hermits went.
Their glory keeps the garden yet,
With walls of stately trees beset.
Scarce would the Gods and demons dare,
By Indra led, to enter there.
No beast that roams the wood is found,
No bird of air, within the bound;
Or, thither if they idly stray,
They find no more their homeward way.
You hear at times mid dulcet tones
The chime of anklets, rings, and zones.
You hear the song and music sound,
And heavenly fragrance breathes around,
There duly burn the triple fires 1
Where mounts the smoke in curling spires,
And, in a dun wreath, hangs above
The tall trees, like a brooding dove.
Round brunch and crest the vapours close
Till every tree enveloped shows
A hill of lazulite when clouds
Hang round it with their misty shrouds.
With Lakshman, lord of Raghu’s line,
In reverent guise thine head incline,
And with fixt heart and suppliant hand
Give honour to the sainted band.
They who with faithful hearts revere
The holy Seven who harboured here,
Shall never, son of Raghu, know
In all their lives an hour of woe.’
Then Ráma and his brother bent.
And did obeisance reverent
With suppliant hand and lowly head,
Then with Sugríva onward sped.
Beyond the sainted Seven’s abode
Far on their way the chieftains strode,
And great Kishkindhá’s portal gained,
The royal town where Báli reigned.
Then by the gate they took their stand
All ready armed a noble band,
And burning every one
To slay in battle, hand to hand,
Their foeman, Indra’s son,
They stood where trees of densest green
Wove round their forms a veiling screen.
O’er all the garden’s pleasant shade
The eyes of King Sugríva strayed,
[ p. 341 ]
And, as on grass and tree he gazed,
The fires of wrath within him blazed.
Then like a mighty cloud on high,
When roars the tempest through the sky,
Girt by his friends he thundered out
His dread sky-rending battle-shout
Like some proud lion in his gait,
Or as the sun begins his state,
Sugríva let his quick glance rest
On Ráma whom he thus addressed:
‘There is the seat of Báli’s sway.
Where flags on wall and turret play,
Which mighty bands of Vánars hold,
Rich in all arms and store of gold.
Thy promise to thy mind recall
That Báli by thy hand shall fall.
As kindly fruits adorn the bough.
So give my hopes their harvest now.’
In suppliant tone the Vánar prayed,
And Raghu’s son his answer made
‘By Lakshman’'s hand this flowery twine
Was wound about thee for a sign.
The wreath of giant creeper throws
About thy form its brillant glows,
As though about the sun were set
The bright stars for a coronet.
One shaft of mine this day, dear friend,
Thy sorrow and thy fear shall end.
And, from the bowstring freed, shall be
Giver of freedom, King, to thee.
Then come, Sugríva, quickly show,
Where’er he lie, thy bitter foe;
And let my glance the wretch descry
Whose deeds, a brother’s name belie.
Yea, soon in dust and blood o’erthrown
Shall Báli fall and gasp and groan.
Once let this eye the foeman see,
Then, if he live to turn and flee,
Despise my puny strength and shame
With foul opprobrium Ráma’s name.
Hast thou not seen his hand, O King,
Through seven tall trees one arrow wing?
Stili in that strength securely trust,
And deem thy foeman in the dust,
In all my days, though surely tried
By grief and woe, I ne’er have lied;
And still by duty’s law restrained
Will ne’er with falsehood’s charge be stained.
Cast doubt away: the oath I sware
Its kindly fruit shall quickly bear,
As smiles the land with golden grain
By mercy of the Lord of rain.
Oh, warrior to the gate I defy
Thy foe with shout and battle-cry.
Till Báli with his chain of gold
Come speeding from his royal hold.
Blood hearts, with warlike fire aglow,
Brook not the challenge of a foe:
Each on his power and might relies,
And most before his fathers eyes.
King Báli loves the fray too well
To linger in his citadel,
And, when he hears thy battle-shout,
All wild for war will hasten out.’
He spoke. Sugríva raised a cry
That shook and rent the echoing sky,
A shout so fierce and loud and dread
That stately bulls in terror fled,
Like dames who fly from threatened stain
In some ignoble monarch’s reign.
The deer in wild confusion ran
Like horses turned in battle’s van.
Down fell the birds, like Gods who fall
When merits fail, 1, at that dread call.
So fiercely, boldened for the fray,
The offspring of the Lord of Day
Sent forth his furious shout as loud
As thunder from a labouring cloud,
Or, where the gale blows fresh and free,
The roaring of the troubled sea.
That shout, which shook the land with fear,
In thunder smote on Báli’s ear,
Where in the chamber barred and closed
The sovereign with his dame reposed.
Each amorous thought was rudely stilled,
And pride and rage his bosom filled.
His angry eyes flashed darkly red,
And all his native brightness fled,
As when, by swift eclipse assailed,
The glory of the sun has failed.
While in his fury uncontrolled
He ground his teeth, his eyeballs rolled,
He seemed a lake wherein no gem
Of blossom decks the lotus stem.
He heard, and with indignant pride
Forth from the bower the Vánar hied.
And the earth trembled at the beat
And fury of hit hastening feet.
But Tára to her consort flew,
Her loving arms around him threw.
And trembling and bewildered, gave
Wise counsel that might heal and save:
‘O dear my lord, this rage control
That like a torrent floods thy soul,
And cant these idle thoughts away
Like faded wreath of yesterday,
O tarry till the morning light,
Then, if thou wilt, go forth and fight.
[ p. 342 ]
Think not I doubt thy valour, no;
Or deem thee weaker than thy foe,
Yet for a while would have thee stay
Nor see thee tempt the fight to-day.
Now list, my loving lord, and learn
The reason why I bid thee turn.
Thy foeman came in wrath and pride,
And thee to deadly fight defied,
Thou wentest out: he fought, and fled
Sore wounded and discomfited.
But yet, untaught by late defeat,
He comes his conquering foe to meet.
And calls thee forth with cry and shout:
Hence spring, my lord, this fear and doubt.
A heart so bold that will not yield,
But yearns to tempt the desperate field,
Such loud defiance, fiercely pressed,
On no uncertain hope can rest.
So lately by thine arm o’erthrown,
He comes not back, I ween, alone.
Some mightier comrade guards his side,
And spurs him to this burst of pride.
For nature made the Vánar wise:
On arms of might his hope relies;
And never will Sugríva seek
A friend whose power to save is weak.
Now listen while my lips unfold
The wondrous tale my Angad told.
Our child the distant forest sought,
Aud, learnt from spies, the tidings brought.
Two sons of Das’arathu, sprung
From old Ikshváku, brave and young,
Renowned in arms, in war untamed—
Ráma and Lakshman are they named—
Have with thy foe Sugríva made
A league of love and friendly aid.
Now Ráma, famed for exploit high,
Is bound thy brother’s firm ally,
Like fires of doom [11] that ruin all
He makes each foe before him fall.
He is the suppliant’s sure defence,
The tree that shelters innocence.
The poor and wretched seek his feet:
In him the noblest glories meet.
With skill and knowledge vast and deep
His sire’s commands he loved to keep;
With princely gifts and graces stored
As metals deck the Mountains’ Lord. [12]
Thou canst not, O my hero, stand
Before the might of Ráma’s hand;
For none may match his powers or dare
With him in deeds of war compare.
Hear, I entreat, the words I say,
Nor lightly turn my rede away.
O let fraternal discord cease,
And link you in the bonds of peace.
Let consecrating rites ordain
Sugríva partner of thy reign.
Let war and thoughts of conflict end,
And be thou his and Ráma’s friend,
Each soft approach of love begin.
And to thy soul thy brother win;
for whether here or there he be,
Thy brother still, dear lord, is he.
Though far and wide these eyes I strain
A friend like him I seek in vain.
Let gentle words his heart incline,
And gifts and honours make him thine,
Till, foes no more, in love allied,
You stand as brothers side by side.
Thou in high rank wast wont to hold
Sugríva, formed in massive mould;
Then come, thy brother’s love regain,
For other aids are weak and vain.
If thou would please my soul, and still
Preserve me from all fear and ill,
I pray thee by thy love be wise
And do the thing which I advise.
Assuage thy fruitless wrath, and shun
The mightier arms of Raghu’s son;
For Indra’s peer in might is he,
A foe too strong, my lord, for thee.’
Thus Tárá with the starry eyes [13]
Her counsel gave with burning sighs.
But Báli, by her prayers unmoved,
Spurned her advice, and thus reproved:
‘How may this insult, scathe, aud scorn
By me, dear love, be tamely born?
My brother, yea my foe, comes nigh
Aud dares me forth with shout and cry.
Learn, trembler! that the valiant, they
Who yield no step in battle fray,
Will die a thousand deaths but ne’er
An unavenged dishonour bear.
Nor, O my love, be thou dismayed
Though Ráma lend Sugríva aid,
For one so pure and duteous, one
Who loves the right, all sin will shun,
Release me from thy soft embrace,
And with thy dames thy steps retrace:
Enough already, O mine own,
Of love and sweet devotion shown.
Drive all thy fear and doubt away;
I seek Sugríva in the fray
His boisterous rage and pride to still,
And tame the foe I would not kill.
My fury, armed with brandished trees,
Shall strike Sugríva to his knees:
[ p. 343 ]
Nor shall the humbled foe withstand
The blows of my avenging hand,
When, nerved by rage and pride, I beat
The traitor down beneath my feet.
Thou, love, hast lent thine own sweet aid,
And all thy tender care displayed;
Now by my life, by these who yearn
To serve thee well, I pray thee turn.
But for a while, dear dame, I go
To come triumphant o’er the foe.’
Thus Báh spake in gentlest tone:
Soft arms about his neck were thrown;
Then round her lord the lady went
With sad steps slow and reverent.
She stood in solemn guise to bless
With prayers for safety and success,
Then with her train her chamber sought
By grief and racking fear distraught.
With serpent’s pantings fierce and fast
King Báli from the city passed.
His glance, as each quick breath he drew,
Around to find the foe he threw,
And saw where fierce Sugríva showed
His form with golden hues that glowed,
And, as a fire resplendent, stayed
To meet his foe in arms arrayed.
When Báli, long-armed chieftain, found
Sugríva stationed on the ground,
Impelled by warlike rage he braced
His warrior garb about his waist,
And with his mighty arm raised high
Rushed at Sugríva with a cry.
But when Sugríva, fierce and bold,
Saw Báli with his chain of gold.
His arm he heaved, his hand he closed,
And face to face his foe opposed.
To him whose eyes with fury shone,
In charge imtpetuous rushing on,
Skilled in each warlike art and plan,
Báli with hasty words began:
‘My ponderous hood, to fight addressed.
With fingers clenched and arm compressed.
Shall on thy death doomed brow descend
And, crashing down, thy life shall end.’
He spoke; and wild with rage and pride,
The fierce Sagríva thus replied:
‘Thus let my arm begin the strife
And from thy body crush the life.’
Then Báli, wounded aud enraged,
With furious blows the battle waged.
Sugríva seemed, with blood-streams dyed,
A hill with fountains in his side.
But with his native force unspent
A Sál tree from the earth he rent,
And like the bolt of Indra smote
On Báli’s head and chest and throat.
Bruised by the blows he could not shield,
Half vanquished Báli sank and reeled,
As sinks a vessel with her freight
Borne down by overwhelming weight.
Swift as Suparna’s 1 swiftest flight
In awful strength they rushed to fight:
So might the sun and moon on high
Encountering battle in the sky.
Fierce and more fierce, as fought the foes,
The furious rage of combat rose.
They warred with feet and arms and knees,
With nails and stones and boughs and trees,
And blows descending fast as rain
Dyed each dark form with crimson stain,
While like two thunder-clouds they met
With battle-cry and shout and threat.
Then Ráma saw Sugríva quail,
Marked his worn strength grow weak and fail.
Saw how he turned his wistful eye
To every quarter of the sky.
His friend’s defeat he could not brook.
Bent on his shaft an eager look,
Then burned to slay the conquering foe,
And laid his arrow on the bow.
As to an orb the bow he drew
Forth from the string the arrow flew
Like Fate’s tremendous discus hurled
By Yama 2 forth to end the world.
So loud the din that every bird
The bow-string’s clans with terror heard,
And wildly fled the affrighted deer
As though the day of doom were near,
So, deadly as the serpent’s fang,
Forth from the string the arrow sprang.
Like the red lightning’s flash and flame
It flew unerring to its aim,
And, hissing murder through the air,
Pierced Báli’s breast, and quivered there.
Struck by the shaft that flew so well
The mighty Vánar reeled and fell,
As earthward Indra’s flag they pull
When As’víní’s fair moon is full 3
Like some proud tree before the blast
Brave Báli to the ground was cast,
Where prostrate in the dust he rolled
Clad in the sheen of glistening gold,
[ p. 344 ]
As when uptorn the standard lies
Of the great God who rules the skies.
When low upon the earth was laid
The lord whom Vánar tribes obeyed,
Dark as a moonless sky no more
His land her joyous aspect wore.
Though low in dust and mire was rolled
The form of Báli lofty-souled,
Still life and valour, might and grace
Clung to their well-loved dwelling-place.
That golden chain with rich gems set,
The choicest gift of Sákra, [14] yet
Preserved his life nor let decay
Steal strength and beauty’s light away.
Still from that chain divinely wrought
His dusky form a glory caught,
As a dark cloud, when day is done,
Made splendid by the dying sun.
As fell the hero, crushed in fight,
There beamed afar a triple light
From limbs, from chain, from shaft that drank
His life-blood as the warrior sank.
The never-failing shaft, impelled
By the great bow which Ráma held,
Brought bliss supreme, and lit the way
To Brahmá’s worlds which ne’er decay. [15]
Ráma and Lakshman nearer drew
The mighty fallen foe to view,
Mahendra’s son, the brave and bold,
The monarch with his chain of gold,
With lustrous face and tawny eyes,
Broad chest, and arms of wondrous size,
Like Lord Mahendra fierce in fight,
Or Vishnu’s never-conquered might,
Now fallen like Yayáil [16] sent
From heaven, his store of merit spent.
Like the bright flame that pales and dies,
Like the great sun who fires the skies,
Doomed in the general doom to fall
When time shall end and ruin all.
The wounded Báli, when he saw
Ráma and Lakshman nearer draw.
Keen words to Raghu’s son, impressed
With justice’ holy stamp, addressed:
'What fame, from one thou hast not slain
In front of battle, canst thou gain,
Whose secret hand has laid me low
When madly fighting with my foe?
From every tongue thy glory rings,
A scion of a line of kings,
True to thy vows, of noblest race,
With every gentle gift and grace:
Whose tender heart for woe can feel,
And joy in every creature’s weal:
Whose breast with high ambition swell—
Knows duty’s claim and ne’er rebels.
They praise thy valour, patience, ruth,
Thy firmness, self-restrain, and truth
Thy hand prepared for sin’s control.
All virtues of a princely soul.
I thought of all these gifts of thine,
And glories of an ancient line,
I set my Tárá’s tears at naught,
I met Sugríva and we fought.
O Ráma, till this fatal morn
I held that thou wouldst surely scorn
To strike me as I fought my foe
And thought not of a stranger’s blow,
But now thine evil heart is shown,
A yawning well with grass o’ergrown.
Thou wearest virtue’s badge, [17] but guile
And meanest sin thy soul defile.
I took thee not for treacherous fire,
A sinner clad in saint’s attire;
Nor deemed thou idly wouldst profess
The show and garb of righteousness.
In fenced town, in open land,
Ne’er hast thou suffered at this hand,
Nor canst of proud contempt complain:
Then wherefore is the guiltless slain!
My harmless life in woods I lead,
On forest fruits and roots I feed.
My foeman in the field I sought,
And ne’er with thee, O Ráma, fought.
Upon thy limbs, O King, I see
The raiment of a devotee;
And how can one like thee, who springs
From a proud line of ancient kings.
Beneath fair virtue’s mask, disgrace
His lineage by a deed so base?
From Raghu is thy long descent,
For duteous deeds prëeminent:
Why, sinner clad in saintly dress,
Roamest thou through the wilderness?
Truth, valour, justice free from spot,
The hand that gives and grudges not,
The might that strikes the sinner down,
These bring a prince his best renown.
Here in the woods, O King, we live
On roots and fruit which branches give. [18]
[ p. 345 ]
Thus nature framed our harmless race:
Thou art a man supreme in place.
Silver and gold and land provoke
The fierce attack, the robber’s stroke.
Canst thou desire this wild retreat,
The berries and the fruit we eat?
‘Tis not for mighty kings to tread
The flowery path, by pleasure led.
Theirs be the arm that crushes sin,
Theirs the soft grace to woo and win:
The steadfast will that guides the state,
Wise favour to the good and great;
And for all time are kings renowned
Who blend these arts and ne’er confound,
But thou art weak and swift to ire,
Unstable, slave of each desire.
Thou tramplest duty in the dust,
And in thy bow is all thy trust.
Thou carest naught for noble gain,
And treatest virtue with disdain,
While every sense its captive draws
To follow pleasure’s changing laws,
I wronged thee not in word or deed,
But by thy deadly dart I bleed.
What wilt thou, mid the virtuous, say
To purge thy lasting stain away?
All these, O King, must sink to hell,
The regicide, the infidel,
He who in blood and slaughter joys,
A Bráhman or a cow destroys,
Untimely weds in law’s despite
Scorning an elder brother’s right, [19]
Who dares his Teacher’s bed ascend,
The miser, spy, and treacherous friend.
These impious wretches, one and all,
Must to the hell of sinners fall
My skin the holy may not wear,
Useless to thee my bones and hair;
Nor may my slaughtered body be
The food of devotees like thee.
These five-toed things a man may slay
And feed upon the fallen prey;
The mailed rhinoceros may die,
And, with the hare his food supply.
Iguanas he may kill and eat,
With porcupine and tortoise meat. [20]
But all the wise account it sin
To touch my bones and hair and skin.
My flesh they may not eat; and I
A useless prey, O Ráma, die.
In vain my Tárá reasoned well,
On dull deaf ears her counsel fell.
I scorned her words though sooth and sweet,
And hither rushed my fate to meet,
Ah for the land thou rulest! she
Finds no protection, lord, from thee,
Neglected like some noble dame
By a vile husband dead to shame.
Mean-hearted coward, false and vile.
Whose cruel soul delights in guile,
Could Das’aratha, noblest king,
Beget so mean and base a thing?
Alas! an elephant, in form
Of Ráma, in a maddening storm
Of passion casting to the ground
The girth of law [21] that clipped him round,
Too wildly passionate to feel
The prick of duty’s guiding steel, [22]
Has charged me unawares, and dead
I fall beneath his murderous tread
How, stained with this my base defeat.
How wilt thou dare, where good men meet,
To speak, when every tongue will blame
With keen reproach this deed of shame?
Such hero strength and valour, shown
Upon the innocent alone,
Thou hast not proved in manly strife
On him who robbed thee of thy wife.
Hadst thou but fought in open field
And met me boldly unconcealed,
This day had been thy fate to fall,
Slain by this hand, to Yama’s hall.
In vain I strove, and struck by thee
Fell by a hand I could not see.
Thus bites a snake, for sins of yore,
A sleeping man who wakes no more.
Sugríva’s foeman thou hast killed,
And thus his heart’s desire fulfilled
But, Ráma, hadst thou sought me first,
And told the hope thy soul has nursed,
That very day had I restored
Tbe Maithil lady to her lord;
And, binding Rávan with a chain,
Had laid him at thy feet unslain.
[ p. 346 ]
Yea, were she sunk in deepest hell,
Or whelmed beneath the ocean’s swell,
I would have followed on her track
And brought the rescued lady back,
As Hayagríva 1 once set free
From hell the white As’vatarí. 2
That when my spirit wings its flight
Sugríva reign, is just and right.
But most unjust, O King, that I,
Slain by thy treacherous hand, should lie,
Be still, my heart: this earthly state
Is darkly ruled by sovereign Fate.
The realm is lost and won: defy
Thy questioners with apt reply.’ 3
He ceased: and Ráma’s heart was stirred
At every keen reproach he heard.
There Báli lay, a dim dark sun,
His course of light and glory run;
Or like the bed of Ocean dried
Of his broad floods from side to side,
Or helpless, as the dying fire,
Hushed his last words of righteous ire.
Then Ráma, with his spirit moved,
The Vánar king in turn reproved:
‘Why dost thou Báli, thus revile,
And castest not a glance the while
On claims of duty, love, and gain,
And customs o’er the world that reign?
Why dost thou blame me, rash and blind,
Fickle as all thy Vánar kind.
Slighting each rule of ancient days
Which all the good and prudent praise?
This land, each hill and woody chase,
Belongs to old Ikshváku’s race:
With bird and beast and man, the whole
Is ours to cherish and control.
Now Bharat, prompt at duty’s call,
Wise, just, and true, is lord of all.
Each claim of law, love, gain he knows,
And wrath and favour duly shows.
A king from truth who never bends,
And grace with vigour wisely blends;
With valour worthy of his race,
He knows the claims of time and place,
Now we and other kings of might,
By his ensample taught aright,
The lands of every region tread
That justice may increase and spread.
While royal Bharat, wise and just,
Rules the broad earth, his glorious trust,
Who shall attempt, while he is lord,
A deed by Justice held abhorred?
We now, as Bharat has decreed,
Let justice guide our every deed,
And toil each sinner to repress
Who scorns the way of righteousness.
Thou from that path hast turned aside,
And virtue’s holy law defied.
Left the fair path which kings should tread,
And followed pleasure’s voice instead.
The man who cleaves to duty’s law
Regards these three with filial awe—
The sire, the elder brother, third
Him from whose lips his lore he heard.
Thus too, for duty’s sake, the wise
Regard with fond paternal eyes
The well-loved younger brother, one
Their lore has ripened, and a son.
Fine are the laws which guide the good,
Abstruse, and hardly understood;
Only the soul, enthroned within
The breast of each, knows right from sin
But thou art wild and weak of soul,
And spurnest, like thy race, control;
The true and right thou canst not find.
Tht blind consulting with the blind.
Incline thine ear and I will teach
The cause that prompts my present speech
This tempest of thy soul assuage
Nor blame me in thine idle rage.
On this great sin thy thoughts bestow,
The sin for which I lay thee low.
Thou, Báli, in thy brother’s life
Hast robbed him of his wedded wife,
And keepest, scorning ancient right,
His Rumá for thine own delight.
Thy son’s own wife should scarcely be
More sacred in thine eyes than she.
All duty thou hast scorned, and hence
Comes punishment for dire offence.
For those who blindly do amiss
There is, I ween, no way but this:
To check the rash who dare to stray
From custom which the good obey,
I may not, sprung of Kshatriya line,
[ p. 347 ]
Forgive this heinous sin of thine:
The laws for those who sin like thee
The penalty of death decree.
Now Bharat rules with sovereign sway,
And we his royal word obey.
Tnere was no hope of pardon, none,
For the vile deed that thou hast done,
That wisest monarch dooms to die
The wretch whose crimes the law defy;
And we, chastising those who err,
His righteous doom administer.
Mv soul accounts Sugríva dear
E’en as my brother Lakshman here.
He brings me blessing, and I swore
his wife and kingdom to restore:
A bond in solemn honour bound
When Vánar chieftains stood around.
And can a king like me forsake
His friend, and plighted promise break?
Reflect, O Vánar, on the cause,
The sanction of eternal laws,
And, justly smitten down, confess
Thou diest for thy wickediness,
By honour was I bound to lend
Assistance to a faithful friend;
And thou hast met a righteous fate
Thy former sins to expiate.
And thus wilt thou some merit win
And make atonement for thy sin.
For hear me, Vánar King, rehearse
What Manu [23] spake in ancient verse,—
This holy law, which all accept
Who honour duty, have I kept:
‘Pure grow the sinners kings chastise,
And, like.the virtuous, gain the skies;
By pain or full atonement freed,
They reap the fruit of righteous deed,
While kings who punish not incur
The penalties of those who err.’
Mándhátá [24] once, a noble king,
Light of the line from which I spring,
Punished with death a devotee
When he had stooped to sin like thee;
And many a king in ancient time
Has punished frantic sinners’ crime,
And, when their impious blood was spilt,
Has washed away the stain of guilt.
Cease, Báli, cease; no more complain:
Reproaches and laments are vain.
For thou art justly punished: we
Obey our king and are not free.
Once more, O Báli, lend thine ear
Another weightiest plea to hear.
For this, when heard and pondered well.
Will all complaint and rage dispel.
My soul will ne’er this deed repent,
Nor was my shaft in anger sent.
We take the silvan tribes beset
With snare and trap and gin and net,
And many a heedless deer we smite
From thickest shade, concealed from sight.
Wild for the slaughter of the game,
At stately stags our shafts we aim.
We strike them bounding scared away,
We strike them as they stand at bay,
When careless in the shade they lie,
Or scan the plain with watchful eye.
They turn away their heads; we aim,
And none the eager hunter blame.
Each royal saint, well trained in law
Of duty, loves his bow to draw
And strike the quarry, e’en as thou
Hast fallen by mine arrow now,
Fiphting with him or unaware,—
A Vánar thou.—I little care. [25]
But yet, O best of Vánars, know
That kings who rule the earth bestow
Fruit of pure life and virtuous deed.
And lofty duty’s hard-won meed.
Harm not thy lord the king: abstain
From ant and word that cause him pain;
For kings are children of the skies
Who walk this earth in men’s disguise.
But thou, in duty’s claims untaught,
thy breast with blinding passion fraught,
Assailest me who still have clung
To duty, with thy bitter tongue.’
He ceased; and Ball sore distressed
The sovereign claims of law confessed,
And freed, o’erwhelmed with woe and shame,
The lord of Raghu’s race from blame.
Then, reverent palm to palm applied,
To Ráma thus the Vánar cried:
‘True, best of men, is every word
That from thy lips these ears have heard,
It ill beseems a wretch like me
To bandy empty words with thee.
Forgive the angry taunts that broke
From my wild bosom as I spoke.
And lay not to my charge, O King,
[ p. 348 ]
My mad reproaches’ idle sting.
Thou, in the truth by trial trained,
Best knowledge of the right hast gained:
And layest, just and pure within,
The meetest penalty on sin.
Through every bond of law I burst,
The boldest sinner and the worst.
O let thy right-instructing speech
Console my heart and wisely teach.’
Like some sad elephant who stands
Fast sinking in the treacherous sands,
Thus Báli raised despairing eyes;
Then spake again with sobs and sighs:
'Not for myself, O King, I grieve,
For Tárá or the friends I leave,
As for sweet Angad, my dear son,
My noble, only little one.
For, nursed in luxury and bliss,
His father he will mourn and miss,
And like a stream whose fount is dry
Will waste away and sink and die,—
My own dear child, my only boy,
His mother Tárá’s hope and joy.
Spare him, O son of Raghu, spare
The child entrusted to thy care.
My Angad and Sugríva treat
E’en as thy heart considers meet,
For thou, O chief of men, art strong
To guard the right and punish wrong.
O, if thou wilt thine ear incline
To hear these dying words of mine,
He and Sugríva will to thee
As Bharat and as Lakshman be.
Let not my Tárá, left forlorn,
Weep for Sugríva’s wrathful scorn;
Nor let him, for her lord’s offence,
Condemn her faithful innocence.
And well and wisely may he reign
If thy dear grace his power sustain:
If, following thee his friend and guide,
He turn not from thy hest aside:
Thus may he reign with glory, nay
Thus to the skies will win his way.
Though stayed by Tárá’s fond recall,
By thy dear hand I longed to fall.
Against my brother rushed and fought,
And gained the death I long have sought.’
Then Ráma thus the prince consoled
From whose clear eyes the mists were rolled:
‘Grieve not for those thou leavest thus,
Nor tremble for thyself or us,
For we will deal with thine and thee
As duty and the laws decree.
He who exacts and he who pays,
Is justly slain or justly slays,
Shall in the life to come have bliss;
For each has done his task in this.
Thou, wandering from the right, art made
Pure by the forfeit thou hast paid.
Thy weight of sins is cast aside,
And duty’s claim is satisfied.
Then grieve no more, O Prince, but clear
Thy bosom from all doubt and fear,
For fate, inexorably stern,
Thou hast no power to move or turn.
Thy princely Angad still will share
My tender love. Sugríva’s care;
And to thy offspring shall be shown
Affection that shall match thine own.’
No answer gave the Vánar king
To Ráma’s prudent counselling.
Battered and bruised by tree and stone,
By Ráma’s arrow overthrown,
Fainting upon the ground he lay,
Gasping his troubled life away.
But Tárá in the Vánar’s hall
Heard tidings of her husband’s fall;
Heard that a shaft from Ráma’s bow
Had laid the royal Báli low.
Her darling Angad by her side,
Distracted from her home she hied.
Then nigh the place of battle drew
The Vánars, Angad’s retinue.
They saw the bow-armed Ráma: dread
Fell on them, and they turned and fled.
Like helpless deer, their leaders slain,
So wildly fled the startled train.
But Tárá saw, and nearer pressed.
And thus the flying band addressed:
‘O Vánars, ye who ever stand
About our king, a trusty band,
Where is the lion master? why
Forsake ye thus your lord and fly?
Say, lies he dead upon the plain,
A brother by a brother slain,
Or pierced by shafts from Ráma’s bow
That rain from far upon the foe?’
Thus Tárá questioned, and was still:
Then, wearers of each shape at will,
The Vánars thus with one accord
Answered the Lady of their lord:
‘Turn, Tárá turn, and half undone
Save Angad thy beloved son.
Tnere Ráma stands in death’s disguise,
And conquered Báli faints and dies.
He by whose strong arm, thick and fast,
Uprooted trees and rocks were cast,
Lies smitten by a shaft that came
Resistless as the lightning flame.
When he, whose splendour once could vie
With Indra’s, regent of the sky,
Fell by that deadly arrow, all
The Vánars fled who marked his fall.
Let all our chiefs their succours bring,
And Angad be anointed king:
[ p. 349 ]
For all who come of Vánar race
Will serve him set in Báli’s place.
Or else our conquering foes to-day
Within our wall will force their way,
Polluting with their hostile feet
The chambers of thy loved retreat.
Great fear is on us. all and one.
Those who have wives and who have none,
They lust for power, are fierce and bold,
Or hate us for the strife of old.’
She heard their speech as, sore afraid,
Arrested in their flight, they stayed,
And gave her answer as became
Tne spirit of so true a dame:
‘Nay, what have I to do with pelf,
With son, with kingdom, or with self,
When he, my noble lord, who leads
The Vánars ‘like a loin, bleeds?
His high-souled victor will I meet,
And throw me prostrate at his feet.’
She hastened forth, her bosom rent
With anguish, weeping as she went,
And striking, mastered by her woes,
Her head and breast with frantic blows.
She hurried to the field and found
Her husband postrate on the ground,
Who quelled the hostile Vánars’ might,
Whose bank was never turned in flight:
Whose arm a massy rock could throw
As Indra hurls his bolts below:
Fierce as the rushing tempest, loud
As thunder from a labouring cloud:
Whene’er he roared his voice of fear
Struck terror on the boldest ear:
Now slain, as, hungry for the prey,
A tiger might a lion slay:
Or when, his serpent foe to seek,
Suparna [26] with his furious beak
Tears up a sacred hillock, long
The reverence of a village throng,
Its altar with their offerings spread,
And the gay flag that waved o erhead.
She looked and saw the victor stand
Renting upon his bow his hand:
And fierce Sugriva she descried,
And Lakshman by his brother’s side,
She passed them by, nor stayed to view,
Swift to her husband’s side she flew;
Then as she looked, her strength gave way.
And in the dust she fell and lay.
Then, as if startled ere the close
Of slumber, from the earth she rose.
Upon her dying husband, round
Whose soul the coils of Death were wound,
Her eyes in agony she bent
And called him with a shrill lament.
Sugriva, when he heard her cries,
Aud saw the queen with weeping eyes,
And youthful Angad standing there,
His load of grief could hardly bear.
Again she bent her to the ground,
Her arms about her husband wound.
Sobbed on his breast, and sick and faint
With anguish poured her wild complaint:
Brave in the charge of battle, boast
And glory of the Vánar host,
Why on the cold earth wilt thou lie
And give no answer when I cry!
Up, warrior, from thy lowly bed!
A meeter couch for thee is spread.
It ill beseems a glorious king
On the bare ground his limbs to fling.
Ah, surely must thy love be strong
For her whom thou hast governed long,
If thou, my hero, canst recline
On her cold breast forsaking mine.
Or, famed for justice through the laud.
Thou on the road to heaven hast planned
Some city fairer far than this
To be thy new metropolis.
Are all our plasures ended now.
With those delicious hours which thou
And I, dear lord, together spent
In woods that breathed the honey’s scent?
Whelmed in my sorrow’s boundless sea,
There is no joy, no hope, for me,
When my beloved lord, who led
The Vánars to the fight, is dead,
My widowed heart is stern and cold.
Or, at the sight mine eyes behold,
O’ermastered would it end this ache
And in a thousand fragments break.
Ah noble Vánar, doomed to pay
The penalty of all today—
Sugriva from his home expelled.
And Rumá [27] from his arms withheld.
Our Vánar race and thee to save.
Wise counsel for thy weal I gave;
But thou, by wildest folly stirred,
Wouldst give no credence to my word.
And now wilt woo the nymphs above.
And shake their souls with pangs of love.
Ah, never could it be that thou
Beneath Sugriva’s power shouldst bow,
Thy conqueror is none but Fate
Whose mandates all who breathe await.
And does no thrill of anguish run
Through the stern breast of Raghu’s son,
Whose base hand dealt a coward’s blow,
And smote thee fighting with thy foe!
Reft of my lord my days, alas!
[ p. 350 ]
In bitter bitter woe will pass:
And I, long blest-with every good,
Must bear my dreary widowhood.
And when his uncle’s brow is stern,
When his fierce eyes with fury burn,
Ah, what will be my Angad’s fate,
So fair and young and delicate?
Come, darling, for the last sad sight,
Of thy dear sire who loved the right;
For soon thine eyes will long in vain
A look at that loved face to gain.
And, hero, as thy child draws near,
With tender words his spirit cheer;
Thy dying wishes gently speak,
And kiss him on the brows and cheek.
High fame, I ween, has Ráma won
By this great deed his hand has done,
His debt to brave Sugríva paid
And kept the promise that he made.
Be happy, King Sugríva, lord
Of Rumá to thine arms restored:
Enjoy uninterrupted reign,
For he, thy foe, at length is slain.
Dost thou not hear me speak, and why
Hast thou no word of soft reply?
Will thou not lift thine eyes and see
These dames who look to none but thee?’
From their sad eyes, as Tárá spoke,
The floods of bitter sorrow broke:
Then, pressing close to Angad’s side,
Each lifted up her voice and cried:
How couldst thou leave thine Angad thus,
And go, for ever go, from us—
Thy child so dear in brave attire,
Graced with the virtues of his sire?
If e’er in want of thought, O chief,
One deed of mine have caused thee grief,
Forgive my folly, I entreat,
And with my head I touch thy feet.’
Again the hapless Tárá wept
As to her husband’s side she crept,
And wild with sorrow and dismay
Sat on the ground where Bálí lay.
335:1 Righteous because he never transgresses his bounds, and
“over his great tides
Fidelity presides.” ↩︎
335:2 Himálaya, the Lord of Snow, is the father of Umá the wife of S’iva or S’ankar. ↩︎
335:3 Indra’s celestial elephant. ↩︎
336:1 Báli was the son of Indra. See p.28. ↩︎
336:2 An Asur slain by Indra. See p. 261 Note. He is, like Vritra, a form of the demon of drought destroyed by the beneficent God of the firmament. ↩︎
336:1b Another name of Indra or Mahendra. ↩︎
338:1 The Bengal recension makes it return In the form of a swan. ↩︎
338:2 Varuna is one of the oldest of the Vedic Gods, corresponding in name and partly in character to the οὐρανός of the Greeks and is often regarded as the supreme deity. He upholds heaven and earth, possesses extraordinary power and wisdom, sends his messengers through both worlds, numbers the very winkings of men’s eyes, punishes transgressors whom he seizes with his deadly noose, and pardons the sins of those who are penitent. In later mythology he has become the God of the sea. ↩︎
339:1 Budha, not to be confounded with the great reformer Buddha, is the son of Soma or the Moon, and regent of the planet Mercury. Angára is the regent of Mars who is called the red or the fiery planet. The encounter between Michael and Satan is similarly said to have been as if
“Two planets rushing from aspect malign
Of fiercest opposition in midsky
Should combat, and their jarring spheres
compound.”
Paradise Lost. Book VI. ↩︎
339:2 The As’vins or Heavenly Twins, the Dioskuri or Castor and Pollux of the Hindus, have frequently been mentioned. See p. 36, Note ↩︎
342:1 The conflagration which destroys the world at the end of a Yuga or age ↩︎
342:2 Himalaya. ↩︎
342:1b Tárá means ‘star’. The poet plays upon the name by comparing her beauty to that of the Lord of stars, the Moon. ↩︎
344:1 Indra the father of Báli. ↩︎
344:2 It is believed that every creature killed by Ráma obtained in consequence immediate beatitude. ‘And blessed the hand that gave so dear a death.’ ↩︎
344:3 "Yayáti was invited to heaven by Indra, and conveyed on the way thither by Mátali, Indra’s charioteer. He afterwards returned to earth where, by his virtuous administration he rendered all his subjects exempt from passion and decay.’ HARRETTS C. D. OF INDIA ↩︎
344:1b The ascetic’s dress which he wore during his exile. ↩︎
344:2b There is much inconsistency in the passages of the poem in which the Vánara are spoken of, which seems to point to two p. 345: widely different legends. The Vánars are generally represented as semi-divine beings with preternatural powers, living in houses and eating and drinking like men sometimes as here, as monkeys pure and simple, living is woods and eating fruit and roots. ↩︎
345:1 For a younger brother to marry before the elder is a gross violation of Indian law and duty. The same law applied to daughters with the Hebrews: “It must not be so done in our country to give the younger before the first-born.” GENESIS xix. 26. ↩︎
345:1b “The hedgehog and porcupine, the lizard, the rhinoceros, the tortoise, and the rabbit or hare, wise legislators *delure* lawful food among five-toed animals.” *MANU, i.* 18. ↩︎
345:2b “He can not buckle his distempered cause Within the belt of rule.” MACBETH. ↩︎
345:3b The Ankus’ or iron hook with which an elephant is driven and guided. ↩︎
347:1 Manu, Book VIII. 318. “But men who have committed offences and have received from kings the punishment due to them, go pure to heaven and become as clear as those who have done well.” ↩︎
347:2 Mándhátá was one of the earlier descendants of Ikshváku. His name is mentioned in Ráma’s genealogy, p. 81. ↩︎
347:1b I cannot understand how Válmíki could put such an excuse as this into Ráma’s mouth. Ráma with all solemn ceremony, has made a league of alliance with Báli’s younger brother whom he regards as a dear friend and almost as an equal, and now he winds up his reasons for killing Báli by coolly saying: ‘Besides you are only a monkey, you know, after all, and as such I have every right to kill you how, when, and where I like.’ ↩︎
349:1 A name of Garuda the king of birds, the great enemy of the Serpents. ↩︎
349:1b Sugriva’s wife. ↩︎