There, like a fallen star, the dame
Fell by her lord’s half lifeless frame;
And Hanumán drew softly near,
And strove her grieving heart to.cheer:
‘By changeless law our bliss and woe
From ancient worth and folly flow.
What fruits soe’er we cull, the seeds
Were scattered by our former deeds. [1]
Why mourn another’s mournful fate,
And weep, thyself unfortunate?
Be calm, O thou whose heart is wise,
for none deserves another’s sighs.
Look up, with idle sorrow strive:
Thy child, his heir, is yet alive.
Let needful rites be duly done,
Nor in thy woe forget thy son.
Regard the law which all obey:
They spring to life, they pass away.
Begin the task that bids thee rise,
And stay these tears, for thou art wise.
Our lord the king is doomed to die,
On whom ten million hearts rely,
Kind, liberal, patient, true, and just
Was lie in whom they place their trust,
And now he seeks the land of those
Who for the right subdue their foes.
Each Vánar lord with all his train,
Each ranger of this wild domain,
And Angad here, thy darling, see
A governor and friend in thee.
These twain 1b whose hearts with sorrow ache
The funeral rites shall undertake,
And Angad by his mother’s care
Be king, his father’s rightful heir.
Now let him pay, as laws require,
His sacred duty to his sire,
Nor one solemnity omit
Of all that mighty kings befit.
And when thy loud eye sees thine own
Dear Angad on his father’s throne,
Then, lightened of its load of pain,
Thy spirit will have rest again.’
She heard his speech, she heaved her head,
Looked upon Hanumán and said,
‘Sweeter my slain lord’s limbs to touch,
Than Angad or a hundred such.
No rule or right, a widowed dame,
O’er Angad or the realm I claim,
Sugriva is the uncle, he
In every act supreme must be,
I pray thee, chief, this plan resign,
Nor claim from me what ne’er is mine.
The father with his tender care
Guards the dear child the mother bare,
Where’er I be, no sweeter task,
No happier joy I hope or ask
Than thus to sit with loving eyes
And watch the bed where Báli lies.
There breathing still with slow faint sighs
Lay Báli on the ground: his eyes,
[ p. 351 ]
Damp with the tears of death, he raised,
On conquering Sugríva gazed,
And then in clearest speech expressed
The tender feelings of his breast;
‘Not to my charge, Sugríva, lay
Thine injuries avenged to-day;
But rather blame resistless Fate
That urged me on infuriate.
Fate ne’er agreed our lives to bless
With simultaneous happiness:
To dwell like brothers side by side
In tender love was still denied.
The Vánars’ realm is thine to-day:
Begin, O King, thy rightful sway; [2]
for I must go at Yama’s call
To sojourn in his gloomy hall;
Must part and leave this very hour
My life, my realm, my kingly power,
And go instead of these to gain
Bright glory free from spot and stain.
Now at thy hands one boon I seek
With the last words my lips shall speak,
And, though it be no easy thing,
perform the task I give thee, King.
This son of mine, no foolish boy,
Worthy of bliss and nursed in joy,—
See, prostrate on the ground he lies,
The hot tears welling from his eyes—
The child I love so well, more sweet
Than life itself, for woe unmeet,—
To him be kindly favour shown:
O guard and keep him as thine own.
Retain him ever by thy side,
His father, helper, friend, and guide.
From fear and woe his young life save,
And give him all his father gave.
Then Tárá’s son in time shall be
Brave, resolute, and famed like thee,
And march before thee to the fight
Where stricken fiends shall own his might.
While yet a tender stripling, fame
Shall bruit abroad his warrior name,
And brigbtlv shall his glory shine
For exploits worthy of his line.
Child of Sushen, [3] my Tárá well
Obscurest lore can read and tell;
And, trained in wondrous art, divines
Each mystery of boding signs.
Her solemn warning ne’er despise,
Do boldly what her lips advise;
For things to come her eye can see,
And with her words events agree.
And for the son of Raghu’s sake
The toil and danger undertake:
For breach of faith were grievous wrong,
Nor wouldst thou be unpunished long.
Now, brother, take this chain of gold,
Gift of celestial hands of old,
Or when I die its charm will flee,
And all its might be lost with me.’
The loving speech Sugríva heard.
And all his heart with woe was stirred.
Remorse and gentle pity stole
Each thought of triumph from his soul:
Thus fades the light when Ráhu [4] mars
The glory of the Lord of Stars. [5]
All angry thoughts were staved and stilled
And kindly love his bosom filled.
His brother’s word the chief obeyed
And took the chain as Báli prayed.
On little Angad standing nigh
The dying hero fixed his eye,
And, ready from this world to part,
Spoke the fond utterance of his heart:
‘Let time and place thy thoughts employ:
In woe be strong, he meek in joy.
Accept both pain and pleasure, still
Obedient to Sugríva’s will.
Thou hast, my darling, from the first
With tender care been softly nursed;
But harder days, if thou wouldst win
Sugríva’s love, must now begin.
To those who hate him ne’er incline,
Nor count his foe a friend of thine.
In all thy thoughts his welfare seek,
Obedient, lowly, faithful, meek.
Let no rash suit his bosom pain,
Nor yet from due requsts abstain. [6]
Each is a grievous fault, between
The two is round the happy mean.’
Then Báli ceased: his eyeballs rolled
In stress of anguish uncontrolled
His massive teeth were bared to view,
And from the frame the spirit flew.
Their lord and leader dead, the crowd
Of noblest Vánars shrieked aloud:
‘Since thou, O King, hast sought the skies
All desolate Kishkindhá lies.
Her woods, where Vánars loved to rove,
Are empty now, and hill and grove.
From every eye the light is fled,
Since thou, our mighty lord, art dead.
Thine was the unwearied arm that bore
The brunt of deadly fight of yore
With Golabh the Gandharva, when,
Lasting through five long years and ten,
[ p. 352 ]
The dreadful conflict knew no stay
In gloom of night, in glare of day;
And when the fifteenth year had past
Thy dire opponent fell at last.
If such a foeman fell beneath
Our hero’s arm and awful teeth
Who freed us from our terror, how
Is conquering Báli fallen now?’
Then when they saw their leader slain
Great anguish seized the Vánar train,
Weeping their mighty chief, as when
In pastures near a lion’s den
The cows by sudden fear are stirred,
Slain the bold bull who led the herd.
And hapless Tárá sank below
The whelming waters of her woe,
Looked upon Báli’s face and fell
Beside him whom she loved go well,
Like a young creeper clinging round
A tall tree prostrate on the ground.
She kissed her lifeless husband’s face,
She clasped him in a close embrace,
Laid her soft lips upon his head;
Then words like these the mourner said:
‘No words of mine wouldst thou regard,
And now thy bed is cold and hard.
Upon the rude rough ground o’erthrown,
Beneath thee naught but sand and stone.
To thee the earth is dearer far
Than I and my caresses are,
If thou upon her breast wilt lie,
And to my words make no reply.
Ah my beloved, good and brave,
Bold to attack and strong to save,
Fate is Sugriva’s thrall, and we
In him our lord and master see.
Lo, by thy bed, a mournful band,
Thy Vánar chiefs lamenting stand.
O hear thy nobles’ groans and cries,
O mark thy Angad’s Weeping eyes,
O list to my entreaties, break
The chains of slumber and awake.
Ah me, my lord, this lowly bed
Where rest thy limbs and fallen head,
Is the cold couch where smitten lay
Thy foemen in the bloody fray.
O noble heart from blemish free,
Lover of war, beloved by me,
Why hast thou fled away and left
Thy Tárá of all hope bereft!
Unwise the father who allows
His child to be a warrior’s spouse,
For, hero, see thy consort’s fate,
A widow now moat desolate,
For ever broken is my pride,
My hope of lasting bliss has died,
And sinking in the lowest deep
Of sorrow’s sea I pine and weep.
Ah, surely not of earthly mould,
This stony heart is stern and cold,
Or, in a hundred pieces rent,
It had not lingered to lament.
Dead, dead! my husband, friend, and lord
In whom my loving hopes were stored,
First in the field, his foemen’s dread,
My own victorious Báli, dead!
A woman when her lord has died,
Though children flourish by her side,
Though stores of gold her coffers fill,
Is called a lonely widow still.
Alas, thy bleeding gashes make
Around thy limbs a purple lake:
Thus slumbering was thy wont to lie
On cushions bright with crimson dye.
Dark streams of welling blood besmear
Thy limbs where dust and mire adhere,
Nor have I strength, weighed down by woe,
Mine arms about thy form to throw.
The issue of this day has brought
Sugriva all his wishes sought,
For Ráma shot one shaft and he
Is freed from fear and jeopardy.
Alas, alas, I may not rest
My head upon thy wounded breast,
Obstructed by the massive dart
Deep buried in thy bleeding heart.’
Then Níla from his bosom drew
The fatal shaft that pierced him through,
Like some tremendous serpent deep
In caverns of a hill asleep.
As from the hero’s wound it came,
Shot from the shaft a gleam of flame,
Like the last flashes of the sun
Descending when his course is run.
From the wide rent in crimson flood
Rushed the full stream of Báli’s blood,
Like torrents down a mountain’s side
With golden ore and copper dyed.
Then Tárá brushed with tender care
The dust of battle from his hair,
While her sad eyes poured down their rain
Upon her lord untimely slain.
Once more she looked upon the dead;
Then to her bright-eyed child she said:
‘Turn hither, turn thy weeping eyes
Where low in death thy father lies.
By sinful deed and bitter hate
Our lord has met his mournful fate.
Bright as the sun at early morn
To Yama’s halls is Báli borne.
Then go, my child, salute the king,
From whom our bliss and honour spring.
Obedient to his mother’s hest
His father’s feet he gently pressed
[ p. 353 ]
With twining arms and lingering hands:
‘Father’, he cried, there Angad stands.’
Then Tárá: ‘Art thou stern and mute,
Regardless of thy child’s salute?
Hast thou no blessing for thy son,
No word for little Angad, none?
O, hero, at thy lifeless feet
Here with my boy I take my seat,
As some sad mother of the herd,
By the fierce lion undeterred,
Lies moaning by the grassy dell
Wherein her lord and leader fell.
How, having wrought that awful rite,
The sacrifice of deadly fight.
Wherein the shaft by Ráma sped
Supplied the place of water shed,
How hast thou bathed thee at the end
Without thy wife her aid to lend? 1
Why do mine eyes no more behold
Thy bright beloved chain of gold,
Which, pleased with thee, the Immortals’ King
About thy neck vouchsafed to fling?
Still lingering on thy lifeless face
I see the pride of royal race:
Thus when the sun has set his glow
Still rests upon the Lord of Snow.
Alas my hero! undeterred
Thou wouldst not listen to my word.
With tears and prayers I sued in vain:
Thou wouldst not listen, and art slain.
Gone is my bliss, my glory: I
And Angad now with thee will die.’
But when Sugríva saw her weep
O’erwhelmed in sorrow’s rushing deep.
Swift through his bosom pierced the sting
Of anguish for the fallen king.
At the sad sight his eyes beheld
A flood of bitter tears outwelled,
And, with his bosom racked and rent,
To Ráma with his train he went.
He came with faltering steps and slow
Where Ráma held his mighty bow
And arrow like a venomed snake,
And to the son of Raghu spake:
‘Well hast thou kept, O King, thy vow:
The promised fruit is gathered now.
But life is marred, my soul to-day
Turns sickening from all joy away.
For, while this queen laments and sighs
Amid a mourning people’s cries,
And Angad weeps his father slain,
How can my heart delight to reign?
For outrage, fury, senseless pride,
My brother, doomed of yore, has died.
Yet, Raghu’s son, in bitter woe
I mourn his fated overthrow.
Ah, better far in pain and ill
To dwell on Rishyamúka still
Than gain the heaven of Gods and all
Its pleasures by my brother’s fall.
Did not he cry,—great-hearted foe,—
‘Go, for I will not slay thee, Go’?
With his brave soul those words agree:
My speech, my deeds, are worthy me.
How can a brother counterweigh
His grievous loss with joys of sway,
And see with dull unpitying eye
So brave and good a brother die?
His lofty soul was nobly blind:
My death alas, he ne’er designed;
But I, urged blindly on by hate,
Sought with his life my rage to sate.
He smote me with a splintered tree:
I groaned aloud and turned to flee,
From stern reproaches he forbore,
And gently bade me sin no more.
Serene and dutiful and good
He kept the laws of brotherhood:
I, fierce and greedy, vengeful, base,
Showed all the vices of our race.
Ah me, dear friend, my brother’s fate
Lays on my soul a crushing weight:
A sin no heart should e’er conceive,
But at the thought each soul should grieve:
Sin such as Indra’s when his blow
Laid heavenly Vis’varúpa [7] low.
Yet earth, the waters of the seas,
The race of women and the trees
Were fain upon themselves to take
The weight of sin for Indra’s sake.
But who a Vánar’s soul will free,
Or ease the load that crushes me?
Wretch that I am, I may not claim
The reverence due to royal name.
How shall I reign supreme, or dare
Affect the power I should not share?
Ah me, I sorrow for my sin,
The ruin of my race and kin,
Polluted by a hideous crime
World-hated till the end of time.
Alas, the floods of sorrow roll
With whelming force upon my soul:
So gathers the descending rain
In the deep hollow of the plain.
[ p. 354 ]
Then Raghu’s son, whose feeling breast
Shared the great woe that moved the rest,
Strove with wise charm their grief to ease
And gently spoke in words like these:
'You ne’er can raise the dead to bliss
By agony of grief like this
Cease your lament, nor leave undone
The funeral task you may not shun.
As nature orders o’er the dead
Your tributary tears are shed,
But Fate, directing each event,
Is still the lord preeminent.
Yes, all obey the changeless laws
Of Fate the universal cause,
By Fate, the lives of all proceed,
That governs every word and deed,
None acts, none sees his hest obeyed.
But each and all by Fate are swayed.
The world its ordered course maintains,
And o’er that course Fate ever reigns.
Fate ne’er exceeds the rule of Fate:
Is ne’er too swift, is ne’er too late,
And making nature its ally
Forgets no life, nor passes by.
No kith and kin, no power and force
Can check or stay its settled course,
No friend or client, grace or charm,
That victor of the world disarm.
So all who see with prudent eyes
The hand of Fate must recognize,
For virtue rules, or love, or gain,
As Fate’s unchanged decrees ordain.
Báli has died and won the meed
That waits in heaven on noble deed,
Throned in the seats the brave may reach
By liberal hand and gentle speech,
True to a warrior’s duty, bold
In fight, the hero lofty-souled
Deigned not to guard his life: he died,
And now in heaven is glorified.
Then cease these tears and wild despair:
Turn to the task that claims your care,
For Báli’s is the glorious fate
Which warriors count most fortunate.’
When Ráma’s speech had found a close.
Brave Lakshman, terror of his foes,
With wise and soothing words addressed
Sugríva still with woe oppressed:
‘Arise Sugríva,’ thus he said,
‘Perform the service of the dead.
Prepare with Tárá and her son
That Báli’s rites be duly done.
A store of funeral wood provide
Which wind and sun and time have dried
And richest sandal fit to grace
The pyre of one of royal race.
With words of comfort soft and kind
Console poor Angad’s troubled mind,
Nor let thy heart be thus cast down,
For thine is now the Vánars’ town.
Let Angad’s care a wreath supply,
And raiment rich with varied dye,
And oil and perfumes for the fire,
And all the solemn rites require.
Go, hasten to the town, O King,
And Tárá’s little quickly bring.
A virtue is despatch: and speed
Is best of all in hour of need.
Go, let a chosen band prepare
The litter of the dead to bear.
For stout and tall and strong of limb
Must be the cheifs who carry him.’
He spoke,—his friends’ delight and pride,—
Then stood again by Ráma’s side.
When Tára [8] heard the words he said
Within the town he quickly sped,
And brought, on stalwart shoulders laid,
The litter for the rites arrayed,
Framed like a car for Gods, complete
With painted sides and royal seat,
With latticed windows deftly made,
And golden birds and trees inlaid:
Well joined and wrought in every part,
A marvel of ingenious art.
Where pleasure mounds in carven wood
And many a graven figure stood.
The best of jewels o’er it hung,
And wreaths of flowers around it clung,
And over all was raised on high
A canopy of saffron dye,
While like the sun of morning shone
The billiant blooms that lay thereon.
That glorious litter Ráma eyed.
And spake to Lakshman by his side:
‘Let Báli on the bier be placed
And with all funeral service graced.’
Sugríva then with many a tear
Drew Báli’s body to the bier
Whereon, with weeping Angad’s aid,
The relics of the chief were laid
Neath many a vesture’s varied fold,
And wreaths and ornaments and gold.
Then King Sugríva bade them speed
The obsequies by law decreed:
‘Let Vánars lead the way and throw
Rich gems around them as they go,
And be the chosen bearers near
Behind them, laden with the bier.
No costly rite may you deny,
Used when the proudest monarchs die:
As for a king of widest sway.
Perform his obsequies to-day,’
[ p. 355 ]
Sugríva gave his high behest;
Then Princely Tára and the rest,
With little Angad weeping, led
The long procession of the dead.
Behind the funeral litter came,
With Tára first, each widowed dame
In tears and shrieks her loss deplored,
Add cried aloud, My lord! My lord!
While wood and hill and valley sent
In echoes back the shrill lament.
Then on a low and sandy isle
Was reared the hero’s funeral pile
By crowds of toiling Vánars, where
The mountain stream ran fresh and fair.
The Vánar chiefs, a noble band,
Had laid the litter on the sand,
And stood a little space apart,
Each mourning in his inmost heart.
But Tára, when her weeping eye
Saw Báli, on the litter lie,
Laid his dear head upon her lap,
And wailed aloud her dire mishap;
‘O mighty Vánar, lord and king,
To whose fond breast brave, and bold,
Rise, look upon me as of old.
Rise up, my sovereign, dost thou see
A crowd of subjects weep for thee?
Still o’er thy face, though breath has fled.
The joyous light of life is spread:
Thus around the sun, although he set,
A crimson glory lingers yet.
Death clad in Ráma’s form to-day
Hast dragged thee from the world away.
One shaft from his tremendous bow
Dooms us to widowhood and woe.
Hast thou, O Vánar King, no eyes
Thy weeping wives to recognize,
Who for the length of way unmeet
Have followed thee with weary feet?
Yet every moon-faced beauty here
By thee, O King was counted dear.
Lord of the Vánar race, hast thou
No eyes to see Sugríva now?
About thee stands in mournful mood
A sore-afflicted multitude,
And Tára and thy lords of state
Around their monarch weep and wait,
Arise my lord, with gentle speech,
As was thy wont, dismissing each,
Then in the forest will we play
And love shall make our spirits gay.’
The Vánar dames raised Tára, drowned
In floods of sorrow, from the ground;
And Angad with Sugríva’s aid,
O’erwhelmed with anguish and dismayed,
Weeping for his departed sire,
Placed Bali’s body on the pyre:
Then lit the flame, and round the dead
Paced slowly with a mourner’s tread.
Thus with full rites the funeral train.
Performed the service for the slain,
Then sought the flowing stream and made
Libations to the parted shade.
There, setting Angad first in place,
The chieftains of the Vanar race,
With Tára and Sugríva, shed
The water that delights the dead.
Each Vánar councillor and peer
In crowded numbers gathered near
Sugriva, mournful king, while yet
His vesture from the wave was wet,
Before the chief of Raghu’s seed
Unwearied in each arduous deed,
They stood and raised the reverent hand
As saints before Lord Brahmá stand,
Then Hanumán of massive mould,
Like some tall hill of glistering gold,
Son of the God whose wild blasts shake
The forest, thus to Ráma spake:
‘By thy kind favour, O my lord,
Sugríva, to his home restored
Triumphant, has regained to-day
His rank and power and royal sway.
He now will call each faithful friend,
Enter the city, and attend
With sage advice and prudent care
To every task that waits him there.
Then balm and unguent shall anoint
Our monarch, as the laws appoint,
And gems and precious wreaths shall be
His grateful offering, King, to thee.
Do thou, O Ráma, with thy friend
Thy steps within the city bend;
Our ruler on his throne install,
And with thy presence cheer us all.’
Then, skilled in lore and arts that guide
The speaker, Raghu’s son replied:
‘For fourteen years I might not break
The mandate that my father spake;
Nor can I, till that time be fled,
The street of town or village tread.
Let King Sugríva seek the town
Most worthy of her high renown,
There let him be without delay
Anointed, and begin his sway.
This answered, to Sugríva then
Thus spake anew the king of men:
‘Do thou who knowest right ordain
Prince Angad consort of thy reign;
For he is noble, true, and bold,
And trained a righteous course to hold
Gifts like his sire’s thait youth adorn
Born eldest to the eldest born.
[ p. 356 ]
This is the month of Srávana [9]first
Of those that see the rain-clouds burst.
Four months, thou knowest well, extends
The season when the rain descends.
No time for deeds of war is this.
Seek thou thy fair metropolis,
And I with Lakshman, O my friend,
The time upon this hill will spend.
An ample cavern opens there
Made lovely by the mountain air,
And lotuses and lilies fill
The pleasant lake and murmuring rill.
When Kártik’s [10] month shall clear the skies,
Then tempt the mighty enterprise.
Now, chieftain to thy home repair,
And be anointed sovereign there.’
Sugríva heard: he bowed his head:
Within the lovely town he sped
Which Bali’s royal will had swayed,
Where thousand Vánar chiefs arrayed
Gathered in order round their king,
And led him on with welcoming.
Low on the earth the lesser crowd
Fell in prostration as they bowed.
Sugríva looked with grateful eyes,
Spake to them all and bade them rise.
Then through the royal bowers he strode
Wherein the monarch’s wives abode.
Soon from the inner chambers came
The Vánar of exalted fame;
And joyful friends drew near and shed
King-making balm upon his head,
Like Gods anointing in the skies
Their sovereign of the thousand eyes. [11]
Then brought they, o’er their king to hold
The white umbrella decked with gold,
And chouries with their waving hair
In golden handles wondrous fair;
And fragrant herbs and seed and spice,
And sparkling gems exceeding price,
And every bloom from woods and leas,
And gum distilled from milky trees;
And precious ointment white as milk,
And spotless robes of cloth and silk,
Wreaths of sweet flowers whose glories gleam
In grassy grove, on lake or stream.
And fragrant sandal and each scent
That makes the soft breeze redolent;
Grain, honey, odorous seed, and store
Of oil and curd and golden ore;
A noble tiger’s skin, a pair
Of sandals wrought with costliest care,
Eight pairs of damsels drawing nigh
Brought unguents stained with varied dye.
Then gems and cates and robes displayed
Before the twice-born priests were laid,
That they would deign in order due
To consecrate the king anew.
The sacred grass was duly spread
And sacrificial flame was fed,
Which Scripture-learned priests supplied
With oil which texts had sanctified.
Then, with all rites ordained of old,
High on the terrace bright with gold,
Whereon a glorious carpet lay,
And fresh-culled garlands sweet and gay,
Placed on his throne, Sugríva bent
His looks toward the Orient.
In horns from forehead of the bull.
In pitchers bright and beautiful,
In urns of gold the Vánara took
Pure water brought from stream and brook,
From every consecrated strand
And every sea that beats the land.
Then, as prescribed by sacred lore
And many a mighty sage of yore, [12]
The leaders of the Vánars poured
The sacred water on their lord. [13]
From every Vánar at the close
Of that imperial rite arose
Shouts of glad triumph, loud and long
Repeated by the high-souled throng.
Sugríva, when the rite was done,
Obeyed the hest of Raghu’s son.
Prince Angad to his breast he strained.
And partner of his sway ordained.
Once more from all the host rang out
The loud huzza and jovful shout.
‘Well done! well done!’ each Vánar cried.
And good Sugríva glorified.
[ p. 357 ]
Then with glad voices loudly raised
Were Ráma and his brother praised;
And bright Kishkindha shone that day
With happy throngs and banners gay.
But when the solemn rite was o’er,
And bold Sugríva reigned once more,
The sons of Rhaghu sought the hill,
Prasravan of the rushing rill,
Where roamed the tiger and the deer,
And lions raised their voice of fear;
Thick set with trees of every kind,
With trailing shrubs and plants entwined;
Home of the ape and monkey, lair
Of mountain cat and pard and bear,
In cloudy gloom against the sky
The sanctifying hills rose high.
Pierced in their crest, a spacious cave
To Raghu’s sons a shelter gave.
Then Ráma, pure from every crime,
In words well suited to the time
To Lakshman spake, whose faithful zeal
Watched humbly for his brother’s weal:
‘I love this spacious cavern where
There breathes a fresh and pleasant air.
Brave brother, let us here remain
Throughout the season of the rain.
For in mine eyes this mountain crest
Is above all, the loveliest.
Where copper-hued and black and white
Show the huge blocks that face the height;
Where gleams the shine of varied ore,
Where dark clouds baog and torrents roar;
Where waving woods are fair to see,
And creepers climb from tree to tree;
Where the gay peacock’s voice is shrill,
And sweet birds carol on the hill;
Where odorous breath is wafted far
From Jessamine and Sinduvár; [14]
And opening flowers of every hue
Give wondrous beauty to the view.
See, too, this pleasant water near
Our cavern home is fresh and clear;
And lilies gay with flower and bud
Are glorious on the lovely flood.
This cave that fares north and east
Will shelter us till rain has ceased;
And towering hills thut rise behind
Will screen us from the furious wind.
Close by the cavern’s portal lies
And level stone of ample size
And sable hue, a mighty block
Long severed from the parent rock.
Now let thine eye bent northward rest
A while upon that mountain creat,
High as a cloud that brings the rain,
And dark as iron rent in twain.
Look southward, brother, now and view
A cloudy pile of paler hue
Like Mount Kailása’s topmost height
Where ores of every tint are bright,
See, Lakshman, see before our cave
That clear brook eastward roll its wave
As though 'twere Ganga’s infant rill
Down streaming from the three-peaked bill
See, by the water’s gentle flow
As’oka, sal, and sandal grow.
And every lovely tree most fair
With leaf and bud and flower is there.
See there, beneath the bending trees
That fringe her bank, the river flees,
Clothed with their beauty like a maid
In all her robes and gems arrayed,
While from the sedgy banks are heard
The soft notes of each amorous bird.
O see what lovely islets stud
Like gems the bosom of the flood.
And sárases and wild swans crowd
About her till she laughs aloud.
See, lotus blooms the brook o’erspread,
Some tender blue, some dazzling red,
And opening lilies white as snow
Their buds in rich profusion show.
There rings the joyous peacock’s scream,
There stands the curlew by the stream,
And holy hermits love to throng
Where the sweet waters speed along.
Ranged on the grassy margin shine
Gay sandal trees in glittering line,
And all the wondrous verdure seems
The offspring of creative dreams,
O conquering Prince, there cannot be
A lovelier place than this we see.
Here sheltered on the beauteous height
Our days will pass in calm delight.
Nor is Kishkindhá’s city, gay
With grove and garden, far away.
Thence will the breeze of evening bring
Sweet music as the minstrels sing;
And, when the Vánars dance, will come
The sound of labour and of drum.
Again to spouse and realm restored.
Girt by his friends, the Vánar lord
Great glory has acquired; and how
Can he be less than happy now?’
This said, the son of Raghu made
His dwelling in that pleasant shade
Upon the mountain’s shelving side
That sweetly all his wants supplied.
But still the hero’s troubled mind
No comfort in his woe could find.
Yet mourning for his stolen wife
Dearer to Ráma than his life.
Chief when he saw the Lord of Night
Rise slowly o’er the eastern height,
[ p. 358 ]
He tossed upon his leafy bed
With eyes by sleep unvisited.
Outwelled the tears in ceaseless flow,
And every sense was numbed by woe.
Each pang that pierced the mourner through
Smote Lakshman’s faithful bosom too,
Who, troubled for his brother’s sake,
With wisest words the prince bespake:
‘Arise, my brother, and be strong:
Thy hero heart has mourned too long.
Thou knowest well that tears and sighs
Will mar the mightiest enterprise.
Thine was the soul that loved to dare:
To serve the Gods was still thy care;
And ne’er may sorrow’s sting subdue
A heart so resolute and true.
How canst thou hope to slay in fight
The giant cruel in his might?
Unwearied must the champion be
Who strives with such a foe as he.
Tear out this sorrow by the root;
Again be bold and resolute.
Arise, my brother, and subdue
The demon and his wicked crew.
Thou canst destroy the earth, her seas,
Her rooted hills and giant trees
Unseated by thy furious hand:
And shall one fiend thy power withstand?
Wait through this season of the rain
Till suns of autumn dry the plain,
Then shall thy giant foe, and all
His host and realm, before thee fall.
I wake thy valour that has slept
Amid the tears thine eyes have wept;
As drops of oil in worship raise
The dormant flame to sudden blaze.’
The son of Raghu heard: he knew
His brother’s rede was wise and true;
And, honouring his friendly guide,
In gentle words he thus replied:
‘Whate’er a hero firm and bold,
Devoted, true, and lofty-souled
Should speak by deep affection led,
Such are the words which thou hast said.
I cast away each pensive thought
That brings the noblest plans to naught,
And each uninjured power will strain
Until the purposed end we gain.
Thy prudent words will I obey,
And till the close of rain-time stay,
When King Sugríva will invite
To action, and the streams be bright.
The hero saved in hour of need
Repays the debt with friendly deed:
But hated by the good are they
Who take the boon and ne’er repay.’
‘See, brother, see’ thus Ráma cried
On Mályavat’s [15] dark-wooded side,
‘A chain of clouds. like lofty hills,
The sky with gathering shadow fills.
Nine months those clouds have borne the load
Conceived from sunbeams as they glowed,
And, having drunk the seas, give birth,
And drop their offspring on the earth.
Easy it seems at such a time
That flight of cloudy stairs to climb,
And, from their summit, safely won,
Hang flowery wreaths about the sun.
Bee how the flash of evening’s red
Fringes the fleecy clouds o’erhead
Till all the sky is streaked and lined
With bleeding wounds incarnadined,
Or the wide firmament above
Shows like a lover sick with love
And, pale with cloudlets, heaves a sigh
ln the soft breeze that wanders by.
See, by the fervent heat embrowned,
How drenched with recent showers, the ground
Pours out in floods her gushing tears,
Like Sítá wild with torturing fears.
So softly blows this cloud-borne breeze
Cool through the boughs of camphor trees
That one might hold it in the cup
Of hollowed hands and drink it up.
See, brother, where that rocky steep,
Where odorous shrubs in rain-drops weep,
Shows like Sugríva when they shed
Tne royal balm upon his head.
Like students at their task appear
These hills whose misty peaks are near:
Black deerskin [16] garments wrought of cloud
Their forms with fitting mantles shroud,
Each torrent from the summit poured
Supplies the place of sacred cord. [17]
And winds that in their caverns moan.
[ p. 359 ]
Sound like the voice’s undertone. [18]
From east to west red lightnings flash,
And, quivering neath the golden lash,
The great sky like a generous steed
Groans inly at each call to speed
Yon lightning, as it flashes through
The giant cloud of sable hue,
Recalls my votaress Sítá pressed
Mid struggles to the demon’s breast.
See, on those mountain ridges stand
Sweet shrubs that bud and bloom expand.
The soft ram ends their pangs of grief.
And drops its pearls on flower and leaf.
But all their raptures stab me through
And wake my pining love anew. [19]
Now through the air no wild bird flies,
Each lily shuts her weary eyes;
And blooms of opening jasmin show
The parting sun has ceased to glow
No captain now for conquest burns,
But homeward with his host returns;
For roads and kings’ ambitious dreams
Have vanished neath descending streams.
This is the watery month [20] wherein
The Sáman’s [21] sacred chants begin.
Áshádha [22] past, now Kosal’s lord [23]
The harvest of the spring has stored, [24]
And dwells within his palace freed
From every care of pressing need
Full is the moon, and fierce and strong
Impetuous Sarjú 1b roars along
As though Ayodhyá’s crowds ran out
To greet their king with echoing shout.
In this sweet time of ease and rest
No care disturbs Sugríva’s breast,
The foe that marred his peace o’erthrown,
And queen and realm once more his own.
Alas, a harder fate is mine,
Reft both of realm and queen to pine,
And, like the bank which floods erode,
I sink beneath my sorrow’s load.
Sore on my soul my miseries weigh,
And these long rains our action stay,
While Rávan seems a mightier foe
Than I dare hope to overthrow.
I saw the roads were barred by rain,
I knew the hopes of war were vain;
Nor could I bid Sugríva rise,
Though prompt to aid my enterprise.
E’en now I scarce can urge my friend
On whom his house and realm depend,
Who, after toil and peril past,
Is happy with his queen at last.
Sugríva after rest will know
The hour is come to strike the blow,
Nor will his grateful soul forget
My succour, or deny the debt
I know his generous heart, and hence
Await the time with confidence
When he his friendly zeal will show,
And brooks again untroubled flow.’ 2b
No flash of lightning lit the sky.
No cloudlet marred the blue on high.
The Saras [25] missed the welcome rain,
The moon’s full beams were bright again.
Sugríva, lapped in bliss, forgot
The claims of faith, or heeded not;
And by alluring joys misled
The path of falsehood learned to tread
In careless ease he passed each hour,
And dallied in his lady’s bower
Each longing of his heart was stilled,
And every lofty hope fulfilled.
With royal Rumá by his side,
Or Tará yet a dearer bride,
[ p. 360 ]
He spent each joyous day and night
In revelry and wild delight,
Like Indra whom the nymphs entice
To taste the joys of Paradise.
The power to courtiers’ hands resigned,
To all their acts his eyes were blind.
All doubt, all fear he cast aside
And lived with pleasure for his guide.
But sage Hanumán, firm and true,
Whose heart the lore of Scripture knew,
Well trained to meet occasion, trained
In all by duty’s law ordained,
Strove with his prudent speech to find
*Set* access to the monarch’s mind.
He, skilled in every gentle art
Of eloquence that wins the heart,
Sugríva from his trance to wake,
His salutary counsel spake:
'The realm is won, thy name advanced,
The glory of thy house enhanced,
And now thy foremost care should he
To aid the friends who succoured thee.
He who is firm and faithful found
To friendly ties in honour bound,
Will see his name and fame increase
Wide sway is his who truly boasts
That friends and treasure, self and hosts,
Are blest in one harmonious whole,
Are subject to his firm control.
Do thou, whose footsteps never stray
From the clear bounds of duty’s way.
Assist, as honour bids thee, now
Thy friends, observant of thy vow.
For if all cares we lay not by.
And to our friend’s assistance fly.
We, after, toil in idle haste,
And all the late endeavour waste.
Up! nor the promised help delay
Until the hour have slipped away.
Up! and with Raghu’s son renew
The search for Sitá lost to view.
The hour is come: he hears the call,
But not on thee reproaches fall
From him who labours to repress
His eager spirit’s restlessness.
Long joined to thee in friendly ties
He made thy fame and fortune rise,
In gentle gifts by none excelled.
In splendid might unparalleled.
Up, to his succour, King! repay
The favour of that prosperous day,
And to thy bravest captains send
Prompt mandates to assist thy friend,
Tbe cry for help thou wilt not spurn
Although no grace demands return:
And wilt thou not thine aid afford
To him who realm and life restored?
Exert thy power, and thou hast won
The love of Dasaratha’s son:
And will then for his summons wait,
And till he call thee, hesitate?
Think not the hero needs thy power
To save him in the desperate hour:
He with his arrows could subdue
The Gods and all the demon crew,
And only waits that he may see
Redeemed the promise made by thee.
For thee he risked his life and fought,
For thee that great deliverance wrought.
Then let us trace through earth and skies
His lady wheresoe’er she lies.
Through realms above, beneath, we flee,
And plant our footsteps on the sea.
Tnen why, O Lord of Vanary, still
Delay us waiting for thy will?
Give thy commands, O King, and say
What task has each and where the way.
Before thee myriad Vanars stand
To sweep through heaven, o’er seas and land.’
Sugriva heard the timely rede
That roused him in the day of need,
And thus to Nila prompt and brave
His hest the imperial Vanar gave:
'Go, Nila, to the distant hosts
That keep in arms their several posts,
And all the armies that protect
The quarters, 1 with their chiefs, collect.
To all the luminaries placed
In intermediate regions haste,
And bid each captain rise and lead
His squadrons to their king with speed
Do thou meanwhile with strictest care
All that the time requires prepare.
The loitering Vanar who delays
To gather here ere thrice five days,
Shall surely die for his offence,
Condemned for sinful negligence.’
But Ráma in the autumn night
Stood musing on the mountain height.
While grief and love that scorned control
Shook with wild storms the hero’s soul.
Clear was the sky, without a cloud
The glory of the moon to shroud.
And bright with purest silver shone
Each hill the soft beams looked upon,
He knew Sugriva’s heart was bent
On pleasure, gay and negligent.
He thought on Janak’s child forlorn
From his fond arms for ever torn.
He mourned occasion slipping by,
And faint with anguish heaved each sigh
[ p. 361 ]
He sat where many a varied streak
Of rich ore marked the mountain peak.
He raised his eyes the skv to view.
And to his love his sad thoughts flew.
He. heard the Sáras cry, and faint
With sorrow poured his love-born plaint:
She, she who mocked the softest tone
Of wild birds’ voices with her own,—
Where strays she now, my love who played
So happy in our hermit shade ’
How can my absent love behold
The bright trees with their flowers of gold,
And a11 their gleaming glory see
With eyes that vainly look for me?
How is it with my darling when
From the deep tangles of the glen
Float carols of each bird elate
With rapture singing to his mate?
In vain my weary glances rove
From lake to hill, from stream to grove:
I find no rapture in the scene,
And languish fur my fawn-eyed queen.
Ah, does strong love with wild unrest,
Born no the autumn, stir her breast?
And does the gentle lady pine
Till her bright eyes shall look in mine?’
Thus Raghu’s son in piteous tone,
O’erwhelmed with sorrow, made his moan.
E’en as the bird that drinks the rains [26]
To Indra thousand-eyed complains.
Then Lakshman who had wandered through
The copses where the berries grew,
Returning to the cavern found
His brother chief* in sorrow drowned,
And pitying the woes that broke
The spirit, of the hero spoke:
'Why east thy strength of soul away,
And weakly yield to passion’s sway?
Arise, my brother, do and dare
Ere action perish in despair.
Refill the firmness of thy heart,
And nerve thee for a hero’s part.
Whose is the hand unscathed to sieze
The red flame quickened by the breeze?
Where is the foe will dare to wrong
Or keep the Maithil lady long?’
Then with pale lips that sorrow dried
The son of Raghu thus replied:
Lord Indra thousand-eyed, has sent
The sweet rain from the firmament,
Sees the rich promise of the grain,
And turns him to his rest again.
The clouds with voices loud and deep,
Veiling each tree upon the steep,
Up on the thirsty earth have shed
Their precious burden and are fled.
Now in kings’ hearts ambition glows:
They rush to battle with their foes; [27]
But in Sugríva’s sloth I see
No care for deeds of chivalry.
See, Lakshman, on each breezy height
A thousand autumn blooms are bright.
See how the wings of wild swans gleam
On every islet of the stream.
Four months of flood and rain are past:
A hundred years they seemed to last
To me whom toil and trouble tried,
My Sitá severed from my side.
She, gentlest woman, weak and young,
Still to her lord unwearied clung.
Still by the exile’s side she stood
In the wild ways of Dandak wood,
Like a fond bird disconsolate
If parted from her darling mate.
Sugríva, lapped in soft repose.
Untouched by pity for my woes,
Scorns the poor exile, dispossessed,
By Rávan’s mightier arm oppressed,
The wretch who comes to sue and pray
From his lost kingdom far away.
Hence falls on me the Vánar’s scorn,
A suitor friendless and forlorn.
The time is come: with heedless eye
He sees the hour of action fly,—
Unmindful, now his hopes succeed,
Of promise made in stress of need.
Go seek him sunk in bliss and sloth,
Forgetful of his royal oath,
And as mine envoy thus upbraid
The monarch for his help delayed:
‘Vile is the wretch who will not pay
The favour of an earlier day,
Hope in the supplicant’s breast awakes,
And then his plighted promise breaks.
Noblest, mid all of women born,
Who keeps the words his lips have sworn.
Yea, if those words be good or ill.
Maintains his faith unbroken still.
The *ss who forget to aid
The friend who helped them when they prayed,
Dishonoured in their death shall lie,
And dogs shall pass their corpses by.
Sure thou wouldst see my strained arm hold
My bow of battle backed with gold,
Wouldst gaze upon its awful from
Like lightning flashing through the storm,
And hear the clanging bowstring loud
As thunder from a labouring cloud
His valour and his strength I know:
But pleasure’s sway now sinks them low
With thee, my brother, for ally
That strength and valour I defy
[ p. 362 ]
He promised, when the rains should end,
The succour of his arm to lend.
Those months are past: he dares forget.
And, lapped in pleasure, slumbers yet.
No thought disturbs his careless breast
For us impatient and distressed.
And, while we sadly wait and pine,
Girt by his lords he quaffs the wine.
Go, brother, go, his palace seek,
And boldly to Sugríva speak.
Thus give the listless king to know
What waits him if my anger glow:
Still open, to the gloomy God,
Lies the sad path that Báli trod.
‘Still to thy plighted word be true,
Lest thou, O King, that path pursue.
I launched the shaft I pointed well.
And Báli, only Báli, fell.
But, if from truth thou dare to stray,
Both thee and thine this hand shall slay.’
Thus be the Vánar king addressed,
Then add thyself what seems the best.
350:1 “Our deeds still follow with us from afar. And what we have been makes us what we are.” ↩︎
351:1 Angad himself, being too young to govern, would be Yuvarája or heir- apparent. ↩︎
351:2 Sushena was the son of Varuna the God of the sea, ↩︎
351:1b A demon with the tail of a dragon, that causes eclipses by endeavouring to swallow the sun and moon. ↩︎
351:2b The Lord of Stars is the Moon. ↩︎
351:3b Or the passage may be interpreted: ‘Be neither to obsequious or affectionate, nor wanting in due respect of love.’ ↩︎
353:1b Vis’varúpa, a son of Twashtri or Vis’vakarma the heavenlv architect, was a three-headed monster slain by Indra. ↩︎
354:1 The Vánar chief, not to be confounded with Tárá. ↩︎
356:1 S’rávan: July-August. But the rains begin a month earlier, and what follows must not be taken literally. The text has púrvo’ yam várshiko másah S’rávanah ###. The Bengal recension has the same, and Gorresio translates: ’ Equesto il mese S’râvana (Inglio-agosto) primo della stagione plovosa, in cui diligano le acque.’ ↩︎
356:2 Kártik: Ootober-November. ↩︎
356:3 “Indras, as the nocturnal sun, hides himself, transformed, in the starry heavens: the stars are his eyes. The hundred- eyed or all-seeing (panoptês) Argos placed as a spy over the actions of the cow beloved by Zeus, in the Hellenic equivalent of this form of Indras.” DE GUBERNATIS, Zoological Mythology, Vol. I, p. 418. ↩︎
356:1b Baudháyana and others. ↩︎
356:2b Sugríva appears to hare been consecrated with all the ceremonies that attended the Abhisheka or coronation of an Indian prince of the Aryan race. Compare the preparations made for Rama’s consecration, Book II. Canto III. Thus Homer frequently introduces into Troy the rites of Hellenic worship. ↩︎
357:1 Vitex Negundo. ↩︎
358:1 Mályavat: “The name of this mountain appears to me to be erroneous, and I think that instead o£ Mályavat should be read Malayavat, Malaya is a group of mountains situated exactly in that southern part of India where Ráma now was. while Mályavat is placed to the north east.” GORRESIO. ↩︎
358:2 Mantles of the skin of the black antelope were the prescribed dress of ascetics and religious students. ↩︎
358:3 The sacred cord worn as the badge of religious initiation by men of the three twice-born castes. ↩︎
359:1 The hum with which students con their tasks. ↩︎
359:2 I omit here a long general description of the rainy season which (is?) not found in the Bengal recension and appears to have been interpolated by a far inferior and much later hand than Valmiki’s. It is composed in a metre different from that of the rest of the Canto, and contains figures of poetical rhetoric and commonplaces which are the delight of more recent poets. ↩︎
359:3 Praushthapada or Bhadra, the modern *Bhaden*, corresponds to half of August and half of September. ↩︎
359:4 The Sáman or Sáma-veda, the third of the four Vedas, is really merely a reproduction of parts of the Rig-veda, transposed and scattered about piece-meal, only 78 verses in the whole being, it is said, untraceable to the present recension of the Rig-veda. ↩︎
359:5 Áshádha is the month corresponding to parts of June and July. ↩︎
359:6 Bharat, who was regent during Ráma’s absence. ↩︎
359:7 Or with Goriesio, following the gloss of another commentary: “Has completed every holy rite and accumulated stores of merit.” ↩︎
359:3b The Indian crane a magnificent bird easily domesticated. ↩︎
361:1 The Chátake, Cualus Melanoleucus, is supposed to drink nothing but the water for the clouds. ↩︎
361:1b The time for warlike expeditions began when the rains had ceased. ↩︎