But soon the baseless thought was spurned
And longing hope again returned:
‘No: Ráma’s wife is none of these,
No careless dame that lives at ease.
Her widowed heart has ceased to care
For dress and sleep and dainty fare.
She near a lover ne’er would lie
Though Indra wooed her from the sky.
Her own, her only lord, whom none
Can match in heaven, is Raghu’s son.’
Then to the banquet hall intent
On strictest search his steps he bent.
He passed within the door, and found
Fair women sleeping on the ground,
Where wearied with the song, perchance,
The merry game, the wanton dance,
Each girl with wine and sleep oppressed
Had sunk her drooping head to rest.
That spacious hall from side to side
With noblest fare was well supplied,
There quarters of the boar, and here
Roast of the buffalo and deer,
There on gold plate, untouched as yet
The peacock and the hen were set.
There deftly mixed with gait and curd
Was meat of many a beast and bird,
Of kid and porcupine and hare,
And dainties of the sea and air.
There wrought of gold, ablaze with shine
Of precious stones, were cups of wine.
Through court and bower and banquet hall
The Vánared and viewed them all;
From end to end, in every spot,
For Sítá but found her not.
Again the Vánar chief began
Each chamber, bower, and hall to scan.
In vain: he found not her he sought,
And pondered thus in bitter thought:
‘Ah me the Maithil queen is slain:
She, ever true and free from stain,
The fiend’s entreaty has denied.
And by his cruel hand has died.
Or has she sunk, by terror killed,
When first she saw the palace filled
With female monsters evil miened
Who wait upon the robber fiend?
No battle fought, no might displayed,
In vain this anxious search is made;
Nor shall my steps, made slow by shame,
Because I failed to find the dame,
Back to our lord the king be bent,
For he is swift to punishment.
In every bower my feet have been,
The dames of Rávan I seen;
But Ráma’s spouse I seek in vain,
And all my toil is fruitless pain.
How shall I meet the Vánar
I left upon the ocean strand?
How, when they bid me speak, proclaim
These tidings of defeat and shame?
How shall I look on Angad’s eye?
What words will Jámbaván
Yet dauntless hearts will never fail
To win success though foes assail,
And I this sorrow will subdue
And search the palace through and through,
Exploring with my cautious tread
Each spot as yet unvisited.’
Again he turned him to explore
Each chamber, hall, and corridor,
And arbour bright with scented bloom.
And lodge and cell and picture-room.
[ p. 403 ]
With eager eye and noiseless feet
He passed through many a cool retreat
Where women lay in slumber drowned;
But Sítá nowhere found.
Then rapid as the lightning’s flame
From Rávan’s halls the Vánar came
Each lingering hope was cold and dead,
And thus within his heart he said:
‘Alas, my fruitless search is done:
Long have I toiled for Raghu’s son;
And yet with all my care have seen
No traces of the ravished queen.
It may be, while the giant through
The lone air with his captive flew,
The Maithil lady, tender-souled,
Slipped struggling from the robber’s hold,
And the wild sea is rolling now
O’er Sítá of the beauteous brow.
Or did she perish of alarm
When circled by the monster’s arm?
Or crushed, unable to withstand
The pressure of that monstrous hand?
Or when she spurned his suit with scorn,
Her tender limbs were rent and torn.
And she, her virtue unsubdued,
Was slaughtered for the giant’s food.
Shall I to Raghu’s son relate
His well-beloved consort’s fate,
My crime the same if I reveal
The mournful story or conceal?
If with no happier tale to tell
I seek our mountain citadel,
How shall I face our lord the king,
And meet his angry questioning?
How shall I greet my friends, and brook
The muttered taunt, the scornful look?
How to the son of Raghu go
And kill him with my tale of woe?
For sure the mournful tale I bear
Will strike him dead with wild despair.
And Lakshman ever fond and true,
Will, undivided, perish too.
Bharat will learn his brother’s fate,
And die of grief disconsolate,
And sad Satrughna with a cry
Of anguish on his corpse will die.
Our king Sugrívar found;
True to each bond in honour bound.
Will mourn the pledge he vainly gave,
And die with him he could not save.
Then Rumá his devoted wife
For her dead lord will leave her life,
And Tára, widowed and forlorn,
Will die in anguish, sorrow-worn.
On Angad too the blow will fall
Killing the hope and joy of all.
The ruin of their prince and king
The Vánarsls with woe will wring,
And each, overwhelmed with dark despair,
Will beat his head and rend his hair.
Each, graced and honoured long, will miss
His careless life of easy bliss,
In happy troops will play no more
On breezy rock and shady shore,
But with his darling wife and child
Will seek the mountain top, and wild
With hopeless desolation, throw
Himself, his wife, and babe, below.
All no: unless the dame I find
I ne’er will meet my Vánar,
Here rather in some distant dell
A lonely hermit will I dwell,
Where roots and berries will supply
My humble wants until I die;
Or on the shore will raise a pyre
And perish in the kindled fire.
Or I will strictly fast until
With slow decay my life I kill,
And ravening dogs and birds of air
The limbs of Hanumánl tear.
Here will I die, but never bring
Destruction on my race and king.
But still unsearched one grove I see
With many a bright As’oka tree.
There will I enter in, and through
The tangled shade my search renew.
Be glory to the host on high,
The Sun and Moon who light the sky,
The Vasus 1 and the Maruts’ 2 train,
Ádityas 3 and the As’vins 4 twain.
So may I win success, and bring
The lady back with triumphing,’
He cleared the barrier at a bound;
He stood within the pleasant ground,
[ p. 404 ]
And with delighted eyes surveyed
The climbing plants and varied shade,
He saw unnumbered trees unfold
The treasures of their pendent gold,
As, searching for the Maithil queen,
He strayed through alleys soft and green;
And when a spray he bent or broke
Some little bird that slept awoke.
Whene’er the breeze of morning blew,
Where’er a startled peacock flew,
The gaily coloured branches shed
Their flowery rain upon his head
That clung around the Vánar till
He seemed a blossom-covered hill, 1
The earth, on whose fair bosom lay
The flowers that fell from every spray,
Was glorious as a lovely maid
In all her brightest robes arrayed,
He saw the breath of morning shake
The lilies on the rippling lake
Whose waves a pleasant lapping made
On crystal steps with gems inlaid.
Then roaming through the enchanted ground,
A pleasant hill the Vánar found,
And grottoes in the living stone
With grass and flowery trees o’ergrown.
Through rocks and boughs a brawling rill
Leapt from the bosom of the hill,
Like a proud beauty when she flies
From her love’s arms with angry eyes.
He clomb a tree that near him grew
And leafy shade around him threw.
‘Hence,’ thought the Vánar, 'shall I see
The Maithil dame, if here she be,
These lovely trees, this cool retreat
Will surely tempt her wandering feet.
Here the sad queen will roam apart.
And dream of Ráma in her heart,’
Fair as Kailása white with snow
He saw a palace flash and glow,
A crystal pavement gem-inlaid,
And coral steps and colonnade,
And glittering towers that kissed the skies,
Whose dazzling splendour charmed his eyes.
There pallid, with neglected dress,
Watched close by fiend and giantess,
Her sweet face thin with constant flow
Of tears, with fasting and with woe;
Pale as the young moon’s crescent when
The first faint light returns to men:
Dim as the flame when clouds of smoke
The latent glory hide and choke;
Like Rohiní the queen of stars
Oppressed by the red planet Mars;
From her dear friends and husband torn,
Amid the cruel fiends, forlorn,
Who fierce-eyed watch around her kept,
A tender woman sat and wept,
Her sobs, her sighs, her mournful mien,
Her glorious eyes, proclaimed the queen.
‘This, this is she,’ the Vánar cried,
‘Fair as the moon and lotus-eyed,
I saw the giant Rávan bear
A captive through the fields of air.
Such was the beauty of the dame;
Her form, her lips, her eyes the same.
This peerless queen whom I behold
Is Ráma’s wife with limbs of gold.
Best of the sons of men is he,
And worthy of her lord is she.’
Then, all his thoughts on Sítá bent,
The Vánar chieftain made lament:
‘The queen to Ráma’s soul endeared,
By Lakshman’s pious heart revered,
Lies here,—for none may strive with Fate,
A captive, sad and desolate.
The brothers’ might full well she knows,
And bravely bears the storm of woes,
As swelling Gangá in the rains
The rush of every flood sustains.
Her lord, for her, fierce Báli slew,
Virádha’s monstrous might o’erthrew,
For her the fourteen thousand slain
In Janasthán bedewed the plain.
And if for her Ikshváku’s son
Destroyed the world 'twere nobly done.
This, this is she, so far renowned,
Who sprang from out the furrowed ground, [1]
Child of the high-souled king whose sway
The men of Mithilá obey;
The glorious lady wooed and won
By Das’aratha’s noblest son;
And now these sad eyes look on her
Mid hostile fiends a prisoner.
From home and every bliss she fled
By wifely love and duty led,
And heedless of a wanderer’s woes,
A life in lonely forests chose.
This, this is she so fair of mould.
Whose limbs are bright as burnished gold.
[ p. 405 ]
Whose voice was ever soft and mild.
Who sweetly spoke and sweetly smiled.
O, what is Ráma’s misery! how
He longs to see his darling now!
Pining for one of her fond looks
As one athirst for water brooks.
Absorbed in woe the lady sees
No Rákshas guard, no blooming trees.
Her eyes are with her thoughts, and they
Are fixed on Ráma far away.’
His pitying eyes with tears bedewed,
The weeping queen again he viewed,
And saw around the prisoner stand
Her demon guard, a fearful band. [2]
Some earless, some with ears that hung
Low as their feet and loosely swung:
Some fierce with single ears and eyes,
Some dwarfish, some of monstrous size:
Some with their dark necks long and thin
With hair upon the knotty skin:
Some with wild locks, some bald and bare,
Some covered o’er with bristly hair:
Some tall and straight, some bowed and bent
With every foul disfigurement:
All black and fierce with eyes of fire.
Ruthless and stern and swift to ire:
Some with the jackal’s jaw and nose.
Some faced like boars and buffaloes:
Some with the heads of goats and kine,
Of elephants, and dogs, and swine:
With lions’ lips and horses’ brows,
They walked with feet of mules and cows:
Swords, maces, clubs, and spears they bore
In hideous hands that reeked with gore,
And, never sated, turned afresh
To bowls of wine and piles of flesh.
Such were the awful guards who stood
Round Sítá in that lovely wood,
While in her lonely sorrow she
Wept sadly neath a spreading tree.
He watched the spouse of Ráma there
Regardless of her tangled hair,
Her jewels stripped from neck and limb,
Decked only with her love of him.
While from his shelter in the boughs
The Vánar looked on Ráma’s spouse
He heard the gathered giants raise
The solemn hymn of prayer and praise.—
Priests skilled in rite and ritual, who
The Vedas and their branches [3] knew.
Then, as loud strains of music broke
His sleep, the giant monarch woke.
Swift to his heart the thought returned
Of the fair queen for whom he burned;
Nor could the amorous fiend control
The passion that absorbed his soul.
In all his brightest garb arrayed
He hastened to that lovely shade.
Where glowed each choicest flower and fruit.
And the sweet birds were never mute.
And tall deer bent their heads to drink
On the fair streamlet’s grassy brink.
Near that As’oka grove he drew,—
A hundred dames his retinue.
Like Indra with the thousand eyes
Girt with the beauties of the skies.
Some walked beside their lord to hold
The chouries, fans, and lamps of gold.
And others purest water bore
In golden urns, and paced before.
Some carried, piled on golden plates.
Delicious food of dainty cates;
Some wine in massive bowls whereon
The fairest gems resplendent shone.
Some by the monarch’s side displayed,
Wrought like a swan, a silken shade:
Another beauty walked behind,
The sceptre to her care assigned.
Around the monarch gleamed the crowd
As lightnings flash about a cloud.
And each made music as she went
With zone and tinkling ornament.
Attended thus in royal state
The monarch reached the garden gate,
While gold and silver torches, fed
With scented oil a soft light shed. [4]
[ p. 406 ]
He, while the flame of fierce desire
Burnt in his eyes like kindled fire,
Seemed Love incarnate in his pride,
His bow and arrows laid aside. 1
His robe, from spot and blemish free
Like Amrit foamy from the sea, 2
Hung down in many a loosened fold
Inwrought with flowers and bright with gold.
The Vánar from his station viewed,
Amazed, the wondrous multitude,
Where, in the centre of that ring
Of noblest women, stood the king,
As stands the full moon fair to view,
Girt by his starry retinue.
Then o’er the lady’s soul and frame
A sudden fear and trembling came,
When, glowing in his youthful pride,
She saw the monarch by her side.
Silent she sat, her eyes depressed,
Her soft arms folded o’er her breast,
And,—all she could,—her beauties screened
From the bold gazes of the fiend.
There where the wild she-demons kept
Their watch around, she sighed and wept.
Then, like a severed bough, she lay
Prone on the bare earth in dismay.
The while her thoughts on love’s fleet wings
Flew to her lord the best of kings.
She fell upon the ground, and there
Lay struggling with her wild despair,
Sad as a lady born again
To misery and woe and pain,
Now doomed to grief and low estate,
Once noble fair and delicate:
Like faded light of holy lore,
Like Hope when all her dreams are o’er;
Like ruined power and rank debased,
Like majesty of kings disgraced:
Like woman *** led by erring slips,
The moon that labors in eclipse
A pool with all her lillies* dead
An army when its king has fled:
So sad and helpless wan and worn,
She lay among the fiends forlorn.
With amorous look and soft address
The fiend began his suit to press:
‘Why wouldst thou, lady lotus-eyed,
From my fond glance those beauties hide?
Mine eager suit no more repel:
But love me, for I love thee well.
Dismiss, sweet dame, dismiss thy fear;
No giant and no man is near.
Ours is the right by force to seize
What dames soe’er our fancy please. [5]
But I with rude hands will not touch
A lady whom I love so much.
Fear not, dear queen: no fear is nigh:
Come, on thy lover’s love rely.
Some little sign of favor show,
Nor lie enamoured of thy woe.
Those limbs upon that cold earth laid.
Those tresses twined in single braid, [6]
The fast and woe that wear thy frame,
Beseem not thee, O beauteous dame.
For thee the fairest wreaths were meant,
The sandal and the aloe’s scent,
Rich ornaments and pearls of price,
And vesture meet for Paradise.
With dainty cates shouldst thou be fed,
And rest upon a sumptuous bed.
And festive joys to thee belong,
The music, and the dance and song.
Rise, pearl of women, rise and deck
With gems and chains thine arms and neck.
Shall not the dame I love be seen
In venture worthy of a queen?
Methinks when thy sweet form was made
His hand the wise Creator stayed;
For never more did he design
A beauty meet to rival thine.
Come, let, us love while we yet may,
For youth will fly and charms decay.
Come cast thy *** fear aside
And to my lo*e, my chosen bride.
The gem*s and jewels that my hands
Has reft from every plundered land,—
To thee I give th*** this day
And at thy feet my kingdom lay.
[ p. 407 ]
The broad rich earth will I o’errun,
And leave no town unconquered, none;
Then of the whole an offering make
To Janak, 1 dear, for thy sweet sake.
In all the world no power I see
Of God or man can strive with me.
Of old the Gods and Asurs set
In terrible array I met:
Their scattered hosts to earth I beat,
And trod their flags beneath my feet.
Come, taste of bliss and drink thy fill,
And rule the slave who serves thy will.
Think not of wretched Ráma: he
Is less than nothing now to thee.
Stript of his glory, poor, dethroned,
A wanderer by his friends disowned,
On the cold earth he lays his head,
Or is with toil and misery dead.
And if perchance he lingers yet.
His eyes on thee shall ne’er be set.
Could he, that mighty monarch, who
Was named Hiranyakas’ipu.
Could he who wore the garb of gold
Win Glory back from Indra’s hold? 2
O lady of the lovely smile,
Whose eyes the sternest heart beguile,
In all thy radiant beauty dressed
My heart and soul thou ravishest.
What though thy robe is soiled and worn,
And no bright gems thy limbs adorn,
Thou unadorned art dearer far
Than all my loveliest consorts are.
My royal home is bright and fair;
A thousand beauties meet me there.
But come, my glorious love, and be
The queen of all those dames and me.’
404:1b Sítá ‘not of woman born,’ was found by King Janak as be was turning up the ground in preparation for a sacrifice, See Book II. Canto CXVIII. ↩︎
405:1 Somewhat similarly has Ariosto described the band of monster at the gate of the city of Alcina:
“Non fu veduta mai piú strana torma,
Piú monstruosi volti e peggio fatti;
Alcun’ dal collo in giú d’uomini han forma,
Col viso altri di simie, altri di gatti;
Stampano alcun con pié caprigni l’orma,
Alcuni son centauri agili ed atti.”
Orlando Furioso, Canto VI. ↩︎
405:1b The six Angas or subordinate branches of the Vedas are 1. Sikshá, the science of proper articulation and pronunciation: 2. Chhandas,metre: 3. Vyakarana, linguistic analysis or grammar: 4. Nirukta, explanation of difficult Vedic words: 5. Jyotisha, Astronomy, or rather the Vedic Calendar: 6. Kalpa, ceremonial. ↩︎
405:2b There appears to be some confusion, of time here. It was already morning when Hanumán entered the grove, and the torches would be needless. ↩︎
406:1b Rávan in his magic car carrying off the most beautiful women reminds us of the magician in Orlando Furioso, possesor of the flying horse.
“Volando talor s’aza ne le stelle, *
E por quasis talor ‘a terra rade’; *
Bie porta con tui tutte le belle *
Donna che trova perquelle contrade." * ↩︎
406:2b Indian women twisted their long hair in a single braid as a sign of mourning for their absent husbands. ↩︎