My king Sugriva greets thee fair,
And bids me thus his rede declare.
Son of the God of Wind, by name
Hanumán, to this isle I came.
To set the Maithil lady free
I crossed the barrier of the sea.
I roamed in search of her and found
Her weeping on that lovely ground.
Then in the lore of duty trained,
Who hast by stern devotion gained
This wondrous wealth and power and fame
Shouldst fear to wrong another’s dame.
Hear thou my counsel, and be wise:
No fiend, no dweller in the skies
Can bear the shafts by Lakshman shot,
Or Ráma when his wrath is hot.
O Giant King, repent the crime
And soothe him while there yet is time.
Now be the Maithil queen restored
Uninjured to her sorrowing lord.
Soon wilt thou rue thy dire mistake:
She is no woman but a snake,
Whose very deadly bite will be
The ruin of thy house and thee.
Thy pride has led thy thoughts astray,
That fancy not a hand may slay
The monarch of the giants, screened
From mortal blow of God and fiend.
Sugríva still thy death may be:
No Yaksha, fiend, or God is he
And Ráma from a woman springs,
The mortal seed of mortal kings.
O think how Báli fell subdued;
Think on thy slaughtered multitude.
Respect those brave and strong allies;
Consult thy safety, and be wise.
I, even I, no helper need
To overthrow, with car and steed,
Thy city Lanká half divine:
The power but not the will is mine.
For Raghu’s son, before his friend
Tne Vánar monarch, strove to end
With his own conquering arm the life
Of him who stole his darling wife.
Turn, and be wise, O Rávan turn;
Or thou wilt see thy Lanká burn,
And with thy wives, friends, kith and kin
Be ruined for thy senseless sin.’
Then Rávan spake with flashing eye:
‘Hence with the Vánar: let him die.
Vibíshan heard the stern behest,
And pondered in his troubled breast;
Then, trained in arts that soothe and please
Addressed the king in words like these:
‘Revoke, my lord, thy fierce decree,
And hear the words I speak to thee.
Kings wise and noble ne’er condemn
To death the envoys sent to them:
Such deed the world’s contempt would draw
On him who breaks the ancient law. [1]
Observe the mean where justice lies,
And spare his life but still chastise.’
[ p. 423 ]
Then forth the tyrant’s fury broke,
And thus in angry words he spoke:
‘O hero, when the wicked bleed
No sin or shame attends the deed.
The Vánar’s blood must needs be spilt,
The penalty of heinous guilt.’
Again Vibhíshan made reply:
‘Nay, hear me, for he must not die.
Hear the great law the wise declare:
‘Thy foeman’s envoy thou shalt spare.’
‘Tis true he comes an open foe:
‘Tis true his hands have wrought us woe
But law allows thee, if thou wilt,
A punishment to suit the guilt.
The mark of shame, the scourge, the brand,
The shaven head, the wounded hand.
Yea, were the Vánar envoy slain,
Where, King of giants, were the gain?
On them alone, on them who sent
The message, be the punishment.
For spake he well or spake he ill,
He spake obedient to their will.
And, if he perish, who can bear
Thy challenge to the royal pair?
Who, cross the ocean and incite
Thy death-doomed enemies to fight?’
King Rávan, by his pleading moved,
The counsel of the chief approved:
'Thy words are wise and true; to kill
An envoy would beseem us ill
Yet must we for his crime invent
Some fitting mode of punishment.
The tail, I fancy, is the part
Most cherished by a monkey’s heart. [2]
Make ready: set his tail aflame,
And let him leave us as he came,
And thus disfigured and disgraced
Back to his king and people haste.’
The giants heard their monarch’s speech;
And, filled with burning fury, each
Brought strips of cotton cloth, and round
The monkey’s tail the bandage wound.
As round big tail the bands they drew
His mighty form dilating grew
Vast as the flame that bursts on high
Where trees are old and grass is dry.
Each hand and strip they soaked in oil,
And set on fire the twisted coil.
Delighted as they viewed the blaze,
The cruel demons stood at gaze:
And mid loud drums and shells rang out
The triumph of their joyful shout.
They pressed about him thick and fast
As through the crowded streets he passed,
Observing with attentive care
Each rich and wondrous structure there,
Still heedless of the eager cry
That rent the air, The spy! the spy!
Some to the captive lady ran.
And thus in joyous words began:
‘That copper-visaged monkey, he
Who in the garden talked with thee,
Through Lanká’s town is led a show,
And round his tail the red flames glow.’
The mournful news the lady heard
That with fresh grief her bosom stirred.
Swift to the kindled fire she went
And prayed before it reverent:
‘If I my husband have obeyed,
And kept the ascetic vows I made,
Free, ever free, from stain and blot,
O spare the Vánar; harm him not.’
Then leapt on high the flickering flame
And shone in answer to the dame.
The pitying fire its rage forbore:
The Vánar felt the heat no more.
Then, to minutest size reduced, [3]
The bonds that bound his limbs he loosed,
And, freed from every band and chain,
Rose to his native size again.
He seized a club of ponderous weight
That lay before him by the gate,
Rushed at the fiends that hemmed him round,
And laid them lifeless on the ground,
Through Lanká’s town again he strode,
And viewed each street and square and road,—
Still wreathed about with harmless blaze,
A sun engarlanded with rays.
[ p. 424 ]
‘What further deed remains to do
To vex the Rákshas king anew?
The beauty of his grove is marred,
Killed are the bravest of his guard.
The captains of his host are slain;
But forts and palaces remain.
Swift is the work and light the toil
Each fortress of the foe to spoil.’
Reflecting thus, his tale ablaze
As through the cloud red lightning plays,
He scaled the palaces and spread
The conflagration where he sped.
From house to house he hurried on,
And the wild flames behind him shone.
Each mansion of the foe he scaled,
And furious fire its roof assailed
Till all the common ruin shared:
Vibhíshan’s house alone was spared.
From blazing pile to pile he sprang,
And loud his shout of triumph rang,
As roars the doomsday cloud when all
The worlds in dissolution fall.
The friendly wind conspired to fan
The hungry flames that leapt and ran,
And spreading in their fury caught
The gilded walls with pearls inwrought,
Till each proud palace reeled and fell
As falls a heavenly citadel.
Loud was the roar the demons raised
Mid walls that split and beams that blazed,
As each with vain endeavour strove
To stay the flames in house or grove.
The women, with dishevelled hair,
Flocked to the roofs in wild despair,
Shrieked out for succour, wept aloud,
And fell, like lightning from a cloud.
He saw the flames ascend and curl
Round turkis, diamond, and pearl,
While silver floods and molten gold
From ruined wall and latice rolled.
As fire grows fiercer as he feeds
On wood and grass and crackling reeds,
So Hanumán the ruin eyed
With fury still unsatisfied.
But other thoughts resumed their sway
When Lanká’s town in ruin lay;
And, as his bosom felt their weigh
He stood a while to meditate
‘What have I done?’, he thought with shame,
‘Destroyed the town with hostile flame.
O happy they whose firm control
Checks the wild passion of the soul;
Who on the fires of anger throw
The cooling drops that check their glow.
But woe is me, whom wrath could lead
To do this senseless shameless deed.
The town to fire and death I gave,
Nor thought of her I came to save,—
Doomed by my own rash folly, doomed
To perish in the flames consumed.
If I, when anger drove me wild.
Have caused the death of Janak’s child,
The kindled flame shall end my woe,
Or the deep fires that burn below, 1
Or my forsaken corse shall be
Food for the monsters of the sea.
How can I meet Sugríva? how
Before the royal brothers bow,—
I whose rash deed has madly foiled.
The noble work in which we toiled?
Or has her own bright virtue shed
Its guardian influence round her head?
She lives untouched,—the peerless dame;
Flame has no fury for the flame. 2
The very fire would ne’er consent
To harm a queen so excellent,—
The high-souled Ráma’s faithful wife,
Protected by her holy life.
She lives, she lives. Why should I fear
For one whom Raghu’s sons hold dear?
Has not the pitying fire that spared
The Vánar for the lady cared?’
Such were his thoughts: he pondered long,
And fear grew faint and hope grew strong.
Then round him heavenly voices rang,
And, sweetly tuned, his praises sang:
‘O glorious is the exploit done
By Hanumán the Wind-God’s son.
The flames o’er Lanká’s city rise:
The giants’ home in ruin lies.
O’er roof and wall the fires have spread,
Nor harmed a hair of Sítá’s head.’
He looked upon the burning waste,
Then sought the queen in joyous haste,
With words of hope consoled her heart,
And made him ready to depart.
[ p. 425 ]
He sealed Arishta’s glorious steep
Whose summits beetled o’er the deep.
The woods in varied beauty dressed
Hung like a garland round his crest,
And clouds of ever changing hue
A robe about his shoulders threw.
On him the rays of morning fell
To wake the hill they loved so well,
And bid unclose those splendid eyes
That glittered in his mineral dyes.
He woke to hear the music made
By thunders of the white cascade,
While every laughing rill that sprang
From crag to crag its carol sang.
For arms, he lifted to the stars
His towering stems of Deodárs,
And morning heard his pealing call
In tumbling brook and waterfall.
He trembled when his woods were pale
And bowed beneath the autumn gale,
And when his vocal reeds were stirred
His melancholy moan was heard.
Far down against the mountain’s feet
The Vánar heard the wild waves beat;
Then turned his glances to the north.
Sprang from the peak and bounded forth,
The mountain felt the fearful shock
And trembled through his mass of rock.
The tallest trees were crushed and rent
And headlong to the valley sent,
And as the rocking shook each cave
Loud was the roar the lions gave.
Forth from the shaken cavern came
Fierce serpents with their tongues aflame;
And every Yaksha, wild with dread,
And Kinnar and Gandharva, fled.
Still, like a winged mountain, he
Sprang forward through the airy sea, [4]
And rushing through the ether drew
The clouds to follow as he flew,
Through the great host around him spread,
Grey, golden, dark, and white, and red.
Now in a sable cloud immersed,
Now from its gloomy pall he burst,
Like the bright Lord of Stars concealed
A moment, and again revealed.
Sunábha [5] passed, he neared the coast
Where waited still the Vánar host.
They heard a rushing in the skies,
And lifted up their wondering eyes.
His wild triumphant shout they knew
That louder still and louder grew,
And Jámbaván with eager voice
Called on the Vánars to rejoice:
‘Look he returns, the Wind-God’s son,
And full success his toils have won;
Triumphant is the shout that comes
Like music of a thousand drums.’
Up sprang the Vánars from the ground
And listened to the wondrous sound
Of hurtling arm and thigh as through
The region of the air he flew,
Loud as the wind, when tempests rave,
Roars in the prison of the cave.
From crag to crag, from height to height;
They bounded in their mad delight,
And when he touched the mountain’s crest,
With reverent welcome round him pressed.
They brought him of their woodland fruits,
They brought him of the choicest roots,
And laughed and shouted in their glee
The noblest of their chiefs to see.
Nor Hanúmán delayed to greet
Sage Jámbaván with reverence meet;
To Angad and the chiefs he bent
For age and rank preëminent,
And briefly spoke: 'These eyes have seen,
These lips addressed, the Maithil queen.’
They sat beneath the waving trees,
And Angad spoke in words like these:
‘O noblest of the Vánar kind
For valour power and might combined,
To thee triumphant o’er the foe
Our hopes, our lives and all we owe.
O faithful heart in perils tried,
[ p. 426 ]
Which toil nor fear could turn aside,
Thy deed the lady will restore,
And Ráma’s heart will ache no more,’ 1
422:1b “One who murders an ambassador i (rája *bhata) goes to Tuptakumbha, the hell of heated caldrons.” WILSON’s Vishya Purana, Vol. II pg 217. p. 423 “It will be remembered that the envoys of King David had the half of their beards shaved off by Hanun, King of Ammon. (2 Sam. X.)” WHEELER, Hist, of India, Vol. II. 342. ↩︎
423:1 I have not attempted to tone down anything in this Canto. I give a faithful translation. ↩︎
423:1b “Behold a wonder! they but now who seemed In bigness to surpass earth’s giant sons, Now less than smallest dwarfs in narrow room Throng numberless.”
Paradise Lost, I, 716. ↩︎
425:1 I omit two stanzas which continue the metaphor of the sea or lake of air. The moon is its lotus, the sun its wild- duck, the clouds are its water-weeds, Mars is its shark and so on. Gorresio remarks: ‘This comparison of a great lake to the sky and of celestial to aquatic objects is one of those ideas which the view and qualities of natural scenery awake in lively fancies. Imagine one of those grand and splendid lakes of India covered with lotus blossoms, furrowed by wild-ducks of the most vivid colours, mantled over here and there with flowers and water weeds &c. and it will be understood how the fancy of the poet could readily compare to the sky radiant with celestial azure the blue expanse of the water, to the soft light of the moon the ****** hue of the lotus, to the splendour of the sun the brilliant colours of the wild-fowl, to the stars the flowers, to the cloud the weeds that float upon the water &c.’ ↩︎
425:1b Sunábha is the mountain that rose from the sea when Hanúmán passed over to Lanká. ↩︎