King Rávan, where he sat within,
Heard from his hall the deafening din,
And with a spirit ill at ease
Addressed his lords in words like these:
‘That warlike shout, those joyous cries,
Loud as the thunder of the skies,
Upsent from every Vánar throat,
Some new-born confidence denote.
Hark, how the sea and trembling shore
Re-echo with the Vánars’ roar.
Though arrowy chains, securely twined
Both Ráma and his brother bind,
Still must the fierce triumphant shout
Disturb my soul with rising doubt.
Swift envoys to the army send,
And learn what change these cries portend,’
Obedient, at their master’s call.
Fleet giants clomb the circling wall.
They saw the Vánars formed and led:
They saw Sugríva at their head,
The brothers from their bonds released:
And hope grew faint and fear increased.
Their faces pale with doubt and dread,
Back to the giant king they sped,
And to his startled ear revealed
The tidings of the battle field.
The flush of rage a while gave place
To chilling fear that changed his face:
'What? cried the tyrant, 'are my foes
Freed from the binding snakes that close
With venomed clasp round head and limb,
Bright as the sun and fierce like him:
The spell a God bestowed of yore,
The spell that never failed before?
If arts like these be useless, how
Shall giant strength avail us now
Go forth, Dhúmráksha, good at need,
The bravest of my warriors lead:
Force through the foe thy conquering way,
And Ráma and the Vánars slay’
Before his king with reverence due
Dhúmráksha bowed him, and withdrew.
Around him at his summons came
Fierce legions led by chiefs of fame.
Well armed with sword and spear and mace,
They hurried to the gathering place,
And rushed to battle, borne at speed
By elephant and car and steed.
The Vánars saw the giant foe
Pour from the gate in gallant show,
[ p. 466 ]
Rejoiced with warriors’ fierce delight
And shouted, longing for the fight.
Near came the hosts and nearer yet:
Dire was the tumult as they met,
As, serried line to line opposed,
The Vánars and the giants closed.
Fierce on the foe the Vánars rushed,
And, wielding trees, the foremost crushed;
But, feathered from the heron’s wing,
With eager flight from sounding string.
Against them shot with surest aim
A ceaseless storm of arrows came:
And, pierced in head and chest and side,
Full many a Vánar fell and died.
They perished slain in fierce attacks
With sword and pike and battle-axe;
But myriads following undismayed
Their valour in the fight displayed.
Unnumbered Vánars rent and torn
With shaft and spear to earth were borne.
But crashed by branchy trees and blocks
Of jagged stone and shivered rocks
Which the wild Vánars wielded well
The bravest of the giants fell.
Their trampled banners strewed the fields,
And broken swords and spears and shields;
And, crushed by blows which none might stay,
Cars, elephants, and riders lay.
Dhúmráksha turned his furious eye
And saw his routed legions fly.
Still dauntless, with terrific blows,
He struck and slew his foremost foes.
At every blow, at every thrust,
He laid a Vánar in the dust.
So fell they neath the sword and lance
In battle’s wild Gandharva [1] dance,
Where clang of bow and clash of sword
Did duty for the silvery chord,
And hoofs that rang and steeds that neighed
Loud concert for the dancer made.
So fiercely from Dhúmráksha’s bow
His arrows rained in ceaseless flow,
The Vánar legions turned and fled
To all the winds discomfited.
Hanúmán saw the Vánars fly:
He heaved a mighty rock on high.
His keen eyes flashed with wrathful fire,
And, rapid as the Wind his sire,
Strong as the rushing tempests are,
He hurled it at the advancing car.
Swift through the air the missile sang:
The giant from the chariot sprang,
Ere crushed by that terrific blow
Lay pole and wheel and flag and bow.
Hanúmán’s eyes with fury blazed:
A mountain’s rocky peak he raised,
Poised it on high in act to throw,
And rushed upon his giant foe.
Dhúmráksha saw: he raised his mace
And smote Hanúmán on the face,
Who maddened by the wound’s keen pang
Again upon his foeman sprang;
And on the giant’s head the rock
Descended with resistless shock.
Crushed was each limb: a shapeless mass
He lay upon the blood-stained grass.
When Rávan in his palace heard
The mournful news, his wrath was stirred;
And, gasping like a furious snake,
To Vajradanshtra thus he spake:
‘Go forth, my fiercest captain, lead
The bravest of the giants’ breed.
Go forth, the sons of Raghu slay
And by their side Sugríva lay.’
He ceased: the chieftain bowed his head
And forth with gathered troops he sped.
Cars, camels, steeds were well arrayed,
And coloured banners o’er them played.
Rings decked his arms: about his waist
The life-protecting mail was braced,
And on the chieftain’s forehead set
Glittered his cap and coronet.
Home on a bannered car that glowed
With golden sheen the warrior rode.
And footmen marched with spear and sword
And bow and mace behind their lord.
In pomp and pride of warlike state
They sallied from the southern gate,
But saw, as on their way they sped,
Dread signs around and overhead.
For there were meteors falling fast,
Though not a cloud its shadow cast;
And each ill-omened bird and beast,
Forboding death, the fear increased,
While many a giant slipped and reeled,
Falling before he reached the field.
They met in mortal strife engaged,
And long and fierce the battle raged.
Spears, swords uplifted, gleamed and flashed,
And many a chief to earth was dashed.
A ceaseless storm of arrows rained,
And limbs were pierced and blood-distained.
Terrific was the sound that filled
The air, and every heart was chilled,
As hurtling o’er the giants flew
The rocks and trees which Vánars threw.
Fierce as a hungry lion when
Unwary deer approach his den,
[ p. 467 ]
Angad, his eyes with fury red,
Waving a tree above his head.
Rushed with wild charge which none could stay
Where stood the giants’ dense array.
Like tall trees levelled by the blast
Before him fell the giants fast,
And earth that streamed with blood was strown
With warriors, steeds, and cars o’erthrown.
The giant leader fiercely rained
His arrows and thee fight maintained.
Etime the clanging cord he drew
His certain shaft a Vánar slew.
Then, as the creatures he has made
Fly to the Lord of Life for aid,
To Angad for protection fled
The Vánar hosts dispirited.
Then raged the battle fiercer yet
Then Angad and the giant met.
A hundred thousand arrows, hot
With flames of fire the giant shot;
And every shaft he deftly sent
His foeman’s body pierced and rent.
From Angad’s limbs ran floods of gore:
A stately tree from earth he tore,
Which, maddened as his gashes bled,
He hurled at his opponent’s head.
His bow the dauntless giant drew;
To meet the tree swift arrows flew,
Checked the huge missile’s onward way,
And harmless on the earth it lay.
A while the Vánar chieftain gazed,
Then from the earth a rock he raised
Rent from a thunder-splitten height,
And cast it with resistless might.
The giant marked, and, mace in hand,
Leapt from his chariot to the sand,
Ere the rough mass descending broke
The seat, the wheel, the pole and yoke.
Then Angad seized a shattered hill,
Whereon the trees were flowering still,
And with full force the jagged peak
Fell crashing on the giant’s cheek.
He staggered, reeled, and fell: the blood
Gushed from the giant in a flood.
Reft of his might, each sense astray,
A while upon the sand he lay.
But strength and wandering sense returned
Again his eyes with fury burned,
And with his mace upraised on high
He wounded Angad on the thigh.
Then from his hand his mace he threw,
And closer to his foeman drew.
Then with their fists they fought, and smote
On brow and cheek and chest and throat.
Worn out with toil, their limbs bedewed,
With blood, the strife they still renewed,
Like Mercury and fiery Mars
Met in fierce battle mid the stars.
A while the deadly fight was stayed:
Each armed him with his trusty blade
Whose sheath with tinkling bells supplied,
And golden net, adorned his side;
And grasped his ponderous leather shield
To fight till one should fall or yield.
Uunumbered wounds they gave and took:
Their wearied bodies reeled and shook.
At length upon the sand that drank
Streams of their blood the warriors sank,
But as a serpent rears his head
Sore wounded by a peasant’s tread,
So Angad, fallen on his knees,
Yet gathered strength his sword to seize;
And, severed by the glittering blade,
The giant’s head on earth was laid. [2]
[ p. 468 ]
They told him that the chief was killed,
And Rávan’s breast with rage was filled.
Then, fiercely moved by wrath and pride,
Thus to his lords the tyrant cried:
‘No longer, nobles, may we show
This lofty scorn for such a foe
By whom our bravest, with his train
Of steeds and elephants, is slain.
Myself this day will take the field,
And Raghu’s sons their lives shall yield.’
High on the royal car, that glowed
With glory from his face, he rode;
And tambour shell and drum pealed out,
And joyful was each giant’s shout.
A mighty host, with eyeballs red
Like flames of kindled fire, he led.
He passed the city gate, and viewed,
Arrayed, the Vánar multitude,
Those wielding massy rocks, and these
Armed with the stems of uptorn trees,
And Ráma with his eyes aglow
With warlike ardour viewed the foe,
And thus the brave Vibhíshan, best
Of weapon-wielding chiefs, addressed:
‘What captnin leads this bright array
Where lances gleam and banners play,
And thousands armed with spear and sword
Await the bidding of their lord?’
‘Seest, thou,’ Vibhíshan answered, 'one
Whose face is as the morning sun,
Preëminent for hugest frame?
Akampan [3] is the giant’s name
Behold that chieftain, chariot-borne,
Whom Brahmá’s chosen gifts adorn.
He wields a bow like Indra’s own;
A lion on his flag is shown,
His eyes with baleful fire are lit:
‘Tis Rávan’s son,'tis Indrajit
There, brandishing in mighty hands
His huge bow, Atikáya stands.
And that proud warrior o’er whose head
A moon-bright canopy is spread:
Whose might, in many a battle tried,
Has tamed imperial Indra’s pride;
Who wears a crown of burnished gold,
Is Lanká’s lord the lofty-souled.’
He ceased: and Ráma knew his foe,
And laid an arrow on his bow:
‘Woe to the wretch,’ he ciied, 'whom fate
Abandons to my deadly hate.’
He spoke, and, firm by Lakshman’s side,
The giant to the fray defied.
The lord of Lanká bade his train
Of warriors by the gates remain,
To guard the city from surprise
By Ráma’s forest born allies.
Then as some monster of the sea
Cleaves swift-advancimg billows, he
Charged with impetuous onset through
The foe, and cleft the host in two.
Sugríva ran, the king to meet:
A hill uprooted from its seat
He hurled,with trees that graced the height
Against the rover of the night:
But cleft with shafts that checked its way
Harmless upon the earth it lay.
Then fiercer Rávan’s fury grew,
An arrow from his side he drew,
Swift as a thunderbolt, aglow
With fire, and launched it at the foe.
Through flesh and bone a way it found,
And stretched Sugríva on the ground.
Sushen and Nala saw him fall,
Gaváksha, Gavaya heard their call,
And, poising hills, in act * to fling
They charged amain the giant king.
They charged, they hurled the hills in vain.
He checked them with his arrowy rain,
And every brave assailant felt
The piercing wounds his missiles dealt,
Then smitten by the shafts that came
Keen, fleet, and thick, with certain aim,
They fled to Ráma, sure defence
Against the oppressor’s violence,
Then, reverent palm to palm applied,
Thus Lakshman to his brother cried:
‘To me, my lord, the task entrust
To lay this giant in the dust.’
‘Go, then,’ said Ráma, 'bravely fight;
Beat down this rover of the night.
But he, unmatched in bold emprise.
Fears not the Lord of earth and skies,
Keep on thy guard: with keenest eye
Thy moments of attack espy.
Let hand and eye in due accord
Protect thee with the bow and sword.’
Then Lakshman round his brother threw
His mighty arms in honour due,
Bent lowly down his reverent head,
And onward to the battle sped.
Hanúmán from afar beheld
How Rávan’s shafts the Vánars quelled:
To meet the giant’s car he ran,
Raised his right arm and thus began:
‘If Brahmá’s boon thy life has screened
From Yaksha, God, Gandharva, fiend.
With these contending fear no ill,
But tremble at a Vánar still.’
With fury flashing from his eye
The lord of Lanká made reply.
‘Strike, Vánar, strike, the fray begin,
Aml hope eternal fame to win
This arm shall pr * thee in the * ??
[ p. 469 ]
And end thy glory and thy life.’
‘Remember,’ cried the Wind-God’s son,
‘Remember all that I have done,
My prowess, King, thou knowest well,
Shown in the fight when Aksha [4] fell.’
With heavy hand the giant smote
Hanúmán on the chest and throat,
Who reeled and staggered to and fro,
Stunned for a moment by the blow.
Till, mustering strength, his hand he reared
And struck the foe whom Indra feared.
His huge limbs bent beneath the shock,
As mountains, in an earthquake, rock,
And from the Gods and sages pealed
Shouts of loud triumph as he reeled.
But strength returning nerved his frame:
His eyeballs flashed with fiercer flame.
No living creature might resist
That blow of his tremendous fist
Which fell upon Hanúmán’s flank:
And to the ground the Vánar sank,
No sign of life his body showed:
And Rávan in his chariot rode
At Níla; and his arrowy rain
Eell on the captain and his train.
Fierce Níla stayed his Vánar band,
And, heaving with his single hand
A mountain peak with vigorous swing
Hurled the huge missile at the king.
Hanúmán life and strength regained,
Burned for the fight and thus complained:
‘Why, coward giant, didst thou flee
And leave the doubtful fight with me?’
Seven mighty arrows keen and fleet
The giant launched, the hill to meet;
And, all its force and fury stayed,
The harmless mass on earth was laid.
Enraged the Vánar chief beheld
The mountain peak by force repelled,
And rained upon the foe a shower
Of trees uptorn with branch and flower.
Still his keen shafts which pierced and rent
Each flying tree the giant sent:
Still was the Vánar doomed to feel
The tempest of the winged steel.
Then, smarting from that arrowy storm,
The Vánar chief condensed his form, [5]
And lightly leaping from the ground
On Rávan’s standard footing found;
Then springing unimpeded down
Stood on his bow and golden crown.
The Vánar’s nimble leaps amazed
Ikshváku’s son who stood and gazed.
The giant, raging in his heart,
Laid on his bow a fiery dart;
The Vánar on his flagstaff eyed,
And thus in tones of fury cried:
‘Well skilled in magic lore art thou:
But will thine art avail thee now?
See if thy magic will defend
Thy life against the dart I send.’
Thus Rávan spake, the giant king,
And loosed the arrow from the string.
It pierced, with direst fury sped,
The Vánar with its flaming head.
His father’s might, his power innate
Preserved him from the threatened fate.
Upon his knees he fell, distained
With streams of blood, but life remained,
Still Rávan for the battle burned:
At Lakshman next his car he turned,
And charged amain with furious show,
Straining in mighty hands his bow.
‘Come,’ Lakshman cried, 'assay the fight:
Leave foes unworthy of thy might.’
Thus Lakshman spoke: and Lanká’s lord
Heard the dread thunder of the cord,
And mad with burning rage and pride
In hasty words like these replied:
‘Joy, joy is mine, O Raghu’s son:
Thy fate to-day thou canst not shun.
Slain by mine arrows thou shalt tread
The gloomy pathway of the dead.’
Thus as, he spoke his bow he drew,
And seven keen shafts at Lakshman flew,
But Raghu’s son with surest aim
Cleft every arrow as it came.
Thus with fleet shafts each warrior shot
Against his foe, and rested not.
Then one choice weapon from his store,
By Brahmá’s self bestowed of yore,
Fierce as the flames that end the world,
The giant king at Lakshman hurled.
The hero fell, and racked with pain,
Scarce could his hand his bow retain.
But sense and strength resumed their seat
And, lightly springing to his feet,
He struck with one Tremendons stroke
And Rávan’s bow in splinters broke.
From Lakshmans’s cord three arrows flew
And pierced the giant monarch through.
Sore wounded Rávan closed, and round
Ikshváku’s son his strong arms wound.
With strength unrivalled, Brahmá’s gift,
He strove from earth his foe to lift.
‘Shall I,’ he cried, 'who overthrow
Mount Meru and the Lord of Snow,
And heaven and all who dwell therein,
Be foiled by one of Ráma’s kin?’
But though he heaved, and toiled, and strained,
Unmoved Ikshváku’s son remained.
His frame by those huge arms compressed
The giant’s God given *****
But conscious that himself * was part
[ p. 470 ]
Of Vishnu, he was firm in heart.
The Wind-God’s son the fight beheld,
And rushed at Rávan, rage-impelled.
Down crashed his mighty hand the foe
Full in the chest received the blow.
His eyes grew dim, his knees gave way,
And senseless on the earth he lay.
The Wind-God’s son to Ráma bore
Deep-wounded Lakshman stained with gore.
He whom no foe might lift or bend
Was light as air to such a friend.
The dart that Lakshman’s side had cleft,
Untouched, the hero’s body left,
And flushing through the air afar
Resumed its place in Rávan’s car;
And, waxing well though wounded sore,
He felt the deadly pain no more.
And Rávan, though with deep wounds pained,
Slowly his sense and strength regained,
And furious still and undismayed
On bow and shaft his hand he laid.
Then Hanúmán to Ráma cried:
‘Ascend my back, great chief, and ride
Like Vishnu borne on Garud’s wing,
To battle with the giant king.’
So, burning for the dire attack,
Rode Ráma on the Vánar’s back,
And with fierce accents loud and slow
Thus gave defiance to the foe,
While his strained bowstring made a sound
Like thunder when it shakes the ground:
‘Stay, Monarch of the giants, stay,
The penalty of sin to pay.
Stay! whither wilt thou fly, and how
Escape the death that waits thee now?’
No word the giant king returned:
His eyes with flames of fury burned.
His arm was stretched, his bow was bent,
And swift his fiery shafts were sent.
Red torrents from the Vánar flowed:
Then Ráma near to Rávan strode,
And with keen darts that never failed,
The chariot of the king assailed.
With surest aim his arrows flew:
The driver and the steeds he slew.
And shattered with the pointed steel
Car, flag, and pole and yoke and wheel.
As Indra hurls his bolt to smite
Mount Meru’s heaven-ascending height,
So Ráma with a flaming dart
Struck Lanká’s monarch near the heart,
Who reeled and fell beneath the blow
And from loose fingers dropped his bow.
Bright as the sun, with crescent head,
From Ráma’s bow an arrow sped,
And from his forehead, proud no more,
Cleft the bright coronet he wore.
Then Ráma stood by Rávan’s side
And to the conquered giant cried:
‘Well hast thou fought: thine arm has slain
Strong heroes of the Vánar train.
I will not strike or slay thee now,
For weary, faint with fight art thou.
To Lanká’s town thy footsteps bend,
And there the night securely spend.
To-morrow come with car and bow,
And then my prowess shall thou know.’
He ceased: the king in humbled pride
Rose from the earth and naught replied.
With wounded limbs and shattered crown
He sought again his royal town.
With humbled heart and broken pride
Through Lanká’s gate the giant hied,
Crushed, like an elephant beneath
A lion’s spring and murderous teeth,
Or like a serpent 'neath the wing
And talons of the Feathered King.
Such was the giant’s wild alarm
At arrows shot by Ráma’s arm;
Shafts with red lightning round them curled,
Like Brahmá’s bolts that end the world.
Supported on his golden throne,
With failing eye and humbled tone,
‘Giants,’ he cried,’ the toil is vain,
Fruitless the penance and the pain,
If I whom Indra owned his peer,
Secure from Gods, a mortal fear.
My soul remembers, now too late,
Lord Brahmá’s words who spoke my fate:
‘Tremble, proud Giant,’ thus they ran,
‘And dread thy death from slighted man.
Secure from Gods and demons live,
And serpents, by the boon I give.
Against their power thy life is charmed,
But against man is still unarmed.’
This Ráma is the man foretold
By Anarama’s* [6] lips of old:
Fear, Rávan, basest of the base:
For of mine own imperial race
A prince in after time shall spring
And thee and thine to ruin bring.
And Vedavati, [7] ere she died
Slain by my ruthless insult, cried:
[ p. 471 ]
‘A scion of my royal line
Shall slay, vile wretch, both thee and thine.’
She in a later birth became
King Janak’s child, now Ráma’s dame.
Nandís’vara [8] foretold this fate,
And Umá [9] when I moved her hate,
And Rambhá, [10] and the lovely child
Of Varun [11] by my touch defiled.
I know the fated hour is nigh:
Hence, captains, to your stations fly.
Let warders on the rampart stand:
Place at each gate a watchful band;
And, terror of immortal eyes,
Let mightiest Kumbhakarnna rise.
He, slumbering, free from care and pain,
By Brahmá’s curse, for months has lain.
But when Prahasta’s death he hears,
Mine own defeat and doubts and fears,
The chief will rise to smite the foe
And his unrivalled valour show.
Then Raghu’s royal sons and all
The Vánars neath his might will fall.’
The giant lords his hest obeyed,
They left him, trembling and afraid,
And from the royal palace strode
To Kumbhakarna’s vast abode.
They carried garlands sweet and fresh,
And reeking loads of blood and flesh.
They reached the dwelling where he lay,
A cave that reached a league each way,
Sweet with fair blooms of lovely scent
And bright with golden ornament.
His breathings came to fierce and fast,
Scarce could the giants brook the blast.
They found him on a golden bed
With his huge limbs at length outspread.
They piled their heaps of venison near,
Fat buffaloes and boars and deer.
With wreaths of flowers they fanned his face,
And incense sweetened all the place.
Each raised his mighty voice as loud
As thunders of an angry cloud,
And conches their stirring summons gave
That echoed through the giant’s cave.
Then on his breast they rained their blows.
And high the wild commotion rose
When cymbal vied with drum and horn.
And war cries on the gale upborne
Through all the air loud discord spread,
And, struck with fear, the birds fell dead.
But still he slept and took his rest.
Then dashed they on his shaggy chest
Clubs, maces, fragments of the rock:
He moved not once, nor felt the shock.
The giants made one effort more
With shell and drum and shout and roar.
Club, mallet, mace, in fury plied,
Rained blows upon his breast and side.
And elephants were urged to aid,
And camels groaned and horses neighed.
They drenched him with a hundred pails,
They tore his ears with teeth and nails.
They bound together many a mace
And beat him on the head and face;
And elephants with ponderous tread
Stamped on his limbs and chest and head.
The unusual weight his slumber broke:
He started, shook his sides, and woke;
And, heedless of the wounds and blows,
Yawning with thirst and hunger rose,
His jaws like hell gaped fierce and wide,
Dire as the flame neath ocean’s tide.
Red as the sun on Meru’s crest
The giant’s face his wrath expressed,
And every burning breath he drew
Was like the blast that rushes through
The mountain cedars. Up he raised
His awful head with eyes that blazed
Like comets, dire as Death in form
Who threats the worlds with fire and stcrm.
The giants pointed to their stores
Of buffaloes and deer and boars,
And straight he gorged him with a flood
Of wine, with marrow, flesh, and blood.
He ceased: the giants ventured near
And bent their lowly heads in fear.
Then Kumbhakarna glared with eyes
Still heavy in their first surprise,
Still drowsy from his troubled rest,
And thus the giant band addressed.
‘How have ye dared my sleep to break?
No trifling cause should bid me wake.
Say, is all well? or tell the need
That drives you with unruly speed
To wake me. Mark the words I say,
The king shall tremble in dismay,
[ p. 472 ]
Of Vishn’u, he was firm in heart.
The Wind-God’s son the fight beheld,
And rushed at Rávan, rage-impelled.
Down crashed his mighty hand the foe
Full in the chest received the blow.
His eyes grew dim, his knees gave way.
And senseless on the earth he lay.
The Wind-God’s son to Ráma bore
Deep-wounded Lakshman stained with gore.
He whom no foe might lift or bend
Was light as air to such a friend.
The dart that Lakshman’s side had cleft,
Untouched, the hero’s body left,
And flashing through the air afar
Resumed its place in Rávan’s car;
And, waxing well though wounded sore,
He felt the deadly pain no more.
And Rávan, though with deep wounds pained,
Slowly his sense and strength regained,
And furious still and undismayed
On bow and shaft his hand he laid.
Then Hanumán to Ráma cried:
‘Ascend my back, great chief, and ride
Like Vishnu borne on Garud’s wing,
To battle with the giant king.’
So, burning for the dire attack,
Rode Ráma on the Vánar’s back,
And with fierce accents loud and slow
Thus gave defiance to the foe,
While his strained bowstring made a sound
Like thunder when it shakes the ground:
‘Stay, Monarch of the giants, stay,
The penalty of sin to pay.
Stay; whither wilt thou fly, and how
Escape the death that waits thee now?’
No word the giant king returned:
His eyes with flames of fury burned.
His arm was stretched, his bow was bent,
And swift his fiery shafts were sent.
Red torrents from the Vánar flowed:
Then Ráma near to Rávan’ strode,
And, with keen darts that never failed,
The chariot of the king assailed.
With surest aim his arrows flew:
The driver and the steeds he slew,
And shattered with the pointed steel
Car, flag and pole and yoke and wheel.
As Indra hurls his bolt to smite
Mount Meru’s heaven-ascending height,
So Ráma with a flaming dart
Struck Lanká’s monarch near the heart,
Who reeled and fell beneath the blow
And from loose fingers dropped his bow.
Bright as the sun, with crescent head,
From Ráma’s bow an arrow sped,
And from his forehead, proud no more,
Cleft the bright coronet he wore.
Then Ráma stood by Rávan’'s side
And to the conquered giant cried:
‘Well hast thou fought: thine arm has slain
Strong heroes of the Vánar train.
I will not strike or slay thee now,
For weary, faint with fight art thou.
To Lanká’s town thy footsteps bend,
And there the night securely spend.
To-morrow come with car and bow,
And then my prowess shall thou know.’
He ceased: the king in humbled pride
Rose from the earth and naught replied.
With wounded limbs and shattered crown
He sought again his royal town.
With humbled heart and broken pride
Through Lánka’s gate the giant hied,
Crushed, like an elephant beneath
A lion’s spring and murderous teeth,
Or like a serpent neath the wing
And talons of the Feathered King.
Such was the giant’s wild alarm
At arrows shot by Ráma’s arm;
Shafts with red lightning round them curled,
Like Brahmá’s bolts that end the world.
Supported on his golden throne,
With failing eye and humbled tone,
‘Giants,’ he cried, 'the toil is vain,
Fruitless the penance and the pain,
If I whom Indra owned his peer,
Secure from Gods, a mortal fear.
My soul remembers, now too late,
Lord Brahmá’s words which spoke my fate:
‘Tremble, proud Giant,’ thus they ran,
‘And dread thy death from slighted man.
Secure from Gods and demons live,
And serpents, by the boon I give.
Against their power thy life is charmed,
But against man is still unarmed,’
This Ráma is the man foretold
By Anaranra’s [12] lips of old:
‘Fear, Rávan’, basest of the base:
For of mine own imperial race
A prince in after time shall spring
And thee and thine to ruin bring.
And Vedavatí, [13] ere she died
Slain by my ruthless insult, cried:
[ p. 473 ]
‘A scion of my royal line
Shall slay, vile wretch, both thee and thine.’
She in a later birth became
King Janak’s child, now Ráma’s dame.
Nandis’vara [14] foretold this fate,
And Umá [15] when I moved her hate,
And Rambhá, [16] and the lovely child
Of Varun [17] by thy touch defiled.
I know the fated hour is nigh:
Hence, captains, to your stations fly.
Let warders on the rampart stand:
Place at each gate a watchful band;
And, terror of immortal eyes,
Let mightiest Kumbhakarna rise.
He, slumbering, free from care and pain,
By Brahmá’s curse, for months has lain.
But when Prahasta’s death he hears,
Mine own defeat and doubts and fears,
The chief will rise to smite the foe
And his unrivalled valour show.
Then Raghu’s royal sons and all
The Vánars neath his might will fall.’
The giant lords his hest obeyed,
They left him, trembling and afraid,
And from the royal palace strode
To Kumbhakarna’s vast abode.
They carried garlands sweet and fresh,
And reeking loads of blood and flesh.
They reached the dwelling where he lay,
A cave that stretched a league each way,
Sweet with fair blooms of lovely scent
And bright with golden ornament.
His breathings came so fierce and fast.
Scarce could the giants brook the blast.
They found him on a golden bed
With his huge limbs at length outspread.
They piled their heaps of venison near,
Fat buffaloes and boars and deer.
With wreaths of flowers they fanned his face,
And incense sweetened all the place.
Each raised his mighty voice as loud
As thunders of an angry cloud,
And conchs their stirring summons gave
That echoed through the giant’s cave.
Then on his breast they rained their blows.
And high the wild commotion rose
When cymbal vied with drum and horn.
And war cries on the gale upborne
Through all the air loud discord spread,
And, struck with fear, the birds fell dead.
But still he slept and took his rest.
Then dashed they on his shaggy chest
Clubs, maces, fragments of the rock:
He moved not once, nor felt the shock.
The giants made one effort more
With shell and drum and shout and roar.
Club, mallet, mace, in fury plied,
Rained blows upon his breast and side,
And elephants were urged to aid,
And camels groaned and horses neighed.
They drenched him with a hundred pails,
They tore his ears with teeth and nails.
They bound together many a mace
And beat him on the head and face;
And elephants with ponderous tread
Stamped on his limbs and chest and head.
The unusual weight his slumber broke:
He started, shook his sides, and woke;
And, heedless of the wounds and blows,
Yawning with thirst and hunger rose.
His jaws like hell gaped fierce and wide,
Dire as the flame neath ocean’s tide.
Red as the sun on Meru’s crest
The giant’s face his wrath expressed,
And every burning breath he drew
Was like the blast that rushes through
The mountain cedars. Up he raised
His awful head with eyes that blazed
Like comets, dire as Death in form
Who threats the worlds with fire and storm.
The giants pointed to their stores
Of buffaloes and deer and boars,
And straight he gorged him with a flood
Of wine, with marrow, flesh, and blood.
He ceased: the giants ventured near
And bent their lowly heads in fear.
Then Kumbhakarna glared with eyes
Still heavy in their first surprise,
Still drowsy from his troubled rest,
And thus the giant band addressed.
‘How have ye dared my sleep to break?
No trifling cause should bid me wake.
Say, is all well? or tell the need
That drives you with unruly speed
To wake me. Mark the words I say,
The king shall tremble in dismay,
[ p. 474 ]
The fire be quenched and Indra slain
Ere ye shall break my rest in vain.’
Yupáksha answered: ‘Chieftain, hear;
No God or fiend excites our fear.
But men in arms our walls assail:
We tremble lest their might prevail.
For vengeful Ráma vows to slay
The foe who stole his queen away,
And, matchless for his warlike deeds,
A host of mighty Vánars leads.
Ere now a monstrous Vánar came.
Laid Lanká waste with ruthless flame,
And Aksha, Rávan’s offspring, blew
With all his warrior retinue.
Our king who never trembled yet
For heavenly hosts in battle met.
At length the general dread has shared,
O’erthrown by Ráma’s arm and spared.’
He ceased: and Kumbhakarna spake:
‘I will go forth and vengeance take;
Will tread their hosts beneath my feet,
Then triumph-flushed our king will meet.
Our giant bands shall eat their fill
Of Vánars whom this arm shall kill.
The princes’ blood shall be my draught,
The chieftains’ shall by you be quaffed.’
He spake, and, with an eager stride
That shook the earth, to Rávan hied,
In Canto LVI. Akampan sees that the Rákshases are worsted, and fights with redoubled rage and vigour. The Vánars fall fast under his “nets of arrows.” Hanumán comes to the rescue. He throws mountain peaks at the giant which are dexterously stopped with flights of arrows; and at last beats him down and kills him with a tree.
In Canto LVII. Rávan is seriously alarmed. He declares that he himself, Kumbhakarna or Prahasta, must go forth. Prahasta sallies out vaunting that the fowls of the air shall eat their fill of Vánar flesh.
In Canto LVIII. the two armies meet. Dire is the conflict; ceaseless is the rain of stones and arrows. At last Níla meets Prahasta and breaks his bow. Prahasta leaps from his car, and the giant and the Vánar fight on foot. Níla with a huge tree crushes his opponent who falls like a tree when its roots are cut.
466:1 The Gandharvas are warriors and Minstrels of Indra’s heaven. ↩︎
467:1 I omit Cantos LV., LVI., LVII., and LVIII. which relate how Akampan and Prahasta sally out and fall. There is little novelty of incident in these Cantos and the result are exactly the same as before. In Canto LV. Akampan, at the command of Rávan, leads forth his troops. Evil omens are seen and heard. The enemies meet, and many fall on each side, the Vánars transfixed with arrows, the Rákshases crushed with rooks and trees. ↩︎
468:1 ‘It is to be understood,’ says the commentator, 'that this is not * the Akampan who has already been slain.* ↩︎
469:1 Ravan’s son, whom Hanúmán killed when he first visited Lanká. ↩︎
469:2 Níla was the son of Agni the God of Fire and possessed, like Milton’s demons, the power of dilating and condensing his form at pleasure. ↩︎
470:1 An ancient king of Ayodhyá said by some to have been Prithu’s father. ↩︎
470:2 The daughter of King Kus’adhwaja. She became an ascetic, and being insulted by Rávan in the woods where she was p. 471 performing penance, destroyed herself by entering fire, but was born again as Sitá to be in turn the destruction of him who had insulted her. ↩︎
471:1 Nandís’vara was S’iva’s chief attendant. Rávan had despised and laughed at him for appearing in the form of a monkey and the irritated Nandís’vara cursed him and foretold his destruction by monkeys. ↩︎
471:2 Rávan once upheaved and shook Mount Kailása the favourite dwelling place of S’iva the consort of Umá, and was cursed in consequence by the offended Goddess. ↩︎
471:3 Rambhá, who has several times been mentioned in the course of the poem, was one of the nymphs of heaven, and had been insulted by Rávan. ↩︎
471:4 Punjikasthalá was the daughter of Varun. Rávan himself has mentioned in this book his insult to her, and the curse pronounced in consequeuce by Brahmá. ↩︎
472:1 An ancient king of Ayodhyá said by some to have been Prithu’s father. ↩︎
472:2 The daughter of King Kus’adhwaja. She became an ascetic, and being insulted by Rávan in the woods where she was p. 473 performing penance, destroyed herself by entering fire, but was born again as Sitá to be in turn the destruction of him who had insulted her. ↩︎
473:1 Nandisvara was S’iva’s chief attendant. Rávan had despised and laughed at him for appearing in the form of a monkey and the irritated Nandis’vara cursed him and foretold his destruction by monkeys. ↩︎
473:2 Rávan once upheaved and shook Mount Kailása the favourite dwelling place of S’iva the consort of Umá, and was cursed in consequence by the offended Goddess. ↩︎
473:3 Rambhá, who has several times been mentioned in the course of the poem, was one of the nymphs of heaven, and had been insulted by Rávan. ↩︎
473:4 Punjikasthalá was the daughter of Varun. Rávan himself has mentioned in this book his insult to her, and the curse pronounced in consequence by Brahma. ↩︎