The son of Raghu near the wall
Saw, proudly towering over all,
The mighty giant stride along
Attended by the warrior throng;
Heard Kumbhakarna’s heavy feet
Awake the echoes of the street;
And, with the lust of battle fired,
Turned to and inquired:
‘Vibhíshan, tell that chieftain’s name
Who rears so high his mountain frame;
With glittering helm and lion eyes,
Preeminent in might and size
Above the rest of giant birth,
He towers the standard of the earth;
And all the Vánars when they see
The mighty warrior turn and flee.’
‘In him,’ Vibhíshan answered, ‘know
Vis’ravas’ son, the Immortals’ foe,
Fierce Kumbhakaiiia, mightier far
Than Gods and fiends and giants are.
He conquered Yama in the fight,
And Indra trembling owned his might.
His arm the Gods and fiends subdued,
Gandharvas and the serpent brood.
The rest of his gigantic race
Are wonderous strong by God-given grace;
But nature at his birth to him
Gave matchless power and strength of limb.
Scarce was he born, fierce monster, when
He killed and ate a thousand men.
The trembling race of men, appalled,
On Indra for protection called;
And he, to save the suffering world,
His bolt at Kumbhakarna hurled.
So awful was the monster’s yell
That fear on all the nations fell,
He, rushing on with furious roar,
A tusk from huge Airávat tore,
And dealt the God so dire a blow
That Indra reeling left his foe,
And with the Gods and mortals fled
To Brahmá’s throne dispirited.
‘O Brahmá,’ thus the suppliants cried,
‘Some refuge for this woe provide.
If thus his maw the giant sate
Soon will the world be desolate.’
The Self-existent calmed their woe,
And spake in anger to their foe:
‘As thou wast born, Paulastya’s son,
That worlds might weep by thee undone,
Thou like the dead henceforth shalt be:
Such is the curse I lay on thee.’
Senseless he lay, nor spoke nor stirred;
Such was the power of Brahmá’s word.
But Rávan, troubled for his sake,
Thus to the Self-existent spake:
‘Who lops the tree his care has reared
When golden fruit has first appeared?
Not thus, O Brahmá, deal with one
Descended from thine own dear son. [1]
Still thou, O Lord, thy word must keep
He may not die, but let him sleep.
Yet fix a time for him to break
The chains of slumber and awake.’
He ceased: and Brahmá made reply;
‘Six months in slumber shall he lie
And then arising for a day
Shall cast the numbing bonds away.’
Now Rávan in his doubt and dread
Has roused the monster from his bed,
Who comes in this the hour of need
On slaughtered Vánars flesh to feed.
Each Vánar, when his awe-struck eyes
Behold the monstrous chieftain, flies.
With hopeful words their minds deceive,
And let our trembling hosts believe
They see no giant, but, displayed,
A lifeless engine deftly made.’
Then Ráma called to Nila: 'Haste,
Let troops near every gate be placed,
And, armed with fragments of the rock
And trees, each lane and alley block.’
[ p. 475 ]
Thus Rama spoke: the chief obeyed,
And swift the Vánars stood arrayed,
As when the black clouds their battle form,
The summit of a hill to storm
Along bright Lanká’s royal road
The giant, roused from slumber, strode,
While from the houses on his head
A rain of fragrant flowers was shed.
He reached the monarch’s gate whereon
Rich gems and golden fretwork shone.
Through court and corridor that shook
Beneath his tread his way he took,
And stood within the chamber where
His brother sat in dark despair.
But sudden, at the grateful sight
The monarch’s eye again grew bright.
He started up, forgot his fear,
And drew his giant brother near.
The younger pressed the elder’s feet
And paid the King observance meet,
Then cried: ‘O Monarch, speak thy will,
And let my care thy word fulfil.
What sudden terror and dismay
Have burst the bonds in which I lay?’
Fierce flashed the flame from Rávan’s eye.
As thus in wrath he made reply:
‘ Fair time, I ween, for sleep is this,
To lull thy soul in tranquil bliss,
Unheeding, in oblivion drowned,
The dangers that our lives surround.
Brave Ráma, Das’aratha’s son,
A passage o’er the sea has won,
And, with the Vánar monarch’s aid.
Round Lanká’s walls his hosts arrayed.
Though never in the deadly field
My Rákshas troops were known to yield,
The bravest of the giant train
Have fallen by the Vánars slain.
Hence comes my fear. O fierce and brave,
Go forth, our threatened Lanká’ save.
Go forth, a dreadful vengeance take:
For this, O chief, I bade thee wake.
The Gods and trembling fiends have felt
The furious blows thine arm has dealt.
Earth has no warrior, heaven has none
To match thy might, Paulastya’s eon,’
Then Kumbhakarna laughed aloud
And cried; 'O Monarch, once so proud,
We warned thee, but thou wouldst not hear
And now the fruits of sin appear.
We warned thee, I, thy nobles, all
Who loved thee, in thy council hall.
Those sovereigns who with blinded eyes
Neglect the foe their hearts despise,
Soon, falling from the their high estate
Bring on themselves the stroke of fate.
Accept at length, thy life to save,
The counsel sage Vibhíshan gave,
The prudent counsel spurned before,
And Sita to her lord restore.’ [2]
The monarch frowned, by passion moved
And thus in angry words reproved:
‘ Wilt thou thine elder brother school,
Forgetful of the ancient rule
That bids thee treat him as the sage
Who guides thee with the lore of age?
Think on the dangers of the day,
Nor idly throw thy words away:
If, led astray, by passion stirred,
I in the pride of power have erred;
If deeds of old were done amiss.
No time for vain reproach is this.
Up, brother; let thy loving care
The errors of thy king repair.’
To calm his wrath, his soul to ease,
The younger spake in words like these:
‘ Yea, from our bosoms let us cast
All idle sorrow for the past.
Let grief and anger be repressed:
Again be firm and self-possessed.
This day, O Monarch, shalt thou see
The Vánar legions turn and flee,
And Ráma and his brother slain
With their hearts’ blood shall dye the plain
Yea, if the God who rules the dead,
And Varun their battalions led;
If Indra with the Storm-Gods came
Against me, and the Lord of Flame,
Still would I fight with all and slay
Thy banded foes, my King, to-day.
If Raghu’s son this day withstand
The blow of mine uplifted hand.
Deep in his breast my darts shall sink,
And torrents of his life-blood drink.
O fear not, in my promise trust;
This arm shall lay him in the dust,
Shall leave the fierce Sugríva dyed
With gore, and Lakshman by his side,
And strike the great Hanúmán down.
The spoiler of our glorious town.’ [3]
[ p. 476 ]
He ceased: and when his lips were closed
Mahodar thus his rede opposed:
‘Why wilt thou shame thy noble birth
And speak like one of little worth?
Why boast thee thus in youthful pride
Rejecting wisdom for thy guide?
How will thy single arm oppose
The victor of a thousand foes,
Who proved in Janasthán his might
And slew the rovers of the night?
The remnant of those legions, they
Who saw his power that fatal day.
Now in this leaguered city dread
The mighty chief from whom they fled.
And wouldst thou meet the lord of men,
Beard the great lion in his den,
And, when thine eyes are open, break
The slumber of a deadly snake?
Who may an equal battle wage
With him, so awful in his rage.
Fierce as the God of Death whom none
May vanquish, Das’aratha’s son?
But, Rávan, shall the lady still
Refuse compliance with thy will?
No, listen, King, to this design
Which soon shall make the captive thine.
This day through Lanka’s streets proclaim
That four of us [4] of highest fame
With Kumbhakarna at our head
Will strike the son of Raghu dead.
Forth to the battle will we go
And prove our prowess on the foe.
Then, if our bold attempt succeed,
No further plans thy hopes will need.
But if in vain our warriors strive,
And Raghu’s son be left alive,
We will return, and, wounded sore,
Our armour stained with gouts of gore,
Will show the shafts that rent each frame,
Keen arrows marked with Ráma’s name,
And say we giants have devoured
The princes whom our might o’erpowered.
Then let the joyful tidings spread
That Raghu’s royal sons are dead.
To all around thy pleasure show,
Gold, pearls, and precious robes, bestow.
Gay garlands round the portals twine,
Enjoy the banquet and the wine.
Then go, the scornful lady seek,
And woo her when her heart is weak.
Rich robes and gold and gems display,
And gently wile her grief away.
Then will she feel her hopeless state,
Widowed, forlorn, and desolate;
Know that on thee her bliss depends,
Far from her country and her friends;
Then, her proud spirit overthrown,
The lady will be all thine own.’
But haughty Kumbhakarna spurned
His counsel, and to Rávan turned:
‘Thy life from peril will I free
And slay the foe who threatens thee.
A hero never vaunts in vain,
Like bellowing clouds devoid of rain,
Nor, Monarch, be thine ear inclined
To counsellors of slavish kind,
Who with mean arts their king mislead
And mar each gallant plan and deed.
O, let not words like his beguile
The glorious king of Lanka’s isle.’
Thus scornful Kumbhakarna cried,
And Rávan with a laugh replied:
‘Mahodar fears and fain would shun
The battle with Ikshvaku’s son.
Of all my giant warriors, who
Is strong as thou, and brave and true?
Ride, conqueror, to the battle ride,
And tame the foeman’s senseless pride.
Go forth like Yama to the field,
And let thine arm thy trident wield.
Scared by the lightning of thine eye
The Vanar hosts will turn and fly;
And Rama, when he sees thee near,
With trembling heart will own his fear.’
The champion heard, and, well content,
Forth from the hall his footsteps bent.
He grasped his spear, the foeman’s dread,
Black iron all, both shaft and head.
Which, dyed in many a battle, bore
Great spots of slaughtered victims’ gore.
The king upon his neck had thrown
The jewelled chain which graced his own.
And garlands of delicious scent
About his limbs for ornament.
Around his arms gay bracelets clung,
And pendants in his ears were hung.
Adorned with gold, about his waist
His coat of mail was firmly braced,
And like Náráyan [5] or the God
Who rules the sky he proudly trod.
Behind him went a mighty throng
Of giant warriors tall and strong,
[ p. 477 ]
On elephants of noblest breeds.
With cars, with camels, and with steeds:
And, armed with spear and axe and sword
Were fain to battle for their lord. 1
In pomp and pride of warlike state
The giant passed the city gate.
He raised his voice: the hills, the shore
Of Lanka’s sea returned the roar.
The Vánars saw the chief draw nigh
Whom not the ruler of the sky,
Nor Yama, monarch of the dead,
Might vanquish, and affrighted fled.
When royal Angad, Báli’s son,
Saw the scared Vánars turn and run,
Undaunted still he kept his ground,
And shouted as he gazed around:
‘O Nala, Níla, stay nor let
Your souls your generous worth forget,
O Kumud and Gaváksha, why
Like base-born Vánars will ye fly?
Turn, turn, nor shame your order thus:
This giant is no match for us’
They heard his voice: the flight was stayed;
Again for war they stood arrayed,
And hurled upon the foe a shower
Of mountain peaks and trees in flower.
Still on his limbs their missiles rained:
Unmoved, their blows he still sustained,
And seemed unconscious of the stroke
When rocks against his body broke.
Fierce as the flame when woods are dry
He charged with fury in his eye.
Like trees consumed with fervent heat
They fell beneath the giant’s feet.
Some o’er the ground, dyed red with gore,
Fled wild with terror to the shore,
And, deeming that all hope was lost,
Ran to the bridge they erst had crossed.
Some clomb the trees their lives to save,
Some sought the mountain and the cave;
Some hid them in the bosky dell,
And there in deathlike slumber fell.
When Angad saw the chieftains fly
He called them with a mighty cry:
‘Once more, O Vánars, charge once more,
On to the battle as before.
In all her compass earth has not,
To hide you safe, one secret spot.
What! leave your arms? each nobler dame
Will scorn her consort for the shame.
This blot upon your names efface,
And keep your valour from disgrace.
Stay, chieftains; wherefore will ye run,
A band of warriors scared by one?’
Scarce would they hear: they would not stay,
And barely spoke in wild dismay:
‘Have we not fought, and fought in vain
Have we not seen our mightiest slain?
The giant’s matchless force we fear,
And fly because our lives are dear.’
But Báli’s son with gentle art
Dispelled their dread and cheered each heart.
They turned and formed and waited still
Obedient to the prince’s will.
Thus from their flight the Vánars turned,
And every heart for battle burned,
Determined on the spot to die
Or gain a warrior’s meed on high.
Again the Vánars stooped to seize
Their weapons, rocks and fallen trees;
Again the deadly fight began,
And fiercely at the giant ran.
Unmoved the monster kept his place:
He raised on high his awful mace,
Whirled the huge weapon round his head
And laid the foremost Vánars’dead.
Eight thousand fell bedewed with gore,
Then sank and died seven hundred more.
Then thirty, twenty, ten, or eight
At each fierce onset met their fate,
And fast the fallen were devoured
Like snakes by Garud’s beak o’erpowered.
Then Dwivid from the Vánar van.
Armed with an uptorn mountain, ran,
Like a huge cloud when fierce winds blow,
And charged amain the mountain foe.
With wondrous force the hill he threw:
O’er Kumbhakarna’s head it flew,
And falling on his host afar
Crushed many a giant, steed, and car.
Rocks, trees, by fierce Hanúmán sped,
Rained fast on Kumbhakrna’s head.
Whose spear each deadlier missile stopped,
And harmless on the plain it dropped.
[ p. 478 ]
Then with his furious eyes aglow
The giant rushed upon the foe,
Where, with a woody hill upheaved,
Hanúmán’s might his charge received.
Through his vast frame the giant felt
The angry blow Hanúmán dealt.
He reeled a moment, sure distressed,
Then smote the Vánar on the breast,
As when the War-God’s furious stroke
Through Krauncha’s hill a passage broke. [6]
Fierce was the blow, and deep and wide
The rent: with crimson torrents dyed,
Hanúmán, maddened by the pain,
Roared like a cloud that brings the rain,
And from each Rákshas throat rang out
Loud clamour and exultant shout.
Then Nila hurled with mustered might
The fragment of a mountain height;
Nor would the rock the foe have missed,
But Kumbhakarna raised his fist
And smote so fiercely that the mass
Fell crushed to powder on the grass.
Five chieftains of the Vánar race [7]
Charged Kumbhakarna face to face,
And his huge frame they wildly beat
With rocks and trees and hands and feet.
Round Rishabh first the giant wound
His arms and hurled him to the ground,
Where speechless, senseless, wounded sore,
He lay his face besmeared with gore.
Then Níla with his fist he slew,
And S’arabh with his knee o’erthrew,
Nor could Gaváksha’s strength withstand
The force of his terrific hand.
At Gandhamádan’s eager call
Rushed thousands to avenge their fall,
Nor ceased those Vánars to assail
With knee and fist and tooth and nail.
Around his foes the giant threw
His mighty arms, and nearer drew
The captives subject to his will:
Then snatched them up and ate his fill.
There was no respite then, no pause:
Fast gaped and closed his hell-like jaws:
Yet, prisoned in that gloomy cave,
Some Vánars still their lives could save:
Some through his nostrils found a way,
Some through his ears resought the day.
Like Indra with his thunder, like
The God of Death in act to strike,
The giant seized his ponderous spear,
And charged the foe in swift career.
Before his might the Vánars fell,
Nor could their hosts his charge repel.
Then trembling, nor ashamed to run,
They turned and fled to Raghu’s son.
When Báli’s warrior son [8] beheld
Their flight, his heart with fury swelled.
He rushed, with his terrific shout,
To meet the foe and stay the rout.
He came, he hurled a mountain peak,
And smote the giant on the cheek.
His ponderous spear the giant threw:
Fierce was the cast, the aim was true;
But Angad, trained in war and tried,
Saw ere it came, and leapt aside.
Then with his open hand he smote
The giant on the chest and throat.
That blow the giant scarce sustained;
But sense and strength were soon regained.
With force which nothing might resist
He caught the Vánar by the wrist,
Whirled him, as if in pastime, round,
And dashed him senseless on the ground.
There low on earth his foe lay crushed:
At King Sugríva next he rushed,
Who, waiting for the charge, stood still,
And heaved on high a shattered hill,
He looked on Kumbhakarna dyed
With streams of blood, and fiercely cried:
‘Great glory has thine arm achieved,
And thousands of their lives bereaved.
Now leave a while thy meaner foes,
And brook the hill Sugríva throws.’
He spoke, and hurled the mass he held:
The giant’s chest the stroke repelled,
Then on the Vánars fell despair,
And Rákshas clamour filled the air.
The giant raised his arm, and fast
Came the tremendous [9] spear he cast.
Hanúmán caught it as it flew,
And knapped it on his knee in two.
The giant saw the broken spear:
His clouded eye confessed his fear;
Yet at Sugríva’s head he sent
A peak from Lanká’s mountain rent.
[ p. 479 ]
The rushing mass no might could stay:
Sugriva fell and senseless lay.
The giant stooped his foe to seize,
And bore him thence, as bears the breeze
A cloud in autumn through the sky.
He heard the sad Immortals sigh,
And shouts of triumph long and loud
Went up from all the Rákshas crowd.
Through Lanka’s gate the giant passed
Holding his struggling captive fast,
While from each terrace, house, and tower
Fell on his haughty head a shower
Of fragrant scent and flowery rain,
Blossoms and leaves and scattered grain. [10]
By slow degrees the Vánars’ lord
Felt life and sense and strength restored.
He heard the giants’ joyful boast:
He thought upon his Vánar host.
His teeth and feet he fiercely plied.
And bit and rent the giant’s side,
Who, mad with pain and smeared with gore,
Hurled to the ground the load he bore.
Regardless of a storm of blows
Swift to the sky the Vánar rose,
Then lightly like a flying ball
High overleapt the city wall,
And joyous for deliverance won
Regained the side of Raghu s son.
And Kumbhakarna, mad with hate
And fury, sallied from the gate,
The carnage of the foe renewed
And filled his maw with gory food.
Slaying, with headlong frenzy blind,
Both Vánar foes and giant kind.
Nor would Sumitra’s valiant son [11]
The might of Kumbhakarna shun,
Who through his harness felt the sting
Of keen shafts loosened from the string.
His heart confessed the warrior’s power,
And, bleeding from the ceaseless shower
That smote him on the chest and side,
With words like these the giant cried:
‘Well fought, well fought, Sumitra’s son;
Eternal glory hast thou won,
For thou in desperate fight hast met
The victor never conquered yet,
Whom, borne on huge Airávat’s back,
E’en Indra trembles to attack,
Go, son of Queen Sumitrá, go:
Thy valour and thy strength I know.
Now all my hope and earnest will
Is Ráma in the fight to kill.
Let him beneath my weapons fall,
And I will meet and conquer all.’
The chieftain, of Sumitrá born,
Made answer as he laughed in scorn:
‘Yea, thou hast won a victor’s fame
From trembling Gods and Indra’s shame.
There waits thee now a mightier foe
Whose prowess thou hast yet to know.
There, famous in a hundred lands,
Ráma the son of Raghu stands.’
Straight at the king the giant sped,
And earth was shaken at his tread.
His bow the hero grasped and strained,
And deadly shafts in torrents rained.
As Kumbhakarna felt each stroke
From his huge mouth burst fire and smoke;
His hands were loosed in mortal pain
And dropped his weapons on the plain.
Though reft of spear and sword and mace
No terror changed his haughty face.
With heavy hands he rained his blows
And smote to death a thousand foes.
Where’er the furious monster strode
While down his limbs the red blood flowed
Like torrents down a mountain’s side,
Vánars and bears and giants died.
High o’er his head a rock he swung,
And the huge mass at Ráma flung.
But Ráma’s arrows bright as flame
Shattered the mountain as it came.
Then Raghu’s son, his eyes aglow
With burning anger, charged the foe,
And as his bow he strained and tried
With fearful clang the cord replied.
Wroth at the bowstring’s threatening clang
To meet his foe the giant sprang.
High towering with enormous frame
Huge as a wood-crowned hill he came.
But Ráma firm and self-possessed
In words like these the foe addressed:
‘Draw near, O Rákshas lord, draw near,
Nor turn thee from the fight in fear.
Thou meetest Ráma face to faoe,
Destroyer of the giant race.
Come, fight, and thou shalt feel this hour.
Laid low in death, thy conqueror’s power.’
He ceased: and mad with wrath and pride
The giant champion thus replied:
‘Come thou to me and thou shalt find
A foeman of a different kind.
No Khara, no Virádha,—thou
Hast met a mightier warrior now.
The strength of Kumbhakarna fear,
And dread the iron mace I rear
This mace in days of yore subdued
The Gods and Dánav multitude.
Prove, lion of Ikshváku’s line.
Thy power upon these limbs of mine.
Then, after trial, shalt thou bleed,
And with thy flesh my hunger feed.’
He ceased and Ráma, undismayed,
Upon his cord those arrows laid
[ p. 480 ]
Which pierced the stately Sál trees through,
And Báli king of Vánars slew.
They flew, they smote, but smote in vain
Those mighty limbs that felt no pain.
Then Ráma sent with surest aim
The dart that bore the Wind-God’s name.
The missile from the giant tore
His huge arm and the mace it bore,
Which crushed the Vánars where it fell:
And dire was Kumbhakarna’s yell.
The giant seized a tree, and then
Rushed madly at the lord of men.
Another dart, Lord Indra’s own,
To meet his furious onset thrown,
His left arm from the shoulder lopped,
And like a mountain peak it dropped.
Then from the bow of Ráma sped
Two arrows, each with crescent head;
And, winged with might which naught could stay,
They cut the giant’s legs away.
They fell, and awful was the sound
As those vast columns shook the ground;
And sky and sea and hill and cave
In echoing roars their answer gave.
Then from his side the hero drew
A dart that like the tempest flew—
No deadlier shaft has ever flown
Than that which Indra called his own—
Nor could the giant’s mail-armed neck
The fury of the missile check.
Through skin and flesh and bone it smote
And rent asunder head and throat.
Down with the sound of thunder rolled
The head adorned with rings of gold,
And crushed to pieces in its fall
A gate, a tower, a massive wall.
Hurled to the sea the body fell:
Terrific was the ocean’s swell,
Nor could swift fin and nimble leap
Save the crushed creatures of the deep.
Thus he who plagued in impious pride
The Gods and Bráhmans fought and died.
Glad were the hosts of heaven, and long
The air re-echoed with their song. [12]
They ran to Rávan in his hall
And told him of his brother’s fall:
‘Fierce as the God who rules the dead,
Upon the routed foe he fed;
And, victor for a while, at length
Fell slain by Ráma’s matchless strength,
Now like a mighty hill in size
His mangled trunk extended lies,
And where he fell, a bleeding mass,
Blocks Lanká’s gate tbat none may pass.’
The monarch heard: his strength gave way;
And fainting on the ground he lay.
Grieved at the giants’ mournful tale,
Long, shrill was Atikáya’s wail;
Aud Tris’iras in sorrow bowed
His triple head, and wept aloud,
Mahodar, Mahápárs’va shed
Hot tears and mourned their brother dead.
At length, his wandering sense restored,
In loud lament cried Lanká’s lord:
Ah chief, for might and valour famed,
Whose arm the haughty foeman tamed,
Forsaking me, thy friends and all,
Why hast thou fled to Yama’s hall?
Why hast thou fled to taste no more
The slaughtered foeman’s flesh and gore?
Ah me, my life is done to-day:
My better arm is lopped away.
Whereon in danger I relied,
And, fearless, Gods and fiends defied.
How could a shaft from Ráma’s bow
The matchless giant overthrow,
Whose iron frame so strong of yore
The crushing bolt of Indra bore?
This day the Gods and sages meet
And triumph at their foe’s defeat.
This day the Vánar chiefs will boast
And, with new ardour fired, their host
In fiercer onset will assail
Our city, and the ramparts scale.
What care I for a monarch’s name,
For empire, or the Maithil dame?
What joy can power and riches give,
Or life that I should care to live,
Unless this arm in mortal fray
The slayer of my brother slay?
For me, of Kumbhakarna reft,
Death is the only solace left;
And I will seek, o’erwhelmed with woes,
The realm to which my brother goes.
Ah me ill-minded, not to take
His counsel when Vibhíshan spake
When he this evil day foretold
My foolish heart was overbold:
I drove my sage adviser hence,
And reap the fruits of mine offence.’
[ p. 481 ]
Pierced to the soul by sorrow’s sting
Thus wailed the evil-hearted king.
Then Tris’iras stood forth and cried:
‘Yea, father, he has fought and died,
Our bravest: and the loss is sore:
But rouse thee, and lament no more.
Hast thou not still thy coat of mail,
Thy bow and shafts which never fail?
A thousand asses draw thy car
Which roars like thunder heard afar.
Thy valour and thy warrior skill,
Thy God-given strength, are left thee still.
Unarmed, thy matchless might subdued
The Gods and Da’nav multitude.
Armed with thy glorious weapons, how
Shall Raghu’s son oppose thee now?
Or, sire, within thy palace stay;
And I myself will sweep away
Thy foes, like Garúd when he makes
A banquet of the writhing snakes
Soon Raghu’s son shall press the plain,
As Narak [13] fell by Vishnu slain,
Or S’ambar [14] in rebellious pride
Who met the King of Gods [15] and died.’
The monarch heard: his courage grew,
And life and spirit came anew.
Devántak and Narántak heard,
And their fierce souls with joy were stirred;
And Atikáya [16] burned to fight,
And heard the summons with delight;
While from the rest loud rang the cry,
‘I too will fight,’ ‘and I,’ ‘and I.’
The joyous king his sons embraced,
With gold and chains and jewels graced,
And sent them forth with stirring speech
Of benison and praise to each.
Forth from the gate the princes sped
And ranged for war the troops they led.
The Vánar legions charged anew.
And trees and rocks for missiles flew.
They saw Narántak’s mighty form
Borne on a steed that mocked the storm.
To check his charge in vain they strove:
Straight through their host his way he clove,
As springs a dolphin through the tide:
And countless Vánars fell and died,
And mangled limbs and corpses lay
To mark the chief’s ensanguined way,
Sugrívá saw them fall or fly
When fierce Narántak’s steed was nigh,
And marked the giant where he sped
O’er heaps of dying or of dead.
He bade the royal Angad face
That bravest chief of giant race.
As springs the sun from clouds dispersed,
So Angad from the Vánars burst.
No weapon for the fight he bore
Save nails and teeth, and sought no more.
‘Leave, giant chieftain,’ thus he spoke,
‘Leave foes unworthy of thy stroke,
And bend against a nobler heart
The terrors of thy deadly dart.’
Narántak heard the words he spake:
Fast breathing, like an angry snake,
With bloody teeth his lips he pressed
And hurled his dart at Angad’s breast.
True was the aim and fierce the stroke,
Yet on his breast the missile broke.
Then Angad at the giant flew.
And with a blow his courser slew:
The fierce hand crushed through flesh and bone,
And steed and rider fell o’erthrown.
Narántak’s eyes with fury blazed:
His heavy hand on high he raised
And struck in savage wrath the head
Of Báli’s son, who reeled and bled,
Fainted a moment and no more:
Then stronger, fiercer than before
Smote with that fist which naught could stay,
And crushed to death the giant lay.
Then raged the Rákshas chiefs, and all
Burned to avenge Narántak’s fall.
Devántak raised his club on high
And rushed at Angad with a cry.
Behind came Tris’iras, and near
Mahodar charged with levelled spear.
There Angad stood to fight with three:
High o’er his head he waved a tree,
And at Devántak, swift and true
As Indra’s flaming bolt, it flew.
But, cut by giant shafts in twain,
With minished force it flew in vain.
A shower of trees and blocks of stone
From Angad’s hand was fiercely thrown;
But well his club Devántak plied
And turned each rock and tree aside.
Nor yet, by three such foes assailed,
[ p. 482 ]
The heart of Angad sank or quailed.
He slew the mighty beast that bore
Mahodar: from his head he tore
A bleeding tusk, and blow on blow
Fell fiercely on his Rákshas foe.
The giant reeled, but strength regained,
And furious strokes on Angad rained,
Who, wounded by the storm of blows,
Sank on his knees, but swiftly rose.
Then Tris’iras, as up he sprang,
Drew his great bow with awful clang,
And fixed three arrows from his sheaf
Full in the forehead of the chief.
Hanúmán saw, nor long delayed
To speed with Níla to his aid,
Who at the three-faced giant sent
A peak from Lanká’s mountain rent.
But Tris’iras with certain aim
Shot rapid arrows as it came:
And shivered by their force it broke
And fell to earth with flash and smoke.
Then as the Wind-God’s son came nigh,
Devántak reared his mace on high.
Hanúmán smote him on the head
And stretched the monstrous giant dead.
Fierce Tris’iras with fury strained
His bow, and showers of arrows rained
That smote on Níla’s side and chest:
He sank a moment, sore distressed;
But quickly gathered strength to seize
A mountain with its crown of trees.
Crushed by the hill, distained with gore,
Mahodar fell to rise no more.
Then Tris’iras raised high his spear
Which chilled the trembling foe with fear
And, like a flashing meteor through
The air at Hanúmán it flew.
The Vánar shunned the threatened stroke,
And with strong hands the weapon broke.
The giant drew his glittering blade:
Dire was the wound the weapon made
Deep in the Vánar’s ample chest,
Who, for a moment sore oppressed,
Raised his broad hand, regaining might,
And struck the rover of the night.
Fierce was the blow: with one wild yell
Low on the earth the monster fell,
Hanúmán seized his fallen sword
Which served no more its senseless lord,
And from the monger triple-necked
Smote his huge heads with crowns bedecked.
Then Mahápárs’va burned with ire;
Fierce flashed his eyes with vengeful fire.
A moment on the dead he gazed,
Then his black mace aloft was raised,
And down the mass of iron came
That struck and shook the Vánar’s frame.
Hanúmán’s chest was wellnigh crushed,
And from his mouth red torrents gushed:
Yet served one instant to restore
His spirit: from the foe he tore
His awful mace, and smote, and laid
The giant in the dust dismayed.
Crushed were his jaws and teeth and eyes:
Breathless and still he lay as lies
A summit from a mountain rent
By him who rules the firmament.
474:1 Pulastya was the son of Brahmá and father of Vis’ravas or Paulustya the father of Rávan and Kumbhakaina. ↩︎
475:1 I omit a tedious sermon on the danger of rashness and the advantages of prudence, sufficient to irritate a less passionate hearer than Rávan. ↩︎
475:2 The Bengal recension assigns a very different speech to Kumbhakarna and makes him say that Nárad the messenger of the Gods had formerly told him that p. 473 Vishn’u himself incarnate as Das’aratha’s son should come to destroy Rávan. ↩︎
476:1 Mahodar, Dwijihva, Sanhráda, and Vitardan. ↩︎
476:1b A name of Vishn’u. ↩︎
478:1 Karttikeya the God of War, and the hero and incarnation Paras’urama are said to have cut a passage through the mountain Krauncha, a part of the Himálayan range, in the same way as the immense gorge that splits the Pyrenees under the towers of Marboré was cloven at one blow of Roland’s sword Durandal. ↩︎
478:2 Rishabn, S’arabh, Níla, Gaváksha, and Gandhamádan. ↩︎
478:1b Angad. The text calls him the son of the son of him who holds the thunderbolt, i.e.. the grandson of Indra. ↩︎
478:2b Literally, weighing a thousand bháras. The bhára is a weight equal to 2000 palas, the pala, is equal to four kars’as, and the kars’a to 11375 French grammes or about 176 grains troy. The spear seems very light for a warrior of Kumbhakarna’s strength and stature and the work performed with it. ↩︎
479:1 The custom of throwing parched or roasted grain, with wreaths and flowers, on the heads of kings and conquerors when they go forth to battle and return is frequently mentioned by Indian poets. ↩︎
479:2 Lakshman. ↩︎
480:1 I have abridged this long Canto by omitting some vain repetitions, commonplace epithets and similes and other unimportant matter. There are many verses in this Canto which European scholars would rigidly exclude as unmistakeably the work of later rhapsodists. Even the reverent Commentator whom I follow ventures to remark once or twice: Ayam s’loka prak shipta iti bahavah, 'This s’loka or verse is in the opinion of many interpolated.’ ↩︎
481:1 Narak was a demon, son of Bhúmi or Earth, who haunted the city Prágjyotisha. ↩︎
481:2 S’ambar was a demon of drought. ↩︎
481:3 Indra. ↩︎
481:4 Devántak (Slayer of Gods) Narántak (Slayer of Men) Atiktaya (Huge of Frame) and Tris’iras (Three Headed) were all sons of Rávan. ↩︎