Reading section 29

Thus in fair words with virtue fraught, The pious glorious saint besought. But the good speech with poignant sting Pierced ear and bosom of the King, Who, stabbed with pangs too sharp to bear, Fell prostrate and lay fainting there.

CANTO XXII

DAŚARATHA'S SPEECH

His tortured senses all astray, Awhile the hapless monarch lay, Then slowly gathering thought and strength To Viśvámitra spoke at length:-- "My son is but a child, I ween; This year he will be just sixteen. How is he fit for such emprise, My darling with the lotus eyes? A mighty army will I bring That calls me master, lord, and King, And with its countless squadrons fight Against these rovers of the night. My faithful heroes skilled to wield The arms of war will take the field; Their skill the demons' might may break: Ráma, my child, thou must not take. I, even I, my bow in hand, Will in the van of battle stand, And, while my soul is left alive, With the night-roaming demons strive. Thy guarded sacrifice shall be Completed, from all hindrance free. Thither will I my journey make: Ráma, my child, thou must not take. A boy unskilled, he knows not yet The bounds to strength and weakness set. No match is he for demon foes Who magic arts to arms oppose. O chief of saints, I have no power, Of Ráma reft, to live one hour-- Mine aged heart at once would break: Ráma, my child, thou must not take. Nine thousand circling years have fled With all their seasons o'er my head, And as a hard-won boon, O Sage, These sons have come to cheer mine age. My dearest love amid the four Is he whom first his mother bore, Still dearer for his virtue's sake; Ráma, my child, thou must not take. But if, unmoved by all I say, Thou needs must bear my son away, Let me lead with him, I entreat, A fourfold army all complete. What is the demons' might, O Sage? Who are they? What their parentage? What is their size? What beings lend Their power to guard them and befriend? How can my son their arts withstand? Or I or all my armed band? Tell me the whole that I may know To met in war each evil foe Whom conscious might inspires with pride."

And Viśvámitra thus replied:-- "Sprung from Pulastya's race there came A giant known by Rávan's name. Once favored by the Eternal Sire He plagues the worlds in ceaseless ire, For peerless power and might renowned, By giant bands encompassed round. Viśravas for his sire they hold, His brother is the Lord of Gold. King of the giant hosts is he, And worst of all in cruelty. This Rávan's dread commands impel Two demons who in might excel, Márícha and Suváhu Light, To trouble and impede the rite." Then thus the King addressed the sage:-- "No power have I, my lord, to wage War with this evil-minded foe; Now pity on my darling show, And upon me of hapless fate, For thee as God I venerate. Gods, spirits, bards of heavenly birth, The birds of air, the snakes of earth Before the might of Rávan quail, Much less can mortal man avail. He draws, I hear, from out the breast, The valor of the mightiest. No, ne'er can I with him contend, Or with the forces he may send. How can I then my darling lend, Godlike, unskilled in battle? No, I will not let my young child go. Foes of thy rite, those mighty ones, Sunda and Upasunda's sons, Are fierce as Fate to overthrow: I will not let my young child go. Márícha and Suváhu fell Are valiant and instructed well. One of the twain I might attack With all my friends their lord to back."

CANTO XXIII

VAŚISHTHA'S SPEECH

While thus the hapless monarch spoke, Paternal love his utterance broke. Then words like these the saint returned, And fury in his bosom burned:-- "Didst thou, O King, a promise make, And wishest now thy word to break? A son of Raghu's line should scorn To fail in faith, a man forsworn. But if thy soul can bear the shame I will return e'en as I came. Live with thy sons, and joy be thine, False scion of Kakutstha's line." As Viśvámitra, mighty sage, Was moved with this tempestuous rage, Earth rocked and reeled throughout her frame, And fear upon the Immortals came. But Saint Vaśishtha, wisest seer, Observant of his vows austere, Saw the whole world convulsed with dread, And thus unto the monarch said:-- "Thou, born of old Ikshváku's seed, Art Justice' self in mortal weed. Constant and pious, blest by fate, The right thou must not violate. Thou, Raghu's son, so famous through The triple world as just and true, Perform thy bounden duty still, Nor stain thy race by deed of ill. If thou have sworn and now refuse Thou must thy store of merit lose. Then, Monarch, let thy Ráma go? Nor fear for him the demon foe. The fiends shall have no power to hurt Him trained to war or inexpert-- Nor vanquish him in battle field, For Kuśik's son the youth will shield. He is incarnate Justice, he The best of men for bravery-- Embodied love of penance drear, Among the wise without a peer. Full well he knows, great Kuśik's son, The arms celestial, every one, Arms from the Gods themselves concealed, Far less to other men revealed. These arms to him, when earth he swayed, Mighty Kriśáśva, pleased, conveyed. Kriśáśva's sons they are indeed, Brought forth by Daksha's lovely seed, Heralds of conquest, strong and bold, Brilliant, of semblance manifold. Jayá and Vijayá, most fair, A hundred splendid weapons bare; Of Jayá, glorious as the morn, First fifty noble sons were born, Boundless in size yet viewless too, They came the demons to subdue. And fifty children also came Of Vijayá the beauteous dame, Sanháras named, of mighty force, Hard to assail or check in course; Of these the hermit knows the use, And weapons new can he produce. All these the mighty saint will yield To Ráma's hand, to own and wield; And armed with these, beyond a doubt Shall Ráma put those fiends to rout. For Ráma and the people's sake, For thine own good my counsel take, Nor seek, O King, with fond delay, The parting of thy son to stay."

CANTO XXIV

THE SPELLS

Vaśishtha thus was speaking still: The monarch, of his own free will, Bade with quick zeal and joyful cheer Ráma and Lakshman hasten near. Mother and sire in loving care Sped their dear son with rite and prayer; Vaśishtha blessed him ere he went, O'er his loved head the father bent-- And then to Kuśik's son resigned Ráma with Lakshman close behind. Standing by Viśvámitra's side, The youthful hero, lotus-eyed, The Wind-God saw, and sent a breeze Whose sweet pure touch just waved the trees. There fell from heaven a flowery rain, And with the song and dance the strain Of shell and tambour sweetly blent As forth the son of Raghu went. The hermit led: behind him came The bow-armed Ráma, dear to fame, Whose locks were like the raven's wing:-- Then Lakshman, closely following. The Gods and Indra, filled with joy, Looked down upon the royal boy, And much they longed the death to see Of their ten-headed enemy. Ráma and Lakshman paced behind That hermit of the lofty mind, As the young Aśvins, heavenly pair, Follow Lord Indra through the air. On arm and hand the guard they wore, Quiver and bow and sword they bore; Two fire-born Gods of War seemed they, He, Śiva's self who led the way. Upon fair Sarjú's southern shore They now had walked a league or more, When thus the sage in accents mild To Ráma said: "Beloved child, This lustral water duly touch: My counsel will avail thee much. Forget not all the words I say, Nor let the occasion slip away. Lo, with two spells I thee invest, The mighty and the mightiest. O'er thee fatigue shall ne'er prevail, Nor age nor change thy limbs assail. Thee powers of darkness ne'er shall smite In tranquil sleep or wild delight. No one is there in all the land Thine equal for the vigorous hand. Thou, when thy lips pronounce the spell, Shalt have no peer in heaven or hell. None in the world with thee shall vie, O sinless one, in apt reply-- In fortune, knowledge, wit, and tact, Wisdom to plan and skill to act. This double science take, and gain Glory that shall for aye remain. Wisdom and judgment spring from each Of these fair spells whose use I teach. Hunger and thirst unknown to thee, High in the worlds thy rank shall be. For these two spells with might endued, Are the Great Father's heavenly brood, And thee, O Chief, may fitly grace, Thou glory of Kakutstha's race. Virtues which none can match are thine, Lord, from thy birth, of gifts divine-- And now these spells of might shall cast Fresh radiance o'er the gifts thou hast." Then Ráma duly touched the wave, Raised suppliant hands, bowed low his head, And took the spells the hermit gave, Whose soul on contemplation fed. From him whose might these gifts enhanced A brighter beam of glory glanced:-- So shines in all his autumn blaze The Day-God of the thousand rays. The hermit's wants those youths supplied, As pupils used to holy guide. And then the night in sweet content On Sarjú's pleasant bank they spent.

CANTO XXV

THE HERMITAGE OF LOVE

Soon as appeared the morning light Up rose the mighty anchorite, And thus to youthful Ráma said, Who lay upon his leafy bed:-- "High fate is hers who calls thee son: Arise, 'tis break of day; Rise, Chief, and let those rites be done Due at the morning's ray." At that great sage's high behest Up sprang the princely pair, To bathing rites themselves addressed, And breathed the holiest prayer. Their morning task completed, they To Viśvámitra came, That store of holy works, to pay The worship saints may claim. Then to the hallowed spot they went Along fair Sarjú's side Where mix her waters confluent With three-pathed Gangá's tide. There was a sacred hermitage Where saints devout of mind Their lives through many a lengthened age To penance had resigned. That pure abode the princes eyed With unrestrained delight, And thus unto the saint they cried, Rejoicing at the sight:-- "Whose is that hermitage we see? Who makes his dwelling there? Full of desire to hear are we: O Saint, the truth declare." The hermit, smiling, made reply To the two boys' request:-- "Hear, Ráma, who in days gone by This calm retreat possessed-- Kandarpa in apparent form, (Called Káma by the wise,) Dared Umá's new-wed lord to storm And make the God his prize. 'Gainst Sthánu's self, on rites austere And vows intent, they say, His bold rash hand he dared to rear, Though Sthánu cried, Away! But the God's eye with scornful glare Fell terrible on him, Dissolved the shape that was so fair And burnt up every limb. Since the great God's terrific rage Destroyed his form and frame, Káma in each succeeding age Has borne Ananga's name. So, where his lovely form decayed, This land is Anga styled:-- Sacred to him of old this shade, And hermits undefiled. Here Scripture-talking elders sway Each sense with firm control, And penance-rites have washed away All sin from every soul. One night, fair boy, we here will spend, A pure stream on each hand, And with to-morrow's light will bend Our steps to yonder strand. Here let us bathe, and free from stain To that pure grove repair, Sacred to Káma, and remain One night in comfort there." With penance' far-discerning eye The saintly men beheld Their coming, and with transport high Each holy bosom swelled. To Kuśik's son the gift they gave That honored guest should greet-- Water they brought his feet to lave, And showed him honor meet. Ráma and Lakshman next obtained In due degree their share-- Then with sweet talk the guests remained, And charmed each listener there. The evening prayers were duly said With voices calm and low:-- Then on the ground each laid his head And slept till morning's glow.

CANTO XXVI

THE FOREST OF TÁDAKÁ

When the fair light of morning rose The princely tamers of their foes Followed, his morning worship o'er, The hermit to the river's shore. The high-souled men with thoughtful care A pretty barge had stationed there. All cried, "O lord, this barge ascend, And with thy princely followers bend To yonder side thy prosperous way-- With nought to check thee or delay." Nor did the saint their rede reject: He bade farewell with due respect, And crossed, attended by the twain, That river rushing to the main. When now the bark was half-way o'er, Ráma and Lakshman heard the roar, That louder grew and louder yet, Of waves by dashing waters met. Then Ráma asked the mighty seer:-- "What is the tumult that I hear Of waters cleft in mid-career?" Soon as the speech of Ráma, stirred By deep desire to know, he heard, The pious saint began to tell What caused the waters' roar and swell:-- "On high Kailása's distant hill There lies a noble lake Whose waters, born from Brahmá's will, The name of Mánas take. Thence, hallowing where'er they flow, The streams of Sarjú fall, And wandering through the plains below Embrace Ayodhyá's wall. Still, still preserved in Sarjú's name Sarovar's fame we trace, The flood of Brahmá whence she came To run her holy race. To meet great Gangá here she hies With tributary wave-- Hence the loud roar ye hear arise, Of floods that swell and rave. Here, pride of Raghu's line, do thou In humble adoration bow."

He spoke. The princes both obeyed, And reverence to each river paid. They reached the southern shore at last, And gayly on their journey passed. A little space beyond there stood A gloomy awe-inspiring wood. The monarch's noble son began To question thus the holy man:-- "Whose gloomy forest meets mine eye, Like some vast cloud that fills the sky? Pathless and dark it seems to be, Where birds in thousands wander free; Where shrill cicadas' cries resound, And fowl of dismal note abound. Lion, rhinoceros, and bear, Boar, tiger, elephant, are there, There shrubs and thorns run wild: Dháo, Sál, Bignonia, Bel, are found, And every tree that grows on ground: How is the forest styled?" The glorious saint this answer made:-- "Dear child of Raghu, hear Who dwells within the horrid shade That looks so dark and drear. Where now is wood, long ere this day Two broad and fertile lands, Malaja and Karúsha lay, Adorned by heavenly hands. Here, mourning friendship's broken ties, Lord Indra of the thousand eyes Hungered and sorrowed many a day, His brightness soiled with mud and clay, When in a storm of passion he Had slain his dear friend Namuchi. Then came the Gods and saints who bore Their golden pitchers brimming o'er With holy streams that banish stain, And bathed Lord Indra pure again. When in this land the God was freed From spot and stain of impious deed For that his own dear friend he slew, High transport thrilled his bosom through. Then in his joy the lands he blessed, And gave a boon they long possessed:-- "Because these fertile lands retain The washings of the blot and stain, ('Twas thus Lord Indra sware,) Malaja and Karúsha's name Shall celebrate with deathless fame My malady and care." "So be it," all the Immortals cried, When Indra's speech they heard-- And with acclaim they ratified The names his lips conferred. "Long time, O victor of thy foes, These happy lands had sweet repose, And higher still in fortune rose. At length a spirit, loving ill, Tádaká, wearing shapes at will-- Whose mighty strength, exceeding vast, A thousand elephants' surpassed, Was to fierce Sunda, lord and head Of all the demon armies, wed. From her, Lord Indra's peer in might Giant Márícha sprang to light; And she, a constant plague and pest, These two fair realms has long distressed. Now dwelling in her dark abode A league away she bars the road: And we, O Ráma, hence must go Where lies the forest of the foe. Now on thine own right arm rely, And my command obey: Smite the foul monster that she die, And take the plague away. To reach this country none may dare, Fallen from its old estate, Which she, whose fury nought can bear, Has left so desolate. And now my truthful tale is told-- How with accursed sway The spirit plagued this wood of old, And ceases not to-day."

CANTO XXVII

THE BIRTH OF TÁDAKÁ

When thus the sage without a peer Had closed that story strange to hear, Ráma again the saint addressed, To set one lingering doubt at rest:-- "O holy man, 'tis said by all That spirits' strength is weak and small, How can she match, of power so slight, A thousand elephants in might?" And Viśvámitra thus replied To Raghu's son, the glorified:-- "Listen, and I will tell thee how She gained the strength that arms her now. A mighty spirit lived of yore; Suketu was the name he bore. Childless was he, and free from crime In rites austere he passed his time. The mighty Sire was pleased to show His favor, and a child bestow, Tádaká named, most fair to see, A pearl among the maids was she-- And matched, for such was Brahmá's dower, A thousand elephants in power. Nor would the Eternal Sire, although The spirit longed, a son bestow. That maid in beauty's youthful pride Was given to Sunda for a bride. Her son, Márícha was his name, A giant, through a curse, became. She, widowed, dared with him molest Agastya, of all saints the best. Inflamed with hunger's wildest rage, Roaring she rushed upon the sage. When the great hermit saw her near, On-speeding in her fierce career, He thus pronounced Márícha's doom:-- 'A giant's form and shape assume,' And then, by mighty anger swayed, On Tádaká this curse he laid:-- 'Thy present form and semblance quit, And wear a shape thy mood to fit; Changed form and feature by my ban, A fearful thing that feeds on man.' She, by his awful curse possessed, And mad with rage that fills her breast, Has on this land her fury dealt Where once the saint Agastya dwelt. Go, Ráma, smite this monster dead, The wicked plague, of power so dread, And further by this deed of thine The good of Bráhmans and of kine. Thy hand alone can overthrow, In all the worlds, this impious foe. Nor let compassion lead thy mind To shrink from blood of womankind; A monarch's son must ever count The people's welfare paramount-- And whether pain or joy he deal Dare all things for his subjects' weal; Yea, if the deed bring praise or guilt, If life be saved or blood be spilt:-- Such, through all time, should be the care Of those a kingdom's weight who bear. Slay, Ráma, slay this impious fiend, For by no law her life is screened. So Manthará, as bards have told, Virochan's child, was slain of old By Indra, when in furious hate She longed the earth to devastate. So Kávya's mother, Bhrigu's wife, Who loved her husband as her life, When Indra's throne she sought to gain, By Vishnu's hand of yore was slain. By these and high-souled kings beside, Struck down, have lawless women died."

CANTO XXVIII

THE DEATH OF TÁDAKÁ

Thus spoke the saint. Each vigorous word The noble monarch's offspring heard-- And, reverent hands together laid, His answer to the hermit made:-- "My sire and mother bade me aye Thy word, O mighty Saint, obey. So will I, O most glorious, kill This Tádaká who joys in ill-- For such my sire's, and such thy will. To aid with mine avenging hand The Bráhmans, kine, and all the land, Obedient, heart and soul, I stand." Thus spoke the tamer of the foe, And by the middle grasped his bow. Strongly he drew the sounding string That made the distant welkin ring. Scared by the mighty clang the deer That roamed the forest shook with fear. And Tádaká the echo heard, And rose in haste from slumber stirred. In wild amaze, her soul aflame With fury towards the spot she came. When that foul shape of evil mien And stature vast as e'er was seen The wrathful son of Raghu eyed, He thus unto his brother cried:-- "Her dreadful shape, O Lakshman, see, A form to shudder at and flee. The hideous monster's very view Would cleave a timid heart in two. Behold the demon hard to smite, Defended by her magic might. My hand shall stay her course to-day, And shear her nose and ears away. No heart have I her life to take: I spare it for her sex's sake. My will is but--with minished force-- To check her in her evil course." While thus he spoke, by rage impelled-- Roaring as she came nigh, The fiend her course at Ráma held With huge arms tossed on high. Her, rushing on, the seer assailed With a loud cry of hate; And thus the sons of Raghu hailed:-- "Fight, and be fortunate." Then from the earth a horrid cloud Of dust the demon raised, And for awhile in darkling shroud Wrapt Raghu's sons amazed. Then calling on her magic power The fearful fight to wage, She smote him with a stony shower, Till Ráma burned with rage. Then pouring forth his arrowy rain That stony flood to stay, With wingèd darts, as she charged amain, He shore her hands away. As Tádaká still thundered near Thus maimed by Ráma's blows, Lakshman in fury severed sheer The monster's ears and nose. Assuming by her magic skill A fresh and fresh disguise, She tried a thousand shapes at will, Then vanished from their eyes. When Gádhi's son of high renown Still saw the stony rain pour down Upon each princely warrior's head, With words of wisdom thus he said:-- "Enough of mercy, Ráma, lest This sinful evil-working pest, Disturber of each holy rite, Repair by magic arts her might. Without delay the fiend should die, For, see, the twilight hour is nigh. And at the joints of night and day Such giant foes are hard to slay." Then Ráma, skilful to direct His arrow to the sound-- With shafts the mighty demon checked Who rained her stones around. She, sore impeded and beset By Ráma and his arrowy net-- Though skilled in guile and magic lore, Rushed on the brothers with a roar. Deformed, terrific, murderous, dread, Swift as the levin on she sped-- Like cloudy pile in autumn's sky, Lifting her two vast arms on high: When Ráma smote her with a dart Shaped like a crescent, to the heart. Sore wounded by the shaft that came With lightning speed and surest aim, Blood

spurting from her mouth and side, She fell upon the earth and died. Soon as the Lord who rules the sky Saw the dread monster lifeless lie, He called aloud, Well done! well done! And the Gods honored Raghu's son. Standing in heaven the Thousand-eyed, With all the Immortals, joying cried:-- "Lift up thine eyes, O Saint, and see The Gods and Indra nigh to thee. This deed of Ráma's boundless might Has filled our bosoms with delight. Now, for our will would have it so, To Raghu's son some favor show. Invest him with the power which nought But penance gains, and holy thought. Those heavenly arms on him bestow-- To thee entrusted long ago By great Kriśáśva best of kings, Son of the Lord of living things. More fit recipient none can be Than he who joys in following thee; And for our sakes the monarch's seed Has yet to do a mighty deed."