Reading section 5

“Yea, O my lord,” the monarch said, And took the vase upon his head, The gift of Gods, of fine gold wrought, With store of heavenly liquor fraught. He honoured, filled with transport new, That wondrous being, fair to view, As round the envoy of the God With reverential steps he trod.(110) His errand done, that form of light Arose and vanished from the sight. High rapture filled the monarch’s soul, Possessed of that celestial bowl, As when a man by want distressed With unexpected wealth is blest. And rays of transport seemed to fall Illuminating bower and hall, As when the autumn moon rides high, And floods with lovely light the sky. Quick to the ladies’ bower he sped, And thus to Queen Kauśalyá said: “This genial nectar take and quaff,” He spoke, and gave the lady half. Part of the nectar that remained Sumitrá from his hand obtained. He gave, to make her fruitful too, Kaikeyí half the residue. A portion yet remaining there, He paused awhile to think. Then gave Sumitrá, with her share. The remnant of the drink. Thus on each queen of those fair three A part the king bestowed, And with sweet hope a child to see Their yearning bosoms glowed. The heavenly bowl the king supplied Their longing souls relieved, And soon, with rapture and with pride, Each royal dame conceived. He gazed upon each lady’s face, And triumphed as he gazed, As Indra in his royal place By Gods and spirits praised.

Canto XVI. The Vánars.

When Vishṇu thus had gone on earth, From the great king to take his birth, The self-existent Lord of all Addressed the Gods who heard his call: “For Vishṇu’s sake, the strong and true, Who seeks the good of all of you, Make helps, in war to lend him aid, In forms that change at will, arrayed, Of wizard skill and hero might, Outstrippers of the wind in flight, Skilled in the arts of counsel, wise, And Vishṇu’s peers in bold emprise; With heavenly arts and prudence fraught, By no devices to be caught; Skilled in all weapon’s lore and use As they who drink the immortal juice.(111) And let the nymphs supreme in grace, And maidens of the minstrel race, Monkeys and snakes, and those who rove Free spirits of the hill and grove, And wandering Daughters of the Air, In monkey form brave children bear. So erst the lord of bears I shaped, Born from my mouth as wide I gaped.”

Thus by the mighty Sire addressed They all obeyed his high behest, And thus begot in countless swarms Brave sons disguised in sylvan forms. Each God, each sage became a sire, Each minstrel of the heavenly quire,(112) Each faun,(113) of children strong and good Whose feet should roam the hill and wood. Snakes, bards,(114) and spirits,(115) serpents bold Had sons too numerous to be told. Báli, the woodland hosts who led, High as Mahendra’s(116) lofty head, Was Indra’s child. That noblest fire, The Sun, was great Sugríva’s sire, Tára, the mighty monkey, he Was offspring of Vṛihaspati:(117) Tára the matchless chieftain, boast For wisdom of the Vánar host. Of Gandhamádan brave and bold The father was the Lord of Gold. Nala the mighty, dear to fame, Of skilful Viśvakarmá(118) came. From Agni,(119) Nila bright as flame, Who in his splendour, might, and worth, Surpassed the sire who gave him birth. The heavenly Aśvins,(120) swift and fair, Were fathers of a noble pair, Who, Dwivida and Mainda named, For beauty like their sires were famed, Varuṇ(121) was father of Susheṇ, Of Sarabh, he who sends the rain,(122) Hanúmán, best of monkey kind, Was son of him who breathes the wind: Like thunderbolt in frame was he, And swift as Garuḍ’s(123) self could flee. These thousands did the Gods create Endowed with might that none could mate, In monkey forms that changed at will; So strong their wish the fiend to kill. In mountain size, like lions thewed, Up sprang the wondrous multitude, Auxiliar hosts in every shape, Monkey and bear and highland ape. In each the strength, the might, the mien Of his own parent God were seen. Some chiefs of Vánar mothers came, Some of she-bear and minstrel dame, Skilled in all arms in battle’s shock; The brandished tree, the loosened rock; And prompt, should other weapons fail, To fight and slay with tooth and nail. Their strength could shake the hills amain, And rend the rooted trees in twain, Disturb with their impetuous sweep The Rivers’ Lord, the Ocean deep, Rend with their feet the seated ground, And pass wide floods with airy bound, Or forcing through the sky their way The very clouds by force could stay. Mad elephants that wander through The forest wilds, could they subdue, And with their furious shout could scare Dead upon earth the birds of air. So were the sylvan chieftains formed; Thousands on thousands still they swarmed. These were the leaders honoured most, The captains of the Vánar host, And to each lord and chief and guide Was monkey offspring born beside. Then by the bears’ great monarch stood The other roamers of the wood, And turned, their pathless homes to seek, To forest and to mountain peak. The leaders of the monkey band By the two brothers took their stand, Sugríva, offspring of the Sun And Báli, Indra’s mighty one. They both endowed with Garuḍ’s might, And skilled in all the arts of fight, Wandered in arms the forest through, And lions, snakes, and tigers, slew. But every monkey, ape, and bear Ever was Báli’s special care; With his vast strength and mighty arm He kept them from all scathe and harm. And so the earth with hill, wood, seas, Was filled with mighty ones like these, Of various shape and race and kind, With proper homes to each assigned, With Ráma’s champions fierce and strong The earth was overspread, High as the hills and clouds, a throng With bodies vast and dread.(124)

Canto XVII. Rishyasring’s Return.

Now when the high-souled monarch’s rite, The Aśvamedh, was finished quite, Their sacrificial dues obtained, The Gods their heavenly homes regained. The lofty-minded saints withdrew, Each to his place, with honour due, And kings and chieftains, one and all, Who came to grace the festival. And Daśaratha, ere they went, Addressed them thus benevolent: “Now may you, each with joyful heart, To your own realms, O Kings, depart. Peace and good luck attend you there, And blessing, is my friendly prayer; Let cares of state each mind engage To guard his royal heritage. A monarch from his throne expelled No better than the dead is held. So he who cares for power and might Must guard his realm and royal right. Such care a meed in heaven will bring Better than rites and offering. Such care a king his country owes As man upon himself bestows, When for his body he provides Raiment and every need besides. For future days should kings foresee, And keep the present error-free.”

Thus did the king the kings exhort: They heard, and turned them from the court And, each to each in friendship bound, Went forth to all the realms around. The rites were o’er, the guests were sped: The train the best of Bráhmans led, In which the king with joyful soul, With his dear wives, and with the whole Of his imperial host and train Of cars and servants turned again, And, as a monarch dear to fame, Within his royal city came.

Next, Rishyaśring, well-honoured sage, And Śántá, sought their hermitage. The king himself, of prudent mind, Attended him, with troops behind. And all her men the town outpoured With Saint Vaśishṭha and their lord. High mounted on a car of state, O’er canopied fair Śántá sate. Drawn by white oxen, while a band Of servants marched on either hand. Great gifts of countless price she bore, With sheep and goats and gems in store. Like Beauty’s self the lady shone With all the jewels she had on, As, happy in her sweet content, Peerless amid the fair she went. Not Queen Paulomí’s(125) self could be More loving to her lord than she. She who had lived in happy ease, Honoured with all her heart could please, While dames and kinsfolk ever vied To see her wishes gratified, Soon as she knew her husband’s will Again to seek the forest, still Was ready for the hermit’s cot, Nor murmured at her altered lot. The king attended to the wild That hermit and his own dear child, And in the centre of a throng Of noble courtiers rode along. The sage’s son had let prepare A lodge within the wood, and there While they lingered blithe and gay. Then, duly honoured, went their way. The glorious hermit Rishyaśring Drew near and thus besought the king:

“Return, my honoured lord, I pray, Return, upon thy homeward way.” The monarch, with the waiting crowd, Lifted his voice and wept aloud, And with eyes dripping still to each Of his good queens he spake this speech:

“Kauśalyá and Sumitrá dear, And thou, my sweet Kaikeyí, hear. All upon Śántá feast your gaze, The last time for a length of days.” To Śántá’s arms the ladies leapt, And hung about her neck and wept, And cried, “O, happy be the life Of this great Bráhman and his wife. The Wind, the Fire, the Moon on high, The Earth, the Streams, the circling Sky, Preserve thee in the wood, true spouse, Devoted to thy husband’s vows. And O dear Śántá, ne’er neglect To pay the dues of meek respect To the great saint, thy husband’s sire, With all observance and with fire. And, sweet one, pure of spot and blame, Forget not thou thy husband’s claim; In every change, in good and ill, Let thy sweet words delight him still, And let thy worship constant be: Her lord is woman’s deity. To learn thy welfare, dearest friend, The king will many a Bráhman send. Let happy thoughts thy spirit cheer, And be not troubled, daughter dear.”

These soothing words the ladies said. And pressed their lips upon her head. Each gave with sighs her last adieu, Then at the king’s command withdrew. The king around the hermit went With circling footsteps reverent, And placed at Rishyaśring’s command Some soldiers of his royal band. The Bráhman bowed in turn and cried, “May fortune never leave thy side. O mighty King, with justice reign, And still thy people’s love retain.” He spoke, and turned away his face, And, as the hermit went, The monarch, rooted to the place, Pursued with eyes intent. But when the sage had past from view King Daśaratha turned him too, Still fixing on his friend each thought. With such deep love his breast was fraught. Amid his people’s loud acclaim Home to his royal seat he came, And lived delighted there, Expecting when each queenly dame, Upholder of his ancient fame, Her promised son should bear. The glorious sage his way pursued Till close before his eyes he viewed Sweet Champá, Lomapád’s fair town, Wreathed with her Champacs’(126) leafy crown. Soon as the saint’s approach he knew, The king, to yield him honour due, Went forth to meet him with a band Of priests and nobles of the land: “Hail, Sage,” he cried, “O joy to me! What bliss it is, my lord, to see Thee with thy wife and all thy train Returning to my town again. Thy father, honoured Sage, is well, Who hither from his woodland cell Has sent full many a messenger For tidings both of thee and her.” Then joyfully, for due respect, The monarch bade the town be decked. The king and Rishyaśring elate Entered the royal city’s gate: In front the chaplain rode. Then, loved and honoured with all care By monarch and by courtier, there The glorious saint abode.

Canto XVIII. Rishyasring’s Departure.

The monarch called a Bráhman near And said, “Now speed away To Kaśyap’s son,(127) the mighty seer, And with all reverence say The holy child he holds so dear, The hermit of the noble mind, Whose equal it were hard to find, Returned, is dwelling here. Go, and instead of me do thou Before that best of hermits bow, That still he may, for his dear son, Show me the favour I have won.” Soon as the king these words had said, To Kaśyap’s son the Bráhman sped. Before the hermit low he bent And did obeisance, reverent; Then with meek words his grace to crave The message of his lord he gave: “The high-souled father of his bride Had called thy son his rites to guide: Those rites are o’er, the steed is slain; Thy noble child is come again.”

Soon as the saint that speech had heard His spirit with desire was stirred To seek the city of the king And to his cot his son to bring. With young disciples at his side Forth on his way the hermit hied, While peasants from their hamlets ran To reverence the holy man. Each with his little gift of food, Forth came the village multitude, And, as they humbly bowed the head, “What may we do for thee?” they said. Then he, of Bráhmans first and best, The gathered people thus addressed: “Now tell me for I fain would know, Why is it I am honoured so?” They to the high-souled saint replied: “Our ruler is with thee allied. Our master’s order we fulfil; O Bráhman, let thy mind be still.”

With joy the saintly hermit heard Each pleasant and delightful word, And poured a benediction down On king and ministers and town. Glad at the words of that high saint Some servants hastened to acquaint Their king, rejoicing to impart The tidings that would cheer his heart. Soon as the joyful tale he knew To meet the saint the monarch flew, The guest-gift in his hand he brought, And bowed before him and besought: “This day by seeing thee I gain Not to have lived my life in vain, Now be not wroth with me, I pray, “Because I wiled thy son away.(128)

The best of Bráhmans answer made: “Be not, great lord of kings, afraid. Thy virtues have not failed to win My favour, O thou pure of sin.” Then in the front the saint was placed, The king came next in joyous haste, And with him entered his abode, Mid glad acclaim as on they rode. To greet the sage the reverent crowd Raised suppliant hands and humbly bowed. Then from the palace many a dame Following well-dressed Śántá came, Stood by the mighty saint and cried: “See, honour’s source, thy son’s dear bride.” The saint, who every virtue knew, His arms around his daughter threw, And with a father’s rapture pressed The lady to his wondering breast. Arising from the saint’s embrace She bowed her low before his face, And then, with palm to palm applied, Stood by her hermit father’s side. He for his son, as laws ordain, Performed the rite that frees from stain,(129) And, honoured by the wise and good, With him departed to the wood.

Canto XIX. The Birth Of The Princes.

The seasons six in rapid flight Had circled since that glorious rite. Eleven months had passed away; ’Twas Chaitra’s ninth returning day.(130) The moon within that mansion shone Which Aditi looks kindly on. Raised to their apex in the sky Five brilliant planets beamed on high. Shone with the moon, in Cancer’s sign, Vṛihaspati(131) with light divine. Kauśalyá bore an infant blest With heavenly marks of grace impressed; Ráma, the universe’s lord, A prince by all the worlds adored. New glory Queen Kauśalyá won Reflected from her splendid son. So Aditi shone more and more, The Mother of the Gods, when she The King of the Immortals(132) bore, The thunder-wielding deity. The lotus-eyed, the beauteous boy, He came fierce Rávaṇ to destroy; From half of Vishṇu’s vigour born, He came to help the worlds forlorn. And Queen Kaikeyí bore a child Of truest valour, Bharat styled, With every princely virtue blest, One fourth of Vishṇu manifest. Sumitrá too a noble pair, Called Lakshmaṇ and Śatrughna, bare, Of high emprise, devoted, true, Sharers in Vishṇu’s essence too. ’Neath Pushya’s(133) mansion, Mina’s(134) sign, Was Bharat born, of soul benign. The sun had reached the Crab at morn When Queen Sumitrá’s babes were born, What time the moon had gone to make His nightly dwelling with the Snake. The high-souled monarch’s consorts bore At different times those glorious four, Like to himself and virtuous, bright As Proshṭhapadá’s(135) four-fold light. Then danced the nymphs’ celestial throng, The minstrels raised their strain; The drums of heaven pealed loud and long, And flowers came down in rain. Within Ayodhyá, blithe and gay, All kept the joyous holiday. The spacious square, the ample road With mimes and dancers overflowed, And with the voice of music rang Where minstrels played and singers sang, And shone, a wonder to behold, With dazzling show of gems and gold. Nor did the king his largess spare, For minstrel, driver, bard, to share; Much wealth the Bráhmans bore away, And many thousand dine that day.

Soon as each babe was twelve days old ’Twas time the naming rite to hold. When Saint Vaśishṭha, rapt with joy, Assigned a name to every boy. Ráma, to him the high-souled heir, Bharat, to him Kaikeyí bare: Of Queen Sumitrá one fair son Was Lakshmaṇ, and Śatrughna(136) one Ráma, his sire’s supreme delight, Like some proud banner cheered his sight, And to all creatures seemed to be The self-existent deity. All heroes, versed in holy lore, To all mankind great love they bore. Fair stores of wisdom all possessed, With princely graces all were blest. But mid those youths of high descent, With lordly light preëminent. Like the full moon unclouded, shone Ráma, the world’s dear paragon. He best the elephant could guide.(137) Urge the fleet car, the charger ride: A master he of bowman’s skill, Joying to do his father’s will. The world’s delight and darling, he Loved Lakshmaṇ best from infancy And Lakshmaṇ, lord of lofty fate, Upon his elder joyed to wait, Striving his second self to please With friendship’s sweet observances. His limbs the hero ne’er would rest Unless the couch his brother pressed; Except beloved Ráma shared He could not taste the meal prepared. When Ráma, pride of Reghu’s race, Sprang on his steed to urge the chase, Behind him Lakshmaṇ loved to go And guard him with his trusty bow. As Ráma was to Lakshmaṇ dear More than his life and ever near, So fond Śatrughna prized above His very life his Bharat’s love. Illustrious heroes, nobly kind In mutual love they all combined, And gave their royal sire delight With modest grace and warrior might: Supported by the glorious four Shone Daśaratha more and more, As though, with every guardian God Who keeps the land and skies, The Father of all creatures trod The earth before men’s eyes.

Canto XX. Visvámitra’s Visit.

Now Daśaratha’s pious mind Meet wedlock for his sons designed; With priests and friends the king began To counsel and prepare his plan. Such thoughts engaged his bosom, when, To see Ayodhyá’s lord of men, A mighty saint of glorious fame, The hermit Viśvámitra(138) came. For evil fiends that roam by night Disturbed him in each holy rite, And in their strength and frantic rage Assailed with witcheries the sage. He came to seek the monarch’s aid To guard the rites the demons stayed, Unable to a close to bring One unpolluted offering. Seeking the king in this dire strait He said to those who kept the gate: “Haste, warders, to your master run, And say that here stands Gádhi’s son.”

Soon as they heard the holy man, To the king’s chamber swift they ran With minds disordered all, and spurred To wildest zeal by what they heard. On to the royal hall they sped, There stood and lowly bowed the head, And made the lord of men aware That the great saint was waiting there. The king with priest and peer arose And ran the sage to meet, As Indra from his palace goes Lord Brahmá’s self to greet. When glowing with celestial light The pious hermit was in sight, The king, whose mien his transport showed, The honoured gift for guests bestowed. Nor did the saint that gift despise, Offered as holy texts advise; He kindly asked the earth’s great king How all with him was prospering. The son of Kuśik(139) bade him tell If all in town and field were well, All well with friends, and kith and kin, And royal treasure stored within: “Do all thy neighbours own thy sway? Thy foes confess thee yet? Dost thou continue still to pay To Gods and men each debt?” Then he, of hermits first and best, Vaśishṭha with a smile(140) addressed, And asked him of his welfare too, Showing him honour as was due. Then with the sainted hermit all Went joyous to the monarch’s hall, And sate them down by due degree, Each one, of rank and dignity. Joy filled the noble prince’s breast Who thus bespoke the honoured guest: “As amrit(141) by a mortal found, As rain upon the thirsty ground, As to an heirless man a son Born to him of his precious one, As gain of what we sorely miss, As sudden dawn of mighty bliss, So is thy coming here to me: All welcome, mighty Saint, to thee. What wish within thy heart hast thou? If I can please thee, tell me how. Hail, Saint, from whom all honours flow, Worthy of all I can bestow. Blest is my birth with fruit to-day, Nor has my life been thrown away. I see the best of Bráhman race And night to glorious morn gives place. Thou, holy Sage, in days of old Among the royal saints enrolled, Didst, penance-glorified, within The Bráhman caste high station win. ’Tis meet and right in many a way That I to thee should honour pay. This seems a marvel to mine eyes: All sin thy visit purifies; And I by seeing thee, O Sage, Have reaped the fruit of pilgrimage. Then say what thou wouldst have me do, That thou hast sought this interview. Favoured by thee, my wish is still, O Hermit, to perform thy will. Nor needest thou at length explain The object that thy heart would gain. Without reserve I grant it now: My deity, O Lord, art thou.”

The glorious hermit, far renowned, With highest fame and virtue crowned, Rejoiced these modest words to hear Delightful to the mind and ear.

Canto XXI. Visvámitra’s Speech.

The hermit heard with high content That speech so wondrous eloquent, And while each hair with joy arose,(142) He thus made answer at the close: “Good is thy speech O noble King, And like thyself in everything. So should their lips be wisdom-fraught Whom kings begot, Vaśishṭha taught. The favour which I came to seek Thou grantest ere my tongue can speak. But let my tale attention claim, And hear the need for which I came. O King, as Scripture texts allow, A holy rite employs me now. Two fiends who change their forms at will Impede that rite with cursed skill.(143) Oft when the task is nigh complete, These worst of fiends my toil defeat, Throw bits of bleeding flesh, and o’er The altar shed a stream of gore. When thus the rite is mocked and stayed, And all my pious hopes delayed, Cast down in heart the spot I leave, And spent with fruitless labour grieve. Nor can I, checked by prudence, dare Let loose my fury on them there: The muttered curse, the threatening word, In such a rite must ne’er be heard. Thy grace the rite from check can free. And yield the fruit I long to see. Thy duty bids thee, King, defend The suffering guest, the suppliant friend. Give me thy son, thine eldest born, Whom locks like raven’s wings adorn. That hero youth, the truly brave, Of thee, O glorious King, I crave. For he can lay those demons low Who mar my rites and work me woe: My power shall shield the youth from harm, And heavenly might shall nerve his arm. And on my champion will I shower Unnumbered gifts of varied power, Such gifts as shall ensure his fame And spread through all the worlds his name. Be sure those fiends can never stand Before the might of Ráma’s hand, And mid the best and bravest none Can slay that pair but Raghu’s son. Entangled in the toils of Fate Those sinners, proud and obstinate, Are, in their fury overbold, No match for Ráma mighty-souled. Nor let a father’s breast give way Too far to fond affection’s sway. Count thou the fiends already slain: My word is pledged, nor pledged in vain. I know the hero Ráma well In whom high thoughts and valour dwell; So does Vaśishṭha, so do these Engaged in long austerities. If thou would do the righteous deed, And win high fame, thy virtue’s meed, Fame that on earth shall last and live, To me, great King, thy Ráma give. If to the words that I have said, With Saint Vaśishṭha at their head Thy holy men, O King, agree, Then let thy Ráma go with me. Ten nights my sacrifice will last, And ere the stated time be past Those wicked fiends, those impious twain, Must fall by wondrous Ráma slain. Let not the hours, I warn thee, fly, Fixt for the rite, unheeded by; Good luck have thou, O royal Chief, Nor give thy heart to needless grief.”