Reading section 35

Then Raghu’s son with anxious breast The leader of the saints addressed: “Can aught that I have done displease, O reverend Sage, the devotees? Why are their loving looks, O say, Thus sadly changed or turned away? Has Lakshmaṇ through his want of heed Offended with unseemly deed? Or is the gentle Sítá, she Who loved to honour you and me— Is she the cause of this offence, Failing in lowly reverence?”

One sage, o’er whom, exceeding old, Had many a year of penance rolled, Trembling in every aged limb Thus for the rest replied to him: “How could we, O beloved, blame Thy lofty-souled Videhan dame, Who in the good of all delights, And more than all of anchorites? But yet through thee a numbing dread Of fiends among our band has spread; Obstructed by the demons’ art The trembling hermits talk apart. For Rávaṇ’s brother, overbold, Named Khara, of gigantic mould, Vexes with fury fierce and fell All those in Janasthán(399) who dwell. Resistless in his cruel deeds, On flesh of men the monster feeds: Sinful and arrogant is he, And looks with special hate on thee. Since thou, beloved son, hast made Thy home within this holy shade, The fiends have vexed with wilder rage The dwellers of the hermitage. In many a wild and dreadful form Around the trembling saints they swarm, With hideous shape and foul disguise They terrify our holy eyes. They make our loathing souls endure Insult and scorn and sights impure, And flocking round the altars stay The holy rites we love to pay. In every spot throughout the grove With evil thoughts the monsters rove, Assailing with their secret might Each unsuspecting anchorite. Ladle and dish away they fling, Our fires with floods extinguishing, And when the sacred flame should burn They trample on each water-urn. Now when they see their sacred wood Plagued by this impious brotherhood, The troubled saints away would roam And seek in other shades a home: Hence will we fly, O Ráma, ere The cruel fiends our bodies tear. Not far away a forest lies Rich in the roots and fruit we prize, To this will I and all repair And join the holy hermits there; Be wise, and with us thither flee Before this Khara injure thee. Mighty art thou, O Ráma, yet Each day with peril is beset. If with thy consort by thy side Thou in this wood wilt still abide.”

He ceased: the words the hero spake The hermit’s purpose failed to break: To Raghu’s son farewell he said, And blessed the chief and comforted; Then with the rest the holy sage Departed from the hermitage.

So from the wood the saints withdrew, And Ráma bidding all adieu In lowly reverence bent: Instructed by their friendly speech, Blest with the gracious love of each, To his pure home he went. Nor would the son of Raghu stray A moment from that grove away From which the saints had fled. And many a hermit thither came Attracted by his saintly fame And the pure life he led.

Canto CXVII. Anasúyá.

But dwelling in that lonely spot Left by the hermits pleased him not. “I met the faithful Bharat here, The townsmen, and my mother dear: The painful memory lingers yet, And stings me with a vain regret. And here the host of Bharat camped, And many a courser here has stamped, And elephants with ponderous feet Have trampled through the calm retreat.” So forth to seek a home he hied, His spouse and Lakshmaṇ by his side. He came to Atri’s pure retreat, Paid reverence to his holy feet, And from the saint such welcome won As a fond father gives his son. The noble prince with joy unfeigned As a dear guest he entertained, And cheered the glorious Lakshmaṇ too And Sítá with observance due. Then Anasúyá at the call Of him who sought the good of all, His blameless venerable spouse, Delighting in her holy vows, Came from her chamber to his side: To her the virtuous hermit cried: “Receive, I pray, with friendly grace This dame of Maithil monarchs’ race:” To Ráma next made known his wife, The devotee of saintliest life: “Ten thousand years this votaress bent On sternest rites of penance spent; She when the clouds withheld their rain, And drought ten years consumed the plain, Caused grateful roots and fruit to grow And ordered Gangá here to flow: So from their cares the saints she freed, Nor let these checks their rites impede, She wrought in Heaven’s behalf, and made Ten nights of one, the Gods to aid:(400) Let holy Anasúyá be An honoured mother, Prince, to thee. Let thy Videhan spouse draw near To her whom all that live revere, Stricken in years, whose loving mind Is slow to wrath and ever kind.”

He ceased: and Ráma gave assent, And said, with eyes on Sítá bent: “O Princess, thou hast heard with me This counsel of the devotee: Now that her touch thy soul may bless, Approach the saintly votaress: Come to the venerable dame, Far known by Anasúyá’s name: The mighty things that she has done High glory in the world have won.”

Thus spoke the son of Raghu: she Approached the saintly devotee, Who with her white locks, old and frail, Shook like a plantain in the gale. To that true spouse she bowed her head, And “Lady, I am Sítá,” said: Raised suppliant hands and prayed her tell That all was prosperous and well.

The aged matron, when she saw Fair Sítá true to duty’s law, Addressed her thus: “High fate is thine Whose thoughts to virtue still incline. Thou, lady of the noble mind, Hast kin and state and wealth resigned To follow Ráma forced to tread Where solitary woods are spread. Those women gain high spheres above Who still unchanged their husbands love, Whether they dwell in town or wood, Whether their hearts be ill or good. Though wicked, poor, or led away In love’s forbidden paths to stray, The noble matron still will deem Her lord a deity supreme. Regarding kin and friendship, I Can see no better, holier tie, And every penance-rite is dim Beside the joy of serving him. But dark is this to her whose mind Promptings of idle fancy blind, Who led by evil thoughts away Makes him who should command obey. Such women, O dear Maithil dame, Their virtue lose and honest fame, Enslaved by sin and folly, led In these unholy paths to tread. But they who good and true like thee The present and the future see, Like men by holy deeds will rise To mansions in the blissful skies. So keep thee pure from taint of sin, Still to thy lord be true, And fame and merit shalt thou win, To thy devotion due.”

Canto CXVIII. Anasúyá’s Gifts.

Thus by the holy dame addressed Who banished envy from her breast, Her lowly reverence Sítá paid, And softly thus her answer made: “No marvel, best of dames, thy speech The duties of a wife should teach; Yet I, O lady, also know Due reverence to my lord to show. Were he the meanest of the base, Unhonoured with a single grace, My husband still I ne’er would leave, But firm through all to him would cleave: Still rather to a lord like mine Whose virtues high-exalted shine, Compassionate, of lofty soul, With every sense in due control, True in his love, of righteous mind, Like a dear sire and mother kind. E’en as he ever loves to treat Kauśalyá with observance meet, Has his behaviour ever been To every other honoured queen. Nay, more, a sonlike reverence shows The noble Ráma e’en to those On whom the king his father set His eyes one moment, to forget. Deep in my heart the words are stored, Said by the mother of my lord, When from my home I turned away In the lone fearful woods to stray. The counsel of my mother deep Impressed upon my soul I keep, When by the fire I took my stand, And Ráma clasped in his my hand. And in my bosom cherished yet, My friends’ advice I ne’er forget: Woman her holiest offering pays When she her husband’s will obeys. Good Sávitrí her lord obeyed, And a high saint in heaven was made, And for the self-same virtue thou Hast heaven in thy possession now. And she with whom no dame could vie, Now a bright Goddess in the sky, Sweet Rohiṇí the Moon’s dear Queen, Without her lord is never seen: And many a faithful wife beside For her pure love is glorified.”

Thus Sítá spake: soft rapture stole Through Anasúyá’s saintly soul: Kisses on Sítá’s head she pressed, And thus the Maithil dame addressed: “I by long rites and toils endured Rich store of merit have secured: From this my wealth will I bestow A blessing ere I let thee go. So right and wise and true each word That from thy lips mine ears have heard, I love thee: be my pleasing task To grant the boon that thou shalt ask.”

Then Sítá marvelled much, and while Played o’er her lips a gentle smile, “All has been done, O Saint,” she cried, “And naught remains to wish beside.”

She spake; the lady’s meek reply Swelled Anasúyá’s rapture high. “Sítá,” she said, “my gift to-day Thy sweet contentment shall repay. Accept this precious robe to wear, Of heavenly fabric, rich and rare, These gems thy limbs to ornament, This precious balsam sweet of scent. O Maithil dame, this gift of mine Shall make thy limbs with beauty shine, And breathing o’er thy frame dispense Its pure and lasting influence. This balsam on thy fair limbs spread New radiance on thy lord shall shed, As Lakshmí’s beauty lends a grace To Vishṇu’s own celestial face.”

Then Sítá took the gift the dame Bestowed on her in friendship’s name, The balsam, gems, and robe divine, And garlands wreathed of bloomy twine; Then sat her down, with reverence meet, At saintly Anasúyá’s feet. The matron rich in rites and vows Turned her to Ráma’s Maithil spouse, And questioned thus in turn to hear A pleasant tale to charm her ear: “Sítá, ’tis said that Raghu’s son Thy hand, mid gathered suitors, won. I fain would hear thee, lady, tell The story as it all befell: Do thou repeat each thing that passed, Reviewing all from first to last.”

Thus spake the dame to Sítá: she Replying to the devotee, “Then, lady, thy attention lend,” Rehearsed the story to the end:

“King Janak, just and brave and strong, Who loves the right and hates the wrong, Well skilled in what the law ordains For Warriors, o’er Videha reigns. Guiding one morn the plough, his hand Marked out, for rites the sacred land, When, as the ploughshare cleft the earth, Child of the king I leapt to birth. Then as the ground he smoothed and cleared, He saw me all with dust besmeared, And on the new-found babe, amazed The ruler of Videha gazed. In childless love the monarch pressed The welcome infant to his breast: “My daughter,” thus he cried, “is she:” And as his child he cared for me. Forth from the sky was heard o’erhead As ’twere a human voice that said: “Yea, even so: great King, this child Henceforth thine own be justly styled.” Videha’s monarch, virtuous souled, Rejoiced o’er me with joy untold, Delighting in his new-won prize, The darling of his heart and eyes. To his chief queen of saintly mind The precious treasure he consigned, And by her side she saw me grow, Nursed with the love which mothers know. Then as he saw the seasons fly, And knew my marriage-time was nigh, My sire was vexed with care, as sad As one who mourns the wealth he had: “Scorn on the maiden’s sire must wait From men of high and low estate: The virgin’s father all despise, Though Indra’s peer, who rules the skies.” More near he saw, and still more near, The scorn that filled his soul with fear, On trouble’s billowy ocean tossed, Like one whose shattered bark is lost. My father knowing how I came, No daughter of a mortal dame, In all the regions failed to see A bridegroom meet to match with me. Each way with anxious thought he scanned, And thus at length the monarch planned: “The Bride’s Election will I hold, With every rite prescribed of old.” It pleased King Varuṇ to bestow Quiver and shafts and heavenly bow Upon my father’s sire who reigned, When Daksha his great rite ordained. Where was the man might bend or lift With utmost toil that wondrous gift? Not e’en in dreams could mortal king Strain the great bow or draw the string. Of this tremendous bow possessed, My truthful father thus addressed The lords of many a region, all Assembled at the monarch’s call: “Whoe’er this bow can manage, he The husband of my child shall be.” The suitors viewed with hopeless eyes That wondrous bow of mountain size, Then to my sire they bade adieu, And all with humbled hearts withdrew. At length with Viśvámitra came This son of Raghu, dear to fame, The royal sacrifice to view. Near to my father’s home he drew, His brother Lakshmaṇ by his side, Ráma, in deeds heroic tried. My sire with honour entertained The saint in lore of duty trained, Who thus in turn addressed the king: “Ráma and Lakshmaṇ here who spring From royal Daśaratha, long To see thy bow so passing strong.”

Before the prince’s eyes was laid That marvel, as the Bráhman prayed. One moment on the bow he gazed, Quick to the notch the string he raised, Then, in the wandering people’s view, The cord with mighty force he drew. Then with an awful crash as loud As thunderbolts that cleave the cloud, The bow beneath the matchless strain Of arms heroic snapped in twain. Thus, giving purest water, he, My sire, to Ráma offered me. The prince the offered gift declined Till he should learn his father’s mind; So horsemen swift Ayodhyá sought And back her aged monarch brought. Me then my sire to Ráma gave, Self-ruled, the bravest of the brave. And Urmilá, the next to me, Graced with all gifts, most fair to see, My sire with Raghu’s house allied, And gave her to be Lakshmaṇ’s bride. Thus from the princes of the land Lord Ráma won my maiden hand, And him exalted high above Heroic chiefs I truly love.”

Canto CXIX. The Forest.

When Anasúyá, virtuous-souled, Had heard the tale by Sítá told, She kissed the lady’s brow and laced Her loving arms around her waist. “With sweet-toned words distinct and clear Thy pleasant tale has charmed mine ear, How the great king thy father held That Maiden’s Choice unparalleled. But now the sun has sunk from sight, And left the world to holy Night. Hark! how the leafy thickets sound With gathering birds that twitter round: They sought their food by day, and all Flock homeward when the shadows fall. See, hither comes the hermit band, Each with his pitcher in his hand: Fresh from the bath, their locks are wet, Their coats of bark are dripping yet. Here saints their fires of worship tend, And curling wreaths of smoke ascend: Borne on the flames they mount above, Dark as the brown wings of the dove. The distant trees, though well-nigh bare, Gloom thickened by the evening air, And in the faint uncertain light Shut the horizon from our sight. The beasts that prowl in darkness rove On every side about the grove, And the tame deer, at ease reclined Their shelter near the altars find. The night o’er all the sky is spread, With lunar stars engarlanded, And risen in his robes of light The moon is beautifully bright. Now to thy lord I bid thee go: Thy pleasant tale has charmed me so: One thing alone I needs must pray, Before me first thyself array: Here in thy heavenly raiment shine, And glad, dear love, these eyes of mine.” Then like a heavenly Goddess shone Fair Sítá with that raiment on. She bowed her to the matron’s feet, Then turned away her lord to meet. The hero prince with joy surveyed His Sítá in her robes arrayed, As glorious to his arms she came With love-gifts of the saintly dame. She told him how the saint to show Her fond affection would bestow That garland of celestial twine, Those ornaments and robes divine. Then Ráma’s heart, nor Lakshmaṇ’s less, Was filled with pride and happiness, For honours high had Sítá gained, Which mortal dames have scarce obtained. There honoured by each pious sage Who dwelt within the hermitage, Beside his darling well content That sacred night the hero spent.

The princes, when the night had fled, Farewell to all the hermits said, Who gazed upon the distant shade, Their lustral rites and offerings paid. The saints who made their dwelling there In words like these addressed the pair: “O Princes, monsters fierce and fell Around that distant forest dwell: On blood from human veins they feed, And various forms assume at need, With savage beasts of fearful power That human flesh and blood devour. Our holy saints they rend and tear When met alone or unaware, And eat them in their cruel joy: These chase, O Ráma, or destroy. By this one path our hermits go To fetch the fruits that yonder grow: By this, O Prince, thy feet should stray Through pathless forests far away.”

Thus by the reverent saints addressed, And by their prayers auspicious blessed, He left the holy crowd: His wife and brother by his side, Within the mighty wood he hied. So sinks the Day-God in his pride Beneath a bank of cloud.

BOOK III.

Canto I. The Hermitage.

When Ráma, valiant hero, stood In the vast shade of Daṇḍak wood, His eyes on every side he bent And saw a hermit settlement, Where coats of bark were hung around, And holy grass bestrewed the ground. Bright with Bráhmanic lustre glowed That circle where the saints abode: Like the hot sun in heaven it shone, Too dazzling to be looked upon. Wild creatures found a refuge where The court, well-swept, was bright and fair, And countless birds and roedeer made Their dwelling in the friendly shade. Beneath the boughs of well-loved trees Oft danced the gay Apsarases.(401) Around was many an ample shed Wherein the holy fire was fed; With sacred grass and skins of deer, Ladles and sacrificial gear, And roots and fruit, and wood to burn, And many a brimming water-urn. Tall trees their hallowed branches spread, Laden with pleasant fruit, o’erhead; And gifts which holy laws require,(402) And solemn offerings burnt with fire,(403) And Veda chants on every side That home of hermits sanctified. There many a flower its odour shed, And lotus blooms the lake o’erspred. There, clad in coats of bark and hide,— Their food by roots and fruit supplied,— Dwelt many an old and reverend sire Bright as the sun or Lord of Fire, All with each worldly sense subdued, A pure and saintly multitude. The Veda chants, the saints who trod The sacred ground and mused on God, Made that delightful grove appear Like Brahmá’s own most glorious sphere. As Raghu’s splendid son surveyed That hermit home and tranquil shade, He loosed his mighty bow-string, then Drew nearer to the holy men. With keen celestial sight endued Those mighty saints the chieftain viewed, With joy to meet the prince they came, And gentle Sítá dear to fame. They looked on virtuous Ráma, fair As Soma(404) in the evening air, And Lakshmaṇ by his brother’s side, And Sítá long in duty tried, And with glad blessings every sage Received them in the hermitage. Then Ráma’s form and stature tall Entranced the wondering eyes of all,— His youthful grace, his strength of limb, And garb that nobly sat on him. To Lakshmaṇ too their looks they raised, And upon Sítá’s beauty gazed With eyes that closed not lest their sight Should miss the vision of delight. Then the pure hermits of the wood, Rejoicing in all creatures’ good, Their guest, the glorious Ráma, led Within a cot with leaves o’erhead. With highest honour all the best Of radiant saints received their guest, With kind observance, as is meet, And gave him water for his feet. To highest pitch of rapture wrought Their stores of roots and fruit they brought. They poured their blessings on his head, And “All we have is thine,” they said. Then, reverent hand to hand applied,(405) Each duty-loving hermit cried: “The king is our protector, bright In fame, maintainer of the right. He bears the awful sword, and hence Deserves an elder’s reverence. One fourth of Indra’s essence, he Preserves his realm from danger free, Hence honoured by the world of right The king enjoys each choice delight. Thou shouldst to us protection give, For in thy realm, dear lord, we live: Whether in town or wood thou be, Thou art our king, thy people we. Our wordly aims are laid aside, Our hearts are tamed and purified. To thee our guardian, we who earn Our only wealth by penance turn.”

Then the pure dwellers in the shade To Raghu’s son due honour paid, And Lakshmaṇ, bringing store of roots, And many a flower, and woodland fruits. And others strove the prince to please With all attentive courtesies.

Canto II. Virádha.

Thus entertained he passed the night, Then, with the morning’s early light, To all the hermits bade adieu And sought his onward way anew. He pierced the mighty forest where Roamed many a deer and pard and bear: Its ruined pools he scarce could see. For creeper rent and prostrate tree, Where shrill cicada’s cries were heard, And plaintive notes of many a bird. Deep in the thickets of the wood With Lakshmaṇ and his spouse he stood, There in the horrid shade he saw A giant passing nature’s law: Vast as some mountain-peak in size, With mighty voice and sunken eyes, Huge, hideous, tall, with monstrous face, Most ghastly of his giant race. A tiger’s hide the Rákshas wore Still reeking with the fat and gore: Huge-faced, like Him who rules the dead, All living things he struck with dread. Three lions, tigers four, ten deer He carried on his iron spear, Two wolves, an elephant’s head beside With mighty tusks which blood-drops dyed. When on the three his fierce eye fell, He charged them with a roar and yell As furious as the grisly King When stricken worlds are perishing. Then with a mighty roar that shook The earth beneath their feet, he took The trembling Sítá to his side. Withdrew a little space, and cried: “Ha, short lived wretches, ye who dare, In hermit dress with matted hair, Armed each with arrows, sword, and bow, Through Daṇḍak’s pathless wood to go: How with one dame, I bid you tell, Can you among ascetics dwell? Who are ye, sinners, who despise The right, in holy men’s disguise? The great Virádha, day by day Through this deep-tangled wood I stray, And ever, armed with trusty steel, I seize a saint to make my meal. This woman young and fair of frame Shall be the conquering giant’s dame: Your blood, ye things of evil life, My lips shall quaff in battle strife.”

He spoke: and Janak’s hapless child, Scared by his speech so fierce and wild, Trembled for terror, as a frail Young plantain shivers in the gale. When Ráma saw Virádha clasp Fair Sítá in his mighty grasp, Thus with pale lips that terror dried The hero to his brother cried: “O see Virádha’s arm enfold My darling in its cursed hold,— The child of Janak best of kings, My spouse whose soul to virtue clings, Sweet princess, with pure glory bright, Nursed in the lap of soft delight. Now falls the blow Kaikeyí meant, Successful in her dark intent: This day her cruel soul will be Triumphant over thee and me. Though Bharat on the throne is set, Her greedy eyes look farther yet: Me from my home she dared expel, Me whom all creatures loved so well. This fatal day at length, I ween, Brings triumph to the younger queen. I see with bitterest grief and shame Another touch the Maithil dame. Not loss of sire and royal power So grieves me as this mournful hour.”

Thus in his anguish cried the chief: Then drowned in tears, o’erwhelmed by grief, Thus Lakshmaṇ in his anger spake, Quick panting like a spell-bound snake:

“Canst thou, my brother, Indra’s peer, When I thy minister am near, Thus grieve like some forsaken thing, Thou, every creature’s lord and king? My vengeful shaft the fiend shall slay, And earth shall drink his blood to-day. The fury which my soul at first Upon usurping Bharat nursed, On this Virádha will I wreak As Indra splits the mountain peak. Winged by this arm’s impetuous might My shaft with deadly force The monster in the chest shall smite, And fell his shattered corse.”

Canto III. Virádha Attacked.

Virádha with a fearful shout That echoed through the wood, cried out:

“What men are ye, I bid you say, And whither would ye bend your way?”

To him whose mouth shot fiery flame The hero told his race and name: “Two Warriors, nobly bred, are we, And through this wood we wander free. But who art thou, how born and styled, Who roamest here in Daṇḍak’s wild?”

To Ráma, bravest of the brave, His answer thus Virádha gave: “Hear, Raghu’s son, and mark me well, And I my name and race will tell. Of Śatahradá born, I spring From Java as my sire, O King: Me, of this lofty lineage, all Giants on earth Virádha call. The rites austere I long maintained From Brahmá’s grace the boon have gained To bear a charmed frame which ne’er Weapon or shaft may pierce or tear. Go as ye came, untouched by fear, And leave with me this woman here: Go, swiftly from my presence fly, Or by this hand ye both shall die.”