Reading section 36

Then Ráma with his fierce eyes red With fury to the giant said: “Woe to thee, sinner, fond and weak, Who madly thus thy death wilt seek! Stand, for it waits thee in the fray: With life thou ne’er shalt flee away.”

He spoke, and raised the cord whereon A pointed arrow flashed and shone, Then, wild with anger, from his bow, He launched the weapon on the foe. Seven times the fatal cord he drew, And forth seven rapid arrows flew, Shafts winged with gold that left the wind And e’en Suparṇa’s(406) self behind. Full on the giant’s breast they smote, And purpled like the peacock’s throat, Passed through his mighty bulk and came To earth again like flakes of flame. The fiend the Maithil dame unclasped; In his fierce hand his spear he grasped, And wild with rage, pierced through and through, At Ráma and his brother flew. So loud the roar which chilled with fear, So massy was the monster’s spear, He seemed, like Indra’s flagstaff, dread As the dark God who rules the dead. On huge Virádha fierce as He(407) Who smites, and worlds have ceased to be, The princely brothers poured amain Their fiery flood of arrowy rain. Unmoved he stood, and opening wide His dire mouth laughed unterrified, And ever as the monster gaped Those arrows from his jaws escaped. Preserving still his life unharmed, By Brahmá’s saving promise charmed, His mighty spear aloft in air He raised, and rushed upon the pair. From Ráma’s bow two arrows flew And cleft that massive spear in two, Dire as the flaming levin sent From out the cloudy firmament. Cut by the shafts he guided well To earth the giant’s weapon fell: As when from Meru’s summit, riven By fiery bolts, a rock is driven. Then swift his sword each warrior drew, Like a dread serpent black of hue, And gathering fury for the blow Rushed fiercely on the giant foe. Around each prince an arm he cast, And held the dauntless heroes fast: Then, though his gashes gaped and bled, Bearing the twain he turned and fled.

Then Ráma saw the giant’s plan, And to his brother thus began: “O Lakshmaṇ, let Virádha still Hurry us onward as he will, For look, Sumitrá’s son, he goes Along the path we freely chose.”

He spoke: the rover of the night Upraised them with terrific might, Till, to his lofty shoulders swung, Like children to his neck they clung. Then sending far his fearful roar, The princes through the wood he bore,— A wood like some vast cloud to view, Where birds of every plumage flew, And mighty trees o’erarching threw Dark shadows on the ground; Where snakes and silvan creatures made Their dwelling, and the jackal strayed Through tangled brakes around.

Canto IV. Virádha’s Death.

But Sítá viewed with wild affright The heroes hurried from her sight. She tossed her shapely arms on high, And shrieked aloud her bitter cry: “Ah, the dread giant bears away The princely Ráma as his prey, Truthful and pure, and good and great, And Lakshmaṇ shares his brother’s fate. The brindled tiger and the bear My mangled limbs for food will tear. Take me, O best of giants, me, And leave the sons of Raghu free.”

Then, by avenging fury spurred, Her mournful cry the heroes heard, And hastened, for the lady’s sake, The wicked monster’s life to take. Then Lakshmaṇ with resistless stroke The foe’s left arm that held him broke, And Ráma too, as swift to smite, Smashed with his heavy hand the right. With broken arms and tortured frame To earth the fainting giant came, Like a huge cloud, or mighty rock Rent, sundered by the levin’s shock. Then rushed they on, and crushed and beat Their foe with arms and fists and feet, And nerved each mighty limb to pound And bray him on the level ground. Keen arrows and each biting blade Wide rents in breast and side had made; But crushed and torn and mangled, still The monster lived they could not kill. When Ráma saw no arms might slay The fiend who like a mountain lay, The glorious hero, swift to save In danger, thus his counsel gave: “O Prince of men, his charmed life No arms may take in battle strife: Now dig we in this grove a pit His elephantine bulk to fit, And let the hollowed earth enfold The monster of gigantic mould.”

This said, the son of Raghu pressed His foot upon the giant’s breast. With joy the prostrate monster heard Victorious Ráma’s welcome word, And straight Kakutstha’s son, the best Of men, in words like these addressed: “I yield, O chieftain, overthrown By might that vies with Indra’s own. Till now my folly-blinded eyes Thee, hero, failed to recognize. Happy Kauśalyá! blest to be The mother of a son like thee! I know thee well, O chieftain, now: Ráma, the prince of men, art thou. There stands the high-born Maithil dame, There Lakshmaṇ, lord of mighty fame. My name was Tumburu,(408) for song Renowned among the minstrel throng: Cursed by Kuvera’s stern decree I wear the hideous shape you see. But when I sued, his grace to crave, The glorious God this answer gave: “When Ráma, Daśaratha’s son, Destroys thee and the fight is won, Thy proper shape once more assume, And heaven again shall give thee room.” When thus the angry God replied, No prayers could turn his wrath aside, And thus on me his fury fell For loving Rambhá’s(409) charms too well. Now through thy favour am I freed From the stern fate the God decreed, And saved, O tamer of the foe, By thee, to heaven again shall go. A league, O Prince, beyond this spot Stands holy Śarabhanga’s cot: The very sun is not more bright Than that most glorious anchorite: To him, O Ráma, quickly turn, And blessings from the hermit earn. First under earth my body throw, Then on thy way rejoicing go. Such is the law ordained of old For giants when their days are told: Their bodies laid in earth, they rise To homes eternal in the skies.”

Thus, by the rankling dart oppressed, Kakutstha’s offspring he addressed: In earth his mighty body lay, His spirit fled to heaven away.

Thus spake Virádha ere he died; And Ráma to his brother cried: “Now dig we in this grove a pit His elephantine bulk to fit. And let the hollowed earth enfold This mighty giant fierce and bold.”

This said, the valiant hero put Upon the giant’s neck his foot. His spade obedient Lakshmaṇ plied, And dug a pit both deep and wide By lofty souled Virádha’s side. Then Raghu’s son his foot withdrew, And down the mighty form they threw; One awful shout of joy he gave And sank into the open grave. The heroes, to their purpose true, In fight the cruel demon slew, And radiant with delight Deep in the hollowed earth they cast The monster roaring to the last, In their resistless might. Thus when they saw the warrior’s steel No life-destroying blow might deal, The pair, for lore renowned, Deep in the pit their hands had made The unresisting giant laid, And killed him neath the ground. Upon himself the monster brought From Ráma’s hand the death he sought With strong desire to gain: And thus the rover of the night Told Ráma, as they strove in fight, That swords might rend and arrows smite Upon his breast in vain. Thus Ráma, when his speech he heard, The giant’s mighty form interred, Which mortal arms defied. With thundering crash the giant fell, And rock and cave and forest dell With echoing roar replied. The princes, when their task was done And freedom from the peril won, Rejoiced to see him die. Then in the boundless wood they strayed, Like the great sun and moon displayed Triumphant in the sky.(410)

Canto V. Sarabhanga.

Then Ráma, having slain in fight Virádha of terrific might, With gentle words his spouse consoled, And clasped her in his loving hold. Then to his brother nobly brave The valiant prince his counsel gave: “Wild are these woods around us spread; And hard and rough the ground to tread: We, O my brother, ne’er have viewed So dark and drear a solitude: To Śarabhanga let us haste, Whom wealth of holy works has graced.”

Thus Ráma spoke, and took the road To Śarabhanga’s pure abode. But near that saint whose lustre vied With Gods, by penance purified, With startled eyes the prince beheld A wondrous sight unparalleled. In splendour like the fire and sun He saw a great and glorious one. Upon a noble car he rode, And many a God behind him glowed: And earth beneath his feet unpressed(411) The monarch of the skies confessed. Ablaze with gems, no dust might dim The bright attire that covered him. Arrayed like him, on every side High saints their master glorified. Near, borne in air, appeared in view His car which tawny coursers drew, Like silver cloud, the moon, or sun Ere yet the day is well begun. Wreathed with gay garlands, o’er his head A pure white canopy was spread, And lovely nymphs stood nigh to hold Fair chouris with their sticks of gold, Which, waving in each gentle hand, The forehead of their monarch fanned. God, saint, and bard, a radiant ring, Sang glory to their heavenly King: Forth into joyful lauds they burst As Indra with the sage conversed. Then Ráma, when his wondering eyes Beheld the monarch of the skies, To Lakshmaṇ quickly called, and showed The car wherein Lord Indra rode: “See, brother, see that air-borne car, Whose wondrous glory shines afar: Wherefrom so bright a lustre streams That like a falling sun it seems: These are the steeds whose fame we know, Of heavenly race through heaven they go: These are the steeds who bear the yoke Of Śakra,(412) Him whom all invoke. Behold these youths, a glorious band, Toward every wind a hundred stand: A sword in each right hand is borne, And rings of gold their arms adorn. What might in every broad deep chest And club-like arm is manifest! Clothed in attire of crimson hue They show like tigers fierce to view. Great chains of gold each warder deck, Gleaming like fire beneath his neck. The age of each fair youth appears Some score and five of human years: The ever-blooming prime which they Who live in heaven retain for aye: Such mien these lordly beings wear, Heroic youths, most bright and fair. Now, brother, in this spot, I pray, With the Videhan lady stay, Till I have certain knowledge who This being is, so bright to view.”

He spoke, and turning from the spot Sought Śarabhanga’s hermit cot. But when the lord of Śachí(413) saw The son of Raghu near him draw, He hastened of the sage to take His leave, and to his followers spake:

“See, Ráma bends his steps this way, But ere he yet a word can say, Come, fly to our celestial sphere; It is not meet he see me here. Soon victor and triumphant he In fitter time shall look on me. Before him still a great emprise, A task too hard for others, lies.”

Then with all marks of honour high The Thunderer bade the saint good-bye, And in his car which coursers drew Away to heaven the conqueror flew. Then Ráma, Lakshmaṇ, and the dame, To Śarabhanga nearer came, Who sat beside the holy flame. Before the ancient sage they bent, And clasped his feet most reverent; Then at his invitation found A seat beside him on the ground. Then Ráma prayed the sage would deign Lord Indra’s visit to explain; And thus at length the holy man In answer to his prayer began:

“This Lord of boons has sought me here To waft me hence to Brahmá’s sphere, Won by my penance long and stern,— A home the lawless ne’er can earn. But when I knew that thou wast nigh, To Brahmá’s world I could not fly Until these longing eyes were blest With seeing thee, mine honoured guest. Since thou, O Prince, hast cheered my sight, Great-hearted lover of the right, To heavenly spheres will I repair And bliss supreme that waits me there. For I have won, dear Prince, my way To those fair worlds which ne’er decay, Celestial seat of Brahmá’s reign: Be thine, with me, those worlds to gain.”

Then master of all sacred lore, Spake Ráma to the saint once more:

“I, even I, illustrious sage, Will make those worlds mine heritage: But now, I pray, some home assign Within this holy grove of thine.”

Thus Ráma, Indra’s peer in might, Addressed the aged anchorite: And he, with wisdom well endued, To Raghu’s son his speech renewed:

“Sutíkshṇa’s woodland home is near, A glorious saint of life austere, True to the path of duty; he With highest bliss will prosper thee. Against the stream thy course must be Of this fair brook Mandákiní, Whereon light rafts like blossoms glide; Then to his cottage turn aside. There lies thy path: but ere thou go, Look on me, dear one, till I throw Aside this mould that girds me in, As casts the snake his withered skin.”

He spoke, the fire in order laid With holy oil due offerings made, And Śarabhanga, glorious sire, Laid down his body in the fire. Then rose the flame above his head, On skin, blood, flesh, and bones it fed, Till forth, transformed, with radiant hue Of tender youth, he rose anew, Far-shining in his bright attire Came Śarabhanga from the pyre: Above the home of saints, and those Who feed the quenchless flame,(414) he rose: Beyond the seat of Gods he passed, And Brahmá’s sphere was gained at last. The noblest of the twice-born race, For holy works supreme in place, The Mighty Father there beheld Girt round by hosts unparalleled; And Brahmá joying at the sight Welcomed the glorious anchorite.

Canto VI. Ráma’s Promise.

When he his heavenly home had found, The holy men who dwelt around To Ráma flocked, whose martial fame Shone glorious as the kindled flame: Vaikhánasas(415) who love the wild, Pure hermits Bálakhilyas(416) styled, Good Samprakshálas,(417) saints who live On rays which moon and daystar give: Those who with leaves their lives sustain And those who pound with stones their grain: And they who lie in pools, and those Whose corn, save teeth, no winnow knows: Those who for beds the cold earth use, And those who every couch refuse: And those condemned to ceaseless pains, Whose single foot their weight sustains: And those who sleep neath open skies, Whose food the wave or air supplies, And hermits pure who spend their nights On ground prepared for sacred rites; Those who on hills their vigil hold, Or dripping clothes around them fold: The devotees who live for prayer, Or the five fires(418) unflinching bear. On contemplation all intent, With light that heavenly knowledge lent, They came to Ráma, saint and sage, In Śarabhanga’s hermitage. The hermit crowd around him pressed, And thus the virtuous chief addressed: “The lordship of the earth is thine, O Prince of old Ikshváku’s line. Lord of the Gods is Indra, so Thou art our lord and guide below. Thy name, the glory of thy might, Throughout the triple world are bright: Thy filial love so nobly shown, Thy truth and virtue well are known. To thee, O lord, for help we fly, And on thy love of right rely: With kindly patience hear us speak, And grant the boon we humbly seek. That lord of earth were most unjust, Foul traitor to his solemn trust, Who should a sixth of all(419) require, Nor guard his people like a sire. But he who ever watchful strives To guard his subjects’ wealth and lives, Dear as himself or, dearer still, His sons, with earnest heart and will,— That king, O Raghu’s son, secures High fame that endless years endures, And he to Brahmá’s world shall rise, Made glorious in the eternal skies. Whate’er, by duty won, the meed Of saints whom roots and berries feed, One fourth thereof, for tender care Of subjects, is the monarch’s share. These, mostly of the Bráhman race, Who make the wood their dwelling-place, Although a friend in thee they view, Fall friendless neath the giant crew. Come, Ráma, come, and see hard by The holy hermits’ corpses lie, Where many a tangled pathway shows The murderous work of cruel foes. These wicked fiends the hermits kill— Who live on Chitrakúṭa’s hill, And blood of slaughtered saints has dyed Mandákiní and Pampá’s side. No longer can we bear to see The death of saint and devotee Whom through the forest day by day These Rákshasas unpitying slay. To thee, O Prince, we flee, and crave Thy guardian help our lives to save. From these fierce rovers of the night Defend each stricken anchorite. Throughout the world ’twere vain to seek An arm like thine to aid the weak. O Prince, we pray thee hear our call, And from these fiends preserve us all.”

The son of Raghu heard the plaint Of penance-loving sage and saint, And the good prince his speech renewed To all the hermit multitude:

“To me, O saints, ye need not sue: I wait the hests of all of you. I by mine own occasion led This mighty forest needs must tread, And while I keep my sire’s decree Your lives from threatening foes will free. I hither came of free accord To lend the aid by you implored, And richest meed my toil shall pay, While here in forest shades I stay. I long in battle strife to close. And slay these fiends, the hermits’ foes, That saint and sage may learn aright My prowess and my brother’s might.”

Thus to the saints his promise gave That prince who still to virtue clave With never-wandering thought: And then with Lakshmaṇ by his side, With penance-wealthy men to guide, Sutíkshṇa’s home he sought.

Canto VII. Sutíkshna.

So Raghu’s son, his foemen’s dread, With Sítá and his brother sped, Girt round by many a twice-born sage, To good Sutíkshṇa’s hermitage.(420) Through woods for many a league he passed, O’er rushing rivers full and fast, Until a mountain fair and bright As lofty Meru rose in sight. Within its belt of varied wood Ikshváku’s sons and Sítá stood, Where trees of every foliage bore Blossom and fruit in endless store. There coats of bark, like garlands strung, Before a lonely cottage hung, And there a hermit, dust-besmeared, A lotus on his breast, appeared. Then Ráma with obeisance due Addressed the sage, as near he drew: “My name is Ráma, lord; I seek Thy presence, saint, with thee to speak. O sage, whose merits ne’er decay, Some word unto thy servant say.”

The sage his eyes on Ráma bent, Of virtue’s friends preëminent; Then words like these he spoke, and pressed The son of Raghu to his breast: “Welcome to thee, illustrious youth, Best champion of the rights of truth! By thine approach this holy ground A worthy lord this day has found. I could not quit this mortal frame Till thou shouldst come, O dear to fame: To heavenly spheres I would not rise, Expecting thee with eager eyes. I knew that thou, unkinged, hadst made Thy home in Chitrakúṭa’s shade. E’en now, O Ráma, Indra, lord Supreme by all the Gods adored, King of the Hundred Offerings,(421) said, When he my dwelling visited, That the good works that I have done My choice of all the worlds have won. Accept this meed of holy vows, And with thy brother and thy spouse, Roam, through my favour, in the sky Which saints celestial glorify.”

To that bright sage, of penance stern, The high-souled Ráma spake in turn, As Vásava(422) who rules the skies To Brahmá’s gracious speech replies: “I of myself those worlds will win, O mighty hermit pure from sin: But now, O saint, I pray thee tell Where I within this wood may dwell: For I by Śarabhanga old, The son of Gautama, was told That thou in every lore art wise, And seest all with loving eyes.”

Thus to the saint, whose glories high Filled all the world, he made reply: And thus again the holy man His pleasant speech with joy began: “This calm retreat, O Prince, is blest With many a charm: here take thy rest. Here roots and kindly fruits abound, And hermits love the holy ground. Fair silvan beasts and gentle deer In herds unnumbered wander here: And as they roam, secure from harm, Our eyes with grace and beauty charm: Except the beasts in thickets bred, This grove of ours has naught to dread.”

The hermit’s speech when Ráma heard,— The hero ne’er by terror stirred,— On his great bow his hand he laid, And thus in turn his answer made: “O saint, my darts of keenest steel, Armed with their murderous barbs, would deal Destruction mid the silvan race That flocks around thy dwelling-place. Most wretched then my fate would be For such dishonour shown to thee: And only for the briefest stay Would I within this grove delay.”

He spoke and ceased. With pious care He turned him to his evening prayer, Performed each customary rite, And sought his lodging for the night, With Sítá and his brother laid Beneath the grove’s delightful shade, First good Sutíkshṇa, as elsewhere, when he saw The shades of night around them draw, With hospitable care The princely chieftains entertained With store of choicest food ordained For holy hermit’s fare.

Canto VIII. The Hermitage.

So Ráma and Sumitrá’s son, When every honour due was done, Slept through the night. When morning broke, The heroes from their rest awoke. Betimes the son of Raghu rose, With gentle Sítá, from repose, And sipped the cool delicious wave Sweet with the scent the lotus gave, Then to the Gods and sacred flame The heroes and the lady came, And bent their heads in honour meet Within the hermit’s pure retreat. When every stain was purged away, They saw the rising Lord of Day: Then to Sutíkshṇa’s side they went, And softly spoke, most reverent:

“Well have we slept, O holy lord, Honoured of thee by all adored: Now leave to journey forth we pray: These hermits urge us on our way. We haste to visit, wandering by, The ascetics’ homes that round you lie, And roaming Daṇḍak’s mighty wood To view each saintly brotherhood, For thy permission now we sue, With these high saints to duty true, By penance taught each sense to tame,— In lustre like the smokeless flame. Ere on our brows the sun can beat With fierce intolerable heat. Like some unworthy lord who wins His power by tyranny and sins, O saint, we fain would part.” The three Bent humbly to the devotee. He raised the princes as they pressed His feet, and strained them to his breast; And then the chief of devotees Bespake them both in words like these: “Go with thy brother, Ráma, go, Pursue thy path untouched by woe: Go with thy faithful Sítá, she Still like a shadow follows thee. Roam Daṇḍak wood observing well The pleasant homes where hermits dwell,— Pure saints whose ordered souls adhere To penance rites and vows austere. There plenteous roots and berries grow, And noble trees their blossoms show, And gentle deer and birds of air In peaceful troops are gathered there. There see the full-blown lotus stud The bosom of the lucid flood, And watch the joyous mallard shake The reeds that fringe the pool and lake. See with delighted eye the rill Leap sparkling from her parent hill, And hear the woods that round thee lie Reëcho to the peacock’s cry. And as I bid thy brother, so, Sumitrá’s child, I bid thee go. Go forth, these varied beauties see, And then once more return to me.”

Thus spake the sage Sutíkshṇa: both The chiefs assented, nothing loth, Round him with circling steps they paced, Then for the road prepared with haste. There Sítá stood, the dame long-eyed, Fair quivers round their waists she tied, And gave each prince his trusty bow, And sword which ne’er a spot might know. Each took his quiver from her hand. And clanging bow and gleaming brand: Then from the hermits’ home the two Went forth each woodland scene to view. Each beauteous in the bloom of age, Dismissed by that illustrious sage, With bow and sword accoutred, hied Away, and Sítá by their side.

Canto IX. Sítá’s Speech.

Blest by the sage, when Raghu’s son His onward journey had begun, Thus in her soft tone Sítá, meek With modest fear, began to speak: “One little slip the great may lead To shame that follows lawless deed: Such shame, my lord, as still must cling To faults from low desire that spring. Three several sins defile the soul, Born of desire that spurns control: First, utterance of a lying word, Then, viler both, the next, and third: The lawless love of other’s wife, The thirst of blood uncaused by strife. The first, O Raghu’s son, in thee None yet has found, none e’er shall see. Love of another’s dame destroys All merit, lost for guilty joys: Ráma, such crime in thee, I ween, Has ne’er been found, shall ne’er be seen: The very thought, my princely lord, Is in thy secret soul abhorred. For thou hast ever been the same Fond lover of thine own dear dame, Content with faithful heart to do Thy father’s will, most just and true: Justice, and faith, and many a grace In thee have found a resting-place. Such virtues, Prince, the good may gain Who empire o’er each sense retain; And well canst thou, with loving view Regarding all, each sense subdue. But for the third, the lust that strives, Insatiate still, for others’ lives,— Fond thirst of blood where hate is none,— This, O my lord, thou wilt not shun. Thou hast but now a promise made, The saints of Daṇḍak wood to aid: And to protect their lives from ill The giants’ blood in tight wilt spill: And from thy promise lasting fame Will glorify the forest’s name. Armed with thy bow and arrows thou Forth with thy brother journeyest now, While as I think how true thou art Fears for thy bliss assail my heart, And all my spirit at the sight Is troubled with a strange affright. I like it not—it seems not good— Thy going thus to Daṇḍak wood: And I, if thou wilt mark me well, The reason of my fear will tell. Thou with thy brother, bow in hand, Beneath those ancient trees wilt stand, And thy keen arrows will not spare Wood-rovers who will meet thee there. For as the fuel food supplies That bids the dormant flame arise, Thus when the warrior grasps his bow He feels his breast with ardour glow. Deep in a holy grove, of yore, Where bird and beast from strife forbore, Śuchi beneath the sheltering boughs, A truthful hermit kept his vows. Then Indra, Śachí’s heavenly lord, Armed like a warrior with a sword, Came to his tranquil home to spoil The hermit of his holy toil, And left the glorious weapon there Entrusted to the hermit’s care, A pledge for him to keep, whose mind To fervent zeal was all resigned. He took the brand: with utmost heed He kept it for the warrior’s need: To keep his trust he fondly strove When roaming in the neighbouring grove: Whene’er for roots and fruit he strayed Still by his side he bore the blade: Still on his sacred charge intent, He took his treasure when he went. As day by day that brand he wore, The hermit, rich in merit’s store From penance rites each thought withdrew, And fierce and wild his spirit grew. With heedless soul he spurned the right, And found in cruel deeds delight. So, living with the sword, he fell, A ruined hermit, down to hell. This tale applies to those who deal Too closely with the warrior’s steel: The steel to warriors is the same As fuel to the smouldering flame. Sincere affection prompts my speech: I honour where I fain would teach. Mayst thou, thus armed with shaft and bow, So dire a longing never know As, when no hatred prompts the fray, These giants of the wood to