Reading section 49

Canto LXXIII. Kabandha’s Counsel.

The monster ceased: the princely pair Heard great Kabandha’s eager prayer. Within a mountain cave they sped, Where kindled fire with care they fed. Then Lakshmaṇ in his mighty hands Brought ample store of lighted brands, And to a pile of logs applied The flame that ran from side to side. The spreading glow with gentle force Consumed Kabandha’s mighty corse, Till the unresting flames had drunk The marrow of the monstrous trunk, As balls of butter melt away Amid the fires that o’er them play. Then from the pyre, like flame that glows Undimmed by cloudy smoke, he rose, In garments pure of spot or speck, A heavenly wreath about his neck. Resplendent in his bright attire He sprang exultant from the pyre. While from neck, arm, and foot was sent The flash of gold and ornament. High on a chariot, bright of hue, Which swans of fairest pinion drew, He filled each region of the air With splendid glow reflected there. Then in the sky he stayed his car And called to Ráma from afar: “Hear, chieftain, while my lips explain The means to win thy spouse again. Six plans, O prince, the wise pursue To reach the aims we hold in view.(519) When evils ripening sorely press They load the wretch with new distress, So thou and Lakshmaṇ, tried by woe, Have felt at last a fiercer blow, And plunged in bitterest grief to-day Lament thy consort torn away. There is no course but this: attend; Make, best of friends, that chief thy friend. Unless his prospering help thou gain Thy plans and hopes must all be vain. O Ráma, hear my words, and seek, Sugríva, for of him I speak. His brother Báli, Indra’s son, Expelled him when the fight was won. With four great chieftains, faithful still, He dwells on Rishyamúka’s hill.— Fair mountain, lovely with the flow Of Pampá’s waves that glide below,— Lord of the Vánars(520) just and true, Strong, very glorious, bright to view, Unmatched in counsel, firm and meek, Bound by each word his lips may speak, Good, splendid, mighty, bold and brave, Wise in each plan to guide and save. His brother, fired by lust of sway, Drove forth the prince in woods to stray. In all thy search for Sítá he Thy ready friend and help will be. With him to aid thee in thy quest Dismiss all sorrow from thy breast. Time is a mighty power, and none His fixed decree can change or shun. So rich reward thy toil shall bless, And naught can stay thy sure success. Speed hence, O chief, without delay, To strong Sugríva take thy way. This hour thy footsteps onward bend, And make that mighty prince thy friend. With him before the attesting flame In solemn truth alliance frame. Nor wilt thou, if thy heart be wise, Sugríva, Vánar king, despise. Of boundless strength, all shapes he wears, He hearkens to a suppliant’s prayers, And, grateful for each kindly deed, Will help and save in hour of need. And you, I ween, the power possess To aid his hopes and give redress. He, let his cause succeed or fail, Will help you, and you must prevail. A banished prince, in fear and woe He roams where Pampá’s waters flow, True offspring of the Lord of Light Expelled by Báli’s conquering might. Go, Raghu’s son, that chieftain seek Who dwells on Rishyamúka’s peak. Before the flame thy weapons cast And bind the bonds of friendship fast. For, prince of all the Vánar race, He in his wisdom knows each place Where dwell the fierce gigantic brood Who make the flesh of man their food. To him, O Raghu’s son, to him Naught in the world is dark or dim, Where’er the mighty Day-God gleams Resplendent with

a thousand beams. He over rocky height and hill, Through gloomy cave, by lake and rill, Will with his Vánars seek the prize, And tell thee where thy lady lies. And he will send great chieftains forth To east and west and south and north, To seek the distant spot where she All desolate laments for thee. He even in Rávaṇ’s halls would find Thy Sítá, gem of womankind. Yea, if the blameless lady lay On Meru’s loftiest steep, Or, far removed from light of day, Where hell is dark and deep, That chief of all the Vánar race His way would still explore, Meet the cowed giants face to face And thy dear spouse restore.”

Canto LXXIV. Kabandha’s Death.

When wise Kabandha thus had taught The means to find the dame they sought, And urged them onward in the quest, He thus again the prince addressed:

“This path, O Raghu’s son, pursue Where those fair trees which charm the view, Extending westward far away, The glory of their bloom display, Where their bright leaves Rose-apples show, And the tall Jak and Mango grow. Whene’er you will, those trees ascend, Or the long branches shake and bend, Their savoury fruit like Amrit eat, Then onward speed with willing feet. Beyond this shady forest, decked With flowering trees, your course direct. Another grove you then will find With every joy to take the mind, Like Nandan with its charms displayed, Or Northern Kuru’s blissful shade; Where trees distil their balmy juice, And fruit through all the year produce; Where shades with seasons ever fair With Chaitraratha may compare: Where trees whose sprays with fruit are bowed Rise like a mountain or a cloud. There, when you list, from time to time, The loaded trees may Lakshmaṇ climb, Or from the shaken boughs supply Sweet fruit that may with Amrit vie. The onward path pursuing still From wood to wood, from hill to hill, Your happy eyes at length will rest On Pampá’s lotus-covered breast. Her banks with gentle slope descend, Nor stones nor weed the eyes offend, And o’er smooth beds of silver sand Lotus and lily blooms expand. There swans and ducks and curlews play, And keen-eyed ospreys watch their prey, And from the limpid waves are heard Glad notes of many a water-bird. Untaught a deadly foe to fear They fly not when a man is near, And fat as balls of butter they Will, when you list, your hunger stay. Then Lakshmaṇ with his shafts will take The fish that swim the brook and lake, Remove each bone and scale and fin, Or strip away the speckled skin, And then on iron skewers broil For thy repast the savoury spoil. Thou on a heap of flowers shalt rest And eat the meal his hands have dressed, There shalt thou lie on Pampá’s brink, And Lakshmaṇ’s hand shall give thee drink, Filling a lotus leaf with cool Pure water from the crystal pool, To which the opening blooms have lent The riches of divinest scent. Beside thee at the close of day Will Lakshmaṇ through the woodland stray, And show thee where the monkeys sleep In caves beneath the mountain steep. Loud-voiced as bulls they forth will burst And seek the flood, oppressed by thirst; Then rest a while, their wants supplied, Their well-fed bands on Pampá’s side. Thou roving there at eve shalt see Rich clusters hang on shrub and tree, And Pampá flushed with roseate glow, And at the view forget thy woe. There shalt thou mark with strange delight Each loveliest flower that blooms by night, While lily buds that shrink from day Their tender loveliness display. In that far wild no hand but thine Those peerless flowers in wreaths shall twine: Immortal in their changeless pride, Ne’er fade those blooms and ne’er are dried. There erst on holy thoughts intent Their days Matanga’s pupils spent. Once for their master food they sought, And store of fruit and berries brought. Then as they laboured through the dell From limb and brow the heat-drops fell: Thence sprang and bloomed those wondrous trees: Such holy power have devotees. Thus, from the hermits’ heat-drops sprung, Their growth is ever fresh and young. There Śavarí is dwelling yet, Who served each vanished anchoret. Beneath the shade of holy boughs That ancient votaress keeps her vows. Her happy eyes on thee will fall, O godlike prince, adored by all, And she, whose life is pure from sin, A blissful seat in heaven will win. But cross, O son of Raghu, o’er, And

stand on Pampá’s western shore. A tranquil hermitage that lies Deep in the woods will meet thine eyes. No wandering elephants invade The stillness of that holy shade, But checked by saint Matanga’s power They spare each consecrated bower. Through many an age those trees have stood World-famous as Matanga’s wood Still, Raghu’s son, pursue thy way: Through shades where birds are vocal stray, Fair as the blessed wood where rove Immortal Gods, or Nandan’s grove. Near Pampá eastward, full in sight, Stands Rishyamúka’s wood-crowned height. ’Tis hard to climb that towering steep Where serpents unmolested sleep. The free and bounteous, formed of old By Brahmá of superior mould, Who sink when day is done to rest Reclining on that mountain crest,— What wealth or joy in dreams they view, Awaking find the vision true. But if a villain stained with crime That holy hill presume to climb, The giants in their fury sweep From the hill top the wretch asleep. There loud and long is heard the roar Of elephants on Pampá’s shore, Who near Matanga’s dwelling stray And in those waters bathe and play. A while they revel by the flood, Their temples stained with streams like blood, Then wander far away dispersed, Dark as huge clouds before they burst. But ere they part they drink their fill Of bright pure water from the rill, Delightful to the touch, where meet Scents of all flowers divinely sweet, Then speeding from the river side Deep in the sheltering thicket hide. Then bears and tigers shalt thou view Whose soft skins show the sapphire’s hue, And silvan deer that wander nigh Shall harmless from thy presence fly. High in that mountain’s wooded side Is a fair cavern deep and wide, Yet hard to enter: piles of rock The portals of the cavern block.(521) Fast by the eastern door a pool Gleams with broad waters fresh and cool, Where stores of roots and fruit abound, And thick trees shade the grassy ground. This mountain cave the virtuous-souled Sugríva, and his Vánars hold, And oft the mighty chieftain seeks The summits of those towering peaks.”

Thus spake Kabandha high in air His counsel to the royal pair. Still on his neck that wreath he bore, And radiance like the sun’s he wore. Their eyes the princely brothers raised And on that blissful being gazed: “Behold, we go: no more delay; Begin,” they cried, “thy heavenward way.” “Depart,” Kabandha’s voice replied, “Pursue your search, and bliss betide.”

Thus to the happy chiefs he said, Then on his heavenward journey sped. Thus once again Kabandha won A shape that glittered like the sun Without a spot or stain. Thus bade he Ráma from the air To great Sugríva’s side repair His friendly love to gain.

Canto LXXV. Savarí.

Thus counselled by their friendly guide On through the wood the princes hied, Pursuing still the eastern road To Pampá which Kabandha showed, Where trees that on the mountains grew With fruit like honey charmed the view. They rested weary for the night Upon a mountain’s wooded height, Then onward with the dawn they hied And stood on Pampá’s western side, Where Śavarí’s fair home they viewed Deep in that shady solitude. The princes reached the holy ground Where noble trees stood thick around, And joying in the lovely view Near to the aged votaress drew. To meet the sons of Raghu came, With hands upraised, the pious dame, And bending low with reverence meet Welcomed them both and pressed their feet. Then water, as beseems, she gave, Their lips to cool, their feet to lave. To that pure saint who never broke One law of duty Ráma spoke:

“I trust no cares invade thy peace, While holy works and zeal increase; That thou content with scanty food All touch of ire hast long subdued; That all thy vows are well maintained While peace of mind is surely gained, That reverence of the saints who taught Thy faithful heart due fruit has brought.”

The aged votaress pure of taint, Revered by every perfect saint, Rose to her feet by Ráma’s side And thus in gentle tones replied: “My penance meed this day I see Complete, my lord, in meeting thee. This day the fruit of birth I gain, Nor have I served the saints in vain. I reap rich fruits of toil and vow, And heaven itself awaits me now, When I, O chief of men, have done Honour to thee the godlike one. I feel, great lord, thy gentle eye My earthly spirit purify, And I, brave tamer of thy foes, Shall through thy grace in bliss repose. Thy feet by Chitrakúṭa strayed When those great saints whom I obeyed, In dazzling chariots bright of hue, Hence to their heavenly mansions flew. As the high saints were borne away I heard their holy voices say: “In this pure grove, O devotee, Prince Ráma soon will visit thee. When he and Lakshmaṇ seek this shade, Be to thy guests all honour paid. Him shalt thou see, and pass away To those blest worlds which ne’er decay.” To me, O mighty chief, the best Of lofty saints these words addressed. Laid up within my dwelling lie Fruits of each sort which woods supply,— Food culled for thee in endless store From every tree on Pampá’s shore.”

Thus to her virtuous guest she sued And he, with heavenly lore endued, Words such as these in turn addressed To her with equal knowledge blest: “Danu himself the power has told Of thy great masters lofty-souled. Now if thou will, mine eyes would fain Assurance of their glories gain.”

She heard the prince his wish declare: Then rose she, and the royal pair Of brothers through the wood she led That round her holy dwelling spread. “Behold Matanga’s wood” she cried, “A grove made famous far and wide. Dark as thick clouds and filled with herds Of wandering deer, and joyous birds. In this pure spot each reverend sire With offerings fed the holy fire. See here the western altar stands Where daily with their trembling hands The aged saints, so long obeyed By me, their gifts of blossoms laid. The holy power, O Raghu’s son, By their ascetic virtue won, Still keeps their well-loved altar bright, Filling the air with beams of light. And those seven neighbouring lakes behold Which, when the saints infirm and old, Worn out by fasts, no longer sought, Moved hither drawn by power of thought. Look, Ráma, where the devotees Hung their bark mantles on the trees, Fresh from the bath: those garments wet Through many a day are dripping yet. See, through those aged hermits’ power The tender spray, this bright-hued flower With which the saints their worship paid, Fresh to this hour nor change nor fade. Here thou hast seen each lawn and dell, And heard the tale I had to tell: Permit thy servant, lord, I pray, To cast this mortal shell away, For I would dwell, this life resigned, With those great saints of lofty mind, Whom I within this holy shade With reverential care obeyed.”

When Ráma and his brother heard The pious prayer the dame preferred, Filled full of transport and amazed They marvelled as her words they praised. Then Ráma to the votaress said Whose holy vows were perfected: “Go, lady, where thou fain wouldst be, O thou who well hast honoured me.”

Her locks in hermit fashion tied, Clad in bark coat and black deer-hide, When Ráma gave consent, the dame Resigned her body to the flame. Then like the fire that burns and glows, To heaven the sainted lady rose, In all her heavenly garments dressed, Immortal wreaths on neck and breast, Bright with celestial gems she shone Most beautiful to look upon, And like the flame of lightning sent A glory through the firmament. That holy sphere the dame attained, By depth of contemplation gained, Where roam high saints with spirits pure In bliss that shall for aye endure.

Canto LXXVI. Pampá.

When Śavarí had sought the skies And gained her splendid virtue’s prize, Ráma with Lakshmaṇ stayed to brood O’er the strange scenes their eyes had viewed. His mind upon those saints was bent, For power and might preëminent And he to musing Lakshmaṇ spoke The thoughts that in his bosom woke: “Mine eyes this wondrous home have viewed Of those great saints with souls subdued, Where peaceful tigers dwell and birds, And deer abound in heedless herds. Our feet upon the banks have stood Of those seven lakes within the wood, Where we have duly dipped, and paid Libations to each royal shade. Forgotten now are thoughts of ill And joyful hopes my bosom fill. Again my heart is light and gay And grief and care have passed away. Come, brother, let us hasten where Bright Pampá’s flood is fresh and fair, And towering in their beauty near Mount Rishyamúka’s heights appear, Which, offspring of the Lord of Light, Still fearing Báli’s conquering might, With four brave chiefs of Vánar race Sugríva makes his dwelling-place. I long with eager heart to find That leader of the Vánar kind, For on that chief my hopes depend That this our quest have prosperous end.”

Thus Ráma spoke, in battle tried, And thus Sumitrá’s son replied: “Come, brother, come, and speed away: My spirit brooks no more delay.” Thus spake Sumitrá’s son, and then Forth from the grove the king of men With his dear brother by his side To Pampá’s lucid waters hied. He gazed upon the woods where grew Trees rich in flowers of every hue. From brake and dell on every side The curlew and the peacock cried, And flocks of screaming parrots made Shrill music in the bloomy shade. His eager eyes, as on he went, On many a pool and tree were bent. Inflamed with love he journeyed on Till a fair flood before him shone. He stood upon the water’s side Which streams from distant hills supplied: Matanga’s name that water bore: There bathed he from the shelving shore. Then, each on earnest thoughts intent, Still farther on their way they went. But Ráma’s heart once more gave way Beneath his grief and wild dismay. Before him lay the noble flood Adorned with many a lotus bud. On its fair banks Aśoka glowed, And all bright trees their blossoms showed. Green banks that silver waves confined With lovely groves were fringed and lined. The crystal waters in their flow Showed level sands that gleamed below. There glittering fish and tortoise played, And bending trees gave pleasant shade. There creepers on the branches hung With lover-like embraces clung. There gay Gandharvas loved to meet, And Kinnars sought the calm retreat. There wandering Yakshas found delight, Snake-gods and rovers of the night. Cool were the pleasant waters, gay Each tree with creeper, flower, and spray. There flushed the lotus darkly red, Here their white glory lilies spread, Here sweet buds showed their tints of blue: So carpets gleam with many a hue. A grove of Mangoes blossomed nigh, Echoing with the peacock’s cry. When Ráma by his brother’s side The lovely flood of Pampá eyed, Decked like a beauty, fair to see With every charm of flower and tree, His mighty heart with woe was rent And thus he spoke in wild lament

“Here, Lakshmaṇ, on this beauteous shore, Stands, dyed with tints of many an ore, The mountain Rishyamúka bright With flowery trees that crown each height. Sprung from the chief who, famed of yore, The name of Riksharajas bore, Sugríva, chieftain strong and dread, Dwells on that mountain’s towering head. Go to him, best of men, and seek That prince of Vánars on the peak, I cannot longer brook my pain, Or, Sítá lost, my life retain.” Thus by the pangs of love distressed, His thoughts on Sítá bent, His faithful brother he addressed, And cried in wild lament. He reached the lovely ground that lay On Pampá’s wooded side, And told in anguish and dismay, The grief he could not hide. With listless footsteps faint and slow His way the chief pursued, Till Pampá with her glorious show Of flowering woods he viewed. Through shades where every bird was found The prince with Lakshmaṇ passed, And Pampá with her groves around Burst on his eyes at last.

BOOK IV.

Canto I. Ráma’s Lament.

The princes stood by Pampá’s side(522) Which blooming lilies glorified. With troubled heart and sense o’erthrown There Ráma made his piteous moan. As the fair flood before him lay The reason of the chief gave way; And tender thoughts within him woke, As to Sumitrá’s son he spoke:

“How lovely Pampá’s waters show, Where streams of lucid crystal flow! What glorious trees o’erhang the flood Which blooms of opening lotus stud! Look on the banks of Pampá where Thick groves extend divinely fair; And piles of trees, like hills in size, Lift their proud summits to the skies. But thought of Bharat’s(523) pain and toil, And my dear spouse the giant’s spoil, Afflict my tortured heart and press My spirit down with heaviness. Still fair to me though sunk in woe Bright Pampá and her forest show. Where cool fresh waters charm the sight, And flowers of every hue are bright. The lotuses in close array Their passing loveliness display, And pard and tiger, deer and snake Haunt every glade and dell and brake. Those grassy spots display the hue Of topazes and sapphires’ blue, And, gay with flowers of every dye, With richly broidered housings vie. What loads of bloom the high trees crown, Or weigh the bending branches down! And creepers tipped with bud and flower Each spray and loaded limb o’erpower. Now cool delicious breezes blow, And kindle love’s voluptuous glow, When balmy sweetness fills the air, And fruit and flowers and trees are fair. Those waving woods, that shine with bloom, Each varied tint in turn assume. Like labouring clouds they pour their showers In rain or ever-changing flowers. Behold, those forest trees, that stand High upon rock and table-land, As the cool gales their branches bend, Their floating blossoms downward send. See, Lakshmaṇ, how the breezes play With every floweret on the spray. And sport in merry guise with all The fallen blooms and those that fall. See, brother, where the merry breeze Shakes the gay boughs of flowery trees, Disturbed amid their toil a throng Of bees pursue him, loud in song. The Koïls,(524) mad with sweet delight, The bending trees to dance invite; And in its joy the wild wind sings As from the mountain cave he springs. On speed the gales in rapid course, And bend the woods beneath their force, Till every branch and spray they bind In many a tangled knot entwined. What balmy sweets those gales dispense With cool and sacred influence! Fatigue and trouble vanish: such The magic of their gentle touch. Hark, when the gale the boughs has bent In woods of honey redolent, Through all their quivering sprays the trees Are vocal with the murmuring bees. The hills with towering summits rise, And with their beauty charm the eyes, Gay with the giant trees which bright With blossom spring from every height: And as the soft wind gently sways The clustering blooms that load the sprays, The very trees break forth and sing With startled wild bees’ murmuring. Thine eyes to yonder Cassias(525) turn Whose glorious clusters glow and burn. Those trees in yellow robes behold, Like giants decked with burnished gold. Ah me, Sumitrá’s son, the spring Dear to sweet birds who love and sing, Wakes in my lonely breast the flame Of sorrow as I mourn my dame. Love strikes me through with darts of fire, And wakes in vain the sweet desire. Hark, the loud Koïl swells his throat, And mocks me with his joyful note. I hear the happy wild-cock call Beside the shady waterfall. His cry of joy afflicts my breast By love’s absorbing might possessed. My darling from our cottage heard One morn in spring this shrill-toned bird, And called me in her joy to hear The happy cry that charmed her ear. See, birds of every varied voice Around us in the woods rejoice, On creeper, shrub, and plant alight, Or wing from tree to tree their

flight. Each bird his kindly mate has found, And loud their notes of triumph sound, Blending in sweetest music like The distant warblings of the shrike. See how the river banks are lined With birds of every hue and kind. Here in his joy the Koïl sings, There the glad wild-cock flaps his wings. The blooms of bright Aśokas(526) where The song of wild bees fills the air, And the soft whisper of the boughs Increase my longing for my spouse. The vernal flush of flower and spray Will burn my very soul away. What use, what care have I for life If I no more may see my wife Soft speaker with the glorious hair, And eyes with silken lashes fair? Now is the time when all day long The Koïls fill the woods with song. And gardens bloom at spring’s sweet touch Which my beloved loved so much. Ah me, Sumitrá’s son, the fire Of sorrow, sprung from soft desire, Fanned by the charms the spring time shows, Will burn my heart and end my woes, Whose sad eyes look on each fair tree, But my sweet love no more may see. Ah me, Ah me, from hour to hour Love in my soul will wax in power, And spring, upon whose charms I gaze, Whose breath the heat of toil allays, With thoughts of her for whom I strain My hopeless eyes, increase my pain. As fire in summer rages through The forests thick with dry bamboo, So will my fawn eyed love consume My soul o’erwhelmed with thoughts of gloom. Behold, beneath each spreading tree The peacocks dance(527) in frantic glee, And, stirred by all the gales that blow, Their tails with jewelled windows glow, Each bird, in happy love elate, Rejoices with his darling mate. But sights like these of joy and peace My pangs of hopeless love increase. See on the mountain slope above The peahen languishing with love. Behold her now in amorous dance Close to her consort’s side advance. He with a laugh of joy and pride Displays his glittering pinions wide; And follows through the tangled dell The partner whom he loves so well. Ah happy bird! no giant’s hate Has robbed him of his tender mate; And still beside his loved one he Dances beneath the shade in glee. Ah, in this month when flowers are fair My widowed woe is hard to bear. See, gentle love a home may find In creatures of inferior kind. See how the peahen turns to meet Her consort now with love-drawn feet. So, Lakshmaṇ, if my large-eyed dear, The child of Janak still were here, She, by love’s thrilling influence led, Upon my breast would lay her head. These blooms I gathered from the bough Without my love are useless now. A thousand blossoms fair to see With passing glory clothe each tree That hangs its cluster-burthened head Now that the dewy months(528) are fled, But, followed by the bees that ply Their fragrant task, they fall and die. A thousand birds in wild delight Their rapture-breathing notes unite; Bird calls to bird in joyous strain, And turns my love to frenzied pain. O, if beneath those alien skies, There be a spring where Sítá lies, I know my prisoned love must be Touched with like grief, and mourn with me. But ah, methinks that dreary clime Knows not the touch of spring’s sweet time. How could my black eyed love sustain, Without her lord, so dire a pain? Or if the sweet spring come to her In distant lands a prisoner, How may his advent and her met On every side with taunt and threat? Ah, if the springtide’s languor came With soft enchantment o’er my dame, My darling of the lotus eye, My gently speaking love, would die; For well my spirit knows that she Can never live bereft of