Reading section 61

Canto VIII. The Enchanted Car.

There gleamed the car with wealth untold Of precious gems and burnished gold; Nor could the Wind-God’s son withdraw His rapt gaze from the sight he saw, By Viśvakarmá’s(813) self proclaimed The noblest work his hand had framed. Uplifted in the air it glowed Bright as the sun’s diurnal road. The eye might scan the wondrous frame And vainly seek one spot to blame, So fine was every part and fair With gems inlaid with lavish care. No precious stones so rich adorn The cars wherein the Gods are borne, Prize of the all-resistless might That sprang from pain and penance rite,(814) Obedient to the master’s will It moved o’er wood and towering hill, A glorious marvel well designed By Viśvakarmá’s artist mind, Adorned with every fair device That decks the cars of Paradise. Swift moving as the master chose It flew through air or sank or rose,(815) And in its fleetness left behind The fury of the rushing wind: Meet mansion for the good and great, The holy, wise, and fortunate. Throughout the chariot’s vast extent Were chambers wide and excellent, All pure and lovely to the eyes As moonlight shed from cloudless skies. Fierce goblins, rovers of the night Who cleft the clouds with swiftest flight In countless hosts that chariot drew, With earrings clashing as they flew.

Canto IX. The Ladies’ Bower.

Where stately mansions rose around, A palace fairer still he found, Whose royal height and splendour showed Where Rávaṇ’s self, the king, abode. A chosen band with bow and sword Guarded the palace of their lord, Where Ráksha’s dames of noble race And many a princess fair of face Whom Rávaṇ’s arm had torn away From vanquished kings in slumber lay. There jewelled arches high o’erhead An ever-changing lustre shed From ruby, pearl, and every gem On golden pillars under them. Delicious came the tempered air That breathed a heavenly summer there, Stealing through bloomy trees that bore Each pleasant fruit in endless store. No check was there from jealous guard, No door was fast, no portal barred; Only a sweet air breathed to meet The stranger, as a host should greet A wanderer of his kith and kin And woo his weary steps within. He stood within a spacious hall With fretted roof and painted wall, The giant Rávaṇ’s boast and pride, Loved even as a lovely bride. ’Twere long to tell each marvel there, The crystal floor, the jewelled stair, The gold, the silver, and the shine Of chrysolite and almandine. There breathed the fairest blooms of spring; There flashed the proud swan’s silver wing, The splendour of whose feathers broke Through fragrant wreaths of aloe smoke. “’Tis Indra’s heaven,” the Vánar cried, Gazing in joy from side to side; “The home of all the Gods is this, The mansion of eternal bliss.” There were the softest carpets spread, Delightful to the sight and tread, Where many a lovely woman lay O’ercome by sleep, fatigued with play. The wine no longer cheered the feast, The sound of revelry had ceased. The tinkling feet no longer stirred, No chiming of a zone was heard. So when each bird has sought her nest, And swans are mute and wild bees rest, Sleep the fair lilies on the lake Till the sun’s kiss shall bid them wake. Like the calm field of winter’s sky Which stars unnumbered glorify, So shone and glowed the sumptuous room With living stars that chased the gloom. “These are the stars,” the chieftain cried, “In autumn nights that earth-ward glide, In brighter forms to reappear And shine in matchless lustre here.” With wondering eyes a while he viewed Each graceful form and attitude. One lady’s head was backward thrown, Bare was her arm and loose her zone. The garland that her brow had graced Hung closely round another’s waist. Here gleamed two little feet all bare Of anklets that had sparkled there, Here lay a queenly dame at rest In all her glorious garments dressed. There slept another whose small hand Had loosened every tie and band, In careless grace another lay With gems and jewels cast away, Like a young creeper when the tread Of the wild elephant has spread Confusion and destruction round, And cast it flowerless to the ground. Here lay a slumberer still as death, Save only that her balmy breath Raised ever and anon the lace That floated o’er her sleeping face. There, sunk in sleep, an amorous maid Her sweet head on a mirror laid, Like a fair lily bending till Her petals rest upon the rill. Another black-eyed damsel pressed Her lute upon her heaving breast, As though her loving arms were twined Round him for whom her bosom pined. Another pretty sleeper round A silver vase her arms had wound, That seemed, so fresh and fair and young A wreath of flowers that o’er it hung. In sweet disorder lay a throng Weary of dance and play and song, Where heedless girls had sunk to rest One pillowed on another’s breast, Her tender cheek half

seen beneath Bed roses of the falling wreath, The while her long soft hair concealed The beauties that her friend revealed. With limbs at random interlaced Round arm and leg and throat and waist, That wreath of women lay asleep Like blossoms in a careless heap.

Canto X. Rávan Asleep.

Apart a dais of crystal rose With couches spread for soft repose, Adorned with gold and gems of price Meet for the halls of Paradise. A canopy was o’er them spread Pale as the light the moon beams shed, And female figures,(816) deftly planned, The faces of the sleepers fanned, There on a splendid couch, asleep On softest skins of deer and sheep. Dark as a cloud that dims the day The monarch of the giants lay, Perfumed with sandal’s precious scent And gay with golden ornament. His fiery eyes in slumber closed, In glittering robes the king reposed Like Mandar’s mighty hill asleep With flowery trees that clothe his steep. Near and more near the Vánar The monarch of the fiends to view, And saw the giant stretched supine Fatigued with play and drunk with wine. While, shaking all the monstrous frame, His breath like hissing serpents’ came. With gold and glittering bracelets gay His mighty arms extended lay Huge as the towering shafts that bear The flag of Indra high in air. Scars by Airávat’s tusk impressed Showed red upon his shaggy breast. And on his shoulders were displayed The dints the thunder-bolt had made.(817) The spouses of the giant king Around their lord were slumbering, And, gay with sparkling earrings, shone Fair as the moon to look upon. There by her husband’s side was seen Mandodarí the favourite queen, The beauty of whose youthful face Beamed a soft glory through the place. The Vánar marked the dame more fair Than all the royal ladies there, And thought, “These rarest beauties speak The matchless dame I come to seek. Peerless in grace and splendour, she The Maithil queen must surely be.”

Canto XI. The Banquet Hall.

But soon the baseless thought was spurned And longing hope again returned: “No: Ráma’s wife is none of these, No careless dame that lives at ease. Her widowed heart has ceased to care For dress and sleep and dainty fare. She near a lover ne’er would lie Though Indra wooed her from the sky. Her own, her only lord, whom none Can match in heaven, is Raghu’s son.”

Then to the banquet hall intent On strictest search his steps he bent. He passed within the door, and found Fair women sleeping on the ground, Where wearied with the song, perchance, The merry game, the wanton dance, Each girl with wine and sleep oppressed Had sunk her drooping head to rest. That spacious hall from side to side With noblest fare was well supplied, There quarters of the boar, and here Roast of the buffalo and deer, There on gold plate, untouched as yet The peacock and the hen were set. There deftly mixed with salt and curd Was meat of many a beast and bird, Of kid and porcupine and hare, And dainties of the sea and air. There wrought of gold, ablaze with shine Of precious stones, were cups of wine. Through court and bower and banquet hall The Vánar passed and viewed them all; From end to end, in every spot, For Sítá searched, but found her not.

Canto XII. The Search Renewed.

Again the Vánar chief began Each chamber, bower, and hall to scan. In vain: he found not her he sought, And pondered thus in bitter thought: “Ah me the Maithil queen is slain: She, ever true and free from stain, The fiend’s entreaty has denied, And by his cruel hand has died. Or has she sunk, by terror killed, When first she saw the palace filled With female monsters evil miened Who wait upon the robber fiend? No battle fought, no might displayed, In vain this anxious search is made; Nor shall my steps, made slow by shame, Because I failed to find the dame, Back to our lord the king be bent, For he is swift to punishment. In every bower my feet have been, The dames of Rávaṇ have I seen; But Ráma’s spouse I seek in vain, And all my toil is fruitless pain. How shall I meet the Vánar band I left upon the ocean strand? How, when they bid me speak, proclaim These tidings of defeat and shame? How shall I look on Angad’s eye? What words will Jámbaván reply? Yet dauntless hearts will never fail To win success though foes assail, And I this sorrow will subdue And search the palace through and through, Exploring with my cautious tread Each spot as yet unvisited.”

Again he turned him to explore Each chamber, hall, and corridor, And arbour bright with scented bloom, And lodge and cell and picture-room. With eager eye and noiseless feet He passed through many a cool retreat Where women lay in slumber drowned; But Sítá still was nowhere found.

Canto XIII. Despair And Hope.

Then rapid as the lightning’s flame From Rávaṇ’s halls the Vánar came. Each lingering hope was cold and dead, And thus within his heart he said: “Alas, my fruitless search is done: Long have I toiled for Raghu’s son; And yet with all my care have seen No traces of the ravished queen. It may be, while the giant through The lone air with his captive flew, The Maithil lady, tender-souled, Slipped struggling from the robber’s hold, And the wild sea is rolling now O’er Sítá of the beauteous brow. Or did she perish of alarm When circled by the monster’s arm? Or crushed, unable to withstand The pressure of that monstrous hand? Or when she spurned his suit with scorn, Her tender limbs were rent and torn. And she, her virtue unsubdued, Was slaughtered for the giant’s food. Shall I to Raghu’s son relate His well-beloved consort’s fate, My crime the same if I reveal The mournful story or conceal? If with no happier tale to tell I seek our mountain citadel, How shall I face our lord the king, And meet his angry questioning? How shall I greet my friends, and brook The muttered taunt, the scornful look? How to the son of Raghu go And kill him with my tale of woe? For sure the mournful tale I bear Will strike him dead with wild despair. And Lakshmaṇ ever fond and true, Will, undivided, perish too. Bharat will learn his brother’s fate, And die of grief disconsolate, And sad Śatrughna with a cry Of anguish on his corpse will die. Our king Sugríva, ever found True to each bond in honour bound, Will mourn the pledge he vainly gave, And die with him he could not save. Then Rumá his devoted wife For her dead lord will leave her life, And Tárá, widowed and forlorn, Will die in anguish, sorrow-worn. On Angad too the blow will fall Killing the hope and joy of all. The ruin of their prince and king The Vánars’ souls with woe will wring. And each, overwhelmed with dark despair, Will beat his head and rend his hair. Each, graced and honoured long, will miss His careless life of easy bliss, In happy troops will play no more On breezy rock and shady shore, But with his darling wife and child Will seek the mountain top, and wild With hopeless desolation, throw Himself, his wife, and babe, below. Ah no: unless the dame I find I ne’er will meet my Vánar kind. Here rather in some distant dell A lonely hermit will I dwell, Where roots and berries will supply My humble wants until I die; Or on the shore will raise a pyre And perish in the kindled fire. Or I will strictly fast until With slow decay my life I kill, And ravening dogs and birds of air The limbs of Hanumán shall tear. Here will I die, but never bring Destruction on my race and king. But still unsearched one grove I see With many a bright Aśoka tree. There will I enter in, and through The tangled shade my search renew. Be glory to the host on high, The Sun and Moon who light the sky, The Vasus(818) and the Maruts’(819) train, Ádityas(820) and the Aśvins(821) twain. So may I win success, and bring The lady back with triumphing.”

Canto XIV. The Asoka Grove.

He cleared the barrier at a bound; He stood within the pleasant ground, And with delighted eyes surveyed The climbing plants and varied shade, He saw unnumbered trees unfold The treasures of their pendent gold, As, searching for the Maithil queen, He strayed through alleys soft and green; And when a spray he bent or broke Some little bird that slept awoke. Whene’er the breeze of morning blew, Where’er a startled peacock flew, The gaily coloured branches shed Their flowery rain upon his head That clung around the Vánar till He seemed a blossom-covered hill,(822) The earth, on whose fair bosom lay The flowers that fell from every spray, Was glorious as a lovely maid In all her brightest robes arrayed, He saw the breath of morning shake The lilies on the rippling lake Whose waves a pleasant lapping made On crystal steps with gems inlaid. Then roaming through the enchanted ground, A pleasant hill the Vánar found, And grottoes in the living stone With grass and flowery trees o’ergrown. Through rocks and boughs a brawling rill Leapt from the bosom of the hill, Like a proud beauty when she flies From her love’s arms with angry eyes.

He clomb a tree that near him grew And leafy shade around him threw. “Hence,” thought the Vánar, “shall I see The Maithil dame, if here she be, These lovely trees, this cool retreat Will surely tempt her wandering feet. Here the sad queen will roam apart. And dream of Ráma in her heart.”

Canto XV. Sítá.

Fair as Kailása white with snow He saw a palace flash and glow, A crystal pavement gem-inlaid, And coral steps and colonnade, And glittering towers that kissed the skies, Whose dazzling splendour charmed his eyes. There pallid, with neglected dress, Watched close by fiend and giantess, Her sweet face thin with constant flow Of tears, with fasting and with woe; Pale as the young moon’s crescent when The first faint light returns to men: Dim as the flame when clouds of smoke The latent glory hide and choke; Like Rohiṇí the queen of stars Oppressed by the red planet Mars; From her dear friends and husband torn, Amid the cruel fiends, forlorn, Who fierce-eyed watch around her kept, A tender woman sat and wept. Her sobs, her sighs, her mournful mien, Her glorious eyes, proclaimed the queen. “This, this is she,” the Vánar cried, “Fair as the moon and lotus-eyed, I saw the giant Rávan bear A captive through the fields of air. Such was the beauty of the dame; Her form, her lips, her eyes the same. This peerless queen whom I behold Is Ráma’s wife with limbs of gold. Best of the sons of men is he, And worthy of her lord is she.”

Canto XVI. Hanumán’s Lament.

Then, all his thoughts on Sítá bent, The Vánar chieftain made lament: “The queen to Ráma’s soul endeared, By Lakshmaṇ’s pious heart revered, Lies here,—for none may strive with Fate, A captive, sad and desolate. The brothers’ might full well she knows, And bravely bears the storm of woes, As swelling Gangá in the rains The rush of every flood sustains. Her lord, for her, fierce Báli slew, Virádha’s monstrous might o’erthrew, For her the fourteen thousand slain In Janasthán bedewed the plain. And if for her Ikshváku’s son Destroyed the world ’twere nobly done. This, this is she, so far renowned, Who sprang from out the furrowed ground,(823) Child of the high-souled king whose sway The men of Míthilá obey: The glorious lady wooed and won By Daśaratha’s noblest son; And now these sad eyes look on her Mid hostile fiends a prisoner. From home and every bliss she fled By wifely love and duty led, And heedless of a wanderer’s woes, A life in lonely forests chose. This, this is she so fair of mould. Whose limbs are bright as burnished gold. Whose voice was ever soft and mild, Who sweetly spoke and sweetly smiled. O, what is Ráma’s misery! how He longs to see his darling now! Pining for one of her fond looks As one athirst for water brooks. Absorbed in woe the lady sees No Rákshas guard, no blooming trees. Her eyes are with her thoughts, and they Are fixed on Ráma far away.”

Canto XVII. Sítá’s Guard.

His pitying eyes with tears bedewed, The weeping queen again he viewed, And saw around the prisoner stand Her demon guard, a fearful band. Some earless, some with ears that hung Low as their feet and loosely swung: Some fierce with single ears and eyes, Some dwarfish, some of monstrous size: Some with their dark necks long and thin With hair upon the knotty skin: Some with wild locks, some bald and bare, Some covered o’er with bristly hair: Some tall and straight, some bowed and bent With every foul disfigurement: All black and fierce with eyes of fire, Ruthless and stern and swift to ire: Some with the jackal’s jaw and nose, Some faced like boars and buffaloes: Some with the heads of goats and kine, Of elephants, and dogs, and swine: With lions’ lips and horses’ brows, They walked with feet of mules and cows: Swords, maces, clubs, and spears they bore In hideous hands that reeked with gore, And, never sated, turned afresh To bowls of wine and piles of flesh. Such were the awful guards who stood Round Sítá in that lovely wood, While in her lonely sorrow she Wept sadly neath a spreading tree. He watched the spouse of Ráma there Regardless of her tangled hair, Her jewels stripped from neck and limb, Decked only with her love of him.

Canto XVIII. Rávan.

While from his shelter in the boughs The Vánar looked on Ráma’s spouse He heard the gathered giants raise The solemn hymn of prayer and praise.— Priests skilled in rite and ritual, who The Vedas and their branches(824) knew. Then, as loud strains of music broke His sleep, the giant monarch woke. Swift to his heart the thought returned Of the fair queen for whom he burned; Nor could the amorous fiend control The passion that absorbed his soul. In all his brightest garb arrayed He hastened to that lovely shade, Where glowed each choicest flower and fruit, And the sweet birds were never mute, And tall deer bent their heads to drink On the fair streamlet’s grassy brink. Near that Aśoka grove he drew,— A hundred dames his retinue. Like Indra with the thousand eyes Girt with the beauties of the skies. Some walked beside their lord to hold The chouries, fans, and lamps of gold. And others purest water bore In golden urns, and paced before. Some carried, piled on golden plates, Delicious food of dainty cates; Some wine in massive bowls whereon The fairest gems resplendent shone. Some by the monarch’s side displayed, Wrought like a swan, a silken shade: Another beauty walked behind, The sceptre to her care assigned. Around the monarch gleamed the crowd As lightnings flash about a cloud, And each made music as she went With zone and tinkling ornament. Attended thus in royal state The monarch reached the garden gate, While gold and silver torches, fed With scented oil a soft light shed.(825) He, while the flame of fierce desire Burnt in his eyes like kindled fire, Seemed Love incarnate in his pride, His bow and arrows laid aside.(826) His robe, from spot and blemish free Like Amrit foamy from the sea,(827) Hung down in many a loosened fold Inwrought with flowers and bright with gold. The Vánar from his station viewed, Amazed, the wondrous multitude, Where, in the centre of that ring Of noblest women, stood the king, As stands the full moon fair to view, Girt by his starry retinue.

Canto XIX. Sítá’s Fear.

Then o’er the lady’s soul and frame A sudden fear and trembling came, When, glowing in his youthful pride, She saw the monarch by her side. Silent she sat, her eyes depressed, Her soft arms folded o’er her breast, And,—all she could,—her beauties screened From the bold gazes of the fiend. There where the wild she-demons kept Their watch around, she sighed and wept. Then, like a severed bough, she lay Prone on the bare earth in dismay. The while her thoughts on love’s fleet wings Flew to her lord the best of kings. She fell upon the ground, and there Lay struggling with her wild despair, Sad as a lady born again To misery and woe and pain, Now doomed to grief and low estate, Once noble fair and delicate: Like faded light of holy lore, Like Hope when all her dreams are o’er; Like ruined power and rank debased, Like majesty of kings disgraced: Like worship foiled by erring slips, The moon that labours in eclipse; A pool with all her lilies dead, An army when its king has fled: So sad and helpless wan and worn, She lay among the fiends forlorn.

Canto XX. Rávan’s Wooing.

With amorous look and soft address The fiend began his suit to press: “Why wouldst thou, lady lotus-eyed, From my fond glance those beauties hide? Mine eager suit no more repel: But love me, for I love thee well. Dismiss, sweet dame, dismiss thy fear; No giant and no man is near. Ours is the right by force to seize What dames soe’er our fancy please.(828) But I with rude hands will not touch A lady whom I love so much. Fear not, dear queen: no fear is nigh: Come, on thy lover’s love rely, Some little sign of favor show, Nor lie enamoured of thy woe. Those limbs upon that cold earth laid, Those tresses twined in single braid,(829) The fast and woe that wear thy frame, Beseem not thee, O beauteous dame. For thee the fairest wreaths were meant, The sandal and the aloe’s scent, Rich ornaments and pearls of price, And vesture meet for Paradise. With dainty cates shouldst thou be fed, And rest upon a sumptuous bed. And festive joys to thee belong, The music, and the dance and song. Rise, pearl of women, rise and deck With gems and chains thine arms and neck. Shall not the dame I love be seen In vesture worthy of a queen? Methinks when thy sweet form was made His hand the wise Creator stayed; For never more did he design A beauty meet to rival thine. Come, let us love while yet we may, For youth will fly and charms decay, Come cast thy grief and fear aside, And be my love, my chosen bride. The gems and jewels that my hand Has reft from every plundered land,— To thee I give them all this day, And at thy feet my kingdom lay. The broad rich earth will I o’errun, And leave no town unconquered, none; Then of the whole an offering make To Janak,(830) dear, for thy sweet sake. In all the world no power I see Of God or man can strive with me. Of old the Gods and Asurs set In terrible array I met: Their scattered hosts to earth I beat, And trod their flags beneath my feet. Come, taste of bliss and drink thy fill, And rule the slave who serves thy will. Think not of wretched Ráma: he Is less than nothing now to thee. Stript of his glory, poor, dethroned, A wanderer by his friends disowned, On the cold earth he lays his head, Or is with toil and misery dead. And if perchance he lingers yet, His eyes on thee shall ne’er be set. Could he, that mighty monarch, who Was named Hiraṇyakaśipu, Could he who wore the garb of gold Win Glory back from Indra’s hold?(831) O lady of the lovely smile, Whose eyes the sternest heart beguile, In all thy radiant beauty dressed My heart and soul thou ravishest. What though thy robe is soiled and worn, And no bright gems thy limbs adorn, Thou unadorned art dearer far Than all my loveliest consorts are. My royal home is bright and fair; A thousand beauties meet me there, But come, my glorious love, and be The queen of all those dames and me.”

Canto XXI. Sítá’s Scorn.

She thought upon her lord and sighed, And thus in gentle tones replied: “Beseems thee not, O King, to woo A matron, to her husband true. Thus vainly one might hope by sin And evil deeds success to win. Shall I, so highly born, disgrace My husband’s house, my royal race? Shall I, a true and loyal dame, Defile my soul with deed of shame?”