Sri Valmiki Ramayanam - Abrideged into English Verse by Ramesh C Dutt -2

RAMAYANA BOOK VII

KISHKINDHA

(In the Nilgiri Mountains)

RAMA'S wanderings in the Nilgiri mountains, and his alliance with Sugriva the chief of these regions, form the subject of the Book. With that contempt for aboriginal races which has marked civilized conquerors in all ages, the poet describes the dwellers of these regions as monkeys and bears. But the modern reader sees through these strange epithets; and in the description of the social and domestic manners, the arts and industries, the sacred rites and ceremonies, and the civic and political life of the Vanars, the reader will find that the poet even imports Aryan customs into his account of the dwellers of Southern India. They formed an alliance with Rama, they fought for him and triumphed with him, and they helped him to recover his wife from the king of Ceylon.

The portions translated in this Book from Sections v., xv., xvi., xxvi., a portion of Section xxviii., and an abstract of Sections xl. to xliii. of Book iv. of the original text.

I

FRIENDS IN MISFORTUNE

Long and loud lamented Rama by his lonesome cottage door,

Janasthana's woodlands answered, Panchavati's echoing shore,

Long he searched in wood and jungle, mountain crest and pathless plain,

Till he reached the Malya mountains stretching to the southern main.

There Sugriva king of Vanars, Hanuman his henchman brave,

Banished from their home and empire lived within the forest cave,

To the exiled king Sugriva, Hanuman his purpose told,

As he marked the pensive Rama wand'ring with his brother bold:

"Mark the sons of Dasa-ratha banished from their royal home,

Duteous to their father's mandate in these pathless forests roam,

Great was monarch Dasa-ratha famed for sacrifice divine,

Raja-suya, Aswa-medha, and for gift of gold and kine,

By a monarch's stainless duty people's love the monarch won,

By a woman's false contrivance banished he his eldest son!

True to duty, true to virtue, Rama passed his forest life,

Till a false perfidious Raksha stole his fair and faithful wife,

And the anguish-stricken husband seeks thy friendship and thy aid,

Mutual sorrow blends your fortunes, be ye friends in mutual need!"

Bold Sugriva heard the counsel, and to righteous Rama hied,

And the princes of Ayodhya with his greetings gratified:

"Well I know thee, righteous Rama, soul of piety and love,

And thy duty to thy father and thy faith in God above,

Fortune favours poor Sugriva, Rama courts his humble aid,
In our deepest direst danger he our truest friendship made!

Equal is our fateful fortune,--I have lost a queenly wife,
Banished from, Kishkindha's empire here I lead a forest life,

Pledge of love and true alliance, Rama, take this proffered hand,
Banded by a common sorrow we shall fall or stoutly stand.!"

Rama grasped the hand lie offered, and the tear was in his eye,

And they swore undying friendship o'er the altar blazing high,

Hanuman with fragrant blossoms sanctified the sacred rite,

And the comrades linked by sorrow walked around the altar's light,

And their word and troth they plighted: "In our happiness and woe

We are friends in thought and action, we will f ace our common foe!"

And they broke a leafy Sal tree, spread it underneath their feet,

Rama and his friend Sugriva sat upon the common seat,

And a branch of scented Chandan with its tender blossoms graced,

Hanuman as seat of honour for the faithful Lakshman placed.

"Listen, Rama," spake Sugriva, "reft of kingdom, reft of wife,

Fleeing to these rugged mountains I endure a forest life,

For my tyrant brother Bali rules Kishkindha all alone,

Forced my wife from my embraces, drove me from my father's throne,

Trembling in my fear and anguish I endure a life of woe,

Render me my wife and empire from my brother and my foe!"

"Not in vain they seek my succour," so the gallant Rama said,

"Who with love and offered friendship seek my counsel and my aid,

Not in vain these glistening arrows in my ample quiver shine,

Bali dies the death of tyrants, wife and empire shall be thine!

Quick as INDRA'S forkéd lightning are these arrows feather-plumed,
Deadly as the hissing serpent are these darts with points illumed,

And this day shall not be ended ere it sees thy brotherfall,
As by lurid lightning severed sinks the crest of mountain tall!"

II.

THE COUNSEL OF TARA

Linked in bonds of faithful friendship Rama and Sugriva came,

Where in royal town Kishkindha, Bali ruled with warlike fame,

And a shout like troubled ocean's or like tempest's deafening roar

Spake Sugriva's mighty challenge to the victor king once more!

Bali knew that proud defiance shaking sky and solid ground,

And like sun by eclipse shaded, dark and pale he looked around,

And his teeth were set in anger and a passion lit his eye,

As a tempest stirs a torrent when its lilies scattered lie,

And he rose in wrath terrific with a thought of vengeance dread,

And the firm earth shook and trembled 'neath his proud and haughty tread!

But the true and tender Tara held her husband and her lord,

And a woman's deeper wisdom spake in woman's loving word:

Wherefore like a rain-fed torrent swells thy passion in its sway,

Thoughts of wrath like withered blossoms from thy bosom cast away,

Wait till dawns another morning, wait till thou dost truly know,

With what strength and added forces comes again thy humbled foe.

Crushed in combat faint Sugriva fled in terror and in pain,

Trust me, not without a helper comes he to the fight again,

Trust me, lord, that loud defiance is no coward's falt'ring cry,

Conscious strength not hesitation speaks in voice so proud and high!

Much my woman's heart misgives me, not without a mighty aid,

Not without a daring comrade comes Sugriva to this raid,

Not with feeble friend Sugriva seeks alliance in his need,

Nor invokes a powerless chieftain in his lust and in his greed.

Mighty is his royal comrade,--listen, husband, to my word,

What my son in forest confines from his messengers hath heard,--

Princes from Ayodhya's country peerless in the, art of war,

Rama and the valiant Lakshman in these forests wander far,

Much I fear, these matchless warriors have their aid and counsel lent

Conscious of his strength Sugriva bath this proud defiance sent!

To his foes resistless Rama is a lightning from above,

To his friends a tree of shelter, soul of tenderness and love,

Dearer than his love of glory is his love to heal and bless,

Dearer than the crown and empire is his hermit's holy dress,

Not with such, my lord and husband, seek a vain unrighteous strife,

For, like precious ores in mountains, virtues dwell in Rama's life.

Make Sugriva thy companion, make him Regent and thy Heir,

Discord with a younger brother rends an empire broad and fair,

Make thy peace with young Sugriva, nearest and thy dearest kin,

Brother's love is truest safety, brother's hate is deadliest sin!

Trust me, monarch of Kishkindha, trust thy true and faithful wife,

Thou shalt find no truer comrade than Sugriva in thy life,

Wage not then a war fraternal, smite him not in sinful pride,

As a brother and a warrior let him stand by Bali's side.

Listen to thy Tara's counsel if to thee is Tara dear,

If thy wife is true in duty scorn not Tara's wifely tear,

Not with Rama prince of virtue wage a combat dread and high,

Not with Rama prince of valour, peerless like the Lord of sky!"

III

THE FALL OF BALI

Star-eyed Tara softly counselled pressing to her consort's side,

Mighty Bali proudly answered with a warrior's lofty pride:

"Challenge of a humbled foeman and a younger's haugty scorn

May not, shall not, tender Tara, by a king be meekly borne!

Bali turns not from encounter even with his dying breath,

Insult from a foe, unanswered, is a deeper stain than death,

And Sugriva's quest for combat Bali never shall deny,

Though sustained by Rama's forces and by Rama's prowess high!

Free me from thy sweet embraces and amidst thy maids retire,

Woman's love and soft devotion woman's timid thoughts inspire,

Fear not, Tara, blood of brother Bali's honour shall not stain,

I will quell his proud presumption, chase him from this realm again,

Free me from thy loving dalliance, midst thy damsels seek thy place,

Till I come a happy victor to my Tara's fond embrace!"

Slow and sad with sweet obeisance Tara stopped around her lord,

Welling tear-drops choked her accents as she prayed in stifled word,

Slow and sad with swelling bosom Tara with her maids retired,

Bali issued proud and stately with the thought of vengeance fired!

Hissing like an angry cobra, city's lofty gates he past,

And his proud and angry glances fiercely all around he cast,

Till he saw the bold Sugriva, gold-complexioned, red with ire,

Girded for the dubious combat, flaming like the forest fire!

Bali braced his warlike garments and his hand he lifted high,

Bold Sugriva raised his right arm with a proud and answering cry,

Bali's eyes were red as copper and his chain was burnished gold,

To his brother bold Sugriva thus he spake in accents bold:

"Mark this iron fist, intruder, fatal is its vengeful blow,

Crushed and smitten thou shalt perish and to nether world shalt go,"

"Nay that fate awaits thee, Bali," spake Sugriva armed for strife,

"When this right arm smites thy forehead, from thy bosom rends thy life!"

Closed the chiefs in fatal combat, each resistless in his pride,

And like running rills from mountains poured their limbs the purple tide,

Till Sugriva quick uprooting Sal tree from the jungle wood,

As the dark cloud hurls the lightning, hurled it where his brother stood,

Staggering 'neath the blow terrific Bali reeled and almost fell,

As a proud ship overladen reels upon the ocean's swell!

But with fiercer rage and fury Bali in his anguish rose,

And with mutual blows they battled,--brothers and relentless foes,

Like the sun and moon in conflict or like eagles in their fight,

Still they fought with cherished hatred and an unforgotten spite,

Till with mightier force and fury Bali did his younger quell,

Faint Sugriva fiercely struggling 'neath his brother's prowess fell!

Still the wrathful rivals wrestled with their bleeding arms and knees,

With their nails like claws of tigers and with riven rocks and trees,

And as INDRA battles Vritra in the tempest's pealing roar,

Blood-stained Bali, red Sugriva, strove and struggled, fought and tore,

Till Sugriva faint and falt'ring fell like Vritra from the sky,

To his comrade and his helper turned his faint and pleading eye!

Ah! those soft and pleading glances smote the gentle Rama's heart,

On his bow of ample stature Rama raised the fatal dart,

Like the fatal disc of YAMA was his proudly circled bow,

Like a snake of deadly poison flew his arrow swift and low,

Wingéd dwellers of the forest heard the twang with trembling few,

Echoing woods gave back the accent, lightly fled the startled deer,

And as INDRA'S flag is lowered when the Aswin winds prevail,

Lofty Bali pierced and bleeding by that fatal arrow fell!

IV

THE CONSECRATION OF SUGRIVA

Tears of love the tender Tara on her slaughtered hero shed,

E'en Sugriva's bosom melted when he saw his brother dead,

And each Vanar chief and warrior, maha-matra, lord and peer,

Gathered round the sad Sugriva wet with unavailing tear!

And they girt the victor Rama and they praised his wond'rous might,

As the heavenly rishis gather circling BRAHMA'S throne of light,

Hanuman of sun-like radiance, lofty as a hill of gold,

Clasped his hands in due obeisance, spake in accents calm and bold:

"By thy prowess, peerless Rama, prince Sugriva is our lord,

To his father's throne and empire, to his father's town restored,

Cleansed b bath and fragrant unguents and in royal garments gay,

He shall with his gold and garlands homage to the victor pay,

To the rock-bound fair Kishkindha do thy friendly footsteps bend,

And as monarch of the Vanars consecrate thy grateful friend!"

"Fourteen years," so Rama answered, "by his father's stem command,

In a city's sacred confines banished Rama may not stand,

Friend and comrade, brave Sugriva, enter thou the city wall,

And assume the royal sceptre in thy father's royal hall.

Gallant Angad, son of Bali, is in regal duties trained,

Ruling partner of thy empire be the valiant prince ordained,

Eldest son of eldest brother,--such the maxim that we own,--

Worthy of his father's kingdom, doth ascend his father's throne.

Listen! 'tis the month of Sravan, now begins the yearly rain,

In these months of wind and deluge thoughts of vengeful strife were vain,

Enter then thy royal city, fair Kishkindha be thy home,

With my ever faithful Lakshman let me in these mountains roam.

Spacious is yon rocky cavern fragrant with the mountain air,

Bright with lily and with lotus, watered by a streamlet fair,

Here we dwell till month of Kartik when the clouded sky will clear,

And the time of war and vengeance on our foeman shall be near."

Bowing to the victor's mandate brave Sugriva marched in state,

And the host of thronging Vanars entered by the city gate,

Prostrate chiefs with due obeisance rendered homage, one and all,

And Sugriva blessed his people, stepped within the palace hall.

And they sprinkled sacred water from the vases jewel-graced,

And they waved the fan of chowri, raised the sun-shade silver-laced,

And they spread the gold and jewel, grain and herb and fragrant ghee,

Sapling twigs and bending branches, blossoms from the flowering tree,

Milk-white garments gem-bespangled, and the Chandan's fragrant dye,

Wreaths and spices, snow-white lilies, lotus azure as the sky,

Jatarupa and Priyangu, honey, curd and holy oil,

Costly sandals gilt and jewelled, tiger-skin the hunter's spoil!

Decked in gold and scented garlands, robed in radiance rich and rare,

Sweetly stepped around Sugriva sixteen maidens passing fair,

Priests received the royal bounty, gift and garment gold-belaced,

And they lit the holy altar with the sacred mantra graced,

And they poured the sweet libation on the altar's lighted flame,

And on throne of royal splendour placed the chief of royal fame!

On a high and open terrace with auspicious garlands graced,

Facing eastward, in his glory was the brave Sugriva placed,

Water from each holy river, from each tirtha famed of old,

From the broad and boundless ocean, was arranged in jars of gold,

And from vase and horn of wild bull, on their monarch and their lord,

Holy consecrating water chiefs and loyal courtiers poured.

Gaya and the great Gavaksha, Gandha-madan proud and brave,

Hanuman held up the vases, Jambaman his succour gave,

And they laved the king Sugriva as Immortals in the sky

Consecrate the star-eyed INDRA in his mansions bright and high,

And a shout of joy and triumph, like the pealing voice of war,

Spake Sugriva's consecration to the creatures near and far!

Duteous still to Rama's mandate, as his first-born and his own,

King Sugriva named young Angad sharer of his royal throne,

Gay and bannered town Kishkindha hailed Sugriva's gracious word,

Tender Tara wiped her tear-drops bowing to a younger lord!

V

THE RAINS IN THE NILGIRI MOUNTAINS

"Mark the shadowing rain and tempest," Rama to his brother said,

As on Nalya's cloud-capped ranges in their hermit-guise they strayed,

Massive clouds like rolling mountains gather thick and gather high,

Lurid lightnings glint and sparkle, pealing thunders shake the sky,

Pregnant with the ocean moisture by the solar ray instilled,

Now the skies like fruitful mothers are with grateful waters filled!

Mark the folds of cloudy masses, ladder-like of smooth ascent,

One could almost reach the Sun-god, wreath him with a wreath of scent,

And when glow these heavy masses red and white with evening's glow,

One could almost deem them sword-cuts branded by some heavenly fire!

Mark the streaks of golden lustre fighting up the checkered sky,

Like a lover chandan-painted in each breeze it heaves a sigh,

And the earth is hot and feverish, moistened with the tears of rain,

Sighing like my anguished Sita when she wept in woe and pain!

Fresh and sweet like draught of nectar is the rain -besprinkled breeze,

Fragrant with the ketak blossom, scented by the camphor trees,

Fresh and bold each peak and mountain bathed in soft descending rain,

So they sprinkle holy water when they bless a monarch's reign!

Fair and tall as holy hermits, stand yon shadow-mantled hills,

Murmuring mantras with the zephyr, robed in threads of sparking rills,

Fair and young as gallant coursers neighing forth their thunder cries,

Lashed by golden whips of lightning are the dappled sunlit skies!

Ah, my lost and loving Sita! writhing in a Raksha's power,

As the lightning shakes and quivers in this dark tempestuous shower,

Shadows thicken on the prospect, flower and leaf are wet with rain,

And each passing object, Lakshman, wakes in me a thought of pain!

Joyously from throne and empire with my Sita I could part,

As the stream erodes its margin, Sita's absence breaks my heart,

Rain and tempest cloud the prospect as they cloud my onward path,

Dubious is my darksome future, mighty is my foeman's wrath!

Ravan monarch of the Rakshas,-so Jataya said and died,--

In some unknown forest fastness doth my sorrowing Sita bide,

But Sugriva true and faithful seeks the Raksha's secret hold,

Firm in faith and fixed in purpose we will face our foeman bold

VI

THE QUEST FOR SITA

Past the rains, the marshalled Vanars gathered round Sugriva bold,

And unto a gallant chieftain thus the king his purpose told:

"Brave in war and wise in counsel! take ten thousand of my best

Seek the hiding-place of Ravan in the regions of the East.

Seek each ravine rock and forest and each shadowy hill and cave,

Far where bright Sarayu's waters mix with Ganga's ruddy wave,

And where Jumna's dark blue waters ceaseless roll in regal pride,

And the Sone through leagues of country spreads its torrents far and wide.

Seek where in Videha's empire castled towns and hamlets shine,

In Kosala and in Malwa and by Kasi's sacred shrine,

Magadh rich in peopled centres, Pundra region of the brave,

Anga rich in corn and cattle on the eastern ocean wave.

Seek where clans of skilful weavers dwell upon the eastern shore,

And from virgin mines of silver miners work the sparkling ore.

In the realms of uncouth nations, in the islets of the sea,

In the mountains of the ocean, wander far and wander free!"

Next to Nila son of AGNI, Jambaman VIDHATA'S son,

Hanuman the son of MARUT, famed for deeds of valour done,

Unto Gaya and Gavaksha, Gandha-madan true and tried,

Unto Angad prince and regent, thus the brave Sugriva cried:

"Noblest, bravest of our chieftains, greatest of our race are ye,

Seek and search the Southern regions, rock and ravine, wood and tree,

Search the thousand peaks of Vindhya lifting high its misty head,

Through the gorges of Narmada rolling o'er its rocky bed,

By the gloomy Godavari and by Krishna's wooded stream,

Through Utkala's sea-girt forests tinged by morning's early gleam.

Search the towns of famed Dasarna and Avanti's rocky shore,

And the uplands of Vidarbha and the mountains of Mysore,

Land of Matsyas and Kalingas and Kausika's regions fair,

Trackless wilderness of Dandak seek with anxious toil and care.

Search the empire of the Andhras, of the sister-nations three,--

Cholas, Cheras and the Pandyas dwelling by the southern sea,

Pass Kaveri's spreading waters, Malya's mountains towering brave,

Seek the isle of Tamra-parni, gemmed upon the ocean wave!"

To Susena chief and elder,--Tara's noble sire was he,--

Spake Sugriva with obeisance and in accents bold and free:

"Take my lord, a countless army of the bravest and the best,

Search where beats the sleepless ocean on the regions of the West.

Search the country of Saurashtras, of Bahlikas strong and brave,

And each busy mart and seaport on the western ocean wave,

Castles girt by barren mountains, deserts by the sandy sea,

Forests of the fragrant ketak, regions of the tamal tree!

Search the ocean port of Pattan shaded by its fruitful trees,

Where the feathery groves of cocoa court the balmy western breeze,

Where on peaks of Soma-giri lordly lions wander free,

Where the waters of the Indus mingle with the mighty sea!"

Lastly to the valiant chieftain Satavala strong and brave,

For the quest of saintly Sita, thus his mighty mandate gave:

"Hie thee, gallant Satavala, with thy forces wander forth,

To the peaks of Himalaya, to the regions of the North!

Mlechchas and the wild Pulindas in the rocky regions dwell,

Madra chiefs and mighty Kurus live within each fertile vale,

Wild Kambojas of the mountains, Yavanas of wondrous skill,

Sakas swooping from their gorges, Pattanas of iron will!

Search the woods of devadaru mantling Himalaya's side,

And the forests of the lodhra spreading in their darksome pride,

Search the land of Soma-srama where the gay Gandharvas dwell

In the tableland of Kala search each rock and ravine well!

Cross the snowy Himalaya, and Sudarsan's holy peak,

Deva-sakha's wooded ranges which the feathered songsters seek,

Cross the vast and dreary region void of stream or wooded bill,

Till, you reach the white Kailasa, home of Gods, serene and still!

Pass Kuvera's pleasant regions, search the Krauncha mountain well,

And the land where warlike females and the horse-faced women dwell,

Halt not till you reach the country where the Northern Kurus rest,

Utmost confines of the wide earth, home of Gods and Spirits blest!"

RAMAYANA BOOK VIII

SITA-SANDESA

(Sita Discovered)

Among the many chiefs sent by Sugriva in different directions in search of Sita, Hanuman succeeded in the quest and discovered Sita in Ceylon. Ceylon is separated from India by a broad channel of the sea, and Hanuman leaped, or rather flew through the air, across the channel, and lighted on the island. Sita, scorning the proposals of Ravan, was kept in confinement in a garden of Asoka trees, surrounded by a terrible guard of Raksha females; and in this hard confinement she remained true and faithful to her lord. Hanuman gave her a token from Rama, and carried back to Rama a token which she sent of her undying affection and truth.

The portions translated in this Book form the whole of the main portions of Sections xv., xxxi., xxxvi., and lxvi, of Book v. of the original text.

I

SITA IN THE ASOKA GARDEN

Crossed the ocean's boundless waters, Hanuman in duty brave,

Lighted on the emerald island girded by the sapphire wave,

And in tireless quest of Sita searched the margin of the sea,

In a dark Asoka garden hid himself within a tree.

Creepers threw their clasping tendrils round the trees of ample height,

Stately palm and feathered cocoa, fruit and blossom pleased the sight,

Herds of tame and gentle creatures in the grassy meadow strayed,

Kokils sang in leafy thicket, birds of plumage lit the shade,

Limpid lakes of scented lotus with their fragrance filled the air,

Homes and huts of rustic beauty peeped through bushes green and fair,

Blossoms rich in tint and fragrance in the checkered shadow gleamed,

Clustering fruits of golden beauty in the yellow sunlight beamed!

Brightly shone the red Asoka with the morning's golden ray,

Karnikara and Kinsuka dazzling as the light of day,

Brightly grew the flower of Champak in the vale and on the reef,

Punnaga and Saptaparna with its seven-fold scented leaf,

Rich in blossoms many tinted, grateful to the ravished eye,

Gay and green and glorious Kanka was like garden of the sky,

Rich in fruit and laden creeper and in beauteous bush and trep.

Flower-bespangled golden Lanka was like gem-bespangled sea!

Rose a palace in the woodlands girt by pillars strong and high.

Snowy-white like fair Kailasa cleaving through the azure sky,

And its steps were ocean coral and its pavement yellow gold.

White and gay and heaven-aspiring rose the structure high and bold!

By the rich and royal mansion Hanuman his eyes did rest,

On a woman sad and sorrowing in her sylvan garments drest,

Like the moon obscured and clouded, dim with shadows deep and dark,

Like the smoke-enshrouded red fire, dying with a feeble spark,

Like the tempest-pelted lotus by the wind and torrent shaken,

Like the beauteous star Rohini by a graha overtaken!

Fasts and vigils paled her beauty, tears bedimmed her tender grace,

Anguish dwelt within her bosom, sorrow darkened on her face,

And she lived by Rakshas guarded, as a faint and timid deer,

Severed from her herd and kindred when the prowling wolves are near,

And her raven locks ungathered hung behind in single braid,

And her gentle eye was lightless, and her brow was hid in shade!

"This is she! the peerless princess, Rama's consort loved and lost,

This is she! the saintly Sita, by a cruel fortune crost,"

Hanuman thus thought and pondered: "On her graceful form I spy,

Gems and gold by sorrowing Rama oft depicted with it sigh,

On her ears the golden pendants and the tiger's sharpened tooth,

On her arms the jewelled bracelets, tokens of unchanging truth,

On her pallid brow and bosom still the radiant jewels shine,

Rama with a sweet affection did in early days entwine!

Hermit's garments clothe her person, braided is her raven hair,

Matted bark of trees of forest drape her neck and bosom fair,

And a dower of dazzling beauty still bedecks her peerless face.

Though the shadowing tinge of sorrow darkens all her earlier grace!

This is she! the soft-eyed Sita, wept with unavailing tear,

This is she! the faithful consort, unto Rama ever dear,

Unforgetting and unchanging, truthful still in deed and word,

Sita, in her silent suffering sorrows for her absent lord,

Still for Rama lost but cherished, Sita heaves the choking sigh,

Sita lives for righteous Rama, for her Rama she would die!"

II

THE VOICE OF HOPE

Hanuman from leafy shelters lifts his voice in sacred song,

Till the tale of Rama's glory Lanka's woods and vales prolong:

"Listen, Lady, to my story;--Dasa-ratha famed in war,

Rich in steeds and royal tuskers, arméd men and battle car,

Ruled his realm in truth and virtue, in his bounty ever free,

Of the mighty race of Raghu mightiest king and monarch he,

Robed in every royal virtue, great in peace in battle brave,

Blest in bliss of grateful nations, blest in blessings which he gave

And his eldest-born and dearest, Rama soul of righteous might,

Shone, as mid the stars resplendent shines the radiant Lord of Night,

True unto his sacred duty, true unto his kith and kin,

Friend of piety and virtue, punisher of crime and sin,

Loved in all his spacious empire, peopled mart and hermit's den,

With a truer deeper kindness Rama loved his subject men!

Dasa-ratha, promise-fettered, then his cruel mandate gave,

Rama with his wife and brother lived in woods and rocky cave,

And he slayed the deer of jungle and he slept in leafy shade,

Stem destroyer of the Rakshas in the pathless forests strayed,

Till the monarch of the Rakshas,-fraudful is his impious life,

Cheated Rama in the jungle, from his cottage stole his wife

Long lamenting lone and weary Rama wandered in the wood,

Searched for Sita, in the jungle where his humble cottage stood,

Godavari's gloomy gorges, Krishna's dark and wooded shore,

And the ravine, rock and valley, and the cloud-capped mountain hoar!

Then he met the sad Sugriva in wild Malya's dark retreat,

Won for him his father's empire and his father's royal seat,

Now Sagriva's countless forces wander far and wander near,

In the search of stolen Sita still unto his Rama dear!

I am henchman of Sugriva and the mighty sea have crost,

In the quest of hidden Sita, Rama's consort loved and lost,

And methinks that form of beauty, peerless shape of woman's grace,

Is my Rama's dear-loved consort, Rama's dear-remembered face!"

Hushed the voice: the ravished Sita cast her wond'ring eyes around,

Whence that song of sudden gladness, whence that soul-entrancing sound?

Dawning hope and rising rapture overflowed her widowed heart,

Is it dream's deceitful whisper which the cruel Fates impart?

III

RAMA'S TOKEN

"'Tis no dream's deceitful whisper!" Hantiman spake to the dame,

As from darksome leafy shelter he to Rama's consort came,

"Rama's messenger and vassal, token from thy lord I bring,

Mark this bright ring, jewel-lettered with the dear name of thy king,

For the loved and cherished Sita, is to Rama ever dear,

And he sends his loving message and his force is drawing near!

Sita, held that tender token from her loved and cherished lord,

And once more herself she fancied to his loving arms restored,

And her pallid face was lighted and her soft eve sent a spark,

As the Moon regains her lustre freed from Rahu's shadows dark!

And with voice of deep emotion in each softly whispered word,

Spake her thoughts in gentle accents of her consort and her lord:

"Messenger of love of Rama! Dauntless is thy deed and bold,

Thou hast crossed the boundless ocean to the Raksha's castled hold,

Thou hast crossed the angry billows which confess no monarch's sway,

O'er the face of rolling waters found thy unresisted way,

Thou hast done what living mortal never sought to do before,

Dared the Raksha in his island, Ravan in his sea-girt shore!

Speak, if Rama lives in safety in the woods or by the hill,

And if young and gallant Lakshman faithful serves his brother still,

Speak, if Rama in his anger and his unforgiving ire,

Hurls destruction on my captor like the world-consuming fire,

Speak, if Rama in his sorrow wets his pale and drooping eye,

If the thought of absent Sita wakes within his heart a sigh!

Doth my husband seek alliance with each wild and warlike chief,

Striving for a speedy vengeance and for Sita's quick relief,

Doth he stir the warlike races to a fierce and veng-eful strife,

Dealing death to ruthless Rakshas for this insult on his wife,

Doth he still in fond remembrance cherish Sita loved of yore,

Nursing in his hero-bosom tender sorrows evermore!

Didst thou hear from far Ayodhya, from Kausalya royal dame,

From the true and tender Bharat prince of proud and peerless fame,

Didst thou hear if royal Bharat leads his forces to the fight,

Conquering Ravan's scattered army in his all-resistless might,

Didst thou hear if brave Sugriva marshals Vanars in his wrath

And the young and gallant Lakshman seeks to cross the ocean path?"

Hanuman with due obeisance placed his hand upon his head,

Bowed unto the queenly Sita and in gentle accents said:

"Trust me, Lady, valiant Rama soon will greet his saintly wife,

E'en as INDRA greets his goddess, SACHI dearer than his life,

Trust me, Sita, conquering Rama comes with panoply of war,

Shaking Lanka's sea-girt mountains . slaying Rakshas near and far!

He shall cross the boundless ocean with the battle's dread array,

He shall smite the impious Ravan and the cruel Rakshas slay,

Mighty Gods and strong Asuras shall not hinder Rama's path,

When at Lanka's gates he thunders with his more than godlike wrath,

Deadly YAMA, all-destroying, pales before his peerless might

When his red right arm of vengeance wrathful Rama lifts to smite!

By the lofty Mandar mountains, by the fruit and root I seek,

By the cloud-obstructing Vindhyas, and by Malya's towering peak,

I will swear, my gentle Lady, Rama's vengeance draweth nigh,

Thou shalt see his beaming visage like the Lord of Midnight Sky,

Firm in purpose Rama waiteth on the Prasra-vana hill,

As upon the huge Airavat, INDRA, motionless and still!

Flesh of deer nor forest honey tasteth Rama true and bold,
Till he rescues cherished Sita from the Raksha's castled hold,

Thoughts of Sita leave not Rama dreary day or darksome night,
Till his vengeance deep and dreadful crushes Ravan in his might,

Forest flower nor scented creeper pleases Rama's anguished heart,
Till he, wins his wedded consort by his death-compelling dart!"

IV

SITA'S TOKEN

Token from her raven tresses Sita to the Vanar gave,

Hanuman with dauntless valour crossed once more the ocean wave,

Where in Prasra-vana's mountain Rama with his brother stayed,

Jewel from the brow of Sita by her sorrowing consort laid,

Spake of Ravan's foul endearment and his loathsome loving word,

Spake of Sita's scorn and anger and her truth unto her lord,

Tears of sorrow and affection from the warrior's eyelids start,

As his consort's loving token Rama presses to his heart!

"As the mother-cow, Sugriva, yields her milk beside her young,

Welling tears upon this token yields my heart by anguish wrung,

Well I know this dear-loved jewel sparkling with the ray of heaven,

Born in sea, by mighty INDRA to my Sita's father given,

Well I know this tender token, Janak placed it on her hair,

When she came my bride and consort decked in beauty rich and rare,

Well I know this sweet memorial, Sita wore it on her head,

And her proud and peerless beauty on the gem a lustre shed!

Ah, methink the gracious Janak stands again before my eye,

With a father's fond affection, with a monarch's stature high,

Ah, methinks my bride and consort, she who wore it on her brow,

Stands again before the altar, speaks again her loving row,

Ah, the sad, the sweet remembrance! ah, the happy days gone by,

Once again, O loving vision, wilt thou gladden Rama's eye!

Speak again, my faithful vassal, how my Sita wept and prayed,

Like the water to the thirsty, dear to me what Sita said,

Did she send this sweet remembrance as a blessing from above,

As a true and tender token of a woman's changeless love,

Did she waft her heart's affection o'er the billows of the sea,

Wherefore came she not in person from her foes and fetters free?

llanuman, iny friend and comrade, lead me to the distant isle,

Where my soft-eyed Sita lingers midst the Rakshas dark and vile,

Where my true and tender consort like a lone and stricken deer,

Girt by Rakshas stern and ruthless sheds the unavailing tear,

Where she weeps in ceaseless anguish, sorrow-stricken, sad and pale,

Like the Moon by dark clouds shrouded then her light and lustre fail!

Speak again, my faithful henchman, loving message of my wife,

Like some potent drug her accents renovate my fainting life,

Arm thy forces, friend Sugriva, Rama shall not brook delay,

While in distant Lanka's confines Sita weeps the livelong day,

Marshal forth thy bannered forces, cross the ocean in thy might

Rama speeds on wings of vengeance Lanka's impious lord to smite!"

RAMAYANA BOOK IX

RAVANA-SABHA

(The Council of War)

RAVAN was thoroughly frightened by the deeds of Hanuman. For Hanuman had not only penetrated into his island and discovered Sita in her imprisonment, but had also managed to burn down a great portion of the city before he left the island. Ravan called a Council of War, and as might be expected, all the advisers heedlessly advised war.

All but Bibhishan. He was the youngest brother of Ravail, and condemned the folly and the crime by which Ravan was seeking a war with the righteous and unoffending Rama. He advised that Sita should be restored to her lord and peace made with Rama. His voice was drowned in the cries of more violent advisers.

It is noticeable that Ravan's second brother, Kumbha-karna, also had the courage to censure his elder's action. But unlike Bibhishan he was determined to fight for his king whether he was right or wrong. There is a touch of sublimity in this blind and devoted loyalty of Kumbha-karna to the cause of his king and his country.

Bibhishan was driven from the court with indiguity, and joined the forces of Rama, to whom he gave much valuable information about Lanka and its warriors.

The passages translated in this Book form Sections vi., viii., ix., portions of Sections xii. and xv., and the whole of Section xvi. of Book vi. of the original text.

I

RAVAN SEEKS ADVICE

Monarch of the mighty Rakshas, Ravan spake to warriors all,

Spake to gallant chiefs and princes gathered in his Council Hall:

"Listen, Princes, Chiefs, and Warriors! Hanuman our land hath seen,

Stealing through the woods of Lanka unto Rama's prisoned queen,

And audacious in his purpose and resistless in his ire,

Burnt our turret tower and temple, wasted Lanka's town with fire!

Speak your counsel, gallant leaders, Ravan is intent to hear,

Triumph waits on fearless wisdom, speak your thoughts without a fear,

Wisest monarchs act on counsel from his men for wisdom known,

Next are they who in their wisdom and their daring act alone,

Last, unwisest are the monarchs who nor death nor danger weigh,

Think not, ask not friendly counsel, by their passions borne away!

Wisest counsel comes from courtiers who in holy lore unite,

Next, when varying plans and reasons blending lead unto the right,

Last end worst, when stormy passions mark the hapless king's debate,

And his friends are disunited when his foe is at the gate!

Therefore freely speak your counsel and your monarch's task shall be

But to shape in deed and action what your wisest thoughts decree,

Speak with rainds and hearts united, shape your willing monarch's deed,

Counsel peace, or Ravan's forces to a war of vengeance lead,

Ere Sugriva's countless forces cross the vast and boundless main,

Ere the wrathful Rama girdles Lanka with a living chain!"

II

PRAHASTA'S SPEECH

Dark and high as summer tempest mighty-armed Prahasta rose,

Spake in fierce and fierce accents hurling challenge on his foes:

"Wherefore, Ravan, quails thy bosom, gods against thee strive in vain,

Wherefore fear the feeble mortals, homeless hermits, helpless men?

Hanuman approached in secret, stealing like a craven spy,

Not from one in open combat would alive the Vanar fly,

Let him come with all his forces, to the confines of the sea

I will chase the scattered army and thy town from foemen free!

Not in fear and hesitation Ravan should repent his deed,

While his gallant Raksha forces stand beside him in his need,

Not in tears and vain repentance Sita to his consort yield,

While his chieftains guard his empire in the battle's gory field!"

III

DURMUKHA'S SPEECH

Durmukha of cruel visage and of fierce and angry word,

Rose within the Council Chamber, spake to Lanka's mighty lord:

"Never shall the wily foeman boast of insult on us flung,

Hanuman shall die a victim for the outrage and the wrong!

Stealing in unguarded Lanka through thy city's virgin gate,

He hath courted deep disaster and a dark untimely fate,

Stealing in the inner mansions where our dames and damsels dwell,

Hanuman shall die a victim,--tale of shame he shall not tell!

Need is none of Ravan's army, bid me seek the foe alone,

If he hides in sky or ocean or in nether regions thrown,

Need is none of gathered forces, Ravan's mandate I obey,

I will smite the bold intruder and his Vanar forces slay!

IV

VAJRA-DANSHTRA'S SPEECH

Iron-toothéd Vajra-danshtra then arose in wrath and pride,

And his blood-stained mace of battle held in fury by his side,

"Wherefore, Ravan, waste thy forces on the foemen poor and vile,

Hermit Rama and his brother, Hanuman of impious wile,

Bid me,-with this mace of battle proud Sugriva I will slay,

Chase the helpless hermit brothers to the forests far away!

Or to deeper counsel listen! Varied shapes the Rakshas wear,

Let them wearing human visage. dressed as Bharat's troops appear,

Succour from his ruling brother Rama will in gladness greet,

Then with mace and blood-stained sabre we shall lay them at our feet,

Rock and javelin and arrow we shall on our foemen hail,

Till no poor surviving Vanar lives to tell the tragic tale!"

V

SPEECH OF NIKUMBHA AND VAJRA-HANU

Then arose the brave Nikumbha,--Kumbha-kama's son was he,--

Spake his young heart's mighty passion in his accents bold and free:

"Need is none, O mighty monarch, for a battle or a war,

Bid me meet the homeless Rama and his brother wand'ring far,

Bid me face the proud Sugriva, Hanuman of deepest wile,

I will rid thee of thy foemen and of Vanars poor and vile!"

Rose the chief with jaw of iron, Vajra-hanu fierce and young,

Licked his lips like hungry tiger with his red and lolling tongue:

Wherefore, monarch, dream of battle? Rakshas feed on human gore,

Let me feast upon thy foemen by the ocean's lonely shore,

Rama and his hermit brother, Hanuman who hides in wood,

Augad and the proud Sugriva soon shall be my welcome food!"

VI

BIBHISHAN'S WARNING

Twenty warriors armed and girded in the Council Hall arose,

Thirsting for a war of vengeance, hurling challenge on the foes,

But Bibhishan deep in wisdom--Ravan's youngest brother he,--

Spake the word of solemn warning, for his eye could farthest see:

"Pardon, king and honoured elder, if Bibhishan lifts his voice

'Gainst the wishes of the warriors and the monarch's fatal choice,

Firm in faith and strong in forces Rama comes with conqu'ring might,

Vain against a righteous warrior would unrighteous Ravan fight!

Think him not a common Vanar who transpassed the ocean wave,

Wrecked thy city tower and temple and a sign and warning gave,

Think him not a common hermit who Ayodhya ruled of yore,

Crossing India's streams and mountains, thunders now on Lanka's shore!

What dark deed of crime or folly hath the righteous Rama done,

That you stole his faithful consort unprotected and alone,

What offence or nameless insult hath the saintly Sita given,

She who chained in Lanka's prison pleads in piteous tear to Heaven?

Take my counsel, king and elder, Sita to her lord restore,

Wipe this deed of wrong and outrage, Rama's righteous grace implore,

Take my counsel, Raksha monarch, vain against him is thy might,

Doubly arméd is the hero,--he who battles for the right!

Render Sita to her Rama ere with vengeance swift and dire,

He despoils our peopled Lanka with his bow and brand and fire,

Render wife unto her husband ere in battle's dread array,

Rama swoops upon thy empire like a falcon on its prey,

Render to the lord his consort ere with blood of Rakshas slain,

Rama soaks the land of Lanka to the margin of the main!

Listen to my friendly counsel,--though it be I stand alone,--

Faithful friend but fiery foeman is this Dasa-ratha's son,

Listen to my voice of warning,--Rama's shafts are true and keen,

Flaming like the with'ring sunbeams on the summer's parchéd green,

Listen to my soft entreaty,-righteousness becomes the brave,

Cherish peace and cherish virtue and thy sons and daughters save!"

VII

KUMBHA-KARNA'S DETERMINATION

Ravan's brother Kumbha-karna, from his wonted slumber woke,

Mightiest he of all the Rakshas, thus in solemn accents spoke:

Truly speaks the wise Bibhishan; ere he stole a hermit's wife,

Ravan should have thought and pondered, courted not a causeless strife,

Ere he did this deed of folly, Ravan should have counsel sought,

Tardy is the vain repentance when the work of shame is wrought!

Word of wisdom timely spoken saves from death and dangers dire,

Vain is grief for crime committed,--offerings to unholy fire,

Vain is hero's worth or valour if by foolish counsel led,

Toil and labour fail and perish save when unto wisdom wed,

And the foeman speeds in triumph o'er a heedless monarch's might,

As through gaps of Krauncha mountains hansas speed their southern flight!

Ravan, thou hast sought unwisely Sita, in her calm retreat,

As the wild and heedless hunter feeds upon the poisoned meat,

Nathless, faithful Kumbha-karna, will his loyal duty know,

He shall fight his monarch's battle, he shall face his brother's foe!

True to brother and to monarch, be he right or be he wrong,

Kumbha-kama fights for Lanka 'gainst her foemen fierce and strong,

Recks not if the mighty INDRA and VIVASVAT cross his path,

Or the wild and stormy MARUTS, AGNI in his fiery wrath!

For the Lord of Sky shall tremble when he sees my stature high,

And he hears his thunders echoed by my loud and answering cry,

Rama armed with ample quiver shall no second arrow send,

Ere I slay him in the battle and his limb from limb I rend!

Wiser heads than Kumbha-karna right and true from wrong may know,

Faithful to his race and monarch he shall face the haughty foe,

Joy thee in thy pleasure, Ravan, rule thy realm in regal pride,

When I slay the hermit Rama, widowed Sita be thy bride!"

VIII

INDRAJIT'S ASSURANCE

Indrajit the son of Ravan then his lofty purpose told,

'Midst the best and boldest Rakshas none so gallant, none so bold:

"Wherefore, noble king and father, pale Bibhishan's counsel hear,

Scion of the race of Rakshas speaks not thus in dastard fear,

In this race of valiant Rakshas, known for deeds of glory done,

Feeble-hearted, faint in courage, save Bibhishan, there is none!

Matched with meanest of the Rakshas what are sons of mortal men,

What are homeless human brothers hiding in the hermit's den,

Shall we yield to weary wand'rers, driven from their distant home,

Chased from throne and father's kingdom in the desert woods to roam?

Lord of sky and nether region, INDRA 'neath my weapon fell,

Pale Immortals know my valour and my warlike deeds can tell,

INDRA'S tusker, huge Airavat, by my prowess overthrown,

Trumpeted its anguished accents, shaking sky and earth with groan,

Mighty Gods and dauntless Daityas fame of Indrajit may know,

And he yields not, king and father, to a homeless human foe!"

IX

RAVAN's DECISION

Anger swelled in Ravan's bosom as he cast his blood-red eye

On Bibhishan calm and fearless, and he spake in accents high:

"Rather dwell with open foemen or in homes where cobras haunt,

Than with faithless friends who falter and whom fears of danger daunt!

O, the love of near relations!-false and faithless, full of guile,

How they sorrow at my glory, at my danger how they smile,

How they grieve with secret anguish when my loftier virtues shine,

How they harbour jealous envy when deserts and fame are mine,

How they scan with curious vision every fault that clouds my path,

How they wait with eager longing till I fall in Fortune's wrath

Ask the elephants of jungle how their captors catch and bind.--

Not by fire and feeble weapons, but by treason of their kind,

Not by javelin or arrow,--little for these arms they care,--

But their false and fondling females lead them to the hunter's snare!

Long as nourishment and vigour shall impart the milk of cow,

Long as woman shall be changeful, hermits holy in their vow,

Ave. so long shall near relations bate us in their inner mind,

Mark us with a secret envy though their words be ne'er so kind!

Rain-drops fall upon the lotus but unmingling hang apart,

False relations round us gather but they blend not heart with heart,

Winter clouds are big with thunder but they shed no freshening rain,

False relations smile and greet us but their soothing words are vain,

Bees are tempted by the honey but from flower to flower they range,

False relations share our favour but in secret seek a change!

Lying is thy speech, Bibhishan, secret envy hirks within,

Thou wouldst rule thy elder's empire, thou wouldst wed thy elder's queen,

Take thy treason to the foemen,--brother's blood I may not shed,--

Other Raksha craven-hearted by my royal hands had bled!"

X

BIBHISHAN'S DEPARTURE

This to me Bibhishan answered, as with fiery comrades four,

Rose in arms the wrathful Raksha and in fury rushed before.

"But I spare thee, roval Ravan, angry words thy lips have passed,

False and lying and unfounded is the censure thou hast cast!

True Bibhishan sought thy safety, strove to save his elder's reign,--

Speed thee now to thy destruction since all counsel is in vain,

Many are thy smiling courtiers who with honeyed speech beguile,--

Few are they with truth and candour speak their purpose void of guile!

Blind to reason and to wisdow, Ravan seek thy destined fate,

For thy impious lust of woman, for thy dark unrighteous hate,

Blind to danger and destruction, deaf to word of counsel given,
By the flaming shaft, of Rama thou shalt die by will of Heaven!

Yet, O! yet, my king and elder, let me plead with latest breath,
'Gainst the death of race and kismen, 'gainst my lord and brother's death,

Ponder yet, O Raksha monarch, save thy race and save thy own,
Ravan, part we now ever,--guard thy ancient sea-girt throne!"

RAMAYANA BOOK X

YUDDHA

(The War in Ceylon)

RAMA crossed over with his army from India to Ceylon. There is a chain of islands across the strait, and the Indian poet supposes them to be the remains of a vast causeway which Rama built to cross over with his army.

The town of Lanka, the capital of Ceylon, was invested, and the war which followed was a succession of sallies by the great leaders and princes of Lanka. But almost every sally was repulsed, every chief was killed, and at last Ravan himself who made the last sally was slain and the war ended.

Among the numberless fights described in the original work, those of Ravan himself, his brother Kumbha-karna, and his son Indrajit, are the most important, and oftenest recited and listened to in India; and these have been rendered into English in this Book. And the reader will mark a certain method in the poet's estimate of the warriors who took part in these battles.

First and greatest among the warriors was Rama; he was never beaten by an open foe, never conquered in fair fight. Next to him, and to him only, was Ravan the monarch of Lanka; he twice defeated Lakshman in battle, and never retreated except before Rama. Next to Rama and to Ravan stood their brothers, Laksh man and Kumbha-karna; it is difficult to say who was the best of these two, for they fought only once, and it was a drawn battle. Fifth in order of prowess was Indrajit the son of Ravana, but he was the first in his magic art. Concealed in mists by his magic, he twice defeated both Rama and Lakshman; but in his last battle he had to wage a face to face combat with Lakshman, and was slain. After these five warriors, pre-eminent for their prowess, various Vanars and Rakshas took their rank.

The war ended with the fall of Ravan and his funerals. The portions translated in this Book form the whole or portions of Sections xliv., xlviii., lix., lxvi., 1xvii., and lxxiii., an abstract of Sections Ixxv. to xci., and portions of Sections xciii., xcvi., ci., cii., ciii., cix., cx., and cxiii. of Book vi. of the original text.

I

INDRAJIT'S FIRST BATTLE--THE SERPENT-NOOSE

Darkly round the leaguered city Rama's countless forces lay,

Far as Ravan cast his glances in the dawning light of day,

Wrath and anguish shook his bosom and the gates he opened wide,

And with ranks of charging Rakshas sallied with a Raksha's pride!

All the day the battle lasted, endless were the tale to tell,

What unnumbered Vanars perished and what countless Rakshas fell,

Darkness came, the fiery foemen urged the still unceasing fight,

Struggling with a deathless hatred fiercer in the gloom of night!

Onward came resistless Rakshas, laid Sugriva's forces low,

Crushed the broken ranks of Vanars, drank the red blood of the foe,

Bravely fought the scattered Vanars facing still the tide of war,

Struggling with the charging tusker and the steed and battle car,

Till at last the gallant Lakshman and the godlike Rama came,

And they swept the hosts of Ravan like a sweeping forest flame,

And their shafts like hissing serpents on the falt'ring foemen fell,

Fiercer grew the sable midnight with the dying shriek and yell!

Dust arose like clouds of summer from each thunder-sounding car,

From the hoofs of charging coursers, from the elephants of war,

Streams of red blood warm and bubbling issued from the countless slain,

Flooded battle's dark arena like the floods of summer rain,

Sound of trumpet and of bugle, drum and horn and echoing shell,

And the neigh of charging coursers and the tuskers' dying wail,

And the yell of wounded Rakshas and the Vanars' fierce delight,

Shook the earth and sounding welkin, waked the echoes of the night!

Six bright arrows Rama thundered from his weapon dark and dread,

Iron-toothéd Vajra-dranshtra and his fainting comrades fled,

Dauntless still the serried Rakshas, wave on wave succeeding came,

Perished under Rama's arrows as the moths upon the flame!

Indrajit the son of Ravan, Lanka's glory and her pride,

Matchless in his magic weapons came and turned the battle's tide,

What though Angad in his fury had his steeds and driver slayed,

Indrajit hid in the midnight battled from its friendly shade,

Shrouded in a cloud of darkness still he poured his darts like rain,

On young Lakshman and on Rama and on countless Vanars slain,

Matchless in his magic weapons, then he hurled his Naga-dart,

Serpent noose upon his foemen draining lifeblood from their heart!

Vainly then the royal brothers fought the cloud-enshrouded foe,

Vainly sought the unseen warrior dealing unresisted blow,

Fastened by a noose of Naga forced by hidden foe to yield,

Rama and the powerless Lakshman fell and fainted on the field!

II

SITA'S LAMENT

Indrajit ere dawned the morning entered in his father's hall,

Spake of midnight's darksome contest, Rama's death and Lakshman's fall,

And the proud and peerless Ravan clasped his brave and gallant son,'

Praised him for his skill and valour and his deed of glory done,

And with dark and cruel purpose bade his henchmen yoke his car,

Bade them take the sorrowing Sita to the gory field of war!

Soon they harnessed royal coursers and they took the weeping wife,

Where her Rama, pierced and bleeding, seemed bereft of sense and life,

Brother lay beside his brother with their shattered mail and bow,

Arrows thick and dark with red blood spake the conquest of the foe,

Anguish woke in Sita's bosom and a dimness filled her eye,

And a widow's nameless sorrow burst in widow's mournful cry:

Rama, lord and king and husband! didst thou cross the billowy sea,

Didst thou challenge death and danger, court thy fate to rescue me,

Didst thou hurl a fitting vengeance on the cruel Raksha force,

Till the hand of hidden foeman checked thy all-resistless course?

Breathes upon the earth no warrior who could face thee in the fight,

Who could live to boast his triumph o'er thy world-subduing might,

But the will of Fate is changeless, Death is mighty in his sway,

Peerless Rama, faithful Lakshman, sleep the sleep that knows no day!

But I weep not for my Rama nor for Lakshman young and brave,

They have done a warrior's duty and have found a warrior's grave,

And I weep not for my sorrows,---sorrow marked me from my birth,

Child of Earth I seek in suffering bosom of my mother Earth!

But I grieve for dear Kausalya, sonless mother, widowed queen,

How she reckons days and seasons in her anguish ever green.

How she waits with eager longing till her Rama's exile o'er,

He would soothe her lifelong sorrow, bless her agéd eyes once more,

Sita's love! Ayodhya's monarch! Queen Kausalya's dearest born

Rama soul of truth and virtue sleeps the sleep that knows no morn!"

Sorely wept the sorrowing Sita in her accents soft and low,

And the silent stars of midnight wept to witness Sita's woe,

But Trijata her companion,--though a Raksha woman she,--

Felt her soul subdued by sadness, spake to Sita tenderly:

"Weep not, sad and saintly Sita, shed not widow's tears in vain,

For thy lord is sorely wounded, but shall live to fight again,

Rama and the gallant Lakshman, fainting, not bereft of life,

They shall live to fight and conquer,--thou shalt be a happy wife,

Mark the Vanars' marshalled forces, listen to their warlike cries,

'Tis not thus the soldiers gather when a chief and hero dies,

'Tis not thus round lifeless leader muster warriors true and brave,

For when falls the dying helmsman, sinks the vessel in the wave!

Mark the ring of hopeful Vanars, how they watch o'er Rama's face,

How they guard the younger Lakshman beaming yet with living grace,

Trust me, sad and sorrowing Sita, marks of death these eyes can trace,

Shade of death's decaying fingers sweeps not o'er thy Rama's face!

Listen more, my gentle Sita, though a captive in our keep,

For thy woes and for thy anguish see a Raksha woman weep,

Though thy Rama armed in battle is our unrelenting foe,

For a true and stainless warrior see a Raksha filled with woe!

Fainting on the field of battle, blood-ensanguined in their face,

They shall live to fight and conquer, worthy of their gallant race,

Cold nor rigid are their features, darkness dwells not on their brow,

Weep not thus, my gentle Sita,--hasten we to Lanka now."

And Trijata spake no falsehood, by the winged Garuda's skill,

Rama and the valiant Lakshman lived to fight their foemen still!

III

RAVAN'S FIRST BATTLE-THE JAVELIN-STROKE

'Gainst the God-assisted Rama, Ravan's efforts all were vain,

Leaguered Lanka vainly struggled in her adamantine chain,

Wrathful Rakshas with their forces vainly issued through the gate,

Chiefs and serried ranks of warriors met the same resistless fate!

Dark-eyed chief Dhumraksha sallied with the fierce tornado's shock,

Hanuman of peerless prowess slayed him with a rolling rock,

Iron-toothéd Vajra-danshtra dashed through countless Vanars slain,

But the young and gallant Angad laid him lifeless on the plain,

Akampan unshaken warrior issued out of Lanka's wall,

Hanuman was true and watchful, speedy was the Raksha's fall,

Then the mighty-armed Prahasta strove to break the hostile line,

But the gallant Nila felled him as the woodman fells the pine!

Bravest chiefs and countless soldiers sallied forth to face the fight,

Broke not Rama's iron circle, 'scaped not Rama's wondrous might,

Ravan could no longer tarry, for his mightiest chiefs were slain,

Foremost leaders, dearest kinsmen, lying on the gory plain!

"Lofty scorn of foes unworthy spared them from my flaming ire,

But the blood of slaughtered kinsmen claims from me a vengeance dire,"

Speaking thus the wrathful Ravan mounted on his thundering car,

Flame-resplendent was the chariot drawn by matchless steeds of war!

Beat of drum and voice of sankha and the Raksha's battle cry,

Song of triumph, chanted mantra, smote the echoing vault of sky,

And the troops like cloudy masses with their eyes of lightning fire

Girt their monarch, as his legions girdle RUDRA in his ire!

Rolled the car with peal of thunder through the city's lofty gate,

And each fierce and fiery Raksha charged with warrior's deathless hate,

And the vigour of the onset cleft the stunned and scattered foe,

As a strong bark cleaves the billows riding on the ocean's brow!

Brave Sugriva king of Vanars met the foeman fierce and strong,

And a rock with mighty effort on the startled Ravan flung,

Vain the toil, disdainful Ravan dashed aside the flying rock,

Brave Sugriva pierced by arrows fainted neath the furious shock.

Next Susena chief and elder, Nala and Gavaksha bold,

Hurled them on the path of Ravan speeding in his car of gold,

Vainly heaved the rock and missile, vainly did with trees assail,

Onward sped the conquering Ravan, pierced the fainting Vanars fell.

Hanuman the son of MARUT next against the Raksha came,

Fierce and strong as stormy MARUT, warrior of unrivalled fame,

But the Raksha's mighty onset gods nor mortals might sustain,

Hauuman in red blood welt'ring rolled upon the gory plain.

Onward rolled the car of Ravan, where the dauntless Nila stood,

Armed with rock and tree and missile, thirsting for the Raksha's blood,

Vainly fought the valiant Nila, pierced by Ravan's pointed dart,

On the gory field of battle poured the red blood of his heart.

Onward through the scattered forces Ravan's conquering chariot came,

Where in pride mid dauntless valour Lakshman stood of warlike fame,

Calm and proud the gallant Lakshman marked the all-resistless foe,

Boldly challenged Lanka's monarch as he held aloft his bow:

"Welcome, mighty Lord of Lanka! wage with me an equal strife,

Wherefore with thy royal prowess seek the humble Vanars' life!"

"Hath thy fate," so answered Ravan, "brought thee to thy deadly foe,

Welcome, valiant son of Ra-hu! Ravan longs to lay thee low!

Then they closed in dubious battle, Lanka's Lord his weapon bent,

Seven bright arrows, keen and whistling, on the gallant Lakshman sent,

Vain the toil, for watchful Lakshman stout of heart and true of aim,

With his darts like shooting sunbeams cleft each arrow as it came.

Bleeding from the darts of Lakshman, pale with anger, wounded sore,

Ravan drew at last his Sakti, gift of Gods in days of yore,

Javelin of flaming splendour, deadly like the shaft of Fate,

Ravan hurled on dauntless Lakshman in his fierce and furious hate.

Vain were Lakshman's human weapons aimed with skill-directed well,

Pierced by Sakti, gallant Lakshman in his red blood fainting fell,

Wrathful Rama saw the combat and arose in godlike might,

Bleeding Ravan turned to Lanka, sought his safety in his flight.

IV

FALL OF KUMBHA-KARNA

Once, more healed and strong and valiant, Lakshman in his arms, arose,

Safe behind the gates of Lanka humbled Ravan shunned his foes,

Till the stalwart Kumbha-karna from his wonted slumbers woke,

Mightiest be of all the Rakshas;--Ravan thus unto him spoke.

"Thou alone, O Kumbha-karna, can the Raksha's honour save,

Strongest of the Raksha warriors, stoutest-hearted midst the brave,

Speed thee like the Dread Destroyer to the dark and dubious fray,

Cleave through Rama's girdling forces, chase the scattered foe away!"

Like a mountain's beetling turret Kumbha-karna stout and tall,

Passed the city's lofty portals and the city's girdling wall,

And he raised his voice in battle, sent his cry from shore to shore,

Solid mountains shook and trembled and the sea returned the roar!

INDRA nor the great VARUNA equalled Kumbha-karna's might,

Vanars trembled at the warrior, sought their safety in their flight,

But the prince of fair Kishkindha, Angad chief of warlike fame,

Marked his panic-stricken forces with a princely warrior's shame.

"Whither fly, ye trembling Vanars?" thus the angry chieftain cried,

"All forgetful of your duty, of your worth and warlike pride,

Deem not stalwart Kumbha-karna is our match in open fight,

Forward let us meet in battle, let us crush his giant might!"

Rallied thus, the broken army stone and tree and massive rock.

Hurled upon the giant Raksha speeding with the lightning's shock.

Vain each flying rock and missile, vain each stout and sturdy stroke,

On the Raksha's limbs of iron stone and tree in splinters broke.

Dashing through the scattered forces Kumbha-karna fearless stood,

As a forest conflagration feasts upon the parchéd wood,

Far as confines of the ocean, to the causeway they had made,

To the woods or caves or billows, Vanars in their terror fled!

Hanuman of dauntless valour turned not in his fear nor fled,

Heaved a rock with mighty effort on the Raksha's towering held,

With his spear-head Kumbha-karna dashed the flying rock aside,

By the Raksha's weapon stricken Hanuman fell in his pride.

Next Rishabha and brave Nila and the bold Sarabha came,

Gavaksha and Gandha-madan, chieftains of a deathless fame,

But the spear of Kunibha-karna hurled to earth his feeble foes,

Dreadful was the field of carnage, loud the cry of battle rose!

Angad prince of fair Kishkindha, filled with anger and with shame,

Tore a rock with wrathful prowess, to the fatal combat came,

Short the combat, soon the Raksha caught and turned his foe around

Hurled him in his deadly fury, bleeding, senseless on the ground!

Last, Sugriva king of Vanars with a vengeful anger woke,

Tore a rock from bed of mountain and in proud defiance spoke,

Vain Sugriva's toil and struggle, Kumbha-karna hurled a rock,

Fell Suguriva crushed and senseless 'neath the missile's mighty shock!

Piercing through the Vanar forces, like a flame through forest wood,

Came the Raksha where in glory Lakshman calm and fearless stood,

Short their contest,-Kumbha-karna sought a greater, mightier foe,

To the young and dauntless Lakshman spake in accents soft and low:

"Dauntless prince and matchless warrior, fair Sumitra's gallant son,

Thou hast proved unrivalled prowess and unending glory won,

But I seek a mightier foeman, to thy elder let me go,

I would fight the royal Rama, or to die or slay my foe!"

"Victor proud!" said gallant Lakshman, "peerless in thy giant might,
Conqueror of great Immortals, Lakshman owns thy skill in fight,

Mightier foe than bright Immortals thou shall meet in fatal war,
Death for thee in guise of Rama tarries yonder, not afar!"

Ill it fared with Kumbha-karna when he strove with Rama's might,

Men on earth nor Gods immortal conquered Rama in the fight,

Deadly arrows keen and flaming from the hero's weapon broke,

Kumbha-karna faint and bleeding felt his death at every stroke,

Last, an arrow pierced his armour, from his shoulders smote his head,

Kumbha-karna, lifeless, headless, rolled upon the gory bed,

Hurled unto the heaving ocean Kumbha-karna's body fell,

And as shaken by a tempest, mighty was the ocean's swell!

V

INDRJIT'S SACRIFICE AND SECOND BATTLE

Still around beleaguered Lanka girdled Rama's living chain,

Raksha chieftain after chieftain strove to break the line in vain,

Sons of Ravan,--brave Narantak was by valiant Angad slain,

Trisiras and fierce Devantak, Hanuman slew on the plain,

Atikaya, tall of stature, was by gallant Lakshman killed,

Ravan wept for slaughtered princes, brave in war in weapons skilled.

"Shed no tears of sorrow, father! "Indrajit exclaimed in pride,

"While thy eldest son surviveth triumph dwells on Ravan's side,

Rama and that stripling Lakshman, I had left them in their gore,

Once again I seek their lifeblood,--they shall live to fight no more.

Hear my vow, O Lord of Rakshas! ere descends yon radiant sun,

Rama's days and gallant Lakshman's on this wide earth shall be done,

Witness INDRA and VIVASWAT, VISHNU great and RUDRA dire,

Witness Sun and Moon and Sadhyas, and the living God of Fire!

Opened wide the gates of Lanka; in the spacious field of war,

Indrajit arranged his army, foot and horse and battle car,

Then with gifts and sacred mantras bent before the God of Fire,

And invoked celestial succour in the battle dread and dire.

With his offerings and his garlands, Indrajit with spices rare,

Worshipped holy VAISWA-NARA on the altar bright and fair,

Spear and mace were ranged in order, dart and bow and shining blade

Sacred fuel, blood-red garments, fragrant flowers were duly laid,

Head of goat as black as midnight offered then the warrior brave,

And the shooting tongue of red fire omens of a conquest gave,

Curling to the right and smokeless, red and bright as molten gold,

Tongue of flame received the offering of the hero true and bold!

Victory the sign betokens! Bow and dart and shining blade,

Sanctified by holy mantras, by the Fire the warrior laid,

Then with weapons consecrated, hid in mists as once before,

Indrajit on helpless foemen did his fatal arrows pour!

Fled the countless Vanar forces, panic-stricken, crushed and slain,

And the dead and dying warriors strewed the gory battle plain,

Then on Rama, and on Lakshman, from his dark and misty shroud,

Indrajit discharged his arrows bright as sunbeams through a cloud.

Scanning earth and bright sky vainly for his dark and hidden foe,

Rama to his brother Lakshman spake in grief and spake in woe:

Once again that wily Raksha, slaying all our Vanar train,

From his dark and shadowy shelter doth on us his arrows rain,

By the grace of great SWAYAMBHU, Indrajit is lost to sight,

Useless is our human weapon 'gainst his gift of magic might.

If SWAYAMBHU wills it, Lakshman, we shall face these fatal darts,

We shall stand with dauntless patience, we shall die with dauntless hearts!"

Weaponless but calm and valiant, from the foeman's dart and spell

patiently the princes suffered, fearlessly the heroes fell!

VI

INDRAJIT'S THIRD BATTLE AND FALL

Healing herbs from distant mountains Hanuman in safety brought,

Rama rose and gallant Lakshman, once again their foemen sought.

And when night its sable mantle o'er the earth and ocean drew,

Forcing through the gates of Lanka to the frightened city flew!

Gallant sons of Kumbha-kama vainly fought to stem the tide,

Hanuman and brave Sugriva slew the brothers in their pride,

Makaraksha, shark-eyed warrior, vainly struggled with the foe,

Rama laid him pierced and lifeless by an arrow from his bow.

Indrajit arose in anger for his gallant kinsmen slayed,

In his arts and deep devices Sita's beauteous image made,

And he placed the form of beauty on his speeding battle car,

With his sword he smote the image in the gory field of war!

Rama heard the fatal message which his faithful Vanars gave,

And a deathlike trance and tremor fell upon the warrior brave,

But Bibhishan deep in wisdom to the anguished Rama came,

With his words of consolation spake of Rama's righteous dame:

"Trust me, Rama, trust thy comrade,--for I know our wily house,--

Indrajit slays not the woman whom his father seeks as spouse,

'Tis for Sita, impious Ravan meets thee on the battle-field,

Stakes his life and throne and empire, but thy Sita will not yield,

Deem not that the king of Rakshas will permit her blood be shed,

Indrajit slays not the woman whom his father seeks to wed!

'Twas an image of thy Sita, Indrajit hath cleft in twain,

While our army wails and sorrows,--he performs his rites again,

To the holy Nikumbhila, Indrajit in secret hies,

For the rights which yield him prowess, hide him in the cloudy skies.

Let young Lakshman seek the foeman ere his magic rites be done,

Once the sacrifice completed, none can combat Ravan's son,--

Let young Lakshman speed through Lanka till his wily foe is found,

Slay the secret sacrificer on the sacrificial ground!"

Unto holy Nikumbhila, Lakshman with Bibhishan went

Bravest, choicest of the army, Rama with his brother sent,

Magic rites and sacrifices Indrajit had scarce begun,

When surprised by arméd foemen rose in anger Ravan's son!

"Art thou he," thus to Bibhishan, Indrajit in anger spake,

"Brother of my royal father, stealing thus my life to take,

Raksha born of Raksha parents, dost thou glory in this deed,

Traitor to thy king and kinsmen, false to us in direst need?

Scorn and pity fill my bosom thus to see thee leave thy kin,

Serving as a slave of foemen, stooping to a deed of sin,

For the slave who leaves his kindred, basely seeks the foemans grace,

Meets destruction from the foeman after he destroys his race!"

"Untaught child of impure passions," thus Bibhishan answer made,

"Of my righteous worth unconscious bitter accents hast thou said,

Know, proud youth, that Truth and Virtue in my heart precedence take,

And we shun the impious kinsman as we shun the pois'nous snake!

Listen, youth! this earth no longer bears thy father's sin and strife,
Plunder of the righteous neighbour, passion for the neighbour's wife,

Earth and skies have doomed thy father for his sin-polluted reign,
Unto Gods his proud defiance and his wrongs to sons of men!

Listen more! this fated Lanka groans beneath her load of crime,
And shall perish in her folly by the ruthless hand of Time,

Thou shalt perish and thy father and this proud presumptuous state,
Lakshman meets thee, impious Raksha, by the stern decree of Fate!"

"Hast thou too forgot the lesson," Indrajit to Lakshman said,

"Twice in field of war unconscious thee with Rama have I laid,

Dost thou stealing like a serpent brave my yet unconquered might,

Perish, boy, in thy presumption, in this last and fatal fight!"

Spake the hero: "Like a coward hid beneath a mantling cloud,

Thou hast battled like a caitiff safe behind thy sheltering shroud,

Now I seek an open combat, time is none to prate or speak,

Boastful word is coward's weapon, weapons and thy arrows seek!

Soon they mixed in dubious combat, fury fired each foeman's heart,

Either warrior felt his rival worthy of his bow and dart,

Lakshman with his hurtling arrows pierced the Raksha's golden mail,

Shattered by the Raksha's weapons Lakshman's useless armour fen,

Red with gore and dim in eyesight still the chiefs in fury fought,

Neither quailed bef ore his f oeman, pause nor grace nor mercy sought,

Till with more than human valour Lakshman drew his bow amain,

Slayed the Raksha's steeds and driver, severed too his bow in twain.

"If the great and godlike Rama is in faith and duty true,

Gods assist the cause of virtue!"--Lakahman uttered as he drew,

Fatal was the dart unerring,--Gods assist the true and bold,

On the field of Nikumbhila, Lakshman's foeman headless rolled!

VII

RAVAN'S LAMENT

"Quenched the light of Rakshas' valour!" so the message-bearer said,

"Lakshman with the deep Bibhishan hath thy son in battle slayed,

Fallen is our prince and hero and his day on earth is done,

In a brighter world, O monarch, lives thy brave, thy gallant son!

Anguish filled the father's bosom and his fleeting senses failed,

Till to deeper sorrow wakened Lanka's monarch wept and wailed:

"Greatest of my gallant warriors, dearest to thy father's heart.,

Victor over bright Immortals,- art thou slain by Lakshman's dart,

Noble prince whose peerless arrows could the peaks of Mandar stain,

And could daunt the Dread Destroyer,--art thou by a mortal slain!

But thy valour lends a radiance to elysium's sunny clime,

And thy bright name adds a lustre to the glorious rolls of time,

In the skies the bright Immortals lisp thy name with terror pale,

On the earth our maids and matrons mourn thy fall with piercing wail!

Hark! the voice of lamentation waking in the palace halls,

Like the voice of woe in forests when the forest monarch falls,

Hark! the wailing widowed princess, mother weeping for her son,

Leaving them in tears and anguish, Indrajit, where art thou gone!

Full of years,--so oft I pondered,--when the monarch Ravan dics,

Indrajit shall watch his bedside, Indrajit shall close his eyes,

But the course of nature changes, and the father weeps the son,

Youth is fallen, and the aged lives to fight the foe alone!"

Tears of sorrow, slow and silent, fell upon the monarch's breast,

Then a swelling rage and passion woke within his heaving chest,

Like the sun of scorching summer glowed his face in wrathful shame,

From his brow and rolling eyeballs issued sparks of living flame!

"Perish she!" exclaimed the monarch, "she-wolf Sita dies to-day,

Indrajit but cleft her image, Ravan will the woman slay!"

Followed by his trembling courtiers, regal robes and garments rent,

Ravan shaking in his passion to Asoka's garden went,

Maddened by his wrath and anguish, with his drawn and flaming sword,

Sought the shades where soft-eyed Sita, silent sorrowed for her lord.

Woman's blood the royal sabre on that fatal day had stained,

But his true and faithful courtiers Ravan's wrathful hand restrained.

And the watchful Raksha females girdled round the sorrowing dame,

Flung them on the path of Ravan to withstand a deed of shame.

"Not against a woman, Ravan, mighty warriors raise their hand,

In the battle," spake the courtiers, "duty bids thee use thy brand,

Versed in Vedas and in learning, court not thus a caitiff's fate,

Woman's blood pollutes our valour, closes heaven's eternal gate!

Leave the woman in her sorrow, mount upon thy battle car,

Faithful to our king and leader we will wake the voice of war,

'Tis the fourteenth day auspicious of the dark and waning moon,

Glory waiteth thee in battle and thy vengeance cometh soon,

All-resistless in the contest slay thy foeman in his pride,

Seek as victor of the combat widowed Sita as thy bride!"

Slow and sullen, dark and silent, Ravan then his wrath restrained,

Vengeance on his son's destroyer deep within his bosom reigned!

VIII

RAVAN'S SECOND BATTLE AND VENGEANCE

Voice of woe and lamentation and the cry of woman's wail,

Issuing from the homes of Lanka did the monarch's ears awail,

And a mighty thought of vengeance waked within the monarch's heart,

And he heaved a sigh of anguish as he grasped his bow and dart:

"Arm each chief and gallant Raksha! be our sacred duty done,

Ravan seeks a fitting vengeance for his brave and noble son,

Mahodar and Virupaksha, Mahaparshwa warrior tall,

Arm! this fated day will witness Lakshman's or your monarch's fall

Call to mind each slaughtered hero,--Khara, Dushan, slain in fight,

Kumbha-kama giant warrior, Indrajit of magic might,

Earth nor sky shall hide my foemen nor the ocean's heaving swell,

Scattered ranks of Rama's forces shall my speedy vengeance tell,

Be the red-earth strewn and covered with our countless foemen slain,

Hungry wolves and blood-beaked vultures feed upon the ghastly plain,

For his great and gallant brother, for his brave and beauteous son,

Ravan seeks a fitting vengeance, Rakshas be your duty done!"

House to house, in Lanka's city, Ravan's royal best was heard,

Street and lane poured forth their warriors by a mighty passion stirred,

With the javelin and sabre, mace and club and axe and pike,

Sataghni and bhindipala, quoit and discus quick to strike.

And they formed the line of tuskers and the line of battle car,

Mule and camel fit for burden and the fiery steed of war,

Serried ranks of arméd soldiers shook the earth beneath their tread,

Horsemen that on wings of lightning o'er the field of battle spread.

Drum and conch and sounding trumpet waked the echoes of the sky,

Pataha and loud mridanga and the people's maddening cry,

Thundering through the gates of Lanka, Ravan's lofty chariot passed

Destined by his fortune, Ravan ne'er again those portals crost!

And the sun was dim and clouded and a sudden darkness fell,

Birds gave forth their boding voices and the earth confessed a spell,

Gouts of blood in rain descended, startled coursers turned to fly,

Vultures swooped upon the banner, jackals yelled their doleful cry,

Omens of a dark disaster mantled o'er the vale and rock,

And the ocean heaved in billows, nations felt the earthquake shock!

Darkly closed the fatal battle, sturdy Vanars fell in fight,

Warlike leaders of the Rakshas perished neath the foeman's might,

Mahodhar and Virupaksha were by bold Sugriva slain,

Crushed by Angad, Mahaparshwa. slumbered lifeless on the plain.

But with more than mortal valour Ravan swept the ranks of war,

Warriors fell beneath his prowess, fled before his mighty car,

Cleaving through the Vanar forces, filled with vengeance deep and dire,

Ravan marked the gallant Lakshman flaming like a crimson fire!

Like the tempest cloud of summer Ravan's wingéd courses flew,

But Bibhishan in his prowess soon the gallant charges slew,

Dashina from his useless chariot Ravan leaped upon the ground,

And his false and traitor brother by his dearest foeman found!

Wrathful Ravan marked Bibhishan battling by the foeman's side,

And he hurled his pond'rous weapon for to slay him in his pride,

Lakshman marked the mighty jav'lin as it winged its whizzing flight,

Cleft it in its onward passage, saved Bibhishan by his might!

Grimly smiled the angry Ravan gloating in his vengeful wrath,

Spake to young and dauntless Laksliman daring thus to cross his path:

Welcome, Lakshman! thee I battle for thy deed of darkness done,

Face the anger of a father, cruel slayer of the son,

By thy skill and by thy valour, false Bibhishan thou hast saved,

Save thyself! Deep in this bosom is a cruel grief engraved!"

Father's grief and sad remembrance urged the lightning-wingéd dart,

Ravan's Sakti fell resistless on the senseless Lakshman's heart,

Wrathful Rama saw the combat and arose in godlike might,

Carless, steedless, wounded Ravan sought his safety in his flight.

IX

RAMA's LAMENT

"Art thou fallen," sorrowed Rama, "weary of this endless strife,

Lakshman, if thy days are ended, Rama recks not for his life,

Gone is Rama's wonted valour, weapons leave his nerveless hand,

Drop his bow and shining arrows, useless hangs his sheathéd brand!

Art thou fallen, gallant Lakshman, death and faintness on me creep,

Weary of this fatal contest let me by my brother sleep,

Weary of the strife and triumph, since my faithful friend is gone,

Rama follows in his footsteps and his task on earth is done!

Thou hast from the far Ayodhya, followed me in deepest wood,

In the thickest of the battle thou hast by thy elder stood,

Love of woman, love of comrade, trite is love of kith and kind,

Love like thine, true-hearted brother, not on earth we often find!

When Sumitra seeks thee, Lakshman, ever weeping for thy sake,

When she asks me of her hero, what reply shall Rama make,

What reply, when Bharat questions,--Where is be who went to wood,

Where is true and faithful Lakshman who beside his elder stood?

What great crime or fatal shadow darkens o'er my hapless life,

Victim to the sins of Rama sinless Lakshman falls in strife,

Best of brothers, best of warriors, wherefore thus unconscious he,

Mother, wife, and brother wait thee, ope once more thy sleeping eye!"

Tara's father, wise Susena, gentle consolation lent,

Hanuman from distant mountains herbs of healing virtue rent,

And by loving Rama tended, Lakshman in his strength arose,

Stirred by thoughts of fatal vengeance Rama sought the flying foes.

X

CELESTIAL ARMS AND CHARIOT

Not in dastard terror havan sought his safety in his flight,

But to seek fresh steeds of battle ere he faced his foeman's might,

Harnessing his gallant coursers to a new and glorious car,

Sunlike in its radiant splendour, Ravan came once more to war.

Gods in wonder watched the contest of the more than mortal foes,

Ravan mighty in his vengeance, Rama lofty in his woes,

Gods in wonder marked the heroes, lion-like in jungle wood,

INDRA sent his arms and chariot where the human warrior stood!

"Speed, Matali," thus spake INDRA, "speed thee with my heavenly car,
Where on foot the righteous Rama meets his mounted foe in war,

Speed, for Ravan's days are ended, and his moments brief and few,
Rama strives for right and virtue,--Gods assist the brave and true!"

Brave Matali drove the chariot drawn by steeds like solar ray,

Where the true and righteous Rama sought his foe in fatal fray,

Shining arms and heavenly weapons he to lofty Rama gave,--

When the righteous strive and struggle, Gods assist the true and brave!

"Take this car," so said Matali, "which the helping Gods provide,

Rama, take these steeds celestial, INDRA'S golden chariot ride,

Take this royal bow and quiver, wear this falchion dread and dire,

VISWA-KARMAN forged this armour in the flames of heavenly fire,

I shall be thy chariot driver and shall speed the thund'ring car,

Slay the sin-polluted Ravan in this last and fatal war!"

Rama mounted on the chariot clad in arms of heavenly sheen,

And he mingled in a contest mortal eyes have never seen!

XI

RAVAN'S THIRD BATTLE AND FALL

Gods and mortals watched the contest and the heroes of the war,

Ravan speeding on his chariot, Rama on the heavenly car,

And a fiercer form the warriors in their fiery frenzy wore,

And a deeper weight of hatred on their anguished bosoms bore,

Clouds of dread and deathful arrows hid the radiant face of sky,

Darker grew the day of combat, fiercer grew the contest high!

Pierced by Ravan's pointed weapons bleeding Rama owned no pain,

Rama's arrows keen and piercing sought his foeman's life in vain,

Long and dubious battle lasted, and with fury wilder fraught,

Wounded, faint, and still unyielding, blind with wrath the rivals fought,

Pike and Club and mace and trident scaped from Ravan's vengeful hand,

Spear and arrows Rama wielded, and his bright and flaming brand!

Long and dubious battle lasted, shook the ocean, hill and dale,

Winds were hushed in voiceless terror and the livid sun was pale,

Still the dubious battle lasted, until Rama in his ire

Wielded BRAHMA'S deathful weapon flaming with celestial fire!

Weapon which the Saint Agastya had unto the hero given,

Winged as lightning dart of INDRA, fatal as the bolt of heaven,

Wrapped in smoke and flaming flashes, speeding from the circled bow,

Pierced the iron heart of Ravan, lain the lifeless hero low,

And a cry of pain and terror from the Raksha ranks arose,

And a shout from joying Vanars as they smote their fleeing foes!

Heavenly flowers in rain descended on the red and gory plain,

And from unseen harps and timbrels rose a soft celestial strain,

And the ocean heaved in gladness, brighter shone the sunlit sky,

Soft and cool the gentle zephyrs through the forest murmured by,

Sweetest scent and fragrant odours wafted from celestial trees,

Fell upon the earth and ocean, rode upon the laden breeze!

Voice of blessing from the bright sky fell on Raghu's valiant son,--

"Champion of the true and righteous! now thy noble task is done!"

XII

MANDODARI'S LAMENT AND THE FUNERALS

"Hast thou fallen," wept in anguish Ravan's first and eldest bride,

Mandodari, slender-waisted, Queen of Lanka's state and pride,

"Hast thou fallen, king and consort, more than Gods in warlike might,

Slain by man, whom bright Immortals feared to facein dubious fight?

Not a man!-the Dark Destroyer came to thee in mortal form,

Or the heaven-traversing VISHNU, INDRA ruler of the storm,

Gods of sky in shape of Vanars helped the dark and cruel deed,

Girdling round the Discus-Wielder in the battle's direst need!

Well I knew,--when Khara, Dushan, were by Rama's prowess slain,

Rama was no earthly mortal, he who crossed the mighty main,

Well I knew,--when with his army he invested Lanka's gate,

Rama was no earthly mortal but the messenger of Fate,

And I prayed,--the faithful Sita, might unto her consort go,

For 'tis writ that nations perish for a righteous woman's woe,

But for impious lust of woman,--all forgetful of thy wife,

Thou hast lost thy crown and kingdom, thou hast lost thy fated life!

Woe to me! the sad remembrance haunts my tortured bosom still,

Of our days on famed Kailasa or on Meru's golden hill,

Done the days of joy and gladness, Mandodari's days are done,

Since her lord and king and husband from her dear embrace is gone!

Sorely wept the Queen of Lanka; Rama, tender, tearful, true,

Bade the funeral rites and honours to a fallen foeman due,

And they heaped the wood of Chandan and the fragrant garland laid,

On the pyre they lifted Ravan in the richest robes arrayed,

Weeping queens and sorrowing Rakshas round their fallen leader stood,

Brahmans with their chaunted mantras piled the dry and scented wood,

Oil and cords and sacred offerings were upon the altar laid,

And a goat of inky darkness as a sacrifice was slayed.

Piously the good Bibhishan lighted Ravan's funeral pyre,

And the zephyrs gently blowing fanned the bright and blazing fire,

Slow and sad with due abititions mourners left the funeral site,

Rama then unstrung his weapon, laid aside his arms of might

RAMAYANA BOOK XI

RAJYA-ABHISHEKA

(Rama's Return and Consecration)

THE real Epic ends with the war, and with Rama's happy return to Ayodhya. Sita proves her stainless virtue by an Ordeal of Fire, and returns with her lord and with Lakshman in an aërial car, which Ravan had won from the Gods, and which Bibhishan made over to Rama. Indian poets are never tired of descriptions of nature, and the poet of the Ramayana takes advantage of Rama's journey from Ceylon to Oudh to give us a bird's-eye view of the whole continent of India, as well as to recapitulate the principal incidents of his great Epic.

The gathering of men at Ayodhya, the greetings to Rama, and his consecration by the Vedic bard Vasishtha, are among the most pleasing passages in the whole poem. And the happiness enjoyed by men during the reign of Rama--described in the last few couplets of this Book--is an article of belief and a living tradition in India to this day.

The portions translated in this Book form the whole or portions of Sections cxviii., cxx., cxxv., cxxix., and cxxx. of Book vi. of the original text.

I

ORDEAL BY FIRE

For she dwelt in Ravan's dwelling--rumour clouds a woman's fame--

Righteous Rama's brow was clouded, saintly Sita, spake in shame:

"Wherefore spake ye not, my Rama, if your bosom doubts my faith,

Dearer than a dark suspicion to a woman were her death!

Wherefore, Rama, with your token came your vassal o'er the wave,

To assist a fallen woman and a tainted wife to save,

Wherefore with vour mighty forces crossed the ocean in your pride,

Risked your fife in endless combats for a sin-polluted bride?

Hast thou, Rama, all forgotten?--Saintly Janak saw my birth,

Child of harvest-bearing furrow, Sita sprang from Mother Earth,

As a maiden true and stainless unto thee I gave my hand,

As a consort fond and faithful roved with thee from land to land!

But a woman pleadeth vainly when suspicion clouds her name,

Lakshman, if thou lov'st thy sister, light for me the funeral flame,

When the shadow of dishonour darkens o'er a woman's life,

Death alone is friend and refuge of a true and trustful wife,

When a righteous lord and husband turns his cold averted eyes,

FuneraI flame dispels suspicion, honour lives when woman dies!"

Dark was Rama's gloomy visage and his lips were firmly sealed,

And his eye betraved no weakness, word disclosed no thought concealed,

Silent heaved his heart in anguish, silent drooped his tortured head,

Lakshman with a throbbing bosom funeral pyre for Sita made,

And Videha's sinless daughter prayed unto the Gods above,

On her lord and wedded consort cast her dying looks of love!

"If in act and thought," she uttered, " I am true unto my name,
Witness of our sins and virtues, may this Fire protect my fame!

If a false and lying scandal brings a faithful woman shame,
Witness of our sins and virtues, may this Fire protect my fame!

If in lifelong loving duty I am free from sin and blame,
Witness of our sins and virtues, may this Fire protect my fame!"

Fearless in her faith and valour Sita stepped upon the pyre,

And her form of beauty vanished circled by the clasping fire,

And an anguish shook the people like the ocean tempest-tost,

Old and young and maid and matron wept for Sita true and lost,

For bedecked in golden splendour and in gems and rich attire,

Sita vanished in the red fire of the newly lighted pyre!

Rishis and the great Gandharvas, Gods who know each secret deed,

Witnessed Sita's high devotion and a woman's lofty creed,

And the earth by ocean girdled with its wealth of teeming life,

Witnessed deed of dauntless duty of a true and stainless wife!

II

WOMAN'S TRUTH VINDICATED

Slow the red flames rolled asunder, God of Fire incarnate came,

Holding in his radiant bosom fair Videha's sinless dame,

Not a curl upon her tresses, not a blossom on her brow,

Not a fibre of her mantle did with tarnished lustre glow!

Witness of our sins and virtues, God of Fire incarnate spake,

Bade the sorrow-stricken Rama back his sinless wife to take:

"Ravan in his impious folly forced from thee thy faithful dame,

Guarded by her changeless virtue, Sita still remains the same,

Tempted oft by female Rakshas in the dark and dismal wood,

In her woe and in her sadness true to thee hath Sita stood,

Courted oft by royal Ravan in the forest far and lone,

True to wedded troth and virtue Sita thought of thee alone,

Pare is she in thought and action, pure and stainless, true and meek,

I, the witness of all actions, thus my sacred mandate speak!"

Rama's forehead was unclouded and a radiance lit his eye,

And his bosom heaved in gladness as he spake in accents high:

Never from the time I saw her in her maiden days of youth,

Have I doubted Sita's virtue, Sita's fixed and changeless truth,

I have known her ever sinless,--let the world her virtue know,

For the God of Fire is witness to her truth and changeless vow!

Ravan in his pride and passion conquered not a woman's love,

For the virtuous like the bright fire in their native radiance move,

Ravan in his rage and folly conquered not a faithful wife,

For like ray of sun unsullied is a righteous woman's life,

Be the wide world now a witness,-pure and stainless is my dame,

Rama shall not leave his consort till he leaves his righteous fame!"

In his tears the contrite Rama clasped her in a soft embrace,

And the fond forgiving Sita in his bosom hid her face!

III

RETURN HOME BY THE AËRIAL CAR

"Mark my love," so Rama uttered, as on flying Pushpa car,

Borne by swans, the home-returning exiles left the field of war,

"Lanka's proud and castled city on Trikuta's triple crest,

As on peaks of bold Kailasa mansions of Immortals rest!

Mark the gory fields surrounding where the Vanars in their might,

Faced and fought the charging Rakshas in the long and deathful fight,

Indrajit and Kumbha-kama, Ravan and his chieftains slain,

Fell upon the field of battle and their red blood soaks the plain.

Mark where dark-eyed Mandodari, Ravan's slender-waisted wife,

Wept her widow's tears of anguish when her monarch lost his life,

She hath dried her tears of sorrow and bestowed her heart and hand,

On Bibhisban good and faitbful, crowned king of Lanka's land.

See my love, round Ceylon's island how the ocean billows roar.

Hiding pearls in eaves of corals, strewing shells upon the shore,

And the causeway far-extending,--monument of Rama's fame,--

'Rama's Bridge' to distant ages shall our deathless deeds proclaim!

See the rock-bound fair Kishkindha and her mountain-girdled town,

Where I slayed the warrior Bali, placed Sugriva on the throne,

And the hill of Rishyamuka where Sugriva first I met,

Gave him word,--he would be monarch ere the evening's Sun had set.

See the sacred lake of Pampa by whose wild and echoing shore,

Rama poured his lamentations when he saw his wife no more,

And the woods of Janasthana where Jatayu fought and bled,

When the deep deceitful Ravan with my trusting Sita fled.

Dost thou mark, my soft-eyed Sita, cottage on the river's shore,

Where in righteous peace and penance Sita, lived in days of yore,

And by gloomy Godavari, Saint Agastya's home of love,

Holy men by holy duties sanctify the sacred grove!

Dost thou, o'er the Dandak forest, view the Chitrakuta hill.

Deathless bard the Saint Valmiki haunts its shade and crystal rill,

Thither came the righteous Bharat and my loving mother came,

Longing in their hearts to take us to Ayodhya's town of fame,

Dost thou, dear devoted Sita, see the Jumna in her might '

Where in Bharad-waja's asram passed we, love, a happy, night,

And the broad and ruddy Ganga sweeping in her regal pride,

Forest-dweller faithful Guha crossed us to the southern side.

Joy! joy! my gentle Sita,! Fair Ayodhya looms above,

Ancient seat of Raghu's empire, nest of Rama's hope and love,

Bow, bow, to bright Ayodhya! Darksome did the exiles roam,

Now their weary toil is ended in their father's ancient home!

IV

GREETINGS

Message from returning Rama, Vanars to Ayodhya brought,

Righteous Bharat gave his mandate with a holy joy distraught:

"Let our city shrines and chaityas with a lofty music shake,

And ourpriests to bright Immortals grateful gifts and offerings make,

Bards, reciters of Puranas, minstrels versed in ancient song,

Women with their tuneful voices lays of sacred love prolong,

Let our queens and stately courtiers step in splendour and in state,

Chieftains with their marshalled forces range along the city gate,

And our white-robed holy Brahmans hymn and sacred mantras sing.

Offer greetings to our brother, render homage to our king!"

Brave Satrughna heard his elder and his mandate duly kept:

"Be our great and sacred city levelled, cleansed, and duly swept,

And the grateful earth be sprinkled with the water from the well,

Strewn with parchéd rice and offering and with flower of sweetest smell,

On each turret, tower, and temple let our flags and colours wave,

On the gates of proud Ayodhya plant Ayodhya'a banners brave,

Gay festoons of flowering creeper home and street and dwelling line,

And in gold and glittering garment let the gladdened city shine.

Elephants in golden trappings thousand chiefs and nobles bore.

Chariots, cars, and gallant chargers speeding by Sarayu's shore,

And the serried troops of battle marched with colours rich and brave,

Proudly o'er the gay procession did, Ayodhya's banners wave.

In their stately gilded litters royal dames and damsels came,

Queen Kausalya first and foremost, Queen Sumitra rich in fame,

Pious priest and learned Brahman, chief of guild from near and far,

Noble chief and stately courtier with the wreath and water jar.

Girt by minstrel, bard, and herald chanting glorious deeds of yore,

Bharat came,--his elder's sandals still the faithful younger bore,--

Silver-white his proud umbrella, silver-white his garland brave,

Silver-white the fan of chowri which his faithful henchmen wave,

Stately march of gallant chargers and the roll of battle car,

Heavy tread of royal tuskers and the beat of drum of war,

Dundubhi and echoing sankha, voice of nations gathered nigh,

Shook the city's tower and temple and the pealing vault of sky!

Sailing o'er the cloudless ether Rama's Pushpa chariot came,

And ten thousand jocund voices shouted Rama's joyous name,

Women with their loving greetings, children with their joyous cry,

Tottering age and lisping infant hailed the righteous chief and high.

Bharat lifted up his glances unto Rama from afar,

Unto Sita, unto Lakshman, seated on the Pushpa car,

And he wafted high his greetings and he poured his pious lay,

As one wafts the chaunted mantra to the rising God of Day!

Silver swans by Rama's bidding soft descended from the air,

And on earth the chariot lighted,--car of flowers divinely fair,--

Bharat mounting on the chariot, sought his long-lost elder's grace,

Rama held his faithful younger in a brother's dear embrace.

With his greetings unto Lakshman, unto Rama's faithful dame,

To Bibhishan and Sugriva and each chief who thither came,

Bharat took the jewelled sandals with the rarest gems inlaid,

Placed them at the feet of Rama and in humble accents said:

"Tokens of thy rule and empire, these have filled thy royal throne,

Faithful to his trust and duty Bharat renders back thine own,

Bharat's life is joy and gladness, for returned from distant shore,

Thou shalt rule thy spacious kingdom and thy loyal men once more,

Thou shalt hold thy rightful empire and assume thy royal crown,

Faithful to his trust and duty, Bharat renders back thine own,

V

THE CONSECRATION

Joy! joy in bright Ayodhya gladness filled the hearts of all,

Joy! joy a lofty music sounded in the royal hall,

Fourteen years of woe were ended, Rama now assumed his own,

And they placed the weary wand'rer on his father's ancient throne,

And they brought the sacred water from each distant stream and hill,

From the vast and boundless ocean, from each far and sacred rill.

Vasishtha, the Bard of Vedas with auspicious rites and meet

Placed the monarch and his consort on the gemmed and jewelled seat,

Gautama. and Katyayana, Vamadeva priest of yore,

Jabali and wise Vijaya verged in holy ancient lore,

Poured the fresh and fraurant water on the consecrated kine,

As the Gods anointed INDRA from the pure ethereal spring!

Vedic priests with sacred mantra, dark-eyed virgins with their song,

Warriors girt in arms and weapons round the crownéd monarch throng,

Juices from each fragrant creeper on his royal brow they place,

And his father's crown and jewels Rama's ample forehead grace,

And as Manu, first of monarchs, was enthroned in days of yore,

So was Rama consecrated by the priests of Vedic lore!

Brave Satrughna on his brother cast the white umbrella's shade

Bold Sugriva and Bibhishan waved the chowri gem-inlaid,

VAYU, God of gentle zephyrs, gift of golden garland lent,

INDRA, God of rain and sunshine, wreath of pearls to Rama sent,

Gay Gandharvas raised the music, fair Apsaras formed the ring,

Men in nations hailed their Rama as their lord and righteous king!

And tis told by ancient sages, during Rama's happy reign,
Death untimely, dire diseases came not to his subject men,

Widows wept not in their sorrow for their lords untimely lost,
Mothers wailed not in their anguish for their babes by YAMA crost,

Robbers, cheats, and gay deceivers tempted not with lying word,
Neighbour loved his righteous neighbour and the people loved their lord!

Trees their ample produce yielded as returning seasons went,
And the earth in grateful gladness never failing harvest lent,

Rains descended in their season, never came the blighting gale,
Rich in crop and rich in pasture was each soft and smiling vale,

Loom and anvil gave their produce and the tilled and fertile soil,
And the nation lived rejoicing in their old ancestral.

RAMAYANA BOOK XII

ASWA-MEDHA

(Sacrifice of the Horse)

THE real Epic ends with Rama's happy return to Ayodhya. An Uttara-Kanda or Supplement is added, describing the fate of Sita, and giving the poem a sad ending.

The dark cloud of suspicion still hung on the fame of Sita, and the people of Ayodhya made reflections on the conduct of their king, who had taken back into his house a woman who had lived in the palace of Ravan. Rama gave way to the opinion of his people, and he sent away his loving and faithful Sita to live in forests once more.

Sita found an asylum in the hermitage of Valmiki, the reputed author of this Epic, and there gave birth to twins, Lava and Kusa. Years passed on, and Lava and Kusa grew up as hermit boys, and as pupils of Valmiki.

After years had passed, Rama performed a great Horse-sacrifice. Kings and princes were invited from neighbouring countries, and a great feast was held. Valmiki came to the sacrifice, and his pupils, Lava and Kusa, chanted there the great Epic, the Ramayana, describing the deeds of Rama. In this interesting portion of the poem we find how songs and poetry were handed down in ancient India by memory. The boys had learnt the whole of the Epic by heart, and chanted portions of it, day after day, till the recital was completed. We are told that the poem consists of seven books, 500 cantos, and 24,000 couplets. Twenty cantos were recited each day, so that the recital of the whole poem must have taken twenty-five days. It was by such feats of memory and by such recitals that literature was preserved in ancient times in India. Rama recognised his sons in the boy-minstrels, and his heart yearned once more for Sita, whom he had banished but never forgotten. He asked the Poet Valmiki to restore his wife to him, and he desired that Sita might once more prove her purity in the great assembly, so that he might take her back with the approval of his people.

Sita came. But her life had been darkened by an unjust suspicion, her heart was broken, and she invoked the Earth to take her back. And the Earth, which had given Sita birth, yawned and took back her suffering child into her bosom.

In the ancient hymns of the Rig Veda, Sita is simply the goddess of the field-furrow which bears crops for men. We find how that simple conception is concealed in the Ramayana, where Sita the heroine of the Epic is still born of the field-furrow, and after all her adventures returns to the Earth. To the millions of men and women in India, however, Sita is not an allegory; she lives in their hearts and affections as the model of womanly love, womanly devotion. and a wife's noble self-abnegation.

The portions translated in this Book form the whole or portions of Sections xcii., xciii., xciv., and xcvii. of Book vii, of the original text.

I

THE SACRIFICE

Years have passed; the lonely Rama in his joyless palace reigned,

And for righteous duty yearning, Aswa-medha rite ordained,

And a steed of darkest sable with the valiant Lakshman sent,

And with troops and faithful courtiers to Naimisha's forest went.

Fair was far Naimisha's forest by the limpid Gumti's shom.

Monarchs came and warlike chieftains, Brahmans versed in sacred lore,

Bharat with each friend and kinsman served them with the choicest food,

Proud retainers by each chieftain and each crownéd monarch stood.

Palaces and stately mansions were for royal guests assigned,

Peaceful homes for learnéd Brahmans were with trees umbrageous lined,

Gifts were made unto the needy, cloth by skilful weavers wrought,

Ere the suppliants spake their wishes, ere they shaped their inmost thought!

Rice unto the helpless widow, to the orphan wealth and gold,

Gifts they gave to holy Brahmans, shelter to the weak and old,

Garments to the grateful people crowding by their monarch's door,

Food and drink unto the hungry, home unto the orphan poor.

Ancient rishis had not witnessed feast like this in any land,

Bright Immortals in their bounty blest not with a kinder hand,

Through the year and circling seasons lasted Rama's sacred feast,

And the untold wealth of Rama by his kindly gifts increased!

II

VALMIKI AND HIS PUPILS

Foremost midst the gathered Sages to the holy yajna came

Deathless Bard of Lay Immortal--Saint Valmiki rich in fame,

Midst the humble homes of rishis, on the confines of the wood,

Cottage of the Saint Valmiki in the shady garden stood.

Fruits and berries from the jungle, water from the crystal spring,

With a careful hand Valmiki did unto his cottage bring,

And he spake to gentle Lava, Kusa child of righteous fame,

Sita's sons, as youthful hermits to the sacred feast they came:

Lift your voices, righteous pupils, and your richest music lend,

Sing the Lay of Ramayana from the first unto the end,

Sing it to the holy Brahman, to the warrior fair and tall,

In the crowded street and pathway, in the monarch's palace hall,

Sing it by the door of Rama,--he ordains this mighty feast,

Sing it to the royal ladies,--they shall to the story list,

Sing from day to day unwearied, in this sacrificial site,

Chant to all the gathered nations Rama's deeds of matchless might,

And this store of fruits and berries will allay your thirst and toil,

Gentle children of the forest, unknown strangers in this soil!

Twenty cantos of the Epic, morn to night, recite each day,

Till from end to end is chanted Ramayana's deathless Lay,

Ask no alms, receive no riches, nor of your misfortunes tell,

Useless unto us is bounty who in darksome forests dwell,

Children of the wood and mountain, cruel fortune clouds your birth,

Stainless virtue be your shelter, virtue be your wealth on earth!

If the royal Rama questions and your lineage seeks to know,

Say,--Valmiki is our Teacher and our Sire on earth below,

Wake your harps to notes of rapture and your softest accents lend,

With the music of the poet music of your voices blend,

Bow unto the mighty monarch, bow to Rama fair and tall,

He is father of his subjects, he is lord of creatures all!"

III

RECITAL OF THE RAMAYANA

When the silent night was ended, and their pure ablutions done,

Joyous went the minstrel brothers, and their lofty lay begun,

Rama to the hermit minstrels lent a monarch's willing car,

Blended with the simple music dulcet was the lay to hear,

And so sweet the chanted accents, Rama's inmost soul was stirred,

With his royal guests and courtiers still the deathless lay he heard!

Heralds versed in old Puranas, Brahmans skilled in pious rite,

Minstrels deep in lore of music, poets fired by heavenly might,

Watchers of the constellations, min'sters of the festive day,

Men of science and of logic, bards who sang the ancient lay,

Painters skilled and merry dancers who the festive joy prolong

Hushed and silent in their wonder listed to the wondrous song!

And as poured the flood of music through the bright and livelong day,

Eyes and ears and hearts insatiate drank the nectar of the lay,

And the eager people whispered: "See the boys, how like our king

As two drops of limpid water from the parent bubble spring!

Were the boys no hermit-children, in the hermit's garments clad,

We would deem them Rama's image,--Rama as a youthful lad!"

Twenty cantos of the Epic thus the youthful minstrels sung,

And the voice of stringéd music through the Epic rolled along,

Out spake Rama in his wonder: "Scarce I know who these may be,

Eighteen thousand golden pieces be the children-minstrels' fee!"

"Not so," answered thus the children, "we in darksome forests dwell,

Gold and silver, bounteous monarch, forest life beseem not well!"

"Noble children!" uttered Rama, "dear to me the words you say,

Tell me who composed this Epic,--Father of this deathless Lay?"

"Saint Valmiki," spake the minstrels, "framed the great immortal song
Four and twenty thousand verses to this noble Lay belong,

Untold tales of deathless virtue sanctify his sacred line,
And five hundred glorious cantos in this glorious Epic shine,

In six Books of mighty splendour was the poet's task begun,
With a seventh Book, supplemental is the poet's labour done,

All thy matchless deeds, O monarch, in this Lay will brighter shine,
List to us from first to ending if thy royal heart incline!"

"Be it so," thus Rama answered, but the hours of day were o'er,

And Valmiki's youthful pupils to their cottage came once more.

Rama with his guests and courtiers slowly left the royal hall,

Eager was his heart to listen, eager were the monarchs all,

And the voice of song and music thus was lifted day to day,

And from day to day they listened to Valmiki's deathless Lay!

IV

LAVA AND KUSARA RECOGNISED

Flashed upon the contrite Rama glimpses of the dawning truth,

And with tears of love paternal Rama clasped each minstrel youth,

Yearned his sorrow-stricken bosom for his pure and peerless dame,

Sita banished to the forest, stainless in her righteous fame!

In his tears repentant Rama to Valmiki message sent,

That his heart with eager longing sought her from her banishment:

"Pure in soul! before these monarchs may she yet her virtue prove,

Grace once more my throne and kingdom, share my unforgotten love,

Pure in soul! before my subjects may her truth and virtue shine,

Queen of Rama's heart and empire may she once again be mine!"

V

SITA LOST

Morning dawned; and with Valmiki, Sita to the gathering came,

Banished wife and weeping mother, sorrow-stricken, suffering dame,

Pure in thought and deed, Valmiki gave his troth and plighted word,--

Faithful still the banished Sita, in her bosom held her lord!

Mighty Saint," so Rama answered as he bowed his humble head,

'Listening world will hear thy mandate and the word that thou hast said,

Never in his bosom Rama questioned Sita's faithful love,

And the God of Fire incarnate did her stainless virtue prove!

Pardon, if the voice of rumour drove me to a deed of shame,

Bowing to my people's wishes I disowned my sinless dame,

Pardon, if to please my subjects I have bade my Sita, roam,

Tore her from my throne and empire, tore her from my heart and home!

In the dark and dreary forest was my Sita left to mourn,

In the lone and gloomy jungle were my royal children born,

Help me, Gods, to wipe this error and this deed of sinful pride,

May my Sita prove her virtue, be again my loving bride!"

Gods and Spirits, bright Immortals to that royal Yajna came,

Hen of every race and nation, kings and chiefs of righteous fame,

Softly through the halls of splendour cool and scented breezes blew,

Fragrance of celestial blossoms o'er the royal chambers flew.

Sita, saw the bright Celestials, monarchs gathered from afar,

Saw her royal lord and husband bright as heaven-ascending star,

Saw her sons as hermit-minstrels beaming with a radiance high,

Milk of love suffused her bosom, tear of sorrow filled her eye!

Rama's queen and Janak's daughter, will she stoop her cause to plead,

Witness of her truth and virtue can a loving woman need?

Oh! her woman~s heart is bursting, and her day on earth is done,

And she pressed her heaving bosom, slow and sadly thus begun:

"If unstained in thought and action I have lived from day of birth,
Spare a daughter's shame and anguish and receive her, Mother Earth!

If in duty and devotion I have laboured undefiled,
After Earth I who bore this woman, once again, receive thy child!

If in truth unto my husband I have proved a faithful wife,
Mother Earth I relieve thy Sita from the burden of this life!"

Then the earth was rent and parted, and a golden throne arose,

Held aloft by jewelled Nagas as the leaves enfold the rose,

And the Mother in embraces held her spotless sinless Child,

Saintly Janak's saintly daughter, pure and true and undefiled,

Gods and men proclaim her virtue! But fair Sita is no more,

Lone is Rama's loveless bosom and his days of bliss are o'er!

RAMAYANA - CONCLUSION

In the concluding portion of the Uttara or Supplemental Book, the descendants of Rama and his brothers are described as the founders of the great cities and kingdoms which flourished in Western India in the fourth and fifth centuries before the Christian Era.

Bharat had two sons, Taksha and Pushkala. The former founded Taksha-sila, to the east of the Indus, and known to Alexander and the Greeks as Taxila. The latter founded Pushkala-vati, to the west of the Indus, and known to Alexander and the Greeks as Peukelaotis. Thus the sons of Bharat are said to have founded kingdoms which flourished on either side of the Indus river in the fourth century before Christ.

Lakshman had two sons, Angada and Chandraketu. The former founded the kingdom of Karupada, and the latter founded the city of Chandrakanti in the Malwa country.

Satrughna had two sons, Suvahu and Satrughati. The former became king of Mathura, and the latter ruled in Vidisha.

Rama had two sons, Lava and Kusa. The former ruled in Sravasti, which was the capital of Oudh at the time of the Buddha in the fifth and sixth centuries before Christ. The latter founded Kusavati at the foot of the Vindhya mountains.

The death of Rama and his brothers was in accordance with Hindu ideas of the death of the righteous. Lakshman died under somewhat peculiar circumstances. A messenger from heaven sought a secret conference with Rama, and Rama placed Lakshman at the gate, with strict injunctions that whoever intruded on the private conference should be slain. Lakshman himself had to disturb the conference by the solicitation of the celestial rishi Durvasa, who always appears on earth to create mischief. And true to the orders passed by Rama, he surrendered his life by penances, and went to heaven.

In the fulness of time, Rama and his other brothers left Ayodhya, crossed the Sarayu, surrendered their mortal life, and entered heaven.

Mangalam Mahath 

(My humble salutations to Sreeman Romesh C Dutt for the collection)

RAMAYANA - EPILOGUE BY THE TRANSLATOR

Ancient India, like ancient Greece, boasts of two great Epics. The Maha-bharata, based on the legends and traditions of a great historical war, is the Iliad of India. The Ramayana, describing the wanderings and adventures of a prince banished from his country, has so far something in common with the Odyssey. Having placed before English readers a condensed translation of the Indian Iliad, I have thought it necessary to prepare the present condensed translation of the Indian Odyssey to complete the work. The two together comprise the whole of the Epic literature of the ancient Hindus; and the two together present us with the most graphic and lifelike picture that exists of the civilisation and culture, the political and social life, the religion and thought of ancient India.

The Ramayana, like the Maha-bharata, is a growth of centuries, but the main story is more distinctly the creation of one mind. Among the many cultured races that flourished in Northern India about a thousand years before Christ, the Kosalas of Oudh and the Videhas of North Behar were perhaps the most cultured. Their Monarchs were famed for their learning as well as for their prowess, Their priests distinguished themselves by founding schools of learning which were known all over India. Their sacrifices and gifts to the learned drew together the most renowned men of the age from distant regions. Their celebrated Universities (Parishads) were frequented by students from surrounding countries. Their compilations of the old Vedic Hymns were used in various parts of India. Their elaborate Brahmanas or Commentaries on the Vedas were handed down from generation to generation by priestly families. Their researches into the mysteries of the Soul. and into the nature of the One Universal Soul which pervades the creation, are still preserved in the ancient Upanishads, and are among the most valuable heritages which have been left to us by the ancients. And their researches and discoveries in science and philosophy gave them the foremost place among the gifted races of ancient India.

It would appear that the flourishing period of the Kosalas and the Videhas had already passed away, and the traditions of their prowess and learning had become a revered memory in India, when the poet composed the great Epic which perpetuates their fame. Distance of time lent a higher lustre to the achievements of these gifted races, and the age in which they flourished appeared to their descendants as the Golden Age of India. To the imagination of the poet, the age of the Kosalas and Videhas was associated with all that is great and glorious, all that is righteous and true. His description of Ayodhya, the capital town of the Kossalas, is a description of an ideal seat of righteousness. Dasa-ratha the king of the Kosalas is an ideal king, labouring for the good of a loyal people. Rama, the eldest son of Dasa-ratha and the hero of the Epic, is an ideal prince, brave and accomplished, devoted to his duty, unfaltering in his truth. The king of the Videhas, Janak (or rather Janaka, but I have omitted the final a of some names in this translation), is a monarch and a saint. Sita, the daughter of Janak and the heroine of the Epic, is the ideal of a faithful woman and a devoted wife. A pious reverence for the past pervades the great Epic; a lofty admiration of what is true and ennobling in the human character sanctifies the work; and delineations of the domestic life and the domestic virtues of the ancient Hindus, rich in tenderness and pathos, endear the picture to the hearts of the people of India to the present day.

It is probable that the first connected narrative of this Epic was composed within a few centuries after the glorious age of the Kosalas and the Videhas. But the work became so popular that it grew with age. It grew,--not like the Maha-Bharata by the incorporation of new episodes, tales, and traditions,--but by fresh descriptions of the same scenes and incidents. Generations of poets were never tired of adding to the description of scenes which were dear to the Hindu, and patient Hindu listeners were never tired of listening to such repetitions. The virtues of Rama and the faithfulness of Sita were described again and again in added lines and cantos. The grief of the old monarch at the banishment of the prince, and the sorrows of the mother at parting from her son, were depicted by succeeding versifiers in fresh verses. The loving devotion of Rama's brothers, the sanctity of saints, and the peace fulness of the hermitages visited by Rama, were described with endless reiteration. The long account of the grief of Rama at the loss of his wife, and stories of unending battles waged for her recovery, occupied generations of busy interpolators.

The Sloka verse in which much of the Ramayana is composed is the easiest of Sanscrit, metres, and afforded a fatal facility to poets and often we have the same scene, fully and amply described in one canto, repeated again in the two or three succeeding cantos. The unity of the composition is lost by these additions, and the effect of the narrative is considerably weakened by such endless repetition. It would appear that the original work ended with the sixth Book, which describes the return of the hero to his country and to his loving subjects. The seventh Book is called Uttara or Supplemental, and in it we are told something of the dimensions of the poem, apparently after the fatal process of additions and interpolations had gone on for centuries. We are informed that the poem consists of six Books and a Supplemental Book; and that it comprises 500 cantos and 24,000 couplets. And we are also told in this Supplemental Book that the descendants of Rama and his brothers founded some of the great towns and states which, we know from other sources, flourished in the fifth and fourth centuries before Christ. It is probable therefore that the Epic, commenced after 1000 B.C., had assumed something like its present shape a few centuries before the Christian Era.

The foregoing account of the genesis and growth of the Ramayana will indicate in what respects it resembles the Maha-Bharata, and in what respects the two Indian Epics differ from each other. The Maha-Bharata grew out of the legends and. traditions of a great historical war between the Kurus and the Panchalas; the Ramayana grew out of the recollections of the golden age of the Kosalas and the Videhas. The characters of the Maha-bharata are characters of flesh and blood, with the virtues and crimes of great actors in the historic world; the characters of the Ramayana are more often the ideals of manly devotion to truth, and of womanly faithfulness and love in domestic life. The poet of the Maha-Bharata relies on the real or supposed incidents of a war handed down from generation to generation in songs and ballads, and weaves them into an immortal work of art the poet of the Ramayana conjures up the memories of a golden age, constructs lofty ideals of piety and faith, and describes with infinite pathos domestic scones and domestic affections which endear the work to modern Hindus. As an heroic poem the Maha-Bharata stands on a higher level; as a poem delineating the softer emotions of our everyday life the Ramayana sends its roots deeper into the hearts and minds of the million in India.

These remarks will be probably made clearer by a comparison of what may be considered parallel passages in two great Epics In heroic description, the bridal of Sita is poor and commonplace, compared with the bridal of Draupadi with all the bustle and tumult of a real contest among warlike suitors. The rivalry between Rama and Ravan, between Lakshman and Indrajit, is feeble in comparison with the lifelong jealousy and hatred which animated Arjun and Kama, Bhima and Duryodban. Sita's protest and defiance, spoken to Ravan when he carried her away, lack the fire and the spirit of Draupadi's appeal on the occasion when she was insulted in court. The Council of War held by Ravan is a poor affair in comparison with the Council of War held by Yudhisthir in the Matsya kingdom. And Bibhishan's final appeal for peace and Ravan's scornful reply will scarcely compare with the sublime eloquence with which Krishna implored the old monarch of the Kurus not to plunge into a disastrous war, and the deep determination with which Duryodhan replied:-

"Town nor village, mart nor hamlet, help us righteous Gods in heaven,
Spot that needle's point can cover shall not unto them be given!"

In the whole of the Ramayana there is no character with the fiery determination and the deep-seated hatred for the foe which inspire Kama or Arjun, Bhima or Duryodhan. And in the unending battles waged by Rama and his allies there is no incident so stirring, so animated, so thrilling, as the fall of Abhimanyu, the vengeance of Arjun, the final contest between Arjun and Kama, or the final contest between Bhima and Duryo dhan. The whole tenor of the Ramayana is subdued and calm, pacific and pious; the whole tenor of the Maha-Bharata is warlike and spirited.

And yet, without rivalling the heroic grandeur of the Maha-bharata, the Ramayana is immeasurably superior in its delineation of those softer and perhaps deeper emotions which enter into our everyday life and hold the world together. And these descriptions, essentially of Hindu life, are yet so true to nature that they apply to all races and nations.

There is something indescribably touching and tender in the description of the love of Rama for his subjects and the loyalty of his people towards Rama,--that loyalty which has ever been a part of the Hindu character in every age--

As a father to his children to his loving men he came,
Blessed our homes and maids and matrons till our infants lisped his name,

For our humble woes and troubles Rama hath the ready tear,
To our humble tales of suffering Rama lends his willing ear!"

Deeper than this was Rama's duty towards his father and his father's fondness for Rama; and the portion of the Epic which narrates the dark scheme by which the prince was at last torn from the heart and home of his dying father is one of the most powerful and pathetic passages in Indian literature. The stepmother of Rama, won by the virtues and the kindliness of the prince, regards his proposed coronation with pride and pleasure, but her old nurse creeps into her confidence like a creeping serpent, and envenoms her heart with the poison of her own wickedness. She arouses the slumbering jealousy of a woman and awakens the alarms of a mother, till--

"Like a slow but deadly poison worked the ancient nurse's tears,
And a wife's undying impulse mingled with a mother's fears!"

The nurse's dark insinuations work on the mind of the queen till she becomes a desperate woman, resolved to maintain her own influence on her husband, and to see her own son on the throne. The determination of the young queen tells with terrible effeect on the weakness and vacillation of the feeble old monarch, and Rama is banished at last. And the scene closes with a pathetic story in which the monarch recounts his misdeed of past years, accepts his present suffering as the fruit of that misdeed, and dies in agony for his banished son. The inner workings of the human; heart and of human motives, the dark intrigue of a scheming dependant, the awakening jealousy and alarm of a wife and a mother, the determination of a woman and an imperious queen, and the feebleness and despair and death of a fond old father and husband,, have never been more vividly described. Shakespeare himself has not depicted the workings of stormy passions in the human heart more graphically or more vividly, with greater truth or with more terrible power.

It is truth and power in the depicting of such scenes, and not in the delineation of warriors and warlike incidents, that. the Ramayana excels. It is in the delineation of domestic incidents, domestic affections, and domestic jealousies, which are appreciated by the prince and the peasant alike, that the Ramayana bases its appeal to the hearts of the million in India. And beyond all this, the righteous devotion of Rama, and the faith fulness and womanly love of Sita, run like two threads of gold through the whole fabric of the Epic, and ennoble and sanctify the work in the eyes of Hindus,

Rama and Sita are the Hindu ideals of a Perfect Man and a Perfect Woman; their truth under trials and temptations, their endurance under privations, and their devotion to duty under all vicissitudes of fortune, form the Hindu ideal of a Perfect Life. In this respect the Ramayana gives us a true picture of Hindu faith and righteous life as Dante's "Divine Comedy" gives us a picture of the faith and belief of the Middle Ages in Europe. Our own ideals in the present day may not be the ideals of the tenth century before Christ or the fourteenth century after Christ; but mankind will not willingly let die those great creations of the past which shadow forth the ideals and beliefs of interesting periods in the progress of human civilisation.

Sorrow and suffering, trial and endurance, are a part of the Hindu ideal of a Perfect Life of righteousness. Rama suffers for fourteen years in exile, and is chastened by privations and misfortunes, before he ascends the throne of his father. In a humble way this course of training was passed through by every pious Hindu of the ancient times. Every Aryan boy in India was taken away from his parents at an early age, and lived the hard life of an anchorite under his teacher for twelve or twenty-four or thirty-six years, before he entered the married life and settled down as a householder. Every Aryan boy assumed the rough garment and the staff and girdle of a student, lived as a mendicant and begged his food from door to door, attended on his preceptor as a menial, and thus trained himself in endurance and suffering as well as in the traditional learning of the age, before he became a house holder. The pious Hindu saw in Rama's life the ideal of a true Hindu life, the success and the triumph which follow upon endurance and faith and devotion to duty. It is the truth and endurance of Rama under sufferings and privations which impart the deepest lessons to the Hindu character, and is the highest ideal of a Hindu righteous life. The ancient ideal may seem to us far-fetched in these days, but we can never fully comprehend the great moral Epic of the Hindus unless we endeavour to study fully and clearly its relations of old Hindu ideas and old Hindu life.

And if trial and endurance are a part of a Hindu's ideal of a man's life, devotion and self-abnegation are still more essentially a part of his ideal of a woman's life. Sita holds a place in the hearts Of women in India which no other creation of a poet's imagination holds among any other nation on earth. There is not a Hindu man whose earliest and tenderest recollections do not cling round the story of Sita's sufferings and Sita's faithfulness, told in the nursery, taught in the family circle, remembered and cherished through life. Sita's adventures in a desolate forest and in a hostile prison only represent in an exaggerated form the humbler trials of a woman's life; and Sita's endurance and faithfulness teach her devotion to duty in all trials and troubles of life. "For," said Sita:

For my mother often taught me and my father often spake,
That her home the wedded woman doth beside her husband make,
As the shadow to the substance, to her lord is faithful wife,
And she parts not from her consort till she parts with fleeting life!
Therefore bid me seek the jungle and in pathless forests roam,
Where the wild deer freely ranges and the tiger makes his home,
Happier than in father's mansions in the woods will Sita rove,
Waste no thought on home or kindred, nestling in her husband's love!"

The ideal of life was joy and beauty and gladness in ancient Greece; the ideal of life was piety and endurance and devotion in ancient India. The tale of Helen was a tale of womanly beauty and loveliness which charmed the western World. The tale of Sita was a tale of womanly faith and self-abnegation which charmed and fascinated the Hindu world. Repeated trials bring out in brighter relief the unfaltering truth of Sita's character; she goes to a second banishment in the woods with the same trust and devotion to her lord as before, and she returns once more, and sinks into the bosom of her Mother Earth, true in death as she had been true in life. The creative imagination of the Hindus has conceived no loftier and holier character than Sita; the literature of the world has not produced a higher ideal of womanly love, womanly truth, and womanly devotion.

The modern reader will now comprehend why India produced, and has preserved for well-nigh three thousand years, two Epics instead of one national Epic. No work of the imagination abides long unless it is animated by some sparks of imperishable truth, unless it truly embodies some portion of our human feelings, human faith, and human life. The Maha-Bharata depicts the political life of ancient India, with all its valour and heroism, ambition and lofty chivalry. The Ramayana embodies the domestic and religious life of ancient India, with all its tenderness and sweetness, its endurance and devotion. The one picture without the other were in complete; and we should know but little of the ancient Hindus if we did not comprehend their inner life and faith as well as their political life and their Warlike virtues. The two together give us a true and graphic picture of ancient Indian life and civilisation; and no nation on earth has preserved a more faithful picture of its glorious past.

In condensing the Ramayana with its more than 24,000 Sanscrit couplets into 2,000 English couplets I have followed the same plan which was adopted in my translation of the Maha-Bharata. I have selected those sections or cantos which tell the leading incidents of the Epic, and have translated the whole or main portions of them, and these selected passages are linked together by short notes. The plan, as was explained before, has this advantage, that the story is told not by the translator in his own way, but by the poet himself the passages placed before the reader are not the translator's abridgment of a long poem, but selected passages from the poem itself. It is the ancient poet of India, and not the translator, who narrates the old story; but he narrates only such portions of it as describe the leading incidents. We are told that the sons of Rama recited the whole poem of 24,000 verses, divided into 500 cantos or sections, in twenty-five days. The modern reader has not the patience of the Hindu listener of the old school; but a selection of the leading portions of that immortal song, arranged in 2,000 verses and in 84 short sections, may possibly receive a hearing, even from the much-distracted modern reader.

While speaking of my own translation I must not fail to make some mention of my predecessors in this work. The magnificent edition of the Ramayana (Bengal recension), published with an Italian translation by Gorresio, at the expense of Charles Albert King of Sardinia in 1843-67, first introduced this great Epic to the European public; and it was not long before M. Hippolyte Fauche presented the European world with a French translation of this edition. The Benares recension of the Ramayana has since been lithographed in Bombay, and a printed edition of the same recension with Ramanuja's commentary was brought out by the venerable Hem Chandra Vidyaratna in Calcutta in 1869-85. The talented and indefatigable Mr. Ralph Griffith, C.I.E., who has devoted a lifetime to translating Indian poetry into English, has produced an almost complete translation of the first six Books in more than 24,000 English couplets, and has given an abstract of the seventh Book in prose. And a complete translation of the Ramayana into English prose has since appeared in Calcutta.

The object of the present work is very different from that of these meritorious editions and translations. The purpose of this work, as explained above, is not to attempt a complete translation of a voluminous Epic, but to place before the general reader the leading story of that Epic by translating a number of selected passages and connecting them together by short notes. The purpose of this volume is not to repeat the long poem which Rama's sons are supposed to have recited in 24,000 Sanscrit couplets, but only to narrate the main incidents of that poem within the reasonable limit of 2,000 verses. And the general reader who seeks for a practical acquaintance with the great Indian poem within a reason able compass will, it is hoped, find in this book a handy and not unacceptable translation of the leading story of the Epic.

I have stated before that in India the Ramayana is still a living tradition and a living faith. It forms the basis of the moral instruction of a nation, and it is a part of the lives of two hundred millions of people. It is necessary to add that when the modern languages of India were first formed out of the ancient Sanscrit and Prakrits, in the ninth and tenth centuries after Christ, the Ramayana had the greatest influence in inspiring our modern poets and forming our modern tongues. Southern India took the lead, and a translation of the Ramayana in the Tamil language appeared as early as A.D. 1100. Northern India and Bengal and Bombay followed the example; Tulasi Das's Ramayana is the great classic of the Hindi language, Krittibas's Ramayana is a classic in the Bengali language, and Sridhar's Ramayana is a classic in the Mahratta language. Generations of Hindus in all parts of India have studied the ancient story in these modern translations; they have heard it recited in the houses of the rich; and they have seen it acted on the stage at religious festivals in every great town and every populous village through the length and breadth of India.

More than this, the story of Rama has inspired our religious reformers, and purified the popular faith of our modern times. Rama, the true and dutiful, was accepted as the Spirit of God descended on earth, as an incarnation of Vishnu the Preserver of the World. The great teacher Ramanuja proclaimed the monotheism of Vishnu in Southern India in the twelfth century; the reformer Ramananda proclaimed the same faith in Northern India in the thirteenth or fourteenth century; and his follower the gifted Kabir conceived the bold idea of uniting Hindus and Mahomedans. in the worship of One God. "The God of the Hindus," he said, is the God of the Mahomedans, be he invoked as Rama or Ali." "The city of the Hindu God is Benares, and the city of the Mahomedan God is Mecca; but search your hearts, and there you will find the God both of Hindus and Mahomedans." "If the Creator dwells in tabernacles, whose dwelling is the universe?"

The reformer Chaitanya preached the same sublime monotheism in Bengal, and the reformer Nanak in the Punjab, in the sixteenth century. And down to the present day the popular mind in India, led away by the worship of many images in many temples, nevertheless holds fast to the cardinal idea of One God, and believes the heroes of the ancient Epics-Krishna and Rama-to be the incarnations of that God. The various sects of the Hindus, specially the sects of Vishnu and of Siva who form the great majority of the people, quarrel about a name as they often did in Europe in the Middle Ages, and each sect gives to the Deity the special name by which the sect is known. In the teeming villages of Bengal, in the ancient shrines of Northern India, and far away in the towns and hamlets of Southern India, the prevailing faith of the million is a popular monotheism underlying the various ceremonials in honour of various images and forms-and that popular monotheism generally recognises the heroes of the two ancient Epics,--Krishna and Rama, as the earthly incarnations of the great God who pervades and rules the universe.

To know the Indian Epics is to understand the Indian people better. And to trace the influence of the Indian Epics on the life and civilisation of the nation, and on the development of their modern languages, literatures, and religious reforms, is to comprehend the real history of the people during three thousand years.

ROMESH DUTT.

August

1899