Chapter 34

Then Ráma, like the lotus eyed, Descended from the mountain side, And to the Maithil lady showed The lovely stream that softly flowed. And thus Ayodhyá’s lord addressed His bride, of dames the loveliest, Child of Videha’s king, her face Bright with the fair moon’s tender grace: “How sweetly glides, O darling, look, Mandákiní’s delightful brook, Adorned with islets, blossoms gay, And sárases and swans at play! The trees with which her banks are lined Show flowers and fruit of every kind: The match in radiant sheen is she Of King Kuvera’s Naliní.(373) My heart exults with pleasure new The shelving band and ford to view, Where gathering herds of thirsty deer Disturb the wave that ran so clear. Now look, those holy hermits mark In skins of deer and coats of bark; With twisted coils of matted hair, The reverend men are bathing there, And as they lift their arms on high The Lord of Day they glorify: These best of saints, my large-eyed spouse, Are constant to their sacred vows. The mountain dances while the trees Bend their proud summits to the breeze, And scatter many a flower and bud From branches that o’erhang the flood. There flows the stream like lucid pearl, Round islets here the currents whirl, And perfect saints from middle air Are flocking to the waters there. See, there lie flowers in many a heap From boughs the whistling breezes sweep, And others wafted by the gale Down the swift current dance and sail. Now see that pair of wild-fowl rise, Exulting with their joyful cries: Hark, darling, wafted from afar How soft their pleasant voices are. To gaze on Chitrakúṭa’s hill, To look upon this lovely rill, To bend mine eyes on thee, dear wife, Is sweeter than my city life. Come, bathe we in the pleasant rill Whose dancing waves are never still, Stirred by those beings pure from sin, The sanctities who bathe therein: Come, dearest, to the stream descend, Approach her as a darling friend, And dip thee in the silver flood Which lotuses and lilies stud. Let this fair hill Ayodhyá seem, Its silvan things her people deem, And let these waters as they flow Our own beloved Sarjú show. How blest, mine own dear love, am I; Thou, fond and true, art ever nigh, And duteous, faithful Lakshmaṇ stays Beside me, and my word obeys. Here every day I bathe me thrice, Fruit, honey, roots for food suffice, And ne’er my thoughts with longing stray To distant home or royal sway. For who this charming brook can see Where herds of roedeer wander free, And on the flowery-wooded brink Apes, elephants, and lions drink, Nor feel all sorrow fly?” Thus eloquently spoke the pride Of Raghu’s children to his bride, And wandered happy by her side Where Chitrakúṭa azure-dyed Uprears his peaks on high.

Canto XCVI. The Magic Shaft.(374)

Thus Ráma showed to Janak’s child The varied beauties of the wild, The hill, the brook and each fair spot, Then turned to seek their leafy cot. North of the mountain Ráma found A cavern in the sloping ground, Charming to view, its floor was strown With many a mass of ore and stone, In secret shadow far retired Where gay birds sang with joy inspired, And trees their graceful branches swayed With loads of blossom downward weighed. Soon as he saw the cave which took Each living heart and chained the look, Thus Ráma spoke to Sítá who Gazed wondering on the silvan view: “Does this fair cave beneath the height, Videhan lady, charm thy sight? Then let us resting here a while The languor of the way beguile. That block of stone so smooth and square Was set for thee to rest on there, And like a thriving Keśar tree This flowery shrub o’ershadows thee.” Thus Ráma spoke, and Janak’s child, By nature ever soft and mild, In tender words which love betrayed Her answer to the hero made: “O pride of Raghu’s children, still My pleasure is to do thy will. Enough for me thy wish to know: Far hast thou wandered to and fro.”

Thus Sítá spake in gentle tone, And went obedient to the stone, Of perfect face and faultless limb Prepared to rest a while with him. And Ráma, as she thus replied, Turned to his spouse again and cried: “Thou seest, love, this flowery shade For silvan creatures’ pleasure made, How the gum streams from trees and plants Torn by the tusks of elephants! Through all the forest clear and high Resounds the shrill cicala’s cry. Hark how the kite above us moans, And calls her young in piteous tones; So may my hapless mother be Still mourning in her home for me. There mounted on that lofty Sál The loud Bhringráj(375) repeats his call: How sweetly now he tunes his throat Responsive to the Koïl’s note. Or else the bird that now has sung May be himself the Koïl’s young, Linked with such winning sweetness are The notes he pours irregular. See, round the blooming Mango clings That creeper with her tender rings, So in thy love, when none is near, Thine arms are thrown round me, my dear.”

Thus in his joy he cried; and she, Sweet speaker, on her lover’s knee, Of faultless limb and perfect face, Grew closer to her lord’s embrace. Reclining in her husband’s arms, A goddess in her wealth of charms, She filled his loving breast anew With mighty joy that thrilled him through. His finger on the rock he laid, Which veins of sanguine ore displayed, And painted o’er his darling’s eyes The holy sign in mineral dyes. Bright on her brow the metal lay Like the young sun’s first gleaming ray, And showed her in her beauty fair As the soft light of morning’s air. Then from the Keśar’s laden tree He picked fair blossoms in his glee, And as he decked each lovely tress, His heart o’erflowed with happiness. So resting on that rocky seat A while they spent in pastime sweet, Then onward neath the shady boughs Went Ráma with his Maithil spouse. She roaming in the forest shade Where every kind of creature strayed Observed a monkey wandering near, And clung to Ráma’s arm in fear. The hero Ráma fondly laced His mighty arms around her waist, Consoled his beauty in her dread, And scared the Monkey till he fled. That holy mark of sanguine ore That gleamed on Sítá’s brow before, Shone by that close embrace impressed Upon the hero’s ample chest. Then Sítá, when the beast who led The monkey troop, afar had fled, Laughed loudly in light-hearted glee That mark on Ráma’s chest to see. A clump of bright Aśokas fired The forest in their bloom attired: The restless blossoms as they gleamed A host of threatening monkeys seemed. Then Sítá thus to Ráma cried, As longingly the flowers she eyed: “Pride of thy race, now let us go Where those Aśoka blossoms grow.” He on his darling’s pleasure bent With his fair goddess thither went And roamed delighted through the wood Where blossoming Aśokas stood, As Śiva with Queen Umá roves Through Himaván’s majestic groves. Bright with purpureal glow the pair Of happy lovers sported there, And each upon the other set A flower-inwoven coronet. There many a crown and chain they wove Of blooms from that Aśoka grove, And in their graceful sport the two Fresh beauty o’er the mountain threw. The lover let his love survey Each pleasant spot that round them lay, Then turned they to their green retreat Where all was garnished, gay, and neat. By brotherly affection led, Sumitrá’s son to meet them sped, And showed the labours of the day Done while his brother was away. There lay ten black-deer duly slain With arrows pure of poison stain, Piled in a mighty heap to dry, With many another carcass nigh. And Lakshmaṇ’s brother saw, o’erjoyed, The work that had his hands employed, Then to his consort thus he cried: “Now be the general gifts supplied.” Then Sítá, fairest beauty, placed The food for living things to taste, And set before the brothers meat And honey that the pair might eat. They ate the meal her hands supplied, Their lips with water purified: Then Janak’s daughter sat at last And duly made her own repast. The other venison, to be dried, Piled up in heaps was set aside, And Ráma told his wife to stay And drive the flocking crows away. Her husband saw her much distressed By one more bold than all the rest, Whose wings where’er he chose could fly, Now pierce the earth, now roam the sky. Then Ráma laughed to see her stirred To anger by the plaguing bird: Proud of his love the beauteous dame With burning rage was all aflame. Now here, now there, again, again She chased the crow, but all in vain, Enraging her, so quick to strike With beak and wing and claw alike: Then how the proud lip quivered, how The dark frown marked her angry brow! When Ráma saw her cheek aglow With passion, he rebuked the crow. But bold in impudence the bird, With no respect for Ráma’s word, Fearless again at Sítá flew: Then Ráma’s wrath to fury grew. The hero of the mighty arm Spoke o’er a shaft the mystic charm, Laid the dire weapon on his bow And launched it at the shameless crow. The bird, empowered by Gods to spring Through earth itself on rapid wing, Through the three worlds in terror fled Still followed by that arrow dread. Where’er he flew, now here now there, A cloud of weapons filled the air. Back to the high-souled prince he fled And bent at Ráma’s feet his head, And then, as Sítá looked, began His speech in accents of a man: “O pardon, and for pity’s sake Spare, Ráma, spare my life to take! Where’er I turn, where’er I flee, No shelter from this shaft I see.”

The chieftain heard the crow entreat Helpless and prostrate at his feet, And while soft pity moved his breast, With wisest speech the bird addressed: “I took the troubled Sítá’s part, And furious anger filled my heart. Then on the string my arrow lay Charmed with a spell thy life to slay. Thou seekest now my feet, to crave Forgiveness and thy life to save. So shall thy prayer have due respect: The suppliant I must still protect. But ne’er in vain this dart may flee; Yield for thy life a part of thee, What portion of thy body, say, Shall this mine arrow rend away? Thus far, O bird, thus far alone On thee my pity may be shown. Forfeit a part thy life to buy: ’Tis better so to live than die.” Thus Ráma spoke: the bird of air Pondered his speech with anxious care, And wisely deemed it good to give One of his eyes that he might live. To Raghu’s son he made reply: “O Ráma, I will yield an eye. So let me in thy grace confide And live hereafter single-eyed.” Then Ráma charged the shaft, and lo, Full in the eye it smote the crow. And the Videhan lady gazed Upon the ruined eye amazed. The crow to Ráma humbly bent, Then where his fancy led he went. Ráma with Lakshmaṇ by his side With needful work was occupied.

Canto XCVII. Lakshman’s Anger.

Thus Ráma showed his love the rill Whose waters ran beneath the hill, Then resting on his mountain seat Refreshed her with the choicest meat. So there reposed the happy two: Then Bharat’s army nearer drew: Rose to the skies a dusty cloud, The sound of trampling feet was loud. The swelling roar of marching men Drove the roused tiger from his den, And scared amain the serpent race Flying to hole and hiding-place. The herds of deer in terror fled, The air was filled with birds o’erhead, The bear began to leave his tree, The monkey to the cave to flee. Wild elephants were all amazed As though the wood around them blazed. The lion oped his ponderous jaw, The buffalo looked round in awe. The prince, who heard the deafening sound, And saw the silvan creatures round Fly wildly startled from their rest, The glorious Lakshmaṇ thus addressed: “Sumitrá’s noble son most dear, Hark, Lakshmaṇ, what a roar I hear, The tumult of a coming crowd, Appalling, deafening, deep, and loud! The din that yet more fearful grows Scares elephants and buffaloes, Or frightened by the lions, deer Are flying through the wood in fear. I fain would know who seeks this place Comes prince or monarch for the chase? Or does some mighty beast of prey Frighten the silvan herds away? ’Tis hard to reach this mountain height, Yea, e’en for birds in airy flight. Then fain, O Lakshmaṇ, would I know What cause disturbs the forest so.”

Lakshmaṇ in haste, the wood to view, Climbed a high Sál that near him grew, The forest all around he eyed, First gazing on the eastern side. Then northward when his eyes he bent He saw a mighty armament Of elephants, and cars, and horse, And men on foot, a mingled force, And banners waving in the breeze, And spoke to Ráma words like these: “Quick, quick, my lord, put out the fire, Let Sítá to the cave retire. Thy coat of mail around thee throw, Prepare thine arrows and thy bow.”

In eager haste thus Lakshmaṇ cried, And Ráma, lion lord, replied: “Still closer be the army scanned, And say who leads the warlike band.” Lakshmaṇ his answer thus returned, As furious rage within him burned, Exciting him like kindled fire To scorch the army in his ire: “’Tis Bharat: he has made the throne By consecrating rites his own: To gain the whole dominion thus He comes in arms to slaughter us. I mark tree-high upon his car His flagstaff of the Kovidár,(376) I see his glittering banner glance, I see his chivalry advance: I see his eager warriors shine On elephants in lengthened line. Now grasp we each the shafts and bow, And higher up the mountain go. Or in this place, O hero, stand With weapons in each ready hand. Perhaps beneath our might may fall This leader of the standard tall, And Bharat I this day may see Who brought this mighty woe on thee, Sítá, and me, who drove away My brother from the royal sway. Bharat our foe at length is nigh, And by this hand shall surely die: Brother, I see no sin at all If Bharat by my weapon fall. No fault is his who slays the foe Whose hand was first to strike the blow: With Bharat now the crime begins Who against thee and duty sins. The queen athirst for royal sway Will see her darling son to-day Fall by this hand, like some fair tree Struck by an elephant, slain by me. Kaikeyí’s self shall perish too With kith and kin and retinue, And earth by my avenging deed Shall from this mass of sin be freed. This day my wrath, too long restrained, Shall fall upon the foe, unchained, Mad as the kindled flame that speeds Destroying through the grass and reeds. This day mine arrows keen and fierce The bodies of the foe shall pierce: The woods on Chitrakúṭa’s side Shall run with torrents crimson-dyed. The wandering beasts of prey shall feed On heart-cleft elephant and steed, And drag to mountain caves away The bodies that my arrows slay. Doubt not that Bharat and his train Shall in this mighty wood be slain: So shall I pay the debt my bow And these my deadly arrows owe.”

Canto XCVIII. Lakshman Calmed.

Then Ráma nobly calm allayed The wrath that Lakshmaṇ’s bosom swayed: “What need have we the sword to wield, To bend the bow or lift the shield, If Bharat brave, and wise, and good, Himself has sought this sheltering wood? I sware my father’s will to do, And if I now my brother slew What gain in kingship should I find, Despised and scorned by all mankind? Believe me, e’en as I would shrink From poisoned meat or deadly drink, No power or treasure would I win By fall of friend or kith or kin. Brother, believe the words I speak: For your dear sakes alone I seek Duty and pleasure, wealth and gain: A holy life, a happy reign. If royal sway my heart desires, My brothers’ weal the wish inspires: Their bliss and safety is my care, By this uplifted bow I swear. ’Twere not so hard for me to gain This broad land girdled by the main, But even Indra’s royal might Should ne’er be mine in duty’s spite. If any bliss my soul can see Deprived of dear Śatrughna, thee, And Bharat, may the flame destroy With ashy gloom the selfish joy. Far dearer than this life of mine, Knowing the custom of our line, His heart with fond affection fraught, Bharat Ayodhyá’s town resought And hearing when he came that I, With thee and Sítá, forced to fly With matted hair and hermit dress Am wandering in the wilderness. While grief his troubled senses storms, And tender love his bosom warms, From every thought of evil clear, Is come to meet his brother here. Some grievous words perchance he spoke Kaikeyí’s anger to provoke, Then won the king, and comes to lay Before my feet the royal sway. Hither, methinks, in season due Comes Bharat for an interview, Nor in his secret heart has he One evil thought ’gainst thee or me. What has he done ere now, reflect! How failed in love or due respect To make thee doubt his faith and lay This evil to his charge to-day? Thou shouldst not join with Bharat’s name So harsh a speech and idle blame. The blows thy tongue at Bharat deals, My sympathizing bosom feels. How, urged by stress of any ill, Should sons their father’s life-blood spill, Or brother slay in impious strife A brother dearer than his life? If thou these cruel words hast said By strong desire of empire led, My brother Bharat will I pray To give to thee the kingly sway. “Give him the realm,” my speech shall be, And Bharat will, methinks, agree.”

Thus spoke the prince whose chief delight Was duty, and to aid the right: And Lakshmaṇ keenly felt the blame, And shrank within himself for shame: And then his answer thus returned, With downcast eye and cheek that burned: “Brother, I ween, to see thy face Our sire himself has sought this place.” Thus Lakshmaṇ spoke and stood ashamed, And Ráma saw and thus exclaimed: “It is the strong-armed monarch: he Is come, methinks, his sons to see, To bid us both the forest quit For joys for which he deems us fit: He thinks on all our care and pain, And now would lead us home again. My glorious father hence will bear Sítá who claims all tender care. I see two coursers fleet as storms, Of noble breed and lovely forms. I see the beast of mountain size Who bears the king our father wise, The aged Victor, march this way In front of all the armed array. But doubt and fear within me rise, For when I look with eager eyes I see no white umbrella spread, World-famous, o’er the royal head. Now, Lakshmaṇ, from the tree descend, And to my words attention lend.”

Thus spoke the pious prince: and he Descended from the lofty tree, And reverent hand to hand applied, Stood humbly by his brother’s side.

The host, compelled by Bharat’s care, The wood from trampling feet to spare, Dense crowding half a league each way Encamped around the mountain lay. Below the tall hill’s shelving side Gleamed the bright army far and wide Spread o’er the ample space, By Bharat led who firmly true In duty from his bosom threw All pride, and near his brother drew To win the hero’s grace.

Canto XCIX. Bharat’s Approach.

Soon as the warriors took their rest Obeying Bharat’s high behest, Thus Bharat to Śatrughna spake: “A band of soldiers with thee take, And with these hunters o’er and o’er The thickets of the wood explore. With bow, sword, arrows in their hands Let Guha with his kindred bands Within this grove remaining trace The children of Kakutstha’s race. And I meanwhile on foot will through This neighbouring wood my way pursue, With elders and the twice-born men, And every lord and citizen. There is, I feel, no rest for me Till Ráma’s face again I see, Lakshmaṇ, in arms and glory great, And Sítá born to happy fate: No rest, until his cheek as bright As the fair moon rejoice my sight, No rest until I see the eye With which the lotus petals vie; Till on my head those dear feet rest With signs of royal rank impressed; None, till my kingly brother gain His old hereditary reign, Till o’er his limbs and noble head The consecrating drops be shed. How blest is Janak’s daughter, true To every wifely duty, who Cleaves faithful to her husband’s side Whose realm is girt by Ocean’s tide! This mountain too above the rest E’en as the King of Hills is blest,— Whose shades Kakutstha’s scion hold As Nandan charms the Lord of Gold. Yea, happy is this tangled grove Where savage beasts unnumbered rove, Where, glory of the Warrior race, King Ráma finds a dwelling-place.”

Thus Bharat, strong-armed hero spake, And walked within the pathless brake. O’er plains where gay trees bloomed he went, Through boughs in tangled net-work bent, And then from Ráma’s cot appeared The banner which the flame upreared. And Bharat joyed with every friend To mark those smoky wreaths ascend: “Here Ráma dwells,” he thought; “at last The ocean of our toil is passed.” Then sure that Ráma’s hermit cot Was on the mountain’s side He stayed his army on the spot, And on with Guha hied.

Canto C. The Meeting.

Then Bharat to Śatrughna showed The spot, and eager onward strode, First bidding Saint Vaśishṭha bring The widowed consorts of the king. As by fraternal love impelled His onward course the hero held, Sumantra followed close behind Śatrughna with an anxious mind: Not Bharat’s self more fain could be To look on Ráma’s face than he. As, speeding on, the spot he neared, Amid the hermits’ homes appeared His brother’s cot with leaves o’erspread, And by its side a lowly shed. Before the shed great heaps were left Of gathered flowers and billets cleft, And on the trees hung grass and bark Ráma and Lakshmaṇ’s path to mark: And heaps of fuel to provide Against the cold stood ready dried. The long-armed chief, as on he went In glory’s light preëminent, With joyous words like these addressed The brave Śatrughna and the rest: “This is the place, I little doubt, Which Bharadvája pointed out, Not far from where we stand must be The woodland stream, Mandákiní. Here on the mountain’s woody side Roam elephants in tusked pride, And ever with a roar and cry Each other, as they meet, defy. And see those smoke-wreaths thick and dark: The presence of the flame they mark, Which hermits in the forest strive By every art to keep alive. O happy me! my task is done, And I shall look on Raghu’s son, Like some great saint, who loves to treat His elders with all reverence meet.”

Thus Bharat reached that forest rill, Thus roamed on Chitrakúṭa’s hill; Then pity in his breast awoke, And to his friends the hero spoke: “Woe, woe upon my life and birth! The prince of men, the lord of earth Has sought the lonely wood to dwell Sequestered in a hermit’s cell. Through me, through me these sorrows fall On him the splendid lord of all: Through me resigning earthly bliss He hides him in a home like this. Now will I, by the world abhorred, Fall at the dear feet of my lord, And at fair Sítá’s too, to win His pardon for my heinous sin.”