Chapter 43

When Khara with the hosts he led Drew near to Ráma’s leafy shed, He saw that queller of the foe Stand ready with his ordered bow. He saw, and burning at the view His clanging bow he raised and drew, And bade his driver urge apace His car to meet him face to face. Obedient to his master’s hest His eager steeds the driver pressed On to the spot where, none to aid, The strong-armed chief his weapon swayed. Soon as the children of the night Saw Khara rushing to the fight, His lords with loud unearthly cry Followed their chief and gathered nigh. As in his car the leader rode With all his lords around, he showed Like the red planet fiery Mars Surrounded by the lesser stars. Then with a horrid yell that rent The air, the giant chieftain sent A thousand darts in rapid shower On Ráma matchless in his power. The rovers of the night, impelled By fiery rage which naught withheld, Upon the unconquered prince, who strained His fearful bow, their arrows rained. With sword and club, with mace and pike, With spear and axe to pierce and strike, Those furious fiends on every side The unconquerable hero plied. The giant legions huge and strong, Like clouds the tempest drives along, Rushed upon Ráma with the speed Of whirling car, and mounted steed, And hill-like elephant, to slay The matchless prince in battle fray. Then upon Ráma thick and fast The rain of mortal steel they cast, As labouring clouds their torrents shed Upon the mountain-monarch’s(467) head. As near and nearer round him drew The warriors of the giant crew, He showed like Śiva girt by all His spirits when night’s shadows fall. As the great deep receives each rill And river rushing from the hill, He bore that flood of darts, and broke With well-aimed shaft each murderous stroke. By stress of arrowy storm assailed, And wounded sore, he never failed, Like some high mountain which defies The red bolts flashing from the skies. With ruddy streams each limb was dyed From gaping wounds in breast and side, Showing the hero like the sun ’Mid crimson clouds ere day is done. Then, at that sight of terror, faint Grew God, Gandharva, sage, and saint, Trembling to see the prince oppose His single might to myriad foes. But waxing wroth, with force unspent, He strained his bow to utmost bent, And forth his arrows keen and true In hundreds, yea in thousands flew,— Shafts none could ward, and none endure: Death’s fatal noose was scarce so sure. As ’twere in playful ease he shot His gilded shafts, and rested not. With swiftest flight and truest aim Upon the giant hosts they came. Each smote, each stayed a foeman’s breath As fatal as the coil of Death. Each arrow through a giant tore A passage, and besmeared with gore, Pursued its onward way and through The air with flamy brilliance flew. Unnumbered were the arrows sent From the great bow which Ráma bent, And every shaft with iron head The lifeblood of a giant shed. Their pennoned bows were cleft, nor mail Nor shield of hide could aught avail. For Ráma’s myriad arrows tore Through arms, and bracelets which they wore, And severed mighty warriors’ thighs Like trunks of elephants in size, And cut resistless passage sheer Through gold-decked horse and charioteer, Slew elephant and rider, slew The horseman and the charger too, And infantry unnumbered sent To dwell ’neath Yáma’s government. Then rose on high a fearful yell Of rovers of the night, who fell Beneath that iron torrent, sore Wounded by shafts that rent and tore. So mangled by the ceaseless storm Of shafts of every kind and form, Such joy they found, as forests feel When scorched by flame, from Ráma’s steel. The mightiest still the fight maintained, And furious upon Ráma rained Dart, arrow, spear, with wild attacks Of mace, and club, and battle-axe. But the great chief, unconquered yet, Their weapons with his arrows met, Which severed many a giant’s head, And all the plain with corpses spread. With sundered bow and shattered shield Headless they sank upon the field, As the tall trees, that felt the blast Of Garuḍ’s wing, to earth were cast. The giants left unslaughtered there Where filled with terror and despair, And to their leader Khara fled Faint, wounded, and discomfited. These fiery Dúshaṇ strove to cheer, And poised his bow to calm their fear; Then fierce as He who rules the dead, When wroth, on angered Ráma sped. By Dúshaṇ cheered, the demons cast Their dread aside and rallied fast With Sáls, rocks, palm-trees in their hands With nooses, maces, pikes, and brands, Again upon the godlike man The mighty fiends infuriate ran, These casting rocks like hail, and these A whelming shower of leafy trees. Wild, wondrous fight, the eye to scare, And raise on end each shuddering hair, As with the fiends who loved to rove By night heroic Ráma strove! The giants in their fury plied Ráma with darts on every side. Then, by the gathering demons pressed From north and south and east and west, By showers of deadly darts assailed From every quarter fiercely hailed, Girt by the foes who swarmed around, He raised a mighty shout whose sound Struck terror. On the giant crew His great Gandharva(468) arrow flew. A thousand mortal shafts were rained From the orbed bow the hero strained, Till east and west and south and north Were filled with arrows volleyed forth. They heard the fearful shout: they saw His mighty hand the bowstring draw, Yet could no wounded giant’s eye See the swift storm of arrows fly. Still firm the warrior stood and cast His deadly missiles thick and fast. Dark grew the air with arrowy hail Which hid the sun as with a veil. Fiends wounded, falling, fallen, slain, All in a moment, spread the plain, And thousands scarce alive were left Mangled, and gashed, and torn, and cleft. Dire was the sight, the plain o’erspread With trophies of the mangled dead. There lay, by Ráma’s missiles rent, Full many a priceless ornament, With severed limb and broken gem, Hauberk and helm and diadem. There lay the shattered car, the steed, The elephant of noblest breed, The splintered spear, the shivered mace, Chouris and screens to shade the face. The giants saw with bitterest pain Their warriors weltering on the plain, Nor dared again his might oppose Who scourged the cities of his foes.

Canto XXVI. Dúshan’s Death.

When Dúshaṇ saw his giant band Slaughtered by Ráma’s conquering hand, He called five thousand fiends, and gave His orders. Bravest of the brave, Invincible, of furious might, Ne’er had they turned their backs in flight. They, as their leader bade them seize Spears, swords, and clubs, and rocks, and trees, Poured on the dauntless prince again A ceaseless shower of deadly rain. The virtuous Ráma, undismayed, Their missiles with his arrows stayed, And weakened, ere it fell, the shock Of that dire hail of tree and rock, And like a bull with eyelids closed, The pelting of the storm opposed.

Then blazed his ire: he longed to smite To earth the rovers of the night. The wrath that o’er his spirit came Clothed him with splendour as of flame, While showers of mortal darts he poured Fierce on the giants and their lord. Dúshaṇ, the foeman’s dusky dread, By frenzied rage inspirited, On Raghu’s son his missiles cast Like Indra’s bolts which rend and blast. But Ráma with a trenchant dart Cleft Dúshaṇ’s ponderous bow apart. And then the gold-decked steeds who drew The chariot, with four shafts he slew. One crescent dart he aimed which shred Clean from his neck the driver’s head; Three more with deadly skill addressed Stood quivering in the giant’s breast. Hurled from his car, steeds, driver slain, The bow he trusted cleft in twain, He seized his mace, strong, heavy, dread, High as a mountain’s towering head. With plates of gold adorned and bound, Embattled Gods it crushed and ground. Its iron spikes yet bore the stains Of mangled foemen’s blood and brains. Its heavy mass of jagged steel Was like a thunderbolt to feel. It shattered, as on foes it fell, The city where the senses dwell.(469) Fierce Dúshaṇ seized that ponderous mace Like monstrous form of serpent race, And all his savage soul aglow With fury, rushed upon the foe. But Raghu’s son took steady aim, And as the rushing giant came, Shore with two shafts the arms whereon The demon’s glittering bracelets shone. His arm at each huge shoulder lopped, The mighty body reeled and dropped, And the great mace to earth was thrown Like Indra’s staff when storms have blown. As some vast elephant who lies Shorn of his tusks, and bleeding dies, So, when his arms were rent away, Low on the ground the giant lay. The spirits saw the monster die, And loudly rang their joyful cry, “Honour to Ráma! nobly done! Well hast thou fought, Kakutstha’s son!” But the great three, the host who led, Enraged to see their chieftain dead, As though Death’s toils were round them cast, Rushed upon Ráma fierce and fast, Mahákapála seized, to strike His foeman down, a ponderous pike: Sthúláksha charged with spear to fling, Pramáthi with his axe to swing. When Ráma saw, with keen darts he Received the onset of the three, As calm as though he hailed a guest In each, who came for shade and rest. Mahákapála’s monstrous head Fell with the trenchant dart he sped. His good right hand in battle skilled Sthúláksha’s eyes with arrows filled, And trusting still his ready bow He laid the fierce Pramáthi low, Who sank as some tall tree falls down With bough and branch and leafy crown. Then with five thousand shafts he slew The rest of Dúshaṇ’s giant crew: Five thousand demons, torn and rent, To Yáma’s gloomy realm he sent.

When Khara knew the fate of all The giant band and Dúshaṇ’s fall, He called the mighty chiefs who led His army, and in fury said:

“Now Dúshaṇ and his armèd train Lie prostrate on the battle plain. Lead forth an army mightier still, Ráma this wretched man, to kill. Fight ye with darts of every shape, Nor let him from your wrath escape.”

Thus spoke the fiend, by rage impelled, And straight his course toward Ráma held. With Śyenagámí and the rest Of his twelve chiefs he onward pressed, And every giant as he went A storm of well-wrought arrows sent. Then with his pointed shafts that came With gold and diamond bright as flame, Dead to the earth the hero threw The remnant of the demon crew. Those shafts with feathers bright as gold, Like flames which wreaths of smoke enfold, Smote down the fiends like tall trees rent By red bolts from the firmament. A hundred shafts he pointed well: By their keen barbs a hundred fell: A thousand,—and a thousand more In battle’s front lay drenched in gore. Of all defence and guard bereft, With sundered bows and harness cleft. Their bodies red with bloody stain Fell the night-rovers on the plain, Which, covered with the loosened hair Of bleeding giants prostrate there, Like some great altar showed, arrayed For holy rites with grass o’erlaid. The darksome wood, each glade and dell Where the wild demons fought and fell Was like an awful hell whose floor Is thick with mire and flesh and gore.

Thus twice seven thousand fiends, a band With impious heart and bloody hand, By Raghu’s son were overthrown, A man, on foot, and all alone. Of all who met on that fierce day, Khara, great chief, survived the fray, The monster of the triple head,(470) And Raghu’s son, the foeman’s dread. The other demon warriors, all Skilful and brave and strong and tall, In front of battle, side by side, Struck down by Lakshmaṇ’s brother died. When Khara saw the host he led Triumphant forth to fight Stretched on the earth, all smitten dead, By Ráma’s nobler might, Upon his foe he fiercely glared, And drove against him fast, Like Indra when his arm is bared His thundering bolt to cast.

Canto XXVII. The Death Of Trisirás.

But Triśirás,(471) a chieftain dread, Marked Khara as he onward sped. And met his car and cried, to stay The giant from the purposed fray: “Mine be the charge: let me attack, And turn thee from the contest back. Let me go forth, and thou shalt see The strong-armed Ráma slain by me. True are the words I speak, my lord: I swear it as I touch my sword: That I this Ráma’s blood will spill, Whom every giant’s hand should kill. This Ráma will I slay, or he In battle fray shall conquer me. Restrain thy spirit: check thy car, And view the combat from afar. Thou, joying o’er the prostrate foe, To Janasthán again shalt go, Or, if I fall in battle’s chance, Against my conqueror advance.”

Thus Triśirás for death who yearned: And Khara from the conflict turned, “Go forth to battle,” Khara cried; And toward his foe the giant hied. Borne on a car of glittering hue Which harnessed coursers fleetly drew, Like some huge hill with triple peak He onward rushed the prince to seek. Still, like a big cloud, sending out His arrowy rain with many a shout Like the deep sullen roars that come Discordant from a moistened drum. But Raghu’s son, whose watchful eye Beheld the demon rushing nigh, From the great bow he raised and bent A shower of shafts to meet him sent. Wild grew the fight and wilder yet As fiend and man in combat met, As when in some dark wood’s retreat An elephant and a lion meet.

The giant bent his bow, and true To Ráma’s brow three arrows flew. Then, raging as he felt the stroke, These words in anger Ráma spoke: “Heroic chief! is such the power Of fiends who rove at midnight hour? Soft as the touch of flowers I feel The gentle blows thine arrows deal. Receive in turn my shafts, and know What arrows fly from Ráma’s bow.” Thus as he spoke his wrath grew hot, And twice seven deadly shafts he shot, Which, dire as serpent’s deadly fang, Straight to the giant’s bosom sprang. Four arrows more,—each shaped to deal A mortal wound with barbèd steel,— The glorious hero shot, and slew The four good steeds the car that drew. Eight other shafts flew straight and fleet, And hurled the driver from his seat, And in the dust the banner laid That proudly o’er the chariot played. Then as the fiend prepared to bound Forth from his useless car to ground, The hero smote him to the heart, And numbed his arm with deadly smart. Again the chieftain, peerless-souled, Sent forth three rapid darts, and rolled With each keen arrow, deftly sped, Low in the dust a monstrous head. Then yielding to each deadly stroke, Forth spouting streams of blood and smoke, The headless trunk bedrenched with gore Fell to the ground and moved no more. The fiends who yet were left with life, Routed and crushed in battle strife, To Khara’s side, like trembling deer Scared by the hunter, fled in fear. King Khara saw with furious eye His scattered giants turn and fly; Then rallying his broken train At Raghu’s son he drove amain, Like Ráhu(472) when his deadly might Comes rushing on the Lord of Night.

Canto XXVIII. Khara Dismounted.

But when he turned his eye where bled Both Triśirás and Dúshaṇ dead, Fear o’er the giant’s spirit came Of Ráma’s might which naught could tame. He saw his savage legions, those Whose force no creature dared oppose,— He saw the leader of his train By Ráma’s single prowess slain. With burning grief he marked the few Still left him of his giant crew. As Namuchi(473) on Indra, so Rushed the dread demon on his foe. His mighty bow the monster strained, And angrily on Ráma rained His mortal arrows in a flood, Like serpent fangs athirst for blood. Skilled in the bowman’s warlike art, He plied the string and poised the dart. Here, on his car, and there, he rode, And passages of battle showed, While all the skyey regions grew Dark with his arrows as they flew. Then Ráma seized his ponderous bow, And straight the heaven was all aglow With shafts whose stroke no life might bear That filled with flash and flame the air, Thick as the blinding torrents sent Down from Parjanya’s(474) firmament. In space itself no space remained, But all was filled with arrows rained Incessantly from each great bow Wielded by Ráma and his foe. As thus in furious combat, wrought To mortal hate, the warriors fought, The sun himself grew faint and pale, Obscured behind that arrowy veil.

As when beneath the driver’s steel An elephant is forced to kneel, So from the hard and pointed head Of many an arrow Ráma bled. High on his car the giant rose Prepared in deadly strife to close, And all the spirits saw him stand Like Yáma with his noose in hand. For Khara deemed in senseless pride That he, beneath whose hand had died The giant legions, failed at length Slow sinking with exhausted strength. But Ráma, like a lion, when A trembling deer comes nigh his den, Feared not the demon mad with hate,— Of lion might and lion gait. Then in his lofty car that glowed With sunlike brilliance Khara rode At Ráma: madly on he came Like a poor moth that seeks the flame. His archer skill the fiend displayed, And at the place where Ráma laid His hand, an arrow cleft in two The mighty bow the hero drew. Seven arrows by the giant sent, Bright as the bolts of Indra, rent Their way through mail and harness joints, And pierced him with their iron points. On Ráma, hero unsurpassed, A thousand shafts smote thick and fast, While as each missile struck, rang out The giant’s awful battle-shout. His knotted arrows pierced and tore The sunbright mail the hero wore, Till, band and buckle rent away, Glittering on the ground it lay. Then pierced in shoulder, breast, and side, Till every limb with blood was dyed, The chieftain in majestic ire Shone glorious as the smokeless fire. Then loud and long the war-cry rose Of Ráma, terror of his foes, As, on the giant’s death intent, A ponderous bow he strung and bent,— Lord Vishṇu’s own, of wondrous size,— Agastya gave the heavenly prize. Then rushing on the demon foe, He raised on high that mighty bow, And with his well-wrought shafts, whereon Bright gold between the feathers shone, He struck the pennon fluttering o’er The chariot, and it waved no more. That glorious flag whose every fold Was rich with blazonry and gold, Fell as the sun himself by all The Gods’ decree might earthward fall. From wrathful Khara’s hand, whose art Well knew each vulnerable part, Four keenly-piercing arrows flew, And blood in Ráma’s bosom drew, With every limb distained with gore From deadly shafts which rent and tore, From Khara’s clanging bowstring shots, The prince’s wrath waxed wondrous hot. His hand upon his bow that best Of mighty archers firmly pressed, And from the well-drawn bowstring, true Each to its mark, six arrows flew. One quivered in the giant’s head, With two his brawny shoulders bled; Three, with the crescent heads they bore, Deep in his breast a passage tore. Thirteen, to which the stone had lent The keenest point, were swiftly sent On the fierce giant, every one Destructive, gleaming like the sun. With four the dappled steeds he slew; One cleft the chariot yoke in two, One, in the heat of battle sped, Smote from the neck the driver’s head. The poles were rent apart by three; Two broke the splintered axle-tree. Then from the hand of Ráma, while Across his lips there came a smile, The twelfth, like thunderbolt impelled, Cut the great hand and bow it held. Then, scarce by Indra’s self surpassed, He pierced the giant with the last. The bow he trusted cleft in twain, His driver and his horses slain, Down sprang the giant, mace in hand, On foot against the foe to stand. The Gods and saints in bright array Close gathered in the skies, The prince’s might in battle-fray Beheld with joyful eyes. Uprising from their golden seats, Their hands in honour raised, They looked on Ráma’s noble feats, And blessed him as they praised.

Canto XXIX. Khara’s Defeat.

When Ráma saw the giant nigh, On foot, alone, with mace reared high, In mild reproof at first he spoke, Then forth his threatening anger broke: “Thou with the host ’twas thine to lead, With elephant and car and steed, Hast wrought an act of sin and shame, An act which all who live must blame. Know that the wretch whose evil mind Joys in the grief of human kind, Though the three worlds confess him lord, Must perish dreaded and abhorred. Night-rover, when a villain’s deeds Distress the world he little heeds, Each hand is armed his life to take, And crush him like a deadly snake. The end is near when men begin Through greed or lust a life of sin, E’en as a Bráhman’s dame, unwise, Eats of the fallen hail(475) and dies. Thy hand has slain the pure and good, The hermit saints of Daṇḍak wood, Of holy life, the heirs of bliss; And thou shalt reap the fruit of this. Not long shall they whose cruel breasts Joy in the sin the world detests Retain their guilty power and pride, But fade like trees whose roots are dried. Yes, as the seasons come and go, Each tree its kindly fruit must show, And sinners reap in fitting time The harvest of each earlier crime. As those must surely die who eat Unwittingly of poisoned meat, They too whose lives in sin are spent Receive ere long the punishment. And know, thou rover of the night, That I, a king, am sent to smite The wicked down, who court the hate Of men whose laws they violate. This day my vengeful hand shall send Shafts bright with gold to tear and rend, And pass with fury through thy breast As serpents pierce an emmet’s nest. Thou with thy host this day shalt be Among the dead below, and see The saints beneath thy hand who bled, Whose flesh thy cruel maw has fed. They, glorious on their seats of gold, Their slayer shall in hell behold. Fight with all strength thou callest thine, Mean scion of ignoble line, Still, like the palm-tree’s fruit, this day My shafts thy head in dust shall lay.”

Such were the words that Ráma said: Then Khara’s eyes with wrath glowed red, Who, maddened by the rage that burned Within him, with a smile returned:

“Thou Daśaratha’s son, hast slain The meaner giants of my train: And canst thou idly vaunt thy might And claim the praise not thine by right? Not thus in self-laudation rave The truly great, the nobly brave: No empty boasts like thine disgrace The foremost of the human race. The mean of soul, unknown to fame, Who taint their warrior race with shame, Thus speak in senseless pride as thou, O Raghu’s son, hast boasted now. What hero, when the war-cry rings, Vaunts the high race from which he springs, Or seeks, when warriors meet and die, His own descent to glorify? Weakness and folly show confessed In every vaunt thou utterest, As when the flames fed high with grass Detect the simulating brass. Dost thou not see me standing here Armed with the mighty mace I rear, Firm as an earth upholding hill Whose summit veins of metal fill? Lo, here I stand before thy face To slay thee with my murderous mace, As Death, the universal lord, Stands threatening with his fatal cord. Enough of this. Much more remains That should be said: but time constrains. Ere to his rest the sun descend, And shades of night the combat end, The twice seven thousand of my band Who fell beneath thy bloody hand Shall have their tears all wiped away And triumph in thy fall to-day.”

He spoke, and loosing from his hold His mighty mace ringed round with gold, Like some red bolt alive with fire Hurled it at Ráma, mad with ire. The ponderous mace which Khara threw Sent fiery flashes as it flew. Trees, shrubs were scorched beneath the blast, As onward to its aim it passed. But Ráma, watching as it sped Dire as His noose who rules the dead, Cleft it with arrows as it came On rushing with a hiss and flame. Its fury spent and burnt away, Harmless upon the ground it lay Like a great snake in furious mood By herbs of numbing power subdued.

Canto XXX. Khara’s Death.

When Ráma, pride of Raghu’s race, Virtue’s dear son, had cleft the mace, Thus with superior smile the best Of chiefs the furious fiend addressed: