Chapter 73

This said, he ranged with warlike art Each body of the host apart. “There in the centre,” Ráma cried, “Be Angad’s place by Níla’s side. Let Rishabh of impetuous might Be lord and leader on the right, And Gandhamádan, next in rank, Be captain of the farther flank. Lakshmaṇ and I the hosts will lead, And Jámbaván of ursine breed, With bold Susheṇ unused to fear, And Vegadarśí, guide the rear.”

Thus Ráma spoke: the chiefs obeyed; And all the Vánar hosts arrayed Showed awful as the autumn sky When clouds embattled form on high. Their arms were mighty trees o’erthrown, And massy blocks of mountain stone. One hope in every warlike breast, One firm resolve, they onward pressed, To die in fight or batter down The walls and towers of Lanká’s town.

Those marshalled legions Ráma eyed, And thus to King Sugríva cried: “Now, Monarch, ere the hosts proceed, Let Śuka, Rávaṇ’s spy, be freed.” He spoke: the Vánar gave consent And loosed him from imprisonment: And Śuka, trembling and afraid, His homeward way to Rávaṇ made. Loud laughed the lord of Lanká’s isle: “Where hast thou stayed this weary while? Why is thy plumage marred, and why Do twisted cords thy pinions tie? Say, comest thou in evil plight The victim of the Vánars’ spite?”

He ceased: the spy his fear controlled, And to the king his story told: “I reached the ocean’s distant shore, Thy message to the king I bore. In sudden wrath the Vánars rose, They struck me down with furious blows; They seized me helpless on the ground, My plumage rent, my pinions bound. They would not, headlong in their ire, Consider, listen, or inquire; So fickle, wrathful, rough and rude Is the wild forest multitude. There, marshalling the Vánar bands, King Ráma with Sugríva stands, Ráma the matchless warrior, who Virádha and Kabandha slew, Khara, and countless giants more, And tracks his queen to Lanká’s shore. A bridge athwart the sea was cast, And o’er it have his legions passed. Hark! heralded by horns and drums The terrible avenger comes. E’en now the giants’ isle he fills With warriors huge as clouds and hills, And burning with vindictive hate Will thunder soon at Lanká’s gate. Yield or oppose him: choose between Thy safety and the Maithil queen.”

He ceased: the tyrant’s eyeballs blazed With fury as his voice he raised: “No, if the dwellers of the sky, Gandharvas, fiends assail me, I Will keep the Maithil lady still, Nor yield her back for fear of ill. When shall my shafts with iron hail My foeman, Raghu’s son, assail, Thick as the bees with eager wing Beat on the flowery trees of spring? O, let me meet my foe at length, And strip him of his vaunted strength, Fierce as the sun who shines afar Stealing the light of every star. Strong as the sea’s impetuous might My ways are like the tempest’s flight; But Ráma knows not this, or he In terror from my face would flee.”

Canto XXV. Rávan’s Spies.(938)

When Ráma and the host he led Across the sea had safely sped, Thus Rávaṇ, moved by wrath and pride, To Śuka and to Sáraṇ cried: “O counsellors, the Vánar host Has passed the sea from coast to coast, And Daśaratha’s son has wrought A wondrous deed surpassing thought. And now in truth I needs must know The strength and number of the foe. Go ye, to Ráma’s host repair And count me all the legions there. Learn well what power each captain leads His name and fame for warlike deeds. Learn by what artist’s wondrous aid That bridge athwart the sea was made; Learn how the Vánar host came o’er And halted on the island shore. Mark Ráma son of Raghu well; His valour, strength, and weapons tell. Watch his advisers one by one, And Lakshmaṇ, Raghu’s younger son. Learn with observant eyes, and bring “Unerring tidings to your king.

He ceased: then swift in Vánar guise Forth on their errand sped the spies. They reached the Vánars, and, dismayed, Their never-ending lines surveyd: Nor would they try, in mere despair, To count the countless legions there, That crowded valley, plain and hill, That pressed about each cave and rill. Though sea-like o’er the land were spread The endless hosts which Ráma led, The bridge by thousands yet was lined, And eager myriads pressed behind. But sage Vibhishaṇ’s watchful eyes Had marked the giants in disguise. He gave command the pair to seize, And told the tale in words like these:

“O Ráma these, well known erewhile, Are giant sons of Lanká’s isle, Two counsellors of Rávaṇ sent To watch the invading armament.”

Vibhishaṇ ceased: at Ráma’s look The Rákshas envoys quailed and shook; Then suppliant hand to hand they pressed And thus Ikshváku’s son addressed: “O Ráma, bear the truth we speak: Our monarch Rávaṇ bade us seek The Vánar legions and survey Their numbers, strength, and vast array.”

Then Ráma, friend and hope and guide Of suffering creatures, thus replied:

“Now giants, if your eyes have scanned Our armies, numbering every band, Marked lord and chief, and gazed their fill, Return to Rávaṇ when ye will. If aught remain, if aught anew Ye fain would scan with closer view, Vibhishaṇ, ready at your call, Will lead you forth and show you all. Think not of bonds and capture; fear No loss of life, no peril here: For, captive, helpless and unarmed, An envoy never should be harmed. Again to Lanká’s town repair, Speed to the giant monarch there, And be these words to Rávaṇ told, Fierce brother of the Lord of Gold: “Now, tyrant, tremble for thy sin: Call up thy friends, thy kith and kin, And let the power and might be seen Which made thee bold to steal my queen. To-morrow shall thy mournful eye Behold thy bravest warriors die, And Lanká’s city, tower and wall, Struck by my fiery shafts, will fall. Then shall my vengeful blow descend Its rage on thee and thine to spend, Fierce as the fiery bolt that flew From heaven against the Dánav crew, Mid those rebellious demons sent By him who rules the firmament.”

Thus spake Ikshváku’s son, and ceased: The giants from their bonds released Lauded the King with glad accord, And hasted homeward to their lord. Before the tyrant side by side Śuka and Sáraṇ stood and cried: “Vibhishaṇ seized us, King, and fain His helpless captives would have slain. But glorious Ráma saw us; he, Great-hearted hero, made us free. There in one spot our eyes beheld Four chiefs on earth unparalleled, Who with the guardian Gods may vie Who rule the regions of the sky. There Ráma stood, the boast and pride Of Raghu’s race, by Lakshmaṇ’s side. There stood the sage Vibhishaṇ, there Sugríva strong beyond compare. These four alone can batter down Gate, rampart, wall, and Lanká’s town. Nay, Ráma matchless in his form, A single foe, thy town would storm: So wondrous are his weapons, he Needs not the succour of the three. Why speak we of the countless train That fills the valley, hill and plain, The millions of the Vánar breed Whom Ráma and Sugríva lead? O King, be wise, contend no more, And Sítá to her lord restore.”

Canto XXVI. The Vánar Chiefs.

“Not if the Gods in heaven who dwell, Gandharvas, and the fiends of hell In banded opposition rise Against me, will I yield my prize. Still trembling from the ungentle touch Of Vánar hands ye fear too much, And bid me, heedless of the shame, Give to her lord the Maithil dame.”

Thus spoke the king in stern reproof; Then mounted to his palace roof Aloft o’er many a story raised, And on the lands beneath him gazed. There by his faithful spies he stood And looked on sea and hill and wood. There stretched before him far away The Vánars’ numberless array: Scarce could the meadows’ tender green Beneath their trampling feet be seen. He looked a while with furious eye, Then questioned thus the nearer spy: “Bend, Sáraṇ, bend thy gaze, and show The leaders of the Vánar foe. Tell me their heroes’ names, and teach The valour, power and might of each.”

Obedient Sáraṇ eyed the van, The leaders marked, and thus began: “That chief conspicuous at the head Of warriors in the forest bred, Who hither bends his ruthless eye And shouts his fearful battle cry: Whose voice with pealing thunder shakes All Lanká, with the groves and lakes And hills that tremble at the sound, Is Níla, for his might renowned: First of the Vánar lords controlled By King Sugríva lofty-souled. He who his mighty arm extends, And his fierce eye on Lanká bends, In stature like a stately tower, In colour like a lotus flower, Who with his wild earth-shaking cries Thee, Rávaṇ, to the field defies, Is Angad, by Sugríva’s care Anointed his imperial heir: In wondrous strength, in martial fire Peer of King Báli’s self, his sire; For Ráma’s sake in arms arrayed Like Varuṇ called to Śakra’s aid. Behind him, girt by warlike bands, Nala the mighty Vánar stands, The son of Viśvakarmá, he Who built the bridge athwart the sea. Look farther yet, O King, and mark That chieftain clothed in Sandal bark. ’Tis Śweta, famed among his peers, A sage whom all his race reveres. See, in Sugríva’s ear he speaks, Then, hasting back, his post reseeks, And turns his practised eye to view The squadrons he has formed anew. Next Kumud stands who roamed of yore On Gomatí’s(939) delightful shore, Feared where the waving woods invest His seat on Mount Sanrochan’s crest. Next him a chieftain strong and dread, Comes Chaṇḍa at his legions’ head; Exulting in his warrior might He hastens, burning for the fight, And boasts that his unaided powers Shall cast to earth thy walls and towers. Mark, mark that chief of lion gait, Who views thee with a glance of hate As though his very eyes would burn The city walls to which they turn: ’Tis Rambha, Vánar king; he dwells In Krishṇagiri’s tangled dells, Where Vindhya’s pleasant slopes are spread And fair Sudarśan lifts his head. There, listening with erected ears, Śarabha, mighty chief, appears. His soul is burning for the strife, Nor dreads the jeopardy of life. He trembles as he moves, for ire, And bends around his glance of fire. Next, like a cloud that veils the skies, A chieftain of terrific size, Conspicuous mid the Vánars, comes With battle shout like rolling drums, ’Tis Panas, trained in war and tried, Who dwells on Páriyátra’s side. He, far away, the chief who throws A glory o’er the marshalled rows That ranged behind their captain stand Exulting on the ocean strand, Is Vinata the fierce in fight, Preëminent like Dardur’s height. That chieftain bending down to drink On lovely Veṇá’s verdant brink, Is Krathan; now he lifts his eyes And thee to mortal fray defies. Next Gavaya comes, whose haughty mind Scorns all the warriors of his kind. He comes to trample—such his boast— On Lanká with his single host.”

Canto XXVII. The Vánar Chiefs.

“Yet more remain, brave chiefs who stake Their noble lives for Ráma’s sake. See, glorious, golden-coated, one Who glisters like the morning sun, Whom thousands of his race surround, ’Tis Hara for his strength renowned. Next comes a mighty chieftain, he Whose legions, armed with rock and tree, Press on, in numbers passing tale, The ramparts of our town to scale. O Rávaṇ, see the king advance Terrific with his fiery glance, Girt by the bravest of his train, Majestic as the God of Rain, Parjanya, when his host of clouds About the king, embattled, crowds: On Rikshaván’s high mountain nursed, In Narmadá(940) he slakes his thirst, Dhúmra, proud ursine chief, who leads Wild warriors whom the forest breeds. His brother, next in strength and age, In Jámbaván the famous sage. Of yore his might and skill he lent To him who rules the firmament, And Indra’s liberal boons repaid The chieftain for the timely aid. There like a gloomy cloud that flies Borne by the tempest through the skies, Pramáthí stands: he roamed of yore The forest wilds on Gangá’s shore, Where elephants were struck with dread And trembling at his coming fled. There on his foes he loved to sate The old hereditary hate.(941) Look, Gaja and Gaváksha show Their lust of battle with the foe. See Nala burning for the fray, And Níla chafing at delay. Behind the eager captains press Wild hosts in numbers numberless, And each for Ráma’s sake would fall Or force his way through Lanká’s wall.”

Canto XXVIII. The Chieftains.

There Sáraṇ ceased: then Śuka broke The silence and to Rávaṇ spoke: “O Monarch, yonder chiefs survey: Like elephants in size are they, And tower like stately trees that grow Where Gangá’s nursing waters flow; Yea, tall as mountain pines that fling Long shadows o’er the snow-crowned king. They all in wild Kishkindhá dwell And serve their lord Sugríva well. The Gods’ and bright Gandharvas’ seed, They take each form that suits their need. Now farther look, O Monarch, where Those chieftains stand, a glorious pair, Conspicuous for their godlike frames; Dwivid and Mainda are their names. Their lips the drink of heaven have known, And Brahmá claims them for his own. That chieftain whom thine eyes behold Refulgent like a hill of gold, Before whose wrathful might the sea Roused from his rest would turn and flee, The peerless Vánar, he who came To Lanká for the Maithil dame, The Wind-God’s son Hanumán; thou Hast seen him once, behold him now. Still nearer let thy glance be bent, And mark that prince preëminent Mid chieftains for his strength and size And splendour of his lotus eyes. Far through the worlds his virtues shine, The glory of Ikshváku’s line. The path of truth he never leaves, And still through all to duty cleaves. Deep in the Vedas, skilled to wield The mystic shafts to him revealed: Whose flaming darts to heaven ascend, And through the earth a passage rend: In might like him who rules the sky; Like Yáma, when his wrath grows high: Whose queen, the darling of his soul, Thy magic art deceived and stole: There royal Ráma stands and longs For battle to avenge his wrongs. Near on his right a prince, in hue Like pure gold freshly burnished, view: Broad is his chest, his eye is red, His black hair curls about his head: ’Tis Lakshmaṇ, faithful friend, who shares His brother’s joys, his brother’s cares. By Ráma’s side he loves to stand And serve him as his better hand, For whose dear sake without a sigh The warrior youth would gladly die. On Ráma’s left Vibhishaṇ view, With giants for his retinue: King-making drops have dewed his head, Appointed monarch in thy stead. Behold that chieftain sternly still, High towering like a rooted hill, Supreme in power and pride of place, The monarch of the Vánar race. Raised high above his woodland kind, In might and glory, frame and mind, His head above his host he shows Conspicuous as the Lord of Snows. His home is far from hostile eyes Where deep in woods Kishkindhá lies. A glistering chain which flowers bedeck With burnished gold adorns his neck. Queen Fortune, loved by Gods and kings, To him her chosen favourite clings. That chain he owes to Ráma’s grace, And Tárá and his kingly place. In him the great Sugríva know, Whom Ráma rescued from his foe.”(942)

Canto XXIX. Sárdúla Captured.

The giant viewed with earnest ken The Vánars and the lords of men; Then thus, with grief and anger moved, In bitter tone the spies reproved: “Can faithful servants hope to please Their master with such fates as these? Or hope ye with wild words to wring The bosom of your lord and king? Such words were better said by those Who come arrayed our mortal foes. In vain your ears have heard the sage, And listened to the lore of age, Untaught, though lectured many a day, The first great lesson, to obey, ’Tis marvel Rávaṇ reigns and rules Whose counsellors are blind and fools. Has death no terrors that ye dare To tempt your monarch to despair, From whose imperial mandate flow Disgrace and honour, weal and woe? Yea, forest trees, when flames are fanned About their scorching trunks, may stand; But naught can set the sinner free When kings the punishment decree. I would not in mine anger spare The traitorous foe-praising pair, But years of faithful service plead For pardon, and they shall not bleed. Henceforth to me be dead: depart, Far from my presence and my heart.”

Thus spoke the angry king: the two Cried, Long live Rávaṇ, and withdrew, The giant monarch turned and cried To strong Mahodar at his side: “Go thou, and spies more faithful bring. More duteous to their lord the king.”

Swift at his word Mahodar shed, And came returning at the head Of long tried messengers, who bent Before their monarch reverent. “Go quickly hence,” said Rávaṇ “scan With keenest eyes the foeman’s plan. Learn who, as nearest friends, advise And mould each secret enterprise. Learn when he wakes and goes to rest, Sound every purpose of his breast. Learn what the prince intends to-day: Watch keenly all, and come away.”

With joy they heard the words he said: Then with Śárdúla at their head About the giant king they went With circling paces reverent. By fair Suvela’s grassy side The chiefs of Raghu’s race they spied, Where, shaded by the waving wood, Vibhishaṇ and Sugríva stood. A while they rested there and viewed The Vánars’ countless multitude. Vibhishaṇ with observant eyes Knew at a glance the giant spies, And bade the warriors of his train Bind the rash foes with cord and chain: “Śárdúla’s is the sin,” he cried. He neath the Vánars’ hands had died, But Ráma from their fury freed The captive in his utmost need, And, merciful at sight of woe, Loosed all the spies and bade them go. Then home to Lanká’s monarch fled The giant chiefs discomfited.

Canto XXX. Sárdúla’s Speech.

They told their lord that Ráma still Lay waiting by Suvela’s hill. The tyrant, flushed with angry glow, Heard of the coming of the foe, And thus with close inquiry pressed Śárdúla spokesman for the rest: “Why art thou sad, night-rover? speak: Has grief or terror changed thy cheek? Have the wild Vánars’ hostile bands Assailed thee with their mighty hands?”

Śárdúla heard, but scarce might speak; His trembling tones were faint and weak: “O Giant King, in vain we try The purpose of the foe to spy. Their strength and number none may tell, And Ráma guards his legions well. He leaves no hope to prying eyes, And parley with the chiefs denies: Each road and path a Vánar guard, Of mountain size, has closed and barred. Soon as my feet an entrance found By giants was I seized and bound, And wounded sore I fell beneath Their fists and knees and hands and teeth. Then trembling, bleeding, wellnigh dead To Ráma’s presence was I led. He in his mercy stooped to save, And freedom to the captive gave. With rocks and shattered mountains he Has bridged his way athwart the sea, And he and all his legions wait Embattled close to Lanká’s gate. Soon will the host thy wall assail, And, swarming on, the rampart scale. Now, O my King, his consort yield, Or arm thee with the sword and shield. This choice is left thee: choose between Thy safety and the Maithil queen.”(943)

Canto XXXI. The Magic Head.

The tyrant’s troubled eye confessed The secret fear that filled his breast. With dread of coming woe dismayed He called his counsellors to aid; Then sternly silent, deep in thought, His chamber in the palace sought. Then, as the surest hope of all, The monarch bade his servants call Vidyujjihva, whom magic skill Made master of the means of ill. Then spake the lord of Lanká’s isle: “Come, Sítá with thine arts beguile. With magic skill and deftest care A head like Ráma’s own prepare. This head, long shafts and mighty bow, To Janak’s daughter will we show.”

He ceased: Vidyujjihva obeyed, And wondrous magic skill displayed; And Rávaṇ for the art he showed An ornament of price bestowed. Then to the grove where Sítá lay The lord of Lanká took his way. Pale, wasted, weeping, on the ground The melancholy queen he found, Whose thoughts in utmost stress of ill Were fixed upon her husband still. The giant king approached the dame, Declared in tones of joy his name; Then heeding naught her wild distress Bespake her, stern and pitiless: “The prince to whom thy fancies cling Though loved and wooed by Lanká’s king, Who slew the noble Khara,—he Is slain by warriors sent by me. Thy living root is hewn away, Thy scornful pride is tamed to-day. Thy lord in battle’s front has died, And Sítá shall be Rávaṇ’s bride. Hence, idle thoughts: thy hope is fled; What wilt thou, Sítá, with the dead? Rise, child of Janak, rise and be The queen of all my queens and me. Incline thine ear, and I will tell, Dear lady, how thy husband fell. He bridged his way across the sea With countless troops to fight with me. The setting sun had flushed the west When on the shore they took their rest. Weary with toil no watch they kept, Securely on the sands they slept. Prahasta’s troops assailed our foes, And smote them in their deep repose. Scarce could their bravest prove their might: They perished in the dark of night. Axe, spear, and sword, directed well, Upon the sleeping myriads fell. First in the fight Prahasta’s sword Reft of his head thy slumbering lord. Roused at the din Vibhishaṇ rose, The captive of surrounding foes, And Lakshmaṇ through the woods that spread Around him with his Vánars fled. Hanúmán fell: one deadly stroke The neck of King Sugríva broke, And Mainda sank, and Dwivid lay Gasping in blood his life away. The Vánars died, or fled dispersed Like cloudlets when the storm has burst. Some rose aloft in air, and more Ran to the sea and filled the shore. On shore, in woods, on hill and plain Our conquering giants left the slain. Thus my victorious host o’erthrew The Vánars, and thy husband slew: See, rudely stained with dust, and red With dropping blood, the severed head.”

Then, turning to a Rákshas slave, The ruthless king his mandate gave, And straight Vidyujjihva who bore The head still wet with dripping gore, The arrows and the mighty bow, Bent down before his master low. “Vidyujjihva,” cried Rávaṇ, “place The head before the lady’s face, And let her see with weeping eyes That low in death her husband lies.”

Before the queen the giant laid The beauteous head his art had made. And Rávaṇ cried: “Thine eyes will know These arrows and the mighty bow. With fame of this by Ráma strung The earth and heaven and hell have rung. Prahasta brought it hither when His hand had slain thy prince of men. Now, widowed Queen, thy hopes resign: Forget thy husband and be mine.”

Canto XXXII. Sítá’s Lament.

Again her eyes with tears o’erflowed: She gazed upon the head he showed, Gazed on the bow so famed of yore, The glorious bow which Ráma bore. She gazed upon his cheek and brows, The eyes of her beloved spouse; His lips, the lustre of his hair, The priceless gem that glittered there. The features of her lord she knew, And, pierced with anguish at the view, She lifted up her voice and cried: “Kaikeyí, art thou satisfied? Now all thy longings are fulfilled; The joy of Raghu’s race is killed, And ruined is the ancient line, Destroyer, by that fraud of thine. Ah, what offence, O cruel dame, What fault in Ráma couldst thou blame, To drive him clad in hermit dress With Sítá to the wilderness?”