Hindu literature Part 30

Praise to Valmiki, bird of charming song, Who mounts on Poesy's sublimest spray, And sweetly sings with accent clear and strong Rama, aye Rama, in his deathless lay.

Where breathes the man can listen to the strain That flows in music from Valmiki's tongue, Nor feel his feet the path of bliss attain When Rama's glory by the saint is sung?

The stream Ramayan leaves its sacred fount The whole wide world from sin and stain to free.

The Prince of Hermits is the parent mount, The lordly Rama is the darling sea.

Glory to him whose fame is ever bright!

Glory to him, Prachet's holy son!

Whose pure lips quaff with ever-new delight The nectar-sea of deeds by Rama done.

Hail, arch-ascetic, pious, good, and kind!

Hail, Saint Valmiki, lord of every lore!

Hail, holy Hermit, calm and pure of mind!

Hail, First of Bards, Valmiki, hail once more!

BOOK I

CANTO I

NARAD

_Om_.

To sainted Narad, prince of those Whose lore in words of wisdom flows, Whose constant care and chief delight Were Scripture and ascetic rite, The good Valmiki, first and best Of hermit saints, these words addressed:-- "In all this world, I pray thee, who Is virtuous, heroic, true?

Firm in his vows, of grateful mind, To every creature good and kind?

Bounteous, and holy, just, and wise, Alone most fair to all men's eyes?

Devoid of envy, firm, and sage, Whose tranquil soul ne'er yields to rage?

Whom, when his warrior wrath is high, Do G.o.ds embattled fear and fly?

Whose n.o.ble might and gentle skill The triple world can guard from ill?

Who is the best of princes, he Who loves his people's good to see?

The store of bliss, the living mine Where brightest joys and virtues shine?

Queen Fortune's best and dearest friend, Whose steps her choicest gifts attend?

Who may with Sun and Moon compare, With Indra, Vishnu, Fire, and Air?

Grant, Saint divine, the boon I ask, For thee, I ween, an easy task, To whom the power is given to know If such a man breathe here below."

Then Narad, clear before whose eye The present, past, and future lie, Made ready answer: "Hermit, where Are graces found so high and rare?

Yet listen, and my tongue shall tell In whom alone these virtues dwell.

From old Ikshvaku's line he came, Known to the world by Rama's name:-- With soul subdued, a chief of might, In Scripture versed, in glory bright.

His steps in virtue's paths are bent, Obedient, pure, and eloquent.

In each emprise he wins success, And dying foes his power confess.

Tall and broad-shouldered, strong of limb, Fortune has set her mark on him.

Graced with a conch-sh.e.l.l's triple line, His throat displays the auspicious sign.

High destiny is clear impressed On ma.s.sive jaw and ample chest.

His mighty shafts he truly aims, And foemen in the battle tames.

Deep in the muscle, scarcely shown, Embedded lies his collar-bone.

His lordly steps are firm and free, His strong arms reach below his knee; All fairest graces join to deck His head, his brow, his stately neck, And limbs in fair proportion set:-- The manliest form e'er fashioned yet.

Graced with each high imperial mark, His skin is soft and l.u.s.trous dark.

Large are his eyes that sweetly shine With majesty almost divine.

His plighted word he ne'er forgets; On erring sense a watch he sets.

By nature wise, his teacher's skill Has trained him to subdue his will.

Good, resolute and pure, and strong, He guards mankind from scathe and wrong, And lends his aid, and ne'er in vain, The cause of justice to maintain.

Well has he studied o'er and o'er The Vedas and their kindred lore.

Well skilled is he the bow to draw, Well trained in arts and versed in law; High-souled and meet for happy fate, Most tender and compa.s.sionate; The n.o.blest of all lordly givers, Whom good men follow, as the rivers Follow the King of Floods, the sea:-- So liberal, so just is he.

The joy of Queen Kausalya's heart, In every virtue he has part; Firm as Himalaya's snowy steep, Unfathomed like the mighty deep; The peer of Vishnu's power and might, And lovely as the Lord of Night; Patient as Earth, but, roused to ire, Fierce as the world-destroying fire; In bounty like the Lord of Gold, And Justice' self in human mould.

With him, his best and eldest son, By all his princely virtues won King Dasaratha willed to share His kingdom as the Regent Heir.

But when Kaikeyi, youngest queen, With eyes of envious hate had seen The solemn pomp and regal state Prepared the prince to consecrate, She bade the hapless king bestow Two gifts he promised long ago, That Rama to the woods should flee, And that her child the heir should be.

By chains of duty firmly tied, The wretched King perforce complied.

Rama, to please Kaikeyi went Obedient forth, to banishment.

Then Lakshman's truth was n.o.bly shown, Then were his love and courage known, When for his brother's sake he dared All perils, and his exile shared.

And Sita, Rama's darling wife, Loved even as he loved his life, Whom happy marks combined to bless, A miracle of loveliness, Of Janak's royal lineage sprung, Most excellent of women, clung To her dear lord, like Rohini Rejoicing with the Moon to be.

The King and people, sad of mood, The hero's car awhile pursued.

But when Prince Rama lighted down At Sringavera's pleasant town, Where Ganga's holy waters flow, He bade his driver turn and go.

Guha, Nishadas' King, he met, And on the farther bank was set.

Then on from wood to wood they strayed, O'er many a stream, through constant shade, As Bharadvaja bade them, till They came to Chitrakuta's hill.

And Rama there, with Lakshman's aid, A pleasant little cottage made, And spent his days with Sita, dressed In coat of bark and deerskin vest.

And Chitrakuta grew to be As bright with those ill.u.s.trious three As Meru's sacred peaks that shine With glory, when the G.o.ds recline Beneath them: Siva's self between The Lord of Gold and Beauty's Queen.

The aged King for Rama pined, And for the skies the earth resigned.

Bharat, his son, refused to reign, Though urged by all the twice-born train.

Forth to the woods he fared to meet His brother, fell before his feet, And cried "Thy claim all men allow:-- O come, our lord and King be thou."

But Rama n.o.bly chose to be Observant of his sire's decree.

He placed his sandals in his hand, A pledge that he would rule the land:-- And bade his brother turn again.

Then Bharat, finding prayer was vain, The sandals took and went away; Nor in Ayodhya would he stay, But turned to Nandigrama, where He ruled the realm with watchful care, Still longing eagerly to learn Tidings of Rama's safe return.

Then lest the people should repeat Their visit to his calm retreat, Away from Chitrakuta's hill Fared Rama, ever onward till Beneath the shady trees he stood Of Dandaka's primeval wood.

Viradha, giant fiend, he slew, And then Agastya's friendship knew.

Counselled by him he gained the sword And bow of Indra, heavenly lord:-- A pair of quivers too, that bore Of arrows an exhaustless store.

While there he dwelt in greenwood shade, The trembling hermits sought his aid, And bade him with his sword and bow Destroy the fiends who worked them woe:-- To come like Indra strong and brave, A guardian G.o.d to help and save.

And Rama's falchion left its trace Deep cut on Surpanakha's face:-- A hideous giantess who came Burning for him with lawless flame.

Their sister's cries the giants heard, And vengeance in each bosom stirred; The monster of the triple head, And Dushan to the contest sped.

But they and myriad fiends beside Beneath the might of Rama died.

When Ravan, dreaded warrior, knew The slaughter of his giant crew-- Ravan, the King, whose name of fear Earth, h.e.l.l, and heaven all shook to hear-- He bade the fiend Maricha aid The vengeful plot his fury laid.

In vain the wise Maricha tried To turn him from his course aside:-- Not Ravan's self, he said, might hope With Rama and his strength to cope.

Impelled by fate and blind with rage He came to Rama's hermitage.

There, by Maricha's magic art, He wiled the princely youths apart, The vulture slew, and bore away The wife of Rama as his prey.

The son of Raghu came and found Jatayu slain upon the ground.

He rushed within his leafy cot; He sought his wife, but found her not.

Then, then the hero's senses failed; In mad despair he wept and wailed.

Upon the pile that bird he laid, And still in quest of Sita strayed.

A hideous giant then he saw, Kabandha named, a shape of awe.

The monstrous fiend he smote and slew, And in the flame the body threw; When straight from out the funeral flame In lovely form Kabandha came, And bade him seek in his distress A wise and holy hermitess.

By counsel of this saintly dame To Pampa's pleasant flood he came, And there the steadfast friendship won Of Hanuman the Wind-G.o.d's son.

Counselled by him he told his grief To great Sugriva, Vanar chief, Who, knowing all the tale, before The sacred flame alliance swore.