The Ramayana Part 109

But Lanka founded on a steep Is girdled by the mighty deep, And how will Rama know his fair And blameless wife is prisoned there?

She on her woe will sadly brood And pine away in solitude, And heedless of herself, will cease To live, despairing of release.

Yes, pondering on her fate, I see Her gentle life in jeopardy.

Go, Indra, swiftly seek the place, And look upon her lovely face.

Within the city make thy way: Let heavenly food her spirit stay."

Thus Brahma spake: and He who slew The cruel demon Paka, flew Where Lanka's royal city lay, And Sleep went with him on his way.

"Sleep," cried the heavenly Monarch, "close Each giant's eye in deep repose."

Thus Indra spoke, and Sleep fulfilled With joy his mandate, as he willed, To aid the plan the G.o.ds proposed, The demons' eyes in sleep she closed.

Then Sachi's lord, the Thousand-eyed, To the Asoka garden hied.

He came and stood where Sita lay, And gently thus began to say: "Lord of the G.o.ds who hold the sky, Dame of the lovely smile, am I.

Weep no more, lady, weep no more; Thy days of woe will soon be o'er.

I come, O Janak's child, to be The helper of thy lord and thee.

He through my grace, with hosts to aid, This sea-girt land will soon invade.

'Tis by my art that slumbers close The eyelids of thy giant foes.

Now I, with Sleep, this place have sought, Videhan lady, and have brought A gift of heaven's ambrosial food To stay thee in thy solitude.

Receive it from my hand, and taste, O lady of the dainty waist: For countless ages thou shall be From pangs of thirst and hunger free."

But doubt within her bosom woke As to the Lord of G.o.ds she spoke: "How may I know for truth that thou Whose form I see before me now Art verily the King adored By heavenly G.o.ds, and Sachi's lord?

With Raghu's sons I learnt to know The certain signs which G.o.dhead show.

These marks before mine eyes display If o'er the G.o.ds thou bear the sway."

The heavenly lord of Sachi heard, And did according to her word.

Above the ground his feet were raised; With eyelids motionless he gazed.

No dust upon his raiment lay, And his bright wreath was fresh and gay.

Nor was the lady's glad heart slow The Monarch of the G.o.ds to know, And while the tears unceasing ran From her sweet eyes she thus began: "My lord has gained a friend in thee, And I this day thy presence see Shown clearly to mine eyes, as when Rama and Lakshma?, lords of men, Beheld it, and their sire the king, And Janak too from whom I spring.

Now I, O Monarch of the Blest, Will eat this food at thy behest, Which thou hast brought me, of thy grace, To aid and strengthen Raghu's race."

She spoke, and by his words relieved, The food from Indra's hand received, Yet ere she ate the balm he brought, On Lakshma? and her lord she thought.

"If my brave lord be still alive, If valiant Lakshma? yet survive, May this my taste of heavenly food Bring health to them and bliss renewed!"

She ate, and that celestial food Stayed hunger, thirst, and la.s.situde, And all her strength restored.

Great joy her hopeful spirit stirred At the glad tidings newly heard Of Lakshma? and her lord.

And Indra's heart was joyful too: He bade the Maithil dame adieu, His saving errand done.

With Sleep beside him parting thence He sought his heavenly residence To prosper Raghu's son.

Canto LVIII. The Brothers' Meeting.

When Rama's deadly shaft had struck The giant in the seeming buck, The chieftain turned him from the place His homeward way again to trace.

Then as he hastened onward, fain To look upon his spouse again, Behind him from a thicket nigh Rang out a jackal's piercing cry.

Alarmed he heard the startling shriek That raised his hair and dimmed his cheek, And all his heart was filled with doubt As the shrill jackal's cry rang out: "Alas, some dire disaster seems Portended by the jackal's screams.

O may the Maithil dame be screened From outrage of each hungry fiend!

Alas, if Lakshma? chanced to hear That bitter cry of woe and fear What time Maricha, as he died, With voice that mocked my accents cried, Swift to my side the prince would flee And quit the dame to succour me.

Too well I see the demon band The slaughter of my love have planned.

Me far from home and Sita's view The seeming deer Maricha drew.

He led me far through brake and dell Till wounded by my shaft he fell, And as he sank rang out his cry, "O save me, Lakshma?, or I die."

May it be well with both who stayed In the great wood with none to aid, For every fiend is now my foe For Janasthan's great overthrow, And many an omen seen to-day Has filled my heart with sore dismay."

Such were the thoughts and sad surmise Of Rama at the jackal's cries, And all his heart within him burned As to his cot his steps he turned.

He pondered on the deer that led His feet to follow where it fled, And sad with many a bitter thought His home in Janasthan he sought.

His soul was dark with woe and fear When flocks of birds and troops of deer Move round him from the left, and raised Discordant voices as they gazed.

The omens which the chieftain viewed The terror of his soul renewed, When lo, to meet him Lakshma? sped With brows whence all the light had fled.

Near and more near the princes came, Each brother's heart and look the same; Alike on each sad visage lay The signs of misery and dismay, Then Rama by his terror moved His brother for his fault reproved In leaving Sita far from aid In the wild wood where giants strayed.

Lakshma?'s left hand he took, and then In gentle tones the prince of men, Though sharp and fierce their tenour ran, Thus to his brother chief began:

"O Lakshma?, thou art much to blame Leaving alone the Maithil dame, And flying hither to my side: O, may no ill my spouse betide!

But ah, I know my wife is dead, And giants on her limbs have fed, So strange, so terrible are all The omens which my heart appal.

O Lakshma?, may we yet return The safety of my love to learn.

To find the child of Janak still Alive and free from scathe and ill!

Each bird with notes of warning screams, Though the hot sun still darts his beams.

The moan of deer, the jackal's yell Of some o'erwhelming misery tell.

O mighty brother, still may she, My princess, live from danger free!

That semblance of a golden deer Allured me far away, I followed nearer and more near, And longed to take the prey.

I followed where the quarry fled: My deadly arrow flew, And as the dying creature bled, The giant met my view.

Great fear and pain oppress my heart That dreads the coming blow, And through my left eye keenly dart The throbs that herald woe.

Ah Lakshma?, all these signs dismay, My soul that sinks with dread, I know my love is torn away, Or, haply, she is dead."

Canto LIX. Rama's Return.

When Rama saw his brother stand With none beside him, all unmanned, Eager he questioned why he came So far without the Maithil dame: "Where is my wife, my darling, she Who to the wild wood followed me?

Where hast thou left my lady, where The dame who chose my lot to share?

Where is my love who balms my woe As through the forest wilds I go, Unkinged and banished and disgraced,- My darling of the dainty waist?

She nerves my spirit for the strife, She, only she gives zest to life, Dear as my breath is she who vies In charms with daughters of the skies.

If Janak's child be mine no more, In splendour fair as virgin ore, The lordship of the skies and earth To me were prize of little worth.

Ah, lives she yet, the Maithil dame, Dear as the soul within this frame?

O, let not all my toil be vain, The banishment, the woe and pain!

O, let not dark Kaikeyi win The guerdon of her treacherous sin, If, Sita lost, my days I end, And thou without me homeward wend!

O, let not good Kausalya shed Her bitter tears to mourn me dead, Nor her proud rival's hest obey, Strong in her son and queenly sway!

Back to my cot will I repair If Sita live to greet me there, But if my wife have perished, I Reft of my love will surely die.

O Lakshma?, if I seek my cot, Look for my love and find her not Sweet welcome with her smile to give, I tell thee, I will cease to live.

O answer,-let thy words be plain,- Lives Sita yet, or is she slain?

Didst thou thy sacred trust betray Till ravening giants seized the prey?

Ah me, so young, so soft and fair, Lapped in all bliss, untried by care, Rent from her own dear husband, how Will she support her misery now?

That voice, O Lakshma? smote thine ear, And filled, I ween, thy heart with fear, When on thy name for succour cried The treacherous giant ere he died.

That voice too like mine own, I ween, Was heard by the Videhan queen.

She bade thee seek my side to aid, And quickly was the hest obeyed, But ah, thy fault I needs must blame, To leave alone the helpless dame, And let the cruel giants sate The fury of their murderous hate.

Those blood-devouring demons all Grieve in their souls for Khara's fall, And Sita, none to guard her side, Torn by their cruel hands has died.

I sink, O tamer of thy foes, Deep in the sea of whelming woes.

What can I now? I must endure The mighty grief that mocks at cure."

Thus, all his thoughts on Sita bent, To Janasthan the chieftain went, Hastening on with eager stride, And Lakshma? hurried by his side.

With toil and thirst and hunger worn, His breast with doubt and anguish torn, He sought the well-known spot.