The Ramayana Part 112

These woes on which I sadly think Fill, till it raves above the brink, The stream of grief in which I sink,- The flood which naught can stay.

Ne'er, brother, ne'er have I complained; Though long by toil and trouble pained, Without a murmur I sustained The woes of woodland life.

But fiercer than the flames that rise When crackling wood the food supplies,- Flashing a glow through evening skies,- This sorrow for my wife.

Some cruel fiend has seized the prey And torn my trembling love away, While, as he bore her through the skies, She shrieked aloud with frantic cries, In tones of fear which, wild and shrill, Retained their native sweetness still.

Ah me, that breast so soft and sweet, For sandal's precious perfume meet, Now all detained with dust and gore, Shall meet my fond caress no more.

That face, whose lips with tones so clear Made pleasant music, sweet to hear,- With soft locks plaited o'er the brow,- Some giant's hand is on it now.

It smiles not, as the dear light fails When Rahu's jaw the moon a.s.sails.

Ah, my true love! that shapely neck She loved with fairest chains to deck, The cruel demons rend, and drain The lifeblood from each mangled vein.

Ah, when the savage monsters came And dragged away the helpless dame, The lady of the long soft eye Called like a lamb with piteous cry.

Beneath this rock, O Lakshma?, see, My peerless consort sat with me, And gently talked to thee the while, Her sweet lips opening with a smile.

Here is that fairest stream which she Loved ever, bright G.o.davari.

Ne'er can the dame have pa.s.sed this way: So far alone she would not stray, Nor has my darling, lotus-eyed, Sought lilies by the river's side, For without me she ne'er would go To streamlets where the wild flowers grow, Tell me not, brother, she has strayed To the dark forest's distant shade Where blooming boughs are gay and sweet, And bright birds love the cool retreat.

Alone my love would never dare,- My timid love,-to wander there.

O Lord of Day whose eye sees all We act and plan, on thee I call: For naught is hidden from thy sight,- Great witness thou of wrong and right.

Where is she, lost or torn away?

Dispel my torturing doubt and say.

And O thou Wind who blowest free, The worlds have naught concealed from thee.

List to my prayer, reveal one trace Of her, the glory of her race.

Say, is she stolen hence, or dead, Or do her feet the forest tread?"

Thus with disordered senses, faint With woe he poured his sad complaint, And then, a better way to teach, Wise Lakshma? spoke in seemly speech: "Up, brother dear, thy grief subdue, With heart and soul thy search renew.

When woes oppress and dangers threat Brave effort ne'er was fruitless yet."

He spoke, but Rama gave no heed To valiant Lakshma?'s prudent rede.

With double force the flood of pain Rushed o'er his yielding soul again.

Canto LXV. Rama's Wrath.

With piteous voice, by woe subdued, Thus Raghu's son his speech renewed:

"Thy steps, my brother, quickly turn To bright G.o.davari and learn If Sita to the stream have hied To cull the lilies on its side."

Obedient to the words he said, His brother to the river sped.

The shelving banks he searched in vain, And then to Rama turned again.

"I searched, but found her not," he cried; "I called aloud, but none replied.

Where can the Maithil lady stray, Whose sight would chase our cares away?

I know not where, her steps untraced, Roams Sita of the dainty waist."

When Rama heard the words he spoke Again he sank beneath the stroke, And with a bosom anguish-fraught Himself the lovely river sought.

There standing on the shelving side, "O Sita, where art thou?" he cried.

No spirit voice an answer gave, No murmur from the trembling wave Of sweet G.o.davari declared The outrage which the fiend had dared.

"O speak!" the pitying spirits cried, But yet the stream their prayer denied, Nor dared she, coldly mute, relate To the sad chief his darling's fate Of Rava?'s awful form she thought, And the dire deed his arm had wrought, And still withheld by fear dismayed, The tale for which the mourner prayed.

When hope was none, his heart to cheer, That the bright stream his cry would hear While sorrow for his darling tore His longing soul he spake once more: "Though I have sought with tears and sighs G.o.darvari no word replies, O say, what answer can I frame To Janak, father of my dame?

Or how before her mother stand Leading no Sita by the hand?

Where is my loyal love who went Forth with her lord to banishment?

Her faith to me she n.o.bly held Though from my realm and home expelled,- A hermit, nursed on woodland fare,- She followed still and soothed my care.

Of all my friends am I bereft, Nor is my faithful consort left.

How slowly will the long nights creep While comfortless I wake and weep!

O, if my wife may yet be found, With humble love I'll wander round This Janasthan, Prasrava?'s hill, Mandakini's delightful rill.

See how the deer with gentle eyes Look on my face and sympathize.

I mark their soft expression: each Would soothe me, if it could, with speech."

A while the anxious throng he eyed.

And "Where is Sita, where?" he cried.

Thus while hot tears his utterance broke The mourning son of Raghu spoke.

The deer in pity for his woes Obeyed the summons and arose.

Upon his right thy stood, and raised Their sad eyes up to heaven and gazed Each to that quarter bent her look Which Rava? with his captive took.

Then Raghu's son again they viewed, And toward that point their way pursued.

Then Lakshma? watched their looks intent As moaning on their way they went, And marked each sign which struck his sense With mute expressive influence, Then as again his sorrow woke Thus to his brother chief he spoke: "Those deer thy eager question heard And rose at once by pity stirred: See, in thy search their aid they lend, See, to the south their looks they bend.

Arise, dear brother, let us go The way their eager glances show, If haply sign or trace descried Our footsteps in the search may guide."

The son of Raghu gave a.s.sent, And quickly to the south they went; With eager eyes the earth he scanned, And Lakshma? followed close at hand.

As each to other spake his thought, And round with anxious glances sought, Scattered before them in the way, Blooms of a fallen garland lay.

When Rama saw that flowery rain He spoke once more with bitterest pain: "O Lakshma? every flower that lies Here on the ground I recognize.

I culled them in the grove, and there My darling twined them in her hair.

The sun, the earth, the genial breeze Have spared these flowers my soul to please."

Then to that woody hill he prayed, Whence flashed afar each wild cascade: "O best of mountains, hast thou seen A dame of perfect form and mien In some sweet spot with trees o'ergrown,- My darling whom I left alone?"

Then as a lion threats a deer He thundered with a voice of fear: "Reveal her, mountain, to my view With golden limbs and golden hue.

Where is my darling Sita? speak Before I rend thee peak from peak."

The mountain seemed her track to show, But told not all he sought to know.

Then Dasaratha's son renewed His summons as the mount he viewed: "Soon as my flaming arrows fly, Consumed to ashes shall thou lie Without a herb or bud or tree, And birds no more shall dwell in thee.

And if this stream my prayer deny, My wrath this day her flood shall dry, Because she lends no aid to trace My darling of the lotus face."

Thus Rama spake as though his ire Would scorch them with his glance of fire; Then searching farther on the ground The footprint of a fiend he found, And small light traces here and there, Where Sita in her great despair, Shrieking for Rama's help, had fled Before the giant's mighty tread.

His careful eye each trace surveyed Which Sita and the fiend had made,- The quivers and the broken bow And ruined chariot of the foe,- And told, distraught by fear and grief, His tidings to his brother chief: "O Lakshma?, here," he cried "behold My Sita's earrings dropped with gold.

Here lie her garlands torn and rent, Here lies each glittering ornament.

O look, the ground on every side With blood-like drops of gold is dyed.

The fiends who wear each strange disguise Have seized, I ween, the helpless prize.

My lady, by their hands o'erpowered, Is slaughtered, mangled, and devoured.

Methinks two fearful giants came And waged fierce battle for the dame.

Whose, Lakshma?, was this mighty bow With pearls and gems in glittering row?

Cast to the ground the fragments lie, And still their glory charms the eye.

A bow so mighty sure was planned For heavenly G.o.d or giant's hand.

Whose was this coat of golden mail Which, though its l.u.s.tre now is pale, Shone like the sun of morning, bright With studs of glittering lazulite?

Whose, Lakshma?, was this bloom-wreathed shade With all its hundred ribs displayed?

This screen, most meet for royal brow, With broken staff lies useless now.

And these tall a.s.ses, goblin-faced, With plates of golden harness graced, Whose hideous forms are stained with gore Who is the lord whose yoke they bore?

Whose was this pierced and broken car That shoots a flame-like blaze afar?

Whose these spent shafts at random spread, Each fearful with its iron head,- With golden mountings fair to see, Long as a chariot's axle-tree?

These quivers see, which, rent in twain, Their sheaves of arrows still contain.

Whose was this driver? Dead and cold, His hands the whip and reins still hold.

See, Lakshma?, here the foot I trace Of man, nay, one of giant race.