The Ramayana Part 118

She heard the prince his wish declare: Then rose she, and the royal pair Of brothers through the wood she led That round her holy dwelling spread.

"Behold Matanga's wood" she cried, "A grove made famous far and wide.

Dark as thick clouds and filled with herds Of wandering deer, and joyous birds.

In this pure spot each reverend sire With offerings fed the holy fire.

See here the western altar stands Where daily with their trembling hands The aged saints, so long obeyed By me, their gifts of blossoms laid.

The holy power, O Raghu's son, By their ascetic virtue won, Still keeps their well-loved altar bright, Filling the air with beams of light.

And those seven neighbouring lakes behold Which, when the saints infirm and old, Worn out by fasts, no longer sought, Moved hither drawn by power of thought.

Look, Rama, where the devotees Hung their bark mantles on the trees, Fresh from the bath: those garments wet Through many a day are dripping yet.

See, through those aged hermits' power The tender spray, this bright-hued flower With which the saints their worship paid, Fresh to this hour nor change nor fade.

Here thou hast seen each lawn and dell, And heard the tale I had to tell: Permit thy servant, lord, I pray, To cast this mortal sh.e.l.l away, For I would dwell, this life resigned, With those great saints of lofty mind, Whom I within this holy shade With reverential care obeyed."

When Rama and his brother heard The pious prayer the dame preferred, Filled full of transport and amazed They marvelled as her words they praised.

Then Rama to the votaress said Whose holy vows were perfected: "Go, lady, where thou fain wouldst be, O thou who well hast honoured me."

Her locks in hermit fashion tied, Clad in bark coat and black deer-hide, When Rama gave consent, the dame Resigned her body to the flame.

Then like the fire that burns and glows, To heaven the sainted lady rose, In all her heavenly garments dressed, Immortal wreaths on neck and breast, Bright with celestial gems she shone Most beautiful to look upon, And like the flame of lightning sent A glory through the firmament.

That holy sphere the dame attained, By depth of contemplation gained, Where roam high saints with spirits pure In bliss that shall for aye endure.

Canto LXXVI. Pampa.

When Savari had sought the skies And gained her splendid virtue's prize, Rama with Lakshma? stayed to brood O'er the strange scenes their eyes had viewed.

His mind upon those saints was bent, For power and might preeminent And he to musing Lakshma? spoke The thoughts that in his bosom woke: "Mine eyes this wondrous home have viewed Of those great saints with souls subdued, Where peaceful tigers dwell and birds, And deer abound in heedless herds.

Our feet upon the banks have stood Of those seven lakes within the wood, Where we have duly dipped, and paid Libations to each royal shade.

Forgotten now are thoughts of ill And joyful hopes my bosom fill.

Again my heart is light and gay And grief and care have pa.s.sed away.

Come, brother, let us hasten where Bright Pampa's flood is fresh and fair, And towering in their beauty near Mount Rishyamuka's heights appear, Which, offspring of the Lord of Light, Still fearing Bali's conquering might, With four brave chiefs of Vanar race Sugriva makes his dwelling-place.

I long with eager heart to find That leader of the Vanar kind, For on that chief my hopes depend That this our quest have prosperous end."

Thus Rama spoke, in battle tried, And thus Sumitra's son replied: "Come, brother, come, and speed away: My spirit brooks no more delay."

Thus spake Sumitra's son, and then Forth from the grove the king of men With his dear brother by his side To Pampa's lucid waters hied.

He gazed upon the woods where grew Trees rich in flowers of every hue.

From brake and dell on every side The curlew and the peac.o.c.k cried, And flocks of screaming parrots made Shrill music in the bloomy shade.

His eager eyes, as on he went, On many a pool and tree were bent.

Inflamed with love he journeyed on Till a fair flood before him shone.

He stood upon the water's side Which streams from distant hills supplied: Matanga's name that water bore: There bathed he from the shelving sh.o.r.e.

Then, each on earnest thoughts intent, Still farther on their way they went.

But Rama's heart once more gave way Beneath his grief and wild dismay.

Before him lay the n.o.ble flood Adorned with many a lotus bud.

On its fair banks Asoka glowed, And all bright trees their blossoms showed.

Green banks that silver waves confined With lovely groves were fringed and lined.

The crystal waters in their flow Showed level sands that gleamed below.

There glittering fish and tortoise played, And bending trees gave pleasant shade.

There creepers on the branches hung With lover-like embraces clung.

There gay Gandharvas loved to meet, And Kinnars sought the calm retreat.

There wandering Yakshas found delight, Snake-G.o.ds and rovers of the night.

Cool were the pleasant waters, gay Each tree with creeper, flower, and spray.

There flushed the lotus darkly red, Here their white glory lilies spread, Here sweet buds showed their tints of blue: So carpets gleam with many a hue.

A grove of Mangoes blossomed nigh, Echoing with the peac.o.c.k's cry.

When Rama by his brother's side The lovely flood of Pampa eyed, Decked like a beauty, fair to see With every charm of flower and tree, His mighty heart with woe was rent And thus he spoke in wild lament

"Here, Lakshma?, on this beauteous sh.o.r.e, Stands, dyed with tints of many an ore, The mountain Rishyamuka bright With flowery trees that crown each height.

Sprung from the chief who, famed of yore, The name of Riksharajas bore, Sugriva, chieftain strong and dread, Dwells on that mountain's towering head.

Go to him, best of men, and seek That prince of Vanars on the peak, I cannot longer brook my pain, Or, Sita lost, my life retain."

Thus by the pangs of love distressed, His thoughts on Sita bent, His faithful brother he addressed, And cried in wild lament.

He reached the lovely ground that lay On Pampa's wooded side, And told in anguish and dismay, The grief he could not hide.

With listless footsteps faint and slow His way the chief pursued, Till Pampa with her glorious show Of flowering woods he viewed.

Through shades where every bird was found The prince with Lakshma? pa.s.sed, And Pampa with her groves around Burst on his eyes at last.

BOOK IV.

Canto I. Rama's Lament.

The princes stood by Pampa's side(522) Which blooming lilies glorified.

With troubled heart and sense o'erthrown There Rama made his piteous moan.

As the fair flood before him lay The reason of the chief gave way; And tender thoughts within him woke, As to Sumitra's son he spoke:

"How lovely Pampa's waters show, Where streams of lucid crystal flow!

What glorious trees o'erhang the flood Which blooms of opening lotus stud!

Look on the banks of Pampa where Thick groves extend divinely fair; And piles of trees, like hills in size, Lift their proud summits to the skies.

But thought of Bharat's(523) pain and toil, And my dear spouse the giant's spoil, Afflict my tortured heart and press My spirit down with heaviness.

Still fair to me though sunk in woe Bright Pampa and her forest show.

Where cool fresh waters charm the sight, And flowers of every hue are bright.

The lotuses in close array Their pa.s.sing loveliness display, And pard and tiger, deer and snake Haunt every glade and dell and brake.

Those gra.s.sy spots display the hue Of topazes and sapphires' blue, And, gay with flowers of every dye, With richly broidered housings vie.

What loads of bloom the high trees crown, Or weigh the bending branches down!

And creepers tipped with bud and flower Each spray and loaded limb o'erpower.

Now cool delicious breezes blow, And kindle love's voluptuous glow, When balmy sweetness fills the air, And fruit and flowers and trees are fair.

Those waving woods, that shine with bloom, Each varied tint in turn a.s.sume.

Like labouring clouds they pour their showers In rain or ever-changing flowers.

Behold, those forest trees, that stand High upon rock and table-land, As the cool gales their branches bend, Their floating blossoms downward send.

See, Lakshma?, how the breezes play With every floweret on the spray.

And sport in merry guise with all The fallen blooms and those that fall.

See, brother, where the merry breeze Shakes the gay boughs of flowery trees, Disturbed amid their toil a throng Of bees pursue him, loud in song.

The Kols,(524) mad with sweet delight, The bending trees to dance invite; And in its joy the wild wind sings As from the mountain cave he springs.

On speed the gales in rapid course, And bend the woods beneath their force, Till every branch and spray they bind In many a tangled knot entwined.

What balmy sweets those gales dispense With cool and sacred influence!

Fatigue and trouble vanish: such The magic of their gentle touch.

Hark, when the gale the boughs has bent In woods of honey redolent, Through all their quivering sprays the trees Are vocal with the murmuring bees.