The Ramayana Part 125

Then Bali's soul with rage was fired, Queen Tara and the dames retired; And slowly, with a laugh of pride, The king of Vanars thus replied: "Me, fiend, thou deemest drunk with wine: Unless thy fear the fight decline, Come, meet me in the fray, and test The spirit of my valiant breast."

He spoke in wrath and high disdain; And, laying down his golden chain, Gift of his sire Mahendra, dared The demon, for the fray prepared; Seized by the horns the monster, vast As a huge hill, and held him fast, Then fiercely dragged him round and round, And, shouting, hurled him to the ground.

Blood streaming from his ears, he rose, And wild with fury strove the foes.

Then Bali, match for Indra's might, With every arm renewed the fight.

He fought with fists, and feet, and knees, With fragments of the rock, and trees.

At last the monster's strength, a.s.sailed By Sakra's(572) conquering offspring, failed.

Him Bali raised with mighty strain And dashed upon the ground again; Where, bruised and shattered, in a tide Of rushing blood, the demon died.

King Bali saw the lifeless corse, And bending, with tremendous force Raised the huge bulk from where it lay, And hurled it full a league away.

As through the air the body flew, Some blood-drops, caught by gales that blew, Welled from his shattered jaw and fell By Saint Matanga's hermit cell: Matanga saw, ill.u.s.trious sage, Those drops defile his hermitage, And, as he marvelled whence they came, Fierce anger filled his soul with flame: "Who is the villain, evil-souled, With childish thoughts unwise and bold, Who is the impious wretch," he cried, "By whom my grove with blood is dyed?"

Thus spoke Matanga in his rage, And hastened from the hermitage, When lo, before his wondering eyes Lay the dead bull of mountain size.

His hermit soul was nothing slow The doer of the deed to know, And thus the Vanar in a burst Of wild tempestuous wrath he cursed: "Ne'er let that Vanar wander here, For, if he come, his death is near, Whose impious hand with blood has dyed The holy place where I abide, Who threw this demon corse and made A ruin of the pleasant shade.

If e'er he plant his wicked feet Within one league of my retreat; Yea, if the villain come so nigh That very hour he needs must die.

And let the Vanar lords who dwell In the dark woods that skirt my cell Obey my words, and speeding hence Find them some meeter residence.

Here if they dare to stay, on all The terrors of my curse shall fall.

They spoil the tender saplings, dear As children which I cherish here, Mar root and branch and leaf and spray, And steal the ripening fruit away.

One day I grant, no further hour, To-morrow shall my curse have power, And then each Vanar I may see A stone through countless years shall be."

The Vanars heard the curse and hied From sheltering wood and mountain side.

King Bali marked their haste and dread, And to the flying leaders said: "Speak, Vanar chiefs, and tell me why From Saint Matanga's grove ye fly To gather round me: is it well With all who in those woodlands dwell?"

He spoke: the Vanar leaders told King Bali with his chain of gold What curse the saint had on them laid, Which drove them from their ancient shade.

Then royal Bali sought the sage, With reverent hands to soothe his rage.

The holy man his suppliant spurned, And to his cell in anger turned.

That curse on Bali sorely pressed, And long his conscious soul distressed.

Him still the curse and terror keep Afar from Rishyamuka's steep.

He dares not to the grove draw nigh, Nay scarce will hither turn his eye.

We know what terrors warm him hence, And roam these woods in confidence.

Look, Prince, before thee white and dry The demon's bones uncovered lie, Who, like a hill in bulk and length, Fell ruind for his pride of strength.

See those high Sal trees seven in row That droop their mighty branches low, These at one grasp would Bali seize, And leafless shake the trembling trees.

These tales I tell, O Prince, to show The matchless power that arms the foe.

How canst thou hope to slay him? how Meet Bali in the battle now?"

Sugriva spoke and sadly sighed: And Lakshma? with a laugh replied: "What show of power, what proof and test May still the doubts that fill thy breast?"

He spoke. Sugriva thus replied: "See yonder Sal trees side by side.

King Bali here would take his stand Grasping his bow with vigorous hand, And every arrow, keen and true, Would strike its tree and pierce it through.

If Rama now his bow will bend, And through one trunk an arrow send; Or if his arm can raise and throw Two hundred measures of his bow, Grasped by a foot and hurled through air, The demon bull that moulders there, My heart will own his might and fain Believe my foe already slain."

Sugriva spoke inflamed with ire, Scanned Rama with a glance of fire, Pondered a while in silent mood.

And thus again his speech renewed: "All lands with Bali's glories ring, A valiant, strong, and mighty king; In conscious power unused to yield, A hero first in every field.

His wondrous deeds his might declare, Deeds G.o.ds might scarcely do or dare; And on this power reflecting still I roam on Rishyamuka's hill.

Awed by my brother's might I rove, In doubt and fear, from grove to grove, While Hanuman, my chosen friend, And faithful lords my steps attend; And now, O true to friendship's tie, I hail in thee my best ally.

My surest refuge from my foes, And steadfast as the Lord of Snows.

Still, when I muse how strong and bold Is cruel Bali, evil-souled, But ne'er, O chief of Raghu's line, Have seen what strength in war is thine, Though in my heart I may not dare Doubt thy great might, despise, compare, Thoughts of his fearful deeds will rise And fill my soul with sad surmise.

Speech, form, and trust which naught may move Thy secret strength and glory prove, As smouldering ashes dimly show The dormant fires that live below."

He ceased: and Rama answered, while Played o'er his lips a gracious smile: "Not yet convinced? This clear a.s.say Shall drive each lingering doubt away."

Thus Rama spoke his heart to cheer, To Dundubhi's vast frame drew near: He touched it with his foot in play And sent it twenty leagues away.

Sugriva marked what easy force Hurled through the air that demon's corse Whose mighty bones were white and dried, And to the son of Raghu cried: "My brother Bali, when his might Was drunk and weary from the fight, Hurled forth the monster body, fresh With skin and sinews, blood and flesh.

Now flesh and blood are dried away, The crumbling bones are light as hay, Which thou, O Raghu's son, hast sent Flying through air in merriment.

This test alone is weak to show If thou be stronger or the foe.

By thee a heap of mouldering bone, By him the recent corse was thrown.

Thy strength, O Prince, is yet untried: Come, pierce one tree: let this decide.

Prepare thy ponderous bow and bring Close to thine ear the straining string.

On yonder Sal tree fix thine eye, And let the mighty arrow fly, I doubt not, chief, that I shall see Thy pointed shaft transfix the tree.

Then come, a.s.say the easy task, And do for love the thing I ask.

Best of all lights, the Day-G.o.d fills With glory earth and sky: Himalaya is the lord of hills That heave their heads on high.

The royal lion is the best Of beasts that tread the earth; And thou, O hero, art confessed First in heroic worth."

Canto XII. The Palm Trees.

Then Rama, that his friend might know His strength unrivalled, grasped his bow, That mighty bow the foe's dismay,- And on the string an arrow lay.

Next on the tree his eye he bent, And forth the hurtling weapon went.

Loosed from the matchless hero's hold, That arrow, decked with burning gold, Cleft the seven palms in line, and through The hill that rose behind them flew: Six subterranean realms it pa.s.sed, And reached the lowest depth at last, Whence speeding back through earth and air It sought the quiver, and rested there.(573) Upon the cloven trees amazed, The sovereign of the Vanars gazed.

With all his chains and gold outspread Prostrate on earth he laid his head.

Then, rising, palm to palm he laid In reverent act, obeisance made, And joyously to Rama, best Of war-trained chiefs, these words addressed:

"What champion, Raghu's son, may hope With thee in deadly fight to cope, Whose arrow, leaping from the bow, Cleaves tree and hill and earth below?

Scarce might the G.o.ds, arrayed for strife By Indra's self, escape, with life a.s.sailed by thy victorious hand: And how may Bali hope to stand?

All grief and care are past away, And joyous thoughts my bosom sway, Who have in thee a friend, renowned, As Varu?(574) or as Indra, found.

Then on! subdue,-'tis friendship's claim,- My foe who bears a brother's name.

Strike Bali down beneath thy feet: With suppliant hands I thus entreat."

Sugriva ceased, and Rama pressed The grateful Vanar to his breast; And thoughts of kindred feeling woke In Lakshma?'s bosom, as he spoke: "On to Kishkindha, on with speed!

Thou, Vanar King, our way shalt lead, Then challenge Bali forth to fight.

Thy foe who scorns a brother's right."

They sought Kishkindha's gate and stood Concealed by trees in densest wood, Sugriva, to the fight addressed, More closely drew his cinctured vest, And raised a wild sky-piercing shout To call the foeman Bali out.

Forth came impetuous Bali, stirred To fury by the shout he heard.

So the great sun, ere night has ceased, Springs up impatient to the east.

Then fierce and wild the conflict raged As hand to hand the foes engaged, As though in battle mid the stars Fought Mercury and fiery Mars.(575) To highest pitch of frenzy wrought With fists like thunderbolts they fought, While near them Rama took his stand, And viewed the battle, bow in hand.

Alike they stood in form and might, Like heavenly Asvins(576) paired in fight, Nor might the son of Raghu know Where fought the friend and where the foe; So, while his bow was ready bent, No life-destroying shaft he sent.

Crushed down by Bali's mightier stroke Sugriva's force now sank and broke, Who, hoping naught from Rama's aid, To Rishyamuka fled dismayed, Weary, and faint, and wounded sore, His body bruised and dyed with gore, From Bali's blows, in rage and dread, Afar to sheltering woods he fled.

Nor Bali farther dared pursue, The curbing curse too well he knew.

"Fled from thy death!" the victor cried, And home the mighty warrior hied.

Hanuman, Lakshma?, Raghu's son Beheld the conquered Vanar run, And followed to the sheltering shade Where yet Sugriva stood dismayed.

Near and more near the chieftains came, Then, for intolerable shame, Not daring yet to lift his eyes, Sugriva spoke with burning sighs: "Thy matchless strength I first beheld, And dared my foe, by thee impelled.

Why hast thou tried me with deceit And urged me to a sure defeat?

Thou shouldst have said, "I will not slay Thy foeman in the coming fray."

For had I then thy purpose known I had not waged the fight alone."

The Vanar sovereign, lofty-souled, In plaintive voice his sorrows told.

Then Rama spake: "Sugriva, list, All anger from thy heart dismissed, And I will tell the cause that stayed Mine arrow, and withheld the aid.

In dress, adornment, port, and height, In splendour, battle-shout, and might, No shade of difference could I see Between thy foe, O King, and thee.

So like was each, I stood at gaze, My senses lost in wildering maze, Nor loosened from my straining bow A deadly arrow at the foe, Lest in my doubt the shaft should send To sudden death our surest friend.

O, if this hand in heedless guilt And rash resolve thy blood had spilt, Through every land, O Vanar King, My wild and foolish act would ring.