The Ramayana Part 169

This head, long shafts and mighty bow, To Janak's daughter will we show."

He ceased: Vidyujjihva obeyed, And wondrous magic skill displayed; And Rava? for the art he showed An ornament of price bestowed.

Then to the grove where Sita lay The lord of Lanka took his way.

Pale, wasted, weeping, on the ground The melancholy queen he found, Whose thoughts in utmost stress of ill Were fixed upon her husband still.

The giant king approached the dame, Declared in tones of joy his name; Then heeding naught her wild distress Bespake her, stern and pitiless: "The prince to whom thy fancies cling Though loved and wooed by Lanka's king, Who slew the n.o.ble Khara,-he Is slain by warriors sent by me.

Thy living root is hewn away, Thy scornful pride is tamed to-day.

Thy lord in battle's front has died, And Sita shall be Rava?'s bride.

Hence, idle thoughts: thy hope is fled; What wilt thou, Sita, with the dead?

Rise, child of Janak, rise and be The queen of all my queens and me.

Incline thine ear, and I will tell, Dear lady, how thy husband fell.

He bridged his way across the sea With countless troops to fight with me.

The setting sun had flushed the west When on the sh.o.r.e they took their rest.

Weary with toil no watch they kept, Securely on the sands they slept.

Prahasta's troops a.s.sailed our foes, And smote them in their deep repose.

Scarce could their bravest prove their might: They perished in the dark of night.

Axe, spear, and sword, directed well, Upon the sleeping myriads fell.

First in the fight Prahasta's sword Reft of his head thy slumbering lord.

Roused at the din Vibhisha? rose, The captive of surrounding foes, And Lakshma? through the woods that spread Around him with his Vanars fled.

Hanuman fell: one deadly stroke The neck of King Sugriva broke, And Mainda sank, and Dwivid lay Gasping in blood his life away.

The Vanars died, or fled dispersed Like cloudlets when the storm has burst.

Some rose aloft in air, and more Ran to the sea and filled the sh.o.r.e.

On sh.o.r.e, in woods, on hill and plain Our conquering giants left the slain.

Thus my victorious host o'erthrew The Vanars, and thy husband slew: See, rudely stained with dust, and red With dropping blood, the severed head."

Then, turning to a Rakshas slave, The ruthless king his mandate gave, And straight Vidyujjihva who bore The head still wet with dripping gore, The arrows and the mighty bow, Bent down before his master low.

"Vidyujjihva," cried Rava?, "place The head before the lady's face, And let her see with weeping eyes That low in death her husband lies."

Before the queen the giant laid The beauteous head his art had made.

And Rava? cried: "Thine eyes will know These arrows and the mighty bow.

With fame of this by Rama strung The earth and heaven and h.e.l.l have rung.

Prahasta brought it hither when His hand had slain thy prince of men.

Now, widowed Queen, thy hopes resign: Forget thy husband and be mine."

Canto x.x.xII. Sita's Lament.

Again her eyes with tears o'erflowed: She gazed upon the head he showed, Gazed on the bow so famed of yore, The glorious bow which Rama bore.

She gazed upon his cheek and brows, The eyes of her beloved spouse; His lips, the l.u.s.tre of his hair, The priceless gem that glittered there.

The features of her lord she knew, And, pierced with anguish at the view, She lifted up her voice and cried: "Kaikeyi, art thou satisfied?

Now all thy longings are fulfilled; The joy of Raghu's race is killed, And ruined is the ancient line, Destroyer, by that fraud of thine.

Ah, what offence, O cruel dame, What fault in Rama couldst thou blame, To drive him clad in hermit dress With Sita to the wilderness?"

Great trembling seized her frame, and she Fell like a stricken plantain tree.

As lie the dead she lay; at length Slowly regaining sense and strength, On the dear head she fixed her eye And cried with very bitter cry: "Ah, when thy cold dead cheek I view, My hero, I am murdered too.

Then first a faithful woman's eyes See sorrow, when her husband dies.

When thou, my lord, wast nigh to save, Some stealthy hand thy death wound gave.

Thou art not dead: rise, hero, rise; Long life was thine, as spake the wise Whose words, I ween, are ever true, For faith lies open to their view.

Ah lord, and shall thy head recline On earth's cold breast, forsaking mine, Counting her chill lap dearer far Than I and my caresses are?

Ah, is it thus these eyes behold Thy famous bow adorned with gold, Whereon of yore I loved to bind Sweet garlands that my hands had twined?

And hast thou sought in heaven a place Amid the founders of thy race, Where in the home deserved so well Thy sires and Dasaratha dwell?

Or dost thou shine a brighter star In skies where blest immortals are, Forsaking in thy lofty scorn The race wherein thy sires were born?

Turn to my gaze, O turn thine eye: Why are thy cold lips silent, why?

When first we met as youth and maid, When in thy hand my hand was laid, Thy promise was thy steps should be Through life in duty's path with me.

Remember, faithful still, thy vow, And take me with thee even now.

Is that broad bosom where I hung, That neck to which I fondly clung, Where flowery garlands breathed their scent By hungry dogs and vultures rent?

Shall no funereal honours grace The parted lord of Raghu's race, Whose bounty liberal fees bestowed, For whom the fires of worship glowed?

Kausalya wild with grief will see One sole survivor of the three Who in their hermit garments went To the dark woods in banishment.

Then at her cry shall Lakshma? tell How, slain by night, the Vanars fell; How to thy side the giants crept, And slew the hero as he slept.

Thy fate and mine the queen will know, And broken-hearted die of woe.

For my unworthy sake, for mine, Rama, the glory of his line, Who bridged his way across the main, Is basely in a puddle slain; And I, the graceless wife he wed, Have brought this ruin on his head.

Me, too, on him, O Rava?, slay: The wife beside her husband lay.

By his dear body let me rest, Cheek close to cheek and breast to breast, My happy eyes I then will close, And follow whither Rama goes."

Thus cried the miserable dame; When to the king a warder came, Before the giant monarch bowed And said that, followed by a crowd Of counsellors and lords of state, Prahasta stood before the gate, And, sent by some engrossing care, Craved audience of his master there.

The anxious tyrant left his seat And hastened forth the chief to meet: Then summoning his n.o.bles all, Took counsel in his regal hall.

When Lanka's lord had left the queen, The head and bow no more were seen.

The giant king his n.o.bles eyed, And, terrible as Yama, cried: "O faithful lords, the time is come: Gather our hosts with beat of drum.

Nigh to the town our foeman draws: Be prudent, nor reveal the cause."

The n.o.bles listened and obeyed: Swift were the gathered troops arrayed, And countless rovers of the night Stood burning for the hour of fight.

Canto x.x.xIII. Sarama.

But Sarama, of gentler mood, With pitying eyes the mourner viewed, Stole to her side and softly told Glad tidings that her heart consoled, Revealing with sweet voice and smile The secret of the giant's guile.

She, one of those who night and day Watching in turns by Sita lay, Though Rakshas born felt pity's touch, And loved the hapless lady much.

"I heard," she said, "thy bitter cry, Heard Rava?'s speech and thy reply, For, hiding in the thicket near, No word or tone escaped mine ear.

When Rava? hastened forth I bent My steps to follow as he went, And learnt the secret cause that drove The monarch from the Asoka grove.

Believe me, Queen, thou needst not weep For Rama slaughtered in his sleep.

Thy lion lord of men defies By day attack, by night surprise.

Can even giants slay with ease Vast hosts who fight with brandished trees, For whom, with eye that never sleeps, His constant watch thy Rama keeps?

Lord of the mighty arm and chest, Of earthly warriors first and best, Whose fame through all the regions rings, Proud scion of a hundred kings; Who guards his life and loves to lend His saving succour to a friend: Whose bow no hand but his can strain,- Thy lord, thy Rama is not slain.

Obedient to his master's will, A great magician, trained in ill, With deftest art surpa.s.sing thought That marvellous illusion wrought.

Let rising hope thy grief dispel: Look up and smile, for all is well, And gentle Lakshmi, Fortune's Queen, Regards thee with a favouring mien.

Thy Rama with his Vanar train Has thrown a bridge athwart the main, Has led his countless legions o'er, And ranged them on this southern sh.o.r.e.

These eyes have seen the hero stand Girt by his hosts on Lanka's strand, And breathless spies each moment bring Fresh tidings to the giant king; And every peer and lord of state Is called to counsel and debate."

She ceased: the sound, long loud and clear, Of gathering armies smote her ear, Where call of drum and sh.e.l.l rang out, The tambour and the battle shout; And, while the din the echoes woke, Again to Janak's child she spoke: "Hear, lady, hear the loud alarms That call the Rakshas troops to arms, From stable and from stall they lead The elephant and neighing steed, Brace harness on with deftest care, And chariots for the fight prepare.

Swift o'er the trembling ground career Mailed hors.e.m.e.n armed with axe and spear, And here and there in road and street The terrible battalions meet.

I hear the gathering near and far, The snorting steed, the rattling car.

Bold chieftains, leaders of the brave, Press densely on, like wave on wave, And bright the evening sunbeams glance On helm and shield, on sword and lance.