The Ramayana Part 22

But Visvamitra, at the threat Of that ill.u.s.trious anch.o.r.et, Cried, as he launched with ready hand A fiery weapon, "Stand, O Stand!"

Vasish?ha, wild with rage and hate, Raising, as 'twere the Rod of Fate, His mighty Brahman wand on high, To Visvamitra made reply: "Nay, stand, O Warrior thou, and show What soldier can, 'gainst Brahman foe.

O Gadhi's son, thy days are told; Thy pride is tamed, thy dart is cold.

How shall a warrior's puissance dare With Brahman's awful strength compare?

To-day, base Warrior, shall thou feel That G.o.d-sent might is more than steel."

He raised his Brahman staff, nor missed The fiery dart that near him hissed: And quenched the fearful weapon fell, As flame beneath the billow's swell.

Then Gadhi's son in fury threw Lord Varu?'s arm and Rudra's too: Indra's fierce bolt that all destroys; That which the Lord of Herds employs: The Human, that which minstrels keep, The deadly Lure, the endless Sleep: The Yawner, and the dart which charms; Lament and Torture, fearful arms: The Terrible, the dart which dries, The Thunderbolt which quenchless flies, And Fate's dread net, and Brahma's noose, And that which waits for Varu?'s use: The dart he loves who wields the bow Pinaka, and twin bolts that glow With fury as they flash and fly, The quenchless Liquid and the Dry: The dart of Vengeance, swift to kill: The Goblins' dart, the Curlew's Bill: The discus both of Fate and Right, And Vish?u's, of unerring flight: The Wind-G.o.d's dart, the Troubler dread, The weapon named the Horse's Head.

From his fierce hand two spears were thrown, And the great mace that smashes bone; The dart of spirits of the air, And that which Fate exults to bear: The Trident dart which slaughters foes, And that which hanging skulls compose:(233) These fearful darts in fiery rain He hurled upon the saint amain, An awful miracle to view.

But as the ceaseless tempest flew, The sage with wand of G.o.d-sent power Still swallowed up that fiery shower.

Then Gadhi's son, when these had failed, With Brahma's dart his foe a.s.sailed.

The G.o.ds, with Indra at their head, And Nagas, quailed disquieted, And saints and minstrels, when they saw The king that awful weapon draw; And the three worlds were filled with dread, And trembled as the missile sped.

The saint, with Brahman wand, empowered By lore divine that dart devoured.

Nor could the triple world withdraw Rapt gazes from that sight of awe; For as he swallowed down the dart Of Brahma, sparks from every part, From finest pore and hair-cell, broke Enveloped in a veil of smoke.

The staff he waved was all aglow Like Yama's sceptre, King below, Or like the lurid fire of Fate Whose rage the worlds will desolate.

The hermits, whom that sight had awed, Extolled the saint, with hymn and laud: "Thy power, O Sage, is ne'er in vain: Now with thy might thy might restrain.

Be gracious, Master, and allow The worlds to rest from trouble now; For Visvamitra, strong and dread, By thee has been discomfited."

Then, thus addressed, the saint, well pleased, The fury of his wrath appeased.

The king, o'erpowered and ashamed, With many a deep-drawn sigh exclaimed: "Ah! Warriors' strength is poor and slight; A Brahman's power is truly might.

This Brahman staff the hermit held The fury of my darts has quelled.

This truth within my heart impressed, With senses ruled and tranquil breast My task austere will I begin, And Brahmanhood will strive to win."

Canto LVII. Trisanku.

Then with his heart consumed with woe, Still brooding on his overthrow By the great saint he had defied, At every breath the monarch sighed.

Forth from his home his queen he led, And to a land far southward fled.

There, fruit and roots his only food, He practised penance, sense-subdued, And in that solitary spot Four virtuous sons the king begot: Havishyand, from the offering named, And Madhushyand, for sweetness famed, Maharath, chariot-borne in fight, And Dri?hanetra strong of sight.

A thousand years had pa.s.sed away, When Brahma, Sire whom all obey, Addressed in pleasant words like these Him rich in long austerities: "Thou by the penance, Kusik's son, A place 'mid royal saints hast won.

Pleased with thy constant penance, we This lofty rank a.s.sign to thee."

Thus spoke the glorious Lord most High Father of earth and air and sky, And with the G.o.ds around him spread Home to his changeless sphere he sped.

But Visvamitra scorned the grace, And bent in shame his angry face.

Burning with rage, o'erwhelmed with grief, Thus in his heart exclaimed the chief: "No fruit, I ween, have I secured By strictest penance long endured, If G.o.ds and all the saints decree To make but royal saint of me."

Thus pondering, he with sense subdued, With sternest zeal his vows renewed.

Then reigned a monarch, true of soul, Who kept each sense in firm control; Of old Ikshvaku's line he came, That glories in Trisanku's(234) name.

Within his breast, O Raghu's child, Arose a longing, strong and wild, Great offerings to the G.o.ds to pay, And win, alive, to heaven his way.

His priest Vasish?ha's aid he sought, And told him of his secret thought.

But wise Vasish?ha showed the hope Was far beyond the monarch's scope.

Trisanku then, his suit denied, Far to the southern region hied, To beg Vasish?ha's sons to aid The mighty plan his soul had made.

There King Trisanku, far renowned, Vasish?ha's hundred children found, Each on his fervent vows intent, For mind and fame preeminent.

To these the famous king applied, Wise children of his holy guide.

Saluting each in order due.

His eyes, for shame, he downward threw, And reverent hands together pressed, The glorious company addressed: "I as a humble suppliant seek Succour of you who aid the weak.

A mighty offering I would pay, But sage Vasish?ha answered, Nay.

Be yours permission to accord, And to my rites your help afford.

Sons of my guide, to each of you With lowly reverence here I sue; To each, intent on penance-vow, O Brahmans, low my head I bow, And pray you each with ready heart In my great rite to bear a part, That in the body I may rise And dwell with G.o.ds within the skies.

Sons of my guide, none else I see Can give what he refuses me.

Ikshvaku's children still depend Upon their guide most reverend; And you, as nearest in degree To him, my deities shall be!"

Canto LVIII. Trisanku Cursed.

Trisanku's speech the hundred heard, And thus replied, to anger stirred: "Why foolish King, by him denied, Whose truthful lips have never lied, Dost thou transgress his prudent rule, And seek, for aid, another school?(235) Ikshvaku's sons have aye relied Most surely on their holy guide: Then how dost thou, fond Monarch, dare Transgress the rule his lips declare?

"Thy wish is vain," the saint replied, And bade thee cast the plan aside.

Then how can we, his sons, pretend In such a rite our aid to lend?

O Monarch, of the childish heart, Home to thy royal town depart.

That mighty saint, thy priest and guide, At n.o.blest rites may well preside: The worlds for sacrifice combined A worthier priest could never find."

Such speech of theirs the monarch heard, Though rage distorted every word, And to the hermits made reply: "You, like your sire, my suit deny.

For other aid I turn from you: So, rich in penance, Saints, adieu!"

Vasish?ha's children heard, and guessed His evil purpose scarce expressed, And cried, while rage their bosoms burned, "Be to a vile Cha??ala(236) turned!"

This said, with lofty thoughts inspired, Each to his own retreat retired.

That night Trisanku underwent Sad change in shape and lineament.

Next morn, an outcast swart of hue, His dusky cloth he round him drew.

His hair had fallen from his head, And roughness o'er his skin was spread.

Such wreaths adorned him as are found To flourish on the funeral ground.

Each armlet was an iron ring: Such was the figure of the king, That every counsellor and peer, And following townsman, fled in fear.

Alone, unyielding to dismay, Though burnt by anguish night and day, Great Visvamitra's side he sought, Whose treasures were by penance bought.

The hermit with his tender eyes Looked on Trisanku's altered guise, And grieving at his ruined state Addressed him thus, compa.s.sionate: "Great King," the pious hermit said, "What cause thy steps has. .h.i.ther led, Ayodhya's mighty Sovereign, whom A curse has plagued with outcast's doom?"

In vile Cha??ala(237) shape, the king Heard Visvamitra's questioning, And, suppliant palm to palm applied, With answering eloquence he cried: "My priest and all his sons refused To aid the plan on which I mused.

Failing to win the boon I sought, To this condition I was brought.

I, in the body, Saint, would fain A mansion in the skies obtain.

I planned a hundred rites for this, But still was doomed the fruit to miss.

Pure are my lips from falsehood's stain, And pure they ever shall remain,- Yea, by a Warrior's faith I swear,- Though I be tried with grief and care.

Unnumbered rites to Heaven I paid, With righteous care the sceptre swayed; And holy priest and high-souled guide My modest conduct gratified.

But, O thou best of hermits, they Oppose my wish these rites to pay; They one and all refuse consent, Nor aid me in my high intent.

Fate is, I ween, the power supreme, Man's effort but an idle dream, Fate whirls our plans, our all away; Fate is our only hope and stay; Now deign, O blessed Saint, to aid Me, even me by Fate betrayed, Who come, a suppliant, sore distressed, One grace, O Hermit, to request.

No other hope or way I see: No other refuge waits for me.

Oh, aid me in my fallen state, And human will shall conquer Fate."

Canto LIX. The Sons Of Vasishtha.