The Sanskrit Epics

by Delphi Classics

  Not I, O Raghu’s son, nor she

  Could live one hour deprived of thee:

  We were, without thine arm to save,

  Like fish deserted by the wave.

  Although my mother dear to meet,

  Śatrughna, and the king, were sweet,

  On them, or heaven, to feed mine eye

  Were nothing, if thou wert not by.”

  Sitting at ease, their glances fell

  Upon the beds, constructed well,

  And there the sons of virtue laid

  Their limbs beneath the fig tree’s shade.

  Canto LIV. Bharadvája’s Hermitage.

  SO THERE THAT night the heroes spent

  Under the boughs that o’er them bent,

  And when the sun his glory spread,

  Upstarting, from the place they sped.

  On to that spot they made their way,

  Through the dense wood that round them lay,

  Where Yamuná’s326 swift waters glide

  To blend with Gangá’s holy tide.

  Charmed with the prospect ever new

  The glorious heroes wandered through

  Full many a spot of pleasant ground,

  Rejoicing as they gazed around,

  With eager eye and heart at ease,

  On countless sorts of flowery trees.

  And now the day was half-way sped

  When thus to Lakshmaṇ Ráma said:

  “There, there, dear brother, turn thine eyes;

  See near Prayág327 that smoke arise:

  The banner of our Lord of Flames

  The dwelling of some saint proclaims.

  Near to the place our steps we bend

  Where Yamuná and Gangá blend.

  I hear and mark the deafening roar

  When chafing floods together pour.

  See, near us on the ground are left

  Dry logs, by labouring woodmen cleft,

  And the tall trees, that blossom near

  Saint Bharadvája’s home, appear.”

  The bow-armed princes onward passed,

  And as the sun was sinking fast

  They reached the hermit’s dwelling, set

  Near where the rushing waters met.

  The presence of the warrior scared

  The deer and birds as on he fared,

  And struck them with unwonted awe:

  Then Bharadvája’s cot they saw.

  The high-souled hermit soon they found

  Girt by his dear disciples round:

  Calm saint, whose vows had well been wrought,

  Whose fervent rites keen sight had bought.

  Duly had flames of worship blazed

  When Ráma on the hermit gazed:

  His suppliant hands the hero raised,

  Drew nearer to the holy man

  With his companions, and began,

  Declaring both his name and race

  And why they sought that distant place:

  “Saint, Daśaratha’s children we,

  Ráma and Lakshmaṇ, come to thee.

  This my good wife from Janak springs,

  The best of fair Videha’s kings;

  Through lonely wilds, a faultless dame,

  To this pure grove with me she came.

  My younger brother follows still

  Me banished by my father’s will:

  Sumitrá’s son, bound by a vow, —

  He roams the wood beside me now.

  Sent by my father forth to rove,

  We seek, O Saint, some holy grove,

  Where lives of hermits we may lead,

  And upon fruits and berries feed.”

  When Bharadvája, prudent-souled,

  Had heard the prince his tale unfold,

  Water he bade them bring, a bull,

  And honour-gifts in dishes full,

  And drink and food of varied taste,

  Berries and roots, before him placed,

  And then the great ascetic showed

  A cottage for the guests’ abode.

  The saint these honours gladly paid

  To Ráma who had thither strayed,

  Then compassed sat by birds and deer

  And many a hermit resting near.

  The prince received the service kind,

  And sat him down rejoiced in mind.

  Then Bharadvája silence broke,

  And thus the words of duty spoke:

  “Kakutstha’s royal son, that thou

  Hadst sought this grove I knew ere now.

  Mine ears have heard thy story, sent

  Without a sin to banishment.

  Behold, O Prince, this ample space

  Near where the mingling floods embrace,

  Holy, and beautiful, and clear:

  Dwell with us, and be happy here.”

  By Bharadvája thus addressed,

  Ráma whose kind and tender breast

  All living things would bless and save,

  In gracious words his answer gave:

  “My honoured lord, this tranquil spot,

  Fair home of hermits, suits me not:

  For all the neighbouring people here

  Will seek us when they know me near:

  With eager wish to look on me,

  And the Videhan dame to see,

  A crowd of rustics will intrude

  Upon the holy solitude.

  Provide, O gracious lord, I pray,

  Some quiet home that lies away,

  Where my Videhan spouse may dwell

  Tasting the bliss deserved so well.”

  The hermit heard the prayer he made:

  A while in earnest thought he stayed,

  And then in words like these expressed

  His answer to the chief’s request:

  “Ten leagues away there stands a hill

  Where thou mayst live, if such thy will:

  A holy mount, exceeding fair;

  Great saints have made their dwelling there:

  There great Langúrs328 in thousands play,

  And bears amid the thickets stray;

  Wide-known by Chitrakúṭa’s name,

  It rivals Gandhamádan’s329 fame.

  Long as the man that hill who seeks

  Gazes upon its sacred peaks,

  To holy things his soul he gives

  And pure from thought of evil lives.

  There, while a hundred autumns fled,

  Has many a saint with hoary head

  Spent his pure life, and won the prize,

  By deep devotion, in the skies:

  Best home, I ween, if such retreat,

  Far from the ways of men, be sweet:

  Or let thy years of exile flee

  Here in this hermitage with me.”

  Thus Bharadvája spake, and trained

  In lore of duty, entertained

  The princes and the dame, and pressed

  His friendly gifts on every guest.

  Thus to Prayág the hero went,

  Thus saw the saint preëminent,

  And varied speeches heard and said:

  Then holy night o’er heaven was spread.

  And Ráma took, by toil oppressed,

  With Sítá and his brother, rest;

  And so the night, with sweet content,

  In Bharadvája’s grove was spent.

  But when the dawn dispelled the night,

  Ráma approached the anchorite,

  And thus addressed the holy sire

  Whose glory shone like kindled fire:

  “Well have we spent, O truthful Sage,

  The night within thy hermitage:

  Now let my lord his guests permit

  For their new home his grove to quit.”

  Then, as he saw the morning break,

  In answer Bharadvája spake:

  “Go forth to Chitrakúṭa’s hill,

  Where berries grow, and sweets distil:

  Full well, I deem, that home will suit

  Thee, Ráma, strong and resolu
te.

  Go forth, and Chitrakúṭa seek,

  Famed mountain of the Varied Peak.

  In the wild woods that gird him round

  All creatures of the chase are found:

  Thou in the glades shalt see appear

  Vast herds of elephants and deer.

  With Sítá there shalt thou delight

  To gaze upon the woody height;

  There with expanding heart to look

  On river, table-land, and brook,

  And see the foaming torrent rave

  Impetuous from the mountain cave.

  Auspicious hill! where all day long

  The lapwing’s cry, the Koïl’s song

  Make all who listen gay:

  Where all is fresh and fair to see,

  Where elephants and deer roam free,

  There, as a hermit, stay.”

  Canto LV. The Passage Of Yamuná.

  THE PRINCELY TAMERS of their foes

  Thus passed the night in calm repose,

  Then to the hermit having bent

  With reverence, on their way they went.

  High favour Bharadvája showed,

  And blessed them ready for the road.

  With such fond looks as fathers throw

  On their own sons, before they go.

  Then spake the saint with glory bright

  To Ráma peerless in his might:

  “First, lords of men, direct your feet

  Where Yamuná and Gangá meet;

  Then to the swift Kálindí330 go,

  Whose westward waves to Gangá flow.

  When thou shalt see her lovely shore

  Worn by their feet who hasten o’er,

  Then, Raghu’s son, a raft prepare,

  And cross the Sun born river there.

  Upon her farther bank a tree,

  Near to the landing wilt thou see.

  The blessed source of varied gifts,

  There her green boughs that Fig-tree lifts:

  A tree where countless birds abide,

  By Śyáma’s name known far and wide.

  Sítá, revere that holy shade:

  There be thy prayers for blessing prayed.

  Thence for a league your way pursue,

  And a dark wood shall meet your view,

  Where tall bamboos their foliage show,

  The Gum-tree and the Jujube grow.

  To Chitrakúṭa have I oft

  Trodden that path so smooth and soft,

  Where burning woods no traveller scare,

  But all is pleasant, green, and fair.”

  When thus the guests their road had learned,

  Back to his cot the hermit turned,

  And Ráma, Lakshmaṇ, Sítá paid

  Their reverent thanks for courteous aid.

  Thus Ráma spake to Lakshmaṇ, when

  The saint had left the lords of men:

  “Great store of bliss in sooth is ours

  On whom his love the hermit showers.”

  As each to other wisely talked,

  The lion lords together walked

  On to Kálindí’s woody shore;

  And gentle Sítá went before.

  They reached that flood, whose waters flee

  With rapid current to the sea;

  Their minds a while to thought they gave

  And counselled how to cross the wave.

  At length, with logs together laid,

  A mighty raft the brothers made.

  Then dry bamboos across were tied,

  And grass was spread from side to side.

  And the great hero Lakshmaṇ brought

  Cane and Rose-Apple boughs and wrought,

  Trimming the branches smooth and neat,

  For Sítá’s use a pleasant seat.

  And Ráma placed thereon his dame

  Touched with a momentary shame,

  Resembling in her glorious mien

  All-thought-surpassing Fortune’s Queen.

  Then Ráma hastened to dispose,

  Each in its place, the skins and bows,

  And by the fair Videhan laid

  The coats, the ornaments, and spade.

  When Sítá thus was set on board,

  And all their gear was duly stored,

  The heroes each with vigorous hand,

  Pushed off the raft and left the land.

  When half its way the raft had made,

  Thus Sítá to Kálindí prayed:

  “Goddess, whose flood I traverse now,

  Grant that my lord may keep his vow.

  For thee shall bleed a thousand kine,

  A hundred jars shall pour their wine,

  When Ráma sees that town again

  Where old Ikshváku’s children reign.”

  Thus to Kálindí’s stream she sued

  And prayed in suppliant attitude.

  Then to the river’s bank the dame,

  Fervent in supplication, came.

  They left the raft that brought them o’er,

  And the thick wood that clothed the shore,

  And to the Fig-tree Śyáma made

  Their way, so cool with verdant shade.

  Then Sítá viewed that best of trees,

  And reverent spake in words like these:

  “Hail, hail, O mighty tree! Allow

  My husband to complete his vow;

  Let us returning, I entreat,

  Kauśalyá and Sumitrá meet.”

  Then with her hands together placed

  Around the tree she duly paced.

  When Ráma saw his blameless spouse

  A suppliant under holy boughs,

  The gentle darling of his heart,

  He thus to Lakshmaṇ spake apart:

  “Brother, by thee our way be led;

  Let Sítá close behind thee tread:

  I, best of men, will grasp my bow,

  And hindmost of the three will go.

  What fruits soe’er her fancy take,

  Or flowers half hidden in the brake,

  For Janak’s child forget not thou

  To gather from the brake or bough.”

  Thus on they fared. The tender dame

  Asked Ráma, as they walked, the name

  Of every shrub that blossoms bore,

  Creeper, and tree unseen before:

  And Lakshmaṇ fetched, at Sítá’s prayer,

  Boughs of each tree with clusters fair.

  Then Janak’s daughter joyed to see

  The sand-discoloured river flee,

  Where the glad cry of many a bird,

  The sáras and the swan, was heard.

  A league the brothers travelled through

  The forest noble game they slew:

  Beneath the trees their meal they dressed

  And sat them down to eat and rest.

  A while in that delightful shade

  Where elephants unnumbered strayed,

  Where peacocks screamed and monkeys played,

  They wandered with delight.

  Then by the river’s side they found

  A pleasant spot of level ground,

  Where all was smooth and fair around,

  Their lodging for the night.

  Canto LVI. Chitrakúta

  THEN RÁMA, WHEN the morning rose,

  Called Lakshmaṇ gently from repose:

  “Awake, the pleasant voices hear

  Of forest birds that warble near.

  Scourge of thy foes, no longer stay;

  The hour is come to speed away.”

  The slumbering prince unclosed his eyes

  When thus his brother bade him rise,

  Compelling, at the timely cry,

  Fatigue, and sleep, and rest to fly.

  The brothers rose and Sítá too;

  Pure water from the stream they drew,

  Paid morning rites, then followed still

  The road to Chitrakúṭa’s hill.

  Then Ráma as he took the road

  With Lakshmaṇ, w
hile the morning, glowed,

  To the Videhan lady cried,

  Sítá the fair, the lotus-eyed:

  “Look round thee, dear; each flowery tree

  Touched with the fire of morning see:

  The Kinśuk, now the Frosts are fled, —

  How glorious with his wreaths of red!

  The Bel-trees see, so loved of men,

  Hanging their boughs in every glen.

  O’erburthened with their fruit and flowers:

  A plenteous store of food is ours.

  See, Lakshmaṇ, in the leafy trees,

  Where’er they make their home.

  Down hangs, the work of labouring bees

  The ponderous honeycomb.

  In the fair wood before us spread

  The startled wild-cock cries:

  Hark, where the flowers are soft to tread,

  The peacock’s voice replies.

  Where elephants are roaming free,

  And sweet birds’ songs are loud,

  The glorious Chitrakúṭa see:

  His peaks are in the cloud.

  On fair smooth ground he stands displayed,

  Begirt by many a tree:

  O brother, in that holy shade

  How happy shall we be!”331

  Then Ráma, Lakshmaṇ, Sítá, each

  Spoke raising suppliant hands this speech

  To him, in woodland dwelling met,

  Válmíki, ancient anchoret:

  “O Saint, this mountain takes the mind,

  With creepers, trees of every kind,

  With fruit and roots abounding thus,

  A pleasant life it offers us:

  Here for a while we fain would stay,

  And pass a season blithe and gay.”

  Then the great saint, in duty trained,

  With honour gladly entertained:

  He gave his guests a welcome fair,

  And bade them sit and rest them there,

  Ráma of mighty arm and chest

  His faithful Lakshmaṇ then addressed:

  “Brother, bring hither from the wood

  Selected timber strong and good,

  And build therewith a little cot;

  My heart rejoices in the spot

  That lies beneath the mountain’s side,

  Remote, with water well supplied.”

  Sumitrá’s son his words obeyed,

  Brought many a tree, and deftly made,

  With branches in the forest cut,

  As Ráma bade, a leafy hut.

  Then Ráma, when the cottage stood

  Fair, firmly built, and walled with wood,

  To Lakshmaṇ spake, whose eager mind

  To do his brother’s will inclined:

  “Now, Lakshmaṇ as our cot is made,

  Must sacrifice be duly paid

  By us, for lengthened life who hope,

  With venison of the antelope.

  Away, O bright-eyed Lakshmaṇ, speed: