The Sanskrit Epics

by Delphi Classics

  Their consecrating hymns of praise,

  He spoiled the Soma’s sacred juice

  Poured forth by them in solemn use.

  The sacrifice his hands o’erthrew,

  And cruelly the Bráhmans slew.

  His was a heart that naught could melt,

  Joying in woes which others felt.

  She saw the ruthless monster there,

  Dread of the worlds, unused to spare.

  In robes of heavenly texture dressed,

  Celestial wreaths adorned his breast.

  He sat a shape of terror, like

  Destruction ere the worlds it strike.

  She saw him in his pride of place,

  The joy of old Pulastya’s487 race,

  Begirt by counsellor and peer,

  Rávaṇ, the foeman’s mortal fear,

  And terror in her features shown,

  The giantess approached the throne.

  Then Śúrpaṇakhá bearing yet

  Each deeply printed trace

  Where the great-hearted chief had set

  A mark upon her face,

  Impelled by terror and desire,

  Still fierce, no longer bold,

  To Rávaṇ of the eyes of fire

  Her tale, infuriate, told.

  Canto XXXIII. Súrpanakhá’s Speech.

  BURNING WITH ANGER, in the ring

  Of counsellors who girt their king,

  To Rávaṇ, ravener of man,

  With bitter words she thus began:

  “Wilt thou absorbed in pleasure, still

  Pursue unchecked thy selfish will:

  Nor turn thy heedless eyes to see

  The coming fate which threatens thee?

  The king who days and hours employs

  In base pursuit of vulgar joys

  Must in his people’s sight be vile

  As fire that smokes on funeral pile.

  He who when duty calls him spares

  No time for thought of royal cares,

  Must with his realm and people all

  Involved in fatal ruin fall.

  As elephants in terror shrink

  From the false river’s miry brink,

  Thus subjects from a monarch flee

  Whose face their eyes may seldom see,

  Who spends the hours for toil ordained

  In evil courses unrestrained.

  He who neglects to guard and hold

  His kingdom by himself controlled,

  Sinks nameless like a hill whose head

  Is buried in the ocean’s bed.

  Thy foes are calm and strong and wise,

  Fiends, Gods, and warriors of the skies, —

  How, heedless, wicked, weak, and vain,

  Wilt thou thy kingly state maintain?

  Thou, lord of giants, void of sense,

  Slave of each changing influence,

  Heedless of all that makes a king,

  Destruction on thy head wilt bring.

  O conquering chief, the prince, who boasts,

  Of treasury and rule and hosts,

  By others led, though lord of all,

  Is meaner than the lowest thrall.

  For this are monarchs said to be

  Long-sighted, having power to see

  Things far away by faithful eyes

  Of messengers and loyal spies.

  But aid from such thou wilt not seek:

  Thy counsellors are blind and weak,

  Or thou from these hadst surely known

  Thy legions and thy realm o’erthrown.

  Know, twice seven thousand, fierce in might,

  Are slain by Ráma in the fight,

  And they, the giant host who led,

  Khara and Dúshaṇ, both are dead.

  Know, Ráma with his conquering arm

  Has freed the saints from dread of harm,

  Has smitten Janasthán and made

  Asylum safe in Daṇḍak’s shade.

  Enslaved and dull, of blinded sight,

  Intoxicate with vain delight,

  Thou closest still thy heedless eyes

  To dangers in thy realm that rise.

  A king besotted, mean, unkind,

  Of niggard hand and slavish mind.

  Will find no faithful followers heed

  Their master in his hour of need.

  The friend on whom he most relies,

  In danger, from a monarch flies,

  Imperious in his high estate,

  Conceited, proud, and passionate;

  Who ne’er to state affairs attends

  With wholesome fear when woe impends

  Most weak and worthless as the grass,

  Soon from his sway the realm will pass.

  For rotting wood a use is found,

  For clods and dust that strew the ground,

  But when a king has lost his sway,

  Useless he falls, and sinks for aye.

  As raiment by another worn,

  As faded garland crushed and torn,

  So is, unthroned, the proudest king,

  Though mighty once, a useless thing.

  But he who every sense subdues

  And each event observant views,

  Rewards the good and keeps from wrong,

  Shall reign secure and flourish long.

  Though lulled in sleep his senses lie

  He watches with a ruler’s eye,

  Untouched by favour, ire, and hate,

  And him the people celebrate.

  O weak of mind, without a trace

  Of virtues that a king should grace,

  Who hast not learnt from watchful spy

  That low in death the giants lie.

  Scorner of others, but enchained

  By every base desire,

  By thee each duty is disdained

  Which time and place require.

  Soon wilt thou, if thou canst not learn,

  Ere yet it be too late,

  The good from evil to discern,

  Fall from thy high estate.”

  As thus she ceased not to upbraid

  The king with cutting speech,

  And every fault to view displayed,

  Naming and marking each,

  The monarch of the sons of night,

  Of wealth and power possessed,

  And proud of his imperial might,

  Long pondered in his breast.

  Canto XXXIV. Súrpanakhá’s Speech.

  THEN FORTH THE giant’s fury broke

  As Śúrpaṇakhá harshly spoke.

  Girt by his lords the demon king

  Looked on her, fiercely questioning:

  “Who is this Ráma, whence, and where?

  His form, his might, his deeds declare.

  His wandering steps what purpose led

  To Daṇḍak forest, hard to tread?

  What arms are his that he could smite

  In fray the rovers of the night,

  And Triśirás and Dúshaṇ lay

  Low on the earth, and Khara slay?

  Tell all, my sister, and declare

  Who maimed thee thus, of form most fair.”

  Thus by the giant king addressed,

  While burnt her fury unrepressed,

  The giantess declared at length

  The hero’s form and deeds and strength:

  “Long are his arms and large his eyes:

  A black deer’s skin his dress supplies.

  King Daśaratha’s son is he,

  Fair as Kandarpa’s self to see.

  Adorned with many a golden band,

  A bow, like Indra’s, arms his hand,

  And shoots a flood of arrows fierce

  As venomed snakes to burn and pierce.

  I looked, I looked, but never saw

  His mighty hand the bowstring draw

  That sent the deadly arrows out,

  While rang through air his battle-shout.

  I looked, I looked, and saw too well

  How with that hail the g
iants fell,

  As falls to earth the golden grain,

  Struck by the blows of Indra’s rain.

  He fought, and twice seven thousand, all

  Terrific giants, strong and tall,

  Fell by the pointed shafts o’erthrown

  Which Ráma shot on foot, alone.

  Three little hours had scarcely fled, —

  Khara and Dúshaṇ both were dead,

  And he had freed the saints and made

  Asylum sure in Daṇḍak’s shade.

  Me of his grace the victor spared,

  Or I the giants’ fate had shared.

  The high-souled Ráma would not deign

  His hand with woman’s blood to stain.

  The glorious Lakshmaṇ, justly dear,

  In gifts and warrior might his peer,

  Serves his great brother with the whole

  Devotion of his faithful soul:

  Impetuous victor, bold and wise,

  First in each hardy enterprise,

  Still ready by his side to stand,

  A second self or better hand.

  And Ráma has a large-eyed spouse,

  Pure as the moon her cheek and brows,

  Dearer than life in Ráma’s sight,

  Whose happiness is her delight.

  With beauteous hair and nose the dame

  From head to foot has naught to blame.

  She shines the wood’s bright Goddess, Queen

  Of beauty with her noble mien.

  First in the ranks of women placed

  Is Sítá of the dainty waist.

  In all the earth mine eyes have ne’er

  Seen female form so sweetly fair.

  Goddess nor nymph can vie with her,

  Nor bride of heavenly chorister.

  He who might call this dame his own,

  Her eager arms about him thrown,

  Would live more blest in Sítá’s love

  Than Indra in the world above.

  She, peerless in her form and face

  And rich in every gentle grace,

  Is worthy bride, O King, for thee,

  As thou art meet her lord to be.

  I even I, will bring the bride

  In triumph to her lover’s side —

  This beauty fairer than the rest,

  With rounded limb and heaving breast.

  Each wound upon my face I owe

  To cruel Lakshmaṇ’s savage blow.

  But thou, O brother, shalt survey

  Her moonlike loveliness to-day,

  And Káma’s piercing shafts shall smite

  Thine amorous bosom at the sight.

  If in thy breast the longing rise

  To make thine own the beauteous prize,

  Up, let thy better foot begin

  The journey and the treasure win.

  If, giant Lord, thy favouring eyes

  Regard the plan which I advise,

  Up, cast all fear and doubt away

  And execute the words I say

  Come, giant King, this treasure seek,

  For thou art strong and they are weak.

  Let Sítá of the faultless frame

  Be borne away and be thy dame.

  Thy host in Janasthán who dwelt

  Forth to the battle hied.

  And by the shafts which Ráma dealt

  They perished in their pride.

  Dúshaṇ and Khara breathe no more,

  Laid low upon the plain.

  Arise, and ere the day be o’er

  Take vengeance for the slain.”

  Canto XXXV. Rávan’s Journey.

  WHEN RÁVAṆ, BY her fury spurred,

  That terrible advice had heard,

  He bade his nobles quit his side,

  And to the work his thought applied.

  He turned his anxious mind to scan

  On every side the hardy plan:

  The gain against the risk he laid,

  Each hope and fear with care surveyed,

  And in his heart at length decreed

  To try performance of the deed.

  Then steady in his dire intent

  The giant to the courtyard went.

  There to his charioteer he cried,

  “Bring forth the car whereon I ride.”

  Aye ready at his master’s word

  The charioteer the order heard,

  And yoked with active zeal the best

  Of chariots at his lord’s behest.

  Asses with heads of goblins drew

  That wondrous car where’er it flew.

  Obedient to the will it rolled

  Adorned with gems and glistering gold.

  Then mounting, with a roar as loud

  As thunder from a labouring cloud,

  The mighty monarch to the tide

  Of Ocean, lord of rivers, hied.

  White was the shade above him spread,

  White chouris waved around his head,

  And he with gold and jewels bright

  Shone like the glossy lazulite.

  Ten necks and twenty arms had he:

  His royal gear was good to see.

  The heavenly Gods’ insatiate foe,

  Who made the blood of hermits flow,

  He like the Lord of Hills appeared

  With ten huge heads to heaven upreared.

  In the great car whereon he rode,

  Like some dark cloud the giant showed,

  When round it in their close array

  The cranes ‘mid wreaths of lightning play.

  He looked, and saw, from realms of air,

  The rocky shore of ocean, where

  Unnumbered trees delightful grew

  With flower and fruit of every hue.

  He looked on many a lilied pool

  With silvery waters fresh and cool,

  And shores like spacious altars meet

  For holy hermits’ lone retreat.

  The graceful palm adorned the scene,

  The plantain waved her glossy green.

  There grew the sál and betel, there

  On bending boughs the flowers were fair.

  There hermits dwelt who tamed each sense

  By strictest rule of abstinence:

  Gandharvas, Kinnars,488 thronged the place,

  Nágas and birds of heavenly race.

  Bright minstrels of the ethereal quire,

  And saints exempt from low desire,

  With Ájas, sons of Brahmá’s line,

  Maríchipas of seed divine,

  Vaikhánasas and Máshas strayed,

  And Bálakhilyas489 in the shade.

  The lovely nymphs of heaven were there,

  Celestial wreaths confined their hair,

  And to each form new grace was lent

  By wealth of heavenly ornament.

  Well skilled was each in play and dance

  And gentle arts of dalliance.

  The glorious wife of many a God

  Those beautiful recesses trod,

  There Gods and Dánavs, all who eat

  The food of heaven, rejoiced to meet.

  The swan and Sáras thronged each bay

  With curlews, ducks, and divers gay,

  Where the sea spray rose soft and white

  O’er rocks of glossy lazulite.

  As his swift way the fiend pursued

  Pale chariots of the Gods he viewed,

  Bearing each lord whose rites austere

  Had raised him to the heavenly sphere.

  Thereon celestial garlands hung,

  There music played and songs were sung.

  Then bright Gandharvas met his view,

  And heavenly nymphs, as on he flew.

  He saw the sandal woods below,

  And precious trees of odorous flow,

  That to the air around them lent

  Their riches of delightful scent;

  Nor failed his roving eye to mark

  Tall aloe trees in grove and park.

  He looked on w
ood with cassias filled,

  And plants which balmy sweets distilled,

  Where her fair flowers the betel showed

  And the bright pods of pepper glowed.

  The pearls in many a silvery heap

  Lay on the margin of the deep.

  And grey rocks rose amid the red

  Of coral washed from ocean’s bed.

  High soared the mountain peaks that bore

  Treasures of gold and silver ore,

  And leaping down the rocky walls

  Came wild and glorious waterfalls.

  Fair towns which grain and treasure held,

  And dames who every gem excelled,

  He saw outspread beneath him far,

  With steed, and elephant, and car.

  That ocean shore he viewed that showed

  Fair as the blessed Gods’ abode

  Where cool delightful breezes played

  O’er levels in the freshest shade.

  He saw a fig-tree like a cloud

  With mighty branches earthward bowed.

  It stretched a hundred leagues and made

  For hermit bands a welcome shade.

  Thither the feathered king of yore

  An elephant and tortoise bore,

  And lighted on a bough to eat

  The captives of his taloned feet.

  The bough unable to sustain

  The crushing weight and sudden strain,

  Loaded with sprays and leaves of spring

  Gave way beneath the feathered king.

  Under the shadow of the tree

  Dwelt many a saint and devotee,

  Ájas, the sons of Brahmá’s line,

  Máshas, Maríchipas divine.

  Vaikhánasas, and all the race

  Of Bálakhilyas, loved the place.

  But pitying their sad estate

  The feathered monarch raised the weight

  Of the huge bough, and bore away

  The loosened load and captured prey.

  A hundred leagues away he sped,

  Then on his monstrous booty fed,

  And with the bough he smote the lands

  Where dwell the wild Nisháda bands.

  High joy was his because his deed

  From jeopardy the hermits freed.

  That pride for great deliverance wrought

  A double share of valour brought.

  His soul conceived the high emprise

  To snatch the Amrit from the skies.

  He rent the nets of iron first,

  Then through the jewel chamber burst,

  And bore the drink of heaven away

  That watched in Indra’s palace lay.

  Such was the hermit-sheltering tree

  Which Rávaṇ turned his eye to see.

  Still marked where Garuḍ sought to rest,

  The fig-tree bore the name of Blest.

  When Rávaṇ stayed his chariot o’er

  The ocean’s heart-enchanting shore,