The Sanskrit Epics

by Delphi Classics

  Then Ráma and his brother stirred

  By pity mourned the royal bird,

  And, as their hands his limbs caressed,

  Affection for a sire expressed.

  And Ráma to his bosom strained

  The bird with mangled wings distained,

  With crimson blood-drops dyed.

  He fell, and shedding many a tear,

  “Where is my spouse than life more dear?

  Where is my love?” he cried.

  Canto LXIX. The Death Of Jatáyus.

  AS RÁMA VIEWED with heart-felt pain

  The vulture whom the fiend had slain,

  In words with tender love impressed

  His brother chief he thus addressed:

  “This royal bird with faithful thought

  For my advantage strove and fought.

  Slain by the fiend in mortal strife

  For me he yields his noble life.

  See, Lakshmaṇ, how his wounds have bled;

  His struggling breath will soon have fled.

  Faint is his voice, and near to die,

  He scarce can lift his trembling eye.

  Jaṭáyus, if thou still can speak,

  Give, give the answer that I seek.

  The fate of ravished Sítá tell,

  And how thy mournful chance befell.

  Say why the giant stole my dame:

  What have I done that he could blame?

  What fault in me has Rávaṇ seen

  That he should rob me of my queen?

  How looked the lady’s moon-bright cheek?

  What were the words she found to speak?

  His strength, his might, his deeds declare:

  And tell the form he loves to wear.

  To all my questions make reply:

  Where does the giant’s dwelling lie?”

  The noble bird his glances bent

  On Ráma as he made lament,

  And in low accents faint and weak

  With anguish thus began to speak:

  “Fierce Rávaṇ, king of giant race,

  Stole Sítá from thy dwelling-place.

  He calls his magic art to aid

  With wind and cloud and gloomy shade.

  When in the fight my power was spent

  My wearied wings he cleft and rent.

  Then round the dame his arms he threw,

  And to the southern region flew.

  O Raghu’s son, I gasp for breath,

  My swimming sight is dim in death.

  E’en now before my vision pass

  Bright trees of gold with hair of grass,

  The hour the impious robber chose

  Brings on the thief a flood of woes.

  The giant in his haste forgot

  ’Twas Vinda’s hour,513 or heeded not.

  Those robbed at such a time obtain

  Their plundered store and wealth again.

  He, like a fish that takes the bait,

  In briefest time shall meet his fate.

  Now be thy troubled heart controlled

  And for thy lady’s loss consoled,

  For thou wilt slay the fiend in fight

  And with thy dame have new delight.”

  With senses clear, though sorely tried,

  The royal vulture thus replied,

  While as he sank beneath his pain

  Forth rushed the tide of blood again.

  “Him,514 brother of the Lord of Gold,

  Viśravas’ self begot of old.”

  Thus spoke the bird, and stained with gore

  Resigned the breath that came no more.

  “Speak, speak again!” thus Ráma cried,

  With reverent palm to palm applied,

  But from the frame the spirit fled

  And to the skiey regions sped.

  The breath of life had passed away.

  Stretched on the ground the body lay.

  When Ráma saw the vulture lie,

  Huge as a hill, with darksome eye,

  With many a poignant woe distressed

  His brother chief he thus addressed:

  “Amid these haunted shades content

  Full many a year this bird has spent.

  His life in home of giants passed,

  In Daṇḍak wood he dies at last.

  The years in lengthened course have fled

  Untroubled o’er the vulture’s head,

  And now he lies in death, for none

  The stern decrees of Fate may shun.

  See, Lakshmaṇ, how the vulture fell

  While for my sake he battled well.

  And strove to free with onset bold

  My Sítá from the giant’s hold.

  Supreme amid the vulture kind

  His ancient rule the bird resigned,

  And conquered in the fruitless strife

  Gave for my sake his noble life.

  O Lakshmaṇ, many a time we see

  Great souls who keep the law’s decree,

  With whom the weak sure refuge find,

  In creatures of inferior kind.

  The loss of her, my darling queen,

  Strikes with a pang less fiercely keen

  Than now this slaughtered bird to see

  Who nobly fought and died for me.

  As Daśaratha, good and great,

  Was glorious in his high estate,

  Honoured by all, to all endeared,

  So was this royal bird revered.

  Bring fuel for the funeral rite:

  These hands the solemn fire shall light

  And on the burning pyre shall lay

  The bird who died for me to-day.

  Now on the gathered wood shall lie

  The lord of all the birds that fly,

  And I will burn with honours due

  My champion whom the giant slew.

  O royal bird of noblest heart,

  Graced with all funeral rites depart

  To bright celestial seats above,

  Rewarded for thy faithful love.

  Dwell in thy happy home with those

  Whose constant fires of worship rose.

  Live blest amid the unyielding brave,

  And those who land in largess gave.”

  Sore grief upon his bosom weighed

  As on the pyre the bird he laid,

  And bade the kindled flame ascend

  To burn the body of his friend.

  Then with his brother by his side

  The hero to the forest hied.

  There many a stately deer he slew,

  The flesh around the bird to strew.

  The venison into balls he made,

  And on fair grass before him laid.

  Then that the parted soul might rise

  And find free passage to the skies,

  Each solemn word and text he said

  Which Bráhmans utter o’er the dead.

  Then hastening went the princely pair

  To bright Godávarí, and there

  Libations of the stream they poured

  In honour of the vulture lord,

  With solemn ritual to the slain,

  As scripture’s holy texts ordain.

  Thus offerings to the bird they gave

  And bathed their bodies in the wave.

  The vulture monarch having wrought

  A hard and glorious feat,

  Honoured by Ráma sage in thought,

  Soared to his blissful seat.

  The brothers, when each rite was paid

  To him of birds supreme,

  Their hearts with new-found comfort stayed,

  And turned them from the stream.

  Like sovereigns of celestial race

  Within the wood they came,

  Each pondering the means to trace,

  The captor of the dame.

  Canto LXX. Kabandha.

  WHEN EVERY RITE was duly paid

  The princely brothers onward strayed,

  And eager in the lady’s quest

&n
bsp; They turned their footsteps to the west.

  Through lonely woods that round them lay

  Ikshváku’s children made their way,

  And armed with bow and shaft and brand

  Pressed onward to the southern land.

  Thick trees and shrubs and creepers grew

  In the wild grove they hurried through.

  ’Twas dark and drear and hard to pass

  For tangled thorns and matted grass.

  Still onward with a southern course

  They made their way with vigorous force,

  And passing through the mazes stood

  Beyond that vast and fearful wood.

  With toil and hardship yet unspent

  Three leagues from Janasthán they went,

  And speeding on their way at last

  Within the wood of Krauncha515 passed:

  A fearful forest wild and black

  As some huge pile of cloudy rack,

  Filled with all birds and beasts, where grew

  Bright blooms of every varied hue.

  On Sítá bending every thought

  Through all the mighty wood they sought,

  And at the lady’s loss dismayed

  Here for a while and there they stayed.

  Then turning farther eastward they

  Pursued three leagues their weary way,

  Passed Krauncha’s wood and reached the grove

  Where elephants rejoiced to rove.

  The chiefs that awful wood surveyed

  Where deer and wild birds filled each glade,

  Where scarce a step the foot could take

  For tangled shrub and tree and brake.

  There in a mountain’s woody side

  A cave the royal brothers spied,

  With dread abysses deep as hell,

  Where darkness never ceased to dwell.

  When, pressing on, the lords of men

  Stood near the entrance of the den,

  They saw within the dark recess

  A huge misshapen giantess;

  A thing the timid heart that shook

  With fearful shape and savage look.

  Terrific fiend, her voice was fierce,

  Long were her teeth to rend and pierce.

  The monster gorged her horrid feast

  Of flesh of many a savage beast,

  While her long locks, at random flung,

  Dishevelled o’er her shoulders hung.

  Their eyes the royal brothers raised,

  And on the fearful monster gazed.

  Forth from her den she came and glanced

  At Lakshmaṇ as he first advanced,

  Her eager arms to hold him spread,

  And “Come and be my love” she said,

  Then as she held him to her breast,

  The prince in words like these addressed:

  “Behold thy treasure fond and fair:

  Ayomukhi516 the name I bear.

  In thickets of each lofty hill,

  On islets of each brook and rill,

  With me delighted shalt thou play,

  And live for many a lengthened day.”

  Enraged he heard the monster woo;

  His ready sword he swiftly drew,

  And the sharp steel that quelled his foes

  Cut through her breast and ear and nose.

  Thus mangled by his vengeful sword

  In rage and pain the demon roared,

  And hideous with her awful face

  Sped to her secret dwelling place.

  Soon as the fiend had fled from sight,

  The brothers, dauntless in their might,

  Reached a wild forest dark and dread

  Whose tangled ways were hard to tread.

  Then bravest Lakshmaṇ, virtuous youth,

  The friend of purity and truth,

  With reverent palm to palm applied

  Thus to his glorious brother cried:

  “My arm presaging throbs amain,

  My troubled heart is sick with pain,

  And cheerless omens ill portend

  Where’er my anxious eyes I bend.

  Dear brother, hear my words: advance

  Resolved and armed for every chance,

  For every sign I mark to-day

  Foretells a peril in the way.

  This bird of most ill-omened note,

  Loud screaming with discordant throat,

  Announces with a warning cry

  That strife and victory are nigh.”

  Then as the chiefs their search pursued

  Throughout the dreary solitude,

  They heard amazed a mighty sound

  That broke the very trees around,

  As though a furious tempest passed

  Crushing the wood beneath its blast.

  Then Ráma raised his trusty sword,

  And both the hidden cause explored.

  There stood before their wondering eyes

  A fiend broad-chested, huge of size.

  A vast misshapen trunk they saw

  In height surpassing nature’s law.

  It stood before them dire and dread

  Without a neck, without a head.

  Tall as some hill aloft in air,

  Its limbs were clothed with bristling hair,

  And deep below the monster’s waist

  His vast misshapen mouth was placed.

  His form was huge, his voice was loud

  As some dark-tinted thunder cloud.

  Forth from his ample chest there came

  A brilliance as of gushing flame.

  Beneath long lashes, dark and keen

  The monster’s single eye was seen.

  Deep in his chest, long, fiercely bright,

  It glittered with terrific light.

  He swallowed down his savage fare

  Of lion, bird, and slaughtered bear,

  And with huge teeth exposed to view

  O’er his great lips his tongue he drew.

  His arms unshapely, vast and dread,

  A league in length, he raised and spread.

  He seized with monstrous hands a herd

  Of deer and many a bear and bird.

  Among them all he picked and chose,

  Drew forward these, rejected those.

  Before the princely pair he stood

  Barring their passage through the wood.

  A league of shade the chiefs had passed

  When on the fiend their eyes they cast.

  A monstrous shape without a head

  With mighty arms before him spread,

  They saw that hideous trunk appear

  That struck the trembling eye with fear.

  Then, stretching to their full extent

  His awful arms with fingers bent,

  Round Raghu’s princely sons he cast

  Each grasping limb and held them fast.

  Though strong of arm and fierce in fight,

  Each armed with bow and sword to smite,

  The royal brothers, brave and bold,

  Were helpless in the giant’s hold.

  Then Raghu’s son, heroic still,

  Felt not a pang his bosom thrill;

  But young, with no protection near,

  His brother’s heart was sad with fear,

  And thus with trembling tongue he said

  To Ráma, sore disquieted:

  “Ah me, ah me, my days are told:

  O see me in the giant’s hold.

  Fly, son of Raghu, swiftly flee,

  And thy dear self from danger free.

  Me to the fiend an offering give;

  Fly at thine ease thyself and live.

  Thou, great Kakutstha’s son, I ween,

  Wilt find ere long thy Maithil queen,

  And when thou holdest, throned again,

  Thine old hereditary reign,

  With servants prompt to do thy will,

  O think upon thy brother still.”

  As thus the trembling Lakshmaṇ cried,

  T
he dauntless Ráma thus replied:

  “Brother, from causeless dread forbear.

  A chief like thee should scorn despair.”

  He spoke to soothe his wild alarm:

  Then fierce Kabandha517 long of arm,

  Among the Dánavs518 first and best,

  The sons of Raghu thus addressed:

  “What men are you, whose shoulders show

  Broad as a bull’s, with sword and bow,

  Who roam this dark and horrid place,

  Brought by your fate before my face?

  Declare by what occasion led

  These solitary wilds you tread,

  With swords and bows and shafts to pierce,

  Like bulls whose horns are strong and fierce.

  Why have you sought this forest land

  Where wild with hunger’s pangs I stand?

  Now as your steps my path have crossed

  Esteem your lives already lost.”

  The royal brothers heard with dread

  The words which fierce Kabandha said.

  And Ráma to his brother cried,

  Whose cheek by blanching fear was dried:

  “Alas, we fall, O valiant chief,

  From sorrow into direr grief,

  Still mourning her I hold so dear

  We see our own destruction near.

  Mark, brother, mark what power has time

  O’er all that live, in every clime.

  Now, lord of men, thyself and me

  Involved in fatal danger see.

  ’Tis not, be sure, the might of Fate

  That crushes all with deadly weight.

  Ne’er can the brave and strong, who know

  The use of spear and sword and bow,

  The force of conquering time withstand,

  But fall like barriers built of sand.”

  Thus in calm strength which naught could shake

  The son of Daśaratha spake,

  With glory yet unstained

  Upon Sumitrá’s son he bent

  His eyes, and firm in his intent

  His dauntless heart maintained.

  Canto LXXI. Kabandha’s Speech.

  KABANDHA SAW EACH chieftain stand

  Imprisoned by his mighty hand,

  Which like a snare around him pressed

  And thus the royal pair addressed:

  “Why, warriors, are your glances bent

  On me whom hungry pangs torment?

  Why stand with wildered senses? Fate

  Has brought you now my maw to sate.”

  When Lakshmaṇ heard, a while appalled,

  His ancient courage he recalled,

  And to his brother by his side

  With seasonable counsel cried:

  “This vilest of the giant race

  Will draw us to his side apace.

  Come, rouse thee; let the vengeful sword

  Smite off his arms, my honoured lord.