The Sanskrit Epics

by Delphi Classics

  Then, free once more, the path that brought

  My feet in safety home I sought.

  ’Twas thus Sugríva dared despise

  The claim of brothers’ friendly ties.

  With crags of rock he barred me in,

  And for himself the realm would win.”

  Thus Báli spoke in words severe;

  And then, unmoved by ruth or fear,

  Left me a single robe and sent

  His brother forth in banishment.

  He cast me out with scathe and scorn,

  And from my side my wife was torn.

  Now in great fear and ill at ease

  I roam this land with woods and seas,

  Or dwell on Rishyamúka’s hill,

  And sorrow for my consort still.

  Thou hast the tale how first arose

  This bitter hate of brother foes.

  Such are the griefs neath which I pine,

  And all without a fault of mine.

  O swift to save in hour of fear,

  My prayer who dread this Báli, hear

  With gracious love assistance deign,

  And mine oppressor’s arm restrain.”

  Then Raghu’s son, the good and brave,

  With a gay laugh his answer gave:

  “These shafts of mine which ne’er can fail,

  Before whose sheen the sun grows pale,

  Winged by my fury, fleet and fierce,

  The wicked Báli’s heart shall pierce.

  Yea, mark the words I speak, so long

  Shall live that wretch who joys in wrong,

  Until these angered eyes have seen

  The robber of thy darling queen.

  I, taught by equal suffering, know

  What waves of grief above thee flow.

  This hand thy captive wife shall free,

  And give thy kingdom back to thee.”

  Sugríva joyed as Ráma spoke,

  And valour in his breast awoke.

  His eye grew bright, his heart grew bold,

  And thus his wondrous tale he told:

  Canto XI. Dundubhi.

  “I DOUBT NOT, Prince, thy peerless might,

  Armed with these shafts so keen and bright,

  Like all-destroying fires of fate,

  The worlds could burn and devastate.

  But lend thou first thy mind and ear

  Of Báli’s power and might to hear.

  How bold, how firm, in battle tried,

  Is Báli’s heart; and then decide.

  From east to west, from south to north

  On restless errand hurrying forth,

  From farthest sea to sea he flies

  Before the sun has lit the skies.

  A mountain top he oft will seek,

  Tear from its root a towering peak,

  Hurl it aloft, as ‘twere a ball,

  And catch it ere to earth it fall.

  And many a tree that long has stood

  In health and vigour in the wood,

  His single arm to earth will throw,

  The marvels of his might to show.

  Shaped like a bull, a monster bore

  The name of Dundubhi of yore:

  He matched in size a mountain height,

  A thousand elephants in might.

  By pride of wondrous gifts impelled,

  And strength he deemed unparalleled,

  To Ocean, lord of stream and brook,

  Athirst for war, his way he took.

  He reached the king of rolling waves

  Whose gems are piled in sunless caves,

  And threw his challenge to the sea;

  “Come forth, O King, and fight with me.”

  He spoke, and from his ocean bed

  The righteous567 monarch heaved his head,

  And gave, sedate, his calm reply

  To him whom fate impelled to die:

  “Not mine, not mine the power,” he cried,

  “To cope with thee in battle tried;

  But listen to my voice, and seek

  The worthier foe of whom I speak.

  The Lord of Hills, where hermits live

  And love the home his forests give,

  Whose child is Śankar’s darling queen,568

  The King of Snows is he I mean.

  Deep caves has he, and dark boughs shade

  The torrent and the wild cascade.

  From him expect the fierce delight

  Which heroes feel in equal fight.”

  He deemed that fear checked ocean’s king,

  And, like an arrow from the string,

  To the wild woods that clothe the side

  Of Lord Himálaya’s hills he hied.

  Then Dundubhi, with hideous roar,

  Huge fragments from the summit tore

  Vast as Airávat,569 white with snow,

  And hurled them to the plains below.

  Then like a white cloud soft, serene,

  The Lord of Mountains’ form was seen.

  It sat upon a lofty crest,

  And thus the furious fiend addressed:

  “Beseems thee not, O virtue’s friend,

  My mountain tops to rive and rend;

  For I, the hermit’s calm retreat,

  For deeds of war am all unmeet.”

  The demon’s eye with rage grew red,

  And thus in furious tone he said:

  “If thou from fear or sloth decline

  To match thy strength in war with mine,

  Where shall I find a champion, say,

  To meet me burning for the fray?”

  He spoke: Himálaya, skilled in lore

  Of eloquence, replied once more,

  And, angered in his righteous mind,

  Addressed the chief of demon kind:

  “The Vánar Báli, brave and wise,

  Son of the God who rules the skies,570

  Sways, glorious in his high renown,

  Kishkindhá his imperial town.

  Well may that valiant lord who knows

  Each art of war his might oppose

  To thine, in equal battle set,

  As Namuehi571 and Indra met.

  Go, if thy soul desire the fray;

  To Báli’s city speed away,

  And that unconquered hero meet

  Whose fame is high for warlike feat.”

  He listened to the Lord of Snow,

  And, his proud heart with rage aglow,

  Sped swift away and lighted down

  By vast Kishkindhá, Báli’s town.

  With pointed horns to strike and gore

  The semblance of a bull he bore,

  Huge as a cloud that downward bends

  Ere the full flood of rain descends.

  Impelled by pride and rage and hate,

  He thundered at Kishkindhá’s gate;

  And with his bellowing, like the sound

  Of pealing drums, he shook the ground,

  He rent the earth and prostrate threw

  The trees that near the portal grew.

  King Báli from the bowers within

  Indignant heard the roar and din.

  Then, moonlike mid the stars, with all

  His dames he hurried to the wall;

  And to the fiend this speech, expressed

  In clear and measured words, addressed:

  “Know me for monarch. Báli styled,

  Of Vánar tribes that roam the wild.

  Say why dost thou this gate molest,

  And bellowing thus disturb our rest?

  I know thee, mighty fiend: beware

  And guard thy life with wiser care.”

  He spoke: and thus the fiend returned,

  While red with rage his eyeballs burned:

  “What! speak when all thy dames are nigh

  And hero-like thy foe defy?

  Come, meet me in the fight this day,

  And learn my strength by bold assay.

  Or shall I spare thee, and relent

  Until the c
oming night be spent?

  Take then the respite of a night

  And yield thee to each soft delight.

  Then, monarch of the Vánar race

  With loving arms thy friends embrace.

  Gifts on thy faithful lords bestow,

  Bid each and all farewell, and go.

  Show in the streets once more thy face,

  Install thy son to fill thy place.

  Dally a while with each dear dame;

  And then my strength thy pride shall tame

  For, should I smite thee drunk with wine

  Enamoured of those dames of thine,

  Beneath diseases bowed and bent,

  Or weak, unarmed, or negligent,

  My deed would merit hate and scorn

  As his who slays the child unborn.”

  Then Báli’s soul with rage was fired,

  Queen Tára and the dames retired;

  And slowly, with a laugh of pride,

  The king of Vánars thus replied:

  “Me, fiend, thou deemest drunk with wine:

  Unless thy fear the fight decline,

  Come, meet me in the fray, and test

  The spirit of my valiant breast.”

  He spoke in wrath and high disdain;

  And, laying down his golden chain,

  Gift of his sire Mahendra, dared

  The demon, for the fray prepared;

  Seized by the horns the monster, vast

  As a huge hill, and held him fast,

  Then fiercely dragged him round and round,

  And, shouting, hurled him to the ground.

  Blood streaming from his ears, he rose,

  And wild with fury strove the foes.

  Then Báli, match for Indra’s might,

  With every arm renewed the fight.

  He fought with fists, and feet, and knees,

  With fragments of the rock, and trees.

  At last the monster’s strength, assailed

  By Śakra’s572 conquering offspring, failed.

  Him Báli raised with mighty strain

  And dashed upon the ground again;

  Where, bruised and shattered, in a tide

  Of rushing blood, the demon died.

  King Báli saw the lifeless corse,

  And bending, with tremendous force

  Raised the huge bulk from where it lay,

  And hurled it full a league away.

  As through the air the body flew,

  Some blood-drops, caught by gales that blew,

  Welled from his shattered jaw and fell

  By Saint Matanga’s hermit cell:

  Matanga saw, illustrious sage,

  Those drops defile his hermitage,

  And, as he marvelled whence they came,

  Fierce anger filled his soul with flame:

  “Who is the villain, evil-souled,

  With childish thoughts unwise and bold,

  Who is the impious wretch,” he cried,

  “By whom my grove with blood is dyed?”

  Thus spoke Matanga in his rage,

  And hastened from the hermitage,

  When lo, before his wondering eyes

  Lay the dead bull of mountain size.

  His hermit soul was nothing slow

  The doer of the deed to know,

  And thus the Vánar in a burst

  Of wild tempestuous wrath he cursed:

  “Ne’er let that Vánar wander here,

  For, if he come, his death is near,

  Whose impious hand with blood has dyed

  The holy place where I abide,

  Who threw this demon corse and made

  A ruin of the pleasant shade.

  If e’er he plant his wicked feet

  Within one league of my retreat;

  Yea, if the villain come so nigh

  That very hour he needs must die.

  And let the Vánar lords who dwell

  In the dark woods that skirt my cell

  Obey my words, and speeding hence

  Find them some meeter residence.

  Here if they dare to stay, on all

  The terrors of my curse shall fall.

  They spoil the tender saplings, dear

  As children which I cherish here,

  Mar root and branch and leaf and spray,

  And steal the ripening fruit away.

  One day I grant, no further hour,

  To-morrow shall my curse have power,

  And then each Vánar I may see

  A stone through countless years shall be.”

  The Vánars heard the curse and hied

  From sheltering wood and mountain side.

  King Báli marked their haste and dread,

  And to the flying leaders said:

  “Speak, Vánar chiefs, and tell me why

  From Saint Matanga’s grove ye fly

  To gather round me: is it well

  With all who in those woodlands dwell?”

  He spoke: the Vánar leaders told

  King Báli with his chain of gold

  What curse the saint had on them laid,

  Which drove them from their ancient shade.

  Then royal Báli sought the sage,

  With reverent hands to soothe his rage.

  The holy man his suppliant spurned,

  And to his cell in anger turned.

  That curse on Báli sorely pressed,

  And long his conscious soul distressed.

  Him still the curse and terror keep

  Afar from Rishyamúka’s steep.

  He dares not to the grove draw nigh,

  Nay scarce will hither turn his eye.

  We know what terrors warm him hence,

  And roam these woods in confidence.

  Look, Prince, before thee white and dry

  The demon’s bones uncovered lie,

  Who, like a hill in bulk and length,

  Fell ruind for his pride of strength.

  See those high Sál trees seven in row

  That droop their mighty branches low,

  These at one grasp would Báli seize,

  And leafless shake the trembling trees.

  These tales I tell, O Prince, to show

  The matchless power that arms the foe.

  How canst thou hope to slay him? how

  Meet Báli in the battle now?”

  Sugríva spoke and sadly sighed:

  And Lakshmaṇ with a laugh replied:

  “What show of power, what proof and test

  May still the doubts that fill thy breast?”

  He spoke. Sugríva thus replied:

  “See yonder Sál trees side by side.

  King Báli here would take his stand

  Grasping his bow with vigorous hand,

  And every arrow, keen and true,

  Would strike its tree and pierce it through.

  If Ráma now his bow will bend,

  And through one trunk an arrow send;

  Or if his arm can raise and throw

  Two hundred measures of his bow,

  Grasped by a foot and hurled through air,

  The demon bull that moulders there,

  My heart will own his might and fain

  Believe my foe already slain.”

  Sugríva spoke inflamed with ire,

  Scanned Ráma with a glance of fire,

  Pondered a while in silent mood.

  And thus again his speech renewed:

  “All lands with Báli’s glories ring,

  A valiant, strong, and mighty king;

  In conscious power unused to yield,

  A hero first in every field.

  His wondrous deeds his might declare,

  Deeds Gods might scarcely do or dare;

  And on this power reflecting still

  I roam on Rishyamúka’s hill.

  Awed by my brother’s might I rove,

  In doubt and fear, from grove to grove,

  While Hanumán, my chosen friend,

  And faithful
lords my steps attend;

  And now, O true to friendship’s tie,

  I hail in thee my best ally.

  My surest refuge from my foes,

  And steadfast as the Lord of Snows.

  Still, when I muse how strong and bold

  Is cruel Báli, evil-souled,

  But ne’er, O chief of Raghu’s line,

  Have seen what strength in war is thine,

  Though in my heart I may not dare

  Doubt thy great might, despise, compare,

  Thoughts of his fearful deeds will rise

  And fill my soul with sad surmise.

  Speech, form, and trust which naught may move

  Thy secret strength and glory prove,

  As smouldering ashes dimly show

  The dormant fires that live below.”

  He ceased: and Ráma answered, while

  Played o’er his lips a gracious smile:

  “Not yet convinced? This clear assay

  Shall drive each lingering doubt away.”

  Thus Ráma spoke his heart to cheer,

  To Dundubhi’s vast frame drew near:

  He touched it with his foot in play

  And sent it twenty leagues away.

  Sugríva marked what easy force

  Hurled through the air that demon’s corse

  Whose mighty bones were white and dried,

  And to the son of Raghu cried:

  “My brother Báli, when his might

  Was drunk and weary from the fight,

  Hurled forth the monster body, fresh

  With skin and sinews, blood and flesh.

  Now flesh and blood are dried away,

  The crumbling bones are light as hay,

  Which thou, O Raghu’s son, hast sent

  Flying through air in merriment.

  This test alone is weak to show

  If thou be stronger or the foe.

  By thee a heap of mouldering bone,

  By him the recent corse was thrown.

  Thy strength, O Prince, is yet untried:

  Come, pierce one tree: let this decide.

  Prepare thy ponderous bow and bring

  Close to thine ear the straining string.

  On yonder Sál tree fix thine eye,

  And let the mighty arrow fly,

  I doubt not, chief, that I shall see

  Thy pointed shaft transfix the tree.

  Then come, assay the easy task,

  And do for love the thing I ask.

  Best of all lights, the Day-God fills

  With glory earth and sky:

  Himálaya is the lord of hills

  That heave their heads on high.

  The royal lion is the best

  Of beasts that tread the earth;

  And thou, O hero, art confessed

  First in heroic worth.”

  Canto XII. The Palm Trees.

  THEN RÁMA, THAT his friend might know

  His strength unrivalled, grasped his bow,