In might with him who rules the skies.
The captain of his armies — fame
Perhaps has taught the warrior’s name —
Is terrible Prahasta, who
King Maṇibhadra’s930 self o’erthrew.
Where is the warrior found to face
Young Indrajít, when armed with brace
And guard931 and bow he stands in mail
And laughs at spear and arrowy hail?
Within his city Lanká dwell
Ten million giants fierce and fell,
Who wear each varied shape at will
And eat the flesh of those they kill.
These hosts against the Gods he led,
And heavenly might discomfited.”
Then Ráma cried: “I little heed
Gigantic strength or doughty deed.
In spite of all their might has done
The king, the captain, and the son
Shall fall beneath my fury dead,
And thou shalt reign in Rávaṇ’s stead.
He, though in depths of earth he dwell,
Or seek protection down in hell,
Or kneel before the Sire supreme,
His forfeit life shall ne’er redeem.
Yea, by my brothers’ lives I swear,
I will not to my home repair
Till Rávaṇ and his kith and kin
Have paid in death the price of sin.”
Vibhishaṇ bowed his head and cried:
“Thy conquering army will I guide
To storm the city of the foe,
And aid the tyrant’s overthrow.”
Thus spake Vibhishaṇ: Ráma pressed
The Rákshas chieftain to his breast,
And cried to Lakshmaṇ: “Haste and bring
Sea-water for the new-made king.”
He spoke, and o’er Vibhishaṇ’s head
The consecrating drops were shed
Mid shouts that hailed with one accord
The giants’ king and Lanká’s lord.
“Is there no way,” Hanúmán cried,
“No passage o’er the boisterous tide?
How may we lead the Vánar host
In triumph to the farther coast?”
“Thus,” said Vibhishaṇ, “I advise:
Let Raghu’s son in suppliant guise
Entreat the mighty Sea to lend
His succour and this cause befriend.
His channels, as the wise have told,
By Sagar’s sons were dug of old,932
Nor will high-thoughted Ocean scorn
A prince of Sagar’s lineage born.”
He ceased; the prudent counsel won
The glad assent of Raghu’s son.
Then on the ocean shore a bed
Of tender sacred grass was spread,
Where Ráma at the close of day
Like fire upon an altar lay.
Canto XX. The Spies.
ŚÁRDÚLA, RÁVAṆ’S SPY, surveyed
The legions on the strand arrayed.
And bore, his bosom racked with fear,
These tidings to the monarch’s ear:
“They come, they come. A rushing tide,
Ten leagues they spread from side to side,
And on to storm thy city press,
Fierce rovers of the wilderness.
Rich in each princely power and grace,
The pride of Daśaratha’s race,
Ráma and Lakshmaṇ lead their bands,
And halt them on the ocean sands.
O Monarch, rise, this peril meet;
Risk not the danger of defeat.
First let each wiser art be tried;
Bribe them, or win them, or divide.”
Such was the counsel of the spy:
And Rávaṇ called to Śuka: “Fly,
Sugríva lord of Vánars seek,
And thus my kingly message speak:
“Great power and might and fame are thine,
Brave scion of a royal line,
King Riksharajas’ son, in thee
A brother and a friend I see.
How wronged by me canst thou complain?
What profit here pretend to gain?
If from the wood the wife I stole
Of Ráma of the prudent soul,
What cause hast thou to mourn the theft?
Thou art not injured or bereft.
Return, O King, thy steps retrace
And seek thy mountain dwelling-place.
No, never may thy hosts within
My Lanká’s walls a footing win.
A mighty town whose strength defies
The gathered armies of the skies.”
He ceased: obedient Śuka heard;
With wings and plumage of a bird
He rose in eager speed and through
The air upon his errand flew.
Borne o’er the sea with rapid wing
He stood above the Vánar king,
And spoke aloud, sublime in air,
The message he was charged to bear.
The Vánar heard the words he spoke,
And quick redoubling stroke on stroke
On head and pinions hemmed him round
And bore him struggling to the ground.
The Rákshas wounded and distressed
These words to Raghu’s son addressed:
“Quick, quick! This Vánar host restrain,
For heralds never must be slain.
To him alone, a wretch untrue,
The punishment of death is due
Who leaves his master’s speech unsaid
And speaks another in its stead.”
Moved by the suppliant speech and prayer
Up sprang the prince and cried, forbear.
Saved from his wild assailant’s blows
Again the Rákshas herald rose
And borne on light wings to the sky
Addressed Sugríva from on high:
“O Vánar Monarch, chief endued
With power and wonderous fortitude,
What answer is my king, the fear
And scourge of weeping worlds, to hear?”
“Go tell thy lord,” Sugríva cried,
“Thou, Ráma’s foe, art thus defied.
His arm the guilty Báli slew;
Thus, tyrant, shalt thou perish too.
Thy sons, thy friends, proud King, and all
Thy kith and kin with thee shall fall;
And, emptied of the giant’s brood,
Burnt Lanká be a solitude.
Fly to the Sun-God’s pathway, go
And hide thee deep in hell below:
In vain from Ráma shalt thou flee
Though heavenly warriors fight for thee.
Thine arm subdued, securely bold,
The Vulture-king infirm and old:
But will thy puny strength avail
When Raghu’s wrathful sons assail?
A captive in thy palace lies
The lady of the lotus eyes:
Thou knowest not how fierce and strong
Is he whom thou hast dared to wrong.
The best of Raghu’s lineage, he
Whose conquering hand shall punish thee.”
He ceased: and Angad raised a cry;
“This is no herald but a spy.
Above thee from his airy post
His rapid eye surveyed our host,
Where with advantage he might scan
Our gathered strength from rear to van.
Bind him, Vánars, bind the spy,
Nor let him back to Lanká fly.”
They hurled the Rákshas to the ground,
They grasped his neck, his pinions bound,
And firmly held him while in vain
His voice was lifted to complain.
But Ráma’s heart inclined to spare,
He listened to his plaint and prayer,
And cried aloud: “O Vánars, cease;
The captive from his bonds rel
ease.”
Canto XXI. Ocean Threatened.
HIS HANDS IN reverence Ráma raised
And southward o’er the ocean gazed;
Then on the sacred grass that made
His lowly couch his limbs he laid.
His head on that strong arm reclined
Which Sítá, best of womankind,
Had loved in happier days to hold
With soft arms decked with pearls and gold.
Then rising from his bed of grass,
“This day,” he cried, “the host shall pass
Triumphant to the southern shore,
Or Ocean’s self shall be no more.”
Thus vowing in his constant breast
Again he turned him to his rest,
And there, his eyes in slumber closed,
Silent beside the sea reposed.
Thrice rose the Day-God thrice he set,
The lord of Ocean came not yet,
Thrice came the night, but Raghu’s son
No answer by his service won.
To Lakshmaṇ thus the hero cried,
His eyes aflame with wrath and pride:
“In vain the softer gifts that grace
The good are offered to the base.
Long-suffering, patience, gentle speech
Their thankless hearts can never reach.
The world to him its honour pays
Whose ready tongue himself can praise,
Who scorns the true, and hates the right,
Whose hand is ever raised to smite.
Each milder art is tried in vain:
It wins no glory, but disdain.
And victory owns no softer charm
Than might which nerves a warrior’s arm.
My humble suit is still denied
By Ocean’s overweening pride.
This day the monsters of the deep
In throes of death shall wildly leap.
My shafts shall rend the serpents curled
In caverns of the watery world,
Disclose each sunless depth and bare
The tangled pearl and coral there.
Away with mercy! at a time
Like this compassion is a crime.
Welcome, the battle and the foe!
My bow! my arrows and my bow!
This day the Vánars’ feet shall tread
The conquered Sea’s exhausted bed,
And he who never feared before
Shall tremble to his farthest shore.”
Red flashed his eyes with angry glow:
He stood and grasped his mighty bow,
Terrific as the fire of doom
Whose quenchless flames the world consume.
His clanging cord the archer drew,
And swift the fiery arrows flew
Fierce as the flashing levin sent
By him who rules the firmament.
Down through the startled waters sped
Each missile with its flaming head.
The foamy billows rose and sank,
And dashed upon the trembling bank.
Sea monsters of tremendous form
With crash and roar of thunder storm.
Still the wild waters rose and fell
Crowned with white foam and pearl and shell.
Each serpent, startled from his rest,
Raised his fierce eyes and glowing crest.
And prisoned Dánavs933 where they dwelt
In depths below the terror felt.
Again upon his string he laid
A flaming shaft, but Lakshmaṇ stayed
His arm, with gentle reasoning tried
To soothe his angry mood, and cried:
“Brother, reflect: the wise control
The rising passions of the soul.
Let Ocean grant, without thy threat,
The boon on which thy heart is set.
That gracious lord will ne’er refuse
When Ráma son of Raghu sues.”
He ceased: and voices from the air
Fell clear and loud, Spare, Ráma, spare.
Canto XXII. Ocean Threatened.
WITH ANGRY MENACE Ráma, best
Of Raghu’s sons, the Sea addressed:
“With fiery flood of arrowy rain
Thy channels will I dry and drain.
And I and all the Vánar host
Will reach on foot the farther coast.
Thou shalt not from destruction save
The creatures of the teeming wave,
And lapse of time shall ne’er efface
The memory of the dire disgrace.”
Thus spoke the warrior, and prepared
The mortal shaft which never spared,
Known mystic weapon, by the name
Of Brahmá, red with quenchless flame.
Great terror, as he strained the bow,
Struck heaven above and earth below.
Through echoing skies the thunder pealed,
And startled mountains rocked and reeled,
The earth was black with sudden night
And heaven was blotted from the sight.
Then ever and anon the glare
Of meteors shot through murky air,
And with a wild terrific sound
Red lightnings struck the trembling ground.
In furious gusts the fierce wind blew:
Tall trees it shattered and o’erthrew,
And, smiting with a giant’s stroke,
Huge masses from the mountain broke.
A cry of terror long and shrill
Came from each valley, plain, and hill.
Each ruined dale, each riven peak
Re-echoed with a wail or shriek.
While Raghu’s son undaunted gazed,
The waters of the deep were raised,
And, still uplifted more and more,
Leapt in wild flood upon the shore.
Still Ráma looked upon the tide
And kept his post unterrified.
Then from the seething flood upreared
Majestic Ocean’s form appeared,
As rising from his eastern height
Springs through the sky the Lord of Light.
Attendant on their monarch came
Sea serpents with their eyes aflame.
Like lazulite mid burning gold
His form was wondrous to behold.
Bright with each fairest precious stone
A chain about his neck was thrown.
Calm shone his lotus eyes beneath
The blossoms of his heavenly wreath,
And many a pearl and sea-born gem
Flashed in the monarch’s diadem.
There Gangá, tributary queen,
And Sindhu934 by his lord, were seen,
And every stream and brook renowned
In ancient story girt him round.
Then, as the waters rose and swelled,
The king with suppliant hands upheld,
His glorious head to Ráma bent
And thus addressed him reverent:
“Air, ether, fire, earth, water, true
To nature’s will, their course pursue;
And I, as ancient laws ordain,
Unfordable must still remain.
Yet, Raghu’s son, my counsel hear:
I ne’er for love or hope or fear
Will pile my waters in a heap
And leave a pathway through the deep.
Still shall my care for thee provide
An easy passage o’er the tide,
And like a city’s paven street
Shall be the road beneath thy feet.”
He ceased: and Ráma spoke again:
“This spell is ne’er invoked in vain.
Where shall the magic shaft, to spend
The fury of its might, descend?”
“Shoot,” Ocean cried, “thine arrow forth
With all its fury to the north,
Where sacred Drumakulya lies,
Whose glory with thy
glory vies.
There dwells a wild Abhíra935 race,
As vile in act as foul of face,
Fierce Dasyus936 who delight in ill,
And drink my tributary rill.
My soul no longer may endure
Their neighbourhood and touch impure.
At these, O son of Raghu, aim
Thine arrow with the quenchless flame.”
Swift from the bow, as Ráma drew
His cord, the fiery arrow flew.
Earth groaned to feel the wound, and sent
A rush of water through the rent;
And famed for ever is the well
Of Vraṇa937 where the arrow fell.
Then every brook and lake beside
Throughout the region Ráma dried.
But yet he gave a boon to bless
And fertilize the wilderness:
No fell disease should taint the air,
And sheep and kine should prosper there:
Earth should produce each pleasant root,
The stately trees should bend with fruit;
Oil, milk, and honey should abound,
And fragrant herbs should clothe the ground.
Then spake the king of brooks and seas
To Raghu’s son in words like these:
“Now let a wondrous task be done
By Nala, Viśvakarmá’s son,
Who, born of one of Vánar race,
Inherits by his father’s grace
A share of his celestial art.
Call Nala to perform his part,
And he, divinely taught and skilled,
A bridge athwart the sea shall build.”
He spoke and vanished. Nala, best
Of Vánar chiefs, the king addressed:
“O’er the deep sea where monsters play
A bridge, O Ráma, will I lay;
For, sharer of my father’s skill,
Mine is the power and mine the will.
’Tis vain to try each gentler art
To bribe and soothe the thankless heart;
In vain on such is mercy spent;
It yields to naught but punishment.
Through fear alone will Ocean now
A passage o’er his waves allow.
My mother, ere she bore her son,
This boon from Viśvakarmá won:
“O Mandarí, thy child shall be
In skill and glory next to me.”
But why unbidden should I fill
Thine ear with praises of my skill?
Command the Vánar hosts to lay
Foundations for the bridge to-day.”
He spoke: and swift at Ráma’s hest
Up sprang the Vánars from their rest,
The mandate of the king obeyed
And sought the forest’s mighty shade.
Unrooted trees to earth they threw,
And to the sea the timber drew.
The stately palm was bowed and bent,
The Sanskrit Epics Page 120