The Sanskrit Epics

by Delphi Classics

  He ceased: his mighty arms he bent

  And from the trembling mountain rent

  His huge head with the life it bore,

  Snakes, elephants, and golden ore.

  O’er hill and plain and watery waste

  His rapid way again he traced.

  And mid the wondering Vánars laid

  His burthen through the air conveyed,

  The wondrous herbs’ delightful scent

  To all the host new vigour lent.

  Free from all darts and wounds and pain

  The sons of Raghu lived again,

  And dead and dying Vánars healed

  Rose vigorous from the battle field.

  Canto LXXV. The Night Attack.

  SUGRÍVA SPAKE IN words like these:

  “Now, Vánar lords, the occasion seize.

  For now, of sons and brothers reft,

  To Rávaṇ little hope is left:

  And if our host his gates assail

  His weak defence will surely fail.”

  At dead of night the Vánar bands

  Rushed on with torches in their hands.

  Scared by the coming of the host

  Each giant warder left his post.

  Where’er the Vánar legions came

  Their way was marked with hostile flame

  That spread in fury to devour

  Palace and temple, gate and tower.

  Down came the walls and porches, down

  Came stately piles that graced the town.

  In many a house the fire was red,

  On sandal wood and aloe fed.

  And scorching flames in billows rolled

  O’er diamonds and pearls and gold.

  On cloth of wool, on silk brocade,

  On linen robes their fury preyed.

  Wheels, poles and yokes were burned, and all

  The coursers’ harness in the stall;

  And elephants’ and chariots’ gear,

  The sword, the buckler, and the spear.

  Scared by the crash of falling beams,

  Mid lamentations, groans and screams,

  Forth rushed the giants through the flames

  And with them dragged bewildered dames,

  Each, with o’erwhelming terror wild,

  Still clasping to her breast a child.

  The swift fire from a cloud of smoke

  Through many a gilded lattice broke,

  And, melting pearl and coral, rose

  O’er balconies and porticoes.

  The startled crane and peacock screamed

  As with strange light the courtyard gleamed,

  And fierce unusual glare was thrown

  On shrinking wood and heated stone.

  From burning stall and stable freed

  Rushed frantic elephant and steed,

  And goaded by the driving blaze

  Fled wildly through the crowded ways.

  As earth with fervent heat will glow

  When comes her final overthrow;

  From gate to gate, from court to spire

  Proud Lanká was one blaze of fire,

  And every headland, rock and bay

  Shone bright a hundred leagues away.

  Forth, blinded by the heat and flame

  Ran countless giants huge of frame;

  And, mustering for fierce attack,

  The Vánars charged to drive them back,

  While shout and scream and roar and cry

  Reëchoed through the earth and sky.

  There Ráma stood with strength renewed,

  And ever, as the foe he viewed,

  Shaking the distant regions rang

  His mighty bow’s tremendous clang.

  Then through the gates Nikumbha hied,

  And Kumbha by his brother’s side,

  Sent forth — the bravest and the best —

  To battle by the king’s behest.

  There fought the chiefs in open field,

  And Angad fell and Dwivid reeled.

  Sugríva saw: by rage impelled

  He crushed the bow which Kumbha held.

  About his foe Sugríva wound

  His arms, and, heaving from the ground

  The giant hurled him o’er the bank;

  And deep beneath the sea he sank.

  Like mandar hill with furious swell

  Up leapt the waters where he fell.

  Again he rose: he sprang to land

  And raised on high his threatening hand:

  Full on Sugríva’s chest it came

  And shook the Vánar’s massy frame,

  But on the wounded bone he broke

  His wrist — so furious was the stroke.

  With force that naught could stay or check,

  Sugríva smote him neath the neck.

  The fierce blow crashed through flesh and bone

  And Kumbha lay in death o’erthrown.

  Nikumbha saw his brother die,

  And red with fury flashed his eye.

  He dashed with mighty sway and swing

  His axe against the Vánar king;

  But shattered on that living rock

  It split in fragments at the shock.

  Sugríva, rising to the blow,

  Raised his huge hand and smote his foe.

  And in the dust the giant lay

  Gasping in blood his soul away.

  [I have briefly despatched Kumbha and Nikumbha, each of whom has in the text a long Canto to himself. When they fall Rávaṇ sends forth Makaráksha or Crocodile-Eye, the son of Khara who was slain by Ráma in the forest before the abduction of Sítá. The account of his sallying forth, of his battle with Ráma and of his death by the fiery dart of that hero occupies two Cantos which I entirely pass over. Indrajít again comes forth and, rendered invisible by his magic art slays countless Vánars with his unerring arrows. He retires to the city and returns bearing in his chariot an effigy of Sítá, the work of magic, weeping and wailing by his side. He grasps the lovely image by the hair and cuts it down with his scimitar in the sight of the enraged Hanúmán and all the Vánar host. At last after much fighting of the usual kind Indrajít’s chariot is broken in pieces, his charioteer is slain, and he himself falls by Lakshmaṇ’s hand, to the inexpressible delight of the high-souled saints, the nymphs of heaven and other celestial beings.]

  Canto XCIII. Rávan’s Lament.

  THEY SOUGHT THE king, a mournful train,

  And cried, “My lord, thy son is slain.

  By Lakshmaṇ’s hand, before these eyes,

  The warrior fell no more to rise.

  No time is this for vain regret:

  Thy hero son a hero met;

  And he whose might in battle pressed

  Lord Indra and the Gods confessed,

  Whose power was stranger to defeat,

  Has gained in heaven a blissful seat.”

  The monarch heard the mournful tale:

  His heart was faint, his cheek was pale;

  His fleeting sense at length regained,

  In trembling tones he thus complained:

  “Ah me, my son, my pride: the boast

  And glory of the giant host.

  Could Lakshmaṇ’s puny might defeat

  The foe whom Indra feared to meet?

  Could not thy deadly arrows split

  Proud Mandar’s peaks, O Indrajít,

  And the Destroyer’s self destroy?

  And wast thou conquered by a boy?

  I will not weep: thy noble deed

  Has blessed thee with immortal meed

  Gained by each hero in the skies

  Who fighting for his sovereign dies.

  Now, fearless of all meaner foes,

  The guardian Gods993 will taste repose:

  But earth to me, with hill and plain,

  Is desolate, for thou art slain.

  Ah, whither hast thou fled, and left

  Thy mother, Lanká, me bereft;

  Left pride and state and wives behind,

 
; And lordship over all thy kind?

  I fondly hoped thy hand should pay

  Due honours on my dying day:

  And couldst thou, O beloved, flee

  And leave thy funeral rites to me?

  Life has no comfort left me, none,

  O Indrajít my son, my son.”

  Thus wailed he broken by his woes:

  But swift the thought of vengeance rose.

  In awful wrath his teeth he gnashed,

  And from his eyes red lightning flashed.

  Hot from his mouth came fire and smoke,

  As thus the king in fury spoke:

  “Through many a thousand years of yore

  The penance and the pain I bore,

  And by fierce torment well sustained

  The highest grace of Brahmá gained,

  His plighted word my life assured,

  From Gods of heaven and fiends secured.

  He armed my limbs with burnished mail

  Whose lustre turns the sunbeams pale,

  In battle proof gainst heavenly bands

  With thunder in their threatening hands.

  Armed in this mail myself will go

  With Brahmá’s gift my deadly bow,

  And, cleaving through the foes my way,

  The slayers of my son will slay.”

  Then, by his grief to frenzy wrought,

  The captive in the grove he sought.

  Swift through the shady path he sped:

  Earth trembled at his furious tread.

  Fierce were his eyes: his monstrous hand

  Held drawn for death his glittering brand.

  There weeping stood the Maithil dame:

  She shuddered as the giant came.

  Near drew the rover of the night

  And raised his sword in act to smite;

  But, by his nobler heart impelled,

  One Rákshas lord his arm withheld:

  “Wilt thou, great Monarch,” thus he cried,

  “Wilt thou, to heavenly Gods allied,

  Blot for all time thy glorious fame,

  The slayer of a gentle dame?

  What! shall a woman’s blood be spilt

  To stain thee with eternal guilt,

  Thee deep in all the Veda’s lore?

  Far be the thought for evermore.

  Ah look, and let her lovely face

  This fury from thy bosom chase.”

  He ceased: the prudent counsel pleased

  The monarch, and his wrath appeased;

  Then to his council hall in haste

  The giant lord his steps retraced.

  [I omit two Cantos in the first of which Ráma with an enchanted Gandharva weapon deals destruction among the Rákshases sent out by Rávaṇ, and in the second the Rákshas dames lament the slain and mourn over the madness of Rávaṇ.]

  Canto XCVI. Rávan’s Sally.

  THE GROANS AND cries of dames who wailed

  The ears of Lanká’s lord assailed,

  For from each house and home was sent

  The voice of weeping and lament.

  In troubled thought his head he bowed,

  Then fiercely loosing on the crowd

  Of nobles near his throne he broke

  The silence, and in fury spoke:

  “This day my deadly shafts shall fly,

  And Raghu’s sons shall surely die.

  This day shall countless Vánars bleed

  And dogs and kites and vultures feed.

  Go, bid them swift my car prepare,

  Bring the great bow I long to bear:

  And let my host with sword and shield

  And spear be ready for the field.”

  From street to street the captains passed

  And Rákshas warriors gathered fast.

  With spear and sword to pierce and strike,

  And axe and club and mace and pike.

  [I omit several weapons for which I cannot find distinctive names, and among them the Sataghní or Centicide, supposed by some to be a kind of fire-arms or rocket, but described by a commentator on the Mahábhárata as a stone or cylindrical piece of wood studded with iron spikes.]

  Then Rávaṇ’s warrior chariot994 wrought

  With gold and rich inlay was brought.

  Mid tinkling bells and weapons’ clang

  The monarch on the chariot sprang,

  Which, decked with gems of every hue,

  Eight steeds of noble lineage drew.

  Mid roars of drum and shell rang out

  From countless throats a joyful shout.

  As, girt with hosts in warlike pride,

  Through Lanká’s streets the tyrant hied.

  Still, louder than the roar of drums,

  Went up the cry “He comes, he comes,

  Our ever conquering lord who trod

  Beneath his feet both fiend and God.”

  On to the gate the warriors swept

  Where Raghu’s sons their station kept.

  When Rávaṇ’s car the portal passed

  The sun in heaven was overcast.

  Earth rocked and reeled from side to side

  And birds with boding voices cried.

  Against the standard of the king

  A vulture flapped his horrid wing.

  Big gouts of blood before him dropped,

  His trembling steeds in terror stopped.

  The hue of death was on his cheek,

  And scarce his flattering tongue could speak,

  When, terrible with flash and flame,

  Through murky air a meteor came.

  Still by the hand of Death impelled

  His onward way the giant held.

  The Vánars in the field afar

  Heard the loud thunder of his car.

  And turned with warriors’ fierce delight

  To meet the giant in the fight.

  He came: his clanging bow he drew

  And myriads of the Vánars slew.

  Some through the side and heart he cleft,

  Some headless on the plain were left.

  Some struggling groaned with mangled thighs,

  Or broken arms or blinded eyes.

  [I omit Cantos XCVII, XCVIII, and XCIX, which describe in the usual way three single combats between Sugríva and Angad on the Vánar side and Virúpáksha, Mahodar, and Mahápárśva on the side of the giants. The weapons of the Vánars are trees and rocks; the giants fight with swords, axes, and bows and arrows. The details are generally the same as those of preceding duels. The giants fall, one in each Canto.]

  Canto C. Rávan In The Field.

  THE PLAIN WITH bleeding limbs was spread,

  And heaps of dying and of dead.

  His mighty bow still Ráma strained,

  And shafts upon the giants rained.

  Still Angad and Sugríva, wrought

  To fury, for the Vánars fought.

  Crushed with huge rocks through chest and side

  Mahodar, Mahápárśva died,

  And Virúpáksha stained with gore

  Dropped on the plain to rise no more.

  When Rávaṇ saw the three o’erthrown

  He cried aloud in furious tone:

  “Urge, urge the car, my charioteer,

  The haughty Vánars’ death is near.

  This very day shall end our griefs

  For leaguered town and slaughtered chiefs.

  Ráma the tree whose lovely fruit

  Is Sítá, shall this arm uproot, —

  Whose branches with protecting shade

  Are Vánar lords who lend him aid.”

  Thus cried the king: the welkin rang

  As forth the eager coursers sprang,

  And earth beneath the chariot shook

  With flowery grove and hill and brook.

  Fast rained his shafts: where’er he sped

  The conquered Vánars fell or fled,

  On rolled the car in swift career

  Till Raghu’s noble sons were near.

  Then Ráma loo
ked upon the foe

  And strained and tried his sounding bow,

  Till earth and all the region rang

  Re-echoing to the awful clang.

  His bow the younger chieftain bent,

  And shaft on shaft at Rávaṇ sent.

  He shot: but Rávaṇ little recked;

  Each arrow with his own he checked,

  And headless, baffled of its aim,

  To earth the harmless missile came;

  And Lakshmaṇ stayed his arm o’erpowered

  By the thick darts the giant showered.

  Fierce waxed the fight and fiercer yet,

  For Rávaṇ now and Ráma met,

  And each on other poured amain

  The tempest of his arrowy rain.

  While all the sky above was dark

  With missiles speeding to their mark

  Like clouds, with flashing lightning twined

  About them, hurried by the wind.

  Not fiercer was the wondrous fight

  When Vritra fell by Indra’s might.

  All arts of war each foeman knew,

  And trained alike, his bowstring drew.

  Red-eyed with fury Lanká’s king

  Pressed his huge fingers on the string,

  And fixed in Ráma’s brows a flight

  Of arrows winged with matchless flight.

  Still Raghu’s son endured, and bore

  That crown of shafts though wounded sore.

  O’er a dire dart a spell he spoke

  With mystic power to aid the stroke.

  In vain upon the foe it smote

  Rebounding from the steelproof coat.

  The giant armed his bow anew,

  And wondrous weapons hissed and flew,

  Terrific, deadly, swift of flight,

  Beaked like the vulture and the kite,

  Or bearing heads of fearful make,

  Of lion, tiger, wolf and snake.995

  Then Ráma, troubled by the storm

  Of flying darts in every form

  Shot by an arm that naught could tire,

  Launched at the foe his dart of fire,

  Which, sacred to the Lord of Flame,

  Burnt and consumed where’er it came.

  And many a blazing shaft beside

  The hero to his string applied.

  With fiery course of dazzling hue

  Swift to the mark each missile flew,

  Some flashing like a shooting star,

  Some as the tongues of lightning are;

  One like a brilliant plant, one

  In splendour like the morning sun.

  Where’er the shafts of Ráma burned

  The giant’s darts were foiled and turned.

  Far into space his weapons fled,