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The Sanskrit Epics

Page 133

by Delphi Classics


  But as they flew struck thousands dead.

  Canto CI. Lakshman’s Fall.

  WHEN RÁVAṆ SAW his darts repelled,

  With double rage his bosom swelled.

  He summoned, wroth but undismayed,

  A mightier charm to lend its aid.

  And, fierce as fire before the blast,

  A storm of missiles thick and fast,

  Spear, pike and javelin, mace and brand,

  Came hurtling from the giant’s hand.

  But, mightier still, the arms employed

  By Raghu’s son their force destroyed,

  And every dart fell dulled and spent

  By powers the bards of heaven had lent.

  With his huge mace Vibhishaṇ slew

  The steeds that Rávaṇ’s chariot drew.

  Then Rávaṇ hurled in deadly ire

  A ponderous spear that flashed like fire:

  But Ráma’s arrows checked its way,

  And harmless on the earth it lay,

  The giant seized a mightier spear,

  Which Death himself would shun with fear.

  Vibhishaṇ with the stroke had died,

  But Lakshmaṇ’s hand his bowstring plied,

  And flying arrows thick as hail

  Smote fiercely on the giant’s mail.

  Then Rávaṇ turned his aim aside,

  On Lakshmaṇ looked and fiercely cried:

  “Thou, thou again my wrath hast braved,

  And from his death Vibhishaṇ saved.

  Now in his stead this spear receive

  Whose deadly point thy heart shall cleave.”

  He ceased: he hurled the mortal dart

  By Maya forged with magic art.

  The spear, with all his fury flung,

  Swift, flickering like a serpent’s tongue,

  Adorned with many a tinkling bell,

  Smote Lakshmaṇ, and the hero fell.

  When Ráma saw, he heaved a sigh,

  A tear one moment dimmed his eye.

  But tender grief was soon repressed

  And thoughts of vengeance filled his breast.

  The air around him flashed and gleamed

  As from his bow the arrows streamed;

  And Lanká’s lord, the foeman’s dread,

  O’erwhelmed with terror turned and fled.

  Canto CII. Lakshman Healed.

  BUT RÁMA, PRIDE of Raghu’s race,

  Gazed tenderly on Lakshmaṇ’s face,

  And, as the sight his spirit broke,

  Turned to Susheṇ and sadly spoke:

  “Where is my power and valour? how

  Shall I have heart for battle now,

  When dead before my weeping eyes

  My brother, noblest Lakshmaṇ, lies?

  My tears in blinding torrents flow,

  My hand unnerved has dropped my bow.

  The pangs of woe have blanched my cheek,

  My heart is sick, my strength is weak.

  Ah me, my brother! Ah, that I

  By Lakshmaṇ’s side might sink and die:

  Life, war and conquest, all are vain

  If Lakshmaṇ lies in battle slain.

  Why will those eyes my glances shun?

  Hast thou no word of answer, none?

  Ah, is thy noble spirit flown

  And gone to other worlds alone?

  Couldst thou not let thy brother seek

  Those worlds with thee? O speak, O speak!

  Rise up once more, my brother, rise,

  Look on me with thy loving eyes.

  Were not thy steps beside me still

  In gloomy wood, on breezy hill?

  Did not thy gentle care assuage

  Thy brother’s grief and fitful rage?

  Didst thou not all his troubles share,

  His guide and comfort in despair?”

  As Ráma, vanquished, wept and sighed

  The Vánar chieftain thus replied:

  “Great Prince, unmanly thoughts dismiss,

  Nor yield thy soul to grief like this.

  In vain those burning tears are shed:

  Our glory Lakshmaṇ is not dead.

  Death on his brow no mark has set,

  Where beauty’s lustre lingers yet.

  Clear is the skin, and tender hues

  Of lotus flowers his palms suffuse.

  O Ráma, cheer thy trembling heart;

  Not thus do life and body part.

  Now, Hanumán, to thee I speak:

  Hie hence to tall Mahodaya’s996 peak

  Where herbs of sovereign virtue grow

  Which life and health and strength bestow

  Bring thou the leaves to balm his pain,

  And Lakshmaṇ shall be well again.”

  He ceased: the Wind-God’s son obeyed

  Swift through the clouds his way he made.

  He reached the hill, nor stayed to find

  The wondrous herbs of healing kind,

  From its broad base the mount he tore

  With all the shrubs and trees it bore,

  Sped through the clouds again and showed

  To wise Susheṇ his woody load.997

  Susheṇ in wonder viewed the hill,

  And culled the sovereign salve of ill.

  Soon as the healing herb he found,

  The fragrant leaves he crushed and ground.

  Then over Lakshmaṇ’s face he bent,

  Who, healed and strengthened by the scent

  Of that blest herb divinely sweet,

  Rose fresh and lusty on his feet.

  Canto CIII. Indra’s Car.

  THEN RAGHU’S SON forgot his woe:

  Again he grasped his fallen bow

  And hurled at Lanká’s lord amain

  The tempest of his arrowy rain.

  Drawn by the steeds his lords had brought,

  Again the giant turned and fought.

  And drove his glittering chariot nigh

  As springs the Day-God through the sky.

  Then, as his sounding bow he bent,

  Like thunderbolts his shafts were sent,

  As when dark clouds in rain time shed

  Fierce torrents on a mountain’s head.

  High on his car the giant rode,

  On foot the son of Raghu strode.

  The Gods from their celestial height

  Indignant saw the unequal fight.

  Then he whom heavenly hosts revere,

  Lord Indra, called his charioteer:

  “Haste, Mátali,” he cried, “descend;

  To Raghu’s son my chariot lend.

  With cheering words the chief address;

  And all the Gods thy deed will bless.”

  He bowed; he brought the glorious car

  Whose tinkling bells were heard afar;

  Fair as the sun of morning, bright

  With gold and pearl and lazulite.

  He yoked the steeds of tawny hue

  That swifter than the tempest flew.

  Then down the slope of heaven he hied

  And stayed the car by Ráma’s side.

  “Ascend, O Chief,” he humbly cried,

  “The chariot which the Gods provide.

  The mighty bow of Indra see,

  Sent by the Gods who favour thee;

  Behold this coat of glittering mail,

  And spear and shafts which never fail.”

  Cheered by the grace the Immortals showed

  The chieftain on the chariot rode.

  Then as the car-borne warriors met

  The awful fight raged fiercer yet.

  Each shaft that Rávaṇ shot became

  A serpent red with kindled flame,

  And round the limbs of Ráma hung

  With fiery jaws and quivering tongue.

  But every serpent fled dismayed

  When Raghu’s valiant son displayed

  The weapon of the Feathered King,998

  And loosed his arrows from the string.

  But Rávaṇ
armed his bow anew,

  And showers of shafts at Ráma flew,

  While the fierce king in swift career

  Smote with a dart the charioteer.

  An arrow shot by Rávaṇ’s hand

  Laid the proud banner on the sand,

  And Indra’s steeds of heavenly strain

  Fell by the iron tempest slain.

  On Gods and spirits of the air

  Fell terror, trembling, and despair.

  The sea’s white billows mounted high

  With froth and foam to drench the sky.

  The sun by lurid clouds was veiled,

  The friendly lights of heaven were paled;

  And, fiercely gleaming, fiery Mars

  Opposed the beams of gentler stars.

  Then Ráma’s eyes with fury blazed

  As Indra’s heavenly spear he raised.

  Loud rang the bells: the glistering head

  Bright flashes through the region shed.

  Down came the spear in swift descent:

  The giant’s lance was crushed and bent.

  Then Rávaṇ’s horses brave and fleet

  Fell dead beneath his arrowy sleet.

  Fierce on his foeman Ráma pressed,

  And gored with shafts his mighty breast.

  And spouting streams of crimson dyed

  The weary giant’s limbs and side.

  [I omit Cantos CIV and CV in which the fight is renewed and Rávaṇ severely reprimands his charioteer for timidity and want of confidence in his master’s prowess, and orders him to charge straight at Ráma on the next occasion.]

  Canto CVI. Glory To The Sun.

  THERE FAINT AND bleeding fast, apart

  Stood Rávaṇ raging in his heart.

  Then, moved with ruth for Ráma’s sake,

  Agastya999 came and gently spake:

  “Bend, Ráma, bend thy heart and ear

  The everlasting truth to hear

  Which all thy hopes through life will bless

  And crown thine arms with full success.

  The rising sun with golden rays,

  Light of the worlds, adore and praise:

  The universal king, the lord

  By hosts of heaven and fiends adored.

  He tempers all with soft control,

  He is the Gods’ diviner soul;

  And Gods above and fiends below

  And men to him their safety owe.

  He Brahmá, Vishṇu, Śiva, he

  Each person of the glorious Three,

  Is every God whose praise we tell,

  The King of Heaven,1000 the Lord of Hell:1001

  Each God revered from times of old,

  The Lord of War,1002 the King of Gold:1003

  Mahendra, Time and Death is he,

  The Moon, the Ruler of the Sea.1004

  He hears our praise in every form, —

  The manes,1005 Gods who ride the storm,1006

  The Aśvins,1007 Manu,1008 they who stand

  Round Indra,1009 and the Sádhyas’1010 band

  He is the air, and life and fire,

  The universal source and sire:

  He brings the seasons at his call,

  Creator, light, and nurse of all.

  His heavenly course he joys to run,

  Maker of Day, the golden sun.

  The steeds that whirl his car are seven,1011

  The flaming steeds that flash through heaven.

  Lord of the sky, the conqueror parts

  The clouds of night with glistering darts.

  He, master of the Vedas’ lore,

  Commands the clouds’ collected store:

  He is the rivers’ surest friend;

  He bids the rains, and they descend.

  Stars, planets, constellations own

  Their monarch of the golden throne.

  Lord of twelve forms,1012 to thee I bow,

  Most glorious King of heaven art thou.

  O Ráma, he who pays aright

  Due worship to the Lord of Light

  Shall never fall oppressed by ill,

  But find a stay and comfort still.

  Adore with all thy heart and mind

  This God of Gods, to him resigned;

  And thou his saving power shalt know

  Victorious o’er thy giant foe.”

  [This Canto does not appear in the Bengal recension. It comes in awkwardly and may I think be considered as an interpolation, but I paraphrase a portion of it as a relief after so much fighting and carnage, and as an interesting glimpse of the monotheistic ideas which underlie the Hindu religion. The hymn does not readily lend itself to metrical translation, and I have not attempted here to give a faithful rendering of the whole. A literal version of the text and the commentary given in the Calcutta edition will be found in the Additional Notes.

  A canto is here omitted. It contains fighting of the ordinary kind between Ráma and Rávaṇ, and a description of sights and sounds of evil omen foreboding the destruction of the giant.]

  Canto CVIII. The Battle.

  HE SPOKE, AND vanished: Ráma raised

  His eyes with reverence meet, and praised

  The glorious Day-God full in view:

  Then armed him for the fight anew.

  Urged onward by his charioteer

  The giant’s foaming steeds came near,

  And furious was the battle’s din

  Where each resolved to die or win.

  The Rákshas host and Vánar bands

  Stood with their weapons in their hands,

  And watched in terror and dismay

  The fortune of the awful fray.

  The giant chief with rage inflamed

  His darts at Ráma’s pennon aimed;

  But when they touched the chariot made

  By heavenly hands their force was stayed.

  Then Ráma’s breast with fury swelled;

  He strained the mighty bow he held,

  And straight at Rávaṇ’s banner flew

  An arrow as the string he drew —

  A deadly arrow swift of flight,

  Like some huge snake ablaze with light,

  Whose fury none might e’er repel, —

  And, split in twain, the standard fell.

  At Ráma’s steeds sharp arrows, hot

  With flames of fire, the giant shot.

  Unmoved the heavenly steeds sustained

  The furious shower the warrior rained,

  As though soft lotus tendrils smote

  Each haughty crest and glossy coat.

  Then volleyed swift by magic art,

  Tree, mountain peak and spear and dart,

  Trident and pike and club and mace

  Flew hurtling straight at Ráma’s face.

  But Ráma with his steeds and car

  Escaped the storm which fell afar

  Where the strange missiles, as they rushed

  To earth, a thousand Vánars crushed.

  Canto CIX. The Battle.

  WITH WONDROUS POWER and might and skill

  The giant fought with Ráma still.

  Each at his foe his chariot drove,

  And still for death or victory strove.

  The warriors’ steeds together dashed,

  And pole with pole reëchoing clashed.

  Then Ráma launching dart on dart

  Made Rávaṇ’s coursers swerve and start.

  Nor was the lord of Lanká slow

  To rain his arrows on the foe,

  Who showed, by fiery points assailed,

  No trace of pain, nor shook nor quailed.

  Dense clouds of arrows Ráma shot

  With that strong arm which rested not,

  And spear and mace and club and brand

  Fell in dire rain from Rávaṇ’s hand.

  The storm of missiles fiercely cast

  Stirred up the oceans with its blast,

  And Serpent-Gods and fiends who dwell

  Below were troubled by the swell.

  The ea
rth with hill and plain and brook

  And grove and garden reeled and shook:

  The very sun grew cold and pale,

  And horror stilled the rising gale.

  God and Gandharva, sage and saint

  Cried out, with grief and terror faint:

  “O may the prince of Raghu’s line

  Give peace to Bráhmans and to kine,

  And, rescuing the worlds, o’erthrow

  The giant king our awful foe.”

  Then to his deadly string the pride

  Of Raghu’s race a shaft applied.

  Sharp as a serpent’s venomed fang

  Straight to its mark the arrow sprang,

  And from the giant’s body shred

  With trenchant steel the monstrous head.

  There might the triple world behold

  That severed head adorned with gold.

  But when all eyes were bent to view,

  Swift in its stead another grew.

  Again the shaft was pointed well:

  Again the head divided fell;

  But still as each to earth was cast

  Another head succeeded fast.

  A hundred, bright with fiery flame,

  Fell low before the victor’s aim,

  Yet Rávaṇ by no sign betrayed

  That death was near or strength decayed.

  The doubtful fight he still maintained,

  And on the foe his missiles rained.

  In air, on earth, on plain, on hill,

  With awful might he battled still;

  And through the hours of night and day

  The conflict knew no pause or stay.

  Canto CX. Rávan’s Death.

  THEN MÁTALI TO Ráma cried:

  “Let other arms the day decide.

  Why wilt thou strive with useless toil

  And see his might thy efforts foil?

  Launch at the foe thy dart whose fire

  Was kindled by the Almighty Sire.”

  He ceased: and Raghu’s son obeyed:

  Upon his string the hero laid

  An arrow, like a snake that hissed.

  Whose fiery flight had never missed:

  The arrow Saint Agastya gave

  And blessed the chieftain’s life to save

  That dart the Eternal Father made

  The Monarch of the Gods to aid;

  By Brahmá’s self on him bestowed

  When forth to fight Lord Indra rode.

  ’Twas feathered with the rushing wind;

  The glowing sun and fire combined

  To the keen point their splendour lent;

  The shaft, ethereal element,

  By Meru’s hill and Mandar, pride

 

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