Me wouldst thou vainly woo and press?

  A jackal woo a lioness!

  Steal from the sun his glory! such

  Thy hope Lord Ráma’s wife to touch.

  Ha! Thou hast seen the trees of gold,

  The sign which dying eyes behold,

  Thus seeking, weary of thy life,

  To win the love of Ráma’s wife.

  Fool! wilt thou dare to rend away

  The famished lion’s bleeding prey,

  Or from the threatening jaws to take

  The fang of some envenomed snake?

  What, wouldst thou shake with puny hand

  Mount Mandar,501 towering o’er the land,

  Put poison to thy lips and think

  The deadly cup a harmless drink?

  With pointed needle touch thine eye,

  A razor to thy tongue apply,

  Who wouldst pollute with impious touch

  The wife whom Ráma loves so much?

  Be round thy neck a millstone tied,

  And swim the sea from side to side;

  Or raising both thy hands on high

  Pluck sun and moon from yonder sky;

  Or let the kindled flame be pressed,

  Wrapt in thy garment, to thy breast;

  More wild the thought that seeks to win

  Ráma’s dear wife who knows not sin.

  The fool who thinks with idle aim

  To gain the love of Ráma’s dame,

  With dark and desperate footing makes

  His way o’er points of iron stakes.

  As Ocean to a bubbling spring,

  The lion to a fox, the king

  Of all the birds that ply the wing

  To an ignoble crow

  As gold to lead of little price,

  As to the drainings of the rice

  The drink they quaff in Paradise,

  The Amrit’s heavenly flow,

  As sandal dust with perfume sweet

  Is to the mire that soils our feet,

  A tiger to a cat,

  As the white swan is to the owl,

  The peacock to the waterfowl,

  An eagle to a bat,

  Such is my lord compared with thee;

  And when with bow and arrows he,

  Mighty as Indra’s self shall see

  His foeman, armed to slay,

  Thou, death-doomed like the fly that sips

  The oil that on the altar drips,

  Shalt cast the morsel from thy lips

  And lose thy half-won prey.”

  Thus in high scorn the lady flung

  The biting arrows of her tongue

  In bitter words that pierced and stung

  The rover of the night.

  She ceased. Her gentle cheek grew pale,

  Her loosened limbs began to fail,

  And like a plantain in the gale

  She trembled with affright.

  He terrible as Death stood nigh,

  And watched with fierce exulting eye

  The fear that shook her frame.

  To terrify the lady more,

  He counted all his triumphs o’er,

  Proclaimed the titles that he bore,

  His pedigree and name.

  Canto XLVIII. Rávan’s Speech.

  WITH KNITTED BROW and furious eye

  The stranger made his fierce reply:

  “In me O fairest dame, behold

  The brother of the King of Gold.

  The Lord of Ten Necks my title, named

  Rávaṇ, for might and valour famed.

  Gods and Gandharva hosts I scare;

  Snakes, spirits, birds that roam the air

  Fly from my coming, wild with fear,

  Trembling like men when Death is near.

  Vaiśravaṇ once, my brother, wrought

  To ire, encountered me and fought,

  But yielding to superior might

  Fled from his home in sore affright.

  Lord of the man-drawn chariot, still

  He dwells on famed Kailása’s hill.

  I made the vanquished king resign

  The glorious car which now is mine, —

  Pushpak, the far-renowned, that flies

  Will-guided through the buxom skies.

  Celestial hosts by Indra led

  Flee from my face disquieted,

  And where my dreaded feet appear

  The wind is hushed or breathless is fear.

  Where’er I stand, where’er I go

  The troubled waters cease to flow,

  Each spell-bound wave is mute and still

  And the fierce sun himself is chill.

  Beyond the sea my Lanká stands

  Filled with fierce forms and giant bands,

  A glorious city fair to see

  As Indra’s Amarávatí.

  A towering height of solid wall,

  Flashing afar, surrounds it all,

  Its golden courts enchant the sight,

  And gates aglow with lazulite.

  Steeds, elephants, and cars are there,

  And drums’ loud music fills the air,

  Fair trees in lovely gardens grow

  Whose boughs with varied fruitage glow.

  Thou, beauteous Queen, with me shalt dwell

  In halls that suit a princess well,

  Thy former fellows shall forget

  Nor think of women with regret,

  No earthly joy thy soul shall miss,

  And take its fill of heavenly bliss.

  Of mortal Ráma think no more,

  Whose terms of days will soon be o’er.

  King Daśaratha looked in scorn

  On Ráma though the eldest born,

  Sent to the woods the weakling fool,

  And set his darling son to rule.

  What, O thou large-eyed dame, hast thou

  To do with fallen Ráma now,

  From home and kingdom forced to fly,

  A wretched hermit soon to die?

  Accept thy lover, nor refuse

  The giant king who fondly woos.

  O listen, nor reject in scorn

  A heart by Káma’s arrows torn.

  If thou refuse to hear my prayer,

  Of grief and coming woe beware;

  For the sad fate will fall on thee

  Which came on hapless Urvaśí,

  When with her foot she chanced to touch

  Purúravas, and sorrowed much.502

  My little finger raised in fight

  Were more than match for Ráma’s might.

  O fairest, blithe and happy be

  With him whom fortune sends to thee.”

  Such were the words the giant said,

  And Sítá’s angry eyes were red.

  She answered in that lonely place

  The monarch of the giant race:

  “Art thou the brother of the Lord

  Of Gold by all the world adored,

  And sprung of that illustrious seed

  Wouldst now attempt this evil deed?

  I tell thee, impious Monarch, all

  The giants by thy sin will fall,

  Whose reckless lord and king thou art,

  With foolish mind and lawless heart.

  Yea, one may hope to steal the wife

  Of Indra and escape with life.

  But he who Ráma’s dame would tear

  From his loved side must needs despair.

  Yea, one may steal fair Śachí, dame

  Of Him who shoots the thunder flame,

  May live successful in his aim

  And length of day may see;

  But hope, O giant King, in vain,

  Though cups of Amrit thou may drain,

  To shun the penalty and pain

  Of wronging one like me.”

  Canto XLIX. The Rape Of Sítá.

  THE RÁKSHAS MONARCH, thus addressed,

  His hands a while together pressed,

  And straight before her startled eyes

  Stood monstrous in his giant size.

  Then to the lady, with the lore

  Of eloquence, he spoke once more:

  “Thou scarce,” he cried, “hast heard aright

  The glories of my power and might.

  I borne sublime in air can stand

  And with these arms upheave the land,

  Drink the deep flood of Ocean dry

  And Death with conquering force defy,

  Pierce the great sun with furious dart

  And to her depths cleave earth apart.

  See, thou whom love and beauty blind,

  I wear each form as wills my mind.”

  As thus he spake in burning ire

  His glowing eyes were red with fire.

  His gentle garb aside was thrown

  And all his native shape was shown.

  Terrific, monstrous, wild, and dread

  As the dark God who rules the dead,

  His fiery eyes in fury rolled,

  His limbs were decked with glittering gold.

  Like some dark cloud the monster showed,

  And his fierce breast with fury glowed.

  The ten-faced rover of the night,

  With twenty arms exposed to sight,

  His saintly guise aside had laid

  And all his giant height displayed.

  Attired in robes of crimson dye

  He stood and watched with angry eye

  The lady in her bright array

  Resplendent as the dawn of day

  When from the east the sunbeams break,

  And to the dark-haired lady spake:

  “If thou would call that lord thine own

  Whose fame in every world is known,

  Look kindly on my love, and be

  Bride of a consort meet for thee.

  With me let blissful years be spent,

  For ne’er thy choice shalt thou repent.

  No deed of mine shall e’er displease

  My darling as she lives at ease.

  Thy love for mortal man resign,

  And to a worthier lord incline.

  Ah foolish lady, seeming wise

  In thine own weak and partial eyes,

  By what fair graces art thou held

  To Ráma from his realm expelled?

  Misfortunes all his life attend,

  And his brief days are near their end.

  Unworthy prince, infirm of mind!

  A woman spoke and he resigned

  His home and kingdom and withdrew

  From troops of friends and retinue.

  And sought this forest dark and dread

  By savage beasts inhabited.”

  Thus Rávaṇ urged the lady meet

  For love, whose words were soft and sweet.

  Near and more near the giant pressed

  As love’s hot fire inflamed his breast.

  The leader of the giant crew

  His arm around the lady threw:

  Thus Budha503 with ill-omened might

  Steals Rohiṇí’s delicious light.

  One hand her glorious tresses grasped,

  One with its ruthless pressure clasped

  The body of his lovely prize,

  The Maithil dame with lotus eyes.

  The silvan Gods in wild alarm

  Marked his huge teeth and ponderous arm,

  And from that Death-like presence fled,

  Of mountain size and towering head.

  Then seen was Rávaṇ’s magic car

  Aglow with gold which blazed afar, —

  The mighty car which asses drew

  Thundering as it onward flew.

  He spared not harsh rebuke to chide

  The lady as she moaned and cried,

  Then with his arm about her waist

  His captive in the car he placed.

  In vain he threatened: long and shrill

  Rang out her lamentation still,

  O Ráma! which no fear could stay:

  But her dear lord was far away.

  Then rose the fiend, and toward the skies

  Bore his poor helpless struggling prize:

  Hurrying through the air above

  The dame who loathed his proffered love.

  So might a soaring eagle bear

  A serpent’s consort through the air.

  As on he bore her through the sky

  She shrieked aloud her bitter cry.

  As when some wretch’s lips complain

  In agony of maddening pain;

  “O Lakshmaṇ, thou whose joy is still

  To do thine elder brother’s will,

  This fiend, who all disguises wears,

  From Ráma’s side his darling tears.

  Thou who couldst leave bliss, fortune, all,

  Yea life itself at duty’s call,

  Dost thou not see this outrage done

  To hapless me, O Raghu’s son?

  ’Tis thine, O victor of the foe,

  To bring the haughtiest spirit low,

  How canst thou such an outrage see

  And let the guilty fiend go free?

  Ah, seldom in a moment’s time

  Comes bitter fruit of sin and crime,

  But in the day of harvest pain

  Comes like the ripening of the grain.

  So thou whom fate and folly lead

  To ruin for this guilty deed,

  Shalt die by Ráma’s arm ere long

  A dreadful death for hideous wrong.

  Ah, too successful in their ends

  Are Queen Kaikeyí and her friends,

  When virtuous Ráma, dear to fame,

  Is mourning for his ravished dame.

  Ah me, ah me! a long farewell

  To lawn and glade and forest dell

  In Janasthán’s wild region, where

  The Cassia trees are bright and fair

  With all your tongues to Ráma say

  That Rávaṇ bears his wife away.

  Farewell, a long farewell to thee,

  O pleasant stream Godávarí,

  Whose rippling waves are ever stirred

  By many a glad wild water-bird!

  All ye to Ráma’s ear relate

  The giant’s deed and Sítá’s fate.

  O all ye Gods who love this ground

  Where trees of every leaf abound,

  Tell Ráma I am stolen hence,

  I pray you all with reverence.

  On all the living things beside

  That these dark boughs and coverts hide,

  Ye flocks of birds, ye troops of deer,

  I call on you my prayer to hear.

  All ye to Ráma’s ear proclaim

  That Rávaṇ tears away his dame

  With forceful arms, — his darling wife,

  Dearer to Ráma than his life.

  O, if he knew I dwelt in hell,

  My mighty lord, I know full well,

  Would bring me, conqueror, back to-day,

  Though Yáma’s self reclaimed his prey.”

  Thus from the air the lady sent

  With piteous voice her last lament,

  And as she wept she chanced to see

  The vulture on a lofty tree.

  As Rávaṇ bore her swiftly by,

  On the dear bird she bent her eye,

  And with a voice which woe made faint

  Renewed to him her wild complaint:

  “O see, the king who rules the race

  Of giants, cruel, fierce and base,

  Rávaṇ the spoiler bears me hence

  The helpless prey of violence.

  This fiend who roves in midnight shade

  By thee, dear bird, can ne’er be stayed,

  For he is armed and fierce and strong

  Triumphant in the power to wrong.

  For thee remains one only task,

  To do, kind friend, the thing I ask.

  To Ráma’s ear by thee be borne

  How Sítá from her home is torn,

  And to the valiant Lakshmaṇ tell

  The giant’s deed and what befell.”

  Canto L. Jatáyus.

  THE VULTURE FROM his slumber woke

  And heard the words which Sítá spoke

  He raised his eye and looked on her,

  Looked on her giant ravisher.

  That noblest bird with pointed beak,

  Majestic as a mountain peak,

  High on the tree addressed the king

  Of giants, wisely counselling:

  “O Ten-necked lord, I firmly hold

  To faith and laws ordained of old,

  And thou, my brother, shouldst refrain

  From guilty deeds that shame and stain.

  The vulture king supreme in air,

  Jaṭáyus is the name I bear.

  Thy captive, known by Sítá’s name,

  Is the dear consort and the dame

  Of Ráma, Daśaratha’s heir

  Who makes the good of all his care.

  Lord of the world in might he vies

  With the great Gods of seas and skies.

  The law he boasts to keep allows

  No king to touch another’s spouse,

  And, more than all, a prince’s dame

  High honour and respect may claim.

  Back to the earth thy way incline,

  Nor think of one who is not thine.

  Heroic souls should hold it shame

  To stoop to deeds which others blame,

  And all respect by them is shown

  To dames of others as their own.

  Not every case of bliss and gain

  The Scripture’s holy texts explain,

  And subjects, when that light is dim,

  Look to their prince and follow him.

  The king is bliss and profit, he

  Is store of treasures fair to see,

  And all the people’s fortunes spring,

  Their joy and misery, from the king.

  If, lord of giant race, thy mind

  Be fickle, false, to sin inclined,

  How wilt thou kingly place retain?

  High thrones in heaven no sinners gain.

  The soul which gentle passions sway

  Ne’er throws its nobler part away,

  Nor will the mansion of the base

  Long be the good man’s dwelling-place.

  Prince Ráma, chief of high renown,

  Has wronged thee not in field or town.

  Ne’er has he sinned against thee: how

  Canst thou resolve to harm him now?

  If moved by Śúrpaṇakhá’s prayer

  The giant Khara sought him there,

  And fighting fell with baffled aim,

  His and not Ráma’s is the blame.

  Say, mighty lord of giants, say

  What fault on Ráma canst thou lay?

  What has the world’s great master done

  That thou should steal his precious one?

  Quick, quick the Maithil dame release;

  Let Ráma’s consort go in peace,

 

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