That mighty bow the foe’s dismay, —

  And on the string an arrow lay.

  Next on the tree his eye he bent,

  And forth the hurtling weapon went.

  Loosed from the matchless hero’s hold,

  That arrow, decked with burning gold,

  Cleft the seven palms in line, and through

  The hill that rose behind them flew:

  Six subterranean realms it passed,

  And reached the lowest depth at last,

  Whence speeding back through earth and air

  It sought the quiver, and rested there.573

  Upon the cloven trees amazed,

  The sovereign of the Vánars gazed.

  With all his chains and gold outspread

  Prostrate on earth he laid his head.

  Then, rising, palm to palm he laid

  In reverent act, obeisance made,

  And joyously to Ráma, best

  Of war-trained chiefs, these words addressed:

  “What champion, Raghu’s son, may hope

  With thee in deadly fight to cope,

  Whose arrow, leaping from the bow,

  Cleaves tree and hill and earth below?

  Scarce might the Gods, arrayed for strife

  By Indra’s self, escape, with life

  Assailed by thy victorious hand:

  And how may Báli hope to stand?

  All grief and care are past away,

  And joyous thoughts my bosom sway,

  Who have in thee a friend, renowned,

  As Varuṇ574 or as Indra, found.

  Then on! subdue,— ’tis friendship’s claim, —

  My foe who bears a brother’s name.

  Strike Báli down beneath thy feet:

  With suppliant hands I thus entreat.”

  Sugríva ceased, and Ráma pressed

  The grateful Vánar to his breast;

  And thoughts of kindred feeling woke

  In Lakshmaṇ’s bosom, as he spoke:

  “On to Kishkindhá, on with speed!

  Thou, Vánar King, our way shalt lead,

  Then challenge Báli forth to fight.

  Thy foe who scorns a brother’s right.”

  They sought Kishkindhá’s gate and stood

  Concealed by trees in densest wood,

  Sugríva, to the fight addressed,

  More closely drew his cinctured vest,

  And raised a wild sky-piercing shout

  To call the foeman Báli out.

  Forth came impetuous Báli, stirred

  To fury by the shout he heard.

  So the great sun, ere night has ceased,

  Springs up impatient to the east.

  Then fierce and wild the conflict raged

  As hand to hand the foes engaged,

  As though in battle mid the stars

  Fought Mercury and fiery Mars.575

  To highest pitch of frenzy wrought

  With fists like thunderbolts they fought,

  While near them Ráma took his stand,

  And viewed the battle, bow in hand.

  Alike they stood in form and might,

  Like heavenly Aśvins576 paired in fight,

  Nor might the son of Raghu know

  Where fought the friend and where the foe;

  So, while his bow was ready bent,

  No life-destroying shaft he sent.

  Crushed down by Báli’s mightier stroke

  Sugríva’s force now sank and broke,

  Who, hoping naught from Ráma’s aid,

  To Rishyamúka fled dismayed,

  Weary, and faint, and wounded sore,

  His body bruised and dyed with gore,

  From Báli’s blows, in rage and dread,

  Afar to sheltering woods he fled.

  Nor Báli farther dared pursue,

  The curbing curse too well he knew.

  “Fled from thy death!” the victor cried,

  And home the mighty warrior hied.

  Hanúmán, Lakshmaṇ, Raghu’s son

  Beheld the conquered Vánar run,

  And followed to the sheltering shade

  Where yet Sugríva stood dismayed.

  Near and more near the chieftains came,

  Then, for intolerable shame,

  Not daring yet to lift his eyes,

  Sugríva spoke with burning sighs:

  “Thy matchless strength I first beheld,

  And dared my foe, by thee impelled.

  Why hast thou tried me with deceit

  And urged me to a sure defeat?

  Thou shouldst have said, “I will not slay

  Thy foeman in the coming fray.”

  For had I then thy purpose known

  I had not waged the fight alone.”

  The Vánar sovereign, lofty-souled,

  In plaintive voice his sorrows told.

  Then Ráma spake: “Sugríva, list,

  All anger from thy heart dismissed,

  And I will tell the cause that stayed

  Mine arrow, and withheld the aid.

  In dress, adornment, port, and height,

  In splendour, battle-shout, and might,

  No shade of difference could I see

  Between thy foe, O King, and thee.

  So like was each, I stood at gaze,

  My senses lost in wildering maze,

  Nor loosened from my straining bow

  A deadly arrow at the foe,

  Lest in my doubt the shaft should send

  To sudden death our surest friend.

  O, if this hand in heedless guilt

  And rash resolve thy blood had spilt,

  Through every land, O Vánar King,

  My wild and foolish act would ring.

  Sore weight of sin on him must lie

  By whom a friend is made to die;

  And Lakshmaṇ, I, and Sítá, best

  Of dames, on thy protection rest.

  On, warrior! for the fight prepare;

  Nor fear again thy foe to dare.

  Within one hour thine eye shall view

  My arrow strike thy foeman through;

  Shall see the stricken Báli lie

  Low on the earth, and gasp and die.

  But come, a badge about thee bind,

  O monarch of the Vánar kind,

  That in the battle shock mine eyes

  The friend and foe may recognize.

  Come, Lakshmaṇ, let that creeper deck

  With brightest bloom Sugríva’s neck,

  And be a happy token, twined

  Around the chief of lofty mind.”

  Upon the mountain slope there grew

  A threading creeper fair to view,

  And Lakshmaṇ plucked the bloom and round

  Sugríva’s neck a garland wound.

  Graced with the flowery wreath he wore,

  The Vánar chief the semblance bore

  Of a dark cloud at close of day

  Engarlanded with cranes at play,

  In glorious light the Vánar glowed

  As by his comrade’s side he strode,

  And, still on Ráma’s word intent,

  His steps to great Kishkindhá bent.

  Canto XIII. The Return To Kishkindhá.

  THUS WITH SUGRÍVA, from the side

  Of Rishyamúka, Ráma hied,

  And stood before Kishkindhá’s gate

  Where Báli kept his regal state.

  The hero in his warrior hold

  Raised his great bow adorned with gold,

  And drew his pointed arrow bright

  As sunbeams, finisher of fight.

  Strong-necked Sugríva led the way

  With Lakshmaṇ mighty in the fray.

  Nala and Níla came behind

  With Hanumán of lofty mind,

  And valiant Tára, last in place,

  A leader of the Vánar race.

  They gazed on many a tree that showed

  The glory of its pendent load,

  And brook and limpid rill that made

  Sweet murmurs as they seaward strayed.

  They looked on caverns dark and deep,

  On bower and glen and mountain steep,

  And saw the opening lotus stud

  With roseate cup the crystal flood,

  While crane and swan and coot and drake

  Made pleasant music on the lake,

  And from the reedy bank was heard

  The note of many a happy bird.

  In open lawns, in tangled ways,

  They saw the tall deer stand at gaze,

  Or marked them free and fearless roam,

  Fed with sweet grass, their woodland home.

  At times two flashing tusks between

  The wavings of the wood were seen,

  And some mad elephant, alone,

  Like a huge moving hill, was shown.

  And scarcely less in size appeared

  Great monkeys all with dust besmeared.

  And various birds that roam the skies,

  And silvan creatures, met their eyes,

  As through the wood the chieftains sped,

  And followed where Sugríva led.

  Then Ráma, as their way they made,

  Saw near at hand a lovely shade,

  And, as he gazed upon the trees,

  Spake to Sugríva words like these;

  “Those stately trees in beauty rise,

  Fair as a cloud in autumn skies.

  I fain, my friend, would learn from thee

  What pleasant grove is that I see.”

  Thus Ráma spake, the mighty souled;

  And thus his tale Sugríva told:

  “That, Ráma, is a wide retreat

  That brings repose to weary feet.

  Bright streams and fruit and roots are there,

  And shady gardens passing fair.

  There, neath the roof of hanging boughs,

  The sacred Seven maintained their vows.

  Their heads in dust were lowly laid,

  In streams their nightly beds were made.

  Each seventh night they broke their fast,

  But air was still their sole repast,

  And when seven hundred years were spent

  To homes in heaven the hermits went.

  Their glory keeps the garden yet,

  With walls of stately trees beset.

  Scarce would the Gods and demons dare,

  By Indra led, to enter there.

  No beast that roams the wood is found,

  No bird of air, within the bound;

  Or, thither if they idly stray,

  They find no more their homeward way.

  You hear at times mid dulcet tones

  The chime of anklets, rings, and zones.

  You hear the song and music sound,

  And heavenly fragrance breathes around,

  There duly burn the triple fires577

  Where mounts the smoke in curling spires,

  And, in a dun wreath, hangs above

  The tall trees, like a brooding dove.

  Round branch and crest the vapours close

  Till every tree enveloped shows

  A hill of lazulite when clouds

  Hang round it with their misty shrouds.

  With Lakshmaṇ, lord of Raghu’s line,

  In reverent guise thine head incline,

  And with fixt heart and suppliant hand

  Give honour to the sainted band.

  They who with faithful hearts revere

  The holy Seven who harboured here,

  Shall never, son of Raghu, know

  In all their lives an hour of woe.”

  Then Ráma and his brother bent,

  And did obeisance reverent

  With suppliant hand and lowly head,

  Then with Sugríva onward sped.

  Beyond the sainted Seven’s abode

  Far on their way the chieftains strode,

  And great Kishkindhá’s portal gained,

  The royal town where Báli reigned.

  Then by the gate they took their stand

  All ready armed a noble band,

  And burning every one

  To slay in battle, hand to hand,

  Their foeman, Indra’s son.

  Canto XIV. The Challenge.

  THEY STOOD WHERE trees of densest green

  Wove round their forms a veiling screen.

  O’er all the garden’s pleasant shade

  The eyes of King Sugríva strayed,

  And, as on grass and tree he gazed,

  The fires of wrath within him blazed.

  Then like a mighty cloud on high,

  When roars the tempest through the sky,

  Girt by his friends he thundered out

  His dread sky-rending battle-shout

  Like some proud lion in his gait,

  Or as the sun begins his state,

  Sugríva let his quick glance rest

  On Ráma whom he thus addressed:

  “There is the seat of Báli’s sway,

  Where flags on wall and turret play,

  Which mighty bands of Vánars hold,

  Rich in all arms and store of gold.

  Thy promise to thy mind recall

  That Báli by thy hand shall fall.

  As kindly fruits adorn the bough.

  So give my hopes their harvest now.”

  In suppliant tone the Vánar prayed,

  And Raghu’s son his answer made:

  “By Lakshmaṇ’s hand this flowery twine

  Was wound about thee for a sign.

  The wreath of giant creeper throws

  About thy form its brillant glows,

  As though about the sun were set

  The bright stars for a coronet.

  One shaft of mine this day, dear friend,

  Thy sorrow and thy fear shall end.

  And, from the bowstring freed, shall be

  Giver of freedom, King, to thee.

  Then come, Sugríva, quickly show,

  Where’er he lie, thy bitter foe;

  And let my glance the wretch descry

  Whose deeds, a brother’s name belie.

  Yea, soon in dust and blood o’erthrown

  Shall Báli fall and gasp and groan.

  Once let this eye the foeman see,

  Then, if he live to turn and flee,

  Despise my puny strength, and shame

  With foul opprobrium Ráma’s name.

  Hast thou not seen his hand, O King,

  Through seven tall trees one arrow wing?

  Still in that strength securely trust,

  And deem thy foeman in the dust.

  In all my days, though surely tried

  By grief and woe, I ne’er have lied;

  And still by duty’s law restrained

  Will ne’er with falsehood’s charge be stained.

  Cast doubt away: the oath I sware

  Its kindly fruit shall quickly bear,

  As smiles the land with golden grain

  By mercy of the Lord of rain.

  Oh, warrior to the gate I defy

  Thy foe with shout and battle-cry,

  Till Báli with his chain of gold

  Come speeding from his royal hold.

  Proud hearts, with warlike fire aglow,

  Brook not the challenge of a foe:

  Each on his power and might relies,

  And most before his ladies eyes.

  King Báli loves the fray too well

  To linger in his citadel,

  And, when he hears thy battle-shout,

  All wild for war will hasten out.”

  He spoke. Sugríva raised a cry

  That shook and rent the echoing sky,

  A shout so fierce and loud and dread

  That stately bulls in terror fled,

  Like dames who fly from threatened stain

  In some ignoble monarch’s reign.

  The deer in wild confusion ran

  Like horses turned in battle’s van.

  Down fell the birds, like Gods who fall

  When merits fail,578 at that dread call.

  So fiercely, boldened for the fray,

  The offspring of the Lord of Day

  Sent forth his furious shout as loud

  As thunder from a labouring cloud,

  Or, where the gale blows fresh and free,

  The roaring of the troubled sea.

  Canto XV. Tárá.

  THAT SHOUT, WHICH shook the land with fear,

  In thunder smote on Báli’s ear,

  Where in the chamber barred and closed

  The sovereign with his dame reposed.

  Each amorous thought was rudely stilled,

  And pride and rage his bosom filled.

  His angry eyes flashed darkly red,

  And all his native brightness fled,

  As when, by swift eclipse assailed,

  The glory of the sun has failed.

  While in his fury uncontrolled

  He ground his teeth, his eyeballs rolled,

  He seemed a lake wherein no gem

  Of blossom decks the lotus stem.

  He heard, and with indignant pride

  Forth from the bower the Vánar hied.

  And the earth trembled at the beat

  And fury of his hastening feet.

  But Tárá to her consort flew,

  Her loving arms around him threw,

  And trembling and bewildered, gave

  Wise counsel that might heal and save:

  “O dear my lord, this rage control

  That like a torrent floods thy soul,

  And cast these idle thoughts away

  Like faded wreath of yesterday,

  O tarry till the morning light,

  Then, if thou wilt, go forth and fight.

  Think not I doubt thy valour, no;

  Or deem thee weaker than thy foe,

  Yet for a while would have thee stay

  Nor see thee tempt the fight to-day.

  Now list, my loving lord, and learn

  The reason why I bid thee turn.

  Thy foeman came in wrath and pride,

  And thee to deadly fight defied.

  Thou wentest out: he fought, and fled

  Sore wounded and discomfited.

  But yet, untaught by late defeat,

  He comes his conquering foe to meet,

  And calls thee forth with cry and shout:

  Hence spring, my lord, this fear and doubt.

  A heart so bold that will not yield,

  But yearns to tempt the desperate field,

  Such loud defiance, fiercely pressed,

  On no uncertain hope can rest.

  So lately by thine arm o’erthrown,

  He comes not back, I ween, alone.

  Some mightier comrade guards his side,

  And spurs him to this burst of pride.

  For nature made the Vánar wise:

  On arms of might his hope relies;

 

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