The Ramayana Part 119

The hills with towering summits rise, And with their beauty charm the eyes, Gay with the giant trees which bright With blossom spring from every height: And as the soft wind gently sways The cl.u.s.tering blooms that load the sprays, The very trees break forth and sing With startled wild bees' murmuring.

Thine eyes to yonder Ca.s.sias(525) turn Whose glorious cl.u.s.ters glow and burn.

Those trees in yellow robes behold, Like giants decked with burnished gold.

Ah me, Sumitra's son, the spring Dear to sweet birds who love and sing, Wakes in my lonely breast the flame Of sorrow as I mourn my dame.

Love strikes me through with darts of fire, And wakes in vain the sweet desire.

Hark, the loud Kol swells his throat, And mocks me with his joyful note.

I hear the happy wild-c.o.c.k call Beside the shady waterfall.

His cry of joy afflicts my breast By love's absorbing might possessed.

My darling from our cottage heard One morn in spring this shrill-toned bird, And called me in her joy to hear The happy cry that charmed her ear.

See, birds of every varied voice Around us in the woods rejoice, On creeper, shrub, and plant alight, Or wing from tree to tree their flight.

Each bird his kindly mate has found, And loud their notes of triumph sound, Blending in sweetest music like The distant warblings of the shrike.

See how the river banks are lined With birds of every hue and kind.

Here in his joy the Kol sings, There the glad wild-c.o.c.k flaps his wings.

The blooms of bright Asokas(526) where The song of wild bees fills the air, And the soft whisper of the boughs Increase my longing for my spouse.

The vernal flush of flower and spray Will burn my very soul away.

What use, what care have I for life If I no more may see my wife Soft speaker with the glorious hair, And eyes with silken lashes fair?

Now is the time when all day long The Kols fill the woods with song.

And gardens bloom at spring's sweet touch Which my beloved loved so much.

Ah me, Sumitra's son, the fire Of sorrow, sprung from soft desire, Fanned by the charms the spring time shows, Will burn my heart and end my woes, Whose sad eyes look on each fair tree, But my sweet love no more may see.

Ah me, Ah me, from hour to hour Love in my soul will wax in power, And spring, upon whose charms I gaze, Whose breath the heat of toil allays, With thoughts of her for whom I strain My hopeless eyes, increase my pain.

As fire in summer rages through The forests thick with dry bamboo, So will my fawn eyed love consume My soul o'erwhelmed with thoughts of gloom.

Behold, beneath each spreading tree The peac.o.c.ks dance(527) in frantic glee, And, stirred by all the gales that blow, Their tails with jewelled windows glow, Each bird, in happy love elate, Rejoices with his darling mate.

But sights like these of joy and peace My pangs of hopeless love increase.

See on the mountain slope above The peahen languis.h.i.+ng with love.

Behold her now in amorous dance Close to her consort's side advance.

He with a laugh of joy and pride Displays his glittering pinions wide; And follows through the tangled dell The partner whom he loves so well.

Ah happy bird! no giant's hate Has robbed him of his tender mate; And still beside his loved one he Dances beneath the shade in glee.

Ah, in this month when flowers are fair My widowed woe is hard to bear.

See, gentle love a home may find In creatures of inferior kind.

See how the peahen turns to meet Her consort now with love-drawn feet.

So, Lakshma?, if my large-eyed dear, The child of Janak still were here, She, by love's thrilling influence led, Upon my breast would lay her head.

These blooms I gathered from the bough Without my love are useless now.

A thousand blossoms fair to see With pa.s.sing glory clothe each tree That hangs its cl.u.s.ter-burthened head Now that the dewy months(528) are fled, But, followed by the bees that ply Their fragrant task, they fall and die.

A thousand birds in wild delight Their rapture-breathing notes unite; Bird calls to bird in joyous strain, And turns my love to frenzied pain.

O, if beneath those alien skies, There be a spring where Sita lies, I know my prisoned love must be Touched with like grief, and mourn with me.

But ah, methinks that dreary clime Knows not the touch of spring's sweet time.

How could my black eyed love sustain, Without her lord, so dire a pain?

Or if the sweet spring come to her In distant lands a prisoner, How may his advent and her met On every side with taunt and threat?

Ah, if the springtide's languor came With soft enchantment o'er my dame, My darling of the lotus eye, My gently speaking love, would die; For well my spirit knows that she Can never live bereft of me With love that never wavered yet My Sita's heart, on me is set, Who, with a soul that ne'er can stray, With equal love her love repay.

In vain, in vain the soft wind brings Sweet blossoms on his balmy wings; Delicious from his native snow, To me like fire he seems to glow.

O, how I loved a breeze like this When darling Sita shared the bliss!

But now in vain for me it blows To fan the fury of my woes.

That dark-winged bird that sought the skies Foretelling grief with warning cries, Sits on the tree where buds are gay, And pours glad music from the spray.

That rover of the fields of air Will aid my love with friendly care, And me with gracious pity guide To my large-eyed Videhan's side.(529) Hark, Lakshma?, how the woods around With love-inspiring chants resound, Where birds in every bloom-crowned tree Pour forth their amorous minstrelsy.

As though an eager gallant wooed A gentle maid by love subdued, Enamoured of her flowers the bee Darts at the wind-rocked Tila tree.(530) Asoka, brightest tree that grows, That lends a pang to lovers' woes, Hangs out his gorgeous bloom in scorn And mocks me as I weep forlorn.

O Lakshma?, turn thine eye and see Each blossom-laden Mango tree, Like a young lover gaily dressed Whom fond desire forbids to rest.

Look, son of Queen Sumitra through The forest glades of varied hue, Where blooms are bright and gra.s.s is green The Kinnars(531) with their loves are seen.

See, brother, see where sweet and bright Those crimson lilies charm the sight, And o'er the flood a radiance throw Fair as the morning's roseate glow.

See, Pampa, most divinely sweet, The swan's and mallard's loved retreat, Shows her glad waters bright and clear, Where lotuses their heads uprear From the pure wave, and charm the view With mingled tints of red and blue.

Each like the morning's early beams Reflected in the crystal gleams; And bees on their sweet toil intent Weigh down each tender filament.

There with gay lawns the wood recedes; There wildfowl sport amid the reeds, There roedeer stand upon the brink, And elephants descend to drink.

The rippling waves which winds make fleet Against the bending lilies beat, And opening bud and flower and stem Gleam with the drops that hang on them.

Life has no pleasure left for me While my dear queen I may not see, Who loved so well those blooms that vie With the full splendour of her eye.

O tyrant Love, who will not let My bosom for one hour forget The lost one whom I yearn to meet, Whose words were ever kind and sweet.

Ah, haply might my heart endure This hopeless love that knows not cure, If spring with all his trees in flower a.s.sailed me not with ruthless power.

Each lovely scene, each sound and sight Wherein, with her, I found delight, Has lost the charm so sweet of yore, And glads my widowed heart no more.

On lotus buds I seem to gaze, Or blooms that deck Palasa(532) sprays;(533)

But to my tortured memory rise The glories of my darling's eyes.

Cool breezes through the forest stray Gathering odours on their way, Enriched with all the rifled scent Of lotus flower and filament.

Their touch upon my temples falls And Sita's fragrant breath recalls.

Now look, dear brother, on the right Of Pampa towers a mountain height Where fairest Ca.s.sia trees unfold The treasures of their burnished gold.

Proud mountain king! his woody side With myriad ores is decked and dyed, And as the wind-swept blossoms fall Their fragrant dust is stained with all.

To yon high lands thy glances turn: With pendent fire they flash and burn, Where in their vernal glory blaze Palasa flowers on leafless sprays.

O Lakshma?, look! on Pampa's side What fair trees rise in blooming pride!

What climbing plants above them show Or hang their flowery garlands low!

See how the amorous creeper rings The wind-rocked trees to which she clings, As though a dame by love impelled With clasping arms her lover held.

Drunk with the varied scents that fill The balmy air, from hill to hill, From grove to grove, from tree to tree, The joyous wind is wandering free.

These gay trees wave their branches bent By blooms, of honey redolent.

There, slowly opening to the day, Buds with dark l.u.s.tre deck the spray.

The wild bee rests a moment where Each tempting flower is sweet and fair, Then, coloured by the pollen dyes, Deep in some odorous blossom lies.

Soon from his couch away he springs: To other trees his course he wings, And tastes the honeyed blooms that grow Where Pampa's lucid waters flow.

See, Lakshma?, see, how thickly spread With blossoms from the trees o'erhead, That gra.s.s the weary traveller woos With couches of a thousand hues, And beds on every height arrayed With red and yellow tints are laid, No longer winter chills the earth: A thousand flowerets spring to birth, And trees in rivalry a.s.sume Their vernal garb of bud and bloom.

How fair they look, how bright and gay With ta.s.selled flowers on every spray!

While each to each proud challenge flings Borne in the song the wild bee sings.

That mallard by the river edge Has bathed amid the reeds and sedge: Now with his mate he fondly plays And fires my bosom as I gaze.

Mandakini(534) is far renowned: No lovelier flood on earth is found; But all her fairest charms combined In this sweet stream enchant the mind.

O, if my love were here to look With me upon this lovely brook, Never for Ayodhya would I pine, Or wish that Indra's lot were mine.

If by my darling's side I strayed O'er the soft turf which decks the glade, Each craving thought were sweetly stilled, Each longing of my soul fulfilled.

But, now my love is far away, Those trees which make the woods so gay, In all their varied beauty dressed, Wake thoughts of anguish in my breast.

That lotus-covered stream behold Whose waters run so fresh and cold, Sweet rill, the wildfowl's loved resort, Where curlew, swan, and diver sport; Where with his consort plays the drake, And tall deer love their thirst to slake, While from each woody bank is heard The wild note of each happy bird.

The music of that joyous quire Fills all my soul with soft desire; And, as I hear, my sad thoughts fly To Sita of the lotus eye, Whom, lovely with her moonbright cheek, In vain mine eager glances seek.

Now turn, those chequered lawns survey Where hart and hind together stray.

Ah, as they wander at their will My troubled breast with grief they fill, While torn by hopeless love I sigh For Sita of the fawn-like eye.

If in those glades where, touched by spring, Gay birds their amorous ditties sing, Mine own beloved I might see, Then, brother, it were well with me: If by my side she wandered still, And this cool breeze that stirs the rill Touched with its gentle breath the brows Of mine own dear Videhan spouse.

For, Lakshma?, O how blest are those On whom the breath of Pampa blows, Dispelling all their care and gloom With sweets from where the lilies bloom!

How can my gentle love remain Alive amid the woe and pain, Where prisoned far away she lies,- My darling of the lotus eyes?

How shall I dare her sire to greet Whose lips have never known deceit?

How stand before the childless king And meet his eager questioning?

When banished by my sire's decree, In low estate, she followed me.

So pure, so true to every vow, Where is my gentle darling now?

How can I bear my widowed lot, And linger on where she is not, Who followed when from home I fled Distracted, disinherited?

My spirit sinks in hopeless pain When my fond glances yearn in vain For that dear face with whose bright eye The wors.h.i.+pped lotus scarce can vie.

Ah when, my brother, shall I hear That voice that rang so soft and clear, When, sweetly smiling as she spoke, From her dear lips gay laughter broke?

When worn with toil and love I strayed With Sita through the forest shade, No trace of grief was seen in her, My kind and thoughtful comforter.

How shall my faltering tongue relate To Queen Kausalya Sita's fate?

How answer when in wild despair She questions, Where is Sita, where?

Haste, brother, haste: to Bharat hie, On whose fond love I still rely.