The Ramayana Part 151

Come, Sita, in luxurious bowers Spend with our lord thy happy hours; The mighty lord who makes his own The treasures of the worlds o'erthrown."

Then, as a tear bedewed her eye, The hapless lady made reply: "I loathe, with heart and soul detest The shameful life your words suggest.

Eat, if you will, this mortal frame: My soul rejects the sin and shame.

A homeless wanderer though he be, In him my lord, my life I see, And, till my earthly days be done, Will cling to great Ikshvaku's son."

Then with fierce eyes on Sita set They cried again with taunt and threat: Each licking with her fiery tongue The lip that to her bosom hung, And menacing the lady's life With axe, or spear or murderous knife: "Hear, Sita, and our words obey, Or perish by our hands to-day.

Thy love for Raghu's son forsake, And Rava? for thy husband take, Or we will rend thy limbs apart And banquet on thy quivering heart.

Now from her body strike the head, And tell the king the dame is dead.

Then by our lord's commandment she A banquet for our band shall be.

Come, let the wine be quickly brought That frees each heart from saddening thought.

Then to the western gate repair, And we will dance and revel there."

Canto XXV. Sita's Lament.

On the bare earth the lady sank, And trembling from their presence shrank Like a strayed fawn, when night is dark, And hungry wolves around her bark.

Then to a shady tree she crept, And thought upon her lord and wept.

By fear and bitter woe oppressed She bathed the beauties of her breast With her hot tears' incessant flow, And found no respite from her woe.

As shakes a plantain in the breeze She shook, and fell on trembling knees; While at each demon's furious look Her cheek its native hue forsook.

She lay and wept and made her moan In sorrow's saddest undertone, And, wild with grief, with fear appalled, On Rama and his brother called: "O dear Kausalya,(842) hear me cry!

Sweet Queen Sumitra,(843) list my sigh!

True is the saw the wise declare: Death comes not to relieve despair.

'Tis vain for dame or man to pray; Death will not hear before his day; Since I, from Rama's sight debarred, And tortured by my cruel guard, Still live in hopeless woe to grieve And loathe the life I may not leave, Here, like a poor deserted thing, My limbs upon the ground I fling, And, like a bark beneath the blast, Shall sink oppressed with woes at last.

Ah, blest are they, supremely blest, Whose eyes upon my lord may rest; Who mark his lion port, and hear His gentle speech that charms the ear.

Alas, what antenatal crime, What trespa.s.s of forgotten time Weighs on my soul, and bids me bow Beneath this load of misery now?"

Canto XXVI. Sita's Lament.

"I Rama's wife, on that sad day, By Rava?'s arm was borne away, Seized, while I sat and feared no ill, By him who wears each form at will.

A helpless captive, left forlorn To demons' threats and taunts and scorn, Here for my lord I weep and sigh, And worn with woe would gladly die.

For what is life to me afar From Rama of the mighty car?

The robber in his fruitless sin Would hope his captive's love to win.

My meaner foot shall never touch The demon whom I loathe so much.

The senseless fool! he knows me not, Nor the proud soul his love would blot.

Yea, limb from limb will I be rent, But never to his prayer consent; Be burnt and perish in the fire, But never meet his base desire.

My lord was grateful, true and wise, And looked on woe with pitying eyes; But now, recoiling from the strife He pities not his captive wife.

Alone in Janasthan he slew The thousands of the Rakshas crew.

His arm was strong, his heart was brave, Why comes he not to free and save?

Why blame my lord in vain surmise?

He knows not where his lady lies.

O, if he knew, o'er land and sea His feet were swift to set me free; This Lanka, girdled by the deep, Would fall consumed, a shapeless heap, And from each ruined home would rise A Rakshas widow's groans and cries."

Canto XXVII. Trijata's Dream.

Their threats unfeared, their counsel spurned, The demons' b.r.e.a.s.t.s with fury burned.

Some sought the giant king to bear The tale of Sita's fixt despair.

With threats and taunts renewed the rest Around the weeping lady pressed.

But Trija?a, of softer mould, A Rakshas matron wise and old, With pity for the captive moved, In words like these the fiends reproved: "Me, me," she cried, "eat me, but spare The spouse of Dasaratha's heir.

Last night I dreamt a dream; and still The fear and awe my bosom chill; For in that dream I saw foreshown Our race by Rama's hand o'erthrown.

I saw a chariot high in air, Of ivory exceeding fair.

A hundred steeds that chariot drew As swiftly through the clouds it flew, And, clothed in white, with wreaths that shone, The sons of Raghu rode thereon.

I looked and saw this lady here, Clad in the purest white, appear High on the snow white hill whose feet The angry waves of ocean beat.

And she and Rama met at last Like light and sun when night is past.

Again I saw them side by side.

On Rava?'s car they seemed to ride, And with the princely Lakshma? flee To northern realms beyond the sea.

Then Rava?, shaved and shorn, besmeared With oil from head to foot, appeared.

He quaffed, he raved: his robes were red: Fierce was his eye, and bare his head.

I saw him from his chariot thrust; I saw him rolling in the dust.

A woman came and dragged away The stricken giant where he lay, And on a car which a.s.ses drew The monarch of our race she threw.

He rose erect, he danced and laughed, With thirsty lips the oil he quaffed, Then with wild eyes and streaming mouth Sped on the chariot to the south.(844) Then, dropping oil from every limb, His sons the princes followed him, And k.u.mbhakar?a,(845) shaved and shorn, Was southward on a camel borne.

Then royal Lanka reeled and fell With gate and tower and citadel.

This ancient city, far-renowned: All life within her walls was drowned; And the wild waves of ocean rolled O'er Lanka and her streets of gold.

Warned by these signs I bid you fly; Or by the hand of Rama die, Whose vengeance will not spare the life Of one who vexed his faithful wife.

Your bitter taunts and threats forgo: Comfort the lady in her woe, And humbly pray her to forgive; For so you may be spared and live."

[I omit the 28th and 29th Cantos as an unmistakeable interpolation.

Instead of advancing the story it goes back to Canto XVII, containing a lamentation of Sita after Rava? has left her, and describes the the auspicious signs sent to cheer her, the throbbing of her left eye, arm, and side. The Canto is found in the Bengal recension. Gorresio translates it. and observes: "I think that Chapter XXVIII.-The Auspicious Signs-is an addition, a later interpolation by the Rhapsodists. It has no bond of connexion either with what precedes or follows it, and may be struck out not only without injury to, but positively to the advantage of the poem.

The metre in which this chapter is written differs from that which is generally adopted in the course of the poem."]

Canto x.x.x. Hanuman's Deliberation.

The Vanar watched concealed: each word Of Sita and the fiends he heard, And in a maze of anxious thought His quick-conceiving bosom wrought.

"At length my watchful eyes have seen, Pursued so long, the Maithil queen, Sought by our Vanar hosts in vain From east to west, from main to main.

A cautious spy have I explored The palace of the Rakhshas lord, And thoroughly learned, concealed from sight, The giant monarch's power and might.

And now my task must be to cheer The royal dame who sorrows here.

For if I go, and soothe her not, A captive in this distant spot, She, when she finds no comfort nigh, Will sink beneath her woes and die.

How shall my tale, if unconsoled I leave her, be to Rama told?

How shall I answer Raghu's son, "No message from my darling, none?"

The husband's wrath, to fury fanned, Will scorch me lifeless where I stand, Or if I urge my lord the king To Lanka's isle his hosts to bring, In vain will be his zeal, in vain The toil, the danger, and the pain.

Yea, this occasion must I seize That from her guard the lady frees,(846) To win her ear with soft address And whisper hope in dire distress.

Shall I, a puny Vanar, choose The Sanskrit men delight to use?

If, as a man of Brahman kind, I speak the tongue by rules refined, The lady, yielding to her fears, Will think 'tis Rava?'s voice she hears.

I must a.s.sume my only plan- The language of a common(847) man.

Yet, if the lady sees me nigh, In terror she will start and cry; And all the demon band, alarmed, Will come with various weapons armed, With their wild shouts the grove will fill, And strive to take me, or to kill.