The Ramayana Part 173

Six times he shot: six heads were cleft; Six giants dead on earth were left.

Nor ceased he yet: his bow he strained, And from the sounding weapon rained A storm of shafts whose fiery glare Filled all the region of the air; And chieftains dropped before his aim Like moths that perish in the flame.

Earth glistened where the arrows fell, As s.h.i.+nes in autumn nights a dell Which fireflies, flas.h.i.+ng through the gloom, With momentary light illume.

But Indrajit, when Bali's son(953) The victory o'er the foe had won, Saw with a fury-kindled eye His mangled steeds and driver die; Then, lost in air, he fled the fight, And vanished from the victor's sight.

The G.o.ds and saints glad voices raised, And Angad for his virtue praised; And Raghu's sons bestowed the meed Of honour due to valorous deed.

Compelled his shattered car to quit, Rage filled the soul of Indrajit, Who brooked not, strong by Brahma's grace Defeat from one of Vanar race.

In magic mist concealed from view His bow the treacherous warrior drew, And Raghu's sons were first to feel The tempest of his winged steel.

Then when his arrows failed to kill The princes who defied him still, He bound them with the serpent noose,(954) The magic bond which none might loose.

Canto XLV. Indrajit's Victory.

Brave Rama, burning still to know The station of his artful foe, Gave to ten chieftains, mid the best Of all the host, his high behest.

Swift rose in air the Vanar band: Each region of the sky they scanned: But Rava?'s son by magic skill Checked them with arrows swifter still, When streams of blood from chest and side The dauntless Vanars' limbs had dyed, The giant in his misty shroud Showed like the sun obscured by cloud.

Like serpents hissing through the air, His arrows smote the princely pair; And from their limbs at every rent A stream of rus.h.i.+ng blood was sent.

Like Kinsuk trees they stood, that show In spring their blossoms' crimson glow.

Then Indrajit with fury eyed Ikshvaku's royal sons, and cried:

"Not mighty Indra can a.s.sail Or see me when I choose to veil My form in battle: and can ye, Children of earth, contend with me?

The arrowy noose this hand has shot Has bound you with a hopeless knot; And, slaughtered by my shafts and bow, To Yama's hall this hour ye go."

He spoke, and shouted. Then anew The arrows from his bowstring flew, And pierced, well aimed with perfect art, Each limb and joint and vital part.

Transfixed with shafts in every limb, Their strength relaxed, their eyes grew dim.

As two tall standards side by side, With each sustaining rope untied, Fall levelled by the howling blast, So earth's majestic lords at last Beneath the arrowy tempest reeled, And prostrate pressed the battle field.

Canto XLVI. Indrajit's Triumph.

The Vanar chiefs whose piercing eyes Scanned eagerly the earth and skies, Saw the brave brothers wounded sore Transfixed with darts and stained with gore.

The monarch of the Vanar race, With wise Vibhisha?, reached the place; Angad and Nila came behind, And others of the forest kind, And standing with Hanuman there Lamented for the fallen pair.

Their melancholy eyes they raised; In fruitless search a while they gazed.

But magic arts Vibhisha? knew; Not hidden from his keener view, Though veiled by magic from the rest, The son of Rava? stood confessed.

Fierce Indrajit with savage pride The fallen sons of Raghu eyed, And every giant heart was proud As thus the warrior cried aloud:

"Slain by mine arrows Rama lies, And closed in death are Lakshma?'s eyes.

Dead are the mighty princes who Dusha? and Khara smote and slew.

The G.o.ds and fiends may toil in vain To free them from the binding chain.

The haughty chief, my father's dread, Who drove him sleepless from his bed, While Lanka, troubled like a brook In rain time, heard his name and shook: He whose fierce hate our lives pursued Lies helpless by my shafts subdued.

Now fruitless is each wondrous deed Wrought by the race the forests breed, And fruitless every toil at last Like cloudlets when the rains are past."

Then rose the shout of giants loud As thunder from a bursting cloud, When, deeming Rama, dead, they raised Their voices and the conqueror praised.

Still motionless, as lie the slain, The brothers pressed the b.l.o.o.d.y plain, No sigh they drew, no breath they heaved, And lay as though of life bereaved.

Proud of the deed his art had done, To Lanka's town went Rava?'s son, Where, as he pa.s.sed, all fear was stilled, And every heart with triumph filled.

Sugriva trembled as he viewed Each fallen prince with blood bedewed, And in his eyes which overflowed With tears the flame of anger glowed.

"Calm," cried Vibhisha?, "calm thy fears, And stay the torrent of thy tears.

Still must the chance of battle change, And victory still delight to range.

Our cause again will she befriend And bring us triumph in the end.

This is not death: each prince will break The spell that holds him, and awake; Nor long shall numbing magic bind The mighty arm, the lofty mind."

He ceased: his finger bathed in dew Across Sugriva's eyes he drew; From dulling mist his vision freed, And spoke these words to suit the need: "No time is this for fear: away With fainting heart and weak delay.

Now, e'en the tear which sorrow wrings From loving eyes destruction brings.

Up, on to battle at the head Of those brave troops which Rama led.

Or guardian by his side remain Till sense and strength the prince regain.

Soon shall the trance-bound pair revive, And from our hearts all sorrow drive.

Though prostrate on the earth he lie, Deem not that Rama's death is nigh; Deem not that Lakshmi will forget Or leave her darling champion yet.

Rest here and be thy heart consoled; Ponder my words, be firm and bold.

I, foremost in the battlefield, Will rally all who faint or yield.

Their staring eyes betray their fear; They whisper each in other's ear.

They, when they hear my cheering cry And see the friend of Rama nigh, Will cast their gloom and fears away Like faded wreaths of yesterday."

Thus calmed he King Sugriva's dread; Then gave new heart to those who fled.

Fierce Indrajit, his soul on fire With pride of conquest, sought his sire, Raised reverent hands, and told him all, The battle and the princes' fall.

Rejoicing at his foes' defeat Upsprang the monarch from his seat, Girt by his giant courtiers: round His warrior son his arms he wound, Close kisses on his head applied, And heard again how Rama died.

Canto XLVII. Sita.

Still on the ground where Rama slept Their faithful watch the Vanars kept.

There Angad stood o'erwhelmed with grief And many a lord and warrior chief; And, ranged in densest ma.s.s around, Their tree-armed legions held the ground.

Far ranged each Vanar's eager eye, Now swept the land, now sought the sky, All fearing, if a leaf was stirred, A Rakshas in the sound they heard.

The lord of Lanka in his hall, Rejoicing at his foeman's fall, Commanded and the warders came Who ever watched the Maithil dame.

"Go," cried the Rakshas king, "relate To Janak's child her husband's fate.

Low on the earth her Rama lies, And dark in death are Lakshma?'s eyes.

Bring forth my car and let her ride To view the chieftains side by side.

The lord to whom her fancy turned For whose dear sake my love she spurned, Lies smitten, as he fiercely led The battle, with his brother dead.

Lead forth the royal lady: go Her husband's lifeless body show.

Then from all doubt and terror free Her softening heart will turn to me."

They heard his speech: the car was brought; That shady grove the warders sought Where, mourning Rama night and day, The melancholy lady lay.

They placed her in the car and through The yielding air they swiftly flew.

The lady looked upon the plain, Looked on the heaps of Vanar slain, Saw where, triumphant in the fight, Thronged the fierce rovers of the night, And Vanar chieftains, mournful-eyed, Watched by the fallen brothers' side.

There stretched upon his gory bed Each brother lay as lie the dead, With shattered mail and splintered bow Pierced by the arrows of the foe.

When on the pair her eyes she bent, Burst from her lips a wild lament Her eyes o'erflowed, she groaned and sighed And thus in trembling accents cried:

Canto XLVIII. Sita's Lament.