The Ramayana Part 89

Whose pleasant flood from side to side With swans and geese is beautified, And fair banks crowded with the deer That steal from every covert near.

The peac.o.c.k's cry is loud and shrill From many a tall and lovely hill, Green-belted by the trees that wave Full blossoms o'er the rock and cave.

Like elephants whose huge fronts glow With painted streaks, the mountains show Long lines of gold and silver sheen With copper's darker hues between.

With every tree each hill is graced, Where creepers blossom interlaced.

Look where the Sal's long branches sway, And palms their fanlike leaves display; The date-tree and the Jak are near, And their long stems Tamalas rear.

See the tall Mango lift his head, Asokas all their glory spread, The Ketak her sweet buds unfold, And Champacs hang their cups of gold.(450) The spot is pure and pleasant: here Are mult.i.tudes of birds and deer.

O Lakshma?, with our father's friend What happy hours we here shall spend!"

He spoke: the conquering Lakshma? heard, Obedient to his brother's word.

Raised by his toil a cottage stood To shelter Rama in the wood, Of ample size, with leaves o'erlaid, Of hardened earth the walls were made.

The strong bamboos his hands had felled For pillars fair the roof upheld, And rafter, beam, and lath supplied Well interwrought from side to side.

Then Sami(451) boughs he deftly spread Enlaced with knotted cord o'erhead, Well thatched above from ridge to eaves With holy gra.s.s, and reed, and leaves.

The mighty chief with careful toil Had cleared the ground and smoothed the soil Where now, his loving labour done, Rose a fair home for Raghu's son.

Then when his work was duly wrought, G.o.davaris sweet stream he sought, Bathed, plucked the lilies, and a store Of fruit and berries homeward bore.

Then sacrifice he duly paid, And wooed the G.o.ds their hopes to aid, And then to Rama proudly showed The cot prepared for his abode.

Then Raghu's son with Sita gazed Upon the home his hands had raised, And transport thrilled his bosom through His leafy hermitage to view.

The glorious son of Raghu round His brother's neck his arms enwound, And thus began his sweet address Of deep-felt joy and gentleness: "Well pleased am I, dear lord, to see This n.o.ble work performed by thee.

For this,-sole grace I can bestow,- About thy neck mine arms I throw.

So wise art thou, thy breast is filled With grateful thoughts, in duty skilled, Our mighty father, free from stain, In thee, his offspring, lives again."

Thus spoke the prince, who lent a grace To fortune, pride of Raghu's race; Then in that spot whose pleasant shade Gave store of fruit, content he stayed.

With Lakshma? and his Maithil spouse He spent his day's neath sheltering boughs, As happy as a G.o.d on high Lives in his mansion in the sky.

Canto XVI. Winter.

While there the high-souled hero spent His tranquil hours in sweet content, The glowing autumn pa.s.sed, and then Came winter so beloved of men.

One morn, to bathe, at break of day To the fair stream he took his way.

Behind him, with the Maithil dame Bearing a pitcher Lakshma? came, And as he went the mighty man Thus to his brother chief began:

"The time is come, to thee more dear Than all the months that mark the year: The gracious seasons' joy and pride, By which the rest are glorified.

A robe of h.o.a.ry rime is spread O'er earth, with corn engarlanded.

The streams we loved no longer please, But near the fire we take our ease.

Now pious men to G.o.d and shade Offer young corn's fresh sprouted blade, And purge away their sins with rice Bestowed in humble sacrifice.

Rich stores of milk delight the swain, And hearts are cheered that longed for gain, Proud kings whose b.r.e.a.s.t.s for conquests glow Lead bannered troops to smite the foe.

Dark is the north: the Lord of Day To Yama's south(452) has turned away: And she-sad widow-s.h.i.+nes no more, Reft of the bridal mark(453) she wore.

Himalaya's hill, ordained of old The treasure-house of frost and cold, Scarce conscious of the feebler glow, Is truly now the Lord of Snow.

Warmed by the noontide's genial rays Delightful are the glorious days: But how we shudder at the chill Of evening shadows and the rill!

How weak the sun, how cold the breeze!

How white the rime on gra.s.s and trees!

The leaves are sere, the woods have lost Their blossoms killed by nipping frost.

Neath open skies we sleep no more: December's nights with rime are h.o.a.r: Their triple watch(454) in length extends With hours the shortened daylight lends.

No more the moon's sun-borrowed rays Are bright, involved in misty haze, As when upon the mirror's sheen The breath's obscuring cloud is seen.

E'en at the full the faint beams fail To struggle through the darksome veil: Changed like her hue, they want the grace That parts not yet from Sita's face.

Cold is the western wind, but how Its piercing chill is heightened now, Blowing at early morning twice As furious with its breath of ice!

See how the dewy tears they weep The barley, wheat, and woodland steep, Where, as the sun goes up the sky, The curlew and the saras cry.

See where the rice plants scarce uphold Their full ears tinged with paly gold, Bending their ripe heads slowly down Fair as the date tree's flowery crown.

Though now the sun has mounted high Seeking the forehead of the sky, Such mist obscures his struggling beams, No bigger than the moon he seems.

Though weak at first, his rays at length Grow pleasant in their noonday strength, And where a while they chance to fall Fling a faint splendour over all.

See, o'er the woods where gra.s.s is wet With h.o.a.ry drops that cling there yet, With soft light clothing earth and bough There steals a tender glory now.

Yon elephant who longs to drink, Still standing on the river's brink, Plucks back his trunk in s.h.i.+vering haste From the cold wave he fain would taste.

The very fowl that haunt the mere Stand doubtful on the bank, and fear To dip them in the wintry wave As cowards dread to meet the brave.

The frost of night, the rime of dawn Bind flowerless trees and glades of lawn: Benumbed in apathetic chill Of icy chains they slumber still.

You hear the hidden saras cry From floods that wrapped in vapour lie, And frosty-s.h.i.+ning sands reveal Where the unnoticed rivers steal.

The h.o.a.ry rime of dewy night, And suns that glow with tempered light Lend fresh cool flavours to the rill That sparkles from the topmost hill.

The cold has killed the lily's pride: Leaf, filament, and flower have died: With chilling breath rude winds have blown, The withered stalk is left alone.

At this gay time, O n.o.blest chief, The faithful Bharat, worn by grief, Lives in the royal town where he Spends weary hours for love of thee.

From t.i.tles, honour, kingly sway, From every joy he turns away: Couched on cold earth, his days are pa.s.sed With scanty fare and hermit's fast.

This moment from his humble bed He lifts, perhaps, his weary head, And girt by many a follower goes To bathe where silver Sarju flows.

How, when the frosty morn is dim, Shall Sarju be a bath for him Nursed with all love and tender care, So delicate and young and fair.

How bright his hue! his brilliant eye With the broad lotus leaf may vie.

By fortune stamped for happy fate, His graceful form is tall and straight.

In duty skilled, his words are truth: He proudly rules each l.u.s.t of youth.

Though his strong arm smites down the foe, In gentle speech his accents flow.

Yet every joy has he resigned And cleaves to thee with heart and mind.

Thus by the deeds that he has done A name in heaven has Bharat won, For in his life he follows yet Thy steps, O banished anch.o.r.et.

Thus faithful Bharat, n.o.bly wise, The proverb of the world belies: "No men, by mothers' guidance led, The footsteps of their fathers tread."

How could Kaikeyi, blest to be Spouse of the king our sire, and see A son like virtuous Bharat, blot Her glory with so foul a plot!"

Thus in fraternal love he spoke, And from his lips reproaches broke: But Rama grieved to hear him chide The absent mother, and replied:

"Cease, O beloved, cease to blame Our royal father's second dame.

Still speak of Bharat first in place Of old Ikshvaku's princely race.

My heart, so firmly bent but now To dwell in woods and keep my vow, Half melting as I hear thee speak Of Bharat's love, grows soft and weak, With tender joy I bring to mind His speeches ever sweet and kind.

That dear as Amrit took the sense With most enchanting influence.

Ah, when shall I, no more to part, Meet Bharat of the mighty heart?

When, O my brother, when shall we The good and brave Satrughna see?"

Thus as he poured his fond lament The son of Raghu onward went: They reached the river, and the three Bathed them in fair G.o.davari.

Libations of the stream they paid To every deity and shade, With hymns of praise, the Sun on high And sinless G.o.ds to glorify.

Fresh from the purifying tide Resplendent Rama came, With Lakshma? ever by his side, And the sweet Maithil dame.

So Rudra s.h.i.+nes by worlds adored, In glory undefiled, When Nandi(455) stands beside his lord, And King Himalaya's child.(456)

Canto XVII. Surpanakha.

The bathing and the prayer were o'er; He turned him from the gra.s.sy sh.o.r.e, And with his brother and his spouse Sought his fair home beneath the boughs.

Sita and Lakshma? by his side, On to his cot the hero hied, And after rites at morning due Within the leafy shade withdrew.

Then, honoured by the devotees, As royal Rama sat at ease, With Sita near him, o'er his head A canopy of green boughs spread, He shone as s.h.i.+nes the Lord of Night By Chitra's(457) side, his dear delight.

With Lakshma? there he sat and told Sweet stories of the days of old, And as the pleasant time he spent With heart upon each tale intent, A giantess, by fancy led, Came wandering to his leafy shed.

Fierce Surpa?akha,-her of yore The Ten-necked tyrant's mother bore,- Saw Rama with his n.o.ble mien Bright as the G.o.ds in heaven are seen; Him from whose brow a glory gleamed, Like lotus leaves his full eyes beamed: Long-armed, of elephantine gait, With hair close coiled in hermit plait: In youthful vigour, n.o.bly framed, By glorious marks a king proclaimed: Like some bright lotus l.u.s.trous-hued, With young Kandarpa's(458) grace endued: As there like Indra's self he shone, She loved the youth she gazed upon.

She grim of eye and foul of face Loved his sweet glance and forehead's grace: She of unlovely figure, him Of stately form and shapely limb: She whose dim locks disordered hung, Him whose bright hair on high brows clung: She whose fierce accents counselled fear, Him whose soft tones were sweet to hear: She whose dire form with age was dried, Him radiant in his youthful pride: She whose false lips maintained the wrong, Him in the words of virtue strong: She cruel-hearted, stained with sin, Him just in deed and pure within.

She, hideous fiend, a thing to hate, Him formed each eye to captivate: Fierce pa.s.sion in her bosom woke, And thus to Raghu's son she spoke: