The sanskrit epics, p.10
The Sanskrit Epics, page 10
And reverence to each river paid.160
They reached the southern shore at last,
And gaily on their journey passed.
A little space beyond there stood
A gloomy awe-inspiring wood.
The monarch’s noble son began
To question thus the holy man:
“Whose gloomy forest meets mine eye
Like some vast cloud that fills the sky?
Pathless and dark it seems to be,
Where birds in thousands wander free;
Where shrill cicadas’ cries resound,
And fowl of dismal note abound.
Lion, rhinoceros, and bear,
Boar, tiger, elephant, are there,
There shrubs and thorns run wild:
Dháo, Sál, Bignonia, Bel,161 are found,
And every tree that grows on ground.
How is the forest styled?”
The glorious saint this answer made:
“Dear child of Raghu, hear
Who dwells within the horrid shade
That looks so dark and drear.
Where now is wood, long ere this day
Two broad and fertile lands,
Malaja and Karúsha lay,
Adorned by heavenly hands.
Here, mourning friendship’s broken ties,
Lord Indra of the thousand eyes
Hungered and sorrowed many a day,
His brightness soiled with mud and clay,
When in a storm of passion he
Had slain his dear friend Namuchi.
Then came the Gods and saints who bore
Their golden pitchers brimming o’er
With holy streams that banish stain,
And bathed Lord Indra pure again.
When in this land the God was freed
From spot and stain of impious deed
For that his own dear friend he slew,
High transport thrilled his bosom through.
Then in his joy the lands he blessed,
And gave a boon they long possessed:
“Because these fertile lands retain
The washings of the blot and stain,”
’Twas thus Lord Indra sware,
“Malaja and Karúsha’s name
Shall celebrate with deathless fame
My malady and care.”162
“So be it,” all the Immortals cried,
When Indra’s speech they heard,
And with acclaim they ratified
The names his lips conferred.
Long time, O victor of thy foes,
These happy lands had sweet repose,
And higher still in fortune rose.
At length a spirit, loving ill,
Táḍaká, wearing shapes at will,
Whose mighty strength, exceeding vast,
A thousand elephants, surpassed,
Was to fierce Sunda, lord and head
Of all the demon armies, wed.
From her, Lord Indra’s peer in might
Giant Márícha sprang to light:
And she, a constant plague and pest,
These two fair realms has long distressed.
Now dwelling in her dark abode
A league away she bars the road:
And we, O Ráma, hence must go
Where lies the forest of the foe.
Now on thine own right arm rely,
And my command obey:
Smite the foul monster that she die,
And take the plague away.
To reach this country none may dare
Fallen from its old estate,
Which she, whose fury naught can bear,
Has left so desolate.
And now my truthful tale is told
How with accursed sway
The spirit plagued this wood of old,
And ceases not to-day.”
Canto XXVII. The Birth Of Tádaká.
WHEN THUS THE sage without a peer
Had closed that story strange to hear,
Ráma again the saint addressed
To set one lingering doubt at rest:
“O holy man, ’tis said by all
That spirits’ strength is weak and small:
How can she match, of power so slight,
A thousand elephants in might?”
And Viśvámitra thus replied
To Raghu’s son the glorified:
“Listen, and I will tell thee how
She gained the strength that arms her now.
A mighty spirit lived of yore;
Suketu was the name he bore.
Childless was he, and free from crime
In rites austere he passed his time.
The mighty Sire was pleased to show
His favour, and a child bestow.
Táḍaká named, most fair to see,
A pearl among the maids was she,
And matched, for such was Brahmá’s dower,
A thousand elephants in power.
Nor would the Eternal Sire, although
The spirit longed, a son bestow
That maid in beauty’s youthful pride
Was given to Sunda for a bride.
Her son, Márícha was his name,
A giant, through a curse, became.
She, widowed, dared with him molest
Agastya,163 of all saints the best.
Inflamed with hunger’s wildest rage,
Roaring she rushed upon the sage.
When the great hermit saw her near,
On speeding in her fierce career,
He thus pronounced Márícha’s doom:
“A giant’s form and shape assume.”
And then, by mighty anger swayed,
On Táḍaká this curse he laid:
“Thy present form and semblance quit,
And wear a shape thy mood to fit;
Changed form and feature by my ban,
A fearful thing that feeds on man.”
She, by his awful curse possessed,
And mad with rage that fills her breast,
Has on this land her fury dealt
Where once the saint Agastya dwelt.
Go, Ráma, smite this monster dead,
The wicked plague, of power so dread,
And further by this deed of thine
The good of Bráhmans and of kine.
Thy hand alone can overthrow,
In all the worlds, this impious foe.
Nor let compassion lead thy mind
To shrink from blood of womankind;
A monarch’s son must ever count
The people’s welfare paramount,
And whether pain or joy he deal
Dare all things for his subjects’ weal;
Yea, if the deed bring praise or guilt,
If life be saved or blood be spilt:
Such, through all time, should be the care
Of those a kingdom’s weight who bear.
Slay, Ráma, slay this impious fiend,
For by no law her life is screened.
So Manthará, as bards have told,
Virochan’s child, was slain of old
By Indra, when in furious hate
She longed the earth to devastate.
So Kávya’s mother, Bhrigu’s wife,
Who loved her husband as her life,
When Indra’s throne she sought to gain,
By Vishṇu’s hand of yore was slain.
By these and high-souled kings beside,
Struck down, have lawless women died.”
Canto XXVIII. The Death Of Tádaká.
THUS SPOKE THE saint. Each vigorous word
The noble monarch’s offspring heard,
And, reverent hands together laid,
His answer to the hermit made:
“My sire and mother bade me aye
Thy word, O mighty Saint, obey
So will I, O most glorious, kill
This Táḍaká who joys in ill,
For such my sire’s, and such thy will.
To aid with mine avenging hand
The Bráhmans, kine, and all the land,
Obedient, heart and soul, I stand.”
Thus spoke the tamer of the foe,
And by the middle grasped his bow.
Strongly he drew the sounding string
That made the distant welkin ring.
Scared by the mighty clang the deer
That roamed the forest shook with fear,
And Táḍaká the echo heard,
And rose in haste from slumber stirred.
In wild amaze, her soul aflame
With fury toward the spot she came.
When that foul shape of evil mien
And stature vast as e’er was seen
The wrathful son of Raghu eyed,
He thus unto his brother cried:
“Her dreadful shape, O Lakshmaṇ, see,
A form to shudder at and flee.
The hideous monster’s very view
Would cleave a timid heart in two.
Behold the demon hard to smite,
Defended by her magic might.
My hand shall stay her course to-day,
And shear her nose and ears away.
No heart have I her life to take:
I spare it for her sex’s sake.
My will is but, with minished force,
To check her in her evil course.”
While thus he spoke, by rage impelled
Roaring as she came nigh,
The fiend her course at Ráma held
With huge arms tossed on high.
Her, rushing on, the seer assailed
With a loud cry of hate;
And thus the sons of Raghu hailed:
“Fight, and be fortunate.”
Then from the earth a horrid cloud
Of dust the demon raised,
And for awhile in darkling shroud
Wrapt Raghu’s sons amazed.
Then calling on her magic power
The fearful fight to wage,
She smote him with a stony shower,
Till Ráma burned with rage.
Then pouring forth his arrowy rain
That stony flood to stay,
With winged darts, as she charged amain,
He shore her hands away.
As Táḍaká still thundered near
Thus maimed by Ráma’s blows,
Lakshmaṇ in fury severed sheer
The monster’s ears and nose.
Assuming by her magic skill
A fresh and fresh disguise,
She tried a thousand shapes at will,
Then vanished from their eyes.
When Gádhi’s son of high renown
Still saw the stony rain pour down
Upon each princely warrior’s head,
With words of wisdom thus he said:
“Enough of mercy, Ráma, lest
This sinful evil-working pest,
Disturber of each holy rite,
Repair by magic arts her might.
Without delay the fiend should die,
For, see, the twilight hour is nigh.
And at the joints of night and day
Such giant foes are hard to slay.”
Then Ráma, skilful to direct
His arrow to the sound,
With shafts the mighty demon checked
Who rained her stones around.
She sore impeded and beset
By Ráma and his arrowy net,
Though skilled in guile and magic lore,
Rushed on the brothers with a roar.
Deformed, terrific, murderous, dread,
Swift as the levin on she sped,
Like cloudy pile in autumn’s sky,
Lifting her two vast arms on high,
When Ráma smote her with a dart,
Shaped like a crescent, to the heart.
Sore wounded by the shaft that came
With lightning speed and surest aim,
Blood spouting from her mouth and side,
She fell upon the earth and died.
Soon as the Lord who rules the sky
Saw the dread monster lifeless lie,
He called aloud, Well done! well done!
And the Gods honoured Raghu’s son.
Standing in heaven the Thousand-eyed,
With all the Immortals, joying cried:
“Lift up thine eyes, O Saint, and see
The Gods and Indra nigh to thee.
This deed of Ráma’s boundless might
Has filled our bosoms with delight,
Now, for our will would have it so,
To Raghu’s son some favour show.
Invest him with the power which naught
But penance gains and holy thought,
Those heavenly arms on him bestow
To thee entrusted long ago
By great Kriśáśva best of kings,
Son of the Lord of living things.
More fit recipient none can be
Than he who joys it following thee;
And for our sakes the monarch’s seed
Has yet to do a mighty deed.”
He spoke; and all the heavenly train
Rejoicing sought their homes again,
While honour to the saint they paid.
Then came the evening’s twilight shade,
The best of hermits overjoyed
To know the monstrous fiend destroyed,
His lips on Ráma’s forehead pressed,
And thus the conquering chief addressed:
“O Ráma gracious to the sight.
Here will we pass the present night,
And with the morrow’s earliest ray
Bend to my hermitage our way.”
The son of Daśaratha heard,
Delighted, Viśvámitra’s word,
And as he bade, that night he spent
In Táḍaká’s wild wood, content.
And the grove shone that happy day,
Freed from the curse that on it lay,
Like Chaitraratha164 fair and gay.
Canto XXIX. The Celestial Arms.
THAT NIGHT THEY slept and took their rest;
And then the mighty saint addressed,
With pleasant smile and accents mild
These words to Raghu’s princely child:
“Well pleased am I. High fate be thine,
Thou scion of a royal line.
Now will I, for I love thee so,
All heavenly arms on thee bestow.
Victor with these, whoe’er oppose,
Thy hand shall conquer all thy foes,
Though Gods and spirits of the air,
Serpents and fiends, the conflict dare.
I’ll give thee as a pledge of love
The mystic arms they use above,
For worthy thou to have revealed
The weapons I have learnt to wield.165
First, son of Raghu, shall be thine
The arm of Vengeance, strong, divine:
The arm of Fate, the arm of Right,
And Vishṇu’s arm of awful might:
That, before which no foe can stand,
The thunderbolt of Indra’s hand;
And Śiva’s trident, sharp and dread,
And that dire weapon Brahmá’s Head.
And two fair clubs, O royal child,
One Charmer and one Pointed styled
With flame of lambent fire aglow,
On thee, O Chieftain, I bestow.
And Fate’s dread net and Justice’ noose
That none may conquer, for thy use:
And the great cord, renowned of old,
Which Varuṇ ever loves to hold.
Take these two thunderbolts, which I
Have got for thee, the Moist and Dry.
Here Śiva’s dart to thee I yield,
And that which Vishṇu wont to wield.
I give to thee the arm of Fire,
Desired by all and named the Spire.
To thee I grant the Wind-God’s dart,
Named Crusher, O thou pure of heart,
This arm, the Horse’s Head, accept,
And this, the Curlew’s Bill yclept,
And these two spears, the best e’er flew,
Named the Invincible and True.
And arms of fiends I make thine own,
Skull-wreath and mace that smashes bone.
And Joyous, which the spirits bear,
Great weapon of the sons of air.
Brave offspring of the best of lords,
I give thee now the Gem of swords,
And offer next, thine hand to arm,
The heavenly bards’ beloved charm.
Now with two arms I thee invest
Of never-ending Sleep and Rest,
With weapons of the Sun and Rain,
And those that dry and burn amain;
And strong Desire with conquering touch,
The dart that Káma prizes much.
I give the arm of shadowy powers
That bleeding flesh of men devours.
I give the arms the God of Gold
And giant fiends exult to hold.
This smites the foe in battle-strife,
And takes his fortune, strength, and life.
I give the arms called False and True,
And great Illusion give I too;
The hero’s arm called Strong and Bright
That spoils the foeman’s strength in fight.
I give thee as a priceless boon
The Dew, the weapon of the Moon,
And add the weapon, deftly planned,
That strengthens Viśvakarmá’s hand.
The Mortal dart whose point is chill,
And Slaughter, ever sure to kill;
All these and other arms, for thou
Art very dear, I give thee now.
Receive these weapons from my hand,
Son of the noblest in the land.”
Facing the east, the glorious saint
Pure from all spot of earthly taint,
To Ráma, with delighted mind,
That noble host of spells consigned.
He taught the arms, whose lore is won
Hardly by Gods, to Raghu’s son.
He muttered low the spell whose call
Summons those arms and rules them all
And, each in visible form and frame,
Before the monarch’s son they came.
They stood and spoke in reverent guise
To Ráma with exulting cries:
“O noblest child of Raghu, see,
Thy ministers and thralls are we.”
With joyful heart and eager hand
Ráma received the wondrous band,
And thus with words of welcome cried:
“Aye present to my will abide.”
Then hasted to the saint to pay
Due reverence, and pursued his way.
