Nor from the Lord, the lofty-souled,

  Their worship or their praise withhold.

  Heart of the Gods, supreme is he,

  The One who ne’er shall cease to be.”

  On Sítá then he looked and smiled;

  “List to my words” he said, “dear child,

  Let not thy gentle breast retain

  One lingering trace of wrath or pain.

  When by the fire thy truth be proved,

  By love for thee his will was moved.

  The furious flame thy faith confessed

  Which shrank not from the awful test:

  And thou, in every heart enshrined,

  Shalt live the best of womankind.”

  He ceased: he bade the three adieu,

  And home to heaven exulting flew.

  Canto CXXII. Indra’s Boon.

  THEN INDRA, HE whose fiery stroke

  Slew furious Páka, turned and spoke:

  “A glorious day, O chief, is this,

  Rich with the fruit of lasting bliss.

  Well pleased are we: we love thee well

  Now speak, thy secret wishes tell.”

  Thus spake the sovereign of the sky,

  And this was Ráma’s glad reply:

  “If I have won your grace, incline

  To grant this one request of mine.

  Restore, O King: the Vánar dead

  Whose blood for me was nobly shed.

  To life and strength my friends recall,

  And bring them back from Yáma’s hall.

  When, fresh in might the warriors rise,

  Prepare a feast to glad their eyes.

  Let fruits of every season glow,

  And streams of purest water flow.”

  Thus Raghu’s son, great-hearted, prayed,

  And Indra thus his answer made:

  “High is the boon thou seekest: none

  Should win this grace but Raghu’s son.

  Yet, faithful to the word I spake,

  I grant the prayer for thy dear sake.

  The Vánars whom the giants slew

  Their life and vigour shall renew.

  Their strength repaired, their gashes healed

  Whose torrents dyed the battle field,

  The warrior hosts from death shall rise

  Like sleepers when their slumber flies.”

  Restored from Yáma’s dark domain

  The Vánar legions filled the plain,

  And, round the royal chief arrayed,

  With wondering hearts obeisance paid.

  Each God the son of Raghu praised,

  And cried as loud his voice he raised:

  “Turn, King, to fair Ayodhyá speed,

  And leave thy friends of Vánar breed.

  Thy true devoted consort cheer

  After long days of woe and fear.

  Bharat, thy loyal brother, see,

  A hermit now for love of thee.

  The tears of Queen Kauśalyá dry,

  And light with joy each stepdame’s eye;

  Then consecrated king of men

  Make glad each faithful citizen.”

  They ceased: and borne on radiant cars

  Sought their bright home amid the stars.

  Canto CXXIII. The Magic Car.

  THEN SLEPT THE tamer of his foes

  And spent the night in calm repose.

  Vibhishaṇ came when morning broke,

  And hailed the royal chief, and spoke:

  “Here wait thee precious oil and scents,

  And rich attire and ornaments.

  The brimming urns are newly filled,

  And women in their duty skilled,

  With lotus-eyes, thy call attend,

  Assistance at thy bath to lend.”

  “Let others,” Ráma cried, “desire

  These precious scents, this rich attire,

  I heed not such delights as these,

  For faithful Bharat, ill at ease,

  Watching for me is keeping now

  Far far away his rigorous vow.

  By Bharat’s side I long to stand,

  I long to see my fatherland.

  Far is Ayodhyá: long, alas,

  The dreary road and hard to pass.”

  “One day,” Vibhishaṇ cried, “one day

  Shall bear thee o’er that length of way.

  Is not the wondrous chariot mine,

  Named Pushpak, wrought by hands divine.

  The prize which Rávaṇ seized of old

  Victorious o’er the God of Gold?

  This chariot, kept with utmost care,

  Will waft thee through the fields of air,

  And thou shalt light unwearied down

  In fair Ayodhyá’s royal town.

  But yet if aught that I have done

  Has pleased thee well, O Raghu’s son;

  If still thou carest for thy friend,

  Some little time in Lanká spend;

  There after toil of battle rest

  Within my halls an honoured guest.”

  Again the son of Raghu spake:

  “Thy life was perilled for my sake.

  Thy counsel gave me priceless aid:

  All honours have been richly paid.

  Scarce can my love refuse, O best

  Of giant kind, thy last request.

  But still I yearn once more to see

  My home and all most dear to me;

  Nor can I brook one hour’s delay:

  Forgive me, speed me on my way.”

  He ceased: the magic car was brought.

  Of yore by Viśvakarmá wrought.

  In sunlike sheen it flashed and blazed;

  And Raghu’s sons in wonder gazed.

  Canto CXXIV. The Departure.

  THE GIANT LORD the chariot viewed,

  And humbly thus his speech renewed:

  “Behold, O King, the car prepared:

  Now be thy further will declared.”

  He ceased: and Ráma spake once more:

  “These hosts who thronged to Lanká’s shore

  Their faith and might have nobly shown,

  And set thee on the giants’ throne.

  Let pearls and gems and gold repay

  The feats of many a desperate day,

  That all may go triumphant hence

  Proud of their noble recompense.”

  Vibhishaṇ, ready at his call,

  With gold and gems enriched them all.

  Then Ráma clomb the glorious car

  That shone like day’s resplendent star.

  There in his lap he held his dame

  Vailing her eyes in modest shame.

  Beside him Lakshmaṇ took his stand,

  Whose mighty bow still armed his hand,

  “O King Vibhishaṇ,” Ráma cried,

  “O Vánar chiefs, so long allied,

  My comrades till the foemen fell,

  List, for I speak a long farewell.

  The task, in doubt and fear begun,

  With your good aid is nobly done.

  Leave Lanká’s shore, your steps retrace,

  Brave warriors of the Vánar race.

  Thou, King Sugríva, true, through all,

  To friendship’s bond and duty’s call,

  Seek far Kishkindhá with thy train

  And o’er thy realm in glory reign.

  Farewell, Vibhishaṇ, Lanká’s throne

  Won by our arms is now thine own,

  Thou, mighty lord, hast nought to dread

  From heavenly Gods by Indra led.

  My last farewell, 0 King, receive,

  For Lanká’s isle this hour I leave.”

  Loud rose their cry in answer: “We,

  O Raghu’s son, would go with thee.

  With thee delighted would we stray

  Where sweet Ayodhyá’s groves are gay,

  Then in the joyous synod view

  King-making balm thy brows bedew;

  Our homage to Kauśalyá pay,

  And hasten on our homeward way.”

  Their prayer the son of Raghu heard,

  And spoke, his heart with rapture stirred:

  “Sugríva, O my faithful friend,

  Vibhishaṇ and ye chiefs, ascend.

  A joy beyond all joys the best

  Will fill my overflowing breast,

  If girt by you, O noble band,

  I seek again my native land.”

  With Vánar lords in danger tried

  Sugríva sprang to Ráma’s side,

  And girt by chiefs of giant kind

  Vibhíshan’s step was close behind.

  Swift through the air, as Ráma chose,

  The wondrous car from earth arose.

  And decked with swans and silver wings

  Bore through the clouds its freight of kings.

  Canto CXXV. The Return.

  THEN RÁMA, SPEEDING through the skies,

  Bent on the earth his eager eyes:

  “Look, Sítá, see, divinely planned

  And built by Viśvakarmá’s hand,

  Lanká the lovely city rest

  Enthroned on Mount Trikúṭa’s crest

  Behold those fields, ensanguined yet,

  Where Vánar hosts and giants met.

  There, vainly screened by charm and spell,

  The robber Rávan fought and fell.

  There knelt Mandodarí1021 and shed

  Her tears in floods for Rávan dead.

  And every dame who loved him sent

  From her sad heart her wild lament.

  There gleams the margin of the deep,

  Where, worn with toil, we sank to sleep.

  Look, love, the unconquered sea behold,

  King Varuṇ’s home ordained of old,

  Whose boundless waters roar and swell

  Rich with their store of pearl and shell.

  O see, the morning sun is bright

  On fair Hiraṇyanábha’s1022 height,

  Who rose from Ocean’s sheltering breast

  That Hanumán might stay and rest.

  There stretches, famed for evermore,

  The wondrous bridge from shore to shore.

  The worlds, to life’s remotest day,

  Due reverence to the work shall pay,

  Which holier for the lapse of time

  Shall give release from sin and crime.

  Now thither bend, dear love, thine eyes

  Where green with groves Kishkindhá lies,

  The seat of King Sugríva’s reign,

  Where Báli by this hand was slain.1023

  There Ríshyamúka’s hill behold

  Bright gleaming with embedded gold.

  There too my wandering foot I set,

  There King Sugríva first I met.

  And, where yon trees their branches wave,

  My promise of assistance gave.

  There, flushed with lilies, Pampá shines

  With banks which greenest foliage lines,

  Where melancholy steps I bent

  And mourned thee with a mad lament.

  There fierce Kabandha, spreading wide

  His giant arms, in battle died.

  Turn, Sítá, turn thine eyes and see

  In Janasthán that glorious tree:

  There Rávaṇ, lord of giants slew

  Our friend Jaṭáyus brave and true,

  Thy champion in the hopeless strife,

  Who gave for thee his noble life.

  Now mark that glade amid the trees

  Where once we lived as devotees.

  See, see our leafy cot between

  Those waving boughs of densest green,

  Where Rávaṇ seized his prize and stole

  My love the darling of my soul.

  O, look again: beneath thee gleams

  Godávarí the best of streams,

  Whose lucid waters sweetly glide

  By lilies that adorn her side.

  There dwelt Agastya, holy sage,

  In plantain-sheltered hermitage.

  See Śarabhanga’s humble shed

  Which sovereign Indra visited.

  See where the gentle hermits dwell

  Neath Atri’s rule who loved us well;

  Where once thine eyes were blest to see

  His sainted dame who talked with thee.

  Now rest thine eyes with new delight

  On Chitrakúṭa’s woody height,

  See Jumna flashing in the sun

  Through groves of brilliant foliage run.

  Screened by the shade of spreading boughs.

  There Bharadvája keeps his vows,

  There Gangá, river of the skies,

  Rolls the sweet wave that purifies,

  There Śringavera’s towers ascend

  Where Guha reigns, mine ancient friend.

  I see, I see thy glittering spires,

  Ayodhyá, city of my sires.

  Bow down, bow down thy head, my sweet,

  Our home, our long-lost home to greet.”

  Canto CXXVI. Bharat Consoled.

  BUT RÁMA BADE the chariot stay,

  And halting in his airy way,

  In Bharadvája’s holy shade

  His homage to the hermit paid.

  “O saint,” he cried, “I yearn to know

  My dear Ayodhyá’s weal and woe.

  O tell me that the people thrive,

  And that the queens are yet alive.”

  Joy gleamed in Bhardvája’s eye,

  Who gently smiled and made reply:

  “Thy brother, studious of thy will,

  Is faithful and obedient still.

  In tangled twine he coils his hair:

  Thy safe return is all his care.

  Before thy shoes he humbly bends,

  And to thy house and realm attends.

  When first these dreary years began,

  When first I saw the banished man,

  With Sítá, in his hermit coat,

  At this sad heart compassion smote.

  My breast with tender pity swelled:

  I saw thee from thy home expelled,

  Reft of all princely state, forlorn,

  A hapless wanderer travel-worn,

  Firm in thy purpose to fulfil

  Thy duty and thy father’s will.

  But boundless is my rapture now:

  Triumphant, girt with friends, art thou.

  Where’er thy wandering steps have been,

  Thy joy and woe mine eyes have seen.

  Thy glorious deeds to me art known,

  The Bráhmans saved, the foes o’erthrown.

  Such power have countless seasons spent

  In penance and devotion lent.

  Thy virtues, best of chiefs, I know,

  And now a boon would fain bestow.

  This hospitable gift1024 receive:

  Then with the dawn my dwelling leave.”

  The bended head of Ráma showed

  His reverence for the grace bestowed;

  Then for each brave companion’s sake

  He sought a further boon and spake:

  “O let that mighty power of thine

  The road to fair Ayodhyá line

  With trees where fruit of every hue

  The Vánars’ eye and taste may woo,

  And flowers of every season, sweet

  With stores of honeyed juice, may meet.”

  The hero ceased: the hermit bent

  His reverend head in glad assent;

  And swift, as Bharadvája willed,

  The prayer of Ráma was fulfilled.

  For many a league the lengthening road

  Trees thick with fruit and blossom showed

  With luscious beauty to entice

  The taste like trees of Paradise.

  The Vánars passed beneath the shade

  Of that delightful colonnade,

  Still tasting with unbounded glee

  The treasures of each wondrous tree.

  Canto CXXVII. Ráma’s Message.

  BUT RÁMA, WHEN he first looked down

  And saw afar Ayodhyá’s town,

  Had called Hanumán to his side,

  The chief on whom his heart relied,

  And said: “Brave Vánar, good at need,

  Haste onward, to Ayodhyá speed,

  And learn, I pray, if all be well

  With those who in the palace dwell.

  But as thou speedest on thy way

  Awhile at Śringavera stay.

  Tell Guha the Nishádas’ lord,

  That victor, with my queen restored,

  In health and strength with many a friend

  Homeward again my steps I bend.

  Thence by the road that he will show

  On to Ayodhyá swiftly go.

  There with my love my brother greet,

  And all our wondrous tale repeat.

  Say that victorious in the strife

  I come with Lakshmaṇ and my wife,

  Then mark with keenest eye each trace

  Of joy or grief on Bharat’s face.

  Be all his gestures closely viewed,

  Each change of look and attitude.

  Where breathes the man who will not cling

  To all that glorifies a king?

  Where beats the heart that can resign

  An ancient kingdom, nor repine

  To lose a land renowned for breeds

  Of elephants and warrior steeds?

  If, won by custom day by day,

  My brother Bharat thirsts for sway,

  Still let him rule the nations, still

  The throne of old Ikshváku fill.

  Go, mark him well: his feelings learn,

  And, ere we yet be near return.”

  He ceased: and, garbed in human form,

  Forth sped Hanúmán swift as storm.

  Sublime in air he rose, and through

  The region of his father flew.

  He saw far far beneath his feet

  Where Gangá’s flood and Jumna meet.

  Descending from the upper air

  He entered Śringavera, where

  King Guha’s heart was well content

  To hear the message Ráma sent.

  Then, with his mighty strength renewed,

  The Vánar chief his way pursued,

  Válúkiní was far behind,

  And Gomatí with forests lined,

  And golden fields and pastures gay

  With flocks and herds beneath him lay.

  Then Nandigráma charmed his eye

  Where flowers were bright with every dye,

  And trees of lovely foliage made

  With meeting boughs delightful shade,

  Where women watched in trim array

  Their little sons’ and grandsons’ play.

  His eager eye on Bharat fell

 

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