BOOK IV

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## Canto I. Ráma’s Lament.

The princes stood by Pampá’s side(522) Which blooming lilies glorified. With troubled heart and sense o’erthrown There Ráma made his piteous moan. As the fair flood before him lay The reason of the chief gave way; And tender thoughts within him woke, As to Sumitrá’s son he spoke:

“How lovely Pampá’s waters show, Where streams of lucid crystal flow! What glorious trees o’erhang the flood Which blooms of opening lotus stud! Look on the banks of Pampá where Thick groves extend divinely fair; And piles of trees, like hills in size, Lift their proud summits to the skies. But thought of Bharat’s(523) pain and toil, And my dear spouse the giant’s spoil, Afflict my tortured heart and press My spirit down with heaviness. Still fair to me though sunk in woe Bright Pampá and her forest show. Where cool fresh waters charm the sight, And flowers of every hue are bright. The lotuses in close array Their passing loveliness display, And pard and tiger, deer and snake Haunt every glade and dell and brake. Those grassy spots display the hue Of topazes and sapphires’ blue, And, gay with flowers of every dye, With richly broidered housings vie. What loads of bloom the high trees crown, Or weigh the bending branches down! And creepers tipped with bud and flower Each spray and loaded limb o’erpower. Now cool delicious breezes blow, And kindle love’s voluptuous glow, When balmy sweetness fills the air, And fruit and flowers and trees are fair. Those waving woods, that shine with bloom, Each varied tint in turn assume. Like labouring clouds they pour their showers In rain or ever-changing flowers. Behold, those forest trees, that stand High upon rock and table-land, As the cool gales their branches bend, Their floating blossoms downward send. See, Lakshmaṇ, how the breezes play With every floweret on the spray. And sport in merry guise with all The fallen blooms and those that fall. See, brother, where the merry breeze Shakes the gay boughs of flowery trees, Disturbed amid their toil a throng Of bees pursue him, loud in song. The Koïls,(524) mad with sweet delight, The bending trees to dance invite; And in its joy the wild wind sings As from the mountain cave he springs. On speed the gales in rapid course, And bend the woods beneath their force, Till every branch and spray they bind In many a tangled knot entwined. What balmy sweets those gales dispense With cool and sacred influence! Fatigue and trouble vanish: such The magic of their gentle touch. Hark, when the gale the boughs has bent In woods of honey redolent, Through all their quivering sprays the trees Are vocal with the murmuring bees. The hills with towering summits rise, And with their beauty charm the eyes, Gay with the giant trees which bright With blossom spring from every height: And as the soft wind gently sways The clustering blooms that load the sprays, The very trees break forth and sing With startled wild bees’ murmuring. Thine eyes to yonder Cassias(525) turn Whose glorious clusters glow and burn. Those trees in yellow robes behold, Like giants decked with burnished gold. Ah me, Sumitrá’s son, the spring Dear to sweet birds who love and sing, Wakes in my lonely breast the flame Of sorrow as I mourn my dame. Love strikes me through with darts of fire, And wakes in vain the sweet desire. Hark, the loud Koïl swells his throat, And mocks me with his joyful note. I hear the happy wild-cock call Beside the shady waterfall. His cry of joy afflicts my breast By love’s absorbing might possessed. My darling from our cottage heard One morn in spring this shrill-toned bird, And called me in her joy to hear The happy cry that charmed her ear. See, birds of every varied voice Around us in the woods rejoice, On creeper, shrub, and plant alight, Or wing from tree to tree their flight. Each bird his kindly mate has found, And loud their notes of triumph sound, Blending in sweetest music like The distant warblings of the shrike. See how the river banks are lined With birds of every hue and kind. Here in his joy the Koïl sings, There the glad wild-cock flaps his wings. The blooms of bright Aśokas(526) where The song of wild bees fills the air, And the soft whisper of the boughs Increase my longing for my spouse. The vernal flush of flower and spray Will burn my very soul away. What use, what care have I for life If I no more may see my wife Soft speaker with the glorious hair, And eyes with silken lashes fair? Now is the time when all day long The Koïls fill the woods with song. And gardens bloom at spring’s sweet touch Which my beloved loved so much. Ah me, Sumitrá’s son, the fire Of sorrow, sprung from soft desire, Fanned by the charms the spring time shows, Will burn my heart and end my woes, Whose sad eyes look on each fair tree, But my sweet love no more may see. Ah me, Ah me, from hour to hour Love in my soul will wax in power, And spring, upon whose charms I gaze, Whose breath the heat of toil allays, With thoughts of her for whom I strain My hopeless eyes, increase my pain. As fire in summer rages through The forests thick with dry bamboo, So will my fawn eyed love consume My soul o’erwhelmed with thoughts of gloom. Behold, beneath each spreading tree The peacocks dance(527) in frantic glee, And, stirred by all the gales that blow, Their tails with jewelled windows glow, Each bird, in happy love elate, Rejoices with his darling mate. But sights like these of joy and peace My pangs of hopeless love increase. See on the mountain slope above The peahen languishing with love. Behold her now in amorous dance Close to her consort’s side advance. He with a laugh of joy and pride Displays his glittering pinions wide; And follows through the tangled dell The partner whom he loves so well. Ah happy bird! no giant’s hate Has robbed him of his tender mate; And still beside his loved one he Dances beneath the shade in glee. Ah, in this month when flowers are fair My widowed woe is hard to bear. See, gentle love a home may find In creatures of inferior kind. See how the peahen turns to meet Her consort now with love-drawn feet. So, Lakshmaṇ, if my large-eyed dear, The child of Janak still were here, She, by love’s thrilling influence led, Upon my breast would lay her head. These blooms I gathered from the bough Without my love are useless now. A thousand blossoms fair to see With passing glory clothe each tree That hangs its cluster-burthened head Now that the dewy months(528) are fled, But, followed by the bees that ply Their fragrant task, they fall and die. A thousand birds in wild delight Their rapture-breathing notes unite; Bird calls to bird in joyous strain, And turns my love to frenzied pain. O, if beneath those alien skies, There be a spring where Sítá lies, I know my prisoned love must be Touched with like grief, and mourn with me. But ah, methinks that dreary clime Knows not the touch of spring’s sweet time. How could my black eyed love sustain, Without her lord, so dire a pain? Or if the sweet spring come to her In distant lands a prisoner, How may his advent and her met On every side with taunt and threat? Ah, if the springtide’s languor came With soft enchantment o’er my dame, My darling of the lotus eye, My gently speaking love, would die; For well my spirit knows that she Can never live bereft of me With love that never wavered yet My Sítá’s heart, on me is set, Who, with a soul that ne’er can stray, With equal love her love repay. In vain, in vain the soft wind brings Sweet blossoms on his balmy wings; Delicious from his native snow, To me like fire he seems to glow. O, how I loved a breeze like this When darling Sítá shared the bliss! But now in vain for me it blows To fan the fury of my woes. That dark-winged bird that sought the skies Foretelling grief with warning cries, Sits on the tree where buds are gay, And pours glad music from the spray. That rover of the fields of air Will aid my love with friendly care, And me with gracious pity guide To my large-eyed Videhan’s side.(529) Hark, Lakshmaṇ, how the woods around With love-inspiring chants resound, Where birds in every bloom-crowned tree Pour forth their amorous minstrelsy. As though an eager gallant wooed A gentle maid by love subdued, Enamoured of her flowers the bee Darts at the wind-rocked Tila tree.(530) Aśoka, brightest tree that grows, That lends a pang to lovers’ woes, Hangs out his gorgeous bloom in scorn And mocks me as I weep forlorn. O Lakshmaṇ, turn thine eye and see Each blossom-laden Mango tree, Like a young lover gaily dressed Whom fond desire forbids to rest. Look, son of Queen Sumitrá through The forest glades of varied hue, Where blooms are bright and grass is green The Kinnars(531) with their loves are seen. See, brother, see where sweet and bright Those crimson lilies charm the sight, And o’er the flood a radiance throw Fair as the morning’s roseate glow. See, Pampá, most divinely sweet, The swan’s and mallard’s loved retreat, Shows her glad waters bright and clear, Where lotuses their heads uprear From the pure wave, and charm the view With mingled tints of red and blue. Each like the morning’s early beams Reflected in the crystal gleams; And bees on their sweet toil intent Weigh down each tender filament. There with gay lawns the wood recedes; There wildfowl sport amid the reeds, There roedeer stand upon the brink, And elephants descend to drink. The rippling waves which winds make fleet Against the bending lilies beat, And opening bud and flower and stem Gleam with the drops that hang on them. Life has no pleasure left for me While my dear queen I may not see, Who loved so well those blooms that vie With the full splendour of her eye. O tyrant Love, who will not let My bosom for one hour forget The lost one whom I yearn to meet, Whose words were ever kind and sweet. Ah, haply might my heart endure This hopeless love that knows not cure, If spring with all his trees in flower Assailed me not with ruthless power. Each lovely scene, each sound and sight Wherein, with her, I found delight, Has lost the charm so sweet of yore, And glads my widowed heart no more. On lotus buds I seem to gaze, Or blooms that deck Paláśa(532) sprays;(533)

But to my tortured memory rise The glories of my darling’s eyes. Cool breezes through the forest stray Gathering odours on their way, Enriched with all the rifled scent Of lotus flower and filament. Their touch upon my temples falls And Sítá’s fragrant breath recalls. Now look, dear brother, on the right Of Pampá towers a mountain height Where fairest Cassia trees unfold The treasures of their burnished gold. Proud mountain king! his woody side With myriad ores is decked and dyed, And as the wind-swept blossoms fall Their fragrant dust is stained with all. To yon high lands thy glances turn: With pendent fire they flash and burn, Where in their vernal glory blaze Paláśa flowers on leafless sprays. O Lakshmaṇ, look! on Pampá’s side What fair trees rise in blooming pride! What climbing plants above them show Or hang their flowery garlands low! See how the amorous creeper rings The wind-rocked trees to which she clings, As though a dame by love impelled With clasping arms her lover held. Drunk with the varied scents that fill The balmy air, from hill to hill, From grove to grove, from tree to tree, The joyous wind is wandering free. These gay trees wave their branches bent By blooms, of honey redolent. There, slowly opening to the day, Buds with dark lustre deck the spray. The wild bee rests a moment where Each tempting flower is sweet and fair, Then, coloured by the pollen dyes, Deep in some odorous blossom lies. Soon from his couch away he springs: To other trees his course he wings, And tastes the honeyed blooms that grow Where Pampá’s lucid waters flow. See, Lakshmaṇ, see, how thickly spread With blossoms from the trees o’erhead, That grass the weary traveller woos With couches of a thousand hues, And beds on every height arrayed With red and yellow tints are laid, No longer winter chills the earth: A thousand flowerets spring to birth, And trees in rivalry assume Their vernal garb of bud and bloom. How fair they look, how bright and gay With tasselled flowers on every spray! While each to each proud challenge flings Borne in the song the wild bee sings. That mallard by the river edge Has bathed amid the reeds and sedge: Now with his mate he fondly plays And fires my bosom as I gaze.

Mandákiní(534) is far renowned: No lovelier flood on earth is found; But all her fairest charms combined In this sweet stream enchant the mind. O, if my love were here to look With me upon this lovely brook, Never for Ayodhyá would I pine, Or wish that Indra’s lot were mine. If by my darling’s side I strayed O’er the soft turf which decks the glade, Each craving thought were sweetly stilled, Each longing of my soul fulfilled. But, now my love is far away, Those trees which make the woods so gay, In all their varied beauty dressed, Wake thoughts of anguish in my breast.

That lotus-covered stream behold Whose waters run so fresh and cold, Sweet rill, the wildfowl’s loved resort, Where curlew, swan, and diver sport; Where with his consort plays the drake, And tall deer love their thirst to slake, While from each woody bank is heard The wild note of each happy bird. The music of that joyous quire Fills all my soul with soft desire; And, as I hear, my sad thoughts fly To Sítá of the lotus eye, Whom, lovely with her moonbright cheek, In vain mine eager glances seek. Now turn, those chequered lawns survey Where hart and hind together stray. Ah, as they wander at their will My troubled breast with grief they fill, While torn by hopeless love I sigh For Sítá of the fawn-like eye. If in those glades where, touched by spring, Gay birds their amorous ditties sing, Mine own beloved I might see, Then, brother, it were well with me: If by my side she wandered still, And this cool breeze that stirs the rill Touched with its gentle breath the brows Of mine own dear Videhan spouse. For, Lakshmaṇ, O how blest are those On whom the breath of Pampá blows, Dispelling all their care and gloom With sweets from where the lilies bloom! How can my gentle love remain Alive amid the woe and pain, Where prisoned far away she lies,— My darling of the lotus eyes? How shall I dare her sire to greet Whose lips have never known deceit? How stand before the childless king And meet his eager questioning? When banished by my sire’s decree, In low estate, she followed me. So pure, so true to every vow, Where is my gentle darling now? How can I bear my widowed lot, And linger on where she is not, Who followed when from home I fled Distracted, disinherited? My spirit sinks in hopeless pain When my fond glances yearn in vain For that dear face with whose bright eye The worshipped lotus scarce can vie. Ah when, my brother, shall I hear That voice that rang so soft and clear, When, sweetly smiling as she spoke, From her dear lips gay laughter broke? When worn with toil and love I strayed With Sítá through the forest shade, No trace of grief was seen in her, My kind and thoughtful comforter. How shall my faltering tongue relate To Queen Kauśalyá Sítá’s fate? How answer when in wild despair She questions, Where is Sítá, where? Haste, brother, haste: to Bharat hie, On whose fond love I still rely. My life can be no longer borne, Since Sítá from my side is torn.”

Thus like a helpless mourner, bent By sorrow, Ráma made lament; And with wise counsel Lakshmaṇ tried To soothe his care, and thus replied: “O best of men, thy grief oppose, Nor sink beneath thy weight of woes. Not thus despond the great and pure And brave like thee, but still endure. Reflect what anguish wrings the heart When loving souls are forced to part; And, mindful of the coming pain, Thy love within thy breast restrain. For earth, though cooled by wandering streams, Lies scorched beneath the midday beams. Rávaṇ his steps to hell may bend, Or lower yet in flight descend; But be thou sure, O Raghu’s son, Avenging death he shall not shun. Rise, Ráma, rise: the search begin, And track the giant foul with sin. Then shall the fiend, though far he fly, Resign his prey or surely die. Yea, though the trembling monster hide With Sítá close to Diti’s(535) side, E’en there, unless he yield the prize, Slain by this wrathful hand he dies. Thy heart with strength and courage stay, And cast this weakling mood away. Our fainting hopes in vain revive Unless with firm resolve we strive. The zeal that fires the toiler’s breast Mid earthly powers is first and best. Zeal every check and bar defies, And wins at length the loftiest prize, In woe and danger, toil and care, Zeal never yields to weak despair. With zealous heart thy task begin, And thou once more thy spouse shalt win. Cast fruitless sorrow from thy soul, Nor let this love thy heart control. Forget not all thy sacred lore, But be thy noble self once more.”

He heard, his bosom rent by grief, The counsel of his brother chief; Crushed in his heart the maddening pain, And rose resolved and strong again. Then forth upon his journey went The hero on his task intent, Nor thought of Pampá’s lovely brook, Or trees which murmuring breezes shook, Though on dark woods his glances fell, On waterfall and cave and dell; And still by many a care distressed The son of Raghu onward pressed. As some wild elephant elate Moves through the woods in pride, So Lakshmaṇ with majestic gait Strode by his brother’s side. He, for his lofty spirit famed, Admonished and consoled; Showed Raghu’s son what duty claimed, And bade his heart be bold. Then as the brothers strode apace To Rishyamúka’s height, The sovereign of the Vánar race(536) Was troubled at the sight. As on the lofty hill he strayed He saw the chiefs draw near: A while their glorious forms surveyed, And mused in restless fear. His slow majestic step he stayed And gazed upon the pair. And all his spirit sank dismayed By fear too great to bear. When in their glorious might the best Of royal chiefs came nigh, The Vánars in their wild unrest Prepared to turn and fly. They sought the hermit’s sacred home(537) For peace and bliss ordained, And there, where Vánars loved to roam, A sure asylum gained.

## Canto II. Sugríva’s Alarm.

Sugríva moved by wondering awe The high-souled sons of Raghu saw, In all their glorious arms arrayed; And grief upon his spirit weighed. To every quarter of the sky He turned in fear his anxious eye, And roving still from spot to spot With troubled steps he rested not. He durst not, as he viewed the pair, Resolve to stand and meet them there; And drooping cheer and quailing breast The terror of the chief confessed. While the great fear his bosom shook, Brief counsel with his lords he took; Each gain and danger closely scanned, What hope in flight, what power to stand, While doubt and fear his bosom rent, On Raghu’s sons his eyes he bent, And with a spirit ill at ease Addressed his lords in words like these:

“Those chiefs with wandering steps invade The shelter of our pathless shade, And hither come in fair disguise Of hermit garb as Báli’s spies.”

Each lord beheld with troubled heart Those masters of the bowman’s art, And left the mountain side to seek Sure refuge on a loftier peak. The Vánar chief in rapid flight Found shelter on a towering height, And all the band with one accord Were closely gathered round their lord. Their course the same, with desperate leap Each made his way from steep to steep, And speeding on in wild career Filled every height with sudden fear. Each heart was struck with mortal dread, As on their course the Vánars sped, While trees that crowned the steep were bent And crushed beneath them as they went. As in their eager flight they pressed For safety to each mountain crest, The wild confusion struck with fear Tiger and cat and wandering deer. The lords who watched Sugríva’s will Were gathered on the royal hill, And all with reverent hands upraised Upon their king and leader gazed. Sugríva feared some evil planned, Some train prepared by Báli’s hand. But, skilled in words that charm and teach, Thus Hanumán(538) began his speech:

“Dismiss, dismiss thine idle fear, Nor dread the power of Báli here. For this is Malaya’s glorious hill(539) Where Báli’s might can work no ill. I look around but nowhere see The hated foe who made thee flee, Fell Báli, fierce in form and face: Then fear not, lord of Vánar race. Alas, in thee I clearly find The weakness of the Vánar kind, That loves from thought to thought to range, Fix no belief and welcome change. Mark well each hint and sign and scan, Discreet and wise, thine every plan. How may a king, with sense denied, The subjects of his sceptre guide?”

Hanúmán,(540) wise in hour of need, Urged on the chief his prudent rede. His listening ear Sugríva bent, And spake in words more excellent:

“Where is the dauntless heart that free From terror’s chilling touch can see Two stranger warriors, strong as those, Equipped with swords and shafts and bows, With mighty arms and large full eyes, Like glorious children of the skies? Báli my foe, I ween, has sent These chiefs to aid his dark intent. Hence doubt and fear disturb me still, For thousands serve a monarch’s will, In borrowed garb they come, and those Who walk disguised are counted foes. With secret thoughts they watch their time, And wound fond hearts that fear no crime. My foe in state affairs is wise, And prudent kings have searching eyes. By other hands they strike the foe: By meaner tools the truth they know. Now to those stranger warriors turn, And, less than king, their purpose learn. Mark well the trick and look of each; Observe his form and note his speech. With care their mood and temper sound, And, if their minds be friendly found, With courteous looks and words begin Their confidence and love to win. Then as my friend and envoy speak, And question what the strangers seek. Ask why equipped with shaft and bow Through this wild maze of wood they go. If they, O chief, at first appear Pure of all guile, in heart sincere, Detect in speech and look the sin And treachery that lurk within.”

He spoke: the Wind-God’s son obeyed. With ready zeal he sought the shade, And reached with hasty steps the wood Where Raghu’s son and Lakshmaṇ stood.(541)

## Canto III. Hanumán’s Speech.

The envoy in his faithful breast Pondered Sugríva’s high behest. From Rishyamúka’s peak he hied And placed him by the princes’ side. The Wind-God’s son with cautious art Had laid his Vánar form apart, And wore, to cheat the strangers eyes, A wandering mendicant’s disguise.(542) Before the heroes’ feet he bent And did obeisance reverent, And spoke, the glorious pair to praise, His words of truth in courteous phrase, High honour duly paid, the best Of all the Vánar kind addressed, With free accord and gentle grace, Those glories of their warrior race:

“O hermits, blest in vows, who shine Like royal saints or Gods divine, O best of young ascetics, say How to this spot you found your way, Scaring the troops of wandering deer And silvan things that harbour here Searching amid the trees that grow Where Pampá’s gentle waters flow. And lending from your brows a gleam Of glory to the lovely stream. Who are you, say, so brave and fair, Clad in the bark which hermits wear? I see you heave the frequent sigh, I see the deer before you fly. While you, for strength and valour dread, The earth, like lordly lions, tread, Each bearing in his hand a bow, Like Indra’s own, to slay the foe. With the grand paces of a bull, So bright and young and beautiful. The mighty arms you raise appear Like trunks which elephants uprear, And as you move this mountain-king(543) Is glorious with the light you bring. How have you reached, like Gods in face, Best lords of earth, this lonely place, With tresses coiled in hermit guise,(544) And splendours of those lotus eyes? As Gods who leave their heavenly sphere, Alike your beauteous forms appear. The Lords of Day and Night(545) might thus Stray from the skies to visit us. Heroic youth, so broad of chest, Fair with the beauty of the Blest, With lion shoulders, tall and strong, Like bulls who lead the lowing throng, Your arms, unmatched for grace and length, With massive clubs may vie in strength. Why do no gauds those limbs adorn Where priceless gems were meetly worn? Each noble youth is fit, I deem, To guard this earth, as lord supreme, With all her woods and seas, to reign From Meru’s peak to Vindhya’s chain. Your smooth bows decked with dyes and gold Are glorious in their masters’ hold, And with the arms of Indra(546) vie Which diamond splendours beautify. Your quivers glow with golden sheen, Well stored with arrows fleet and keen, Each gleaming like a fiery snake That joys the foeman’s life to take. As serpents cast their sloughs away And all their new born sheen display, So flash your mighty swords inlaid With burning gold on hilt and blade. Why are you silent, heroes? Why My questions hear nor deign reply? Sugríva, lord of virtuous mind, The foremost of the Vánar kind, An exile from his royal state, Roams through the land disconsolate. I, Hanumán, of Vánar race, Sent by the king have sought this place, For he, the pious, just, and true, In friendly league would join with you. Know, godlike youths, that I am one Of his chief lords, the Wind-God’s son. With course unchecked I roam at will, And now from Rishyamúka’s hill, To please his heart, his hope to speed, I came disguised in beggar’s weed.”

Thus Hanúmán, well trained in lore Of language, spoke, and said no more. The son of Raghu joyed to hear The envoy’s speech, and bright of cheer He turned to Lakshmaṇ by his side, And thus in words of transport cried:

“The counselor we now behold Of King Sugríva righteous-souled. His face I long have yearned to see, And now his envoy comes to me With sweetest words in courteous phrase Answer this mighty lord who slays His foemen, by Sugríva sent, This Vánar chief most eloquent. For one whose words so sweetly flow The whole Rig-veda(547) needs must know, And in his well-trained memory store The Yajush and the Sáman’s lore. He must have bent his faithful ear All grammar’s varied rules to hear. For his long speech how well he spoke! In all its length no rule he broke. In eye, on brow, in all his face The keenest look no guile could trace. No change of hue, no pose of limb Gave sign that aught was false in him. Concise, unfaltering, sweet and clear, Without a word to pain the ear. From chest to throat, nor high nor low, His accents came in measured flow. How well he spoke with perfect art That wondrous speech that charmed the heart, With finest skill and order graced In words that knew nor pause nor haste! That speech, with consonants that spring From the three seats of uttering,(548) Would charm the spirit of a foe Whose sword is raised for mortal blow. How may a ruler’s plan succeed Who lacks such envoy good at need? How fail, if one whose mind is stored With gifts so rare assist his lord? What plans can fail, with wisest speech Of envoy’s lips to further each?”

Thus Ráma spoke; and Lakshmaṇ taught In all the art that utters thought, To King Sugríva’s learned spy Thus made his eloquent reply: “Full well we know the gifts that grace Sugríva, lord of Vánar race, And hither turn our wandering feet That we that high-souled king may meet. So now our pleasant task shall be To do the words he speaks by thee.”

His prudent speech the Vánar heard, And all his heart with joy was stirred. And hope that league with them would bring Redress and triumph to his king.

## Canto IV. Lakshman’s Reply.

Cheered by the words that Ráma spoke, Joy in the Vánar’s breast awoke, And, as his friendly mood he knew, His thoughts to King Sugríva flew: “Again,” he mused, “my high-souled lord Shall rule, to kingly state restored; Since one so mighty comes to save, And freely gives the help we crave.”

Then joyous Hanumán, the best Of all the Vánar kind, addressed These words to Ráma, trained of yore In all the arts of speakers’ lore:(549) “Why do your feet this forest tread By silvan life inhabited, This awful maze of tree and thorn Which Pampá’s flowering groves adorn?”

He spoke: obedient to the eye Of Ráma, Lakshmaṇ made reply, The name and fortune to unfold Of Raghu’s son the lofty-souled: “True to the law, of fame unstained, The glorious Daśaratha reigned, And, steadfast in his duty, long Kept the four castes(550) from scathe and wrong. Through his wide realm his will was done, And, loved by all, he hated none. Just to each creature great and small, Like the Good Sire he cared for all. The Ágnishṭom,(551) as priests advised, And various rites he solemnized, Where ample largess ever paid The Bráhmans for their holy aid. Here Ráma stands, his heir by birth, Whose name is glorious in the earth: Sure refuge he of all oppressed, Most faithful to his sire’s behest. He, Daśaratha’s eldest born Whom gifts above the rest adorn, Lord of each high imperial sign,(552) The glory of his kingly line, Reft of his right, expelled from home, Came forth with me the woods to roam. And Sítá too, his faithful dame, Forth with her virtuous husband came, Like the sweet light when day is done Still cleaving to her lord the sun. And me his sweet perfections drew To follow as his servant true. Named Lakshmaṇ, brother of my lord Of grateful heart with knowledge stored Most meet is he all bliss to share, Who makes the good of all his care. While, power and lordship cast away, In the wild wood he chose to stay, A giant came,—his name unknown,— And stole the princess left alone. Then Diti’s son(553) who, cursed of yore, The semblance of a Rákshas wore, To King Sugríva bade us turn The robber’s name and home to learn. For he, the Vánar chief, would know The dwelling of our secret foe. Such words of hope spake Diti’s son, And sought the heaven his deeds had won. Thou hast my tale. From first to last Thine ears have heard whate’er has past. Ráma the mighty lord and I For refuge to Sugríva fly. The prince whose arm bright glory gained, O’er the whole earth as monarch reigned, And richest gifts to others gave, Is come Sugríva’s help to crave; Son of a king the surest friend Of virtue, him who loved to lend His succour to the suffering weak, Is come Sugríva’s aid to seek. Yes, Raghu’s son whose matchless hand Protected all this sea-girt land, The virtuous prince, my holy guide, For refuge seeks Sugríva’s side. His favour sent on great and small Should ever save and prosper all. He now to win Sugríva’s grace Has sought his woodland dwelling-place. Son of a king of glorious fame;— Who knows not Daśaratha’s name?— From whom all princes of the earth Received each honour due to worth;— Heir of that best of earthly kings, Ráma the prince whose glory rings Through realms below and earth and skies, For refuge to Sugríva flies. Nor should the Vánar king refuse The boon for which the suppliant sues, But with his forest legions speed To save him in his utmost need.”

Sumitrá’s son, his eyes bedewed With piteous tears, thus sighed and sued. Then, trained in all the arts that guide The speaker, Hanumán replied:

“Yea, lords like you of wisest thought, Whom happy fate has hither brought, Who vanquish ire and rule each sense, Must of our lord have audience. Reft of his kingdom, sad, forlorn, Once Báli’s hate now Báli’s scorn, Defeated, severed from his spouse, Wandering under forest boughs, Child of the Sun, our lord and king Sugríva will his succours bring, And all our Vánar hosts combined Will trace the dame you long to find.”

With gentle tone and winning grace Thus spake the chief of Vánar race, And then to Raghu’s son he cried: “Come, haste we to Sugríva’s side.”

He spoke, and for his words so sweet Good Lakshmaṇ paid all honour meet; Then turned and cried to Raghu’s son: “Now deem thy task already done, Because this chief of Vánar kind, Son of the God who rules the wind, Declares Sugríva’s self would be Assisted in his need by thee. Bright gleams of joy his cheek o’erspread As each glad word of hope he said; And ne’er will one so valiant deign To cheer our hearts with hope in vain.”

He spoke, and Hanumán the wise Cast off his mendicant disguise, And took again his Vánar form, Son of the God of wind and storm. High on his ample back in haste Raghu’s heroic sons he placed, And turned with rapid steps to find The sovereign of the Vánar kind.

## Canto V. The League.

From Rishyamúka’s rugged side To Malaya’s hill the Vánar hied, And to his royal chieftain there Announced the coming of the pair: “See, here with Lakshmaṇ Ráma stands Illustrious in a hundred lands. Whose valiant heart will never quail Although a thousand foes assail; King Daśaratha’s son, the grace And glory of Ikshváku’s race. Obedient to his father’s will He cleaves to sacred duty still. With rites of royal pomp and pride His sire the Fire-God gratified; Ten hundred thousand kine he freed, And priests enriched with ample meed; And the broad land protected, famed For truthful lips and passions tamed. Through woman’s guile his son has made His dwelling in the forest shade, Where, as he lived with every sense Subdued in hermit abstinence, Fierce Rávaṇ stole his wife, and he Is come a suppliant, lord, to thee. Now let all honour due be paid To these great chiefs who seek thine aid.”

Thus spake the Vánar prince, and, stirred With friendly thoughts, Sugríva heard. The light of joy his face o’erspread, And thus to Raghu’s son he said: “O Prince, in rules of duty trained, Caring for all with love unfeigned, Hanúmán’s tongue has truly shown The virtues that are thine alone. My chiefest glory, gain, and bliss, O stranger Prince, I reckon this, That Raghu’s son will condescend To seek the Vánar for his friend. If thou my true ally wouldst be Accept the pledge I offer thee, This hand in sign of friendship take, And bind the bond we ne’er will break.”

He spoke, and joy thrilled Ráma’s breast; Sugríva’s hand he seized and pressed And, transport beaming from his eye, Held to his heart his new ally. In wanderer’s weed disguised no more, His proper form Hanúmán wore. Then, wood with wood engendering,(554) came Neath his deft hands the kindled flame. Between the chiefs that fire he placed With wreaths of flowers and worship graced. And round its blazing glory went The friends with slow steps reverent.

Thus each to other pledged and bound In solemn league new transport found, And bent upon his dear ally The gaze he ne’er could satisfy. “Friend of my soul art thou: we share Each other’s joy, each other’s care;” Thus in the bliss that thrilled his breast Sugríva Raghu’s son addressed. From a high Sál a branch he tore Which many a leaf and blossom bore, And the fine twigs beneath them laid A seat for him and Ráma made. Then Hanumán with joyous mind, Son of the God who rules the wind, To Lakshmaṇ gave, his seat to be, The gay branch of a Sandal tree. Then King Sugríva with his eyes Still trembling with the sweet surprise Of the great joy he could not hide, To Raghu’s noblest scion cried: “O Ráma, racked with woe and fear, Spurned by my foes, I wander here. Reft of my spouse, forlorn I dwell Here in my forest citadel. Or wild with terror and distress Roam through the distant wilderness. Vext by my brother Báli long My soul has borne the scathe and wrong. Do thou, whose virtues all revere, Release me from my woe and fear. From dire distress thy friend to free Is a high task and worthy thee.”

He spoke, and Raghu’s son who knew All sacred duties men should do. The friend of justice, void of guile, Thus answered with a gentle smile: “Great Vánar, friends who seek my aid Still find their trust with fruit repaid. Báli, thy foe, who stole away Thy wife this vengeful hand shall slay. These shafts which sunlike flash and burn, Winged with the feathers of the hern, Each swift of flight and sure and dread, With even knot and pointed head, Fierce as the crashing fire-bolt sent By him who rules the firmament,(555) Shall reach thy wicked foe and like Infuriate serpents hiss and strike. Thou, Vánar King, this day shalt see The foe who long has injured thee Lie, like a shattered mountain, low, Slain by the tempest of my bow.”

Thus Ráma spake: Sugríva heard, And mighty joy his bosom stirred: As thus his champion he addressed: “Now by thy favour, first and best Of heroes, shall thy friend obtain His realm and darling wife again Recovered from the foe. Check thou mine elder brother’s might; That ne’er again his deadly spite May rob me of mine ancient right, Or vex my soul with woe.” The league was struck, a league to bring To Sítá fiends, and Vánar king(556) Apportioned bliss and bale. Through her left eye quick throbbings shot,(557) Glad signs the lady doubted not, That told their hopeful tale. The bright left eye of Báli felt An inauspicious throb that dealt A deadly blow that day. The fiery left eyes of the crew Of demons felt the throb, and knew The herald of dismay.

## Canto VI. The Tokens.

With joy that sprang from hope restored To Ráma spake the Vánar lord: “I know, by wise Hanúmán taught, Why thou the lonely wood hast sought. Where with thy brother Lakshmaṇ thou Hast sojourned, bound by hermit vow; Have heard how Sítá, Janak’s child, Was stolen in the pathless wild, How by a roving Rákshas she Weeping was reft from him and thee; How, bent on death, the giant slew The vulture king, her guardian true, And gave thy widowed breast to know A solitary mourner’s woe. But soon, dear Prince, thy heart shall be From every trace of sorrow free; For I thy darling will restore, Lost like the prize of holy lore.(558) Yea, though in heaven the lady dwell, Or prisoned in the depths of hell, My friendly care her way shall track And bring thy ransomed darling back. Let this my promise soothe thy care, Nor doubt the words I truly swear. Saints, fiends, and dwellers of the skies Shall find thy wife a bitter prize, Like the rash child who rues too late The treacherous lure of poisoned cate. No longer, Prince, thy loss deplore: Thy darling wife will I restore. ’Twas she I saw: my heart infers That shrinking form was doubtless hers, Which gaint Rávaṇ, fierce and dread, Bore swiftly through the clouds o’erhead Still writhing in his strict embrace Like helpless queen of serpent race,(559) And from her lips that sad voice came Shrieking thine own and Lakshmaṇ’s name. High on a hill she saw me stand With comrades twain on either hand. Her outer robe to earth she threw, And with it sent her anklets too. We saw the glittering tokens fall, We found them there and kept them all. These will I bring: perchance thine eyes The treasured spoils will recognize.”

He ceased: then Raghu’s son replied To the glad tale, and eager cried: “Bring them with all thy speed: delay No more, dear friend, but haste away.”

Thus Ráma spoke. Sugríva hied Within the mountain’s caverned side, Impelled by love that stirred each thought The precious tokens quickly brought, And said to Raghu’s son: Behold This garment and these rings of gold. In Ráma’s hand with friendly haste The jewels and the robe he placed. Then, like the moon by mist assailed, The tear-dimmed eyes of Ráma failed; That burst of woe unmanned his frame, Woe sprung from passion for his dame, And with his manly strength o’erthrown, He fell and cried, Ah me! mine own! Again, again close to his breast The ornaments and robe he pressed, While the quick pants that shook his frame As from a furious serpent came. On his dear brother standing nigh He turned at length his piteous eye; And, while his tears increasing ran, In bitter wail he thus began: “Look, brother, and behold once more The ornaments and robe she wore, Dropped while the giant bore away In cruel arras his struggling prey, Dropped in some quiet spot, I ween, Where the young grass was soft and green; For still untouched by spot or stain Their former beauty all retain.”

He spoke with many a tear and sigh, And thus his brother made reply: “The bracelets thou hast fondly shown, And earrings, are to me unknown, But by long service taught I greet The anklets of her honoured feet.”(560)

Then to Sugríva Ráma, best Of Raghu’s sons, these words addressed:

“Say to what quarter of the sky The cruel fiend was seen to fly, Bearing afar my captured wife, My darling dearer than my life. Speak, Vánar King, that I may know Where dwells the cause of all my woe; The fiend for whose transgression all The giants by this hand shall fall. He who the Maithil lady stole And kindled fury in my soul, Has sought his fate in senseless pride And opened Death’s dark portal wide. Then tell me, Vánar lord, I pray, The dwelling of my foe, And he, beneath this hand, to-day To Yáma’s halls shall go.”

## Canto VII. Ráma Consoled.

With longing love and woe oppressed The Vánar chief he thus addressed: And he, while sobs his utterance broke, Raised up his reverent hands and spoke:

“O Raghu’s son, I cannot tell Where now that cruel fiend may dwell, Declare his power and might, or trace The author of his cursed race. Still trust the promise that I make And let thy breast no longer ache. So will I toil, nor toil in vain, That thou thy consort mayst regain. So will I work with might and skill That joy anew thy heart shall fill: The valour of my soul display, And Rávaṇ and his legions slay. Awake, awake! unmanned no more Recall the strength was thine of yore. Beseems not men like thee to wear A weak heart yielding to despair. Like troubles, too, mine eyes have seen, Lamenting for a long-lost queen; But, by despair unconquered yet, My strength of mind I ne’er forget. Far more shouldst thou of lofty soul Thy passion and thy tears control, When I, of Vánar’s humbler strain, Weep not for her in ceaseless pain. Be firm, be patient, nor forget The bounds the brave of heart have set In loss, in woe, in strife, in fear, When the dark hour of death is near. Up! with thine own brave heart advise: Not thus despond the firm and wise. But he who gives his childish heart To choose the coward’s weakling part, Sinks, like a foundered vessel, deep In waves of woe that o’er him sweep. See, suppliant hand to hand I lay, And, moved by faithful love, I pray. Give way no more to grief and gloom, But all thy native strength resume. No joy on earth, I ween, have they Who yield their souls to sorrow’s sway. Their glory fades in slow decline: ’Tis not for thee to grieve and pine. I do but hint with friendly speech The wiser