The Rámáyan of Válmíki - 59

And Hanumán his speech renewed:
“O lady, by thy lord’s decree
I come a messenger to thee.
Thy lord is safe with steadfast friends,
And greeting to his queen he sends,
And Lakshmaṇ, ever faithful bows
His reverent head to Ráma’s spouse.”
Through all her frame the rapture ran,
As thus again the dame began:
“Now verily the truth I know
Of the wise saw of long ago:
“Once only in a hundred years
True joy to living man appears.”
He marked her rapture-beaming hue,
And nearer to the lady drew,
But at each onward step he took
Suspicious fear her spirit shook.
“Alas, Alas,” she cried in fear.
“False is the tale I joyed to hear.
’Tis Rávaṇ, ’tis the fiend, who tries
To mock me with a new disguise.
If thou, to wring my woman’s heart,
Hast changed thy shape by magic art,
And wouldst a helpless dame beguile,
The wicked deed is doubly vile.
But no: that fiend thou canst not be:
Such joy I had from seeing thee.
But if my fancy does not err,
And thou art Ráma’s messenger,
The glories of my lord repeat:
For to these ears such words are sweet.”
The Vánar knew the lady’s thought,(856)
And gave the answer fondly sought:
“Bright as the sun that lights the sky
Dear as the Moon to every eye.
He scatters blessings o’er the land
Like bounties from Vaiśravaṇ’s(857) hand.
Like Vishṇu strong and unsubdued,
Unmatched in might and fortitude.
Wise, truthful as the Lord of Speech,
With gentle words he welcomes each.
Of noblest mould and form is he,
Like love’s incarnate deity.
He quells the fury of the foe,
And strikes when justice prompts the blow.
Safe in the shadow of his arm
The world is kept from scathe and harm.
Now soon shall Rávaṇ rue his theft,
And fall, of realm and life bereft.
For Ráma’s wrathful hand shall wing
His shafts against the giant king.
The day, O Maithil Queen, is near
When he and Lakshmaṇ will be here,
And by their side Sugríva lead
His countless hosts of Vánar breed.
Sugríva’s servant, I, by name
Hanumán, by his order came.
With desperate leap I crossed the sea
To Lanká’s isle in search of thee,
No traitor, gentle dame, am I:
Upon my word and faith rely.”


Canto XXXV. Hanumán’s Speech.

With joyous heart she heard him tell
Of the great lord she loved so well,
And in sweet accents, soft and low,
Spoke, half forgetful of her woe:
“How didst thou stand by Ráma’s side?
How came my lord and thou allied?
How met the people of the wood
With men on terms of brotherhood?
Declare each grace and regal sign
That decks the lords of Raghu’s line.
Each circumstance and look relate:
Tell Ráma’s form and speech, and gait.”
“Thy fear and doubt,” he cried, “dispelled,
Hear, lady, what mine eyes beheld.
Hear the imperial signs that grace
The glory of Ikshváku’s race.
With moon-bright face and lotus eyes,
Most beautiful and good and wise,
With sun-like glory round his head,
Long-suffering as the earth we tread,
He from all foes his realm defends.
Yea, o’er the world his care extends.
He follows right in all his ways,
And ne’er from royal duty strays.
He knows the lore that strengthens kings;
His heart to truth and honour clings.
Each grace and gift of form and mind
Adorns that prince of human kind;
And virtues like his own endue
His brother ever firm and true.
O’er all the land they roamed distraught,
And thee with vain endeavour sought,
Until at length their wandering feet
Trod wearily our wild retreat.
Our banished king Sugríva spied
The princes from the mountain side.
By his command I sought the pair
And led them to our monarch there.
Thus Ráma and Sugríva met,
And joined the bonds that knit them yet,
When each besought the other’s aid,
And friendship and alliance made.
An arrow launched from Ráma’s bow
Laid Báli dead, Sugríva’s foe.
Then by commandment of our lord
The Vánar hosts each land explored.
We reached the coast: I crossed the sea
And found my way at length to thee.”(858)


Canto XXXVI. Ráma’s Ring.

“Receive,” he cried, “this precious ring,(859)
Sure token from thy lord the king:
The golden ring he wont to wear:
See, Ráma’s name engraven there.”
Then, as she took the ring he showed,
The tears that spring of rapture flowed.
She seemed to touch the hand that sent
The dearly valued ornament,
And with her heart again at ease,
Replied in gentle words like these:
“O thou, whose soul no fears deter,
Wise, brave, and faithful messenger!
And hast thou dared, o’er wave and foam,
To seek me in the giants’ home?
In thee, true messenger, I find
The noblest of thy woodland kind.
Who couldst, unmoved by terror, brook
On Rávaṇ, king of fiends, to look.
Now may we commune here as friends,
For he whom royal Ráma sends
Must needs be one in danger tried,
A valiant, wise, and faithful guide.
Say, is it well with Ráma still?
Lives Lakshmaṇ yet untouched by ill?
Then why should Ráma’s hand be slow
To free his consort from her woe?
Why spare to burn, in search of me,
The land encircled by the sea?
Can Bharat send no army out
With banners, cars and battle shout?
Cannot thy king Sugríva lend
His legions to assist his friend?”
His hands upon his head he laid
And thus again his answer made:
“Not yet has Ráma learnt where lies
His lady of the lotus eyes,
Or he like Indra from the sky
To Śachí’s(860) aid, to thee would fly.
Soon will he hear the tale, and then,
Roused to revenge, the lord of men
Will to the giants’ island lead
Fierce myriads of the woodland breed,
Bridging his conquering way, and make
The town a ruin for thy sake.
Believe my words, sweet dame; I swear
By roots and fruit, my woodland fare,
By Meru’s peak and Vindhva’s chain,
And Mandar of the Milky Main,
Soon shalt thou see thy lord, though now
He waits upon Praśravaṇ’s(861) brow,
Come glorious as the breaking morn,
Like Indra on Airávat(862) borne.
For thee he looks with longing eyes;
The wood his scanty food supplies.
For thee his brow is pale and worn,
For thee are meat and wine forsworn.
Thine image in his heart he keeps,
For thee by night he wakes and weeps.
Or if perchance his eyes he close
And win brief respite from his woes,
E’en then the name of Sítá slips
In anguish from his murmuring lips.
If lovely flowers or fruit he sees,
Which women love, upon the trees,
To thee, to thee his fancy flies.
And ‘Sítá! O my love!’ he cries.”


Canto XXXVII. Sítá’s Speech.

“Thou bringest me,” she cried again,
“A mingled draught of bliss and pain:
Bliss, that he wears me in his heart,
Pain, that he wakes and weeps apart,
O, see how Fate is king of all,
Now lifts us high, now bids us fall,
And leads a captive bound with cord
The meanest slave, the proudest lord,
Thus even now Fate’s stern decree
Has struck with grief my lord and me.
Say, how shall Ráma reach the shore
Of sorrow’s waves that rise and roar,
A shipwrecked sailor, well nigh drowned
In the wild sea that foams around?
When will he smite the demon down,
Lay low in dust the giants’ town,
And, glorious from his foes’ defeat,
His wife, his long-lost Sítá, meet?
Go, bid him speed to smite his foes
Before the year shall reach its close.
Ten months are fled but two remain,
Then Rávaṇ’s captive must be slain.
Oft has Vibhishaṇ,(863) just and wise,
Besought him to restore his prize.
But deaf is Rávaṇ’s senseless ear:
His brother’s rede he will not hear.
Vibhishaṇ’s daughter(864) loves me well:
From her I learnt the tale I tell.
Avindhva(865) prudent, just, and old,
The giant’s fall has oft foretold;
But Fate impels him to despise
His word on whom he most relies.
In Ráma’s love I rest secure,
For my fond heart is true and pure,
And him, my noblest lord, I deem
In valour, power, and might supreme.”
As from her eyes the waters ran,
The Vánar chief again began:
“Yea, Ráma, when he hears my tale,
Will with our hosts these walls assail.
Or I myself, O Queen, this day
Will bear thee from the fiend away,
Will lift thee up, and take thee hence
To him thy refuge and defence;
Will take thee in my arms, and flee
To Ráma far beyond the sea;
Will place thee on Praśravaṇ hill
Where Raghu’s son is waiting still.”
“How canst thou bear me hence?” she cried,
“The way is long, the sea is wide.
To bear my very weight would be
A task too hard for one like thee.”(866)
Swift rose before her startled eyes
The Vánar in his native size,
Like Mandar’s hill or Meru’s height,
Encircled with a blaze of light.
“O come,” he cried, “thy fears dispel,
Nor doubt that I will bear thee well.
Come, in my strength and care confide,
And sit in joy by Ráma’s side.”
Again she spake: “I know thee now,
Brave, resolute, and strong art thou;
In glory like the Lord of Fire
With storm-swift feet which naught may tire
But yet with thee I may not fly:
For, borne so swiftly through the sky,
Mine eyes would soon grow faint and dim,
My dizzy brain would reel and swim,
My yielding arms relax their hold,
And I in terror uncontrolled
Should fall into the raging sea
Where hungry sharks would feed on me.
Nor can I touch, of free accord,
The limbs of any save my lord.
If, by the giant forced away,
In his enfolding arms I lay,
Not mine, O Vánar, was the blame;
What could I do, a helpless dame?
Go, to my lord my message bear,
And bid him end my long despair.”


Canto XXXVIII. Sítá’s Gem.

Again the Vánar chief replied,
With her wise answer satisfied:
“Well hast thou said: thou canst not brave
The rushing wind, the roaring wave.
Thy woman’s heart would sink with fear
Before the ocean shore were near.
And for thy dread lest limb of thine
Should for a while be touched by mine,
The modest fear is worthy one
Whose cherished lord is Raghu’s son.
Yet when I sought to bear thee hence
I spoke the words of innocence,
Impelled to set the captive free
By friendship for thy lord and thee.
But if with me thou wilt not try
The passage of the windy sky,
Give me a gem that I may show,
Some token which thy lord may know.”
Again the Maithil lady spoke,
While tears and sobs her utterance broke:
“The surest of all signs is this,
To tell the tale of vanished bliss.
Thus in my name to Ráma speak:
“Remember Chitrakúṭa’s peak
And the green margin of the rill(867)
That flows beside that pleasant hill,
Where thou and I together strayed
Delighting in the tangled shade.
There on the grass I sat with thee
And laid my head upon thy knee.
There came a greedy crow and pecked
The meat I waited to protect
And, heedless of the clods I threw,
About my head in circles flew,
Until by darling hunger pressed
He boldly pecked me on the breast.
I ran to thee in rage and grief
And prayed for vengeance on the thief.
Then Ráma(868) from his slumber rose
And smiled with pity at my woes.
Upon my bleeding breast he saw
The scratches made by beak and claw.
He laid an arrow on his bow,
And launched it at the shameless crow.
That shaft, with magic power endued,
The bird, where’er he flew, pursued,
Till back to Raghu’s son he fled
And bent at Ráma’s feet his head.(869)
Couldst thou for me with anger stirred
Launch that dire shaft upon a bird,
And yet canst pardon him who stole
The darling of thy heart and soul?
Rise up, O bravest of the brave,
And come in all thy might to save.
Come with the thunders of thy bow,
And smite to earth the Rákshas foe.”
She ceased; and from her glorious hair
She took a gem that sparkled there
A token which her husband’s eyes
With eager love would recognize.
His head the Vánar envoy bent
In low obeisance reverent.
And on his finger bound the gem
She loosened from her diadem.
[I omit two Cantos of dialogue. Sítá tells Hanumán again to convey her
message to Ráma and bid him hasten to rescue her. Hanumán replies as
before that there is no one on earth equal to Ráma, who will soon come and
destroy Rávaṇ. There is not a new idea in the two Cantos: all is
reiteration.]


Canto XLI. The Ruin Of The Grove.

Dismissed with every honour due
The Vánar from the spot withdrew.
Then joyous thought the Wind-God’s son:
“The mighty task is wellnigh done.
The three expedients I must leave;
The fourth alone can I achieve.(870)
These dwellers in the giants’ isle
No arts of mine can reconcile.
I cannot bribe: I cannot sow
Dissension mid the Rákshas foe.
Arts, gifts, address, these fiends despise;
But force shall yet their king chastise.
Perchance he may relent when all
The bravest of his chieftains fall.
This lovely grove will I destroy,
The cruel Rávaṇ’s pride and joy.
The garden where he takes his ease
Mid climbing plants and flowery trees
That lift their proud tops to the skies,
Dear to the tyrant as his eyes.
Then will he rouse in wrath, and lead
His legions with the car and steed
And elephants in long array,
And seek me thirsty for the fray.
The Rákshas legions will I meet,
And all his bravest host defeat;
Then, glorious from the bloody plain,
Turn to my lord the king again.”
Then every lovely tree that bore
Fair blossoms, from the soil he tore,
Till each green bough that lent its shade
To singing birds on earth was laid.
The wilderness he left a waste,
The fountains shattered and defaced:
O’erthrew and levelled with the ground
Each shady seat and pleasure-mound.
Each arbour clad with climbing bloom,
Each grotto, cell, and picture room,
Each lawn by beast and bird enjoyed,
Each walk and terrace was destroyed.
And all the place that was so fair
Was left a ruin wild and bare,
As if the fury of the blast
Or raging fire had o’er it passed.


Canto XLII. The Giants Roused.

The cries of startled birds, the sound
Of tall trees crashing to the ground,
Struck with amaze each giant’s ear,
And filled the isle with sudden fear.
Then, wakened by the crash and cries,
The fierce shefiends unclosed their eyes,
And saw the Vánar where he stood
Amid the devastated wood.
The more to scare them with the view
To size immense the Vánar grew;
And straight the Rákshas warders cried
Janak’s daughter terrified
“Whose envoy, whence, and who is he,
Why has he come to talk with thee?
Speak, lady of the lovely eyes,
And let not fear thy joy disguise.”
Then thus replied the Maithil dame
Of noble soul and perfect frame.
“Can I discern, with scanty skill,
These fiends who change their forms at will?
’Tis yours to say: your kin you meet;
A serpent knows a serpent’s feet.
I weet not who he is: the sight
Has filled my spirit with affright.”
Some pressed round Sítá in a ring;
Some bore the story to their king:
“A mighty creature of our race,
In monkey form, has reached the place.
He came within the grove,” they cried,
“He stood and talked by Sítá’s side,
He comes from Indra’s court to her,
Or is Kuvera’s messenger;
Or Ráma sent the spy to seek
His consort, and her wrongs to wreak.
His crushing arm, his trampling feet
Have marred and spoiled that dear retreat,
And all the pleasant place which thou
So lovest is a ruin now.
The tree where Sítá sat alone
Is spared where all are overthrown.
Perchance he saved the dame from harm:
Perchance the toil had numbed his arm.”
Then flashed the giant’s eye with fire
Like that which lights the funeral pyre.
He bade his bravest Kinkars(871) speed
And to his feet the spoiler lead.
Forth from the palace, at his hest,
Twice forty thousand warriors pressed.
Burning for battle, strong and fierce,
With clubs to crush and swords to pierce,
They saw Hanúmán near a porch,
And, thick as moths around a torch,
Rushed on the foe with wild attacks
Of mace and club and battle-axe.
As round him pressed the Rákshas crowd,
The wondrous monkey roared aloud,
That birds fell headlong from the sky:
Then spake he with a mighty cry:
“Long life to Daśaratha’s heir,
And Lakshmaṇ, ever-glorious pair!
Long life to him who rules our race,
Preserved by noblest Ráma’s grace!
I am the slave of Kośal’s king,(872)
Whose wondrous deeds the minstrels sing.
Hanúmán I, the Wind-God’s seed:
Beneath this arm the foemen bleed.
I fear not, unapproached in might,
A thousand Rávaṇ’s ranged for fight,
Although in furious hands they rear
The hill and tree for sword and spear,
I will, before the giants’ eyes,
Their city and their king chastise;
And, having communed with the dame,
Depart in triumph as I came.”
At that terrific roar and yell
The heart of every giant fell.
But still their king’s command they feared
And pressed around with arms upreared.
Beside the porch a club was laid:
The Vánar caught it up, and swayed
The weapon round his head, and slew
The foremost of the Rákshas crew.
Thus Indra vanquished, thousand-eyed,
The Daityas who the Gods defied.
Then on the porch Hanúmán sprang,
And loud his shout of triumph rang.
The giants looked upon the dead,
And turning to their monarch fled.
And Rávaṇ with his spirit wrought
To frenzy by the tale they brought,
Urged to the fight Prahasta’s son,
Of all his chiefs the mightiest one.


Canto XLIII. The Ruin Of The Temple.

The Wind-God’s son a temple(873) scaled
Which, by his fury unassailed,
High as the hill of Meru, stood
Amid the ruins of the wood;
And in his fury thundered out
Again his haughty battle-shout:
“I am the slave of Kośal’s King
Whose wondrous deeds the minstrels sing.”
Forth hurried, by that shout alarmed,
The warders of the temple armed
With every weapon haste supplied,
And closed him in on every side,
With bands that strove to pierce and strike
With shaft and axe and club and pike.
Then from its base the Vánar tore
A pillar with the weight it bore.
Against the wall the mass he dashed,
And forth the flames in answer flashed,
That wildly ran o’er roofs and wall
In hungry rage consuming all.
He whirled the pillar round his head
And struck a hundred giants dead.
Then high upheld on air he rose
And called in thunder to his foes:
“A thousand Vánar chiefs like me
Roam at their will o’er land and sea,
Terrific might we all possess:
Our stormy speed is limitless.
And all, unconquered in the fray,
Our king Sugríva’s word obey.
Backed by his bravest myriads, he
Our warrior lord will cross the sea.
Then Lanká’s lofty towers, and all
Your hosts and Rávaṇ’s self shall fall.
None shall be left unslaughtered; none
Who braves the wrath of Raghu’s son.”


Canto XLIV. Jambumáli’s Death.

Then Jambumáli, pride and boast
For valour of the Rákshas host,
Prahasta’s son supremely brave,
Obeyed the hest that Rávaṇ gave:
Fierce warrior with terrific teeth,
With saguine robes and brilliant wreath.
A bow like Indra’s own(874), and store
Of glittering shafts the chieftain bore.
And ever as the string he tried
The weapon with a roar replied,
Loud as the crashing thunder sent
By him who rules the firmament.
Soon as the foeman came in view
Borne on a car which asses drew,
The Vánar chieftain mighty-voiced
Shouted in triumph and rejoiced.
Prahasta’s son his bow-string drew,
And swift the winged arrows flew,
One in the face the Vánar smote,
Another quivered in his throat.
Ten from the deadly weapon sent
His brawny arms and shoulders rent.
Then as he felt each galling shot
The Vánar’s rage waxed fiercely hot.
He looked, and saw a mass of stone
That lay before his feet o’erthrown.
The mighty block he raised and threw,
And crashing through the air it flew.
But Jambumáli shunned the blow,
And rained fresh arrows from his bow.
The Vánar’s limbs were red with gore:
A Sál tree from the earth he tore,
And, ere he hurled it undismayed,
Above his head the missile swayed.
But shafts from Jambumáli’s bow
Cut through it ere his hand could throw.
And thigh and arm and chest and side
With streams of rushing blood were dyed.
Still unsubdued though wounded oft
The shattered trunk he raised aloft,
And down with well-directed aim
On Jambumáli’s chest it came.
There crushed upon the trampled grass
He lay an undistinguished mass,
The foeman’s eye no more could see
His head or chest or arm or knee.
And bow and car and steeds(875) and store
Of glittering shafts were seen no more.
When Jambumáli’s death he heard,
King Rávaṇ’s heart with rage was stirred
And forth his general’s sons he sent,
For power and might preeminent.


Canto XLV. The Seven Defeated.

Forth went the seven in brave attire,
In glory brilliant as the fire,
Impetuous chiefs with massive bows,
The quellers of a host of foes:
Trained from their youth in martial lore,
And masters of the arms they bore:
Each emulous and fiercely bold,
And banners wrought with glittering gold
Waved o’er their chariots, drawn at speed
By coursers of the noblest breed.
On through the ruins of the grove
At Hanumán they fiercely drove,
And from the ponderous bows they strained
A shower of deadly arrows rained.
Then scarce was seen the Vánar’s form
Enveloped in the arrowy storm.
So stands half veiled the Mountains’ King
When rainy clouds about him cling.
By nimble turn, by rapid bound
He shunned the shafts that rained around,
Eluding, as in air he rose,
The rushing chariots of his foes.
The mighty Vánar undismayed
Amid his archer foemen played,
As plays the frolic wind on high
Mid bow-armed(876) clouds that fill the sky.
He raised a mighty roar and yell
That fear on all the army fell,
And then, his warrior soul aglow
With fury, rushed upon the foe,
Some with his open hand he beat
To death and trampled with his feet;
Some with fierce nails he rent and slew,
And others with his fists o’erthrew;
Some with his legs, as on he rushed,
Some with his bulky chest he crushed;
While some struck senseless by his roar
Dropped on the ground and breathed no more,
The remnant, seized with sudden dread,
Turned from the grove and wildly fled.
The trampled earth was thickly strown
With steed and car and flag o’erthrown,
And the red blood in rivers flowed
From slaughtered fiends o’er path and road.


Canto XLVI. The Captains.

Mad with the rage of injured pride
King Rávaṇ summoned to his side
The valiant five who led his host,
Supreme in war and honoured most.
“Go forth,” he cried, “with car and steed,
And to my feet this monkey lead,
But watch each chance of time and place
To seize this thing of silvan race.
For from his wondrous exploits he
No monkey of the woods can be,
But some new kind of creature meant
To work us woe, by Indra sent.
Gandharvas, Nágas, and the best
Of Yakshas have our might confessed.
Have we not challenged and subdued
The whole celestial multitude?
Yet will you not, if you are wise,
A chief of monkey race despise.
For I myself have Báli known,
And King Sugríva’s power I own.
But none of all their woodland throng
Was half so terrible and strong.”
Obedient to the words he spake
They hastened forth the foe to take.
Swift were the cars whereon they rode,
And bright their weapons flashed and glowed.
They saw: they charged in wild career
With sword and mace and axe and spear.
From Durdhar’s bow five arrows sped
And quivered in the Vánar’s head.
He rose and roared: the fearful sound
Made all the region echo round.
Then from above his weight he threw
On Durdhar’s car that near him drew.
The weight that came with lightning speed
Crushed pole and axle, car and steed.
It shattered Durdhar’s head and neck,
And left him lifeless mid the wreck.
Yúpáksha saw the warrior die,
And Virúpáksha heard his cry,
And, mad for vengeance for the slain,
They charged their Vánar foe again.
He rose in air: they onward pressed
And fiercely smote him on the breast.
In vain they struck his iron frame:
With eagle swoop to earth he came,
Tore from the ground a tree that grew
Beside him, and the demons slew.
Then Bhásakama raised his spear,
And Praghas with a laugh drew near,
And, maddened at the sight, the two
Against the undaunted Vánar flew.
As from his wounds the torrents flowed,
Like a red sun the Vánar showed.
He turned, a mountain peak to seize
With all its beasts and snakes and trees.
He hurled it on the pair: and they
Crushed, overwhelmed, beneath it lay.


Canto XLVII. The Death Of Aksha.

But Rávaṇ, as his fury burned,
His eyes on youthful Aksha(877) turned,
Who rose impetuous at his glance
And shouted for his bow and lance.
He rode upon a glorious car
That shot the light of gems afar.
His pennon waved mid glittering gold
And bright the wheels with jewels rolled,
By long and fierce devotion won
That car was splendid as the sun.
With rows of various weapons stored;
And thought-swift horses whirled their lord
Racing along the earth, or rose
High through the clouds whene’er he chose.
Then fierce and fearful war between
The Vánar and the fiend was seen.
The Gods and Asurs stood amazed,
And on the wondrous combat gazed.
A cry from earth rose long and shrill,
The wind was hushed, the sun grew chill.
The thunder bellowed from the sky,
And troubled ocean roared reply.
Thrice Aksha strained his dreadful bow,
Thrice smote his arrow on the foe,
And with full streams of crimson bled
Three gashes in the Vánar’s head.
Then rose Hanúmán in the air
To shun the shafts no life could bear.
But Aksha in his car pursued,
And from on high the fight renewed
With storm of arrows, thick as hail
When angry clouds some hill assail.
Impatient of that arrowy shower
The Vánar chief put forth his power,
Again above his chariot rose
And smote him with repeated blows.
Terrific came each deadly stroke:
Breast neck and arm and back he broke;
And Aksha fell to earth, and lay
With all his life-blood drained away.


Canto XLVIII. Hanumán Captured.

To Indrajít(878) the bold and brave
The giant king his mandate gave:
“O trained in warlike science, best
In arms of all our mightiest,
Whose valour in the conflict shown
To Asurs and to Gods is known,
The Kinkars whom I sent are slain,
And Jambumálí and his train;
The lords who led our giant bands
Have fallen by the monkey’s hands;
With shattered cars the ground is spread,
And Aksha lies amid the dead.
Thou art my best and bravest: go,
Unmatched in power, and slay the foe.”
He heard the hest: he bent his head;
Athirst for battle forth he sped.
Four tigers fierce, of tawny hue,
With fearful teeth, his chariot drew.
Hanúmán heard his strong bow clang,
And swiftly from the earth he sprang,
While weak and ineffective fell
The archer’s shafts though pointed well.
The Rákshas saw that naught might kill
The wondrous foe who mocked his skill,
And launched a magic shaft to throw
A binding spell about his foe.
Forth flew the shaft: the mystic charm
Stayed his swift feet and numbed his arm,
Through all his frame he felt the spell,
And motionless to earth he fell.
Nor would the reverent Vánar loose
The bonds that bound him as a noose.
He knew that Brahmá’s self had charmed
The weapon that his might disarmed.
They saw him helpless on the ground,
And all the giants pressed around,
And bonds of hemp and bark were cast
About his limbs to hold him fast.
They drew the ropes round feet and wrists;
They beat him with their hands and fists,
And dragged him as they strained the cord
With shouts of triumph to their lord.(879)


Canto XLIX. Rávan.

On the fierce king Hanúmán turned
His angry eyes that glowed and burned.
He saw him decked with wealth untold