The Rámáyan of Válmíki - 56

Meandered like a silver thread.
We looked on Meru far below
And Vindhya and the Lord of Snow,
Like elephants that bend to cool
Their fever in a lilied pool.
But fervent heat and toil o’ercame
The vigour of each yielding frame,
Our weary hearts began to quail,
And wildered sense to reel and fail.
We knew not, fainting and distressed,
The north or south or east or west.
With a great strain mine eyes I turned
Where the fierce sun before me burned,
And seemed to my astonished eyes
The equal of the earth in size.(775)
At length, o’erpowered, Jaṭáyus fell
Without a word to say farewell,
And when to earth I saw him hie
I followed headlong from the sky.(776)
With sheltering wings I intervened
And from the sun his body screened,
But lost, for heedless folly doomed,
My pinions which the heat consumed.
In Janasthán, I hear them say,
My hapless brother fell and lay.
I, pinionless and faint and weak,
Dropped upon Vindhya’s woody peak.
Now with my swift wings burnt away,
Reft of my brother and my sway,
From this tall mountain’s summit I
Will cast me headlong down and die.”


Canto LXII. Sampáti’s Story.

“As to the saint I thus complained
My bitter tears fell unrestrained.
He pondered for a while, then broke
The silence, and thus calmly spoke:
“Forth from thy sides again shall spring,
O royal bird, each withered wing,
And all thine ancient power and might
Return to thee with strength of sight.
A noble deed has been foretold
In prophecy pronounced of old:
Nor dark to me are future things,
Seen by the light which penance brings.
A glorious king shall rise and reign,
The pride of old Ikshváku’s strain.
A good and valiant prince, his heir,
Shall the dear name of Ráma bear.
With his brave brother Lakshmaṇ he
An exile in the woods shall be,
Where Rávaṇ, whom no God may slay,(777)
Shall steal his darling wife away.
In vain the captive will be wooed
With proffered love and dainty food,
She will not hear, she will not taste:
But, lest her beauty wane and waste,
Lord Indra’s self will come to her
With heavenly food, and minister.
Then envoys of the Vánar race
By Ráma sent will seek this place.
To them, O roamer of the air,
The lady’s fate shalt thou declare.
Thou must not move—so maimed thou art
Thou canst not from this spot depart.
Await the day and moment due,
And thy burnt wings will sprout anew.
I might this day the boon bestow
And bid again thy pinions grow,
But wait until thy saving deed
The nations from their fear have freed.
Then for this glorious aid of thine
The princes of Ikshváku’s line,
And Gods above and saints below
Eternal gratitude shall owe.
Fain would mine aged eyes behold
That pair of whom my lips have told,
Yet wearied here I must not stay,
But leave my frame and pass away.”


Canto LXIII. Sampáti’s Story.

“With this and many a speech beside
My failing heart he fortified,
With glorious hope my breast inspired,
And to his holy home retired.
I scaled the mountain height, to view
The region round, and looked for you.
In ceaseless watchings night and day
A hundred seasons passed away,
And by the sage’s words consoled
I wait the hour and chance foretold.
But since Niśakar sought the skies.
And cast away all earthly ties,
Full many a care and doubt has pressed
With grievous weight upon my breast.
But for the saint who turned aside
My purpose I had surely died.
Those hopeful words the hermit spake,
That bid me live for Ráma’s sake,
Dispel my anguish as the light
Of lamp and torch disperse the night.”
He ceased: and in the Vánars’ view
Forth from his side young pinions grew,
And boundless rapture filled his breast
As thus the chieftains he addressed:
“Joy, joy! the pinions, which the Lord
Of Day consumed, are now restored
Through the dear grace & boundless might
Of that illustrious anchorite.
The fire of youth within me burns,
And all my wonted strength returns.
Onward, ye Vánars, toil strive,
And you shall find the dame alive.
Look on these new-found wings, and hence
Be strong in surest confidence.”
Swift from the crag he sprang to try
His pinions in his native sky.
His words the chieftains’ doubts had stilled,
And every heart with courage filled.(778)


Canto LXIV. The Sea.

Shouts of triumphant joy outrang
As to their feet the Vánars sprang:
And, on the mighty task intent,
Swift to the sea their steps they bent.
They stood and gazed upon the deep,
Whose billows with a roar and leap
On the sea banks ware wildly hurled,—
The mirror of the mighty world.
There on the strand the Vánars stayed
And with sad eyes the deep surveyed,
Here, as in play, his billows rose,
And there he slumbered in repose.
Here leapt the boisterous waters, high
As mountains, menacing the sky,
And wild infernal forms between
The ridges of the waves were seen.
They saw the billows rave and swell,
And their sad spirits sank and fell;
For ocean in their deep despair
Seemed boundless as the fields of air.
Then noble Angad spake to cheer
The Vánars and dispel their fear:
“Faint not: despair should never find
Admittance to a noble mind.
Despair, a serpent’s mortal bite,
Benumbs the hero’s power and might.”
Then passed the weary night, and all
Assembled at their prince’s call,
And every lord of high estate
Was gathered round him for debate.
Bright was the chieftains’ glorious band
Round Angad on the ocean strand,
As when the mighty Storm-Gods meet
Round Indra on his golden seat.
Then princely Angad looked on each,
And thus began his prudent speech:
“What chief of all our host will leap
A hundred leagues across the deep?
Who, O illustrious Vánars, who
Will make Sugríva’s promise true,
And from our weight of fear set free
The leaders of our band and me?
To whom, O warriors, shall we owe
A sweet release from pain and woe,
And proud success, and happy lives
With our dear children and our wives,
Again permitted by his grace
To look with joy on Ráma’s face,
And noble Lakshmaṇ, and our lord
The king, to our sweet homes restored?”
Thus to the gathered lords he spoke;
But no reply the silence broke.
Then with a sterner voice he cried:
“O chiefs, the nation’s boast and pride,
Whom valour strength and power adorn,
Of most illustrious lineage born,
Where’er you will you force a way,
And none your rapid course can stay.
Now come, your several powers declare.
And who this desperate leap will dare?”


Canto LXV. The Council.

But none of all the host was found
To clear the sea with desperate bound,
Though each, as Angad bade, declared
His proper power and what he dared.(779)
Then spake good Jámbaván the sage,
Chief of them all for reverend age;
“I, Vánar chieftains, long ago
Limbs light to leap could likewise show,
But now on frame and spirit weighs
The burthen of my length of days.
Still task like this I may not slight,
When Ráma and our king unite.
So listen while I tell, O friends,
What lingering strength mine age attends.
If my poor leap may aught avail,
Of ninety leagues, I will not fail.
Far other strength in youth’s fresh prime
I boasted, in the olden time,
When, at Prahláda’s(780) solemn rite,
I circled in my rapid flight
Lord Vishṇu, everlasting God,
When through the universe he trod.
But now my limbs are weak and old,
My youth is fled, its fire is cold,
And these exhausted nerves to strain
In such a task were idle pain.”
Then Angad due obeisance paid,
And to the chief his answer made:
“Then I, ye noble Vánars, I
Myself the mighty leap will try:
Although perchance the power I lack
To leap from Lanká’s island back.”
Thus the impetuous chieftain cried,
And Jámbaván the sage replied:
“Whate’er thy power and might may be,
This task, O Prince, is not for thee.
Kings go not forth themselves, but send
The servants who their best attend.
Thou art the darling and the boast,
The honoured lord of all the host.
In thee the root, O Angad, lies
Of our appointed enterprise;
And thee, on whom our hopes depend,
Our care must cherish and defend.”
Then Báli’s noble son replied:
“Needs must I go, whate’er betide,
For, if no chief this exploit dare,
What waits us all save blank despair,—
Upon the ground again to lie
In hopeless misery, fast, and die?
For not a hope of life I see
If we neglect our king’s decree.”
Then spoke the aged chief again:
“Nay our attempt shall not be vain,
For to the task will I incite
A chieftain of sufficient might.”


Canto LXVI. Hanumán.

The chieftain turned his glances where
The legions sat in mute despair;
And then to Hanumán, the best
Of Vánar lords, these words addressed:
“Why still, and silent, and apart,
O hero of the dauntless heart?
Thou keepest treasured in thy mind
The laws that rule the Vánar kind,
Strong as our king Sugríva, brave
As Ráma’s self to slay or save.
Through every land thy praise is heard,
Famous as that illustrious bird,
Aríshṭanemi’s son,(781) the king
Of every fowl that plies the wing.
Oft have I seen the monarch sweep
With sounding pinions o’er the deep,
And in his mighty talons bear
Huge serpents struggling through the air.
Thy arms, O hero, match in might
The ample wings he spreads for flight;
And thou with him mayest well compare
In power to do, in heart to dare.
Why, rich in wisdom, power, and skill,
O hero, art thou lingering still?
An Apsaras(782) the fairest found
Of nymphs for heavenly charms renowned,
Sweet Punjikasthalá, became
A noble Vánar’s wedded dame.
Her heavenly title heard no more,
Anjaná was the name she bore,
When, cursed by Gods, from heaven she fell
In Vánar form on earth to dwell,
New-born in mortal shape the child
Of Kunjar monarch of the wild.
In youthful beauty wondrous fair,
A crown of flowers about her hair,
In silken robes of richest dye
She roamed the hills that kiss the sky.
Once in her tinted garments dressed
She stood upon the mountain crest,
The God of Wind beside her came,
And breathed upon the lovely dame.
And as he fanned her robe aside
The wondrous beauty that he eyed
In rounded lines of breast and limb
And neck and shoulder ravished him;
And captured by her peerless charms
He strained her in his amorous arms.
Then to the eager God she cried
In trembling accents, terrified:
“Whose impious love has wronged a spouse
So constant in her nuptial vows?”
He heard, and thus his answer made:
“O, be not troubled, nor afraid,
But trust, and thou shalt know ere long
My love has done thee, sweet, no wrong,
So strong and brave and wise shall be
The glorious child I give to thee.
Might shall be his that naught can tire,
And limbs to spring as springs his sire.”
Thus spoke the God; the conquered dame
Rejoiced in heart nor feared the shame.
Down in a cave beneath the earth
The happy mother gave thee birth.
Once o’er the summit of the wood
Before thine eyes the new sun stood.
Thou sprangest up in haste to seize
What seemed the fruitage of the trees.
Up leapt the child, a wondrous bound,
Three hundred leagues above the ground,
And, though the angered Day-God shot
His fierce beams on him, feared him not.
Then from the hand of Indra came
A red bolt winged with wrath and flame.
The child fell smitten on a rock,
His cheek was shattered by the shock,
Named Hanumán(783) thenceforth by all
In memory of the fearful fall.
The wandering Wind-God saw thee lie
With bleeding cheek and drooping eye,
And stirred to anger by thy woe
Forbade each scented breeze to blow.
The breath of all the worlds was stilled,
And the sad Gods with terror filled
Prayed to the Wind, to calm the ire
And soothe the sorrow of the sire.
His fiery wrath no longer glowed,
And Brahmá’s self the boon bestowed
That in the brunt of battle none
Should slay with steel the Wind-God’s son.
Lord Indra, sovereign of the skies,
Bent on thee all his thousand eyes,
And swore that ne’er the bolt which he
Hurls from the heaven should injure thee.
’Tis thine, O mighty chief, to share
The Wind-God’s power, his son and heir.
Sprung from that glorious father thou,
And thou alone, canst aid us now.
This earth of yore, through all her climes,
I circled one-and-twenty times,
And gathered, as the Gods decreed,
Great store of herbs from hill and mead,
Which, scattered o’er the troubled wave,
The Amrit to the toilers gave.
But now my days are wellnigh told,
My strength is gone, my limbs are old,
And thou, the bravest and the best,
Art the sure hope of all the rest.
Now, mighty chief, the task assay:
Thy matchless power and strength display.
Rise up, O prince, our second king,
And o’er the flood of ocean spring.
So shall the glorious exploit vie
With his who stepped through earth and sky.”(784)
He spoke: the younger chieftain heard,
His soul to vigorous effort stirred,
And stood before their joyous eyes
Dilated in gigantic size.


Canto LXVII. Hanumán’s Speech.

Soon as his stature they beheld,
Their fear and sorrow were dispelled;
And joyous praises loud and long
Rang out from all the Vánar throng.
On the great chief their eyes they bent
In rapture and astonishment,
As, when his conquering foot he raised,
The Gods upon Náráyaṇ(785) gazed.
He stood amid the joyous crowd,
Bent to the chiefs, and cried aloud:
“The Wind-God, Fire’s eternal friend,
Whose blasts the mountain summits rend,
With boundless force that none may stay,
Takes where he lists his viewless way.
Sprung from that glorious father, I
In power and speed with him may vie,
A thousand times with airy leap
Can circle loftiest Meru’s steep:
With my fierce arms can stir the sea
Till from their bed the waters flee
And rush at my command to drown
This land with grove and tower and town.
I through the fields of air can spring
Far swifter than the feathered King,
And leap before him as he flies,
On sounding pinions through the skies.
I can pursue the Lord of Light
Uprising from the eastern height,
And reach him ere his course be sped
With burning beams engarlanded.
I will dry up the mighty main,
Shatter the rocks and rend the plain.
O’er earth and ocean will I bound,
And every flower that grows on ground,
And bloom of climbing plants shall show
Strewn on the ground, the way I go,
Bright as the lustrous path that lies
Athwart the region of the skies.(786)
The Maithil lady will I find,—
Thus speaks mine own prophetic mind,—
And cast in hideous ruin down
The shattered walls of Lanká’s town.”
Still on the chief in rapt surprise
The Vánar legions bent their eyes,
And thus again sage Jámbaván
Addressed the glorious Hanumán:
“Son of the Wind, thy promise cheers
The Vánars’ hearts, and calms their fears,
Who, rescued from their dire distress,
With prospering vows thy way will bless.
The holy saints their favour lend,
And all our chiefs the deed commend
Urging thee forward on thy way:
Arise then, and the task assay.
Thou art our only refuge; we,
Our lives and all, depend on thee.”
Then sprang the Wind-God’s son the best
Of Vánars, on Mahendra’s crest,
And the great mountain rocked and swayed
By that unusual weight dismayed,
As reels an elephant beneath
The lion’s spring and rending teeth.
The shady wood that crowned him shook,
The trembling birds the boughs forsook,
And ape and pard and lion fled
From brake and lair disquieted.


BOOK V.(787)


Canto I. Hanumán’s Leap.

Thus Rávaṇ’s foe resolved to trace
The captive to her hiding-place
Through airy pathways overhead
Which heavenly minstrels visited.
With straining nerve and eager brows,
Like some strong husband of the cows,
In ready might he stood prepared
For the bold task his soul has dared.
O’er gem-like grass that flashed and glowed
The Vánar like a lion strode.
Roused by the thunder of his tread,
The beasts to shady coverts fled.
Tall trees he crushed or hurled aside,
And every bird was terrified.
Around him loveliest lilies grew,
Pale pink, and red, and white, and blue,
And tints of many a metal lent
The light of varied ornament.
Gandharvas, changing forms at will,
And Yakshas roamed the lovely hill,
And countless Serpent-Gods were seen
Where flowers and grass were fresh and green.
As some resplendent serpent takes
His pastime in the best of lakes,
So on the mountain’s woody height
The Vánar wandered with delight.
Then, standing on the flowery sod,
He paid his vows to saint and God.
Svayambhu(788) and the Sun he prayed,
And the swift Wind to lend him aid,
And Indra, sovereign of the skies,
To bless his hardy enterprise.
Then once again the chief addressed
The Vánars from the mountain crest:
“Swift as a shaft from Ráma’s bow
To Rávaṇ’s city will I go,
And if she be not there will fly
And seek the lady in the sky;
Or, if in heaven she be not found,
Will hither bring the giant bound.”
He ceased; and mustering his might
Sprang downward from the mountain height,
While, shattered by each mighty limb,
The trees unrooted followed him.
The shadow on the ocean cast
By his vast form, as on he passed,
Flew like a ship before the gale
When the strong breeze has filled the sail,
And where his course the Vánar held
The sea beneath him raged and swelled.
Then Gods and all the heavenly train
Poured flowerets down in gentle rain;
Their voices glad Gandharvas raised,
And saints in heaven the Vánar praised.
Fain would the Sea his succour lend
And Raghu’s noble son befriend.
He, moved by zeal for Ráma’s sake,
The hill Maináka(789) thus bespake:
“O strong Maináka, heaven’s decree
In days of old appointed thee
To be the Asurs bar, and keep
The rebels in the lowest deep.
Thou guardest those whom heaven has cursed
Lest from their prison-house they burst,
And standest by the gates of hell
Their limitary sentinel.
To thee is given the power to spread
Or spring above thy watery bed.
Now, best of noble mountains, rise
And do the thing that I advise.
E’en now above thy buried crest
Flies mighty Hanumán, the best
Of Vánars, moved for Ráma’s sake
A wonderous deed to undertake.
Lift up thy head that he may stay
And rest him on his weary way.”
He heard, and from his watery shroud,
As bursts the sun from autumn cloud,
Rose swifty, crowned with plant and tree,
And stood above the foamy sea.(790)
There with his lofty peaks upraised
Bright as a hundred suns he blazed,
And crest and crag of burnished gold
Flashed on the flood that round him rolled.
The Vánar thought the mountain rose
A hostile bar to interpose,
And, like a wind-swept cloud, o’erthrew
The glittering mountain as he flew.
Then from the falling hill rang out
A warning voice and joyful shout.
Again he raised him high in air
To meet the flying Vánar there,
And standing on his topmost peak
In human form began to speak:(791)
“Best of the Vánars’ noblest line,
A mighty task, O chief, is thine.
Here for a while, I pray thee, light
And rest upon the breezy height.
A prince of Raghu’s line was he
Who gave his glory to the Sea,(792)
Who now to Ráma’s envoy shows
High honour for the debt he owes.
He bade me lift my buried head
Uprising from my watery bed,
And woo the Vánar chief to rest
A moment on my glittering crest.
Refresh thy weary limbs, and eat
My mountain fruits for they are sweet.
I too, O chieftain, know thee well;
Three worlds thy famous virtues tell;
And none, I ween, with thee may vie
Who spring impetuous through the sky.
To every guest, though mean and low.
The wise respect and honour show;
And how shall I neglect thee, how
Slight the great guest so near me now?
Son of the Wind, ’tis thine to share
The might of him who shakes the air;
And,—for he loves his offspring,—he
Is honoured when I honour thee.
Of yore, when Krita’s age(793) was new,
The little hills and mountains flew
Where’er they listed, borne on wings
More rapid than the feathered king’s.(794)
But mighty terror came on all
The Gods and saints who feared their fall.
And Indra in his anger rent
Their pinions with the bolts he sent.
When in his ruthless fury he
Levelled his flashing bolt at me,
The great-souled Wind inclined to save,
And laid me neath the ocean’s wave.
Thus by the favour of the sire
I kept my cherished wings entire;
And for this deed of kindness done
I honour thee his noble son.
O come, thy weary limbs relieve,
And honour due from me receive.”
“I may not rest,” the Vánar cried;
“I must not stay or turn aside.
Yet pleased am I, thou noblest hill,
And as the deed accept thy will.”
Thus as he spoke he lightly pressed
With his broad hand the mountain’s crest,
Then bounded upward to the height
Of heaven, rejoicing in his might,
And through the fields of boundless blue,
The pathway of his father, flew.
Gods, saints, and heavenly bards beheld
That flight that none had paralleled,
Then to the Nágas’ mother(795) came
And thus addressed the sun-bright dame:
“See, Hanumán with venturous leap
Would spring across the mighty deep,—
A Vánar prince, the Wind-God’s seed:
Come, Surasá, his course impede.
In Rákshas form thy shape disguise,
Terrific, like a hill in size:
Let thy red eyes with fury glow,
And high as heaven thy body grow.
With fearful tusks the chief defy,
That we his power and strength may try.
He will with guile thy hold elude,
Or own thy might, by thee subdued.”
Pleased with the grateful honours paid,
The godlike dame their words obeyed,
Clad in a shape of terror she
Sprang from the middle of the sea,
And, with fierce accents that appalled
All creatures, to the Vánar called:
“Come, prince of Vánars, doomed to be
My food this day by heaven’s decree.
Such boon from ages long ago
To Brahmá’s favouring will I owe.”
She ceased, and Hanumán replied,
By shape and threat unterrified:
“Brave Ráma with his Maithil spouse
Lodged in the shade of Daṇḍak’s boughs,
Thence Rávan king of giants stole
Sítá the joy of Ráma’s soul.
By Ráma’s high behest to her
I go a willing messenger;
And never shouldst them hinder one
Who toils for Daśaratha’s son.
First captive Sítá will I see,
And him who sent and waits for me,
Then come and to thy will submit,
Yea, by my truth I promise it.”
“Nay, hope not thus thy life to save;
Not such the boon that Brahmá gave.
Enter my mouth,” was her reply,
“Then forward on thy journey hie!”(796)
“Stretch, wider stretch thy jaws,” exclaimed
The Vánar chief, to ire inflamed;
And, as the Rákshas near him drew,
Ten leagues in height his stature grew.
Then straight, her threatening jaws between,
A gulf of twenty leagues was seen.
To fifty leagues he waxed, and still
Her mouth grew wider at her will.
Then smaller than a thumb became,
Shrunk by his power, the Vánar’s frame.(797)
He leaped within, and turning round
Sprang through the portal at a bound.
Then hung in air a moment, while
He thus addressed her with a smile:
“O Daksha’s child,(798) farewell at last!
For I within thy mouth have passed.
Thou hast the gift of Brahmá’s grace:
I go, the Maithil queen to trace.”
Then, to her former shape restored,
She thus addressed the Vánar lord:
“Then forward to the task, and may
Success and joy attend thy way!
Go, and the rescued lady bring
In triumph to her lord and king.”
Then hosts of spirits as they gazed
The daring of the Vánar praised.
Through the broad fields of ether, fast
Garuḍ’s royal self, he passed,
The region of the cloud and rain,
Loved by the gay Gandharva train,
Where mid the birds that came and went
Shone Indra’s glorious bow unbent,
And like a host of wandering stars
Flashed the high Gods’ celestial cars.
Fierce Sinhiká(799) who joyed in ill
And changed her form to work her will,
Descried him on his airy way
And marked the Vánar for her prey.
“This day at length,” the demon cried,
“My hunger shall be satisfied,”
And at his passing shadow caught
Delighted with the cheering thought.
The Vánar felt the power that stayed
And held him as she grasped his shade,
Like some tall ship upon the main
That struggles with the wind in vain.
Below, above, his eye he bent
And scanned the sea and firmament.
High from the briny deep upreared
The monster’s hideous form appeared,
“Sugríva’s tale,” he cried, “is true:
This is the demon dire to view
Of whom the Vánar monarch told,
Whose grasp a passing shade can hold.”
Then, as a cloud in rain-time grows
His form, dilating, swelled and rose.
Wide as the space from heaven to hell
Her jaws she opened with a yell,
And rushed upon her fancied prey
With cloud-like roar to seize and slay.
The Vánar swift as thought compressed
His borrowed bulk of limb and chest,
And stood with one quick bound inside
The monstrous mouth she opened wide.
Hid like the moon when Ráhu draws
The orb within his ravening jaws.
Within that ample cavern pent
The demon’s form he tore and rent,
And, from the mangled carcass freed,
Came forth again with thought-like speed.(800)
Thus with his skill the fiend he slew,
Then to his wonted stature grew.
The spirits saw the demon die
And hailed the Vánar from the sky:
“Well hast thou fought a wondrous fight
Nor spared the fiend’s terrific might,
On, on! perform the blameless deed,
And in thine every wish succeed.
Ne’er can they fail in whom combine
Such valour, thought, and skill as thine.”
Pleased with their praises as they sang,
Again through fields of air he sprang,
And now, his travail wellnigh done,
The distant shore was almost won.
Before him on the margent stood
In long dark line a waving wood,
And the fair island, bright and green
With flowers and trees, was clearly seen,
And every babbling brook that gave
Her lord the sea a tribute wave.
He lighted down on Lamba’s peak
Which tinted metals stain and streak,
And looked where Lanká’s splendid town
Shone on the mountain like a crown.


Canto II. Lanká.

The glorious sight a while he viewed,
Then to the town his way pursued.
Around the Vánar as he went
Breathed from the wood delicious scent,
And the soft grass beneath his feet
With gem-like flowers was bright and sweet.
Still as the Vánar nearer drew
More clearly rose the town to view.
The palm her fan-like leaves displayed,
Priyálas(801) lent their pleasant shade,
And mid the lower greenery far
Conspicuous rose the Kovidár.(802)
A thousand trees mid flowers that glowed
Hung down their fruit’s delicious load,(803)
And in their crests that rocked and swayed
Sweet birds delightful music made.
And there were pleasant pools whereon
The glories of the lotus shone;
And gleams of sparkling fountains, stirred
By many a joyous water-bird.
Around, in lovely gardens grew
Blooms sweet of scent and bright of hue,
And Lanká, seat of Rávaṇ’s sway,
Before the wondering Vánar lay:
With stately domes and turrets tall,
Encircled by a golden wall,
And moats whose waters were aglow
With lily blossoms bright below:
For Sítá’s sake defended well
With bolt and bar and sentinel,
And Rákshases who roamed in bands
With ready bows in eager hands.
He saw the stately mansions rise
Like pale-hued clouds in autumn skies;
Where noble streets were broad and bright,
And banners waved on every height.
Her gates were glorious to behold
Rich with the shine of burnished gold:
A lovely city planned and decked
By heaven’s creative architect,(804)
Fairest of earthly cities meet
To be the Gods’ celestial seat.
The Vánar by the northern gate