 Chapter 13 of the Ramayana This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Ramayana by Valmiki. Translated by Ralph T. H. Griffith. Book 1, Chapter 13. Canter 60, Sri Shanku's Ascension So with ascetic might and ire is more the children and the sire. Then Vishwamitra, far renowned, addressed the saints who gathered round. See, by my side, Sri Shanku's stand, Ishvaku's son, of liberal hand. Most virtuous and gentle, he seeks refuge in his war with me. Now holy men with me unite, and order so his purpose right, that in the body he may rise and win a mansion in the skies. They heard a speech with ready ear, and every bosom fell with fear. Of Vishwamitra, wise and great, spoke each to each in brief debate. The breast of Kashyak's son, we know, with furious wrath is quick to glow. Whatever the words he wills to say, we must be very sure obey. Fear is a lord as fire, and straight may curses all infuriate. So let us in these rides engage, as ordered by the holy sage. And with our best endeavours try, that King Ishvaku's son alive, in body to the skies may go, by his great might whose wills it so. Then was a ride begun with care, all requisites and means were there. And glorious Vishwamitra lent his willing aid as president. And all the sacred rides were done, by rule and use omitting none. By chaplain priests the hymns her new, in decent form and order due. Sometime in sacrifice had passed, and Vishwamitra made at last the solemn offering with prayer, that all the gods might come and share. The mortals, one and all, refused to hear the hermits call. Then read with rage his eyeballs blazed, the sacred ladle high he raised, and tried to King Ishvaku's son. Behold my power, my penance won. Now by the might my merits lend Ishvaku's child to heaven ascend. In living frame the skies attain, which mortals thus can scarcely gain. My vows austere, so long endured, have as I wean, some fruit assured. Upon its virtue, King, rely and in thy body reach the sky. His speech had scarcely reached its close, when as he stood the sovereign rose and mounted swiftly to the skies before the wandering hermit's eyes. But Indra, when he saw the King, his blissful regions entering with all the army of the blessed, thus cried unto the unbidden guest, with thy best peat, Trishanku, flee, here is no home prepared for thee. By thy great master's curse brought low, go, falling headlong, earthwardo. Thus, by the Lord of gods addressed, Trishanku fell from fancy dress and screaming in a swift descent, oh, save me, hermit, down he went. And Vishwamitra heard his cry, and marked him falling from the sky and giving all his passions away, cried out in fury, stay, oh, stay. By penance power and holy lore, like him who framed the worlds of yore. Seven other saints he fixed on high to star with light the southern sky. Gurt with his sages forth he went, and thou twere in the firmament new wreathe stars prepared to set in many a sparkling coronet. He threatened, blind with rage and hate, another Indra to create. Or from his throne the ruler hurled, all Indra less to leave the world. Here, born away by passion storm, the sage began new gods to form. But then each titan, god and saint, confused with terror, sick and feigned, to high-sold Vishwamitra hide, and with soft words to soothe him tried. Lord of high destiny, this king, to whom his master's curse is cling, no heavenly home deserves to gain, unpurified from curse and stain. The son of Ushak, undeterred, the pleading of the immortals heard, and thus in haughtier words expressed, the changeless purpose of his breast. Contented gods, I subtly swear, Trishanku to the skies to bear, clothed in his body, nor can I, my promise, cancel or deny. Embodied let the king ascend, to life in heaven, that never shall end, and let these new-made stars of mine, firm and secure, forever shine. Let these my work remain secure, long as the earth and heaven endure. This, all you gods, I crave, do you allow the boon for which I sue? Then all the gods, their answer made, so be its saint, as thou hast prayed. Beyond the sun's diurnal way, thy countless stars in heaven shall stay, admit them hung, as one divine, head downward shall Trishanku shine, and all thy stars shall ever fling, their rays attendant on the king. The mighty saint with glory crowned, with all the sages, compassed around. Praised by the gods, gave full ascent, and gods and sages, homeward, went. Canter 61. Sunashapa. Then Vishwamitra, when the blest had sought their homes of heavenly rest, thus mighty prince, his council laid before the dwellers of the shade. The southern land, where now we are, offers this check our rights to bar. To other regions, let us feed, and ply our tasks from trouble-free'd. Now turn we, the distant west, to Pushkar's wood where Hermits rest, and there to ride's austere apply, for not a grow with that can vie. The saint in glory's light arraigned, in Pushkar's wood his dwelling made, and living there, on roots and fruit, did penance, stern, and resolute. The king, who filled Ayodhya's throne by Ambarusha's name far noon, at that same time he chanced, began a sacrificial ride to plan. But Indra took by force away the charger that the king would slay. The victim lot, the brahmin sped to Ambarusha's side, and said, Gone is a steed, O king, and this is due to thee, in care remiss. Such heedless faults will kings destroy, who fail to guard what they enjoy. The flaw is desperate. We need the charger, or a man to bleed. Quick, bring a man, if not the horse, that so the rite may have its course. The glory of Ishvaku's line made offer of a thousand kind, and sought to buy, at lordly price, a victim for the sacrifice. To many a distant land he drew, to many a people, town and grove, and holy shades where hermits rest, pursuing still his eagle quest. At length, on Bhrigu's sacred height, the saint Richaka met his sight, sitting beneath the holy boughs. His children near him, and his spouse. The mighty lord Trunyur, assayed to win his grace, and reverence paid. And then the saint king addressed the brahmin saint with his request, Bought with a hundred thousand kind, give me, o sage, a son of thine, to be a victim in the rite, and thanks the favor shall requite. For I have roamed all countries round, nor a sacrificial victim found. Then, gentle hermit, dain to spare one child amid the number there. Then to the monarch's speech replied the hermit, peninsularified. For countless kind, for hills of gold, mine elders shall never be sold. But when she heard the saint's reply, the children's mother standing nigh, words such as these in answer said to Ambarisha, monarch dread. My lord, the saint has spoken well. His eldest he will not sell, and know, great monarch, that above the rest my youngest is born I love. It is ever thus the father's joy is centered in his eldest boy. The mother loves the darling best, whom last she reeked upon her breast. My youngest I will never forsake. And thus the sire and mother speak. Young Sunashapa of the three, the midmost, cried unerged and free. My sire withholds his eldest son, my mother keeps her youngest one. Then take me with thee, king, I wean, the son is sold, who comes between. The king would joy his home resort, and took the prize his kind had bought. He bade the youth his car ascend, and hastened back the rides to end. Cantor 62. Ambarisha's sacrifice. As thus the king that youth conveyed, his weary steeds at length he stayed, at height of noon the rest to take, upon the bank of Pushkar's lake. There, while the king enjoyed repose, the captive Sunashapa rose, and hastened to the water's side, his uncle Vishwamitra spied. With many a hermit kneed the trees, engaged in stern austerities. Distracted with the toil and thirst, with woeful mean, away he burst. Swift to the hermit's breast he flew, and weeping thus began to soothe. No sire, naive I, no mother dear, no kith, no kin, mahaach to cure. As justice bids, o hermit, dain to save me from the threatened ping. O thou to whom the wretched flee, and find a saviour, sained in thee. Now let the king obtain his will, and me my length of days fulfill. That rides austere I too may share, may rise to heaven and rest me there. With tender soul and gentle brow, be guardian of the orphan thou. And as a father pities, so preserve me from my fear and woe. When Vishwamitra, a glorious saint, had hurt the boy's heart-rending plaint, he soothed his grief, his tears he dried. Then caused sons to him, and cried. The time has come for you to show the duty and the aid bestow, for which, regarding future life, a man gives children to his wife. This hermit's son, whom your you see, a suppliant refuge seeks with me. O sons, the friendless youth befriend, and pleasing me his life defend. For holy works you all have wrought, true to the virtuous life I taught. Go, and as victims doomed to bleed, die, and lord Agni's hunger feed. So shall the right completed end. This often gain a saving friend, due offerings to the gods be paid, and your own father's voice obeyed. Then Madhushyan and all the rest answer their sire with scorn and jest. What, aid to others' sons afford, and leave thine own to die, my lord? To us it seems a horrid deed, as it were on one's own flesh to feed. The hermit heard his son's reply, and burning rage inflamed his eye. Then forth his words of fury burst, audacious speech by virtue cursed. It lifts on ends such shuddering hair, my charge to scorn, my wrath to dare. You, like Vashishta's evil brood, shall make the flesh of dogs your food. A thousand years in many a birth, and punished thus shall dwell on earth. Thus on his sons his curse he laid, then calmed again that youths dismayed, and blessed him with his saving aid. When in the sacred fetters bound, and with the purple garland crowned, at Vishnu's post thou stambestied, would lords be ugly glorified. And these two hints of holy praise, forget not, hermit's son, to raise in the king's right, and thou shall be lord of their wish, preserved and free. He learnt the hints with mind intent, and from the hermit's presence went. To Amrishad thus he spoke. Let us our onward journey take. Haste to thy home, o king, now stay the lustral rites with slow delay. The boys addressed the monarch churd, and soon the sacred ground he neared. The convocations high decree, declared the youth from Glemish free. Clothed in red raiment he was tied, a victim at the pillar's side. There, bound, the fire god's hymn he raised, and Indra and Upendra praised. Thousand-eyed Vishnu, pleased to hear the mystic lord, inclined his ear, and won by worship, swift to save. Long life to Snakshipa gave. The king in bound to measure gained, the fruit of sacrifice ordained. By grace of him who ruled the skies, Lord Indra of the Thousand Eyes. And Vishnu Mitra evermore pursued his task on Pushkar's throne, until a thousand years had passed in fierce austerity and fast. A thousand years had thus flown by, when all the gods within the sky, eager that he the fruit might gain, of fervent right and holy pain, approached the great ascetic, now bathed, all toiled, and ended wow. Then Brahma speaking for the rest, with sweetest words the sage addressed. Hail, saint, this high and holy name, the rites have won, thy merits claim. Thus spoke the lot whom gods revere, and sought again his heavenly sphere. But Vishnu Mitra, more intent, his mind to stern her penance bent. So many a season rolled away, when Menaka, fair nymph, one day, came down from paradise to lave her perfect limbs in Pushkar's wave. The glorious son of Kushik saw that pureless shape without a flaw, flushed through the flood's translucent shroud, like lightning gleaning through a cloud. He saw her in that lone retreat, most beautiful from head to feet. And by Kandarpas, Mitra dued, he thus addressed her, as he viewed. Welcome, sweet nymph, O Dane, I pray, these calm shades are wild to stay. To me some gracious favours show, for love has set my breast aglow. He spoke, the fairest of the fair, made for a while her dwelling there. While day by day the wild delight, stayed wow, austere and fervent right, there as a winsome charmer woe, her spells around him in the grove, and bound him in a golden chain, five sweet years fled and five again. Then Vishnu Mitra woke to shame, and fraught with anguish, memory came, for quick he knew with anger fired, that all the immortals had conspired to lap his careless soul in ease, and mar his long austerities. Ten years have passed each day and night, unheeded in delusive flight. So long my fervent rights were stayed, while thus I lay by love betrayed, and thus long-sized the hermit heaved, and touched with deep repentance greed. He saw the fair one standing nigh, with supplied hands and trembling eye, with gentle words he laid her go, then sought the northern hills of snow. With firm resolve he vowed to beat the might of love beneath his feet, still northward to the distant side of Koshikes the hermit hide, and gave his life to penance there, with rights austere most hard to bear. A thousand years went by, and still he laboured on the northern hill, with pains so terrible and rare, that all the gods were chilled with fear, and gods and saints for swift advice met in the whole paradise. Let Koshikes son, they counseled, be a mighty saint by just decree, his ear to hear the counsel lend, the sire of world's omnipotent. To him, enriched by right severe, he spoke in accents sweet to hear. Hail, mighty saint, dear son, all hail! Thy favour wins, thy toils prevail, one by their vows and zeal intends. I give this high a preeminence. He to the gentle sire replied, Not sad, nor wholly satisfied. When thou, O Brahma, shall declare the title great beyond compare, Of brahman saint my worthy mead, hard earned by many a holy deed, Then may I deem in sooth I hold, each sense of body well controlled. Then Brahma cried, Not yet, not yet, toil on a while, O anchorite. Thus having said to heaven he went, the saint upon his task intent began his labours to renew, which turner yet and fiercer grew. His arms appraised without a rest, with but one foot the earth he pressed. The air his foot, the hermit stood, still as a pillar hewn from wood. Around him, in the summer days, five mighty fires combined to blaze, and floods of rain no veil was spread, save clouds to canopy his head. In the dank dews both night and day, couched in the stream the hermit lay. Thus, till a thousand years had fled, he plied his task of penance dread. Then Vishnu and the gods with awe, the labours of the hermit saw, and Sakra, in his troubled breast, law of the skies, his fear confessed, and brooded on a plan to spoil the merits of the hermit's toil. And, compas'd by his gods of storm, he summoned Brahma, fair of form, and spoke a speech for woe and will, the saint to mark the gods to heal. A great empress, O lovely maid, to save the gods awaits thine aid, to bind the son of Koshikshur, and take his soul with love's sweet lure. Thus ordered by the thousand-eyed, the suppliant nymph in fear replied, O Lord of gods, this mighty sage is very fierce and swift to rage. I doubt not, he so dread and stern on me his scorching loth will turn. Of this, my lord, am I afraid, have mercy on a timid maid. The suppliant hands began to shake, when thus again Lord Indra spoke, O Rumba, drive their fears away, and as I bid, do thou obey. In coales' form, who takes the heart when trees in spring to blossom start, I, with Kandarpa for my friend, close to thy sight, mine aid will end. Do thou, thy beauty's plunder arm, with every grace and winsome charm, and from his awful rites seduce, the Koshik's son, the Stundrakluse. Lord Indra seized, the nymph obeyed, in all her loveliest charms arrayed, with winning ways and witching smile, she sapped the hermit to beguile. The sweet note of the tuneful bird, the saint with ravished bosom heard, and on his heart a rapture passed, as on the nymph a look he cast, but when he heard the bird prolong, his sweet incomparable song, and saw the nymph with winning smile, the hermit's heart perceived the while, and straight he knew that, thousand-eyed, a plot against his peace had tried. Then Koshik's son, indignant laid, his curse upon the heavenly maid. Because the woods my soul engage, who fight to conquer a love and rage, stand till ten thousand years are flown, ill-fated maid, transformed to stone. A brahmin then, in glory strong, mighty through penance, stern and long, shall free thee from thine altered shape, thou from my curse shall then escape. But when the saint had cursed her so, his breast was burnt with fires of woe, grieved that long effort to restrain his mighty rob was all in vain. Cursed by the angry sage's power, she stood in stone that self-same hour. Kandarpa heard the words he said, and quickly from his presence fled. His fall beneath his passion's sway had ref'd the hermit's maid away. Unconquered, yet a secret foes, the humble saint refused repose. No more shall rage my bosom till, seal be my lips my tongue be still. My very breath hencefold I hold, until a thousand years are told. Victorious over each airing sense, I'll dry my frame with abstinence. Until, by penance duly done, a brahmin's rank be bought and won. Countless yearn, as still as death, I taste no food, I draw no breath, and as I toil, my frame shall stand, unharmed by time's destroying hand. Canto 65, Veshvamitra's triumph. Then from Himalayas, heights of snow, the glorious saint prepared to go. And dwelling in the distant east, his penance and his toil increased. A thousand years his lips he held, close by a vow unparalleled, and other marvels passing thought, and rivaled in the world he wrought. In all the thousand years his frame, dry as a log of wood, became. By many a cross and check beset, rage had not starmed bosom yet. With iron will that not could bend, he plied his labour till the end. So when the weary years were over, freed from his vow, so stern and sore, the hermit, all his penance sped, sat down to eat his meal of bread. Then Indra clad in brahmin guise, asked him for food with hungry eyes. The mighty saint, with steadfast soul, to the false brahmin gave the whole. And when no scrap for him remained, fasting and feigned, from speech refrained. His silent vow he would not break. No breath he heaved, no word he spake. Then as he checked his breath, behold, around his brow, thick smoke clouds rolled. And the three worlds, as of old spread, with ravening flames, were filled with thread. Then God and saint and bard convened. Another lord and snake and fiend, thus to the general father cried. Distracted, sad and terrified. Against the hermit, sore assailed, lure, scathe and scorn have not availed. Proof against rage and treacherous art, he keeps his vow with constant heart. Now if his toys assist him not to gain the boon his soul has sought, he through the worlds will ruin sent, that fixed in moving things shall end. The regions now are dark with doom. No friendly ray relieves the gloom. Each ocean foes with maddened tide, the shrinking hills in fear subside. Trembles the earth with fervourous through. The wind in fitful tempest blows. No cure we see with troubled eyes, an atheist brood on earth may rise. The triple world is wild with care, a spiritless in dull despair. Before that saint, the sun is dim, his blessed light eclipsed by him. Now ear the saint resolved to bring destruction on each living thing. Let us appease, while yet we may, him bright as fire, like fire to slay. Ye as the fiery flood of fate lays all creation desolate. He over the conquered gods may reign, or grant him what he longs to gain. Then all the blessed by Brahma led, approached the saint and sweetly said, Hail Brahman saint, for such thy place, thy vows of steer have won our grace. A brahman's rank thy pen and cistern, and ceaseless labour richly earn. I, with the gods' storm decree, long life, o Brahman saint, to thee. May peace and joy, thy soul possess, go where there wilt in happiness. Thus, by the general sire addressed, joy and high triumph filled his breast, his head in adoration bowed, thus spoke he to the immortal crowd. If I, ye gods, have gained at last both length of days and Brahman caste, grant to the high mysterious name and holy Vedas all my claim, and that the formula to bless, the sacrifice, its Lord confess, and let Vashishta, who excels in warrior's art and mystic bells, in love of God without a pure. Confirm the boon you promise here. With Brahman's son Vashishta, best of those who pray with voice repressed, the gods by earnest prayer prevailed, and thus his new-made friend he hailed, thy title now is sure and good, to rights of saintly Brahmanhood. Thus spoke the sage. The gods' consent, back to their heavenly mansions went, and Vishwamitra pious sold among the Brahman saints enrolled. On Reverend Vashishta pressed the honors due to holy guest. Successful in his high pursuit, the sage in penance resolute, walked in his pilgrim wanderings over the whole broad land from show to show. Towards thus the sage, O Rabu's son, his rank among the Brahman's one. Best of all, Hermit's prince is he, in him incarnate, penance see. Friend of the right, who shrinks from ill, heroic powers attend him still. The Brahman versed in ancient lore, thus closed his tail and said no more. To Satananda Kushik's son, cried in delight, well done, well done. Then Janak at the tail amazed, spoke thus with supplied hands appraised. High fate is mine, O sage, I deem, and thanks I owe for bliss supreme, that thou and rose children too have come my sacrifice to view. To look on thee with blessed eyes exalts my soul and purifies. Ye, thus to see thee face to face, enriches me with store of grace. Thy holy labours wrought of old, and mighty penance fully told. Rama and I, with great delight, have heard, O glorious anchorite. Undrivaled thine ascetic deeds, thy might ascend, all might exceed. No thought may scan, no limit bound, the virtues that in thee are found. The story of thy wondrous fate, my thirsty ears can never say it. The hour of evening rides near, the sun declines in swift career. At early dawn, O hermit, dain't let me see thy face again. Best of ascetics, pardon bliss, do thou, thy servant, now dismiss. The saint, approved and glad and kind, dismissed the king with joyful mind. Around the sage, King Janak went, with priests and kingsmen, reverent. Then Vishwamitra honoured so by those high-minded rose to go, and with the princess took his way to seek the lodging where they lay. With cloudless luster rose the sun, the king his morning worship done, ordered hid heralds to invite, the princes and the anchorite, with honour as the lodging of the king. The king, with great delight, dain't let me see thy face again. The king, with great delight, dain't let me see thy face again. The king, with great delight, dain't let me see thy face again. With honour as the lod's decree, the monarch entertained the three. Then to the youth and saintly man, Vidaeus Lord, this speech began, O blameless saint, most welcome thou, if I may please thee tell me how. Speak, mighty lord, whom all revere, to his thine to order, mine to hear. Thus he o'en mighty thoughts intend, then thus the sage most eloquent. King Dasaratha's sons, this pair, of warriors famous everywhere, are come that best of bows to see, that lies a treasure stored by thee. This mighty Yannick, dain't to show, that they may look upon the bow, and then contented homeward go. Then Royal Yannick spoke in turn, O best of saints, the story learn, why this famed bow, a noble prize, a treasure in my palace lies. A monarch, devourant by name, who sixth from ancient Nimri came, held it as ruler of the land, a pledge in his successive hand. This bow, the mighty Rudra bore. At Daksha's sacrifice of yore, when carnage of the immortal stained, the rite that Daksha had ordained, then as the gods, sore wounded fled. Victoria's Rudra, mocking, said, because, O gods, ye gave me not, when I my rightful portion sought, your dearest parts I will not spare, but with my bow your frames will tear. The sons of heaven in wild alarm, soft flatteries tried his rage to charm. Then Bahava, lord whom gods adore, grew kind and friendly as before, and every torn in mangled limb was safe and sound restored by him. Thenceforth this bow, the gem of bows, that freed the god of gods from foes, stored by our great forefathers lay, a treasure and a pride for A. Once as a chance I plowed the ground, when suddenly the share was found, an infant springing from the earth, named Sita, from her secret birth. In strength and grace the maiden grew, my cherished daughter, fair to view. I vowed her of no mortal birth, meet prize for noblest hero's worth. In strength and grace the maiden grew, and many a monarch came to woo. To all the princely suitors I gave mighty saint the same reply, I give not thus my daughter she, prize of heroic worth shall be. To Mithyla the suitors pressed, their power and might to manifest. When I came with hearts aglow, I offered Siva's wondrous bow. Not one of all the royal band could raise or take the bow in hand. The suitors puny might I spurned, and back the feeble princes turned. Enraged thereat the warriors met, with force combined my town beset, stung to the heart with score and shame, with war and threats they madly came, changed my peaceful walls and long, to Mithyla did grievous wrong. There wasting all a year they lay, and brought my treasures to decay. Filling my soul a hermit chief, with bitter woe and hopeless grief. At last by long wrought pen and sigh, one favour with the gods on high, who with my labours well content, a fourfold host to aid me sent, then swift the baffled heroes fled, to all the winds well discomfitted, wrongdoers, with their lords and host, and all their valour's idle boast, this heavenly bow exceeding bright, these youths shall see all anchor right. Then if young Rama's hand can string, the bow that baffled lord and king, to him I give, as I have sworn, my Sita, not of woman born. Kanto 67. The Breaking of the Bow Then spoke again the great recluse, this mighty bow a king produce. King Yannick at the saint's request, this order to his train addressed, let to the great bow be hither borne, which flowery reeds and sends adorn. Soon as the monarch's words were said, his servants to the city sped, five thousand youths in number all, of manly strength and stature tall. The ponderous eight-wheeled chest that held, the heavenly bow, with toil propelled, at length they brought that iron chest, and thus the godlike king addressed. This best of bows, O Lord, we bring, respected by each chief and king, and place it for these youths to see, if sovereign such thy pleasure be. With suppliant palm to palm applied, King Yannick to the stranger's cry, this gem of bows, O Brahmin's age, our race has prized from age to age, too strong for those who yet have reigned, though great in might, each nerve they strained. Titan and fiend its strength defies, God, spirit minstrel of the skies, and barred above and snake below, are baffled by this glorious bow. Then how may human prowess hope, with such a bow as this to cope? What man with valour's choicest gift, this bow can draw, or string, or lift? Yet let the princes, holy seer, behold it, it is present here. Then spoke the hermit Pius Sould, Rama, dear son, the bow beholds. Then Rama at his word unclosed, the chest wherein its might reposed. Thus crying as he viewed it, Lo, I lay my hand upon the bow, may happy luck my hope attend, its heavenly strength to lift or bend. Good luck be thine, the hermit cried, assay the task, the king replied. Then Rahu's son, as if in sport, before the thousands of the court, the weapon by the middle raised, that all the crowd and wonder gazed, with steady arm the string he drew, till burst the mighty bow in two. As snapped the bow an awful clang, loud as the shriek of tempest's rang, the earth affrighted shook a mane, as when a hill is rent in twain. Then senseless at the fearful sound, the people fell upon the ground. None save the king, the princely pair, and the great saint the shop could bear. When woke to sense the stricken train, and Janak's soul was calm again, with supple and hand and reverent head, these words most eloquent he said. O saint Prince Rama stands alone, his peerless might he well has shown. A marvel has the hero wrought, beyond belief, surpassing thought. My child to royal Rama wed, new glory on our line will shed, and true my promise will remain, that hero's worth the bride should gain. Jira to me than light and life, my Sita shall be Rama's wife. If thou, O Brahmin, leave conceit, my counsellors, with eager speed, born in their flying cars to fare, Ayyotiya's town the news shall bear, with courteous message to entreat, the king to grace my royal seat. This to the monarch shall they tell, the bride is his who won her well, and his two sons are resting here, protected by the holy seer. So at his pleasure let them lead, the sovereign to my town, with speed. The hermit to his prayer inclined, and Janak, lord of virtuous mind, with charges to Ayyotiya's send, his ministers, and forth they went. Canto 68, the Envoy's speech. Three nights upon the road they passed, to rest the steeds that bore them fast, and reached Ayyotiya's town at last, then straight at Dasaratha's call, they stood within the royal hall, wed like a god inspiring all, the venerable king they saw. With suppliant palm to palm applied, and all their terror laid aside, they spoke to him upon the throne, with modest words in gentle tone. Janak, Viziya's king, Osir, has sent us hither to inquire, the help of thee his friend Mostir, of all thy priests and every peer. Next Kusik's son, consenting thus, King Janak speaks, dread liege by us, I made a promise and decree, that Valor's prize my child should be. King's worth was found in worth's array, with mine dejected turned away. Thy sons by Vizvamitra led, unerged, my city visited, and peerless in their might have gained, my daughter as my Val ordained. Full in a vast assembly's view, thy hero Rama broke in two, a gem of bows, of monstrous size, that came a treasure from the skies. Ordained the prize of hero's might, Sita my child is his by right. Fane, would I keep my promise made, if thou, O king, approve and aid? Come to my town thy son to see, bring holy guide and priest with thee. O Lord of kings my suit allow, and let me keep my promised Val. So, joing for thy children's sake, their triumph, too, shall thou partake. With Vizvamitra's high consent, such words with friendship eloquent, spoke Janak, fair Vihita's king, by Satinaja's counselling. The envoy thus the king addressed, and mighty joy his heart possessed, to Vama Diva quicky cried, Vasishta, and his lords beside, Lakshaman and he my princely hoy, who fills Kaushyala's soul with joy, by Vizvamitra guarded well, among the good Vithiyan's dwell. Their ruler Janak prompt to own, the peerless might my child has shown, to him would knit in holy ties, his daughter Valar's lovely prize. If Janak's plan seemed good to you, come, speed we to his city too, nor let occasion idly by. He ceased. There came a glad reply, from priest and mighty saint and all, the counsellors who thronged the hall. Then cried the king with joyous heart, tomorrow let us all depart. That night the envoys entertained, with honour and all care remained. Kanto 69. Dasaratha's visit. Soon as the shades of night had fled, thus too the wise Sumantra said, the happy king, while priest and peer, each in his place were standing near, let all my treasurers today set foremost in the long array, with gold and precious gems supplied, in bounteous store, together ride, and send you out a mighty force, foot, chariot, elephant, and horse. Besides, let many a car, of state, and noblest steeds, my will await. Vasistha, Vamadiva sage, and Markandeya's reverend age. Javali, Kasiap, godlike seed, and wise Katiayana shall lead. Thy care, Sumantra, let it be, to yoke a chariot now for me. Let so we part without delay, these envoys hasten me away. So fared he forth, that host with speed, quadruple as the king decreed, with priests to head the bright array, followed the monarch on his way. Four days they travelled on the road, and Eve Vitya's kingdom showed. Janak had left his royal seat, the venerable king decreed, and noblest, with these words addressed, let noblest lord his happy guest. Hail, best of kings, a blessed fate has led thee, monarch, to my state. Thy sons supreme and high in prize, will gladden now their father's eyes, and high my fate that hither leads. Vasistha bright with holy deeds, girt with these sages far renowned, like Indra with the guns round. Joy, joy, for vanquished are my foes. Joy, for my house in glory grows. With Raghu's noblest sons alight, supreme in strength and valour's pride. Tomorrow, with its early light, will shine on my completed right. Then sanctioned by the saints and thee, the marriage of thy Rama see. Then Daza ratha, best of those, whose speech in graceful order flows, gathered saints on every side, lest to the lord of earth reply it. A truth is this I long have known, a favour is the giver's own. With thou shalt bid a good and true, we, as our power permits, will do. That answer of the truthful lord, with virtuous worth and honour stored, Janak, Vitya's noble king, here gladly, great marfilling. With bosoms filled with pleasure met, long parted saint and anchorette, and linked in friendship's tie they spent, the peaceful night, in great content. Rama and Lakshaman thither sped, by saint it, Visvamitra led, and bent in filial love to greet, their father, and embraced his feet. The aged king rejoiced to hear, and see again his children dear. Honoured by Janak's thoughtful care, with great enjoyment, rested there. King Janak, with attentive heed, consulted first his daughter's need, and ordered all to speed the right, then rested also for the night. Kanto Seventy, the maidens, sought. Then with the mourns returning son, King Janak, when his rites were done, skilled all the charms of speech to know. Spoke to wise Satyanandraso, My brother, lord of glorious fame, my younger, Kuzh-Edwaj by name, whose virtuous life has won renown, has settled in a lovely town. Sankasha decked with grace divine, whose glories bright as Pushpak shine. While Ikshumati rolls her wave, her lofty ramparts foot to lave. Him, holy priest, I long to see, the guardian of my right is he. That, my dear brother, may not miss, a share of mine expected bliss. Thus in the presence of the priest, the royal Janak spoke and ceased. Then came his henchmen, prompt and brave, to whom his charge the monarch gave. Soon as they heard his will in haste, with fleet of steeds away they raced, to lead with them that lord of kings, as Indra's call Lord Vishnu brings. Sankasha's walls they do they gained, and audience of the king obtained. To him they told the news they brought, of Marvel's past and Janak's thought. Soon as the king the story knew, from those good envoys swift and true, to Janak's wish he gave assent, and swift to Mithila he went. He paid to Janak reverence due, and tole Satinanda too. Then set him on a glorious seat, for kings or gods celestial meet, soon as the brother's noble pair, pearless in might, were seated there. They gave the wise Sudhaman best of counsellors their high behest. Go, noble counsellor, they cried, and hither too our presence guide. Ishvaku's son, Iohodia's lord, invincible by foment sword, with both his sons each holy seer, and every minister and peer. Sudhaman to the palace flew, and saw the mighty king who threw, splendor on Ragu's splendid rays, then bowed his head with seemly grace. O king, whose hand Iohodia sways, my lord whom Mithila obeys, yearns with desire, if thou agree, thee with my guide and priest to see. Soon as the counsellor had ceased, the king with Satan, peer and priest, sought speeding through the palace gate, the home where Janak held his state, there with his nobles round him spread, thus too Vidya's lord be sent. Thou knowing king, whose a divine, protects Ishvaku's royal line, in every need whatever befall, the saint Vashishtha speaks for all. If this Vamitra so allow, and all the saints around me now, the sage will speak at my desire, as order and the truth require. Soon as the king his lips had stilled, up rose Vashishtha, speaker's skills, and to Vidya's lord began, in flowing words, that holy man, from viewless nature, Brahma rose, no change, no end, no waste, he knows. A son had he, Marichi Styles, and Kasiap was Marichi's child. From him these Vashvats sprang, from him, Manu, whose fame shall never be dim. Manu, who life to mortals gave, begot Ishvaku, good and brave. First of Adhotia's kings was he, pride of her famous dynasty. From him the glorious Kukshi sprang, whose fame through all the regions rang. Rival of Kukshi's ancient fame, his heir the great Vaikukshi came. His son was Vana, lord of might. His son Aranya, strong to fight. His son was Prithu, glorious name. From him the good Trijanku came. He left a son renowned afar, known by the name of Dundhomar. His son, who drove the mighty car, was Yuvanasva, fair to war. He passed away, him followed then, his son Manthatta, king of men. His son was blessed in high empires, so sandy, fortunate and wise. Two noble sons had he to it, Dhruvasandai and Prasannajit. Bharat was Dhruvasandhi's son, and glorious fame that monarch won. The warrior Asid he begot. Asid had warfare, fierce and heart, with rival kings in many a spot, Haihayas, Telajanga's styles, and Sasevindas, strong and wild. Long time he strove, but forced to yells, fled from his kingdom and the fields, with his two wives away he fled, where Hai Himalaya lives his head. And all his wealth and glory passed, he paid the dues of fate at last. The wives he left had both conceived, so is the ancient tale believed, one of her rival's hopes afraid, fell poison in her vines laid. It chanced that Kayavan, Bricku's child, had wandered to that pathless wild, and there Himalaya's lovely height, detained him with a strange delight. There came the other widowed queen, with low desires and beautyous mean, longing a noble son to bear, and wooed the saint with earnest prayer. When thus Kalindhi, fairest aim, with reverence application came, to her the holy sage replied, born with the poison from thy side, O happy queen shall spring ere long, an infant fortunate and strong. Then weep no more, and check thy size, sweet lady of the lotus eyes. The queen who loved her perished lord, for meet reply the saint adored, and of her husband long bereaved, she bore a son by him conceived. Because her rival mixed the bane, to render her conception vain, and fruit unripened to destroy, sagar she called her darling boy. To sagar a samanj was ere, bright anzuman his consort bear. Anzuman's son Dilpa famed, begot a son Bagheerath named. From him the great Kakutstharo's, from him came Raku, feared by foes. Of him sprang Purushadak bolds, fierce hero of gigantic moles. Kalmasha Pada's name he bore, because his feet were spotted oar. From him came Sankan, and from him Sudarsan, fair in face and limb. From beautiful Sudarsan came Prince Agnivarna, bright as flame. His son was Sikharaka, for speed unmatched, and Maru was his seed. Prasuse Ruka was Maru's child, his son was Ambarisha-styled. Nahush was Ambarisha's heir, the mighty lord of region's fair. Nahush begot Yayati, he, a napag of happy destiny. Son of Nepag was Ajah, his, the glorious Dasaranta is, whose noble children boast to be Rama and Laksham whom we see. Thus do those kings, of purist race, their lineage from Ikshvaku's trace. Their hero lives the right maintained, their lips with falsehood near were stained. In Ramas, and in Laksham's name, thy daughters as their wives I claim. So shall in equal bands be tied, each peerless youth with peerless pride. Kanto 71, the Janak's pedigree. Then to the saint, supremely wise, King Janak spoke in suppliant guise. Dane hermit, with attentive ear, my race's origin to hear. When kings a daughter's hand bestow, it is right their line in fame to show. There was a king whose deeds and worth spread wide his name through heaven and earth. Nimi most virtuous, Ian from youth, the best of all who love the truth, his son and heir was Meethi and his Janak, first to rule this land. He left a son, Udavasu, blessed with all virtues, good and true. His son was Nandavartantir, for pious heart and worth sincere. His son Tsuketu, hero brave, to devarant existence gave. King Devarat, a royal sage for virtue, glory of the age, begot Rihadratha and he. Begot his worthy heir to be, the splendid hero, Mahabir, who long in glory governed terror. His son was Sudriti, a youth, firm in his purpose, brave and sooth. His son was Distracatu, blessed, with pious will and holy breast. The fame of royal saint he won, Haryasva was his princely son. Haryasva's son was Maru, who, begot Pratindhak wise and true. Next Kratiratha held the throne, his son, for gentle virtues known, then followed Devamidra then. Vibhud, Maharandrak, kings of men. Maharandrak's son, of boundless might, was Kirtarat, who loved the right. He passed away a sainted king, and Mahurama following. Two Swarnurama left the state. Then Haryasva-Roma, good and great, succeeded and to him a pair of sons, his royal consort-bear. Elder of these I boast to be. Brave Kusadwaj is next to me. Me, then the elder of the twain, my sire anointed here to reign. He bade me tend my brother well, then to the forest went to dwell. He sought the heavens, and I sustained. The burden, as by law ordained. And Noble Kusadwaj, the peer, of gants I ever held most dear. Then came Sankhasha's mighty lord, Svodhavna, threatening siege and sword, and bade me swift on him bestow, Siva's incomparable bow. And Sita, of the lotus eyes. But I refuse each peerless prize. Then host to host we met the foes, and fierce the din of battle rose. Svodhavna, foremost of his band, fell smitten by my single hand. When thus in Kasia's lord was slain, I sanctified, as laws ordained, my brother in his stead to reign. Thus are we brothers, saint most high, the younger he, the elder I. Now mighty sage, my spirit joys, to give these maidens to the boys. Let Sita be to Ramatide, and Urmila be Lakshaman's pride. First give, O king, the gift of cows, as dowry of each royal spouse. Do offerings to the spirit's pay, and salamize the wedding day. The moon to night, O royal sage. In Makka's house, takes harbour age. On the third night his rays benign. In second, Falgunai will shine. Be that the day with prosperous fate, the nuptial rites to celebrate. End of Chapter 14 Recording by Katie Ridley August 2010 Chapter 15 When royal Janak's words were done, joined with Vasishtha Kusik's son, the mighty sage began his speech. No mind may soar, no thought can reach. The glories of Ikshvaku's line, O great Videha's king of thine. None in the whole wide world may vie, with them in fame and honour's high. Well matched I wean in holy bands, these peerless pairs will join their hands. But hear me as I speak once more, thy brother skilled in duty's law, has at his home a royal pair, of daughters most divinely fair. I for the hands of these sweet two, for Bharatan Satrughnasu, both princes of heroic mould, wise fair of form and lofty soul, of Dasaratha's sons I wean, own each young grace of form and mean, brave as the gods as they nor yield, to the great lords the worlds who shield. By these good prince of merit's high, Ikshvaku's house with thine ally. Ikshvaku's suit the holy sage preferred, with willing ear the monarch heard. Vasishtha's lips the council praised, then spake the king with hands appraised. Now blessed indeed my race I deem, with your high will O saint supreme, with Dasaratha's house unites, in bonds of love and marriage rights. So be it done, my niece's twain, let Bharatan Satrughna gain, and the four youths the self-same day, for maiden hands in theirs shall lay, no day so lucky may compare, for marriage so the wise declare, with the last day of Palguni, ruled by the genial deity. Then with raised hands in reverence due to those arch-saints he spoken you, I am your pupil ever true, to me high favour have ye shown. Come sit ye on my royal throne, for Dasaratha rules these towers, in as Ayodhya now is ours, do with your own water ye choose, your lordship here will none refuse. He spoken to Videha's king thus Dasaratha answering, boundless your virtue's lords who sway, the realms of Mithila obey. With honouring care you entertain, both holy sage and royal train, now to my house my steps I bend, may blessings still on you at end, due offerings to the shades to pay. Thus spoke the king and turned away, to Janak first he bade adieu, then followed fast those holy two, the monarch reached his palace where, the rites were paid with solemn care, when the next sun began to shine, he rose and made his gift of kind. A bundled thousand cows prepared, for each young prince the brahman shared, each had her horns adorned with gold, and duly was the number told, four hundred thousand perfect tale, each brought a calf, each filled a pale, and when that glorious task was o'er, the monarch with his children for, showed like the lord of life divine, when the world's guardians round him shine. Kanto 73, the nuptials On that same day that saw the king, his gift of kind distributing, the lord of Kekaiya's sons by name, Yudhajit Parat's uncle came, asked of the monarch's health and then, addressed the reverend king of men, the lord of Kekaiya's realm by me, sends greeting noble king to thee, asks if the friends thy prayers would bless, uninterrupted health possess, right anxious mighty king is he, my sister's princely boy to see, for this I sought Ayodhya fair, the message of my sire to bear, there learning o' my liege that thou, with sons and noble kinsmen now, whilst resting here I sought the place, longing to see my nephew's face. The king with kind observance cheered, his friend by tender ties endeared, and every choicest on oppressed, upon his honourable guest. That night with all his children spent, at morning king Dasarata went, behind Vasishtha and the rest, to the fair ground for rites addressed, then when the lucky hour was nigh, called victory of Oman Hai, came Rama after vow and prayer, for nuptial bliss and fortune fair, with the three youths in bright attire, to Jhanik then Vasishtha's bed, and to Videha's monarch said, O king Ayodhya's ruler now, has breathed the prayer and vowed the vow, and with his sons' expecting stands, the giver of the maiden's hands, the giver and the taker both, must ratify a mutual oath, perform the part for which we wait, and rites of marriage celebrate. Skilled in the laws which scriptures teach, he answered thus Vasishtha's speech, O saint, what water bars the gate, whose bidding can the king await. In one's own house what doubt is shown, this kingdom sage is all thine own, in now the maidens may he found, within the sacrificial ground. Each vow is vowed and prayed each prayer, and they like fire are shining there, here by the shrine my place I took, expecting thee with eager look, no bar the nuptial rites should stay, what cause have we for more delay. When Janak's speech the monarch heard, to sons and saints he gave the word, and set them in the holy ring, then to Vasishtha spoke the king, of Mithila, Almighty Sage, now let this task thy care engage, and lend thine aid and counsel wise, the nuptial rites to solemnize, the saint Vasishtha gave assent, and quickly to the task he went, with Vishvamitra nothing both, and Satananda aiding both, then as the rules prescribed they made, an altar in the midst and laid, fresh reeds of fragrant flowers thereon, the golden ladles round it shone, and many of Vas, which branches hid, fixed in the perforated lid, and sprays and cups and sensors there, stood filled with incense rich and rare, shell bowls and spoons and solvers dressed, with gifts that greet the honored guest, piles of parched rice some dishes bore, others with corn prepared ran oar, and holy grass was duly spread, in equal lengths while prayers were said, next chief of saints Vasishtha came, and laid the offering in the flame, then by the hand King Janak drew, his cita beautiful to view, and placed her bright and rich attire, grama to face before the fire, thus speaking to the royal boy, who filled Kausalya's heart with joy, here cita stands my daughter fair, the duties of thy life to share, take from her father, take thy bride, join hand in hand and bliss betide, a faithful wife, most blessed is she, and as thy shade will follow thee. Then as he spoke the monarch through, o'er her young limbs the holy Jew, while gods and saints were heard to swell, the joyous cry, tis well, tis well, his daughter cita thus bestowed, o' whom the sacred drops had flowed, King Janak's heart with rapture flowed, then to Prince Lakshman thus he cried, take Urmila, thine offered bride, and clasp her hand within thine own, ere yet the lucky hour be flown, then to Prince Parathas cried he, come take the hand of Mandavi, then to Satrugna in thy grasp, the hand of Srutakirti clasp, now Ragu's sons may all of you be gentle to your wives and true, keep well the vows you make today, nor let occasion slip away. King Janak's words the youths obeyed, the maidens hands in theirs they laid, then with their brides the princes went, with ordered steps and reverent, bound both the Tyre and Janak round, the sages and the sacred ground, a flowery flood of lucid dyes, in rain descended from the skies, while with celestial voices blend, sweet strains from many an instrument, and the nymphs danced in joyous throng, responsive to the minstrel song, such signs of exultation they, saw on the prince's wedding day, still rang the heavenly music sound, when Ragu's sons thrice circled round, the fire each one with reverent head, and homeward then their brides they led, they to the sumptuous palace hide, that Janak's care had seen supplied, the monarch girt with saint and pier, still fondly gazing followed near. Canto 74. Rama with the axe. Soon as the night had reached its close, the hermit Visvamitra rose, to both the kings he bade adieu, and to the northern hill withdrew. Ayodhya's lord of Hyrenown received farewell and sought his town, then as each daughter left her bower, King Janak gave a splendid dower, bug's precious silks a warrior force, car's elephants and foot and horse, divine to sea and well arrayed, and many a skillful tiring maid, and many a young and trusty slave, the father of the ladies gave, silver and coral, golden pearls, he gave to his beloved girls, these precious gifts the king bestowed, and sped his guest upon his road. The lord of Mithila's sweet town rode to his court and lighted down. Ayodhya's monarch, glad and gay, led by the seers pursued his way, with his dear sons of lofty mind, the royal army marched behind, as on he faired the voice he heard, a round of many a dismal bird, cast in wilder fright, began to hurry to the right, the monarch too versishtha cried, what strange misfortune will betide, why do the beasts in terror fly, and birds of evil omen cry, what is it shakes my heart with dread, why is my soul disquieted? Soon as he heard the mighty saint, the sansa dosarita's plaint, now monarch, mark, and learned from me the meaning dark, the voices of the birds of air, great peril to the host declare, the moving beasts the dread allay, so drive thy well-ming fear away. As he and the sansa dosarita spoke, a tempest from the welkin broke, that shook the spacious earth amain, and hurled high trees upon the plain, the sun grew dark with murky cloud, and o'er the skies was cast a shroud, while o'er the army faint with dread, a veil of dust and ashes spread, king, princes, saints their sense retained, fierce to purify the rest remained, at length their wits returning all, beneath the gloom and ashy pole, so Jamadagni's son with dread, his long hair twisted round his head, he sprung from pregu love to beat, the proudest kings beneath his feet, firm as Kailasa's hill he showed, fierce as the fire of doom he glowed, his axe upon his shoulder lay, his bow was ready for the fray, with thirsty arrows want to fly, like lightnings from the angry sky, a long keen arrow forth he drew, invincible like those which flew, from Shiva's ever-conquering bow, ripura in death lay low, when his wild form that struck with awe, fearful as ravening flame they saw, Vasishtha and the saints who care, was sacrifice and muttered prayer, drew close together each to each, and questioned thus with baited speech, indignant at his father's fate, will he on warriors vent his hate, the slayers of his father slay, the loathed race away, but when of old his fury raged, seas of their blood his wrath assuaged, so doubtless now he has not planned to slay all warriors in the land, then with a gift the saints drew near, to Pregu's son whose look was fear, and Rama, Rama soft they cried, the gift he took no word replied, then Pregu's son his silence broke, thus to Rama, Rama spoke. Canto 75, the Parley Heroic Rama men proclaim the marvels of thy matchless fame, and I from loud voiced rumour know the exploit of the broken bow, yea, bent and broken mighty chief, a feat most wondrous past belief, stirred by thy fame, thy face I sought, a peerless bow I too have brought, this mighty weapon strong and dire, great Gemma Dugney owned my sire, draw with its shaft thy father's bow, and thus thy might O Rama show, this proof of prowess let me see, the weapon bent and drawn by thee, then single fight our strength shall try, and this shall raise thy glory high. King Dasaratha heard with dread the boastful speech, and thus he said, raising his hands in suppliant guise, with pallid cheek and timid eyes, forgetful of the bloody feud, ascetic toils hast thou pursued, then Brahman, let thy children be, untroubled and from danger free, sprung of the race of Pregu who, read holy law to vows most true, thou swearest to the thousand eyed, and thy fierce axe was cast aside, thou turn its two thy rights away, leaving the earth to kasyap sway, and wentest far a grove to seek, beneath Mahendra's mountain peak. Now mighty hermit art thou here, to slay us all with doom severe, for if alone my Rama fall, we share his fate and perish all. As thus the aged sire complained, the mighty chief no answer deigned, to Rama only thus he cried, to Bose the heavenly artist's pride, celestial peerless, vast and strong, by all the worlds were honoured long, one to the three eyed God was given, by glory to the conflict driven, thus armed fierce Tripura he slew, and then by thee twas burst in two, the second bow which few may brave, the highest gods to Vishnu gave, this bow I hold before it fall, the fomens fenced tower and wall, then prayed the gods the sire most high, by summoneering proof to try, were praise for might's Lord Vishnu's due, or his whose neck is stained with blue, the mighty sire there wishes new, and he whose lips are ever true, cause the two gods to meet as foes, then fierce the rage of battle rose, bristled in dread each starting hair, as Shiva strove with Vishnu there, but Vishnu raised his voice amane, and Shiva's bowstring twanged in vain, its master of the three bright eyes stood fixed in fury and surprise, then all the dwellers in the sky, minstrel and saint and God drew nigh, and prayed them that the strife might cease, and the great rivals met in peace, twas seen how Shiva's bow has failed, unnerved when Vishnu's might assailed, and gods and heavenly sages thence, to Vishnu gave preeminence, and glorious Shiva in his rage, gave it to Devarath the sage, who ruled Videha's fertile land, to pass it down from hand to hand, but this my bow whose shaft smite down, the foeman's fenced tower and town, to great Richika Vishnu Lent, to be a pledge and ornament, then Jamadagni Brahman dread, my sire the bow inherited, and Arjun stooped to treachery vile, and slew my noble sire by Gile, whose penance awful strength had gained, whose hand the God-given bow retained. I heard indignant how he fell, by mournful fate, too sad to tell, my vengeful fury since that time, scourges all warriors for the crime, as generations spring to life, I wore them down in endless strife, all earth I brought beneath my sway, and gave it for his mead and pay, to holy Kasyap, when of Yor, the rites performed by him were Ur, then to Mahendra's hill I turned, strong in the strength that penance earned, and toiled upon his lofty head, by God's immortal visited, the breaking of the bow I knew, from startled gods conversing through, the airy regions of thy deed, and hither came with swiftest speed, now for thy warriors on her sake, this best of bows, O Rama take, this owned by Vishnu's self of old, my sire and grand sire love to hold, drawn to its head upon the string, one town destroying arrow-bring, if this thou can, O hero, I, in single fight thy strength will try, Kanto 76, debarred from heaven, the haughty challenge undeterred, the son of Dasaratha heard, and cried while reverence for his sire, checked the full torrent of his ire, before this day have I been told, the deed that stained thy hands of old, but pity bids my soul forget, thy father murdered, claim the debt, my strength, O chief, thou demest slight, to feeble for a warrior's might, now will I show thy wondering eyes, the prowess which they dare despise, he hastened then with graceful ease, that mighty blow and shaft to seize, his hand the weapon strung and swayed, the arrow on the string was laid, then Jamadagni's son he eyed, and thus in words of fury cried, thou art a brahman still to be, most highly honoured chief by me, for Vishvamitra's sake beside, while reverence to be ne'er denied, though mine the power I would not send, a dart to thee thy life to end, but thy great power to wander free, which penance writes have won for thee, O glorious worlds from thee to rest, is thee firm purpose of my breast, and Vishnu's dart which now I strain, can ne'er be shot to fall in vain, it strikes the mighty and its stuns, the madness of the haughty ones, then gods and saints and heavenly choir, preceded by the general sire, met in the air and gazed below, on Rama with that wondrous bow, nymph, minstrel, angel all were there, snake-garden spirit of the air, giant and bard and griffon met, their eyes upon the marvel set, insenseless hush the world was chained, while Rama's hand the bow retained, and Jammadagni's son amazed, and powerless on the hero-gazed, then when his swelling heart had shrunk, and his proud strength in torpa sunk, scarce his voice ventured low and weak to Rama lotus-eyed to speak, when long ago I gave away, the whole broad land to Kasyapsway, he charged me never to remain within the limits of his reign, obedient to my guides behest, on earth by night I never rest, my choice is made I will not dim, mine honor and be false to him. So son of Ragu, leave me still, wander where I will, and swifter than the thought my flight, shall place me on Mahendra's height, my mansions of eternal joy, by penance one thou mayest destroy, my path to these thy shaft may stay. Now to the work no more delay, I know thee, Lord of gods, I know, thy changeless might laid Madhulo, all other hands would surely fail, and this bow, all hail, all hail, see all the gods have left the skies to bend on thee their eager eyes, with those achievements none compete, whose arm in war no god can meet, no shame is mine, I wean for thou, Lord of the worlds has dimmed my brow, now pious Rama, to his thy part, to shoot afar that glorious dart, when the fatal shaft is shot, will seek that hill and tarry not. He ceased, the wondrous arrow flew, and Jamadagni's offspring knew, those glorious worlds to him were barred, once gained by penance long and hard, then straight the airy quarters cleared, and the mid regions bright appeared, while gods and saints unnumbered praised, Rama the mighty bow who raised, and Jamadagni's son Orod extolled his name with highest lord, with reverent steps around him strode, then hastened on his airy road, far from the sight of all he fled, and rested on Mahendra's head. Kanto 77, Bharat's departure, then Rama with a cheerful mind, the bow to Varun's hand resigned, due reverence to the saints he paid, and thus addressed his sire dismayed, as Bhrigu's son is far from view, now let the host its march pursue, and to Ayodhya's town proceed, in fourfold bands with thee to lead. King Dasaratha thus addressed, his lips to Rama's forehead pressed, and held him to his aged breast, rejoiced in sooth was he to know, that Bhrigu's son had parted so, and hailed a second life begun, for him and his victorious son. He urged the host to speed renewed, and soon Ayodhya's gates he viewed, high o'er the roof's gay penons played, tabern drum-loud music made, fresh water cooled the royal road, flowers in bright profusion glowed, glad crowds with garlands thronged the ways, rejoicing on their king to gaze, and all the town was bright and gay, exalting in the festive day, people and Brahmins flocked to meet, their monarch ear he gained the street. The glorious king amid the throng, rode with his glorious sons along, and passed within his dear abode, like Himalaya's mountain showed, and their Kalsalia noble queen, Sumitra with her lovely mean, Kaikeyi of the dainty waist, and other dames his bowers who graced, stood in the palace side by side, and welcomed home each youthful bride, fair Sita, lovely fated dame, Urmila of the glorious fame, and Kusadwaja's children fair, with joyous greeting and with prayer, as all in linen robes arrayed, with offerings at the altar's parade, due reverence paid to God above, each princess gave her soul to love, and hidden in her inmost bower, passed with her lord each blissful hour, the royal youths of spirit high, with whom in valour none shall vie, lived each within his palace bounds, as Kuvera's pleasure grounds, with riches, troops of faithful friends, and bliss that wedded life attends, brave princes trained in war-like skill, and duteous to their father's will, at length a monarch called one morn, Prince Paratov Kaikeyi born, and cried, My son within our gates, Lord, you touch it, thine uncle waits, the son of Kaikeya's king is he, came my child to summon thee, then Bharat for the road prepared, and with Satrugna forth he fared, first to his sire he bade adieu, brave Rama with his mother's too, Lord, you touch it with joyful pride, went forth the brothers by his side, and reached the city where he dwelt, and mighty joy his father felt. Rama and Lakshman honoured still, their god-like sire with duteous will, two constant guides for Rama stood, his father's wish the people's good, attentive to the general wheel, he thought and wrought to please and heal, his mother's too he strove to please, with love and suddenly courtesies, at every time in every spot, his holy guides he never forgot, so for his virtues kind and true, dearer and dearer Rama grew, to Dasaratha Brahman's all, in town and country great and small, and Rama by his darling side, saw many a blissful season glide, lodged in her soul each thought on her, lover and friend and worshipper, he loved her for his father's voice, had given her and approved the choice, he loved her for each charm she wore, her sweet virtues more and more, so he, her lord and second life, dwelt in the bosom of his wife, in double form that Ian apart, each heart could commune free with heart, still grew that child of Janak's race, more God is fair in form and face, the loveliest wife that air was seen, immortal mould sweet beauty's queen, then shone the sun Kausalya bore, with this bright dame alight, like Vishnu whom the gods adore, with Lakshmi by his side.