 Section 5 of the Ramayana by Valmiki translated by Ralph T.H. Griffith This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Raju from Burleson, Texas, United States Ramayana 45 at Hotmail.com Section 5 Book 1, Canto 16-20 of the Ramayana Canto 16, The Warners When Vishnu thus had gone on earth from the great king to take his birth, the self-existent Lord of all addressed the gods who heard his call. For Vishnu sakes the strong and true, who seeks the good of all of you, make helps in what to lend him aid, informs that change at will arrayed, of wizard, skill and hero might, outstrippers of the wind in flight, skilled in the arts of council wise, and Vishnu's peers in the boredom price. With heavenly arts and prudence fraught by no devices to be caught, skilled in all weapons, lore and use, as they who drink the immortal juice and let the nymphs supreme in grace and maidens in the minstrel race, monkeys and snakes and those who row, free spirits of the hill and grove, and wandering daughters of the air in monkey from brave children bare, so as to the lord of bears I shaped, born from my mouth as wide I gaped. Thus, by the mighty sire addressed, they all obeyed his high behest, and thus begot in countless swamps, brave sun disguised in selven forms. Each god, each sage, became sire, each minstrel of the heavenly choir, each fawn of children strong and good, whose feet should roam the hill and wood. Snakes, birds and spirits, serpents bold, had sons too numerous to be told. Bali, the woodland horse who led, high as Mahendra's, off the head, was Indra's child in hopeless fire, the son was great, Subriva's sire, Tara the mighty monkey, he, was offspring of Burespati, Tara the matchless child and ghost, for wisdom of the runner-host, of Gandhamadan brave and bold, the father was the lord of gold, Nala the mighty, dear to fame, of skilful Vishvakarma king, from Agni Nila right as flame, who in his splendor, might and worth, surpassed the sire who gave him birth. The heavenly estrins, swift and fair, were fathers of a noble pair, Poot, Biveda and Mainra name, for beauty like their sides were famed. Varun was father of Sushen, of Sarab, he who sensed the rain. Hanuman, best of monkey kind, was son of him who breathed the wind, like thunderbolt in frame was he, and swift as Garud's self could flee. These thousands did the gods create, endowed with might that none could mate. In monkey forms, the changed at will, so strong their wish, the fiend to kill. In mountain size, like lion stewed, up sprang the wondrous multitude. Oxlayer hosts in every shape, monkey and bear, and highland ape. In each the strength the might, the mien, of his own parent god were seen. Some chiefs of one or mother's cave, some of she-bear, and minstrel name. Scared in all arms in battle's shock, the brandished tree, the loosened rock, and pronged should other weapons flee, to fight and slay with tooth and nail, their strength could shake the hills of Main, and rend the router trees in twain. Disturbed with their impetuous sweep, the rivers lard, the ocean deep, rend with their feet the seated ground, and pass wide floods with airy bombs, or forcing through the sky their way, the very clouds by force could stay. Mad elephants that wander through, the forest wilds could they subdue, and with their furious shout could scar, dead upon earth the birds of air. So were the selven shiftens formed, thousands and thousands still they swarmed. These were the leaders' honoured most, the captains of the honor host. Each lord and chief and gate was monkey offspring born beside. Then by the best great monarch stood the other roamers of the wood, and turned their pathless homes to seek, to forest and to mountain peak. The leaders of the monkey band by the two brothers took their stand. Sugriva, offspring of the sun, and Bali, Indra's mighty one, they both endowed with Garud's might, and skilled in all the arts of fight. Vandered in alms, the forest threw, and lined snakes and tigers loo, but every monkey ape and bear ever was Bali's special care. With his vast strength and mighty arm, he kept them from all skate and harm, and so the earth with hill would cease, was filled with mighty ones like these. Of various shape and race and kind, with proper homes to each assigned, with Rama's champions fierce and strong, the earth was overspread, high as the hills and clouds had thronged, with bodies Boston red. End of Canto 16. Canto 17. Precious Rings Return Now when the high sold monarchs ride, the ashramid was finished quiet, their sacrificial dues obtained, the gods their heavenly homes regained. The lofty-minded saints withdrew, each to his place with honor due, and kings and chieftains won and all, who came to grace the festival. And Dasarada, ere they went, addressed them thus benevolent, now may you, each with joyful heart, to your own realm's whole kings depart. Peace and good luck attend you there, and blessing is my friendly prayer. Let cares of state each mind engage, to God his royal heritage, a monarch from his throne expelled, no better than the dead is held. So he who cares for power and might, as God his realm and royal right, such care of need in heaven will bring, better than rights and offering. Such care a king his country owes, as man upon himself bestows, when for his body he provides, raiment and every need desires, for future days should kings foresee, and keep the present error free. Thus did the king the kings exhort, they heard and turned them from the court, and each to each in friendships bound, when forced to all the realms around. The rights were o'er, the guests were spread, the train the best of Brahmins led, in which the king with joyful soul, with his dear wives and with the whole. Of his imperial host and train, of cars and servants turned again, and as a monarch dear to fame, within his royal city came. Next precious thing, well-honoured sage, and Santa sought their hermitage, the king himself of golden mind, attended him, troops behind, and all her men the town outboard, with Saint Vasishtha and their lord, high mounted on a car of state, or canopied for Santa's sate. Drawn by white oxen while a band, of servants marched in either hand, great gifts of countless price she bore, with sheep and goats and gems inshore, like beauty's self the lady shone, with all the jewels she had on, as happy in her sweet content, peerless amid the fab she went. Not Queen Paulovmi's self could be more loving to her lord than she, she who had lived in happy ease, honoured with all her heart could please, while Dames and Kinsfolk ever vile to see her wishes gratified, soon as she knew her husband's will again to seek the forest still, was ready for the hermit's court, nor murmured at her altered lot, the king attended to the vile that hermit and his own dear child. And in the centre of a throng of noble courtiers rode along, the sage's son had let prepare a lodge within the wood and there, while they lingered blight and gave, then duly honoured when their way, the glorious hermit's wishes ring, drew near and thus besought the king. Return, my honoured lord, I pray, return upon thy homeward way, the monarch with the waiting crowd lifted his voice and wept aloud, and with ice dripping still to reach, of his good means he spake this speech, and though my sweet Kaikeyi here, all upon Santa's feast you gaze, the last time for a length of days, to Santa's ounce the ladies leapt, and hung about her neck and wept, and cried, oh, happy be the life of this great Brahmin and his wife, the wind, the fire, the moon on high, the earth, the streams, the circling sky, preserve thee in the wood, true spouse, devoted to thy husband's walls, and, oh, dear Santa, I never neglect to pay the dues of weak rest I. To the great saint thy husband sire, with all observance and with fire, and sweet one pews of thought and blame, forget not thou thy husband's claim, in every change in good and ill, let thy sweet words delight him still, and let thy worship constant be her lord's woman's deity. To learn thy welfare, dearest friend, the king will mini a Brahmin's hand, let happy thoughts thy spirit cheer, and be no troubled daughter dear. These soothing words the lady said, and press their lips upon her head, each gave with sighs her lost adieu, then at the king's command withdrew. The king around the hermit went, with circling footsteps reverend, and placed at ritious wings command, some soldiers of his royal band. The Brahmin bowed in turn, and cried, May fortune never leave thy side, oh mighty king with justice reign, and still thy people's love retain. He spoke, and turned away his face, and as the hermit went, the monarch rooted to the place, pursued with ice in turn. But when the sage had passed from you, king the Sararas turned him too, still fixing on his friend, each thought with such deep love his breast was fraught. Amid his people's loud clay, home to his royal seat he came, and lived delighted there, expecting when each queenly day, a porter of his ancient fame, her promised son to bear. The glorious sage's way pursued, till close before his eyes he viewed Sweet Champa, Lomapar's fair town, breathed with the Champak's leafy crown. Soon as the saints approached he knew, the king to yield him on her due, went forth to meet him with a band of priests and nobles of the land. Hail, sage he cried, oh joy to me, what bliss it is my lord to see, be with thy wife and all thy train returning to my town again. Thy father, honored sage, is well, who hither from his woodland cell, has sent Fulmini a messenger for tidings both of thee and her. Then joyfully for due respect the monarch bade the town be decked, the king and rishis ring elate entered the royal city's gate. In front the chaplain rode, then loud and honored with all care, by monarch and by courtier there, the glorious saint abode. End of Canto 17. Canto 18. Rishis Ring's departure. The monarch called a brahman near and said, No, speed away to Kashyap's sons, the mighty seer, and with all reverence say, the holy child he holds so dear, the hermit of the noble mind, whose equal it were hard to find, return his dwelling here. Go, and instead of me, do thou, before that best of hermits bow, that still he may, for his dear son, show me the favor I have won. Soon, as the king these words had said, to Kashyap's son the brahman's bed, before the hermit lo he bent, and did Ubi-sans' reverence. Then with meek words his grace to crave, the message of his lord he gave, the high-sold father of his pride, had called thy son his rites to gait. Those rites are o'er, the steed is slain, the noble child is come again. Soon, as the saint that speech had heard, his spirit with desire was stirred, to seek the city of the king, and to his court his son to bring. With young disciples at his side, forth on his way the hermit hide, while peasants from their hamlets ran, to reverence the holy man. Each with his little gift of food, forth came the village multitude, and as they humbly bowed the head, what may we do for thee, they said. Then he of brahman's first and best, the gathered people thus addressed. Now tell me, for I feign would know, why is it I am honored so? They to the high-sold saint replied, our ruler is with thee alike, our masters' order we fulfill. O brahman, let thy mind be still, with joy the saintly hermit heard, each present and delightful word, and poured a benediction down on king and ministers and town. Glad at the words of that high saint, some servants hastened to acquaint, their king rejoicing to impart the tidings that would cheer his heart. Soon as the joyful tale he knew, to meet the saint the monarch flew, the guest gift in his hand he brought, and bowed before him and besought. This day by seeing thee again, not to have lived my life in vain. Now be not growth with me, I pray, because I vile thy son away. The best of brahman's answer made, be not great, lot of kings of rye, thy virtues have not failed to win, my favor, O though pure of sin. Then in the front the saint was placed, the king came next in joy's haste, and with him entered his abode, mid glad acclaim as on thy road. To greet the saint the reverent crowd, raised his supply in hands and humbly bowed. Then from the palace, winning a dame, following well-dressed Santa came, stood by the mighty saint and cried, See, on her source, thy son's dear bride, the saint whom every virtue knew, his arms around his daughter threw, and with the father's rapture pressed, the lady to his wandering breast. Arising from the saint's embrace, she bowed her low before his face, and then with palm to palm applied, stood by her hermit father's side. He, for his son as law's ordain, performed the rite that frees from stain, and honored by the wise and good with him departed to the wood. End of Canto 18. Canto 19. The Birth of the Princes The season six in rapid flight had circled since the glorious rite, eleven nuns had passed away to us Chaitra's ninth returning day. The moon within that mansion shone, which Aditi looks kindly on, raised to their apex in the sky, five billion planets beamed on high. Shone with the moon in cancer sign, Rehaspati with light divine, Kausalya bore an infant breast with heavenly marks of grace impressed. Rama the universe lord, a prince by all works, adored. Now glorious queen Kausalya one, reflected from her splendid son. So Aditi shone more and more, the mother of the gods and she, the king of immortals bore the thunder-wielding deity. The lotus-eyed, the beauteous boy, he came fierce Ravana to destroy. From half of Vishnu's vigor born, he came to help the world for a long. And Queen Kaikeyi bore a child of trust and valour Barath styled, with every princely virtue blessed, one fourth of Vishnu manifest. Sumitra too, a noble path called Rakhsman and Satrapna bore, of high empires devoted true, shares in Vishnu's essence too. Neeth Pushya's mansion, minus sign, was Barath's barn of soul benign. The sun had reached the crabbed morn, when Queen Sumitra's babes were born. What time the moon had gone to make, is nightly dwelling with the snake. The high-sold monarch's concerts bore, at different times those glorious four. Light to himself and virtue's bright, at Prostapada's four-fold light. Then dance the nymph's celestial throng, the minstrel raised their string, the drums of heaven pealed, loud and long, and dovers came down in rain. Within Ayodhya, Blith and Gay, all kept the joyous holiday. The spacious square, the ample road, with minds and dances overflow. And with the voice of music rang, where minstrels played and singers sang, and shone, a wonder to behold, with dazzling show of gems and gold. Nor did the king's largest pair, for minstrel driver, barred to share. Much well the brahmanas bore away, and many thousand dined the day. Soon as each babe was twelve days old, trust time the naming right to hold, when saint sister wrapped with joy, assigned a name to every boy. Brahma to him the high-sold heir, Barath to him Kaikeyi bath, of Queen Sumitra, one fair son, was Lakshman and Satrukhna, one. Brahma, his side supreme delight, like some proud banner cheered his side, and to all creatures seemed to be the self-existent deity. All heroes versed in holy lore, to all mankind great love they bore, fair stores of wisdom all possessed, with princely graces all were blessed, but met those youths of high descent, with lordly light, preminent. Like the full moon and cloud had shown, Brahma the world's dear Paragon, his best the elephant could gave, Arjun the freed car, the charger ride. A master of bowmen's skill, joined to do his father's will. The world's delight and darling he, loved Lakshman best from infancy, and Lakshman, lord of lofty fate, upon his elder joy to wait. Striving his second self to please, with friendship's sweet observances, this limb the hero never would rest, unless the couch his brother pressed. Except beloved Ramashar, he could not taste the meal prepared, when Rama, pride of Raghu's rays, sprang on his teeth to urge the chase. Behind him Lakshman loved to go, and guard him with his trusty bow, as Rama was to Lakshman dear, more than his life and ever near. So fond, Satrukhna prized above, his very life his brother's love, illustrious heroes nobly kind, in mutual love they all combined, and gave their royal sire delight, with modest grace and warrior might, supported by the glorious four, Shun Dasaratha more and more. As though with every guardian god, who keeps the land and skies, the father of all creatures trod, the earth before man's eyes. End of Tanto 19 Tanto 20, Ishwamitra's visit Now Dasaratha's pious mind, meet wedlock for his son's design, with priests and friends that king began to counsel and prepare his plan. Such thoughts engaged his bosom, when, to see Ayodhya's lord of men, a mighty saint of glorious fame, the hermit's Vishwamitra came, for evil friends that roam by night, disturbed him in each holy rite, and in their strength and frantic rage, assailed with witchries the sage. He came to seek the monarch's aid, to guard the rites the demon stayed, unable to be close to bring one unpolluted offering. Seeking the king in his dire strait, he said to those who kept the gate, haste orders to your master run, and say that here stands Gavi's son. Soon as they heard the holy man, to the king's chamber swift they ran, with minds disordered all, and spurred, to wildest zeal by what they heard. On to the royal hall they spent, there stood and lowly bowed the head, and made the lord of men aware, that the great saint was waiting there. The king with priests and peer arose, and ran the sage to meet, as Indra from his palace goes, Lord Brahma's self to greet. When glowing with celestial light, the pious hermit was inside, the king whose mien, his transport, showed the honored gift for guest bestowed. Nor did the saint that gift despise, offered as holy text advice, he kindly asked the earth's great king, how all with him was prospering. The son of Kausic bade him tell, if all in town and field were well, all well with friends and kith and kin, and royal treasure stored with him. Do all thy neighbors own thy sway, thy force confess the head, thus thou continue still to pay, to guards and men each debt. Then he of hermit's first and best, Vasishta, with a smile, addressed, and asked him of his welfare to, showing him honor as was due. Then with the sainted hermit all, went joyous to the monarch's hall, and said them down by due degree, each one of rank and dignity. Joy filled the noble prince's breast, who thus bespoke the honored guest. As amidst by a mortal form, as rain upon the thirsty ground, as to an airless man, a son, born to him of his precious one, as gain of what we sorely miss, as sudden dawn of mighty bliss, so is thy coming here to me, all welcome mighty saint to thee. What wish within thy heart has thou, if I can please thee, tell me how? Hail, saint, from whom all honors flow, worthy of all I can bestow. Blessed is my birth with fruit today, nor has my life been thrown away. I see the best of brahman's rays, and right to glorious mom gives place. Though holy sage, in days of old, among the royal saint's enroll, did's penance glorified within, the brahman cast high station wind, smith and right in many a way, that I to thee should honor pay. This seems a marvel to mine eyes, all sin thy visit purifies. And I, by seeing thee, oh sage, have raped the fruit of pilgrimage, then say what thou wouldst have me do, that thou has sought this interview. Favored by thee, my wish is still, oh hermit, to perform thy will. Nor needst thou, at length explain, the object that thy heart would gain. Without reserve, I grant it now, my deity, oh lord, art thou. This glorious hermit far renown, with highest fame and virtue crown, rejoiced these modest words to hear, delightful to the mind and ear. End of Section 5, Cantos 16-20, Book 1 of the Ramayana. Recording by Raju from Burleson, Texas, United States. Pramina45 at Hotmail.com 6 of the Ramayana by Walmiqi, translated by Ralph Th. Griffith. Cantos 21, Vishwamitra's speech. The hermit heard with high content, that speech so wondrous eloquent, and while each hair with joy arose. He does made answer at the close, good is thy speech, oh noble king, and like thyself in everything. So should their lips be wisdom-fraud, whom kings begot, vashistar dot. The favor which I came to seek, thou grantest ere my tongue can speak, but let my tale attention claim, and hear the need for which I came. O king, as scripture texts allow, a holy rite employs me now. Two fiends, who change their forms at will, impede that rite with cursed skill. Often when the task is nigh-complete, these worst of fiends my toil defeat. Through a bits of bleeding flesh, and over the altar shed a stream of gold. When thus the rite is mocked and staid, and all my pious hopes delayed, cast down in heart the spot I leave, and spent with fruitless labour grief. Nor can I, checked by prudence, dare lose my fury on them there. The muttered curse, the threatening word, in such a rite must never be heard. Thy grace, the rite from check can free, and yield the fruit I long to see. Thy duty bids thee, king, defend the suffering guest, the suppliant friend. Give me thy son, thine eldest born, whom blocks like raven's wings adorn, that hero youth the truly brave of thee, O glorious king I carve. For he can lay those demons low, whom are my rites, and work me woe. My power shall yield the youth from harm, and heavenly might shall nerve his arm. And on my champion will I shower unnumbered gifts of varied power, such gifts as shall ensure his fame, and spread through all the world his name. Be sure those fiends can never stand before the might of Rama's hand, and mid the best and bravest nun can slay that bear but Raghu's son. Entangled in the toils of fate, those sinners, proud and obstinate, are in their fury overboard, no match for Rama, mighty soul. Nor let a father's breast give way, too far to fond affections sway. Count, though the fiends already slain, my word is pledged, nor pledged in vain. I know the hero Rama well, in whom high thoughts and valid will. So does Vashishta, so do these engaged in long austerities. If thou would do the righteous deed, and win high fame, thy virtues need, fame that on earth shall last and live. To me, great king, thy Rama gear. If to the words that I have said with Saint Vashishta at their head, thy holy men, O king, agree, then let thy Rama go with me. Ten nights my sacrifice will last, and ere the stated time be passed, those wicked fiends, those impious twain, must fall by wondrous Rama slain. Let not the arse I warn thee fly, fixed for the right unheeded by. Good luck hath thou, O royal chief, nor gave thy heart to needless grief. Thus, in fair words with virtue fraught, the pious glorious saint besought, but the good speech with poignant sting pierced ear embosom of the king, who, stabbed with pangs, too sharp to bear, fell prostrate, and lay fainting there. End of Canto Canto 22 Dashradha's speech His tortured senses all astray, a while the hapless vernarch lay, then slowly gathering thought and strength to Vishwamitra spoke at length. My son is but a child, I mean, this year he will be just sixteen. How is he fit for such imprise, my darling with the lotus eye? A mighty army will I bring, that calls me master, lord and king, and with its countless squadrons fight against these rovers of the night. My faithful heroes, skilled to wield, the arms of war will take the field. Their skilled demons might may break Rama, my son, though must not take. I, even I, my bow in hand, will in the van of battle stand, and while my soul is left alive with the night-roaming demon's drive. Thy guarded sacrifice shall be completed from all hindrances free. Thither will I, my journey make, Rama, my child, though must not take. A boy, unskilled, he knows not yet the bounds to strength and weakness set. No match is he for German force whose magic arts to arms oppose. O chief of saints, I have no power of Rama-ref'd to live one hour. My ancient heart at once would break, Rama, my child, thou must not take. Nine thousand circling eels have fled, but all their seasons over my head, and as a hard-won boon, O sage, the sons have come to cheer my rage. My dearest love amid the four is he whom first his mother bore. Still dearer for his words you say, Rama, my child, thou must not take. But if unmoved by all I say, thou needs must bear my son away, let me lead with him, I entreat. A fourfold army, all complete. What is the demon's might, O sage? Who are they? What their parentage? What is their size? What beings lend their power to guard them and befriend? How can my son their arts withstand? Or I, or all my armed band? Tell me the whole that I may know, to meet in war each evil foe, whom conscious might inspire with pride. And Vishwamitra does reply. Sprung from Pulaksya's race, there came a giant known by Ravan's name. Once favored by the eternal sire, he plagues the worlds in ceaseless ire. For pairless power and might renowned by giant bands encompassed round. Vishrawamst for his sire they hold, his brother is the lord of gold. King of the giant hosts is he, and worst of all in cruelty. Thus Ravan's dread commands impel two demons, who in might excel, Maricha and Suvahu height, to trouble and impede the right. Then does the king addressed the sage, No power have I, my lord, to wage war with this evil-minded foe. Now pity on my darling show, and upon me of hapless fate. For thee as God I venerate, God's spirits, bards of heavenly birth, The birds of air, the snakes of earth, before the might of Ravan quail. Much less can mortal man avail. He draws a hair from out the breast, the veller of the mightiest. No, never can I with him content, or with the forces he may send. How can I then, my darling land, godlike, unskilled in battle? No, I will not let my young child go. Forst of thy right, those mighty ones, Sunda and Upasundas sons. Our fears is fate to overthrow, I will not let my child go. Maricha and Suvahu fell our valiant and instructed will. One of the twin I might attack, with all my friends, their lot to back. End of Canto 22 Canto 23 Vashishta's speech While thus the hapless monarch spoke, paternal love his utterance broke. Then words like these the saint returned, and fury in his bosom burned. That thou, o king, a promise make, and wishes now thy word to break. A son of Raghu's line should scorn to fail in fate, a man force-worn. But if thy soul can bear the shame, I will return even as I came. I with thy sons enjoy with thine, false sion of Kakuta's line. As Vishwamitra mighty sage was moved with this, tempest's rage, earth rocked and reeled throughout her frame, and fear upon thy mortals came. But saint Vashishta, wisest seer, observant of his vows of steer, the whole world convulsed with dread, and thus unto the monarch said, Thou, born of old, Ikshwaku seed, art just as self and mortal weed. Constant empires, blessed by fate, the right thou must not violate. Thou, Raghu's son, so famous through the triple world, as just and true, perform thy bounden duty still, nor stain thy race by deed of ill. If thou hast sworn, and now refuse, thou must thy store of merit lose. Then monarch, let thy Rama go, nor fear for him the demon fall. The fiends shall have no power to hurt, him trained to war are inexpert, nor vanquish him in battlefield for Khushik's son, your will shield. His incarnate justice, he the best of men for bravery, embodied love of penance, steer, among the wisest, thou to appear. Full well he knows great Khushik's son, the arm celestial everyone, arms from the gods themselves concealed, far less to other men revealed. These arms to him, when earth he swayed, mighty, Krishavas pleased conveyed. Krishavas' sons, they are indeed, brought forth by Daksha's lovely seed, heralds of conquest, strong and bold, brilliant of semblance manifold. Jaya and Vijaya most fair, and hundreds plentate weapons bare, Jaya glorious as the morn. First fifty noble sons were born, boundless in size, yet viewless also. They came the demons to subdue, and fifty children also came, of Vijaya the beautyous dame. Samhara's named of mighty force, hard to assail or check in course. Of these the hermit knows the use, and weapons new can he produce. All these, the mighty saint, will yield to Rama's hand to own and wield. And armed with these, beyond a doubt, shall Rama put those queens to rout, for Rama and the people say, for thine own good my counsel take. Nor seek, o king, with fond delay, the parting of thy son to stay. End of Canto Canto 24, The Spells Vashishta does, who was speaking still, the monarch of his own free will, Bade with quick seal and joyful chair, Rama and Lakshman hears the near. Mother and sire in loving care, spent their dear son with right and prayer. Vashishta blessed him ere he went, o'er his loved head the father bent. And then, to Koshik's son resigned, Rama with Lakshman close behind. Standing by Vishwamitra's side, the youthful hero loathes side. The wind god saw, in centre breeze, whose sweet pure touch just waved the trees. There fell from heaven a flowery rain, and with the song and dance, the strain of shell and timbre sweetly blend, as forth the son of Raghu went. The hermit led, behind him came the bow-armed Rama, dear to fame, whose locks were like the raven's wing. Then Lakshman, closely following, the gods and Indra, filled with joy, looked down upon the royal boy, and much they longed the death to see of their ten-headed enemy. Rama and Lakshman placed behind that hermit of the lofty mind, as the young Ashwin's heavenly pair followed Lord Indra through the air. On arm and hand the guard devour, quiver and bow, and ward the bow. Two fire-born gods of war seemed they. He, she was self, who led the way. Upon fair Sariju's southern shore, they now had walked a league and more, when thus the sage in accent smiled to Rama said, Beloved child, this lustrous water duly touch, my counsel will avail thee much. Forget not all the words I say, nor let the occasion slip away. Low, with two spells I thee invest, the mighty and the mightiest. Over thee fatigue shall never prevail, nor age, or change thy limbs assail. The powers of darkness never shall smite, in tranquil sweep or wild delight. No one is there in all the land, thine equal for the vigorous hand. Thou, when thy lips pronounce this spell, shall have no fear in heaven or hell. None in the world with thee shall lie, our sinless one in apt reply. In fortune, knowledge, wit and tact, wisdom to plan and skill to act. This double signs, take and gain glory, that shall for I remain. Wisdom and judgment spring from each of these fair spells, whose use I teach. Hunger and thirst are known to thee, high in the world thy rank shall be. For these two spells, with might endued, are the great fathers heavenly brood, and thee, O chief, may fitly grace, thou glory of Kakuttas race. Virtues which none can match are thine, lord, from thy birth of gifts divine. And now these spells of might shall cast fresh radiance over the gifts thou hast. Then Rama, duly touched the wave, raised suppliant hands, bowed low his head, and took the spells the hermit gave, whose soul on contemplation fit. From him, whose might these gifts enhanced, a brighter beam of glory glanced, so shines in all his autumn blaze, the day god of the thousand rays. The hermit warns those youths supplied as pupils used to holy guide, and then the night in sweet content on Saraju's pleasant bank they spent. End of Canto Canto 25 The Hermitage of Love Soon as appeared the morning light, up rose the mighty Anchorite, and thus to youthful Rama said, who lay upon his leafy bed, high fate is hers who calls thee, son, arise its break of day. Rise, chief, and let those rites be done, due at the morning's ray. At that great Saraju's high behest up sprang the princely bear, to bathing rites themselves addressed, and bridged the holiest prayer the morning task completed, day to Vishwamitra came. That store of holy works to pay the worship saints may claim. Then to the hallowed spot they went along fair Saraju's side, where mixed her waters confluent with three-pathed Ganga style. There was a sacred Hermitage where saints devout of mind their lives through many a lengthened age to penance had resigned. That pure abode the princess eyed with unrestrained delight, and thus unto the saint they cried, rejoicing at the sight. Whose is that Hermitage, we see, who makes his dwelling there, full of desire to hear, are we, or saint, the truth declare. The hermit, smiling, made reply to the two boys' request. Here Rama, who in days gone by, thus calm retreat possessed. Kandarpa, in apparent form, called Kama by the voice, dared Umas, a new wed lord, to storm, and make the god his price. Against Sthanu's self, on rights or stare, and vows intent, they say. His bold rash hand be dared to rear, though Sthanu cried away. But the god's eye with scornful glare felt terrible on him, dissolved the shape that was so fair, and burnt up every limb. Since the great god's terrific rage destroyed his form and frame, Kama, in each succeeding age, has borne Ananga's name. So, where his lovely form decayed, this land is Anga's child, sacred to him of old, this shade. And hermit's undefiled, here scripture talking elders' way, each sense with firm control, and penance rites have washed away, all sent from every soul. One night, fair boy, we will here spend a pure stream on each hand, and with tomorrow's light, we'll bend the steps to yonder strand. Here let us bathe, and free from stain, to that pure group repair, sacred to Kama, and remain one night in comfort there. With penance far discerning eye, the saintly men beheld, their coming, and with transport high, each holy bosom swelled. To Kushik's son the gift they gave, that honored guest should greet, water they brought his feet to live, and showed him honor meet. Rama and Lakshman next obtained, in due degree, their share. Then, with sweet talk, the guests remained, and charmed each listener there. The evening prayers were duly said, with voices calm and low. Then, on the ground, each laid his head, and slept till morning's slow. Kanto 26. The Forest of Tadaka When the fair light of morning rose, the princely turners of their foes followed his morning worship over, the hermit to the reverse shore, the high-sold men with thoughtful care, a pretty barred had stationed there, all cried, O Lord, this barge ascend, and with thy stately followers bend, to yonder sigh thy prosperous way, with naught to check thee, or delay. Nor did the saint there read reject, he bade farewell with due respect, and crossed, attended by the twain, that river rushing to the main. When now the bark was half way over, Rama and Lakshman heard the roar, that louder grew, and louder yet, of waves, by dashing the water-smith. Then Rama asked the mighty seer, What is the tumult that I hear of waters cleft in mid-career? Soon as the speech of Rama stared by deep desire to know, he heard, the pious saint began to tell, what paused the water's roar and swell. On high Kailasa's distant hill, there lies a noble lake, whose water, born from Brahma's will, the name of Manasthek, dance, hollowing, wherever they flow, the streams of Saraju fall, and wandering through the plains below, embrace Ayodhya's world. Still, still preserved in Saraju's name, Saru was Swam Vitres, the flood of Brahma, whence she came to run her holy race, to meet great Ganga here heist with tributary wave. Hence the loud roar, yet here arise, of floods that swell and rave, hear pride of Raghu's line, to thou in humble adoration bow. He spoke, the princes both obeyed, and reverence to each river-bade. They reached the southern shore at last, and gaily on their journey passed. A little space beyond there stood a gloomy, unspiring wood. The monarch's noble son began to question thus the holy man, whose gloomy forests meet mine eyes, like some vast cloud that fills the sky. Pathless and dark it seems to be, where birds and thousands wander free, where shrill gadas cries resound, and foul of the small note abound. Lion, rhinoceros and bear, boar, tiger, elephant are there, the shrubs and thorns run wild, dhau, sal, vignonia, bale are found, and every tree that grows on ground. How is the forest styled? The glorious saint, this answer made, their child of Raghu, hear, who dwells within the horrid shade that looks so dark and rear, where now is wood, long ere this day, too broad and fertile lands, Malaja and Karushale, adorned by heavenly hands, hear mowning friendships broken ties, Lord Indra of the Thousand Eyes hungered and sorrowed many a day. His brightness soiled with mud and clay, when in a storm of passion he had slain his dear friend Namuchi. Then came the gods and saints who bore their golden pictures brimming over, with holy streams that banish stain, and bathed Lord Indra pure again. When in this land the god was freed from spot and stain of impious deed, for that his own dear friend Heslu, high transport, thrilled his bosom through. Then in his joy the lands he blessed and gave a boon the long possessed, because this fertile lands retain the washings of the blot and stain. It was thus Lord Indra's wear, Malaja and Karushale's name shall celebrate with deathless fame, my malady and care. So be it, all the immortals cried, when Indra's speech they heard, and with acclaim deradified, the name his lips conferred. Long time, O victor of thy foes, these happy lands had sweet repose, and higher still in fortune rolls, at length a spirit, loving ill, Tadaka, wearing shapes at wear, whose mighty strength, exceeding vast a thousand elephants, surpassed was to fierce Sunda, lord and head of all the demon armies wed. From her, Lord Indra's peer in might, giant Maricha sprang to light, and she a constant plague and pest. These two fair realms has long distressed. Now dwelling in her darker board, a leak away she bars the road, and we, O Rama, hence must go, where lies the forest of the four. Now on thine own right arm rely, and my command obey. Smite the foul monster that she die, and take the plague away, to reach this country none may dare fall in from its old estate. Which she, whose fury not can bear, has left so desolate. And now, my truthful tale is told, how with accursed sway, the spirit plagued the wood of old, and seizes not today. 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 D.H. Griffith. When does the sage, without a peer, had closed that story, strange to hear, Rama again, the saint addressed, to set one lingering doubt addressed. O holy man, it said by all, that spirit's strength is weak, and small. How can she match, of power so slight, a thousand elephants in might? And Vishwamitra does reply, to Raghu's son, the glorified. Listen, and I will tell thee how. She gained the strength, and the strength, and the strength, Listen, and I will tell thee how. She gained the strength, that arms her now. A mighty spirit lived of your, so Ketu was the name he bore. Childless was he, and free from crime. In rites or steer, he passed his time. The mighty sire was pleased to show his favor, and a child bestowed. Taraka named most fair to see. A pearl among the maids was she, and matched, for such was Brahma's dower. A thousand elephants in power. Nor would the eternal sire, though the spirit longed, a son bestowed. That maid, in beauty's youthful pride, was given to Sunda for a bride. Her son, Maricha was his name. A giant, through a curse, became. She widowed, dared with him molest, Agastya, of all saints the best. Inflamed with hunger's wildest rage, roaring, she rushed upon the sage. When the great hermit saw her near, unspeeding in her fierce career, he thus pronounced Maricha's doom. A giant's form and shape assumed, and then, by mighty anger swayed, on Taraka, this curse he laid. Thy present form and semblance quit, and where a shape, thy mood to fit, changed form and feature by my ban. A fearful thing that feeds on man. She, by this awful curse, possessed, and mad with rage, that filled her breast, has, on this land, her fury dealt, where, once the saint, Agastya, dwelt. Go, Rama, smite this monster dead, the wicked plague of power so dread, and further by this deed of dine, the good of Brahmans and of Kain. Thy hand alone can overthrow. In all the worlds this empires for. Nor let compassion lead thy mind to shrink from blood of womankind, a monarch's son must ever count the people's welfare paramount, and where the pain or joy he deal, dare all things for his subjects' will. Yeah, if the deed bring praise or guilt, if life be saved or blood be split, such, through all time, should be the care of those a kingdom's weight to bear. Slay Rama, slay this empires fiend, for by no law her life is screened. So, Mantara, as Bards have told, Virochins child was slain of old by Indra, when, in furious hate, she longed the earth to devastate. So, Kavya's mother, Bhrigu's wife, who loved her husband as her life, when, Indra's throne, she sought to gain, by Vishnu's hand of yore was slain, by these, and high-sold kings, beside, struck down, have lawless women died. End of Canto Canto 28, The Death of Tadaka Does spoke the saint, each vigorous word, the noble monarch's offspring heard, and reverent hands, together laid, his answer to the hermit made. My sire and mother, bade me I, thy word, O mighty saint, obey so will I. O most glorious, kill this Tadaka, who joys in ill, for such my sire's and such thy will. To aid with mine, avenging hand, the Brahmin's, keen, and all the land, obedient, heart and soul, I stand. Does spoke the tamer of the foe, and by the middle grasped his bow. Strongly, he due the sounding string, that made the distant well kindring. Scared by the mighty clang, the deer, that roamed the forest, shukwad fear. End Tadaka, the echo heard, and rose in haste from slumber stirred. In wild amaze, her soul aflame with fury, toward the spot she came. When that foul shape of evil mane, and stature vast as ever was seen, the wrathful son of Raghu eyed, he thus unto his brother cried. Her dreadful shape, O Lakshman see, affirmed his shadow-retten flee. The hideous monster's very view, would cleave a timid heart in two. Behold, the demon heart just might, defended by her magic might. My hand shall stay her course today, and sheer her nose and ears away. No heart have I her life to take, I spare it for her sex's sake. My well is but with diminished force to check her in her evil course. While does he spoke, by rage impelled, roaring as she came nigh, the fiend her course at Rama held, with huge arms tossed on high. Her rushing on, the seer assailed, with a loud cry of hate, and thus the sons of Raghu hailed, fight and be fortunate. Then, from the earth, a horrid cloud of dust, the demon raised, and for a while, in darkling shroud, wrapped Raghu's sons amazed. Then, calling on her magic bar, that fearful fight to wage, she smote him with a stony shower, till Rama burned with rage. Then, pouring forth his aroy rain, that stony flood to stay. With winged darts, as she charged her mane, he shore her hands away, as Tadaka, still thundered near, does maimed by Rama's blows, Lakshman infuri severed sheer, the monster's ears and nose. Assuming by her magic skill, a fresh in, fresh disguise, she tried a thousand shapes at will, then vanished from their rise. When, Gadhi's son of high renown, still saw the stony rain pour down, upon each princely warrior's head, with words of wisdom, does he say. Enough of mercy, Rama, lest their sinful, evil working pest, disturbor of each holy rite, repaired by magic arts, her might. Without delay, the faint should die, for, see, the twilight hour is nigh, and at the joints of day and night, such jaint force are hard to slay. Then, Rama, skillful to direct his arrow to the sound, with shafts the mighty demon checked, who reigned her stones around. She so impeded and beset by Rama and his arrowy net, those killed in guile and magic lore, rushed on the brothers with a roar. Deformed, terrific, mergers, dread, swift as they live in on she's bed, like cloudy pile in autumn sky, lifting her two vast arms on high, when Rama smote her with a dart, shaped like a crescent to the heart. Soar wounded by the shaft that came with lightning speed and surest aim, blood spouting from her mouth and side. She fell upon the earth and died. Soon as the lord, who rules the sky, saw the dread monster, lifeless life, he called aloud, well done, well done, and the gods honoured Raghu's son. Standing in heaven the thousand night, with all the immortals, joined, cried, lift up thine eyes, o saint, and see the gods in Indra nightly. This deed of Rama's boundless might has filled our bosoms with delight. Now for our will would have it so, to Raghu's son some favours show. Invest him with the power which not but penance gains and holy thought, those heavenly arms on him bestow to thee interested long ago, by the great Krisava, best of kings, son of the lord of living things. More fit recipient none can be than he who joys it following thee, and for our sakes the monarch's seed has yet to do a mighty deed. His pork and all the heavenly train rejoicing sought their homes again, while honoured to the saint they paid. Then came the evening to light shade, the best of hermits overjoyed, to know the monstrous fiend destroyed. His lips on Rama's forehead pressed, and thus the conquering chief addressed, O Rama, gracious to the sight, here will we pass the night, and with Moro's earliest ray bend to my hermitage our way. The son of Dasharatha heard delighted Vishwamitra's word, and as he bade that night he spent in Tadavka's wildwood content. And the grove shone that happy day, freed from the curse that lay on it, like Chitraratha, fair and gay. End of Canto Canto 29 The Celestial Arms That night they slept and took their rest, and then the mighty saint addressed with pleasant smile and accent smiled these words to Raghu's princely child. Well pleased am I, high fate be thine, thou sign of a royal line. Now will I, for I love thee so, all heavenly arms on thee bestow. Victor with these, whoever repose, thy hand shall conquer all thy foes, though gods and spirits of the air, serpents and fiends, the conflict dare. I will give thee, as a pledge of floor, domestic arms they use above, for worthy, though to have revealed, the weapons I have learned to wield. First, son of Raghu, shall we dine, the arm of vengeance, strong, divine, the arm of fate, the arm of right, and Vishnu's arm of awful might. That before which no folk can stand, the thunderbolt of Indra's hand, and Shiva's trident, sharpened red, and that dire weapon, Brahma's head, and two fair clubs, a royal child, one charmer, and one pointed styled, with flame of lambent fire aglow. On thee, O chieftain, I bestow, and faith's dread net, and justice's noose, that none may conquer for thy use, and the great god renowned of all, which Varun ever loves to hold. Take these two thunderbolts, which I have got for thee, the moist and dry. Here Shiva's dart to thee I yield, and that which Vishnu wants to wield. I give to thee the arm of fire, desired by all, and named the spire. To thee I grant the wind god's dart, named Crusher, O thou of pure heart. This arm, the horse's head, accept, and this the curler's bill clept, and these two's pairs, the best ever few, named the invincible and true. And arms of fiends, I make thine own, skull-wret and mace, that smashes bone, and joys, which the spirits bear. Great weapons of the sun's affair, brave of spring of the best of lords, I give thee now the gem of swords, and offer next thine hand to arm, the heavenly bath's beloved charm. Now, with two arms, I thee invest, of never-ending sleep and rest, with weapons of the sun and rain, and those that dry and burn a mane, and strong desire with conquering touch, the dart that karma prizes most. I give the arm of shadowy powers, that bleeding flesh of men divorce. I give the arms the god of gold, and giant fiends exults to hold. This mites the foe in battle strife, and take his fortune strength and life. I give the arms called false and true, and great illusion give I too. The hero's arm called strong and bright, that spoils the foreman's strength and fight. I give thee as a priceless boon the dew, the weapon of the moon, and add the weapon deftly plant, that strengthens Vishvakarma's hand. The mortal dart, whose point is chill and slaughter, ever sure to kill. All these and other arms, for though art very dear, I give thee now. Receive these weapons from my hand, son of the noblest in the land. Facing the east, the glorious saint, pure from all spots of earthly taint, to Rama with delighted mind, that noble host of spells consigned. He taught the arms, whose lore is worn hardly by gods, to Raghu's son. He muttered lo, the spell whose call summons these arms and rules them all, and each invisible form and frame, before the monarch's son they came. They stood and spoke in reverent guise to Rama with exulting Christ, a noblest child of Raghu's sea. Thy ministers and thralls are we. With joyful heart and eager hand, Rama received the wondrous band, and thus, with words of welcome cry, I present to my will abide. Then hasted to the saint to pay due reverence, and pursued his way. End of Canto. Canto 30. The mysterious powers, pure with glad cheer and joyful breast, of those mysterious arms possessed, Rama, now passing on his way, thus to the saint, began to say, Lord of these mighty weapons, I can scarce be harmed by gods on high. Now best of saints, I long to gain the powers that can these arms restrain. Thus spoke the prince. The sage austere, true to his wows, from evil clear, called forth the names of those great charms whose powers restrain the deadly arms, receive thou true and truly named. And bold and fleet, the weapons named, water and progress, swift of pace, averted head and rooping face, the scene and that which secret flies, the weapon of the thousand eyes, ten-headed and the hundred-faced, star-gazer and the layer of waste. The omen-bird, the pure from spot, the pair that wake and slumber not, the fiendish that which shakes a mane, the strong of hand, the rich in gain, the guardian and the close-allied, the gapor, love and golden side. O Raghu's son, receive all these bright ones that wear what forms they please. Krishavas mystic sons are they, and worthy thou their might to sway. With joy, the pride of Raghu's race received the hermit's preferred grace, mysterious arms, to check and stay, or smite the foreman in the fray. Then, all with heavenly forms endured, nigh came the wondrous multitude. Celestial in their bright attire, some shone like coals of burning fire, some were like clouds of dusky smoke, and supplyant thus the sweetly spoke. Thy thralls, O Rama, hear with stand, command we pray, thy faithful band. Depart, he cried, where each mail list, but when I call you to assist, be present to my mind with speed, and aid me in the hour of need. To Rama then, the lowly bent, and round him in due reverence went. To his command they answered, yea, and as they came, so went away. When thus the arms had homeward flown with pleasant words and modest tone, even as he walked, the prince began to question thus the holy man. What cloud-like wood is that which near the mountains side I see appear? O tell me, for I long to know, its pleasant aspect charms me so, its glades are full of derrick play, and sweet birds sing on every spray. Past is the hideous wild, I feel so sweet a tremor over me still, and hail with transport fresh and new, a land that is so fair to view. Then tell me all, thou holy sage, and whose this pleasant hermitage in which those wicked ones delight to mar and kill each holy rite? And with foul heart and evil deed, thy sacrifice great saint impede. To whom, O sage, belongs this land in which thine altars ready stand? It's mine to guard them, and to slay the giants who the rites would stay. All this best of saints I burn from thine own lips, my lord, to learn. End of Canto Canto 31. The perfect hermitage. Thus spoke the prince of boundless might, and thus replied the anchor rite. Chief of mighty arm of your lord Vishnu, whom the gods adore, for holy thought and rites are stare, of penance made his dwelling here. Thus ancient word was called of old grave of the dwarf, the might he sold. And when perfection he attained, the grove the name of perfect gained. Bali of your Virochan's son, dominion over Indravan, and when with power his proud heart swelled over the three worlds his empire held. When Bali then began a rite, the gods and Indra in a fright sought Vishnu in this place of rest, and thus with prayers the god addressed. Bali, Virochan's mighty son, his sacrifice has now begun of boundless wealth that demon king is bounteous to each living thing. Though suppliants flock from every side, the suit of none is ever denied. Whatever, wherever, however they call, he hears the suit and gives to all. Now with thine own elusive art perform, O lord, the helper's part, assume a dwarfish form, and thus from fear and danger rescue us. Thus in their dread the immortals sued. The god a dwarf-like shape endued. Before Virochan's son he came, three steps of land his only claim. The boon obtained in wondrous wise, lord Vishnu's form increased in size. Through all the worlds tremendous worst, god of the triple step he passed. The whole broad earth from side to side he measured with one mighty stride, spanned with the next the firmament, and with the third through heaven he went. Thus was the king of demons hurled by Vishnu to the netherworld, and thus the universe restored to Indra's rule its ancient lord. And now because the immortal god, this spot in dwarf-like semblance trod, the grove has, I being loved by me, for reverence of the devotee. But demons haunted, prompt to stay each holy offering I would pay. Be thine, O lion-lord, to kill these giants that delight in ill. They'll stay beloved child, our feet shall rest within the calm retreat. And no, thou chief of Raghu's line, my hermitage is also thine. He spoke, and soon the anchorite with joyous looks that beamed delight with Rama and his brother stood within the consecrated wood. Soon as they saw the holy man, with one accord together ran, the dwellers in the sacred shade, and to the saint their reverence paid, and offered water for his feet, the gift of honour and the seed. And next, with hospitable care, they entertained the princely bear. The royal tamers of their foes rested a while in sweet repose, then to the chief of hermits sued, standing in suppliant attitude. Begin, O best of saints, we pray, initiatory rites today. This perfect grove shall be anew, made perfect, and thy words be true. Then, thus addressed, the holy man, the very glorious sage, began the high preliminary rite, restraining sense and appetite. Calmly the youths that night reposed, and rose when mourn, her light disclosed. Their mourning worship paid, and took off lustral water from the brook. Thus purified, they breathed the prayer. Then greeted Vishwamitra, where, as celebrant, he saith, decide the flame with sacred oil supplied. End of Canto Canto 32 Vishwamitra's sacrifice That conquering pair of royal race, skilled to observe due time and place, to Kushik's hermit son addressed, in timely words, their meet request. When must we, Lord, we pray thee, tell, these rovers of the night repel. Speak, lest we let the movement fly, and pass the dew occasion by. Then, longing for the strife, they prayed, and thus the hermits answer made. Till the fifth day be come and passed, O Raghu's sons, your watch must last. The saint, his deaccia, has begun, and all that time will speak to none. Soon as the steadfast devotees had made reply in words like these, the youths began, disdaining sleep, six days and nights their watch to keep. The warrior pair, who tamed the four, unrivaled benders of the bow, kept watch and ward unvary, still to guard the saint from scab and ill. It was now the sixth returning day, the hour foretold had passed away. Then Rama cried, O Lakshman, now firm, watchful, resilient be thou. The fiends as yet have kept afar from the pure growth in which we are, yet waits as ere the day shall close, dire battle with the demon force. While thus spoke Rama, born away, by longing for the deadly fray, see bursting from the altar came the sudden glory of the flame. Round prized and deacon, and upon grass, ladles, flowers, the splendor shone, and the high rite, in order due with sacred texts, began anew. But then a loud and fearful roar re-cored through the sky, and like vast clouds that shadow over the heavens in dark July, involved in gloom of magic might, two fiends rushed on a mane, Maricha, rover of the night, Suvahu, and their train. As on they came in wild career, thick blood and rain they shed, and Rama saw those things of fear in peering overhead. Then, soon as those accursed two, who showered down blood, he spied, thus to his brother, brave and true, spoke Rama, lotus-eyed. Now, Lakshman, thou these fiends shall see, man-eaters, foul of mind, before my mortal weapon flee, like clouds before the wind. He spoke. An arrow swift as thought, upon his bow he pressed, and smote to utmost fury wrought, Maricha on the breast. Deep in his flesh the weapon lay, winged by the mystic spell, and hurled a hundred leagues away, in oceans flood he fell. Then Rama, when he saw the four, convulsed and mad with pain, beneath the chill-pointed weapons blow, two Lakshmans spoke again. See Lakshman, see this mortal dart, that strikes a numbing chill, had struck him senseless when smart, but left him breathing still. But those who laugh the evil way, and drink the blood their spill, rejoicing holy rites to stay, fierce plagues my hand shall kill. He seized another shaft, the best aglow with living flame, it struck Swahu on the chest, and dead to earth he came. Again a dart, the wind god's own, upon his string he laid, and all the demons were overthrown, the saints no more afraid. When thus the fiends were slain in fight, disturbance of each holy rite, due honour by the saints was paid to Rama for his wondrous aid. So Indra is adored, when he has won some glorious victory. Success at last, the rite has crowned, and Vishwamitra gazed around, and seeing every side at rest, the son of Raghu does addressed. My joy, O Prince, is now complete. Thou hast obeyed my will. Perfect before, this calm retreat is now more perfect still. Recording by Karina Schultz The Ramayana by Valmiki Translated by Ralph T. H. Griffith Chapter 8 Canto 33 The Sonne Their task achieved the princess spent that night with joy and full content. Air yet the dawn was well displayed, their morning rites they duly paid, and sought, while yet the light was faint, the hermits and the mighty saint. They greeted first that holy sire, resplendent like the burning fire, and then with noble words began their sweet speech to the sainted man. Here stand, O Lord, thy servants true, command what thou wouldst hath us do. The saints, by Vishwamitra led, to Rama thus in answer said, Janak the king who rules the land, a fertile Mithila has planned a noble sacrifice, and we will thither go the right to see. Thou, prince of men, with us shall go, and there behold the wondrous bow, terrific, vast, of matchless might, which splendid at the famous rite the gods assembled gave the king. No giant, fiend or god can string that gem of bows, no heavenly bard. Then sure for man the task were hard. When lords of earth have longed to know of that wondrous bow, the strongest sons of kings in vain have tried the mighty cord to strain. This famous bow thou there shall view, and wondrous rites shall witness too. The high-sold king who lords it o'er, the realm of Mithila of Yor, gained from the gods this bow, the price of his imperial sacrifice, won by the rite the glorious prize, still in the royal palace lies, lit up in oil of precious scent, with aloe wood and incense splent. Then Rama answering, Be it so, made ready with the rest to go. The saint himself was now prepared, but ere beyond the grove he fared, he turned him, and in words like these, addressed the sylvan deities. Farewell, each holy rite complete, I leave the hermit's perfect seat. To Ganga's northern shore I go, beneath Himalayas peaks of snow. With reverent steps he paced around, the limits of the holy ground, and then the mighty saint set forth, and took his journey to the north. His pupils, deep in scriptures page, followed behind the holy sage, and servants from the sacred grove, a hundred wanes for convoy drove. The very birds that winged that air, the very deer that harbored there, forsook the glade in leafy break, and followed for the hermit's sake. They travelled far till in the west, the sun was speeding to his rest, and made their portioned journey o'er, their halt on Shauna's distant shore. The hermit's bathed when sank the sun, and every rite was duly done. Oblations paid to fire, and then saint round their chief, the holy men. Rama and Lakshman lowly bowed in reverence to the hermit crowd, and Rama having sate him down before the saint of pure renown, with humble palms together laid, his eager supplication made. What country, O my lord, is this, fair smiling in her wealth and bliss? Dain fully, O thou mighty seer, to tell me, for I long to hear. Moved by the prayer of Rama, he told forth the country's history. Kanto 34 Brahmadatta A king of Brahma's seed who bore the name of Kusha, reigned of Yor. Just faithful to his vows, and true he held the good and honour due. His bride, a queen of noble name, of old Vodarba's monarchs came. Like their own father, children four, all valiant boys, the lady bore. In glorious deeds, each nerve they strained, and well their warrior part sustained. To them most just, and true, and brave, their father thus his counsel gave. Beloved children, nare forget, protection is a prince's debt, the noble work at once began, high virtue and her fruits to win. The youths, to all the people dear, received his speech with willing ear, and each went forth his several way, foundations of a town to lay. Kushan, a prince of high renown, was builder of Kashambi's town, and Kushanabha, just and wise, bade high Mayodaya's towers arise. Amrta Rajas chose to dwell, in Dharmaranya's citadel, and Vashu bade his city fair, the name of Giriv Rajabhair. This fertile spot whereon we stand, was once the high-sold Vashu's land. Behold, as round we turn our eyes, five lofty mountain peaks arise. See, bursting from her parent hill, Sumagati, a lovely rill, bright gleaming as she flows between the mountains, like a wreath is seen. And then through Magad's plains and groves, with many a fair meander-roaves, and this was Vashu's old domain, the fertile Magad's broad champagne, which smiling fields of tilth adorn, and Iodem with golden corn. The queen Giritachi, nymph most fair, married to Kushanabha, bare a hundred daughters, lovely-faced, with every charm and beauty graced. It chanced the maidens bright and gay as lightning flashes on a day of rain-time to the garden-went, with song and play and merriment. And there in gay attire they strayed, and danced and laughed and sang and played. The gods of wind who roves at will, all places, as he lists to fill, saw the young maidens dancing there, of faultless shape and mean most fair. I love you all, sweet girls, he cried, and each shall be my darling bride, forsake, forsake your mortal lot, and gain a life that withers not. A fickle thing is youth's brief span, and more than all in mortal man, receive unending youth and be immortal. O my loves with me! The hundred girls to wonder stirred, the wooing of the wind God heard, laughed as a jest his suit aside, and with one voice they thus replied, O mighty wind, free spirit who, all life pervades to through and through, thy wondrous power we maidens know. Then wherefore wilt thou mock us so? Our sire is Kushinaba, king, and we, forsooth, have charms to bring a god to woo us from the skies. But on our first we maidens' prize. Far may the hour we pray be hence, we, O thou of little sense, our truthful father's choice refuse, and for ourselves our husbands choose. Our honored sire, our lord we deem, he is to us a god supreme, and they to whom his high decree may give us shall our husbands be. He heard the answer they returned, and mighty rage within him burned. On each fair maid a blast he sent, each stately form he bowed and bent, double by the wind god's ire. They sought the palace of their sire. There fell upon the ground with sighs, while tears and shame were in their eyes, the king himself with troubled brows saw his dear girl so fair, but now, a mournful sight, all bent and bowed, and grieving thus he cried aloud, What fate is this, and what the cause? What wretch has scorned all heavenly laws? Who, thus your forms could curve and break, you struggle but no answer make? They heard the speech of that wise king of their misfortune questioning. Again the hundred maidens sighed, touched with their heads his feet, and cried. The god of wind pervading space would bring on us a foul disgrace, and choosing folly's evil way from virtue's path in scorn would stray, but we, in words like these reproved, the god of wind whom passion moved. Farewell, O Lord, a sire have we, no women uncontrolled and free, go, and our sires consent obtain, if thou our maiden hands would scane, no self-dependent life we live, if we offend our fault forgive. But led by folly as a slave, he would not hear the reed we gave, and even as we gently spoke, we felt the wind god's crushing stroke. The pious king, with grief distressed, the noble hundred thus addressed. With patience, daughters, bear your fate, yours was a deed supremely great, when with one mind you kept from shame the honor of your father's name. Patience, when men their anger vent, is women's praise and ornament. Yet when the gods inflict the blow, hard is it to support the woe. Patience, my girls, exceeds all price, tis alms and truth and sacrifice. Patience is virtue, patience fame, patience upholds this earthly frame. And now, I think, is come the time to wed you in your maiden-prime. Now, daughters, go where you will, thoughts for your good my mind shall fill. The maidens went, consoled, away. The best of kings that very day summoned his ministers of state about their marriage to debate. Since then, because the wind-god bent the damsel's forms for punishment, that royal town is known to fame, by Kanyakubja's borrowed name. There lived a sage called Chuli then, devoutest of the sons of men, his days in penance writes he spent a glorious saint, most continent. To him, absorbed in tasks austere, the child of Ramila drew near, sweet Samadha, the heavenly maid, and lent the saint her pious aid. Long time near him the maidens spent and served him, meek and reverent. To the great hermit, pleased with her, thus spoke unto his minister, Grateful am I for all thy care, blessed maidens, speak thy wish declare. The sweet-voiced nef rejoiced to see the favour of the devotee, and to that eloquent old man, most eloquent she thus began. Thou hast, by heavenly grace sustained, close union with the Godhead gained. I long, O saint, to see a son by force of holy penance won. Unwed a maiden life I live, a son to me thy suppliant give. The saint with favour heard her prayer, and gave a son, exceeding fair, him, Chuli's spiritual child, his mother, Brahmadatta, styled. King Brahmadatta, rich and great, and completely maintained his state, ruling, like Indra and his bliss, his fortunate betropolis. King Kushanaba planned that he, his hundred daughters, lord should be. To him, obedient to his call, the happy monarch gave them all. Like Indra, then, he took the hand of every maiden of the band. Soon as the hand of each young maid in Brahmadatta's palm was laid, deformity and cares away, she shone in beauty bright and gay, their freedom from the wind God's might, saw Kushanaba with delight. Each glance that on their forms he threw filled him with raptures ever new. Then, when the rites were all complete, with highest marks of honour meet, the bridegroom with his brides he sent to his great seat of government. The nymph received with pleasant speech her daughters, and embracing each upon their forms she fondly gazed, and royal Kushanaba praised. Canto 35 Vishvamitra's lineage The rites were o'er, the maids were wed, the bridegroom to his home was sped, the sunless monarch bade prepare a sacrifice to gain an heir, and Kusha, Brahmadatta's son, appeared, and thus King Kushanaba cheered, thou shalt, my child, obtain a son, like thine own self, O holy one, through him forever, Godie, named, shalt thou in all the worlds be famed. He spoke, and vanished from the sight, to Brahma's world of endless light. Time fled, and, as the saint foretold, Godie was born, the holy soul. My sire was he, through him I trace, my line from royal Kusha's race. My sister, elder-born was she, the pure and good Sachavati, was to the great Rachika wed. Still faithful to her husband dead, she followed him, most noble dame, and, raised to heaven in human frame, a pure celestial stream became, down from Himalayas snowy height, in floods forever fair and bright, my sister's holy waves are hurled, to purify and glad the world. Now on Himalayas side I dwell, because I love my sister well. She, for her faith and truth we noun'd, most loving to her husband found, high-fated, firm in each pure vow, is queen of all the rivers now. Bound by a vow I left her side, and to the perfect convent hide. Thereby the aid was thine to lend, made perfect all my labor's end. Thus, mighty Prince, I now have told my race and lineage, high and old, and local tales of long ago, which thou, O Rama, fain wust know. As I have sate rehearsing thus, the midnight hour is come on us, now Rama sleep, that nothing may our journey of tomorrow's day. No leaf on any tree is stirred, hushed in repose our beast and bird. Where ere you turn, on every side, dense shades of night the landscape hide, the light of Eve is fled, the skies thick-studded with their host of eyes, seem a star forest overhead. Where signs and constellations spread, now rises, with his pure cold ray, the moon that drives the shades away, and with his gentle influence brings joy to the hearts of living things. Now, stealing from their lairs, appear the beast to whom the night is dear, now spirits walk and every power that revels in the midnight hour. The mighty hermit's tale was over, he closed his lips and spoke no more. The holy men on every side, well done, well done, with reverence cried, the mighty men of Kusha's seed were ever famed for righteous deed, like Brahma's self in glory shine, the high-sold lords of Kusha's line, and thy great name is sounded most, O saint amid the noble host, and thy dear sister, fairest she of streams, the high-born Khashiki, diffusing virtue where she flows, new splendor on thy lineage throws. Thus by the chief of saints addressed, the son of Gadi turned to rest. So when his daily course is done, sinks to his rest the beaming sun, Rama with Lakshman, somewhat stirred to marvel by the tales they heard, turned also to his couch, to close his eyelids in desired repose. Kanto 36. The Birth of Ganga The hours of night now waning fast, on Sonas pleasant shore they passed, then when the dawn began to break, to Rama thus the hermit spake. The light of dawn is breaking clear, the hour of morning rites is near, rise Rama, rise dear son I pray, and make thee ready for the way. Then Rama rose and finished all his duties at the hermit's call, prepared with joy the road to take, and thus again in question spake. Here fair and deep the sona flows, and many an isle its bosom shows, what way, O saint, will lead us o'er, and land us on the further shore? The saint replied, the way I choose is that which pious hermits use. For many a league they journeyed on, till when the son of Midday shone, the hermit haunted flood was seen, of Janavi, the river's queen. Soon as the holy stream they viewed, thronged with a white-winged multitude of serrasses and swans, delight possessed them at the lovely sight, and then prepared the hermit band to halt upon that holy strand. They bathed as scripture-bids, and paid oblations due to God and shade. To fire they burnt the offering's meat, and sipped the oil, like omrit, sweet. Then pure and pleased they sat around, saint Vishvamitra on the ground, the holy men of lesser note, in due degree, sate more remote, while Ragu's sons took nearer place by virtue of their rank and race. Then Rama said, O saint, I yearn, the three passed Ganga's tale to learn. Thus urged the sage recounted both the birth of Ganga and her growth. The mighty hill with metal stored, Himalaya is the mountain's lord, the father of a lovely pair of daughters, fairest of the fair. Their mother, offspring of the will of Meru, everlasting hill, Meena, Himalaya's darling, graced with beauty of her dainty waist. Ganga was elder-born, then came the fair one known by Uma's name. Then all the gods of heaven, in need of Ganga's help, their vows to speed, to great Himalaya came and prayed the mountain king to yield the maid. He, not regardless of the wheel of the three worlds with holy zeal, his daughter to the immortals gave. Ganga, whose waters cleanse and save, who roams at pleasure, fair and free, purging all sinners to the sea. The three passed Ganga, thus obtained, the gods their heavenly homes regained, long time the sister Uma passed in vows austere and rigid fast. And the king gave the devotee immortal Rudra's bride-to-be, matching with that unequaled lord, his Uma through the worlds adored. So now a glorious station fills each daughter of the king of hills, one honored as the noblest stream, one mid the goddess's supreme. Thus Ganga, king Himalaya's child, the heavenly river, undefiled, rose bearing with her to the sky, her waves that bless and purify.