The Ramayana Part 157

For spake he well or spake he ill, He spake obedient to their will, And, if he perish, who can bear Thy challenge to the royal pair?

Who, cross the ocean and incite Thy death-doomed enemies to fight?"

Canto LIII. The Punishment.

King Rava?, by his pleading moved, The counsel of the chief approved: "Thy words are wise and true: to kill An envoy would beseem us ill.

Yet must we for his crime invent Some fitting mode of punishment.

The tail, I fancy, is the part Most cherished by a monkey's heart.

Make ready: set his tail aflame, And let him leave us as he came, And thus disfigured and disgraced Back to his king and people haste."

The giants heard their monarch's speech; And, filled with burning fury, each Brought strips of cotton cloth, and round The monkey's tail the bandage wound.

As round his tail the bands they drew His mighty form dilating grew Vast as the flame that bursts on high Where trees are old and gra.s.s is dry.

Each band and strip they soaked in oil, And set on fire the twisted coil.

Delighted as they viewed the blaze, The cruel demons stood at gaze: And mid loud drums and sh.e.l.ls rang out The triumph of their joyful shout.

They pressed about him thick and fast As through the crowded streets he pa.s.sed, Observing with attentive care Each rich and wondrous structure there, Still heedless of the eager cry That rent the air, The spy! the spy!

Some to the captive lady ran, And thus in joyous words began: "That copper-visaged monkey, he Who in the garden talked with thee, Through Lanka's town is led a show, And round his tail the red flames glow."

The mournful news the lady heard That with fresh grief her bosom stirred.

Swift to the kindled fire she went And prayed before it reverent: "If I my husband have obeyed, And kept the ascetic vows I made, Free, ever free, from stain and blot, O spare the Vanar; harm him not."

Then leapt on high the flickering flame And shone in answer to the dame.

The pitying fire its rage forbore: The Vanar felt the heat no more.

Then, to minutest size reduced, The bonds that bound his limbs he loosed, And, freed from every band and chain, Rose to his native size again.

He seized a club of ponderous weight That lay before him by the gate, Rushed at the fiends that hemmed him round, And laid them lifeless on the ground.

Through Lanka's town again he strode, And viewed each street and square and road,- Still wreathed about with harmless blaze, A sun engarlanded with rays.

Canto LIV. The Burning Of Lanka.

"What further deed remains to do To vex the Rakshas king anew?

The beauty of his grove is marred, Killed are the bravest of his guard.

The captains of his host are slain; But forts and palaces remain, Swift is the work and light the toil Each fortress of the foe to spoil."

Reflecting thus, his tail ablaze As through the cloud red lightning plays, He scaled the palaces and spread The conflagration where he sped.

From house to house he hurried on, And the wild flames behind him shone.

Each mansion of the foe he scaled, And furious fire its roof a.s.sailed Till all the common ruin shared: Vibhisha?'s house alone was spared.

From blazing pile to pile he sprang, And loud his shout of triumph rang, As roars the doomsday cloud when all The worlds in dissolution fall.

The friendly wind conspired to fan The hungry flames that leapt and ran, And spreading in their fury caught The gilded walls with pearls inwrought, Till each proud palace reeled and fell As falls a heavenly citadel.

Loud was the roar the demons raised Mid walls that split and beams that blazed, As each with vain endeavour strove To stay the flames in house or grove.

The women, with dishevelled hair, Flocked to the roofs in wild despair, Shrieked out for succour, wept aloud, And fell, like lightning from a cloud.

He saw the flames ascend and curl Round turkis, diamond, and pearl, While silver floods and molten gold From ruined wall and latice rolled.

As fire grows fiercer as he feeds On wood and gra.s.s and crackling reeds, So Hanuman the ruin eyed With fury still unsatisfied.

Canto LV. Fear For Sita.

But other thoughts resumed their sway When Lanka's town in ruin lay; And, as his bosom felt their weight He stood a while to meditate.

"What have I done?", he thought with shame, "Destroyed the town with hostile flame.

O happy they whose firm control Checks the wild pa.s.sion of the soul; Who on the fires of anger throw The cooling drops that check their glow.

But woe is me, whom wrath could lead To do this senseless shameless deed.

The town to fire and death I gave, Nor thought of her I came to save,- Doomed by my own rash folly, doomed To perish in the flames consumed.

If I, when anger drove me wild, Have caused the death of Janak's child, The kindled flame shall end my woe, Or the deep fires that burn below,(886) Or my forsaken corse shall be Food for the monsters of the sea.

How can I meet Sugriva? how Before the royal brothers bow,- I whose rash deed has madly foiled, The n.o.ble work in which we toiled?

Or has her own bright virtue shed Its guardian influence round her head?

She lives untouched,-the peerless dame; Flame has no fury for the flame.(887) The very fire would ne'er consent To harm a queen so excellent,- The high-souled Rama's faithful wife, Protected by her holy life.

She lives, she lives. Why should I fear For one whom Raghu's sons hold dear?

Has not the pitying fire that spared The Vanar for the lady cared?"

Such were his thoughts: he pondered long, And fear grew faint and hope grew strong.

Then round him heavenly voices rang, And, sweetly tuned, his praises sang: "O glorious is the exploit done By Hanuman the Wind-G.o.d's son.

The flames o'er Lanka's city rise: The giants' home in ruin lies.

O'er roof and wall the fires have spread, Nor harmed a hair of Sita's head."

Canto LVI. Mount Arishta.

He looked upon the burning waste, Then sought the queen in joyous haste, With words of hope consoled her heart, And made him ready to depart.

He scaled Arish?a's glorious steep Whose summits beetled o'er the deep.

The woods in varied beauty dressed Hung like a garland round his crest, And clouds of ever changing hue A robe about his shoulders threw.

On him the rays of morning fell To wake the hill they loved so well, And bid unclose those splendid eyes That glittered in his mineral dyes.

He woke to hear the music made By thunders of the white cascade, While every laughing rill that sprang From crag to crag its carol sang.

For arms, he lifted to the stars His towering stems of Deodars, And morning heard his pealing call In tumbling brook and waterfall.

He trembled when his woods were pale And bowed beneath the autumn gale, And when his vocal reeds were stirred His melancholy moan was heard.

Far down against the mountain's feet The Vanar heard the wild waves beat; Then turned his glances to the north.

Sprang from the peak and bounded forth, The mountain felt the fearful shock And trembled through his ma.s.s of rock.

The tallest trees were crushed and rent And headlong to the valley sent, And as the rocking shook each cave Loud was the roar the lions gave.

Forth from the shaken cavern came Fierce serpents with their tongues aflame; And every Yaksha, wild with dread, And Kinnar and Gandharva, fled.

Canto LVII. Hanuman's Return.

Still, like a winged mountain, he Sprang forward through the airy sea,(888) And rus.h.i.+ng through the ether drew The clouds to follow as he flew, Through the great host around him spread, Grey, golden, dark, and white, and red.