Chapter 1

Uttarakánda. ADDITIONAL NOTES. Queen Fortune. Indra. Vishnu. Siva. Apsarases. Vishnu’s Incarnation As Ráma. Kusa and Lava. Parasuráma, Page 87. Yáma, Page 68. Fate, Page 68. Visvámitra, Page 76. Household Gods, Page 102. Page 107. Page 108. Page 109. Page 110. Page 120. Page 125. Page 125. Page 136. Page 152. Page 157. Page 161. Page 169. Page 174. The Praise Of Kings Page 176. Sálmalí. Page 178. Bharat’s Return. Page 183. Page 203. Page 219. Page 249. Page 250. Page 257. Page 286. Urvasí. Page 324. Page 326. Page 329. Ráma’s Alliance With Sugríva. Page 342. The Fall Of Báli. Page 370. The Vánar Host. Page 372. Page 374. Page 378. Northern Kurus. Page 428. Page 431. Page 434. Page 436. Page 452. Page 462. Page 466. Page 470. Page 497. Page 489. Page 489. Page 492. Rávan’s Funeral. Page 496. Page 503. The Meeting. Final Notes. INDEX OF PRINCIPAL NAMES Footnotes

INVOCATION.(1)

Praise to Válmíki,(2)bird of charming song,(3) Who mounts on Poesy’s sublimest spray, And sweetly sings with accent clear and strong Ráma, aye Ráma, in his deathless lay.

Where breathes the man can listen to the strain That flows in music from Válmíki’s tongue, Nor feel his feet the path of bliss attain When Ráma’s glory by the saint is sung!

The stream Rámáyan leaves its sacred fount The whole wide world from sin and stain to free.(4) The Prince of Hermits is the parent mount, The lordly Ráma is the darling sea.

Glory to him whose fame is ever bright! Glory to him, Prachetas’(5)holy son! Whose pure lips quaff with ever new delight The nectar-sea of deeds by Ráma done.

Hail, arch-ascetic, pious, good, and kind! Hail, Saint Válmíki, lord of every lore! Hail, holy Hermit, calm and pure of mind! Hail, First of Bards, Válmíki, hail once more!

BOOK I.(6)

Canto I. Nárad.(7)

OM.(8)

To sainted Nárad, prince of those Whose lore in words of wisdom flows. Whose constant care and chief delight Were Scripture and ascetic rite, The good Válmíki, first and best Of hermit saints, these words addressed:(9) “In all this world, I pray thee, who Is virtuous, heroic, true? Firm in his vows, of grateful mind, To every creature good and kind? Bounteous, and holy, just, and wise, Alone most fair to all men’s eyes? Devoid of envy, firm, and sage, Whose tranquil soul ne’er yields to rage? Whom, when his warrior wrath is high, Do Gods embattled fear and fly? Whose noble might and gentle skill The triple world can guard from ill? Who is the best of princes, he Who loves his people’s good to see? The store of bliss, the living mine Where brightest joys and virtues shine? Queen Fortune’s(10) best and dearest friend, Whose steps her choicest gifts attend? Who may with Sun and Moon compare, With Indra,(11) Vishṇu,(12) Fire, and Air? Grant, Saint divine,(13) the boon I ask, For thee, I ween, an easy task, To whom the power is given to know If such a man breathe here below.” Then Nárad, clear before whose eye The present, past, and future lie,(14) Made ready answer: “Hermit, where Are graces found so high and rare? Yet listen, and my tongue shall tell In whom alone these virtues dwell. From old Ikshváku’s(15) line he came, Known to the world by Ráma’s name: With soul subdued, a chief of might, In Scripture versed, in glory bright, His steps in virtue’s paths are bent, Obedient, pure, and eloquent. In each emprise he wins success, And dying foes his power confess. Tall and broad-shouldered, strong of limb, Fortune has set her mark on him. Graced with a conch-shell’s triple line, His throat displays the auspicious sign.(16) High destiny is clear impressed On massive jaw and ample chest, His mighty shafts he truly aims, And foemen in the battle tames. Deep in the muscle, scarcely shown, Embedded lies his collar-bone. His lordly steps are firm and free, His strong arms reach below his knee;(17) All fairest graces join to deck His head, his brow, his stately neck, And limbs in fair proportion set: The manliest form e’er fashioned yet. Graced with each high imperial mark, His skin is soft and lustrous dark. Large are his eyes that sweetly shine With majesty almost divine. His plighted word he ne’er forgets; On erring sense a watch he sets. By nature wise, his teacher’s skill Has trained him to subdue his will. Good, resolute and pure, and strong, He guards mankind from scathe and wrong, And lends his aid, and ne’er in vain, The cause of justice to maintain. Well has he studied o’er and o’er The Vedas(18)and their kindred lore. Well skilled is he the bow to draw,(19) Well trained in arts and versed in law; High-souled and meet for happy fate, Most tender and compassionate; The noblest of all lordly givers, Whom good men follow, as the rivers Follow the King of Floods, the sea: So liberal, so just is he. The joy of Queen Kauśalyá’s(20)heart, In every virtue he has part: Firm as Himálaya’s(21) snowy steep, Unfathomed like the mighty deep: The peer of Vishṇu’s power and might, And lovely as the Lord of Night;(22) Patient as Earth, but, roused to ire, Fierce as the world-destroying fire; In bounty like the Lord of Gold,(23) And Justice self in human mould.

With him, his best and eldest son, By all his princely virtues won King Daśaratha(24) willed to share His kingdom as the Regent Heir. But when Kaikeyí, youngest queen, With eyes of envious hate had seen The solemn pomp and regal state Prepared the prince to consecrate, She bade the hapless king bestow Two gifts he promised long ago, That Ráma to the woods should flee, And that her child the heir should be.

By chains of duty firmly tied, The wretched king perforce complied. Ráma, to please Kaikeyí went Obedient forth to banishment. Then Lakshmaṇ’s truth was nobly shown, Then were his love and courage known, When for his brother’s sake he dared All perils, and his exile shared. And Sítá, Ráma’s darling wife, Loved even as he loved his life, Whom happy marks combined to bless, A miracle of loveliness, Of Janak’s royal lineage sprung, Most excellent of women, clung To her dear lord, like Rohiṇí Rejoicing with the Moon to be.(25) The King and people, sad of mood, The hero’s car awhile pursued. But when Prince Ráma lighted down At Śringavera’s pleasant town, Where Gangá’s holy waters flow, He bade his driver turn and go. Guha, Nishádas’ king, he met, And on the farther bank was set. Then on from wood to wood they strayed, O’er many a stream, through constant shade, As Bharadvája bade them, till They came to Chitrakúṭa’s hill. And Ráma there, with Lakshmaṇ’s aid, A pleasant little cottage made, And spent his days with Sítá, dressed In coat of bark and deerskin vest.(26) And Chitrakúṭa grew to be As bright with those illustrious three As Meru’s(27) sacred peaks that shine With glory, when the Gods recline Beneath them: Śiva’s(28) self between The Lord of Gold and Beauty’s Queen.

The aged king for Ráma pined, And for the skies the earth resigned. Bharat, his son, refused to reign, Though urged by all the twice-born(29) train. Forth to the woods he fared to meet His brother, fell before his feet, And cried, “Thy claim all men allow: O come, our lord and king be thou.” But Ráma nobly chose to be Observant of his sire’s decree. He placed his sandals(30) in his hand A pledge that he would rule the land: And bade his brother turn again. Then Bharat, finding prayer was vain, The sandals took and went away; Nor in Ayodhyá would he stay. But turned to Nandigráma, where He ruled the realm with watchful care, Still longing eagerly to learn Tidings of Ráma’s safe return.

Then lest the people should repeat Their visit to his calm retreat, Away from Chitrakúṭa’s hill Fared Ráma ever onward till Beneath the shady trees he stood Of Daṇḍaká’s primeval wood, Virádha, giant fiend, he slew, And then Agastya’s friendship knew. Counselled by him he gained the sword And bow of Indra, heavenly lord: A pair of quivers too, that bore Of arrows an exhaustless store. While there he dwelt in greenwood shade The trembling hermits sought his aid, And bade him with his sword and bow Destroy the fiends who worked them woe: To come like Indra strong and brave, A guardian God to help and save. And Ráma’s falchion left its trace Deep cut on Śúrpaṇakhá’s face: A hideous giantess who came Burning for him with lawless flame. Their sister’s cries the giants heard. And vengeance in each bosom stirred: The monster of the triple head. And Dúshaṇ to the contest sped. But they and myriad fiends beside Beneath the might of Ráma died.

When Rávaṇ, dreaded warrior, knew The slaughter of his giant crew: Rávaṇ, the king, whose name of fear Earth, hell, and heaven all shook to hear: He bade the fiend Márícha aid The vengeful plot his fury laid. In vain the wise Márícha tried To turn him from his course aside: Not Rávaṇ’s self, he said, might hope With Ráma and his strength to cope. Impelled by fate and blind with rage He came to Ráma’s hermitage. There, by Márícha’s magic art, He wiled the princely youths apart, The vulture(31) slew, and bore away The wife of Ráma as his prey. The son of Raghu(32) came and found Jaṭáyu slain upon the ground. He rushed within his leafy cot; He sought his wife, but found her not. Then, then the hero’s senses failed; In mad despair he wept and wailed. Upon the pile that bird he laid, And still in quest of Sítá strayed. A hideous giant then he saw, Kabandha named, a shape of awe. The monstrous fiend he smote and slew, And in the flame the body threw; When straight from out the funeral flame In lovely form Kabandha came, And bade him seek in his distress A wise and holy hermitess. By counsel of this saintly dame To Pampá’s pleasant flood he came, And there the steadfast friendship won Of Hanumán the Wind-God’s son. Counselled by him he told his grief To great Sugríva, Vánar chief, Who, knowing all the tale, before The sacred flame alliance swore. Sugríva to his new-found friend Told his own story to the end: His hate of Báli for the wrong And insult he had borne so long. And Ráma lent a willing ear And promised to allay his fear. Sugríva warned him of the might Of Báli, matchless in the fight, And, credence for his tale to gain, Showed the huge fiend(33) by Báli slain. The prostrate corse of mountain size Seemed nothing in the hero’s eyes; He lightly kicked it, as it lay, And cast it twenty leagues(34) away. To prove his might his arrows through Seven palms in line, uninjured, flew. He cleft a mighty hill apart, And down to hell he hurled his dart. Then high Sugríva’s spirit rose, Assured of conquest o’er his foes. With his new champion by his side To vast Kishkindhá’s cave he hied. Then, summoned by his awful shout, King Báli came in fury out, First comforted his trembling wife, Then sought Sugríva in the strife. One shaft from Ráma’s deadly bow The monarch in the dust laid low. Then Ráma bade Sugríva reign In place of royal Báli slain. Then speedy envoys hurried forth Eastward and westward, south and north, Commanded by the grateful king Tidings of Ráma’s spouse to bring.

Then by Sampáti’s counsel led, Brave Hanumán, who mocked at dread, Sprang at one wild tremendous leap Two hundred leagues across the deep. To Lanká’s(35) town he urged his way, Where Rávaṇ held his royal sway. There pensive ’neath Aśoka(36) boughs He found poor Sítá, Ráma’s spouse. He gave the hapless girl a ring, A token from her lord and king. A pledge from her fair hand he bore; Then battered down the garden door. Five captains of the host he slew, Seven sons of councillors o’erthrew; Crushed youthful Aksha on the field, Then to his captors chose to yield. Soon from their bonds his limbs were free, But honouring the high decree Which Brahmá(37) had pronounced of yore, He calmly all their insults bore. The town he burnt with hostile flame, And spoke again with Ráma’s dame, Then swiftly back to Ráma flew With tidings of the interview.

Then with Sugríva for his guide, Came Ráma to the ocean side. He smote the sea with shafts as bright As sunbeams in their summer height, And quick appeared the Rivers’ King(38) Obedient to the summoning. A bridge was thrown by Nala o’er The narrow sea from shore to shore.(39) They crossed to Lanká’s golden town, Where Ráma’s hand smote Rávaṇ down. Vibhishaṇ there was left to reign Over his brother’s wide domain. To meet her husband Sítá came; But Ráma, stung with ire and shame, With bitter words his wife addressed Before the crowd that round her pressed. But Sítá, touched with noble ire, Gave her fair body to the fire. Then straight the God of Wind appeared, And words from heaven her honour cleared. And Ráma clasped his wife again, Uninjured, pure from spot and stain, Obedient to the Lord of Fire And the high mandate of his sire. Led by the Lord who rules the sky, The Gods and heavenly saints drew nigh, And honoured him with worthy meed, Rejoicing in each glorious deed. His task achieved, his foe removed, He triumphed, by the Gods approved. By grace of Heaven he raised to life The chieftains slain in mortal strife; Then in the magic chariot through The clouds to Nandigráma flew. Met by his faithful brothers there, He loosed his votive coil of hair: Thence fair Ayodhyá’s town he gained, And o’er his father’s kingdom reigned. Disease or famine ne’er oppressed His happy people, richly blest With all the joys of ample wealth, Of sweet content and perfect health. No widow mourned her well-loved mate, No sire his son’s untimely fate. They feared not storm or robber’s hand; No fire or flood laid waste the land: The Golden Age(40) had come again To bless the days of Ráma’s reign.

From him, the great and glorious king, Shall many a princely scion spring. And he shall rule, beloved by men, Ten thousand years and hundreds ten,(41) And when his life on earth is past To Brahmá’s world shall go at last.”

Whoe’er this noble poem reads That tells the tale of Ráma’s deeds, Good as the Scriptures, he shall be From every sin and blemish free. Whoever reads the saving strain, With all his kin the heavens shall gain. Bráhmans who read shall gather hence The highest praise for eloquence. The warrior, o’er the land shall reign, The merchant, luck in trade obtain; And Śúdras listening(42) ne’er shall fail To reap advantage from the tale.(43)

Canto II. Brahmá’s Visit

Válmíki, graceful speaker, heard, To highest admiration stirred. To him whose fame the tale rehearsed He paid his mental worship first; Then with his pupil humbly bent Before the saint most eloquent. Thus honoured and dismissed the seer Departed to his heavenly sphere. Then from his cot Válmíki hied To Tamasá’s(44) sequestered side, Not far remote from Gangá’s tide. He stood and saw the ripples roll Pellucid o’er a pebbly shoal. To Bharadvája(45) by his side He turned in ecstasy, and cried: “See, pupil dear, this lovely sight, The smooth-floored shallow, pure and bright, With not a speck or shade to mar, And clear as good men’s bosoms are. Here on the brink thy pitcher lay, And bring my zone of bark, I pray. Here will I bathe: the rill has not, To lave the limbs, a fairer spot. Do quickly as I bid, nor waste The precious time; away, and haste.”

Obedient to his master’s hest Quick from the cot he brought the vest; The hermit took it from his hand, And tightened round his waist the band; Then duly dipped and bathed him there, And muttered low his secret prayer. To spirits and to Gods he made Libation of the stream, and strayed Viewing the forest deep and wide That spread its shade on every side. Close by the bank he saw a pair Of curlews sporting fearless there. But suddenly with evil mind An outcast fowler stole behind, And, with an aim too sure and true, The male bird near the hermit slew. The wretched hen in wild despair With fluttering pinions beat the air, And shrieked a long and bitter cry When low on earth she saw him lie, Her loved companion, quivering, dead, His dear wings with his lifeblood red; And for her golden crested mate She mourned, and was disconsolate.

The hermit saw the slaughtered bird, And all his heart with ruth was stirred. The fowler’s impious deed distressed His gentle sympathetic breast, And while the curlew’s sad cries rang Within his ears, the hermit sang: “No fame be thine for endless time, Because, base outcast, of thy crime, Whose cruel hand was fain to slay One of this gentle pair at play!” E’en as he spoke his bosom wrought And laboured with the wondering thought What was the speech his ready tongue Had uttered when his heart was wrung. He pondered long upon the speech, Recalled the words and measured each, And thus exclaimed the saintly guide To Bharadvája by his side: “With equal lines of even feet, With rhythm and time and tone complete, The measured form of words I spoke In shock of grief be termed a śloke.”(46) And Bharadvája, nothing slow His faithful love and zeal to show, Answered those words of wisdom, “Be The name, my lord, as pleases thee.”

As rules prescribe the hermit took Some lustral water from the brook. But still on this his constant thought Kept brooding, as his home he sought; While Bharadvája paced behind, A pupil sage of lowly mind, And in his hand a pitcher bore With pure fresh water brimming o’er. Soon as they reached their calm retreat The holy hermit took his seat; His mind from worldly cares recalled, And mused in deepest thought enthralled.

Then glorious Brahmá,(47) Lord Most High, Creator of the earth and sky, The four-faced God, to meet the sage Came to Válmíki’s hermitage. Soon as the mighty God he saw, Up sprang the saint in wondering awe. Mute, with clasped hands, his head he bent, And stood before him reverent. His honoured guest he greeted well, Who bade him of his welfare tell; Gave water for his blessed feet, Brought offerings,(48) and prepared a seat. In honoured place the God Most High Sate down, and bade the saint sit nigh. There sate before Válmíki’s eyes The Father of the earth and skies; But still the hermit’s thoughts were bent On one thing only, all intent On that poor curlew’s mournful fate Lamenting for her slaughtered mate; And still his lips, in absent mood, The verse that told his grief, renewed: “Woe to the fowler’s impious hand That did the deed that folly planned; That could to needless death devote The curlew of the tuneful throat!”

The heavenly Father smiled in glee, And said, “O best of hermits, see, A verse, unconscious, thou hast made; No longer be the task delayed. Seek not to trace, with labour vain, The unpremeditated strain. The tuneful lines thy lips rehearsed Spontaneous from thy bosom burst. Then come, O best of seers, relate The life of Ráma good and great, The tale that saintly Nárad told, In all its glorious length unfold. Of all the deeds his arm has done Upon this earth, omit not one, And thus the noble life record Of that wise, brave, and virtuous lord. His every act to day displayed, His secret life to none betrayed: How Lakshmaṇ, how the giants fought; With high emprise and hidden thought: And all that Janak’s child(49) befell Where all could see, where none could tell. The whole of this shall truly be Made known, O best of saints, to thee. In all thy poem, through my grace, No word of falsehood shall have place. Begin the story, and rehearse The tale divine in charming verse. As long as in this firm-set land The streams shall flow, the mountains stand, So long throughout the world, be sure, The great Rámáyan shall endure.(50) While the Rámáyan’s ancient strain Shall glorious in the earth remain, To higher spheres shalt thou arise And dwell with me above the skies.”