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Valmiki Ramayana 4.59

Vālmīkirāmāyaṇa 4.59

Language
Sanskrit

4.59.1

tataḥ kṛtodakaṃ snātaṃ taṃ gṛdhraṃ hariyūthapāḥ
upaviṣṭā girau durge parivārya samantataḥ

Then from the flood Sampáti paid
Due offerings to his brother's shade.
He bathed him when the rites were done.
And spake again to Báli's son:
'Now listen, Prince, while I relate
How first I learned the lady's fate.
Burnt by the sun's resistless might
I fell and lay on Vindhya's height.
Seven nights in deadly swoon I passed,
But struggling life returned at last.
Around I bent my wondering view,
But every spot was strange and new.
I scanned the sea with eager ken,
And rock and brook and lake and glen,
I saw gay trees their branches wave,
And creepers mantling o'er the cave.
I heard the wild birds' joyous song,
And waters as they foamed along,
And knew the lovely hill must be
Mount Vindhya by the southern sea.

Ralph T. H. Griffith 1870, The Rámáyan of Válmíki, translated into English verse

4.59.2

tam aṅgadam upāsīnaṃ taiḥ sarvair haribhir vṛtam
janitapratyayo harṣāt saṃpātiḥ punar abravīt

Then from the flood Sampáti paid
Due offerings to his brother's shade.
He bathed him when the rites were done.
And spake again to Báli's son:
'Now listen, Prince, while I relate
How first I learned the lady's fate.
Burnt by the sun's resistless might
I fell and lay on Vindhya's height.
Seven nights in deadly swoon I passed,
But struggling life returned at last.
Around I bent my wondering view,
But every spot was strange and new.
I scanned the sea with eager ken,
And rock and brook and lake and glen,
I saw gay trees their branches wave,
And creepers mantling o'er the cave.
I heard the wild birds' joyous song,
And waters as they foamed along,
And knew the lovely hill must be
Mount Vindhya by the southern sea.

Ralph T. H. Griffith 1870, The Rámáyan of Válmíki, translated into English verse

4.59.3

kṛtvā niḥśabdam ekāgrāḥ śṛṇvantu harayo mama
tattvaṃ saṃkīrtayiṣyāmi yathā jānāmi maithilīm

Then from the flood Sampáti paid
Due offerings to his brother's shade.
He bathed him when the rites were done.
And spake again to Báli's son:
'Now listen, Prince, while I relate
How first I learned the lady's fate.
Burnt by the sun's resistless might
I fell and lay on Vindhya's height.
Seven nights in deadly swoon I passed,
But struggling life returned at last.
Around I bent my wondering view,
But every spot was strange and new.
I scanned the sea with eager ken,
And rock and brook and lake and glen,
I saw gay trees their branches wave,
And creepers mantling o'er the cave.
I heard the wild birds' joyous song,
And waters as they foamed along,
And knew the lovely hill must be
Mount Vindhya by the southern sea.

Ralph T. H. Griffith 1870, The Rámáyan of Válmíki, translated into English verse

4.59.4

asya vindhyasya śikhare patito 'smi purā vane
sūryātapaparītāṅgo nirdagdhaḥ sūryaraśmibhiḥ

Then from the flood Sampáti paid
Due offerings to his brother's shade.
He bathed him when the rites were done.
And spake again to Báli's son:
'Now listen, Prince, while I relate
How first I learned the lady's fate.
Burnt by the sun's resistless might
I fell and lay on Vindhya's height.
Seven nights in deadly swoon I passed,
But struggling life returned at last.
Around I bent my wondering view,
But every spot was strange and new.
I scanned the sea with eager ken,
And rock and brook and lake and glen,
I saw gay trees their branches wave,
And creepers mantling o'er the cave.
I heard the wild birds' joyous song,
And waters as they foamed along,
And knew the lovely hill must be
Mount Vindhya by the southern sea.

Ralph T. H. Griffith 1870, The Rámáyan of Válmíki, translated into English verse

4.59.5

labdhasaṃjñas tu ṣaḍrātrād vivaśo vihvalann iva
vīkṣamāṇo diśaḥ sarvā nābhijānāmi kiṃ cana

Then from the flood Sampáti paid
Due offerings to his brother's shade.
He bathed him when the rites were done.
And spake again to Báli's son:
'Now listen, Prince, while I relate
How first I learned the lady's fate.
Burnt by the sun's resistless might
I fell and lay on Vindhya's height.
Seven nights in deadly swoon I passed,
But struggling life returned at last.
Around I bent my wondering view,
But every spot was strange and new.
I scanned the sea with eager ken,
And rock and brook and lake and glen,
I saw gay trees their branches wave,
And creepers mantling o'er the cave.
I heard the wild birds' joyous song,
And waters as they foamed along,
And knew the lovely hill must be
Mount Vindhya by the southern sea.

Ralph T. H. Griffith 1870, The Rámáyan of Válmíki, translated into English verse

4.59.6

tatas tu sāgarāñ śailān nadīḥ sarvāḥ sarāṃsi ca
vanāny aṭavideśāṃś ca samīkṣya matir āgamat

Then from the flood Sampáti paid
Due offerings to his brother's shade.
He bathed him when the rites were done.
And spake again to Báli's son:
'Now listen, Prince, while I relate
How first I learned the lady's fate.
Burnt by the sun's resistless might
I fell and lay on Vindhya's height.
Seven nights in deadly swoon I passed,
But struggling life returned at last.
Around I bent my wondering view,
But every spot was strange and new.
I scanned the sea with eager ken,
And rock and brook and lake and glen,
I saw gay trees their branches wave,
And creepers mantling o'er the cave.
I heard the wild birds' joyous song,
And waters as they foamed along,
And knew the lovely hill must be
Mount Vindhya by the southern sea.

Ralph T. H. Griffith 1870, The Rámáyan of Válmíki, translated into English verse

4.59.7

hṛṣṭapakṣigaṇākīrṇaḥ kandarāntarakūṭavān
dakṣiṇasyodadhes tīre vindhyo 'yam iti niścitaḥ

Then from the flood Sampáti paid
Due offerings to his brother's shade.
He bathed him when the rites were done.
And spake again to Báli's son:
'Now listen, Prince, while I relate
How first I learned the lady's fate.
Burnt by the sun's resistless might
I fell and lay on Vindhya's height.
Seven nights in deadly swoon I passed,
But struggling life returned at last.
Around I bent my wondering view,
But every spot was strange and new.
I scanned the sea with eager ken,
And rock and brook and lake and glen,
I saw gay trees their branches wave,
And creepers mantling o'er the cave.
I heard the wild birds' joyous song,
And waters as they foamed along,
And knew the lovely hill must be
Mount Vindhya by the southern sea.

Ralph T. H. Griffith 1870, The Rámáyan of Válmíki, translated into English verse

4.59.8

āsīc cātrāśramaṃ puṇyaṃ surair api supūjitam
ṛṣir niśākaro nāma yasminn ugratapābhavat

Revered by heavenly beings, stood
Near where I lay, a sacred wood,
Where great Nis'akar dwelt of yore
And pains of awful penance bore.
Eight thousand seasons winged their flight
Over the toiling anchorite--
Upon that hill my days were spent,--
And then to heaven the hermit went.
At last, with long and hard assay,
Down from that height I made my way,
And wandered through the mountain pass
Rough with the spikes of Darbha grass.
I with my misery worn, and faint
Was eager to behold the saint:
For often with Jatáyus I
Had sought his home in days gone by.
As nearer to the grove I drew
The breeze with cooling fragrance blew,
And not a tree that was not fair,
With richest flower and fruit was there.
With anxious heart a while I stayed
Beneath the trees' delightful shade,
Aud soon the holy hermit, bright
With fervent penance, came in sight.
Behind him bears and lions, tame
As those who know their feeder, came,
And tigers, deer, and snakes pursued
His steps, a wondrous multitude,
And turned obeisant when the sage
Had reached his shady hermitage.
Then came Nis'ákar to my side
And looked with wondering eyes, and cried:
'I knew thee not, so dire a change
Has made thy form and feature strange.
Where are thy glossy feathers? where
The rapid wings that cleft the air?
Two vulture brothers once I knew:
Each form at will could they endue.
They of the vulture race were kings,
And flew with Mátaris'va's wings.
In human shape they loved to greet
Their hermit friend, and clasp his feet,
The younger was Jatáyus, thou
The elder whom I gaze on now.
Say, has disease or foeman's hate
Reduced thee from thy high estate?

Ralph T. H. Griffith 1870, The Rámáyan of Válmíki, translated into English verse

4.59.9

aṣṭau varṣasahasrāṇi tenāsminn ṛṣiṇā vinā
vasato mama dharmajñāḥ svargate tu niśākare

Revered by heavenly beings, stood
Near where I lay, a sacred wood,
Where great Nis'akar dwelt of yore
And pains of awful penance bore.
Eight thousand seasons winged their flight
Over the toiling anchorite--
Upon that hill my days were spent,--
And then to heaven the hermit went.
At last, with long and hard assay,
Down from that height I made my way,
And wandered through the mountain pass
Rough with the spikes of Darbha grass.
I with my misery worn, and faint
Was eager to behold the saint:
For often with Jatáyus I
Had sought his home in days gone by.
As nearer to the grove I drew
The breeze with cooling fragrance blew,
And not a tree that was not fair,
With richest flower and fruit was there.
With anxious heart a while I stayed
Beneath the trees' delightful shade,
Aud soon the holy hermit, bright
With fervent penance, came in sight.
Behind him bears and lions, tame
As those who know their feeder, came,
And tigers, deer, and snakes pursued
His steps, a wondrous multitude,
And turned obeisant when the sage
Had reached his shady hermitage.
Then came Nis'ákar to my side
And looked with wondering eyes, and cried:
'I knew thee not, so dire a change
Has made thy form and feature strange.
Where are thy glossy feathers? where
The rapid wings that cleft the air?
Two vulture brothers once I knew:
Each form at will could they endue.
They of the vulture race were kings,
And flew with Mátaris'va's wings.
In human shape they loved to greet
Their hermit friend, and clasp his feet,
The younger was Jatáyus, thou
The elder whom I gaze on now.
Say, has disease or foeman's hate
Reduced thee from thy high estate?

Ralph T. H. Griffith 1870, The Rámáyan of Válmíki, translated into English verse

4.59.10

avatīrya ca vindhyāgrāt kṛcchreṇa viṣamāc chanaiḥ
tīkṣṇadarbhāṃ vasumatīṃ duḥkhena punar āgataḥ

Revered by heavenly beings, stood
Near where I lay, a sacred wood,
Where great Nis'akar dwelt of yore
And pains of awful penance bore.
Eight thousand seasons winged their flight
Over the toiling anchorite--
Upon that hill my days were spent,--
And then to heaven the hermit went.
At last, with long and hard assay,
Down from that height I made my way,
And wandered through the mountain pass
Rough with the spikes of Darbha grass.
I with my misery worn, and faint
Was eager to behold the saint:
For often with Jatáyus I
Had sought his home in days gone by.
As nearer to the grove I drew
The breeze with cooling fragrance blew,
And not a tree that was not fair,
With richest flower and fruit was there.
With anxious heart a while I stayed
Beneath the trees' delightful shade,
Aud soon the holy hermit, bright
With fervent penance, came in sight.
Behind him bears and lions, tame
As those who know their feeder, came,
And tigers, deer, and snakes pursued
His steps, a wondrous multitude,
And turned obeisant when the sage
Had reached his shady hermitage.
Then came Nis'ákar to my side
And looked with wondering eyes, and cried:
'I knew thee not, so dire a change
Has made thy form and feature strange.
Where are thy glossy feathers? where
The rapid wings that cleft the air?
Two vulture brothers once I knew:
Each form at will could they endue.
They of the vulture race were kings,
And flew with Mátaris'va's wings.
In human shape they loved to greet
Their hermit friend, and clasp his feet,
The younger was Jatáyus, thou
The elder whom I gaze on now.
Say, has disease or foeman's hate
Reduced thee from thy high estate?

Ralph T. H. Griffith 1870, The Rámáyan of Válmíki, translated into English verse

4.59.11

tam ṛṣiṃ draṣṭu kāmo 'smi duḥkhenābhyāgato bhṛśam
jaṭāyuṣā mayā caiva bahuśo 'bhigato hi saḥ

Revered by heavenly beings, stood
Near where I lay, a sacred wood,
Where great Nis'akar dwelt of yore
And pains of awful penance bore.
Eight thousand seasons winged their flight
Over the toiling anchorite--
Upon that hill my days were spent,--
And then to heaven the hermit went.
At last, with long and hard assay,
Down from that height I made my way,
And wandered through the mountain pass
Rough with the spikes of Darbha grass.
I with my misery worn, and faint
Was eager to behold the saint:
For often with Jatáyus I
Had sought his home in days gone by.
As nearer to the grove I drew
The breeze with cooling fragrance blew,
And not a tree that was not fair,
With richest flower and fruit was there.
With anxious heart a while I stayed
Beneath the trees' delightful shade,
Aud soon the holy hermit, bright
With fervent penance, came in sight.
Behind him bears and lions, tame
As those who know their feeder, came,
And tigers, deer, and snakes pursued
His steps, a wondrous multitude,
And turned obeisant when the sage
Had reached his shady hermitage.
Then came Nis'ákar to my side
And looked with wondering eyes, and cried:
'I knew thee not, so dire a change
Has made thy form and feature strange.
Where are thy glossy feathers? where
The rapid wings that cleft the air?
Two vulture brothers once I knew:
Each form at will could they endue.
They of the vulture race were kings,
And flew with Mátaris'va's wings.
In human shape they loved to greet
Their hermit friend, and clasp his feet,
The younger was Jatáyus, thou
The elder whom I gaze on now.
Say, has disease or foeman's hate
Reduced thee from thy high estate?

Ralph T. H. Griffith 1870, The Rámáyan of Válmíki, translated into English verse

4.59.12

tasyāśramapadābhyāśe vavur vātāḥ sugandhinaḥ
vṛkṣo nāpuṣpitaḥ kaś cid aphalo vā na dṛśyate

Revered by heavenly beings, stood
Near where I lay, a sacred wood,
Where great Nis'akar dwelt of yore
And pains of awful penance bore.
Eight thousand seasons winged their flight
Over the toiling anchorite--
Upon that hill my days were spent,--
And then to heaven the hermit went.
At last, with long and hard assay,
Down from that height I made my way,
And wandered through the mountain pass
Rough with the spikes of Darbha grass.
I with my misery worn, and faint
Was eager to behold the saint:
For often with Jatáyus I
Had sought his home in days gone by.
As nearer to the grove I drew
The breeze with cooling fragrance blew,
And not a tree that was not fair,
With richest flower and fruit was there.
With anxious heart a while I stayed
Beneath the trees' delightful shade,
Aud soon the holy hermit, bright
With fervent penance, came in sight.
Behind him bears and lions, tame
As those who know their feeder, came,
And tigers, deer, and snakes pursued
His steps, a wondrous multitude,
And turned obeisant when the sage
Had reached his shady hermitage.
Then came Nis'ákar to my side
And looked with wondering eyes, and cried:
'I knew thee not, so dire a change
Has made thy form and feature strange.
Where are thy glossy feathers? where
The rapid wings that cleft the air?
Two vulture brothers once I knew:
Each form at will could they endue.
They of the vulture race were kings,
And flew with Mátaris'va's wings.
In human shape they loved to greet
Their hermit friend, and clasp his feet,
The younger was Jatáyus, thou
The elder whom I gaze on now.
Say, has disease or foeman's hate
Reduced thee from thy high estate?

Ralph T. H. Griffith 1870, The Rámáyan of Válmíki, translated into English verse

4.59.13

upetya cāśramaṃ puṇyaṃ vṛkṣamūlam upāśritaḥ
draṣṭukāmaḥ pratīkṣe ca bhagavantaṃ niśākaram

Revered by heavenly beings, stood
Near where I lay, a sacred wood,
Where great Nis'akar dwelt of yore
And pains of awful penance bore.
Eight thousand seasons winged their flight
Over the toiling anchorite--
Upon that hill my days were spent,--
And then to heaven the hermit went.
At last, with long and hard assay,
Down from that height I made my way,
And wandered through the mountain pass
Rough with the spikes of Darbha grass.
I with my misery worn, and faint
Was eager to behold the saint:
For often with Jatáyus I
Had sought his home in days gone by.
As nearer to the grove I drew
The breeze with cooling fragrance blew,
And not a tree that was not fair,
With richest flower and fruit was there.
With anxious heart a while I stayed
Beneath the trees' delightful shade,
Aud soon the holy hermit, bright
With fervent penance, came in sight.
Behind him bears and lions, tame
As those who know their feeder, came,
And tigers, deer, and snakes pursued
His steps, a wondrous multitude,
And turned obeisant when the sage
Had reached his shady hermitage.
Then came Nis'ákar to my side
And looked with wondering eyes, and cried:
'I knew thee not, so dire a change
Has made thy form and feature strange.
Where are thy glossy feathers? where
The rapid wings that cleft the air?
Two vulture brothers once I knew:
Each form at will could they endue.
They of the vulture race were kings,
And flew with Mátaris'va's wings.
In human shape they loved to greet
Their hermit friend, and clasp his feet,
The younger was Jatáyus, thou
The elder whom I gaze on now.
Say, has disease or foeman's hate
Reduced thee from thy high estate?

Ralph T. H. Griffith 1870, The Rámáyan of Válmíki, translated into English verse

4.59.14

athāpaśyam adūrastham ṛṣiṃ jvalitatejasaṃ
kṛtābhiṣekaṃ durdharṣam upāvṛttam udaṅmukham

Revered by heavenly beings, stood
Near where I lay, a sacred wood,
Where great Nis'akar dwelt of yore
And pains of awful penance bore.
Eight thousand seasons winged their flight
Over the toiling anchorite--
Upon that hill my days were spent,--
And then to heaven the hermit went.
At last, with long and hard assay,
Down from that height I made my way,
And wandered through the mountain pass
Rough with the spikes of Darbha grass.
I with my misery worn, and faint
Was eager to behold the saint:
For often with Jatáyus I
Had sought his home in days gone by.
As nearer to the grove I drew
The breeze with cooling fragrance blew,
And not a tree that was not fair,
With richest flower and fruit was there.
With anxious heart a while I stayed
Beneath the trees' delightful shade,
Aud soon the holy hermit, bright
With fervent penance, came in sight.
Behind him bears and lions, tame
As those who know their feeder, came,
And tigers, deer, and snakes pursued
His steps, a wondrous multitude,
And turned obeisant when the sage
Had reached his shady hermitage.
Then came Nis'ákar to my side
And looked with wondering eyes, and cried:
'I knew thee not, so dire a change
Has made thy form and feature strange.
Where are thy glossy feathers? where
The rapid wings that cleft the air?
Two vulture brothers once I knew:
Each form at will could they endue.
They of the vulture race were kings,
And flew with Mátaris'va's wings.
In human shape they loved to greet
Their hermit friend, and clasp his feet,
The younger was Jatáyus, thou
The elder whom I gaze on now.
Say, has disease or foeman's hate
Reduced thee from thy high estate?

Ralph T. H. Griffith 1870, The Rámáyan of Válmíki, translated into English verse

4.59.15

tam ṛkṣāḥ sṛmarā vyāghrāḥ siṃhā nāgāḥ sarīsṛpāḥ
parivāryopagacchanti dātāraṃ prāṇino yathā

Revered by heavenly beings, stood
Near where I lay, a sacred wood,
Where great Nis'akar dwelt of yore
And pains of awful penance bore.
Eight thousand seasons winged their flight
Over the toiling anchorite--
Upon that hill my days were spent,--
And then to heaven the hermit went.
At last, with long and hard assay,
Down from that height I made my way,
And wandered through the mountain pass
Rough with the spikes of Darbha grass.
I with my misery worn, and faint
Was eager to behold the saint:
For often with Jatáyus I
Had sought his home in days gone by.
As nearer to the grove I drew
The breeze with cooling fragrance blew,
And not a tree that was not fair,
With richest flower and fruit was there.
With anxious heart a while I stayed
Beneath the trees' delightful shade,
Aud soon the holy hermit, bright
With fervent penance, came in sight.
Behind him bears and lions, tame
As those who know their feeder, came,
And tigers, deer, and snakes pursued
His steps, a wondrous multitude,
And turned obeisant when the sage
Had reached his shady hermitage.
Then came Nis'ákar to my side
And looked with wondering eyes, and cried:
'I knew thee not, so dire a change
Has made thy form and feature strange.
Where are thy glossy feathers? where
The rapid wings that cleft the air?
Two vulture brothers once I knew:
Each form at will could they endue.
They of the vulture race were kings,
And flew with Mátaris'va's wings.
In human shape they loved to greet
Their hermit friend, and clasp his feet,
The younger was Jatáyus, thou
The elder whom I gaze on now.
Say, has disease or foeman's hate
Reduced thee from thy high estate?

Ralph T. H. Griffith 1870, The Rámáyan of Válmíki, translated into English verse

4.59.16

tataḥ prāptam ṛṣiṃ jñātvā tāni sattvāni vai yayuḥ
praviṣṭe rājani yathā sarvaṃ sāmātyakaṃ balam

Revered by heavenly beings, stood
Near where I lay, a sacred wood,
Where great Nis'akar dwelt of yore
And pains of awful penance bore.
Eight thousand seasons winged their flight
Over the toiling anchorite--
Upon that hill my days were spent,--
And then to heaven the hermit went.
At last, with long and hard assay,
Down from that height I made my way,
And wandered through the mountain pass
Rough with the spikes of Darbha grass.
I with my misery worn, and faint
Was eager to behold the saint:
For often with Jatáyus I
Had sought his home in days gone by.
As nearer to the grove I drew
The breeze with cooling fragrance blew,
And not a tree that was not fair,
With richest flower and fruit was there.
With anxious heart a while I stayed
Beneath the trees' delightful shade,
Aud soon the holy hermit, bright
With fervent penance, came in sight.
Behind him bears and lions, tame
As those who know their feeder, came,
And tigers, deer, and snakes pursued
His steps, a wondrous multitude,
And turned obeisant when the sage
Had reached his shady hermitage.
Then came Nis'ákar to my side
And looked with wondering eyes, and cried:
'I knew thee not, so dire a change
Has made thy form and feature strange.
Where are thy glossy feathers? where
The rapid wings that cleft the air?
Two vulture brothers once I knew:
Each form at will could they endue.
They of the vulture race were kings,
And flew with Mátaris'va's wings.
In human shape they loved to greet
Their hermit friend, and clasp his feet,
The younger was Jatáyus, thou
The elder whom I gaze on now.
Say, has disease or foeman's hate
Reduced thee from thy high estate?

Ralph T. H. Griffith 1870, The Rámáyan of Válmíki, translated into English verse

4.59.17

ṛṣis tu dṛṣṭvā māṃ tuṣṭaḥ praviṣṭaś cāśramaṃ punaḥ
muhūrtamātrān niṣkramya tataḥ kāryam apṛcchata

Revered by heavenly beings, stood
Near where I lay, a sacred wood,
Where great Nis'akar dwelt of yore
And pains of awful penance bore.
Eight thousand seasons winged their flight
Over the toiling anchorite--
Upon that hill my days were spent,--
And then to heaven the hermit went.
At last, with long and hard assay,
Down from that height I made my way,
And wandered through the mountain pass
Rough with the spikes of Darbha grass.
I with my misery worn, and faint
Was eager to behold the saint:
For often with Jatáyus I
Had sought his home in days gone by.
As nearer to the grove I drew
The breeze with cooling fragrance blew,
And not a tree that was not fair,
With richest flower and fruit was there.
With anxious heart a while I stayed
Beneath the trees' delightful shade,
Aud soon the holy hermit, bright
With fervent penance, came in sight.
Behind him bears and lions, tame
As those who know their feeder, came,
And tigers, deer, and snakes pursued
His steps, a wondrous multitude,
And turned obeisant when the sage
Had reached his shady hermitage.
Then came Nis'ákar to my side
And looked with wondering eyes, and cried:
'I knew thee not, so dire a change
Has made thy form and feature strange.
Where are thy glossy feathers? where
The rapid wings that cleft the air?
Two vulture brothers once I knew:
Each form at will could they endue.
They of the vulture race were kings,
And flew with Mátaris'va's wings.
In human shape they loved to greet
Their hermit friend, and clasp his feet,
The younger was Jatáyus, thou
The elder whom I gaze on now.
Say, has disease or foeman's hate
Reduced thee from thy high estate?

Ralph T. H. Griffith 1870, The Rámáyan of Válmíki, translated into English verse

4.59.18

saumya vaikalyatāṃ dṛṣṭvā roṃṇāṃ te nāvagamyate
agnidagdhāv imau pakṣau tvak caiva vraṇitā tava

Revered by heavenly beings, stood
Near where I lay, a sacred wood,
Where great Nis'akar dwelt of yore
And pains of awful penance bore.
Eight thousand seasons winged their flight
Over the toiling anchorite--
Upon that hill my days were spent,--
And then to heaven the hermit went.
At last, with long and hard assay,
Down from that height I made my way,
And wandered through the mountain pass
Rough with the spikes of Darbha grass.
I with my misery worn, and faint
Was eager to behold the saint:
For often with Jatáyus I
Had sought his home in days gone by.
As nearer to the grove I drew
The breeze with cooling fragrance blew,
And not a tree that was not fair,
With richest flower and fruit was there.
With anxious heart a while I stayed
Beneath the trees' delightful shade,
Aud soon the holy hermit, bright
With fervent penance, came in sight.
Behind him bears and lions, tame
As those who know their feeder, came,
And tigers, deer, and snakes pursued
His steps, a wondrous multitude,
And turned obeisant when the sage
Had reached his shady hermitage.
Then came Nis'ákar to my side
And looked with wondering eyes, and cried:
'I knew thee not, so dire a change
Has made thy form and feature strange.
Where are thy glossy feathers? where
The rapid wings that cleft the air?
Two vulture brothers once I knew:
Each form at will could they endue.
They of the vulture race were kings,
And flew with Mátaris'va's wings.
In human shape they loved to greet
Their hermit friend, and clasp his feet,
The younger was Jatáyus, thou
The elder whom I gaze on now.
Say, has disease or foeman's hate
Reduced thee from thy high estate?

Ralph T. H. Griffith 1870, The Rámáyan of Válmíki, translated into English verse

4.59.19

dvau gṛdhrau dṛṣṭapūrvau me mātariśvasamau jave
gṛdhrāṇāṃ caiva rājānau bhrātarau kāmarūpiṇau

Revered by heavenly beings, stood
Near where I lay, a sacred wood,
Where great Nis'akar dwelt of yore
And pains of awful penance bore.
Eight thousand seasons winged their flight
Over the toiling anchorite--
Upon that hill my days were spent,--
And then to heaven the hermit went.
At last, with long and hard assay,
Down from that height I made my way,
And wandered through the mountain pass
Rough with the spikes of Darbha grass.
I with my misery worn, and faint
Was eager to behold the saint:
For often with Jatáyus I
Had sought his home in days gone by.
As nearer to the grove I drew
The breeze with cooling fragrance blew,
And not a tree that was not fair,
With richest flower and fruit was there.
With anxious heart a while I stayed
Beneath the trees' delightful shade,
Aud soon the holy hermit, bright
With fervent penance, came in sight.
Behind him bears and lions, tame
As those who know their feeder, came,
And tigers, deer, and snakes pursued
His steps, a wondrous multitude,
And turned obeisant when the sage
Had reached his shady hermitage.
Then came Nis'ákar to my side
And looked with wondering eyes, and cried:
'I knew thee not, so dire a change
Has made thy form and feature strange.
Where are thy glossy feathers? where
The rapid wings that cleft the air?
Two vulture brothers once I knew:
Each form at will could they endue.
They of the vulture race were kings,
And flew with Mátaris'va's wings.
In human shape they loved to greet
Their hermit friend, and clasp his feet,
The younger was Jatáyus, thou
The elder whom I gaze on now.
Say, has disease or foeman's hate
Reduced thee from thy high estate?

Ralph T. H. Griffith 1870, The Rámáyan of Válmíki, translated into English verse

4.59.20

jyeṣṭhas tvaṃ tu ca saṃpātir jaṭāyur anujas tava
mānuṣaṃ rūpam āsthāya gṛhṇītāṃ caraṇau mama

Revered by heavenly beings, stood
Near where I lay, a sacred wood,
Where great Nis'akar dwelt of yore
And pains of awful penance bore.
Eight thousand seasons winged their flight
Over the toiling anchorite--
Upon that hill my days were spent,--
And then to heaven the hermit went.
At last, with long and hard assay,
Down from that height I made my way,
And wandered through the mountain pass
Rough with the spikes of Darbha grass.
I with my misery worn, and faint
Was eager to behold the saint:
For often with Jatáyus I
Had sought his home in days gone by.
As nearer to the grove I drew
The breeze with cooling fragrance blew,
And not a tree that was not fair,
With richest flower and fruit was there.
With anxious heart a while I stayed
Beneath the trees' delightful shade,
Aud soon the holy hermit, bright
With fervent penance, came in sight.
Behind him bears and lions, tame
As those who know their feeder, came,
And tigers, deer, and snakes pursued
His steps, a wondrous multitude,
And turned obeisant when the sage
Had reached his shady hermitage.
Then came Nis'ákar to my side
And looked with wondering eyes, and cried:
'I knew thee not, so dire a change
Has made thy form and feature strange.
Where are thy glossy feathers? where
The rapid wings that cleft the air?
Two vulture brothers once I knew:
Each form at will could they endue.
They of the vulture race were kings,
And flew with Mátaris'va's wings.
In human shape they loved to greet
Their hermit friend, and clasp his feet,
The younger was Jatáyus, thou
The elder whom I gaze on now.
Say, has disease or foeman's hate
Reduced thee from thy high estate?

Ralph T. H. Griffith 1870, The Rámáyan of Válmíki, translated into English verse

4.59.21

kiṃ te vyādhisamutthānaṃ pakṣayoḥ patanaṃ katham
daṇḍo vāyaṃ dhṛtaḥ kena sarvam ākhyāhi pṛcchataḥ

Revered by heavenly beings, stood
Near where I lay, a sacred wood,
Where great Nis'akar dwelt of yore
And pains of awful penance bore.
Eight thousand seasons winged their flight
Over the toiling anchorite--
Upon that hill my days were spent,--
And then to heaven the hermit went.
At last, with long and hard assay,
Down from that height I made my way,
And wandered through the mountain pass
Rough with the spikes of Darbha grass.
I with my misery worn, and faint
Was eager to behold the saint:
For often with Jatáyus I
Had sought his home in days gone by.
As nearer to the grove I drew
The breeze with cooling fragrance blew,
And not a tree that was not fair,
With richest flower and fruit was there.
With anxious heart a while I stayed
Beneath the trees' delightful shade,
Aud soon the holy hermit, bright
With fervent penance, came in sight.
Behind him bears and lions, tame
As those who know their feeder, came,
And tigers, deer, and snakes pursued
His steps, a wondrous multitude,
And turned obeisant when the sage
Had reached his shady hermitage.
Then came Nis'ákar to my side
And looked with wondering eyes, and cried:
'I knew thee not, so dire a change
Has made thy form and feature strange.
Where are thy glossy feathers? where
The rapid wings that cleft the air?
Two vulture brothers once I knew:
Each form at will could they endue.
They of the vulture race were kings,
And flew with Mátaris'va's wings.
In human shape they loved to greet
Their hermit friend, and clasp his feet,
The younger was Jatáyus, thou
The elder whom I gaze on now.
Say, has disease or foeman's hate
Reduced thee from thy high estate?

Ralph T. H. Griffith 1870, The Rámáyan of Válmíki, translated into English verse

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