The Rāmāyaṇa of Vālmīki 4.6

4.6.1

ayam ākhyāti me rāma sacivo mantrisattamaḥ
hanumān yannimittaṃ tvaṃ nirjanaṃ vanam āgataḥ

With joy that sprang from hope restored
To Ráma spake the Vánar lord:
'I know, by wise Hanúmán taught,
Why thou the lonely wood hast sought,
Where with thy brother Lakshman thou
Hast sojourned, bound by hermit vow;
Have heard how Sitá, Janak's child,
Was stolen in the pathless wild,
How by a roving Rákshas she
Weeping was reft from him and thee;
How, bent on death, the giant slew
The vulture king, her guardian true,
And gave thy widowed breast to know
A solitary moaner's woe.
But soon, dear Prince, thy heart shall be
From every trace of sorrow free;

4.6.2

lakṣmaṇena saha bhrātrā vasataś ca vane tava
rakṣasāpahṛtā bhāryā maithilī janakātmajā

With joy that sprang from hope restored
To Ráma spake the Vánar lord:
'I know, by wise Hanúmán taught,
Why thou the lonely wood hast sought,
Where with thy brother Lakshman thou
Hast sojourned, bound by hermit vow;
Have heard how Sitá, Janak's child,
Was stolen in the pathless wild,
How by a roving Rákshas she
Weeping was reft from him and thee;
How, bent on death, the giant slew
The vulture king, her guardian true,
And gave thy widowed breast to know
A solitary moaner's woe.
But soon, dear Prince, thy heart shall be
From every trace of sorrow free;

4.6.3

tvayā viyuktā rudatī lakṣmaṇena ca dhīmatā
antaraṃ prepsunā tena hatvā gṛdhraṃ jaṭāyuṣam

With joy that sprang from hope restored
To Ráma spake the Vánar lord:
'I know, by wise Hanúmán taught,
Why thou the lonely wood hast sought,
Where with thy brother Lakshman thou
Hast sojourned, bound by hermit vow;
Have heard how Sitá, Janak's child,
Was stolen in the pathless wild,
How by a roving Rákshas she
Weeping was reft from him and thee;
How, bent on death, the giant slew
The vulture king, her guardian true,
And gave thy widowed breast to know
A solitary moaner's woe.
But soon, dear Prince, thy heart shall be
From every trace of sorrow free;

4.6.4

bhāryāviyogajaṃ duḥkhaṃ nacirāt tvaṃ vimokṣyase
ahaṃ tām ānayiṣyāmi naṣṭāṃ vedaśrutiṃ yathā

With joy that sprang from hope restored
To Ráma spake the Vánar lord:
'I know, by wise Hanúmán taught,
Why thou the lonely wood hast sought,
Where with thy brother Lakshman thou
Hast sojourned, bound by hermit vow;
Have heard how Sitá, Janak's child,
Was stolen in the pathless wild,
How by a roving Rákshas she
Weeping was reft from him and thee;
How, bent on death, the giant slew
The vulture king, her guardian true,
And gave thy widowed breast to know
A solitary moaner's woe.
But soon, dear Prince, thy heart shall be
From every trace of sorrow free;

For I thy darling will restore,
Lost like the prize of holy lore.
Yea, though in heaven the lady dwell,
Or prisoned in the depths of hell,
My friendly care her way shall track
And bring thy ransomed darling back.
Let this my promise soothe thy care,
Nor doubt the words I truly swear.
Saints, fiends, and dwellers of the skies
Shall find thy wife a bitter prize,
Like the rash child who rues too late
Thy treacherous lure of poisoned cate.
No longer, Prince, thy loss deplore:
Thy darling wife will I restore.
'Twas she I saw: my heart infers
That shrinking form was doubtless hers.
Which gaint Rávan', fierce and dread,
Bore swiftly through the clouds o'erhead
Still writhing in his strict embrace
Like helpless queen oft serpent race,
And from her lips that sad voice came
Shrieking thine own and Lakshman's name.
High on a hill she saw me stand
With comrades twain on either hand.
Her outer robe to earth she threw,
And with it sent her anklets too.
We saw the glittering tokens fall,
We found them there and kept them all.
These will I bring: perchance thine eyes
The treasured spoils will recognize.'
He ceased: then Raghu's son replied
To the glad tale, and eager cried:
'Bring them with all thy speed: delay
No more, dear friend, but haste away.'
Thus Ráma spoke. Sugríva hied
Within the mountain's caverned side.
Impelled by love that stirred each thought
The precious tokens quickly brought,

4.6.5

rasātale vā vartantīṃ vartantīṃ vā nabhastale
aham ānīya dāsyāmi tava bhāryām ariṃdama

For I thy darling will restore,
Lost like the prize of holy lore.
Yea, though in heaven the lady dwell,
Or prisoned in the depths of hell,
My friendly care her way shall track
And bring thy ransomed darling back.
Let this my promise soothe thy care,
Nor doubt the words I truly swear.
Saints, fiends, and dwellers of the skies
Shall find thy wife a bitter prize,
Like the rash child who rues too late
Thy treacherous lure of poisoned cate.
No longer, Prince, thy loss deplore:
Thy darling wife will I restore.
'Twas she I saw: my heart infers
That shrinking form was doubtless hers.
Which gaint Rávan', fierce and dread,
Bore swiftly through the clouds o'erhead
Still writhing in his strict embrace
Like helpless queen oft serpent race,
And from her lips that sad voice came
Shrieking thine own and Lakshman's name.
High on a hill she saw me stand
With comrades twain on either hand.
Her outer robe to earth she threw,
And with it sent her anklets too.
We saw the glittering tokens fall,
We found them there and kept them all.
These will I bring: perchance thine eyes
The treasured spoils will recognize.'
He ceased: then Raghu's son replied
To the glad tale, and eager cried:
'Bring them with all thy speed: delay
No more, dear friend, but haste away.'
Thus Ráma spoke. Sugríva hied
Within the mountain's caverned side.
Impelled by love that stirred each thought
The precious tokens quickly brought,

4.6.6

idaṃ tathyaṃ mama vacas tvam avehi ca rāghava
tyaja śokaṃ mahābāho tāṃ kāntām ānayāmi te

For I thy darling will restore,
Lost like the prize of holy lore.
Yea, though in heaven the lady dwell,
Or prisoned in the depths of hell,
My friendly care her way shall track
And bring thy ransomed darling back.
Let this my promise soothe thy care,
Nor doubt the words I truly swear.
Saints, fiends, and dwellers of the skies
Shall find thy wife a bitter prize,
Like the rash child who rues too late
Thy treacherous lure of poisoned cate.
No longer, Prince, thy loss deplore:
Thy darling wife will I restore.
'Twas she I saw: my heart infers
That shrinking form was doubtless hers.
Which gaint Rávan', fierce and dread,
Bore swiftly through the clouds o'erhead
Still writhing in his strict embrace
Like helpless queen oft serpent race,
And from her lips that sad voice came
Shrieking thine own and Lakshman's name.
High on a hill she saw me stand
With comrades twain on either hand.
Her outer robe to earth she threw,
And with it sent her anklets too.
We saw the glittering tokens fall,
We found them there and kept them all.
These will I bring: perchance thine eyes
The treasured spoils will recognize.'
He ceased: then Raghu's son replied
To the glad tale, and eager cried:
'Bring them with all thy speed: delay
No more, dear friend, but haste away.'
Thus Ráma spoke. Sugríva hied
Within the mountain's caverned side.
Impelled by love that stirred each thought
The precious tokens quickly brought,

4.6.7

anumānāt tu jānāmi maithilī sā na saṃśayaḥ
hriyamāṇā mayā dṛṣṭā rakṣasā krūrakarmaṇā

For I thy darling will restore,
Lost like the prize of holy lore.
Yea, though in heaven the lady dwell,
Or prisoned in the depths of hell,
My friendly care her way shall track
And bring thy ransomed darling back.
Let this my promise soothe thy care,
Nor doubt the words I truly swear.
Saints, fiends, and dwellers of the skies
Shall find thy wife a bitter prize,
Like the rash child who rues too late
Thy treacherous lure of poisoned cate.
No longer, Prince, thy loss deplore:
Thy darling wife will I restore.
'Twas she I saw: my heart infers
That shrinking form was doubtless hers.
Which gaint Rávan', fierce and dread,
Bore swiftly through the clouds o'erhead
Still writhing in his strict embrace
Like helpless queen oft serpent race,
And from her lips that sad voice came
Shrieking thine own and Lakshman's name.
High on a hill she saw me stand
With comrades twain on either hand.
Her outer robe to earth she threw,
And with it sent her anklets too.
We saw the glittering tokens fall,
We found them there and kept them all.
These will I bring: perchance thine eyes
The treasured spoils will recognize.'
He ceased: then Raghu's son replied
To the glad tale, and eager cried:
'Bring them with all thy speed: delay
No more, dear friend, but haste away.'
Thus Ráma spoke. Sugríva hied
Within the mountain's caverned side.
Impelled by love that stirred each thought
The precious tokens quickly brought,

4.6.8

krośantī rāma rāmeti lakṣmaṇeti ca visvaram
sphurantī rāvaṇasyāṅke pannagendravadhūr yathā

For I thy darling will restore,
Lost like the prize of holy lore.
Yea, though in heaven the lady dwell,
Or prisoned in the depths of hell,
My friendly care her way shall track
And bring thy ransomed darling back.
Let this my promise soothe thy care,
Nor doubt the words I truly swear.
Saints, fiends, and dwellers of the skies
Shall find thy wife a bitter prize,
Like the rash child who rues too late
Thy treacherous lure of poisoned cate.
No longer, Prince, thy loss deplore:
Thy darling wife will I restore.
'Twas she I saw: my heart infers
That shrinking form was doubtless hers.
Which gaint Rávan', fierce and dread,
Bore swiftly through the clouds o'erhead
Still writhing in his strict embrace
Like helpless queen oft serpent race,
And from her lips that sad voice came
Shrieking thine own and Lakshman's name.
High on a hill she saw me stand
With comrades twain on either hand.
Her outer robe to earth she threw,
And with it sent her anklets too.
We saw the glittering tokens fall,
We found them there and kept them all.
These will I bring: perchance thine eyes
The treasured spoils will recognize.'
He ceased: then Raghu's son replied
To the glad tale, and eager cried:
'Bring them with all thy speed: delay
No more, dear friend, but haste away.'
Thus Ráma spoke. Sugríva hied
Within the mountain's caverned side.
Impelled by love that stirred each thought
The precious tokens quickly brought,

4.6.9

ātmanā pañcamaṃ māṃ hi dṛṣṭvā śailataṭe sthitam
uttarīyaṃ tayā tyaktaṃ śubhāny ābharaṇāni ca

For I thy darling will restore,
Lost like the prize of holy lore.
Yea, though in heaven the lady dwell,
Or prisoned in the depths of hell,
My friendly care her way shall track
And bring thy ransomed darling back.
Let this my promise soothe thy care,
Nor doubt the words I truly swear.
Saints, fiends, and dwellers of the skies
Shall find thy wife a bitter prize,
Like the rash child who rues too late
Thy treacherous lure of poisoned cate.
No longer, Prince, thy loss deplore:
Thy darling wife will I restore.
'Twas she I saw: my heart infers
That shrinking form was doubtless hers.
Which gaint Rávan', fierce and dread,
Bore swiftly through the clouds o'erhead
Still writhing in his strict embrace
Like helpless queen oft serpent race,
And from her lips that sad voice came
Shrieking thine own and Lakshman's name.
High on a hill she saw me stand
With comrades twain on either hand.
Her outer robe to earth she threw,
And with it sent her anklets too.
We saw the glittering tokens fall,
We found them there and kept them all.
These will I bring: perchance thine eyes
The treasured spoils will recognize.'
He ceased: then Raghu's son replied
To the glad tale, and eager cried:
'Bring them with all thy speed: delay
No more, dear friend, but haste away.'
Thus Ráma spoke. Sugríva hied
Within the mountain's caverned side.
Impelled by love that stirred each thought
The precious tokens quickly brought,

4.6.10

tāny asmābhir gṛhītāni nihitāni ca rāghava
ānayiṣyāmy ahaṃ tāni pratyabhijñātum arhasi

For I thy darling will restore,
Lost like the prize of holy lore.
Yea, though in heaven the lady dwell,
Or prisoned in the depths of hell,
My friendly care her way shall track
And bring thy ransomed darling back.
Let this my promise soothe thy care,
Nor doubt the words I truly swear.
Saints, fiends, and dwellers of the skies
Shall find thy wife a bitter prize,
Like the rash child who rues too late
Thy treacherous lure of poisoned cate.
No longer, Prince, thy loss deplore:
Thy darling wife will I restore.
'Twas she I saw: my heart infers
That shrinking form was doubtless hers.
Which gaint Rávan', fierce and dread,
Bore swiftly through the clouds o'erhead
Still writhing in his strict embrace
Like helpless queen oft serpent race,
And from her lips that sad voice came
Shrieking thine own and Lakshman's name.
High on a hill she saw me stand
With comrades twain on either hand.
Her outer robe to earth she threw,
And with it sent her anklets too.
We saw the glittering tokens fall,
We found them there and kept them all.
These will I bring: perchance thine eyes
The treasured spoils will recognize.'
He ceased: then Raghu's son replied
To the glad tale, and eager cried:
'Bring them with all thy speed: delay
No more, dear friend, but haste away.'
Thus Ráma spoke. Sugríva hied
Within the mountain's caverned side.
Impelled by love that stirred each thought
The precious tokens quickly brought,

4.6.11

tam abravīt tato rāmaḥ sugrīvaṃ priyavādinam
ānayasva sakhe śīghraṃ kimarthaṃ pravilambase

For I thy darling will restore,
Lost like the prize of holy lore.
Yea, though in heaven the lady dwell,
Or prisoned in the depths of hell,
My friendly care her way shall track
And bring thy ransomed darling back.
Let this my promise soothe thy care,
Nor doubt the words I truly swear.
Saints, fiends, and dwellers of the skies
Shall find thy wife a bitter prize,
Like the rash child who rues too late
Thy treacherous lure of poisoned cate.
No longer, Prince, thy loss deplore:
Thy darling wife will I restore.
'Twas she I saw: my heart infers
That shrinking form was doubtless hers.
Which gaint Rávan', fierce and dread,
Bore swiftly through the clouds o'erhead
Still writhing in his strict embrace
Like helpless queen oft serpent race,
And from her lips that sad voice came
Shrieking thine own and Lakshman's name.
High on a hill she saw me stand
With comrades twain on either hand.
Her outer robe to earth she threw,
And with it sent her anklets too.
We saw the glittering tokens fall,
We found them there and kept them all.
These will I bring: perchance thine eyes
The treasured spoils will recognize.'
He ceased: then Raghu's son replied
To the glad tale, and eager cried:
'Bring them with all thy speed: delay
No more, dear friend, but haste away.'
Thus Ráma spoke. Sugríva hied
Within the mountain's caverned side.
Impelled by love that stirred each thought
The precious tokens quickly brought,

4.6.12

evam uktas tu sugrīvaḥ śailasya gahanāṃ guhām
praviveśa tataḥ śīghraṃ rāghavapriyakāmyayā

For I thy darling will restore,
Lost like the prize of holy lore.
Yea, though in heaven the lady dwell,
Or prisoned in the depths of hell,
My friendly care her way shall track
And bring thy ransomed darling back.
Let this my promise soothe thy care,
Nor doubt the words I truly swear.
Saints, fiends, and dwellers of the skies
Shall find thy wife a bitter prize,
Like the rash child who rues too late
Thy treacherous lure of poisoned cate.
No longer, Prince, thy loss deplore:
Thy darling wife will I restore.
'Twas she I saw: my heart infers
That shrinking form was doubtless hers.
Which gaint Rávan', fierce and dread,
Bore swiftly through the clouds o'erhead
Still writhing in his strict embrace
Like helpless queen oft serpent race,
And from her lips that sad voice came
Shrieking thine own and Lakshman's name.
High on a hill she saw me stand
With comrades twain on either hand.
Her outer robe to earth she threw,
And with it sent her anklets too.
We saw the glittering tokens fall,
We found them there and kept them all.
These will I bring: perchance thine eyes
The treasured spoils will recognize.'
He ceased: then Raghu's son replied
To the glad tale, and eager cried:
'Bring them with all thy speed: delay
No more, dear friend, but haste away.'
Thus Ráma spoke. Sugríva hied
Within the mountain's caverned side.
Impelled by love that stirred each thought
The precious tokens quickly brought,

4.6.13

uttarīyaṃ gṛhītvā tu śubhāny ābharaṇāni ca
idaṃ paśyeti rāmāya darśayām āsa vānaraḥ

And said to Raghu's son, Behold
This garment and these rings of gold,
In Ráma's hand with friendly haste
The jewels and the robe he placed.
Then, like the moon by mist assailed,
The tear-dimmed eyes of Ráma failed;
That burst of woe unmanned his frame,
Woe sprung from passion for his dame.
And with his manly strength o'erthrown,
He fell and cried, Ah me! mine own!
Again, again close to his breast
The ornaments and robe he pressed.
While the quick pants that shook his frame
As from a furious serpent came.
On his dear brother standing nigh
He turned at length his piteous eye;
And, while his tears increasing ran,
In bitter wail he thus began:
'Look, brother, and behold once more
The ornaments and robe she wore,
Dropped while the giant bore away
In cruel arras his struggling prey,
Dropped in some quiet spot, I ween,
Where the young grass was soft and green;
For still untouched by spot or stain
Their former beauty all retain.'
He spoke with many a tear and sigh,
And thus his brother made reply:
'The bracelets thou hast fondly shown,
And earrings, are to me unknown,
But by long service taught I greet
The anklets of her honoured feet.'
Then to Sugríva Ráma, best
Of Raghu's sons, these words addressed:
'Say to what quarter of the sky
The cruel fiend was seen to fly.
Bearing afar my captured wife,
My darling dearer tban my life.
Speak, Vánar King, that I may know
Where dwells the cause of all my woe;
The fiend for whose transgression all
The giants by this hand shall fall.
He who the Maithil lady stole
And kindled fury in my soul,
Has sought his fate in senseless pride
And opened Death's dark portal wide.
Then toll me, Vánar lord, I pray,
The dwelling of my foe.
And he, beneath this hand, to-day
To Yama's halls shall go.'

4.6.14

tato gṛhītvā tadvāsaḥ śubhāny ābharaṇāni ca
abhavad bāṣpasaṃruddho nīhāreṇeva candramāḥ

And said to Raghu's son, Behold
This garment and these rings of gold,
In Ráma's hand with friendly haste
The jewels and the robe he placed.
Then, like the moon by mist assailed,
The tear-dimmed eyes of Ráma failed;
That burst of woe unmanned his frame,
Woe sprung from passion for his dame.
And with his manly strength o'erthrown,
He fell and cried, Ah me! mine own!
Again, again close to his breast
The ornaments and robe he pressed.
While the quick pants that shook his frame
As from a furious serpent came.
On his dear brother standing nigh
He turned at length his piteous eye;
And, while his tears increasing ran,
In bitter wail he thus began:
'Look, brother, and behold once more
The ornaments and robe she wore,
Dropped while the giant bore away
In cruel arras his struggling prey,
Dropped in some quiet spot, I ween,
Where the young grass was soft and green;
For still untouched by spot or stain
Their former beauty all retain.'
He spoke with many a tear and sigh,
And thus his brother made reply:
'The bracelets thou hast fondly shown,
And earrings, are to me unknown,
But by long service taught I greet
The anklets of her honoured feet.'
Then to Sugríva Ráma, best
Of Raghu's sons, these words addressed:
'Say to what quarter of the sky
The cruel fiend was seen to fly.
Bearing afar my captured wife,
My darling dearer tban my life.
Speak, Vánar King, that I may know
Where dwells the cause of all my woe;
The fiend for whose transgression all
The giants by this hand shall fall.
He who the Maithil lady stole
And kindled fury in my soul,
Has sought his fate in senseless pride
And opened Death's dark portal wide.
Then toll me, Vánar lord, I pray,
The dwelling of my foe.
And he, beneath this hand, to-day
To Yama's halls shall go.'

4.6.15

sītāsnehapravṛttena sa tu bāṣpeṇa dūṣitaḥ
hā priyeti rudan dhairyam utsṛjya nyapatat kṣitau

And said to Raghu's son, Behold
This garment and these rings of gold,
In Ráma's hand with friendly haste
The jewels and the robe he placed.
Then, like the moon by mist assailed,
The tear-dimmed eyes of Ráma failed;
That burst of woe unmanned his frame,
Woe sprung from passion for his dame.
And with his manly strength o'erthrown,
He fell and cried, Ah me! mine own!
Again, again close to his breast
The ornaments and robe he pressed.
While the quick pants that shook his frame
As from a furious serpent came.
On his dear brother standing nigh
He turned at length his piteous eye;
And, while his tears increasing ran,
In bitter wail he thus began:
'Look, brother, and behold once more
The ornaments and robe she wore,
Dropped while the giant bore away
In cruel arras his struggling prey,
Dropped in some quiet spot, I ween,
Where the young grass was soft and green;
For still untouched by spot or stain
Their former beauty all retain.'
He spoke with many a tear and sigh,
And thus his brother made reply:
'The bracelets thou hast fondly shown,
And earrings, are to me unknown,
But by long service taught I greet
The anklets of her honoured feet.'
Then to Sugríva Ráma, best
Of Raghu's sons, these words addressed:
'Say to what quarter of the sky
The cruel fiend was seen to fly.
Bearing afar my captured wife,
My darling dearer tban my life.
Speak, Vánar King, that I may know
Where dwells the cause of all my woe;
The fiend for whose transgression all
The giants by this hand shall fall.
He who the Maithil lady stole
And kindled fury in my soul,
Has sought his fate in senseless pride
And opened Death's dark portal wide.
Then toll me, Vánar lord, I pray,
The dwelling of my foe.
And he, beneath this hand, to-day
To Yama's halls shall go.'

4.6.16

hṛdi kṛtvā sa bahuśas tam alaṃkāram uttamam
niśaśvāsa bhṛśaṃ sarpo bilastha iva roṣitaḥ

And said to Raghu's son, Behold
This garment and these rings of gold,
In Ráma's hand with friendly haste
The jewels and the robe he placed.
Then, like the moon by mist assailed,
The tear-dimmed eyes of Ráma failed;
That burst of woe unmanned his frame,
Woe sprung from passion for his dame.
And with his manly strength o'erthrown,
He fell and cried, Ah me! mine own!
Again, again close to his breast
The ornaments and robe he pressed.
While the quick pants that shook his frame
As from a furious serpent came.
On his dear brother standing nigh
He turned at length his piteous eye;
And, while his tears increasing ran,
In bitter wail he thus began:
'Look, brother, and behold once more
The ornaments and robe she wore,
Dropped while the giant bore away
In cruel arras his struggling prey,
Dropped in some quiet spot, I ween,
Where the young grass was soft and green;
For still untouched by spot or stain
Their former beauty all retain.'
He spoke with many a tear and sigh,
And thus his brother made reply:
'The bracelets thou hast fondly shown,
And earrings, are to me unknown,
But by long service taught I greet
The anklets of her honoured feet.'
Then to Sugríva Ráma, best
Of Raghu's sons, these words addressed:
'Say to what quarter of the sky
The cruel fiend was seen to fly.
Bearing afar my captured wife,
My darling dearer tban my life.
Speak, Vánar King, that I may know
Where dwells the cause of all my woe;
The fiend for whose transgression all
The giants by this hand shall fall.
He who the Maithil lady stole
And kindled fury in my soul,
Has sought his fate in senseless pride
And opened Death's dark portal wide.
Then toll me, Vánar lord, I pray,
The dwelling of my foe.
And he, beneath this hand, to-day
To Yama's halls shall go.'

4.6.17

avicchinnāśruvegas tu saumitriṃ vīkṣya pārśvataḥ
paridevayituṃ dīnaṃ rāmaḥ samupacakrame

And said to Raghu's son, Behold
This garment and these rings of gold,
In Ráma's hand with friendly haste
The jewels and the robe he placed.
Then, like the moon by mist assailed,
The tear-dimmed eyes of Ráma failed;
That burst of woe unmanned his frame,
Woe sprung from passion for his dame.
And with his manly strength o'erthrown,
He fell and cried, Ah me! mine own!
Again, again close to his breast
The ornaments and robe he pressed.
While the quick pants that shook his frame
As from a furious serpent came.
On his dear brother standing nigh
He turned at length his piteous eye;
And, while his tears increasing ran,
In bitter wail he thus began:
'Look, brother, and behold once more
The ornaments and robe she wore,
Dropped while the giant bore away
In cruel arras his struggling prey,
Dropped in some quiet spot, I ween,
Where the young grass was soft and green;
For still untouched by spot or stain
Their former beauty all retain.'
He spoke with many a tear and sigh,
And thus his brother made reply:
'The bracelets thou hast fondly shown,
And earrings, are to me unknown,
But by long service taught I greet
The anklets of her honoured feet.'
Then to Sugríva Ráma, best
Of Raghu's sons, these words addressed:
'Say to what quarter of the sky
The cruel fiend was seen to fly.
Bearing afar my captured wife,
My darling dearer tban my life.
Speak, Vánar King, that I may know
Where dwells the cause of all my woe;
The fiend for whose transgression all
The giants by this hand shall fall.
He who the Maithil lady stole
And kindled fury in my soul,
Has sought his fate in senseless pride
And opened Death's dark portal wide.
Then toll me, Vánar lord, I pray,
The dwelling of my foe.
And he, beneath this hand, to-day
To Yama's halls shall go.'

4.6.18

paśya lakṣmaṇa vaidehyā saṃtyaktaṃ hriyamāṇayā
uttarīyam idaṃ bhūmau śarīrād bhūṣaṇāni ca

And said to Raghu's son, Behold
This garment and these rings of gold,
In Ráma's hand with friendly haste
The jewels and the robe he placed.
Then, like the moon by mist assailed,
The tear-dimmed eyes of Ráma failed;
That burst of woe unmanned his frame,
Woe sprung from passion for his dame.
And with his manly strength o'erthrown,
He fell and cried, Ah me! mine own!
Again, again close to his breast
The ornaments and robe he pressed.
While the quick pants that shook his frame
As from a furious serpent came.
On his dear brother standing nigh
He turned at length his piteous eye;
And, while his tears increasing ran,
In bitter wail he thus began:
'Look, brother, and behold once more
The ornaments and robe she wore,
Dropped while the giant bore away
In cruel arras his struggling prey,
Dropped in some quiet spot, I ween,
Where the young grass was soft and green;
For still untouched by spot or stain
Their former beauty all retain.'
He spoke with many a tear and sigh,
And thus his brother made reply:
'The bracelets thou hast fondly shown,
And earrings, are to me unknown,
But by long service taught I greet
The anklets of her honoured feet.'
Then to Sugríva Ráma, best
Of Raghu's sons, these words addressed:
'Say to what quarter of the sky
The cruel fiend was seen to fly.
Bearing afar my captured wife,
My darling dearer tban my life.
Speak, Vánar King, that I may know
Where dwells the cause of all my woe;
The fiend for whose transgression all
The giants by this hand shall fall.
He who the Maithil lady stole
And kindled fury in my soul,
Has sought his fate in senseless pride
And opened Death's dark portal wide.
Then toll me, Vánar lord, I pray,
The dwelling of my foe.
And he, beneath this hand, to-day
To Yama's halls shall go.'

4.6.19

śādvalinyāṃ dhruvaṃ bhūmyāṃ sītayā hriyamāṇayā
utsṛṣṭaṃ bhūṣaṇam idaṃ tathārūpaṃ hi dṛśyate

And said to Raghu's son, Behold
This garment and these rings of gold,
In Ráma's hand with friendly haste
The jewels and the robe he placed.
Then, like the moon by mist assailed,
The tear-dimmed eyes of Ráma failed;
That burst of woe unmanned his frame,
Woe sprung from passion for his dame.
And with his manly strength o'erthrown,
He fell and cried, Ah me! mine own!
Again, again close to his breast
The ornaments and robe he pressed.
While the quick pants that shook his frame
As from a furious serpent came.
On his dear brother standing nigh
He turned at length his piteous eye;
And, while his tears increasing ran,
In bitter wail he thus began:
'Look, brother, and behold once more
The ornaments and robe she wore,
Dropped while the giant bore away
In cruel arras his struggling prey,
Dropped in some quiet spot, I ween,
Where the young grass was soft and green;
For still untouched by spot or stain
Their former beauty all retain.'
He spoke with many a tear and sigh,
And thus his brother made reply:
'The bracelets thou hast fondly shown,
And earrings, are to me unknown,
But by long service taught I greet
The anklets of her honoured feet.'
Then to Sugríva Ráma, best
Of Raghu's sons, these words addressed:
'Say to what quarter of the sky
The cruel fiend was seen to fly.
Bearing afar my captured wife,
My darling dearer tban my life.
Speak, Vánar King, that I may know
Where dwells the cause of all my woe;
The fiend for whose transgression all
The giants by this hand shall fall.
He who the Maithil lady stole
And kindled fury in my soul,
Has sought his fate in senseless pride
And opened Death's dark portal wide.
Then toll me, Vánar lord, I pray,
The dwelling of my foe.
And he, beneath this hand, to-day
To Yama's halls shall go.'

4.6.20

brūhi sugrīva kaṃ deśaṃ hriyantī lakṣitā tvayā
rakṣasā raudrarūpeṇa mama prāṇasamā priyā

And said to Raghu's son, Behold
This garment and these rings of gold,
In Ráma's hand with friendly haste
The jewels and the robe he placed.
Then, like the moon by mist assailed,
The tear-dimmed eyes of Ráma failed;
That burst of woe unmanned his frame,
Woe sprung from passion for his dame.
And with his manly strength o'erthrown,
He fell and cried, Ah me! mine own!
Again, again close to his breast
The ornaments and robe he pressed.
While the quick pants that shook his frame
As from a furious serpent came.
On his dear brother standing nigh
He turned at length his piteous eye;
And, while his tears increasing ran,
In bitter wail he thus began:
'Look, brother, and behold once more
The ornaments and robe she wore,
Dropped while the giant bore away
In cruel arras his struggling prey,
Dropped in some quiet spot, I ween,
Where the young grass was soft and green;
For still untouched by spot or stain
Their former beauty all retain.'
He spoke with many a tear and sigh,
And thus his brother made reply:
'The bracelets thou hast fondly shown,
And earrings, are to me unknown,
But by long service taught I greet
The anklets of her honoured feet.'
Then to Sugríva Ráma, best
Of Raghu's sons, these words addressed:
'Say to what quarter of the sky
The cruel fiend was seen to fly.
Bearing afar my captured wife,
My darling dearer tban my life.
Speak, Vánar King, that I may know
Where dwells the cause of all my woe;
The fiend for whose transgression all
The giants by this hand shall fall.
He who the Maithil lady stole
And kindled fury in my soul,
Has sought his fate in senseless pride
And opened Death's dark portal wide.
Then toll me, Vánar lord, I pray,
The dwelling of my foe.
And he, beneath this hand, to-day
To Yama's halls shall go.'

4.6.21

kva vā vasati tad rakṣo mahad vyasanadaṃ mama
yannimittam ahaṃ sarvān nāśayiṣyāmi rākṣasān

And said to Raghu's son, Behold
This garment and these rings of gold,
In Ráma's hand with friendly haste
The jewels and the robe he placed.
Then, like the moon by mist assailed,
The tear-dimmed eyes of Ráma failed;
That burst of woe unmanned his frame,
Woe sprung from passion for his dame.
And with his manly strength o'erthrown,
He fell and cried, Ah me! mine own!
Again, again close to his breast
The ornaments and robe he pressed.
While the quick pants that shook his frame
As from a furious serpent came.
On his dear brother standing nigh
He turned at length his piteous eye;
And, while his tears increasing ran,
In bitter wail he thus began:
'Look, brother, and behold once more
The ornaments and robe she wore,
Dropped while the giant bore away
In cruel arras his struggling prey,
Dropped in some quiet spot, I ween,
Where the young grass was soft and green;
For still untouched by spot or stain
Their former beauty all retain.'
He spoke with many a tear and sigh,
And thus his brother made reply:
'The bracelets thou hast fondly shown,
And earrings, are to me unknown,
But by long service taught I greet
The anklets of her honoured feet.'
Then to Sugríva Ráma, best
Of Raghu's sons, these words addressed:
'Say to what quarter of the sky
The cruel fiend was seen to fly.
Bearing afar my captured wife,
My darling dearer tban my life.
Speak, Vánar King, that I may know
Where dwells the cause of all my woe;
The fiend for whose transgression all
The giants by this hand shall fall.
He who the Maithil lady stole
And kindled fury in my soul,
Has sought his fate in senseless pride
And opened Death's dark portal wide.
Then toll me, Vánar lord, I pray,
The dwelling of my foe.
And he, beneath this hand, to-day
To Yama's halls shall go.'

4.6.22

haratā maithilīṃ yena māṃ ca roṣayatā bhṛśam
ātmano jīvitāntāya mṛtyudvāram apāvṛtam

And said to Raghu's son, Behold
This garment and these rings of gold,
In Ráma's hand with friendly haste
The jewels and the robe he placed.
Then, like the moon by mist assailed,
The tear-dimmed eyes of Ráma failed;
That burst of woe unmanned his frame,
Woe sprung from passion for his dame.
And with his manly strength o'erthrown,
He fell and cried, Ah me! mine own!
Again, again close to his breast
The ornaments and robe he pressed.
While the quick pants that shook his frame
As from a furious serpent came.
On his dear brother standing nigh
He turned at length his piteous eye;
And, while his tears increasing ran,
In bitter wail he thus began:
'Look, brother, and behold once more
The ornaments and robe she wore,
Dropped while the giant bore away
In cruel arras his struggling prey,
Dropped in some quiet spot, I ween,
Where the young grass was soft and green;
For still untouched by spot or stain
Their former beauty all retain.'
He spoke with many a tear and sigh,
And thus his brother made reply:
'The bracelets thou hast fondly shown,
And earrings, are to me unknown,
But by long service taught I greet
The anklets of her honoured feet.'
Then to Sugríva Ráma, best
Of Raghu's sons, these words addressed:
'Say to what quarter of the sky
The cruel fiend was seen to fly.
Bearing afar my captured wife,
My darling dearer tban my life.
Speak, Vánar King, that I may know
Where dwells the cause of all my woe;
The fiend for whose transgression all
The giants by this hand shall fall.
He who the Maithil lady stole
And kindled fury in my soul,
Has sought his fate in senseless pride
And opened Death's dark portal wide.
Then toll me, Vánar lord, I pray,
The dwelling of my foe.
And he, beneath this hand, to-day
To Yama's halls shall go.'

4.6.23

mama dayitatamā hṛtā vanād rajanicareṇa vimathya yena sā
kathaya mama ripuṃ tam adya vai pravagapate yamasaṃnidhiṃ nayāmi

And said to Raghu's son, Behold
This garment and these rings of gold,
In Ráma's hand with friendly haste
The jewels and the robe he placed.
Then, like the moon by mist assailed,
The tear-dimmed eyes of Ráma failed;
That burst of woe unmanned his frame,
Woe sprung from passion for his dame.
And with his manly strength o'erthrown,
He fell and cried, Ah me! mine own!
Again, again close to his breast
The ornaments and robe he pressed.
While the quick pants that shook his frame
As from a furious serpent came.
On his dear brother standing nigh
He turned at length his piteous eye;
And, while his tears increasing ran,
In bitter wail he thus began:
'Look, brother, and behold once more
The ornaments and robe she wore,
Dropped while the giant bore away
In cruel arras his struggling prey,
Dropped in some quiet spot, I ween,
Where the young grass was soft and green;
For still untouched by spot or stain
Their former beauty all retain.'
He spoke with many a tear and sigh,
And thus his brother made reply:
'The bracelets thou hast fondly shown,
And earrings, are to me unknown,
But by long service taught I greet
The anklets of her honoured feet.'
Then to Sugríva Ráma, best
Of Raghu's sons, these words addressed:
'Say to what quarter of the sky
The cruel fiend was seen to fly.
Bearing afar my captured wife,
My darling dearer tban my life.
Speak, Vánar King, that I may know
Where dwells the cause of all my woe;
The fiend for whose transgression all
The giants by this hand shall fall.
He who the Maithil lady stole
And kindled fury in my soul,
Has sought his fate in senseless pride
And opened Death's dark portal wide.
Then toll me, Vánar lord, I pray,
The dwelling of my foe.
And he, beneath this hand, to-day
To Yama's halls shall go.'