Canto XIII: Râma's Triumphant Return with Sîtâ

Incarnate now in Râma, Vishṇu's self,
High Judge of virtue, crossed in Heavenly Car
His sound-pervaded realm,—and, as He gazed
On Ocean rich in pearls, his Spouse addressed
In love's soft tones:—"See, Fairest! how my bridge
Yon foamy mass now spans, as Autumn's skies
Unruffled, bright with stars, the Milky Way
Divides in twain. This sea, old stories tell,
Of yore my Sires made flow, when in their quest
They tore up Earth to reach the Victim-horse
By Bâli to Pâtâla led, to stop
Their father's sacrifice. The sunbeams hence
Derive engendering virtue, riches swell,
And viewless fire is bred, and moonlight mild.
Like Vishṇu's self almighty, multiform,
Unmeasured, subtle, all ten spheres it clasps,
Transcendent in its worth as in its power.
"The Soul Supreme, by Brahmâ's praise extolled
(From whom the Lotus springs whereon he sleeps),
Upon its breast reclines, when ends the Age
Of working, when—absorbing all that is—
He sinks again to rest. To Ocean's arms
The mountain-hosts dismayed in hundreds fled,
Shorn of their pride when Indra clipped their wings,
As to a King revered when whelmed by foes
The neighbouring monarchs flee. Its waters clear
Swelled at the Deluge, and one moment's space
Earth's cheeks made lovely, till the Mighty God
Upheaved her from Pâtâla. All his wives,
Impartial in his love, he greets alike,
With wavy lips receiving kisses sweet
From eager river-mouths. Those monsters see!
With yawning mouths they drink the fishy flood,
Close with a snap their mighty jaws, and spout
Great streams of water through their fissured skulls.
Sudden leap up the monster crocodiles,
And cleave the foam, while on their cheeks the spray
Like sparkling eardrops clings. Here piled-up shells,
Which rushing waters tear from coral-sprays
That mock thy ruby lips, hang on the points
Of slender branchlets, till at length they fall—
Their strength exhausted. Wide-backed Ocean now,
Grazed by the waterspout that stooped to drink
Till by fierce storm-wind driven, milk-white gleams,
As when of yore with mighty Mandara churned
By hosts Divine. Along the salt deep's shore,
That stretches slender like a copper rim,
Wave dark Tamâlas mixed with forest-palms,
Like streak of rust on polished metal's gleam.
"Bride with dark almond-eyes! the landward breeze
With Ketak-pollen dusts thy cheek,—a care
By me omitted, while I pine to taste
Thy ruby lips. Our swiftly-rolling car
Now in a moment brings us to that shore,
Where from cleft shells lie pure pearls richly heaped,
Where betel-trees fruit-laden sweep the sands.
Look down, O Queen, whose roe-like eyes delight
And form of ample curves, and mark our way!
As Ocean vanishes see how boon Earth,
Clothed with green woods, seems sinking as we gaze!
Obedient to my will this Car Divine
Cleaves now the sphere of Gods, anon of clouds,
Now skims the path of birds. A breeze from Heaven,-
Sweet-laden by Airâvat's fragrant brows,
Cooled by the spray from triple Gangâ's flood,
Wipes from thy brows those drops that morning's heat
Had raised. The cloud, by lightnings braceleted,
Touched by thy curious hand through lattice stretched,
My hasty Queen! with double gold is decked.
These bark-clad Eremites, who deem that now
This Daṇḍaka is free from hindrances
To Saintly works, well-pleased rebuild their homes,
Too long forsaken. In this very glade
I vainly sought thee, found an anklet dropped,
Struck dumb with sorrow, riven from thy foot,
That mocks the lotus' hue. Ah, timid Fair!
These creepers, dumb yet pitying, bent their arms
To show the path by which the Râkshasa
Had borne thee,—bending low the tender tips
Of all their boughs. Their fragrant food the roes
Neglecting, gazed with moveless brows full south,
And taught my ignorance the way thou'dst gone.
"There in our front soars Malaya to Heaven,
Whereon the clouds dropped rain, and I salt tears
For loss of thee. There, reft of thee, the scents
Which lakes, fresh-filled by clouds, exhaled I loathed;
Kadamba flowers, half-opened, pleased me not,
Nor peacocks' low, sweet tones; the thundering clouds,
From caves resounding, harshly struck my ear,
Who thought on thee, my timorous Love! who erst
Didst sportive hide thee, teasing. There thine eyes,
Beauteous, yet clouded by the smoke that rose
From marriage-fires, tormented,—while half-oped
Bright fungus-growths (earth yet in cloud-mist veiled)
Were vainly emulous. Scarce can the sight,
Far-darting downwards, Pampâ's lake descry,
With storks at play, shut in 'mid circling brakes
Of mighty reeds. There, Love! I fondly gazed
On happy Chakravâkas, in their love
United still, in gracious ministry
Each giving to his mate fresh lotus-blooms,
While I was reft of thee! When all in tears
By river-bank a lithe Açoka-trunk,
Bent by its swelling clusters like fair breasts,
I vainly clasped, and thought I held thee, Queen!
Lakshmaṇ forbade me. O'er Godâvarî's waves
Now soar the cranes, scared hy the golden bells
That tinkle round our Car, so welcoming thee
With all their white array. This sacred grove,
Where thou didst nurse the mango, tender-framed,
With daily watering,—where the deer look up
Expectant of thee,—now once more I see
More gladly for long absence. I recall
How on a day, worn out by toil of chase
By this Godâvarî's streams, while spray-cooled winds
Dried off my face the sweat, my weary head
I rested on thy breast in reed-built hut.
Here while on earth that famous Saint had dwelt,
Who cleared the streams of mud, whose wrinkling brow
Hurled Nahusha of old from Indra's realm.
"Free from all lust, here takes my soul delight
To sniff the scented smoke from altar-fires
Well-fed, that triple rise full in our path,
And lightly meet the Car,—by spotless Saint
Enkindled. Here, high Lady! gleams the lake
Of Çâtakarṇi's pleasures,—'Five Nymphs' named,
Embowered in distant woods, a second moon
Half-seen amid the clouds. Of old, men tell,
Amid the deer he lived, and Darbha grass
Alone he ate, till Indra, much dismayed
At such strict penance, bound him in the toils
Of five celestial Nymphs. The cymbal's clang
Harmonious and the music of the voice,
Still rising from his palace closely-hid,
Wake momentary echoes from the hood
That shades our Car.
"Here mild Sutîkshṇa dwells,
High merit storing up, 'mid four fierce fires,
The blazing Sun a fifth. Him Indra sought,
Anxious, to tempt through wanton Nymphs' bright eyes,
With laughter beaming, and coquettish wiles
That half-revealed their zones,—but vainly sought.
With arms uplifted now he waves the right,
With holy beads encircled, graciously
Requiting courtesy,—that arm wherewith
He strokes the hinds and gathers sacred grass.
Vowed to strict silence, only with his head
Bowed slightly he returns my courteous words,
And—now the Car is past—his constant gaze
Again has sought the Sun. Yon penance-grove
Afforded Çarabhanga's rites austere
Pure shade, who long the fire with fuel fed,
And last his body gave, by Holy Texts
From sin redeemed. The welcome of his guests
His worthy sons, those trees, give now, whose shade
Dispels long journeying's toil, whose luscious fruit
Weighs down their branches. Chitrakûṭa's peak,
O lithe-limbed Lady! now enchants the eye;—
Like stately bull he stands, his mouth a cave,
With cascade-roar loud-bellowing, highest peaks
Cloud-capped like horns lime-whitened from a wall.
Low at his base, with rapids smooth, shines out—
By distance thread-like made,—Mandâkinî,
A pearly band on Earth's sweet neck! 'Twas here
That from a tall Tamâla fragrant blooms,
Hard by the mountain-side, I plucked, and twined
Bright earrings for thy cheeks, as barley pale.
"Here in the wood doth pious Atri keep
His vows austere; with herds of beasts 'tis filled
That fear no harm,—nor need his trees to flower
Before they fruit. Here Anasûyâ brought
The threefold Gangâ, Çiva's crown, to earth,
That Holy men, in merit rich, might bathe
Where erst the mighty Seven golden blooms
Of lotus gathered. Hermits' very trees,
While they within their huts are plunged in thought,
Amid the altar-precincts motionless,
Their leaves unstirred by wind, themselves seemed wrapped
In pious contemplation. Here, my Love!
Behold the dark-leaved fig-tree thou didst choose,
Which, bowed with fruit, glows like an emerald-heap
With rubies interspersed. A necklet here
Thou seest of pearls, 'midst which the emerald gleams,
There a pure lily-crown, where sapphire-like
The lotus glows: that string of birds beheld,
That love the Mânas-lake, where swans appear,
White-winged there on the Earth a yellow band
Of sandalwoods, picked out with aloes dark.
"See here the Moon's bright orb with sable shade
Streaked sharply,—therethrough rifted autumn-clouds
Resplendent shows Heaven's blue. Here, might one say,
Is Çiva's body dark, with black snake girt,
And smeared with ashes: there see, peerless Queen!
Where Gangâ rolls her flood, by Jamnâ cleft.
Those souls, men say, that cast the mortal coil,
Washed in the confluent waters of these twain,
Unknowing even of the Soul Supreme,
No more are sent to earth. Nishâda dwells
In yon fair city: there, when I refused
The crown and bound my locks up Hermit-wise,
Sumantra mourning cried:—'Ah, Kaikeyî!
Thy wish is now fulfilled!' Sarâyû here,
Whose source the wise have traced to Brahmâ's lake,
Where golden lilies charm fair Yakshîs' hearts,
Rolls mighty so flows Mind from Soul Supreme.
Its banks well lined with sacrificial stones,
Past proud Ayodhyâ sweeps its flood,—where bathe,
After Horse-Sacrifice, Ikshvâku's sons,
And sanctify its waves. It fills my soul
With reverence, common Mother of the Kings
Of Northern Koçala, who find delight
In her sand-islets and abundant stream.
"Sarâyû now, my noble Father lost,
Indeed my Mother seems, and clasps me round—
Though distant yet—with wavy arms that stir
A cooling breeze. As dusky twilight grey,
Before us dust-clouds rise: I augur thence
That Bharata from Hanumân has heard
News of my coming, and with all his hosts
Prepares to welcome me. My Father's realm,
That Father's vow to keep, I left; but now,
My penance o'er, that virtuous Prince restores
The Royal State unblemished: rescued so,
Thee Lakshmaṇ gave, won back by slaughter grim
Of Khara and his peers. To meet me now
On foot comes Bharata, our household Priest
Placed in the van, his army's serried ranks
Close following: he in Hermit-dress comes forth,
And old-time councillors bear gifts in hand.
From love to me the Prince, in flush of youth,
Wed not fair Lakshmî, whom his Sire bequeathed,
Who sought herself his arms: yea, all these years
Abiding with her, yet he tasted not
Pure wedlock's joy!"
As Râma spake, the Car,—
That knew by sense divine his unspoke will,—
Swift glided from the sky, by wondering eyes
Of Bharat's hosts observed. Then, on the hand—
Apt for all service—of the Monkey-King
One moment leaning, Râma lighted down,—
On well-wrought ladder stepping, crystal-runged,
Held by Vibhîshaṇ. First the reverend Sage,
Priest of Ikshvâku's line, he greeted well,
Then took the gifts, and—bathed in tears—embraced
His brother Bharat, kissing that leal head,
Which, reigning in his stead, refused the Crown.
Courteous he welcomed old-time ministers,
With beards untrimmed, and hair like Peepal-roots
Close-matted; they with tuneful voices asked
Respectful of his welfare. Spake the King:—
"Behold my friend, of Ṛiksha's Monkey-hosts
Great Chief, my stay in trouble: next the stout
Vibhîshaṇ know!" Then Bharat hailed the twain,
By Râma praised, ere Lakshmaṇ he embraced,
Sumitra's son, upraising his bent head,
And to his bosom clasping,—close, more close,
He well-nigh bruised his breast on cruel scars
Which Indrajit had left. At Râma's word
At once the Monkey-chiefs took human shapes,
And mounted elephants, whose mighty brows
Streamed ichor sweet, rejoicing as to climb
Great mountains. At his word the Râkshas-King,
With all his hosts ascended cars unmatched
In splendour by their own, by magic art
Fair-fashioned. Then the Chief of Raghu's line
Once more sat in his car, and with him sat
His Brothers, and the banner at his will
Moved or was steady,—as the stars' high Lord,
The Moon, shines glorious climbing up a bank
Of dusky clouds at evening, lightning-streaked,
With Jupiter attending and his Sire.
Then Bharat praised the beauteous Maithilî,
From Râvaṇ's grasp by Râma's might set free,
As from dark flood the Lord of worlds saved Earth,
Or when the rains are over clears the moon
From cloudy masses. So her dazzling feet,
Who faithful kept her vow and dashed the hopes
Presumptuous Râvaṇ nursed, set on the head
Of him whose matted locks proclaimed the faith
He kept unswerving to his elder's claim:—
Each to the other greater lustre lent.
Then glorious Râma half a kos advanced,
Escorted by his folk, while Pushpaka,—
His Car Celestial,—checked its magic speed;
Then in the pleasure-forest dwelt well-pleased,
That round Ayodhyâ stretched, where Çatrughna
With careful foresight had prepared the Camp.