Canto XV: The slaying of Lavaṇa: Râma vanquishes Death: Sîtâ bears twin Sons, and at a Sacrifice is restored, and vanishes: the passing of Râma

So, Sîtâ banished, Râma took delight
No more with any, save sea-girdled Earth.
Then came the Ascetics, who by Jamnâ dwelt,
And sought from him, the World's Protector, help,
For that the Demon Lavaṇa destroyed
Their Holy rites. On Râma they relied,
And so refrained their hands, nor smote the foe
With those tremendous weapons which they owned,—
Those awful curses which to use destroys
The meed of holy penance. Sure relief
From every hindrance Râma vowed to send,
For surely Vishṇu's life on earth below
Had this one object,—virtue to uphold.
They told the Hero how this Demon-foe
Was to be slain,—"For," said they, "once he's armed
With his dread spear, he scarce can be o'ercome:
Fall on him then when 'tis not in his hand!"
Then sent the King as champion Çatrughna,
That he might quell the foe, and justify
The name he bore. Each Prince of Raghu's stock
Foes well could smite,—as in the rules of speech
Exceptions test a law. Him Râma blessed:
The Prince undaunted mounted his swift car,
And drove adown the scented forest-glade
That blazed with blossom. That well-ordered host,
Which Râma's care sent with him as his aid,
Served but as ornament, superfluous.
He, flower of mighty warriors, held the way
Which guiding Hermits showed; his outriders
Proclaimed his glory, ev'n as far-shot rays
The Sun's great majesty. Now on the march,
So long his journey was, one night he stayed
Where dwelt Vâlmîki sage, whose deer looked up
At rattling of his car. With special grace,
Won by his rites austere, the noble Saint
Received the Prince, and bade his tired steeds rest.
While there he tarried, even that same night,
The Queen, great Râma's spouse, gave birth to twins,—
Two perfect sons, as fruitful Earth two hosts
Might bear for some great King. With pure delight
The noble Prince heard of the happy birth
Of Râma's sons; then at first dawn, the Saint
First reverently saluting, he his car
Made quickly ready, thence unwearied passed.
Soon reached he Lavaṇ's stronghold, where oppressed
By Demon-power the woods their tribute paid,
Great herds of cattle,—and the Râkshas came
To meet his foe. All sooty-black he strode,
With hair aflame, besmeared with fetid oils,
Like some great funeral-pyre that stalked the plain,
By Demon-hosts attended. Çatrughna
Straightway attacked him, caught without his spear:—
Who take their foes unharnessed win the fight!
With boastful words the Demon fell advanced:—
"Sure the Creator saw my daily meal
To-day was scanty: so in fear he sent
Thee to complete it." Threatening thus, and keen
To swallow down his foe, a lofty tree,
As 'twere a corn-stalk, fiercely he tore up
And hurled it. In mid-flight Çatrughna's shaft
Split the great trunk—which, as a shower of dust,
Not solid block, his body struck. Forthwith,
When so the tree was shattered, a great rock,—
Huge as Death's fist, detached and firmly clenched,—
The Giant cast; that too, with Indra's bolt
The Hero smote, and ground to pieces small,
Less than sand-grains. Then, raising his right hand,
The Demon hurled himself upon his foe,
A very mountain crested with one tree,
Dashed to the plain by awful whirlwind-blast.
But Kṛishṇa's arrow cleft his heart: he fell:
And falling shook the earth, but by his fall
Took fear and trembling from all Hermit-hearts.
Down on his carcase swooped the vulture-hosts,
But on the Victor's head rained flowers from Heaven.
O'er Lavaṇ slain in this he most rejoiced,
He now was worthy shown of brotherhood
With Lakshmaṇ, far-renowned for overthrow
Of Indrajit. And, as the Hermits poured
Their thanks for aid vouchsafed upon his head,
He bowed it meekly, heightening so the worth
Of valour with the grace of modesty.
Then, clothed in manhood, free from low desires,
In form all lovely—on pure Jamnâ's banks
He founded Mathurâ, in days to come
For happy folk renowned, and nobly ruled,
And from the first with Heaven's best blessings dowered.
There from his palace-roof he looked, and saw
Well-pleased the course of Jamnâ, gleaming white
With flocks of Chakravâkas,—like a braid
Of golden tresses, kissing Earth's fair cheek.

Now, sage Vâlmîki, who bore equal love,
To Daçaratha and to Janaka,
Himself with solemn rites gave Sîtâ's sons
The second, higher birth; and named the twins
Kuça and Lava, since with fragrant grass
And hair of kine their mother had been cleansed.
First they the Word were taught, and Sacred Lore;
Next, children still, they gathered from his lips
And sang the Hero-song himself had made.
They sang the Life of Râma, grand and sweet,
And singing charmed their mother's grief away,—
Her deep-set mourning o'er her banished state.
Now to the younger sons of Raghu's line—
Who blazed like steady fires—fair sons were born,
To each one two, from loving, faithful wives.
Then Çatrughna, whom Râma loved, to his—
To Çatrughâtin and Subâhu famed—
Gave each a city, Mathurâ the bright
To one, and to his brother Vidiçâ.
Then, fearing further to disturb the Sage,
And check his pious course, he left the groves
Where deer unmoving stood to hear the songs
Of Sîtâ's boys. Thence, self-subdued, he turned
To fair Ayodhyâ, gay with bannered streets,
Whose townsfolk bore him infinite regard
For slaying Lavaṇ. There amid his court,
With all his senate round him, Râma sat,
Now (since his Sîtâ was divorced) by Earth
Claimed only hers. He, as the victor bowed,
With joy received him: even as Indra hailed
Great Vishṇu, Kâlanemî's vanquisher.
He told him all his story, nought concealed,
But of the birth of Sîtâ's sons told not:
For so the Poet-Sage required, who thought
Himself to bring them when the time was ripe.

One day a Brâhman came, and brought his son—
A child untimely dead, thus making moan
Before the palace-gate:—"O wretched Earth!
What fate is thine, that from his Father's grasp
Thou'rt fallen to Râma's hand,—bad changed for worse!"
His plaint heard Râma, learned the cause, and grieved
That now fell Death remorseless smote his realm,—
A thing which shamed him. First with pitying words
He soothed the father's grief, then bade him stay
Awhile his guest:—"For I will seek out Death,
And bring thy child again!" The Magic Car
By thought he summoned, seized his warlike bow,
And straight the Pride of Raghu's line went forth
To smite the Lord of life. But suddenly—
He scarce had started!—came a warning Voice
From form unseen:—"Grave sin," it said, "defiles
Thy land, O King! Search, root it out!—this done,
Thou shalt obtain thy wish!" This heard, the King
Flew through wide Heaven to take away the sin
Which plagued his people: sped the flying Car,
Its pennon motionless, till soon he came
To where, red-eyed from smoke, with head hung down,
He saw one self-tormented on a tree.
Then Râma asked his name, and whence he sprang,
Who answered him:—"Çambuka, Çûdra, I
Thus seek high place in Heaven." But Râma knew
'Twas sin he practised, who transgressed the Law
Forbidding him to aspire;—He grasped his sword
To slay the sinner, and cut off his head,
Whose beard fierce sparks had singed, like frost-bit flower
Of lotus from the stalk. The slave, so slain
By Royal hands, then rose to Perfect Bliss,
His foul transgression washed away by death.
Then came the Saint Agastya, on the road
Greeting great Râma:—so the placid Moon
Is met by Autumn:—gem of price he gave,
A God might covet, which to win his grace
The Sea bestowed when he had drunk it up.
This on his arm he bound, which now no more
Clasped Sîtâ's neck, then took the homeward way;
And found the Brâhman's son restored to life.
Appeased the Saint blessed where he cursed before,—
"Who else," he cried, "can rescue ev'n the dead?"
Thereafter Râma loosed for Sacrifice
A perfect Horse: then showered their choicest gifts,
As clouds pour water on the thirsty fields,
The Kings of Apes, of men, of Râkshasas.
Next, at his bidding, all the mighty Saints
From every quarter came, in Heaven or Earth,
To grace the Rite. They camping through the groves
Around Ayodhyâ made her glorious,—
With four great gates for mouths, like Brahmâ's self
Fresh from Creation's work. The Monarch's throne
In right was fixed: nay, Sîtâ's banishment
Itself enhanced his glory, since he took
No second wife, but lived in lonely state,
While still her golden image ruled his house.
The solemn Sacrifice began, with state
More splendid far than Sacred Law requires,
For Demons, loyal grown, no more disturbed,
But guarded it from harm. Then Sîtâ's sons,
At bidding of their great Preceptor, sang
In many places to the attentive throngs
Vâlmîki's Song of Râma; to their depths
They stirred the souls of men with Râma's deeds,
Valmiki's matchless strains, their own sweet tones
Like Heaven's minstrelsy. With strange delight,
Throned 'midst his brothers, Râma marked their forms
That charmed all eyes, and heard their soft, sweet song.
The assembled crowd, attent to hear their strain,
Dissolved in tears, as when a forest-glade
In early morning stillness drips with dew.
Amazed they saw, with fixed unwinking eyes,
How like the minstrel-boys were to the King,—
By age and dress distinguished, only so.
Nor moved their skill such wonder in men's hearts
As when they saw them carelessly put by
The King's rich, loving gifts. Whereat the King
Asked who had taught them? Who had framed the song?
But when they named Vâlmîki, Râma went
To meet the Sage, his brothers following,
And at his feet the Kingdom and Himself
Laid freely down. The Bard, all-pitiful,
Presenting Sîtâ's boys, the King's own sons,
Chose as his boon that She should be called home.
The King, rejoicing yet perplexed, replied:—
"Thou knowest, Father, how thy Child, my Spouse,
By Fire's ordeal proved herself to me
A stainless wife; but, wiled by Demon-craft,
The people held her soiled. Bid Sîtâ then
Convince them too; so will I, at thy word,
Receive her back, pure mother of my sons!"
Thus Râma pledged his faith: forthwith the Saint
By trusty messengers bade Sîtâ come,—
As pious deeds call blessings from the Gods.
Then on the morrow Râma summoned all
Ayodhyâ's citizens, and bade the Saint
Fulfil his promise: who led Sîtâ up
With her two sons to where the Monarch sat,
As when with Hymn of consecrated verse
Men hail the blessed Sun. Her very mien,
Unruffled, clad in red, with eyes cast down,
Proclaimed her pure. The people, deep abashed,
Scarce raised their heads, like rice-blades bowed with grain,
And shunned her quiet gaze. With aspect grave
The Saint assumed his seat, and solemn spake:—
"Now, Daughter, show the people thou art pure
Beyond all cavil: here thy husband sits
To mark the trial!" Then an acolyte
Brought her clear water, which she drank, then spake
These words sincere:—"All-fostering Goddess Earth!
If I in word, in thought, in deed have still
Held to my Lord, nor strayed from duty's path
One hair's-breadth,—hide me in thy loving arms!"
So spake the unsullied Wife;—the plain was rent,
And from the gulf rose as a thunderbolt,
With shining halo crowned; then Earth was seen,
Enthronèd high above a serpent's crest,
And girdled with the Sea. She strongly drew
Fair Sîtâ to her breast, though still her eyes
Were fixed on Râma, who in anguish cried,—
"Forbear, forbear!" yet all in vain he prayed,
For with his Spouse Earth vanished from men's eyes.
Then Râma rose, to snatch his Sîtâ back,
Enraged with Earth,—until Vaçishṭha sage,
Who saw in all the hand of Fate, restrained
The furious Hero. Then, the Rite being o'er,
The King with feasting and with noble gifts
The high Saints honoured and his friends, when all
Went home well-pleased:—and to his Sîtâ's sons
He gave the perfect love that had been hers.

So, being blessed with heirs, by sage advice
Of Yudhajît, as Kingly appanage
He gave to Bharat all the Sindhu land:
Who vanquished in fierce fight Gandharva hosts,
Forbade them use of arms, and them restrained
Henceforth to minstrel-craft; his noble sons,
Taksha and Pushkala, he crowned as chiefs,
Each in a city named from him; and straight
Himself went back to Râma. Lakshmaṇa,
At Râma's bidding, in Karâpatha
Set up as Kings his sons,—great Angada
And famous Chandraketu. Those three Kings,
Their sons thus settled, stately obsequies
Paid to their mothers, who had lately passed
To meet their Lord in Heaven's unfading bowers.

Then Death in Muni's semblance came, and thus
Addressed the King:—"Bid all withdraw, that so
Our conference may be secret!" and 'twas done.
Death told his name, and said:—"By God's command
I bid thee mount to Heaven!" Now Lakshmaṇa
Stood at the door, and—though he knew 'twas sin—
Broke in upon their secret talk; for more
He feared Durvâsa's curse, who urgently
Desired to see the King. Then, to atone
For having made his Brother break his word,
In deep devotion on Sarâyû's banks
He shed his earthy vesture. Râma now,
One quarter of his essence so being gone
To Heaven before him, staggered,—as on Earth
Fair Virtue scarce can stand, one foothold lost.
Then in Kuçâvatî he Kuça placed,
Sharp goad to all his foes;—Çarâvatî
To Lava he assigned, whose tender words
Could move men's hearts to tears. Then steadfast-souled
With Bharata he mounted up to Heaven,
The God of Fire preceding, while behind
(In fealty to her Lord) Ayodhyâ came,
Her buildings only left. The Monkey-hosts
And Râkshasas, who knew the King's desire,
Came after on the path his people's tears,—
Big as Kadamba-blossoms,—had marked out.
Yet, though in Car Celestial He had passed
To highest Heaven, in mercy to his folk
He made Sarâyû's stream a watery way
For them to follow. To its holy banks
Men thronged thenceforward, as when herds of kine
Crowd thirsting to cool streams,—and gave the name
Goprataṇa, now famous through the Worlds.
And Vishṇu, when his scattered particles
Again were gathered in the Soul Supreme,
Framed a new Heaven, that there might dwell for aye
Those souls of men, at once immortal grown.

Thus by his incarnation having wrought
Deliv'rance for the Gods, and slain their foe,—
Ten-headed Râvaṇa,—the God resumed
That all-embracing, formless State, in which
All worlds at last are merged, and left on Earth,
To spread His glory through the realms of men,
The Wind-god's son to rule the North: the South
Vibhîshaṇ ruled from Lankâ's scented isle.