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Book I. Canto Lxxiv. R'ama With The Axe

Canto Lxxiv.: Rma With The Axe. 1


Soon as the night had reached its close

The hermit Vis'vmitra rose;

To both the kings he bade adieu

And to the northern hill withdrew.

Ayodhy's lord of high renown

Received farewell, and sought his town.

Then as each daughter left her bower

King Janak gave a splendid dower,

Bugs, precious silks, a warrior force,

Cars, elephants, and foot, and horse,

Divine to see and well arrayed;

And many a skilful tiring-maid,

And many a young and trusty slave

The father of the ladies gave.

Silver and coral, gold and pearls

He gave to his beloved girls.

These precious gifts the king bestowed

And sped his guest upon his road.

The lord of Mithil's sweet town

Rode to his court and lighted down.

Ayodhy's monarch, glad and gay,

Led by the seers pursued his way

With his dear sons of lofty mind:

The royal army marched behind.

As on he fared the voice he heard

Around of many a dismal bird,

And every beast in wild affright

Began to hurry to the right.

The monarch to Vas'ishtha cried:

'What strange misfortune will betide?

Why do the beasts in terror fly,

And birds of evil omen cry?

What is it shakes my heart with dread?

Why is my soul disquieted?'

Soon as he heard, the mighty saint

Thus answered Das'aratha's plaint

In sweetest tone: 'Now, Monarch, mark,

And learn from me the meaning dark.

The voices of the birds of air

Great peril to the host declare:

The moving beasts the dread allay,

So drive thy whelming fear away,'

As he and Das'aratha spoke

A tempest from the welkin broke,

That shook the spacious earth amain

And hurled high trees upon the plain.

The sun grew dark with murky cloud,

And o'er the skies was cast a shroud,

While o'er the army, faint with dread,

A veil of dust and ashes spread.

King, princes, saints their sense retained,

Fear-stupefied the rest remained.

At length, their wits returning, all

Beneath the gloom and ashy pall

Saw Jamadagni's son with dread,

His long hair twisted round his head,

Who, sprung from Bhrigu, loved to beat

The proudest kings beneath his feet.

Firm as Kailsa's hill he showed,

Fierce as the fire of doom he glowed.

His axe upon his shoulder lay,

His bow was ready for the fray,

With thirsty arrows wont to fly

Like Lightnings from the angry sky.

A long keen arrow forth he drew,

Invincible like those which flew

From S'iva's ever-conquering bow

And Tripur in death laid low.

When his wild form, that struck with awe,

Fearful as ravening flame, they saw,

Vas'ishtha and the saints whose care

Was sacrifice and muttered prayer,

Drew close together, each to each,

And questioned thus with bated speech:

'Indignant at his father's fate

Will he on warriors vent his hate,

The slayers of his father slay,

And sweep the loathed race away?

But when of old his fury raged

Seas of their blood his wrath assuaged:

p. 86

So doubtless now he has not planned

To slay all warriors in the land.'

Then with a gift the saints drew near

To Bhrigu's son whose look was fear,

And Rma! Rma! soft they cried.

The gift he took, no word replied.

Then Bhrigu's son his silence broke

And thus to Rma Rma spoke:

Footnotes

85:1
This is another Rma, son of Jamadagni, called Paras'urma, or Rma with the axe, from the weapon which he carried. He was while he lived the terror ot the Warrior caste, and his name recalls long and fierce struggles between the sacerdotal and military order in which tne latter suffered severely at the hands of their implacable enemy.
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