सर्ग २९

When Ráma saw the giant nigh, On foot, alone, with mace reared high, In mild reproof at first he spoke, Then forth his threatening anger broke: “Thou with the host ’twas thine to lead, With elephant and car and steed, Hast wrought an act of sin and shame, An act which all who live must blame. Know that the wretch whose evil mind Joys in the grief of human kind, Though the three worlds confess him lord, Must perish dreaded and abhorred. Night-rover, when a villain’s deeds Distress the world he little heeds, Each hand is armed his life to take, And crush him like a deadly snake. The end is near when men begin Through greed or lust a life of sin, E’en as a Bráhman’s dame, unwise, Eats of the fallen hail(475) and dies. Thy hand has slain the pure and good, The hermit saints of Daṇḍak wood, Of holy life, the heirs of bliss; And thou shalt reap the fruit of this. Not long shall they whose cruel breasts Joy in the sin the world detests Retain their guilty power and pride, But fade like trees whose roots are dried. Yes, as the seasons come and go, Each tree its kindly fruit must show, And sinners reap in fitting time The harvest of each earlier crime. As those must surely die who eat Unwittingly of poisoned meat, They too whose lives in sin are spent Receive ere long the punishment. And know, thou rover of the night, That I, a king, am sent to smite The wicked down, who court the hate Of men whose laws they violate. This day my vengeful hand shall send Shafts bright with gold to tear and rend, And pass with fury through thy breast As serpents pierce an emmet’s nest. Thou with thy host this day shalt be Among the dead below, and see The saints beneath thy hand who bled, Whose flesh thy cruel maw has fed. They, glorious on their seats of gold, Their slayer shall in hell behold. Fight with all strength thou callest thine, Mean scion of ignoble line, Still, like the palm-tree’s fruit, this day My shafts thy head in dust shall lay.”

Such were the words that Ráma said: Then Khara’s eyes with wrath glowed red, Who, maddened by the rage that burned Within him, with a smile returned:

“Thou Daśaratha’s son, hast slain The meaner giants of my train: And canst thou idly vaunt thy might And claim the praise not thine by right? Not thus in self-laudation rave The truly great, the nobly brave: No empty boasts like thine disgrace The foremost of the human race. The mean of soul, unknown to fame, Who taint their warrior race with shame, Thus speak in senseless pride as thou, O Raghu’s son, hast boasted now. What hero, when the war-cry rings, Vaunts the high race from which he springs, Or seeks, when warriors meet and die, His own descent to glorify? Weakness and folly show confessed In every vaunt thou utterest, As when the flames fed high with grass Detect the simulating brass. Dost thou not see me standing here Armed with the mighty mace I rear, Firm as an earth upholding hill Whose summit veins of metal fill? Lo, here I stand before thy face To slay thee with my murderous mace, As Death, the universal lord, Stands threatening with his fatal cord. Enough of this. Much more remains That should be said: but time constrains. Ere to his rest the sun descend, And shades of night the combat end, The twice seven thousand of my band Who fell beneath thy bloody hand Shall have their tears all wiped away And triumph in thy fall to-day.”

He spoke, and loosing from his hold His mighty mace ringed round with gold, Like some red bolt alive with fire Hurled it at Ráma, mad with ire. The ponderous mace which Khara threw Sent fiery flashes as it flew. Trees, shrubs were scorched beneath the blast, As onward to its aim it passed. But Ráma, watching as it sped Dire as His noose who rules the dead, Cleft it with arrows as it came On rushing with a hiss and flame. Its fury spent and burnt away, Harmless upon the ground it lay Like a great snake in furious mood By herbs of numbing power subdued.