सर्ग ४८

With knitted brow and furious eye The stranger made his fierce reply: “In me O fairest dame, behold The brother of the King of Gold. The Lord of Ten Necks my title, named Rávaṇ, for might and valour famed. Gods and Gandharva hosts I scare; Snakes, spirits, birds that roam the air Fly from my coming, wild with fear, Trembling like men when Death is near. Vaiśravaṇ once, my brother, wrought To ire, encountered me and fought, But yielding to superior might Fled from his home in sore affright. Lord of the man-drawn chariot, still He dwells on famed Kailása’s hill. I made the vanquished king resign The glorious car which now is mine,— Pushpak, the far-renowned, that flies Will-guided through the buxom skies. Celestial hosts by Indra led Flee from my face disquieted, And where my dreaded feet appear The wind is hushed or breathless is fear. Where’er I stand, where’er I go The troubled waters cease to flow, Each spell-bound wave is mute and still And the fierce sun himself is chill. Beyond the sea my Lanká stands Filled with fierce forms and giant bands, A glorious city fair to see As Indra’s Amarávatí. A towering height of solid wall, Flashing afar, surrounds it all, Its golden courts enchant the sight, And gates aglow with lazulite. Steeds, elephants, and cars are there, And drums’ loud music fills the air, Fair trees in lovely gardens grow Whose boughs with varied fruitage glow. Thou, beauteous Queen, with me shalt dwell In halls that suit a princess well, Thy former fellows shall forget Nor think of women with regret, No earthly joy thy soul shall miss, And take its fill of heavenly bliss. Of mortal Ráma think no more, Whose terms of days will soon be o’er. King Daśaratha looked in scorn On Ráma though the eldest born, Sent to the woods the weakling fool, And set his darling son to rule. What, O thou large-eyed dame, hast thou To do with fallen Ráma now, From home and kingdom forced to fly, A wretched hermit soon to die? Accept thy lover, nor refuse The giant king who fondly woos. O listen, nor reject in scorn A heart by Káma’s arrows torn. If thou refuse to hear my prayer, Of grief and coming woe beware; For the sad fate will fall on thee Which came on hapless Urvaśí, When with her foot she chanced to touch Purúravas, and sorrowed much.(502) My little finger raised in fight Were more than match for Ráma’s might. O fairest, blithe and happy be With him whom fortune sends to thee.”

Such were the words the giant said, And Sítá’s angry eyes were red. She answered in that lonely place The monarch of the giant race:

“Art thou the brother of the Lord Of Gold by all the world adored, And sprung of that illustrious seed Wouldst now attempt this evil deed? I tell thee, impious Monarch, all The giants by thy sin will fall, Whose reckless lord and king thou art, With foolish mind and lawless heart. Yea, one may hope to steal the wife Of Indra and escape with life. But he who Ráma’s dame would tear From his loved side must needs despair. Yea, one may steal fair Śachí, dame Of Him who shoots the thunder flame, May live successful in his aim And length of day may see; But hope, O giant King, in vain, Though cups of Amrit thou may drain, To shun the penalty and pain Of wronging one like me.”