सर्ग ३६

She ceased: and Lakshmaṇ gave assent, Won by her gentle argument. So Tárá’s pleading, just and mild, His softening heart had reconciled. His altered mood Sugríva saw, And cast aside the fear and awe Like raiment heavy with the rain Which on his troubled soul had lain. Then quickly to the ground he threw His flowery garland, bright of hue, Which round his royal neck he wore, And, sobered, was himself once more. Then turning to the princely man In soothing words the king began: “My glory, wealth, and royal sway To other hands had passed away: But Ráma to my rescue came, And gave me back my power and fame. O Lakshmaṇ, say, whose grateful heart Could nurse the hope to pay in part, By service of a life, the deed Of Ráma sprung of heavenly seed? His foeman Rávaṇ shall be slain, And Sítá shall be his again. The hero’s side I will not leave, But he the conquest shall achieve. What need of help has he who drew His bow, and one great arrow flew Through seven tall trees, a mountain rent, And cleft the earth with force unspent? What aid needs he who shook his bow, And at the sound the earth below With hill and wood and rooted rock Quaked feverous with the thunder shock? Yet all my legions will I bring, And follow close the warrior king Marching on his impetuous way Fierce Rávaṇ and his hosts to slay. If I be guilty of offence, Careless through love or negligence, Let him his loyal slave forgive; For error cleaves to all who live.”

Thus king Sugríva, good and brave, In humble words his answer gave, Softened was Lakshmaṇ’s angry mood Who thus his friendly speech renewed: “My brother, Vánar King, will see A champion and a friend in thee. So strong art thou, so brave and bold, So pure in thought, so humble-souled, That thou deservest well to reign And all a monarch’s bliss to gain. Lend thou my brother aid, and all His foes beneath his arm will fall. Full well the words thou speakest suit A chieftain wise and resolute. With grateful heart that loves the right, And foot that never yields in fight. O come, and my sad brother cheer Who mourns the wife he holds so dear. O pardon, friend, my harsh address, And Ráma’s frantic bitterness.”