सर्ग ५१

“My king Sugríva greets thee fair, And bids me thus his rede declare. Son of the God of Wind, by name Hanumán, to this isle I came. To set the Maithil lady free I crossed the barrier of the sea. I roamed in search of her and found Her weeping in that lovely ground. Thou in the lore of duty trained, Who hast by stern devotion gained This wondrous wealth and power and fame Shouldst fear to wrong another’s dame. Hear thou my counsel, and be wise: No fiend, no dweller in the skies Can bear the shafts by Lakshmaṇ shot, Or Ráma when his wrath is hot. O Giant King, repent the crime And soothe him while there yet is time. Now be the Maithil queen restored Uninjured to her sorrowing lord. Soon wilt thou rue thy dire mistake: She is no woman but a snake, Whose very deadly bite will be The ruin of thy house and thee. Thy pride has led thy thoughts astray, That fancy not a hand may slay The monarch of the giants, screened From mortal blow of God and fiend. Sugríva still thy death may be: No Yaksha, fiend, or God is he, And Ráma from a woman springs, The mortal seed of mortal kings. O think how Báli fell subdued; Think on thy slaughtered multitude. Respect those brave and strong allies; Consult thy safety, and be wise. I, even I, no helper need To overthrow, with car and steed, Thy city Lanká half divine: The power but not the will is mine. For Raghu’s son, before his friend The Vánar monarch, swore to end With his own conquering arm the life Of him who stole his darling wife. Turn, and be wise, O Rávaṇ turn; Or thou wilt see thy Lanká burn, And with thy wives, friends, kith and kin Be ruined for thy senseless sin.”