सर्ग २२

With angry menace Ráma, best Of Raghu’s sons, the Sea addressed: “With fiery flood of arrowy rain Thy channels will I dry and drain. And I and all the Vánar host Will reach on foot the farther coast. Thou shalt not from destruction save The creatures of the teeming wave, And lapse of time shall ne’er efface The memory of the dire disgrace.”

Thus spoke the warrior, and prepared The mortal shaft which never spared, Known mystic weapon, by the name Of Brahmá, red with quenchless flame. Great terror, as he strained the bow, Struck heaven above and earth below. Through echoing skies the thunder pealed, And startled mountains rocked and reeled, The earth was black with sudden night And heaven was blotted from the sight. Then ever and anon the glare Of meteors shot through murky air, And with a wild terrific sound Red lightnings struck the trembling ground. In furious gusts the fierce wind blew: Tall trees it shattered and o’erthrew, And, smiting with a giant’s stroke, Huge masses from the mountain broke. A cry of terror long and shrill Came from each valley, plain, and hill. Each ruined dale, each riven peak Re-echoed with a wail or shriek.

While Raghu’s son undaunted gazed, The waters of the deep were raised, And, still uplifted more and more, Leapt in wild flood upon the shore. Still Ráma looked upon the tide And kept his post unterrified. Then from the seething flood upreared Majestic Ocean’s form appeared, As rising from his eastern height Springs through the sky the Lord of Light. Attendant on their monarch came Sea serpents with their eyes aflame. Like lazulite mid burning gold His form was wondrous to behold. Bright with each fairest precious stone A chain about his neck was thrown. Calm shone his lotus eyes beneath The blossoms of his heavenly wreath, And many a pearl and sea-born gem Flashed in the monarch’s diadem. There Gangá, tributary queen, And Sindhu(934) by his lord, were seen, And every stream and brook renowned In ancient story girt him round. Then, as the waters rose and swelled, The king with suppliant hands upheld, His glorious head to Ráma bent And thus addressed him reverent: “Air, ether, fire, earth, water, true To nature’s will, their course pursue; And I, as ancient laws ordain, Unfordable must still remain. Yet, Raghu’s son, my counsel hear: I ne’er for love or hope or fear Will pile my waters in a heap And leave a pathway through the deep. Still shall my care for thee provide An easy passage o’er the tide, And like a city’s paven street Shall be the road beneath thy feet.” He ceased: and Ráma spoke again: “This spell is ne’er invoked in vain. Where shall the magic shaft, to spend The fury of its might, descend?” “Shoot,” Ocean cried, “thine arrow forth With all its fury to the north, Where sacred Drumakulya lies, Whose glory with thy glory vies. There dwells a wild Abhíra(935) race, As vile in act as foul of face, Fierce Dasyus(936) who delight in ill, And drink my tributary rill. My soul no longer may endure Their neighbourhood and touch impure. At these, O son of Raghu, aim Thine arrow with the quenchless flame.”

Swift from the bow, as Ráma drew His cord, the fiery arrow flew. Earth groaned to feel the wound, and sent A rush of water through the rent; And famed for ever is the well Of Vraṇa(937) where the arrow fell. Then every brook and lake beside Throughout the region Ráma dried. But yet he gave a boon to bless And fertilize the wilderness: No fell disease should taint the air, And sheep and kine should prosper there: Earth should produce each pleasant root, The stately trees should bend with fruit; Oil, milk, and honey should abound, And fragrant herbs should clothe the ground. Then spake the king of brooks and seas To Raghu’s son in words like these: “Now let a wondrous task be done By Nala, Viśvakarmá’s son, Who, born of one of Vánar race, Inherits by his father’s grace A share of his celestial art. Call Nala to perform his part, And he, divinely taught and skilled, A bridge athwart the sea shall build.”

He spoke and vanished. Nala, best Of Vánar chiefs, the king addressed: “O’er the deep sea where monsters play A bridge, O Ráma, will I lay; For, sharer of my father’s skill, Mine is the power and mine the will. ’Tis vain to try each gentler art To bribe and soothe the thankless heart; In vain on such is mercy spent; It yields to naught but punishment. Through fear alone will Ocean now A passage o’er his waves allow. My mother, ere she bore her son, This boon from Viśvakarmá won: “O Mandarí, thy child shall be In skill and glory next to me.” But why unbidden should I fill Thine ear with praises of my skill? Command the Vánar hosts to lay Foundations for the bridge to-day.”

He spoke: and swift at Ráma’s hest Up sprang the Vánars from their rest, The mandate of the king obeyed And sought the forest’s mighty shade. Unrooted trees to earth they threw, And to the sea the timber drew. The stately palm was bowed and bent, Aśokas from the ground were rent, And towering Sáls and light bamboos, And trees with flowers of varied hues, With loveliest creepers wreathed and crowned, Shook, reeled, and fell upon the ground. With mighty engines piles of stone And seated hills were overthrown: Unprisoned waters sprang on high, In rain descending from the sky: And ocean with a roar and swell Heaved wildly when the mountains fell. Then the great bridge of wondrous strength Was built, a hundred leagues in length. Rocks huge as autumn clouds bound fast With cordage from the shore were cast, And fragments of each riven hill, And trees whose flowers adorned them still. Wild was the tumult, loud the din As ponderous rocks went thundering in. Ere set of sun, so toiled each crew, Ten leagues and four the structure grew; The labours of the second day Gave twenty more of ready way, And on the fifth, when sank the sun, The whole stupendous work was done. O’er the broad way the Vánars sped, Nor swayed it with their countless tread. Exultant on the ocean strand Vibhishaṇ stood, and, mace in hand, Longed eager for the onward way, And chafed impatient at delay. Then thus to Ráma trained and tried In battle King Sugríva cried: “Come, Hanumán’s broad back ascend; Let Angad help to Lakshmaṇ lend. These high above the sea shall bear Their burthen through the ways of air.”

So, with Sugríva, borne o’erhead Ikshváku’s sons the legions led. Behind, the Vánar hosts pursued Their march in endless multitude. Some skimmed the surface of the wave, To some the air a passage gave. Amid their ceaseless roar the sound Of Ocean’s fearful voice was drowned, As o’er the bridge by Nala planned They hastened on to Lanká’s strand, Where, by the pleasant brooks, mid trees Loaded with fruit, they took their ease.