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      “The king, I ween, of pious mind,

      The consecration has designed.”

      Sumantra for his wisdom famed,

      Delighted with the thought he framed,

      From the calm chamber, like a bay

      Of crowded ocean, took his way.

      He turned his face to neither side,

      But forth he hurried straight;

      Only a little while he eyed

      The guards who kept the gate.

      He saw in front a gathered crowd

      Of men of every class,

      Who, parting as he came, allowed

      The charioteer to pass.

1 See Additional Notes, The Suppliant Dove.

2 Indra, called also Purandara, Town-destroyer.

3 Indra’s charioteer.

      Canto 15. The Preparations.

      There slept the Bráhmans, deeply read

      In Scripture, till the night had fled;

      Then, with the royal chaplains, they

      Took each his place in long array.

      There gathered fast the chiefs of trade,

      Nor peer nor captain long delayed,

      Assembling all in order due

      The consecrating rite to view.

      The morning dawned with cloudless ray

      On Pushya’s high auspicious day,

      And Cancer with benignant power

      Looked down on Ráma’s natal hour.

      The twice-born chiefs, with zealous heed,

      Made ready what the rite would need.

      The well-wrought throne of holy wood

      And golden urns in order stood.

      There was the royal car whereon

      A tiger’s skin resplendent shone;

      There water, brought for sprinkling thence

      Where, in their sacred confluence,

      Blend Jumná‘s waves with Gangá‘s tide,

      From many a holy flood beside,

      From brook and fountain far and near,

      From pool and river, sea and mere.

      And there were honey, curd, and oil,

      Parched rice and grass, the garden’s spoil,

      Fresh milk, eight girls in bright attire,

      An elephant with eyes of fire;

      And urns of gold and silver made,

      With milky branches overlaid,

      All brimming from each sacred flood,

      And decked with many a lotus bud.

      And dancing-women fair and free,

      Gay with their gems, were there to see,

      Who stood in bright apparel by

      With lovely brow and witching eye.

      White flashed the jewelled chouri there,

      And shone like moonbeams through the air;

      The white umbrella overhead

      A pale and moonlike lustre shed,

      Wont in pure splendour to precede,

      And in such rites the pomp to lead.

      There stood the charger by the side

      Of the great bull of snow-white hide;

      There was all music soft and loud,

      And bards and minstrels swelled the crowd.

      For now the monarch bade combine

      Each custom of his ancient line

      With every rite Ayodhyá‘s state

      Observed, her kings to consecrate.

      Then, summoned by the king’s behest,

      The multitudes together pressed,

      And, missing still the royal sire,

      Began, impatient, to inquire:

      “Who to our lord will tidings bear

      That all his people throng the square?

      Where is the king? the sun is bright,

      And all is ready for the rite.”

      As thus they spoke, Sumantra, tried

      In counsel, to the chiefs replied,

      Gathered from lands on every side:

      “To Ráma’s house I swiftly drave,

      For so the king his mandate gave.

      Our aged lord and Ráma too

      In honour high hold all of you:

      I in your words (be long your days!)

      Will ask him why he thus delays.”

      Thus spoke the peer in Scripture read,

      And to the ladies’ bower he sped.

      Quick through the gates Sumantra hied,

      Which access ne’er to him denied.

      Behind the curtained screen he drew,

      Which veiled the chamber from the view.

      In benediction loud he raised

      His voice, and thus the monarch praised:

      “Sun, Moon, Kuvera, Śiva bless

      Kakutstha’s son with high success!

      The Lords of air, flood, fire decree

      The victory, my King, to thee!

      The holy night has past away,

      Auspicious shines the morning’s ray.

      Rise, Lord of men, thy part to take

      In the great rite. Awake! awake!

      Bráhmans and captains, chiefs of trade,

      All wait in festive garb arrayed;

      For thee they look with eager eyes:

      O Raghu’s son, awake! arise.”

      To him in holy Scripture read,

      Who hailed him thus, the monarch said,

      Upraising from his sleep his head:

      “Go, Ráma, hither lead as thou

      Wast ordered by the queen but now.

      Come, tell me why my mandate laid

      Upon thee thus is disobeyed.

      Away! and Ráma hither bring;

      I sleep not: make no tarrying.”

      Thus gave the king command anew:

      Sumantra from his lord withdrew;

      With head in lowly

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