Rámáyan of Válmíki (World's Classics Series). Valmiki
Читать онлайн книгу.
to please Kaikeyí went
Obedient forth to banishment.
Then Lakshmaṇ‘s truth was nobly shown,
Then were his love and courage known,
When for his brother’s sake he dared
All perils, and his exile shared.
And Sítá, Ráma’s darling wife,
Loved even as he loved his life,
Whom happy marks combined to bless,
A miracle of loveliness,
Of Janak’s royal lineage sprung,
Most excellent of women, clung
To her dear lord, like Rohiṇí
Rejoicing with the Moon to be.20
The King and people, sad of mood,
The hero’s car awhile pursued.
But when Prince Ráma lighted down
At Śringavera’s pleasant town,
Where Gangá‘s holy waters flow,
He bade his driver turn and go.
Guha, Nishádas’ king, he met,
And on the farther bank was set.
Then on from wood to wood they strayed,
O’er many a stream, through constant shade,
As Bharadvája bade them, till
They came to Chitrakúṭa’s hill.
And Ráma there, with Lakshmaṇ‘s aid,
A pleasant little cottage made,
And spent his days with Sítá, dressed
In coat of bark and deerskin vest.21
And Chitrakúṭa grew to be
As bright with those illustrious three
As Meru’s22 sacred peaks that shine
With glory, when the Gods recline
Beneath them: Śiva’s23 self between
The Lord of Gold and Beauty’s Queen.
The aged king for Ráma pined,
And for the skies the earth resigned.
Bharat, his son, refused to reign,
Though urged by all the twice-born24 train.
Forth to the woods he fared to meet
His brother, fell before his feet,
And cried, “Thy claim all men allow:
O come, our lord and king be thou.”
But Ráma nobly chose to be
Observant of his sire’s decree.
He placed his sandals25 in his hand
A pledge that he would rule the land:
And bade his brother turn again.
Then Bharat, finding prayer was vain,
The sandals took and went away;
Nor in Ayodhyá would he stay.
But turned to Nandigráma, where
He ruled the realm with watchful care,
Still longing eagerly to learn
Tidings of Ráma’s safe return.
Then lest the people should repeat
Their visit to his calm retreat,
Away from Chitrakúṭa’s hill
Fared Ráma ever onward till
Beneath the shady trees he stood
Of Daṇḍaká‘s primeval wood,
Virádha, giant fiend, he slew,
And then Agastya’s friendship knew.
Counselled by him he gained the sword
And bow of Indra, heavenly lord:
A pair of quivers too, that bore
Of arrows an exhaustless store.
While there he dwelt in greenwood shade
The trembling hermits sought his aid,
And bade him with his sword and bow
Destroy the fiends who worked them woe:
To come like Indra strong and brave,
A guardian God to help and save.
And Ráma’s falchion left its trace
Deep cut on Śúrpaṇakhá‘s face:
A hideous giantess who came
Burning for him with lawless flame.
Their sister’s cries the giants heard.
And vengeance in each bosom stirred:
The monster of the triple head.
And Dúshaṇ to the contest sped.
But they and myriad fiends beside
Beneath the might of Ráma died.
When Rávaṇ, dreaded warrior, knew
The slaughter of his giant crew:
Rávaṇ, the king, whose name of fear
Earth, hell, and heaven all shook to hear:
He bade the fiend Márícha aid
The vengeful plot his fury laid.
In vain the wise Márícha tried
To turn him from his course aside:
Not Rávaṇ‘s self, he said, might hope
With Ráma and his strength to cope.
Impelled by fate and blind with rage
He came to Ráma’s hermitage.
There, by Márícha’s magic art,
He wiled the princely youths apart,
The vulture26 slew, and bore away
The wife of Ráma as his prey.
The son of Raghu27 came and found
Jaṭáyu slain upon the ground.
He rushed within his leafy cot;
He sought his wife, but found her not.
Then, then the hero’s senses failed;
In mad despair he wept and wailed.
Upon the pile that bird he laid,
And still in quest of