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rel="nofollow" href="#ulink_708d72a3-092d-554b-bdde-6d673b5f55a2">1 take.

      Thence, hallowing where’er they flow,

      The streams of Sarjú fall,

      And wandering through the plains below

      Embrace Ayodhyá‘s wall.

      Still, still preserved in Sarjú‘s name

Sarovar’s2 fame we trace.

      The flood of Brahma whence she came

      To run her holy race.

      To meet great Gangá here she hies

      With tributary wave:

      Hence the loud roar ye hear arise,

      Of floods that swell and rave.

      Here, pride of Raghu’s line, do thou

      In humble adoration bow.”

      He spoke. The princes both obeyed,

And reverence to each river paid.3

      They reached the southern shore at last,

      And gaily on their journey passed.

      A little space beyond there stood

      A gloomy awe-inspiring wood.

      The monarch’s noble son began

      To question thus the holy man:

      “Whose gloomy forest meets mine eye

      Like some vast cloud that fills the sky?

      Pathless and dark it seems to be,

      Where birds in thousands wander free;

      Where shrill cicadas’ cries resound,

      And fowl of dismal note abound.

      Lion, rhinoceros, and bear,

      Boar, tiger, elephant, are there,

      There shrubs and thorns run wild:

Dháo, Sál, Bignonia, Bel,4 are found,

      And every tree that grows on ground.

      How is the forest styled?”

      The glorious saint this answer made:

      “Dear child of Raghu, hear

      Who dwells within the horrid shade

      That looks so dark and drear.

      Where now is wood, long ere this day

      Two broad and fertile lands,

      Malaja and Karúsha lay,

      Adorned by heavenly hands.

      Here, mourning friendship’s broken ties,

      Lord Indra of the thousand eyes

      Hungered and sorrowed many a day,

      His brightness soiled with mud and clay,

      When in a storm of passion he

      Had slain his dear friend Namuchi.

      Then came the Gods and saints who bore

      Their golden pitchers brimming o’er

      With holy streams that banish stain,

      And bathed Lord Indra pure again.

      When in this land the God was freed

      From spot and stain of impious deed

      For that his own dear friend he slew,

      High transport thrilled his bosom through.

      Then in his joy the lands he blessed,

      And gave a boon they long possessed:

      “Because these fertile lands retain

      The washings of the blot and stain,”

      ’Twas thus Lord Indra sware,

      “Malaja and Karúsha’s name

      Shall celebrate with deathless fame

My malady and care.”5

      “So be it,” all the Immortals cried,

      When Indra’s speech they heard,

      And with acclaim they ratified

      The names his lips conferred.

      Long time, O victor of thy foes,

      These happy lands had sweet repose,

      And higher still in fortune rose.

      At length a spirit, loving ill,

      Táḍaká, wearing shapes at will,

      Whose mighty strength, exceeding vast,

      A thousand elephants, surpassed,

      Was to fierce Sunda, lord and head

      Of all the demon armies, wed.

      From her, Lord Indra’s peer in might

      Giant Márícha sprang to light:

      And she, a constant plague and pest,

      These two fair realms has long distressed.

      Now dwelling in her dark abode

      A league away she bars the road:

      And we, O Ráma, hence must go

      Where lies the forest of the foe.

      Now on thine own right arm rely,

      And my command obey:

      Smite the foul monster that she die,

      And take the plague away.

      To reach this country none may dare

      Fallen from its old estate,

      Which she, whose fury naught can bear,

      Has left so desolate.

      And now my truthful tale is told

      How with accursed sway

      The spirit plagued this wood of old,

      And ceases not to-day.”

1 “A celebrated lake regarded in India as sacred. It lies in the lofty region between the northern highlands of the Himálayas and mount Kailása, the region of the sacred lakes. The poem, following the popular Indian belief, makes the river Sarayú (now Sarjú) flow from the Mánasa lake; the sources of the river are a little to the south about a day’s journey from the lake. See Lassen, Indische Alterthumshunde, page 34.” Gorresio. Manas means mind; mánasa, mental, mind-born.

2 Sarovar means best of lakes. This is another of the poet’s fanciful etymologies.

3 The confluence of two or more rivers is often a venerated and holy place. The most famous is Prayág or Allahabad, where the Sarasvatí by an underground course is believed to join the Jumna and the Ganges.

4 The botanical names of the trees mentioned in the text are Grislea Tormentosa, Shorea Robusta, Echites Antidysenterica, Bignonia Suaveolens, Œgle Marmelos, and Diospyrus Glutinosa. I have

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