Canto LV. Angad's Reply.

“What truth or justice canst thou find,”

Cried Angad, “in Sugríva's mind?

Where is his high and generous soul,

His purity and self-control?

How is he worthy of our trust,

Righteous, and true, and wise, and just,

Who, shrinking not from sin and shame,

Durst take his living brother's dame?

Who, when, in stress of mortal strife

His noble brother fought for life,

Against the valiant warrior barred

The portal which he stood to guard?

Can he be grateful—he who took

The hand of Ráma, and forsook

That friend who saved him in his woes,

To whom his life and fame he owes?

Ah no! his heart is cold and mean,

What bids him search for Ráma's queen?

Not honour's law, not friendship's debt,

But angry Lakshmaṇ's timely threat.

No prudent heart will ever place

Its trust in one so false and base,

Who heeds not friendship, kith or kin,

Who scorns the law and cleaves to sin.

But true or false, whate'er he be,

One consequence I clearly see;

Me, in my youth anointed heir

Against his wish, he will not spare,

But strike with eager hand the blow

That rids him of a household foe.

Shall I of power and friends despoiled,

In all my purpose crossed and foiled,—

Shall I Kishkindhá seek, and wait,

Like some poor helpless thing, my fate?

The cruel wretch through lust of sway

Will seize upon his hapless prey,

And to a prison's secret gloom

The remnant of my years will doom.

'Tis better far to fast and die

Than hopeless bound in chains to lie,

Your steps, O Vánars, homeward bend

And leave me here my life to end.

Better to die of hunger here

Than meet at home the fate I fear.

Go, bow you at Sugríva's feet,

And in my name the monarch greet.

Before the sons of Raghu bend,

And give the greeting that I send.

Greet kindly Rumá too, for she

A son's affection claims from me,

And gently calm with friendly care

My mother Tárá's wild despair;

Or when she hears her darling's fate

The queen will die disconsolate.”

Thus Angad bade the chiefs adieu:

Then on the ground his limbs he threw

Where sacred Darbha[760] grass was spread,

And wept as every hope had fled.

The moving words of Angad drew

Down aged cheeks the piteous dew.

And, as the chieftains' eyes grew dim,

They swore to stay and die with him.

On holy grass whose every blade

Was duly, pointing southward, laid,

The Vánars sat them down and bent

Their faces to the orient,

While “Here, O comrades, let us die

With Angad,” was the general cry.