SECTION XXVI.
Saying this, the daughter of the king Janaka, bathed her countenance with tears and hanging down her head began to lament. And she began to roll on the earth like unto a colt as if she was mad, possessed by a devil and had lost her sense. "I, the spouse of Rāma, who was drawn away at a distance by the Rākshasa (Māricha) assuming shapes at will, was seized and borne away by Rāvana. A captive of the Rākshasas, subject to their terrible threats and taunts, sunk in grief and anxiety,—I desire not to keep my life. Of what avail are wealth, ornament and life unto me, who am living in the midst of the Rākshasas and separated from Rāma, of the mighty car? Forsooth my life is made of stone, imperishable and immortal since it is not riven asunder even by this mighty grief. Woe to me! who am unchaste and vile and my life is vicious, since breathe I still in the absence of my lord. What of fixing my fancy on that night-ranger, my meaner foot even shall not touch him? That (demon) who is courting me in this terrible way, doth not know himself, his own race and that I loathe him so much. What more shall I speak unto you, I shall never consent to Rāvana's prayer, I might be rent from limb to limb or burnt in fire. Rāghava is grateful, true, wise and kind. I fear it is through my ill-luck that he doth not feel pity for me. Will he not take me back who alone slew the thousands of the Rashasas in Janasthāna? I have been captured by Rāvana, a Rākshasa of feeble prowess. Forsooth my lord is capable of slaying this Rāvana in conflict. Will not that Rāma regain me, by whom was killed in the forest of Dandaka, Virādha, the foremost of the Rākshasa crew? Although situated in the midst of the ocean, Lankā is unapproachable by others, but Rāghava's arrows shall also reach here. (I am at a loss to ascertain) why Rāma of firm prowess, doth not regain me, his beloved spouse who have been borne away by the Rākshasa. Methinks Rāma doth not know that I am here, or else, powerful as he is, he would not have put up with this insult. That lord of vultures, who could have informed Rāghava, of my being borne away by the Rākshasa, was killed by Rāvana in the battle. O great was the work done by him, who, old as he was, for my sake, addressed himself to bring about Rāvana's destruction. If Rāghava could know that I was here, he, exceedingly wroth, would have cleared the earth with his arrows, of the Rākshasas. He would have then burnt down the city of Lankā, dried up the deep and blotted out the name and fame of Rāvana. And from each ruined home would have risen the Rākshasa widows' groans and cries like unto those of mine. And instituting enquiries, along with Lakshmana, he shall soon reduce Lankā to this plight. And observed by them the enemy shall not live for a moment. And in no time, shall Lankā, assume the appearance of a cremation ground, having all her high ways enveloped with smoke issuing out of the funeral pyres, and filled with vultures. And soon shall this desire of mine be fulfilled. All these words of mine do sound improbable now but they all indicate your misfortune. Besides from these bad omens, that are to be seen here, it appeareth, that Lankā shall soon be shorn of her grace. The lord of the Rākshasas, the vicious Rāvana being killed, forsooth shall Lankā, divested of wealth, appear like a widow. This Lankā, which is now full of pious ceremonies, shall, on the death of the Rākshasas and their master, appear like a husbandless woman. For certain, shall I soon hear the cries and groans in every house, of the daughters of the Rākshasas worn with grief. If that heroic Rāma, having dark-blue eyes, comes to know that I am in the abode of the Rākshasas, the city of Lankā shall be burnt down with his arrows and shall be stricken with darkness and shorn of grace and all the foremost of the Rākshasas shall be destroyed. The time which was appointed by the vile and cruel Rāvana, hath arrived. And that vicious wretch hath resolved to destroy me now. There is no crime which cannot be perpetrated by those vicious demons. Mighty is the disaster that shall arise on account of this crime—the Rākshasas who live on flesh do not know what virtue is. Forsooth shall the Rākshasa serve me for his morning meal. What shall I do without my lord of comely presence? Debarred from my husband's presence, stricken with grief and not beholding Rāma, having dark-blue eyes, I shall soon meet with death. Rāma, the elder brother of Bharata, doth not know that I am still alive or else he and Lakshmana would have ransacked the whole world for me. Or renouncing his body on this earth for my grief, the heroic elder brother of Lakshmana, hath repaired to the celestial region. Blessed are the celestials, Gandharbas, Siddhas and mighty ascetics who are beholding my heroic lotus-eyed Rāma. Or that highly intelligent royal ascetic deairous of securing piety and freed from the troubles of life, hath no need of a wife like me. Or people have fancy for what they see and which disappeateth as soon as the object is out of sight. The ungrateful are capable of renouncing their love, but not Rāma. Or there might be some folly in me. Or on the wane of my good luck have been separated irom the excellent Rāma. Death is more preferable unto me than life since I have been separated trom the high-souled heroic Rāma, of unblemished character and the slayer of foes. Or those two brothers, the foremost of men, laying aside their weapons, and living on fruits and roots, have been wandering in the forest. Or those two heroic brothers Rāma and Lakshmana, have been, by treachery, put to death, by the vicious-souled Rāvana, the lord of Rākshasas. At this time of distress, I do with all my heart long lor death,—(but alas!) even death is not approaching me in this my misery. Oh blessed are those high-souled, great ascetics abiding by truth and having their senses in control, who have no objects of love or displeasure. They are not distressed with misery for their objects of love or grief for them whom they do not love. They are freed from them and I do bow unto those high-souled ones. Being forsaken by the beloved Rāma, knowing his ownself, and brought under the control of Rāvana, I shall renounce my life."
SECTION XXVII.
Being thus addressed angrily by Sitā, some of those Rākshasees, beside themselves with ire, proceeded to relate this unto the vicious-souled Rāvana. And approaching Sitā those grim-visaged demons again addressed her with words rude and rough. "O vile Sitā, O thou bent on committing sin, we Rākshasees shall to-day devour thy flesh to the best of our satisfaction." Beholding those vile demons threaten Sitā, a Rākshasa matron, wise and old, named, Trijatā cried—"O vile demons, do ye eat your own persons[334] but do not devour Sitā, the daughter of Janaka and the esteemed daughter-in-law of the king Daçaratha. I dreamt a terrible dream last night which made my down stand on their end. And in that dream I foresaw the overthrow of the Rākshasa race and the conquest of her husband." And being thus addressed by Trijatā, those demons, exercised with wrath and terrified, accosted her with the following words,—"Do thou relate (unto us) what sort of dream didst thou dream last night." And hearing those words proceeding from the mouths of the Rākshasees, Trijatā began to describe the dream she had at the latter end of the night,—"I saw Rāma, wearing garlands and clothed in white, ride in a celestial charriot, along with Lakshmana, made of ivory, traversing the etherial regions and drawn by a hundred steeds. I saw in my dream to-night, that Sitā, clad in the purest white, appearing on a snow-white hill beaten by the waves of the ocean, had at last met Rāma, like unto light joined to the Sun. And I again saw Rāma and Lakshmana appear in effulgence, seated on a huge elephant, having four tusks and resembling a bull. Thereupon those two (brothers), resplendant like unto the Sun by their own effulgence, and wearing white garlands and clothes, appeared near Janaka's daughter. And the lotus eyed Jānaki, on the top of the hill situate on the welkin, first fell on the lap of her husband and then stationed herself on the neck of the elephant guided by her husband. Then I saw Sitā rubbing the Sun and the Moon with her two hands. And then that best of the elephants, with those two princes and the large eyed Sitā on him, stood high above Lankā. I again saw Rāma, clad in white, and adorned with garlands, ride along with Lakshmana in a charriot drawn by eight white bullocks. I again saw that highly energetic, best of men—Rāma, having truth for his prowess, along with his brother Lakshmana and Sitā flee to Northern realms, ascending a celestial flowery charriot resembling (in brightness) the Sun. And I saw Rāvana too, shaved and shorn, besmeared with oil, wearing a crimson cloth, drinking honey, wearing a garland of Karavira flowers, fall down on earth from the flowery charriot. And dragged by a woman, shaved, wearing a red cloth and garlands and sprinkled with crimson paste, Rāvana was again seen by me riding in a charriot drawn by asses. And quaffing oil, laughing and dancing, that one of agitated senses, forgetting himself sped on the charriot to the South.[335] And I again saw Rāvana, the lord of the Rākshasas, stricken with fear, fall, headless, down on the earth. And then rising all on a sudden, and uttering obscene and inconsistent words like unto a maniac, Rāvana overwhelmed with fear, and amazement, and intoxicated, fell into a mass of dirt, stinking and resembling the very hell. And again proceeding to the South he entered into a lake devoid of mud and water. And a dark woman, clad in a crimson cloth, and bedaubed with mud, dragged the Ten-necked demon, entwining herself round his neck. Then followed the mighty Kumvakarna[336] and all the sons of Rāvana, shaved and shorn and besmeared with oil. And they all proceeded southward—the Ten-necked demon on on a boar, Indrajit[337] on a porpoise, and Kumvakarna on a camel. I saw only Biveesana, with a white umbrella and accompanied by four courtiers, range in the welkin. And there was audible in the large assembly sound of music and stringed instruments. And all the Rākshasas wearing crimson clothes and garlands, were quaffing oil. I saw the royal and picturesque city Lankā with her steeds, cars and elephants, drowned in the ocean, having her gateways and ornamented arches broken. And in Lankā, covered with dust, Rākshasa women, laughing; and making terrible sound, were engaged in quaffing oil. I saw all the leading Rākshasas—Kumvakarna and others, dark-hued and wearing crimson clothes, emerged in an abyss of cow dung. Do ye therefore fly at some distance, and will find that Rāghava shall regain Sitā. And exercised with ire he shall destroy you all along with the Rākshasas. Rāghava shall never brook, his esteemed and beloved spouse, living in the forest, being taunted and threatened by you. No more with rough words therefore; do you console the lady and humbly pray her to forgive you. This I think proper. Surely shall she, divested of misfortune, be reconciled to her beloved and excellent husband, regarding whom, in her misery, I have dreamt such a dream. Ye Rākshasees! You have threatened her, do ye implore her forgiveness—no more with harsh words. Forsooth, from Rāghava shall proceed the mighty disaster of the Rākshasas. If Maithilee, the daughter of the king Janaka, be pleased with you (for your imploring her forgiveness) you might be saved from the mighty disaster. I do not perceive any inauspicious mark on the person of this large-eyed dame. It appears from the paleness of her countenance that she hath been overcome by misfortune. And I saw (in my dreamt this worshipful damsel, unworthy of any misfortune, stationed in the welkin. Verily I do perceive, before me, the satisfaction of Vaidehi's end, the destruction of the lord of the Rākshasas and the conquest of Rāghava. Behold I there, her left eye, spacious, as a lotus-petal, is dancing to hear this pleasant dream announcing the satisfaction of her own end. And her left arm is also dancing with joy, all on a sudden. And her excellent beautiful left thigh, resembling the trunk of an elephant, is also dancing as if indicating, that she shall at no distant date, be reconciled to Rāghava. And the birds, again and again, entering their nests, and highly delighted are pouring forth their notes announcing the advent of a happy occasion." Thereupon that modest dame, greatly delighted in the prospective conquest of her husband, said— "If this be true I shall save you all."
SECTION XXVIII.[338]
Hearing those unpleasant words of Rāvana, the lord of Rākshasas, Sitā, racked with sorrow on account of her husband, became terrified, like unto a she-elephant, worsted by a lion on the skirt of a forest. Threatened by Rāvana and encircled by the Rākshasees, that timid damsel bewailed like a girl cast off in a lonely forest. "Truly the sages say that death in this world doth not come untimely. Or else would I have, vicious as I am, lived for a moment, being thus sorely threatened. Forsooth, my mind, divested of happiness and full of misery, is firm or else why is it not broken in sunder like unto the summit of a hill clapped by a thunderbolt. Nor am I to blame for this—I am worthy of being killed by this demon of uncomely presence. As a Brahmana cannot impart instructions in Vedas unto the people of other castes so I shall not confer my mind on Rāvana. If that lord of the people doth not come within the appointed time, forsooth shall that vile lord, of the Rākshasas, mince my limbs with his arrows like unto a surgeon cutting off the limbs of an embryo.[339] Two months shall pass away in no time and I shall have to suffer the pain of death, overwhelmed with sorrow as I am, like unto a thief, confined in stocks, at the command of the sovereign to receive death the next morning. Rāma! Lakshmana! O Sumitra! O Rāma's mother! O my mothers! I am worsted in this ocean of grief, like unto a bark, driven hither and thither by the blast, in the midst of an ocean. Verily for me, those two powerful, lion-like sons of the king, have been killed by (this demon) effulgent like the lightning and assuming the semblance of a deer. Unfortunate as I am, forsooth I was tempted then by death wearing the shape of a deer and thus foolishly lost Rāma and Lakshmana, the sons of the worshipful sire. O Rāma, O thou of truthful vows, O thou of long arms, O thou having the countenance of a full moon! O my life! engaged as thou art in the welfare of the people, dost thou not perceive that I am about to be killed by the Rākshasas. Alas! this my devotedness unto my husband, my forgiveness, my lying down on the bare earth, my observance of religious vows, my wife-like virtues, are lost like unto service done for an ungrateful wight. In vain are my pious rites, and in vain is my devotedness unto my husband—since I do not behold thee, am pale and feeble in thy absence and have given up all hopes of seeing thee. And duly satisfying thy sire's command, and returning successfully from the forest, thou shalt fearlessly sport with many a damsel having large eyes. (But for me) O Rāma, I was for my own destruction, devoted, soul and heart, unto thee. Oh! fruitless is my asceticism and wifely virtue! Oh fie on me! I shall renounce this my unfortunate life. I desire to do away speedily with my being by means of poison or a sharp weapon. But there is no one in this city of the Rākshasas, who bringeth me this poison or weapon." Bewailing thus in various accents, and remembering Rāma with all her heart, Sitā, having her countenance dried up, and trembling, got at the biggest tree enveloped with flowers. And thinking thus, Sitā, stricken with grief, took up in her hand, her braid of hair and thought—"I shall soon hang myself with this braid and reach the abode of Death. And that one of tender person reached the tree, and holding a branch, began to think of Rāma, Lakshmana, and the glory of her race. And on her person were perceived many auspicious marks, well-known in the world, removing grief, fostering patience, and announcing the advent of future welfare.
SECTION XXIX.
Like unto servants waiting upon a wealthy person various auspicious omens waited upon Sitā of a blameless and comely person, racked with grief and divested of joy. And the large left eye of that dame having graceful hairs, having dark pupils, white ends and thick eye-lashes, began to dance like a lotus shaken by a fish. And her beautiful, round, plump left hand, which, ere this, sprinkled with costly aguru and sandal, used to serve for a pillow unto Rāma, began to dance now again and again after a long time. And her well built plump left thigh, resembling the trunk of an elephant, dancing, announced that she would soon behold Rāma. And the gold-hued cloth, now covered with dust, of that damsel of a comely person, having teeth like pomegranate seeds, slipped a little off its place. And being enlivened by those and various other auspicious omens, she attained joy like unto a seed, spoiled by the wind and the sun, growing afresh in the rainy season. And her countenance, having lips red as Bimba fruits, beautiful eyes, eye-brows extending to ears, curling eye-lashes and white teeth, again appeared graceful like unto the Moon released from the full grasp of Rāhu.[340] Her grief and exhaustion were removed—sorrow was pacified and her heart was filled with joy. And she with her countenance appeared beautiful like a lunar night beautified by the rays of the Moon.
SECTION XXX.
And the powerful Hanumān, heard from the beginning to the end (the bewailings) of Sitā, the story of Trijata's dream and the threats of the Rākshasees. And beholding the worshipful damsel, living in the forest of Asoka, like unto a celestial damsel in the garden of Nandana, the monkey entered in a maze of anxious thoughts. "At length my watchful eyes have seen her, whom have been seeking in vain, the thousands and millions of the monkeys in all directions and quarters. Truly have I seen her to-day, engaged as I have been as a spy to estimate the strength of the ememy and am ranging secretly everywhere. I have seen minutely the city of the Rākshasas, and the strength of Rāvana, the lord of Rākshasasas. It now remains to console the spouse of Rāma of incomparable power, and kind unto all, who panteth for her lord. I shall console this damsel, having the countenance of the full moon, who had never seen grief before, and who shall not soon reach its end. And if I go away without soothing this chaste lady, who is almost senseless with grief, I shall be blamed of neglect of duty. And if I go away, the royal daughter, the famed Jānaki, finding no means of safety, shall, for certain, renounce her life. She is worthy of being consoled like unto the great armed (Rāma) having the countenance of the full-moon and anxious to behold Sitā. It is not proper to speak before the Rākshasas— What shall I do then? I am in very great difficulty. If I do not console her at this latter end of the night, surely shall she renounce her life. How shall I answer Rāma, without consoling Sitā of comely stature, when he will ask me "What message from my Sitā?" And if I speedily repair hence without any information regarding Sitā, surely shall Kākuthstha scorch me lifeless with the fire of his angry eyes. And if I urge my lord the king (Biveeshana) to bring his hosts here for Rāma, in vain shall be his toil[341]. And seizing the occasion when she shall be free from her demonaic guards, I shall console her in her dire distress. And a puny monkey as I am, I shall speak in Sanskrit[342] which men delight to use. And if I speak Sanskrit like a Brahmana, Sitā shall be terrified considering me Rāvana. Must I therefore use the language of a common man[343] or else I shall not be able to console the dame of a blameless person. And beholding my monkey shape and hearing my human language she might be afraid again, terrified as she had been before by the band of the Rākshasas. And considering me Rāvana wearing shapes at will, that large-eyed and high-minded dame, shall cry piteously for help. And Sitā, making a sudden noise, those terrible Rākshasees resembling Death himself and armed with various weapons, shall at once arrive there. And thereupon casting their looks all around and finding me out, those highly powerful and grim-visaged demons shall try to kill or catch me. And beholding me leap from branch to branch and trunk to trunk of big trees they shall be greatly alarmed. And espying my appearance while ranging in the forest, those Rākshasees greatly terrified, shall fill the wood with their wild shouts. And then they shall call (to their assistance) all those Rākshasees engaged in guarding the abode of the lord of the Rākshasas. And they, greatly agitated, shall with vehemence arrive here, armed with darts, arrows, scimitars and various other weapons. And being surrounded by them on all sides, if I do kill that host of demons, tired, I shall not be able to bound over the main. And if that host of skilled demons, succeed in making me a captive, I too shall be in their hands and Sitā shall remain ignorant of my object. Or the Rākshasas, pernicious as they are, shall kill the daughter of Janaka, and there shall the great work of Rāma and Sugriva, be spoiled. And Jānaki liveth in this secret place, girt by the ocean, guarded on all sides by the Rākshasas, difficult of being got at and having all avenues to it shut up. If I am killed or captured by Rākshasas in battle, I do not find any who can help Rāma in his enterprise. Myself killed, I do not find any monkey who can leap a hundred leagues across the sea. I am capable of destroying thousands of Rākshasas, but I shall not then be able to get at the other shore of the great ocean. Victory or defeat is uncertain in a battle—I do not (therefore) like to engage in such an uncertain (act). What wise man merges certainty in uncertainty? It is a great sin in me (I own) to talk with Sitā—But she will die if I do not talk with her. Works, almost accomplished, when entrusted to an inconsiderate emissary, are generally spoiled, out of season and out of place, like unto darkness driven by the appearance of the sun. All those works, which are generally taken in hand after duly deliberating over their propriety and impropriety, are generally spoiled by those emissaries who are proud of their learning. What shall I do, by which my work is not injured, I am not blamed of foolishness and my crossing over the main doth not become fruitless? What shall I do so that Sitā might listen to me without being terrified?" Thinking over this, the intelligent Hanumān arrived at a conclusion. "I shall not disturb her, speaking (all on a sudden) about Rāma of unwearied actions, dear unto her and to whom, she is firmly attached. Uttering the name of Rāma, the foremost of the Ikshawkus, and of subdued soul and lauding his piety and fame in sweet accents, I shall so manage that Sitā might hear and believe them." Beholding the spouse of that high-souled lord of the earth and engaging in this train of thoughts, Hanumān, stationed on a branch of the tree, spoke the following sweet words.