The Ramayana · 215 of 493

Araṇya Kānda (The Forest Book): Canto 21 — The Rousing of Khara

Low in the dust he saw her lie, And Khara’s wrath grew fierce and high. Aloud he cried to her who came Disgracefully with baffled aim: “I sent with thee at thy request The bravest of my giants, best Of all who feed upon the slain: Why art thou weeping here again? Still to their master’s interest true, My faithful, noble, loyal crew, Though slaughtered in the bloody fray, Would yet their monarch’s word obey. Now I, my sister, fain would know The cause of this thy fear and woe, Why like a snake thou writhest there, Calling for aid in wild despair. Nay, lie not thus in lowly guise: Cast off thy weakness and arise!”

With soothing words the giant chief Assuaged the fury of her grief. Her weeping eyes she slowly dried And to her brother thus replied: “I sought thee in my shame and fear With severed nose and mangled ear: My gashes like a river bled, I sought thee and was comforted. Those twice seven giants, brave and strong, Thou sentest to avenge the wrong, To lay the savage Ráma low, And Lakshmaṇ who misused me so. But ah, the shafts of Ráma through The bodies of my champions flew: Though madly fierce their spears they plied, Beneath his conquering might they died. I saw them, famed for strength and speed, I saw my heroes fall and bleed: Great trembling seized my every limb At the great deed achieved by him. In trouble, horror, doubt, and dread, Again to thee for help I fled. While terror haunts my troubled sight, I seek thee, rover of the night. And canst thou not thy sister free From this wide waste of troublous sea Whose sharks are doubt and terror, where Each wreathing wave is dark despair? Low lie on earth thy giant train By ruthless Ráma’s arrows slain, And all the mighty demons, fed On blood, who followed me are dead. Now if within thy breast may be Pity for them and love for me, If thou, O rover of the night, Have valour and with him can fight, Subdue the giants’ cruel foe Who dwells where Daṇḍak’s thickets grow. But if thine arm in vain assay This queller of his foes to slay, Now surely here before thine eyes, Wronged and ashamed thy sister dies. Too well, alas, too well I see That, strong in war as thou mayst be, Thou canst not in the battle stand When Ráma meets thee hand to hand. Go forth, thou hero but in name, Assuming might thou canst not claim; Call friend and kin, no longer stay: Away from Janasthán, away! Shame of thy race! the weak alone Beneath thine arm may sink o’erthrown: Fly Ráma and his brother: they Are men too strong for thee to slay. How canst thou hope, O weak and base, To make this grove thy dwelling-place? With Ráma’s might unmeet to vie, O’ermastered thou wilt quickly die. A hero strong in valorous deed Is Ráma, Daśaratha’s seed: And scarce of weaker might than he His brother chief who mangled me.”

Thus wept and wailed in deep distress The grim misshapen giantess: Before her brother’s feet she lay O’erwhelmed with grief, and swooned away.