The Ramayana · 270 of 493

Araṇya Kānda (The Forest Book): Canto 76 — Pampá

When Śavarí had sought the skies And gained her splendid virtue’s prize, Ráma with Lakshmaṇ stayed to brood O’er the strange scenes their eyes had viewed. His mind upon those saints was bent, For power and might preëminent And he to musing Lakshmaṇ spoke The thoughts that in his bosom woke: “Mine eyes this wondrous home have viewed Of those great saints with souls subdued, Where peaceful tigers dwell and birds, And deer abound in heedless herds. Our feet upon the banks have stood Of those seven lakes within the wood, Where we have duly dipped, and paid Libations to each royal shade. Forgotten now are thoughts of ill And joyful hopes my bosom fill. Again my heart is light and gay And grief and care have passed away. Come, brother, let us hasten where Bright Pampá’s flood is fresh and fair, And towering in their beauty near Mount Rishyamúka’s heights appear, Which, offspring of the Lord of Light, Still fearing Báli’s conquering might, With four brave chiefs of Vánar race Sugríva makes his dwelling-place. I long with eager heart to find That leader of the Vánar kind, For on that chief my hopes depend That this our quest have prosperous end.”

Insight

The Araṇya Kāṇḍa closes at Lake Pampā, looking across to the mountain Ṛiṣyamūka where Sugrīva waits. The book that began with a hermitage and three travellers ends with two brothers alone, the wife gone, the friend-vulture dead, the demons multiplying. Whatever else the forest book is, it is the place where the comfortable shape of the exile gets broken and the war becomes inevitable. The Buddhist Jātaka tradition has its own version of the Rāma story, the Daśaratha Jātaka, that condenses much of this material and ends it differently. Reading Vālmīki against the Jātaka shows how much weight Vālmīki places on the loss, which the Jātaka largely declines to dwell on.Daśaratha Jātaka (Jātaka no. 461); on the Buddhist Rāma: Richard Gombrich, 'The Vessantara Jātaka, the Rāmāyaṇa and the Dasharatha Jātaka' (JAOS 105, 1985); Padmanabh Jaini, 'The Pseudo-Hindu Sources of the Buddhist and Jain Rāma Stories' (Indo-Iranian Journal 29, 1986).

Thus Ráma spoke, in battle tried, And thus Sumitrá’s son replied: “Come, brother, come, and speed away: My spirit brooks no more delay.” Thus spake Sumitrá’s son, and then Forth from the grove the king of men With his dear brother by his side To Pampá’s lucid waters hied. He gazed upon the woods where grew Trees rich in flowers of every hue. From brake and dell on every side The curlew and the peacock cried, And flocks of screaming parrots made Shrill music in the bloomy shade. His eager eyes, as on he went, On many a pool and tree were bent. Inflamed with love he journeyed on Till a fair flood before him shone. He stood upon the water’s side Which streams from distant hills supplied: Matanga’s name that water bore: There bathed he from the shelving shore. Then, each on earnest thoughts intent, Still farther on their way they went. But Ráma’s heart once more gave way Beneath his grief and wild dismay. Before him lay the noble flood Adorned with many a lotus bud. On its fair banks Aśoka glowed, And all bright trees their blossoms showed. Green banks that silver waves confined With lovely groves were fringed and lined. The crystal waters in their flow Showed level sands that gleamed below. There glittering fish and tortoise played, And bending trees gave pleasant shade. There creepers on the branches hung With lover-like embraces clung. There gay Gandharvas loved to meet, And Kinnars sought the calm retreat. There wandering Yakshas found delight, Snake-gods and rovers of the night. Cool were the pleasant waters, gay Each tree with creeper, flower, and spray. There flushed the lotus darkly red, Here their white glory lilies spread, Here sweet buds showed their tints of blue: So carpets gleam with many a hue. A grove of Mangoes blossomed nigh, Echoing with the peacock’s cry. When Ráma by his brother’s side The lovely flood of Pampá eyed, Decked like a beauty, fair to see With every charm of flower and tree, His mighty heart with woe was rent And thus he spoke in wild lament

“Here, Lakshmaṇ, on this beauteous shore, Stands, dyed with tints of many an ore, The mountain Rishyamúka bright With flowery trees that crown each height. Sprung from the chief who, famed of yore, The name of Riksharajas bore, Sugríva, chieftain strong and dread, Dwells on that mountain’s towering head. Go to him, best of men, and seek That prince of Vánars on the peak, I cannot longer brook my pain, Or, Sítá lost, my life retain.” Thus by the pangs of love distressed, His thoughts on Sítá bent, His faithful brother he addressed, And cried in wild lament. He reached the lovely ground that lay On Pampá’s wooded side, And told in anguish and dismay, The grief he could not hide. With listless footsteps faint and slow His way the chief pursued, Till Pampá with her glorious show Of flowering woods he viewed. Through shades where every bird was found The prince with Lakshmaṇ passed, And Pampá with her groves around Burst on his eyes at last.