The Ramayana · 292 of 493

Kiṣkindhā Kānda (The Book of Kishkindha): Canto 22 — Báli Dead

There breathing still with slow faint sighs Lay Báli on the ground: his eyes, Damp with the tears of death, he raised, On conquering Sugríva gazed, And then in clearest speech expressed The tender feelings of his breast: “Not to my charge, Sugríva, lay Thine injuries avenged to-day; But rather blame resistless Fate That urged me on infuriate. Fate ne’er agreed our lives to bless With simultaneous happiness: To dwell like brothers side by side In tender love was still denied. The Vánars’ realm is thine to-day: Begin, O King, thy rightful sway;(604) For I must go at Yáma’s call To sojourn in his gloomy hall; Must part and leave this very hour My life, my realm, my kingly power, And go instead of these to gain Bright glory free from spot and stain. Now at thy hands one boon I seek With the last words my lips shall speak, And, though it be no easy thing, Perform the task I give thee, King. This son of mine, no foolish boy, Worthy of bliss and nursed in joy,— See, prostrate on the ground he lies, The hot tears welling from his eyes— The child I love so well, more sweet Than life itself, for woe unmeet,— To him be kindly favour shown: O guard and keep him as thine own. Retain him ever by thy side, His father, helper, friend, and guide. From fear and woe his young life save, And give him all his father gave. Then Tárá’s son in time shall be Brave, resolute, and famed like thee, And march before thee to the fight Where stricken fiends shall own his might. While yet a tender stripling, fame Shall bruit abroad his warrior name, And brightly shall his glory shine For exploits worthy of his line. Child of Susheṇ,(605) my Tárá well Obscurest lore can read and tell; And, trained in wondrous art, divines Each mystery of boding signs. Her solemn warning ne’er despise, Do boldly what her lips advise; For things to come her eye can see, And with her words events agree. And for the son of Raghu’s sake The toil and danger undertake: For breach of faith were grievous wrong, Nor wouldst thou be unpunished long. Now, brother, take this chain of gold, Gift of celestial hands of old, Or when I die its charm will flee, And all its might be lost with me.”

The loving speech Sugríva heard, And all his heart with woe was stirred. Remorse and gentle pity stole Each thought of triumph from his soul: Thus fades the light when Ráhu(606) mars The glory of the Lord of Stars.(607) All angry thoughts were stayed and stilled And kindly love his bosom filled. His brother’s word the chief obeyed And took the chain as Báli prayed. On little Angad standing nigh The dying hero fixed his eye, And, ready from this world to part, Spoke the fond utterance of his heart:

“Let time and place thy thoughts employ: In woe be strong, be meek in joy. Accept both pain and pleasure, still Obedient to Sugríva’s will. Thou hast, my darling, from the first With tender care been softly nursed; But harder days, if thou wouldst win Sugríva’s love, must now begin. To those who hate him ne’er incline, Nor count his foe a friend of thine. In all thy thoughts his welfare seek, Obedient, lowly, faithful, meek. Let no rash suit his bosom pain, Nor yet from due requests abstain.(608) Each is a grievous fault, between The two is found the happy mean.”

Then Báli ceased: his eyeballs rolled In stress of anguish uncontrolled His massive teeth were bared to view, And from the frame the spirit flew. Their lord and leader dead, the crowd Of noblest Vánars shrieked aloud: “Since thou, O King, hast sought the skies All desolate Kishkindhá lies. Her woods, where Vánars loved to rove, Are empty now, and hill and grove. From every eye the light is fled, Since thou, our mighty lord, art dead. Thine was the unwearied arm that bore The brunt of deadly fight of yore With Golabh the Gandharva, when, Lasting through five long years and ten, The dreadful conflict knew no stay In gloom of night, in glare of day; And when the fifteenth year had past Thy dire opponent fell at last. If such a foeman fell beneath Our hero’s arm and awful teeth Who freed us from our terror, how Is conquering Báli fallen now?”

Then when they saw their leader slain Great anguish seized the Vánar train, Weeping their mighty chief, as when In pastures near a lion’s den The cows by sudden fear are stirred, Slain the bold bull who led the herd. And hapless Tárá sank below The whelming waters of her woe, Looked upon Báli’s face and fell Beside him whom she loved go well, Like a young creeper clinging round A tall tree prostrate on the ground.