Love and kindness, spotless virtue, in the Kuru-elders dwell. Gaily with the gathered wild-fruits did the prince his basket fill.
Onward pressed the eager Bharat, Rama’s hermit-home to find. He came of a Hindu family standing high among the Kayasths, second of the great castes in Bengal, was born in 1848, and grew to manhood amid influences of deep spiritual disturbance.
Bowed unto the queenly Sita and in gentle accents said: “Trust me, Lady, valiant Rama soon will greet his saintly wife. And from Dwarka’s sea-girt regions Valadeva known to fame. Came in various battle-chariots drawn by steeds of every hue. Where the jungle creatures wander and the Rakshas hold their sway?
Boldly challenged Lanka’s monarch as he held aloft his bow: “Welcome, mighty Lord of Lanka! I beside the lighted altar wait upon thy sacred hest.
And he bowed to Queen Sumitra and his mother kissed his head.
Modest in his kindly actions, true to friends and ever kind. Came the warlike chiefs of Vrishni from the shores of Western Sea. For the lands are broad and fertile, and each realm is rich and fair! Best of brothers, best of warriors, wherefore thus unconscious he, Mother, wife, and brother wait thee, ope once more thy sleeping eye!”. Angry word is coward’s weapon, Arjun, speak with arrows keen, Till I lay thee, witness Drona, low upon the listed green!”. Bharat heard with filial duty and he hastened to obey. Sita holds a place in the hearts of women in India which no other creation of a poet’s imagination holds among any other nation on earth. Nations armed for mortal combat in the field of battle lay, Beat of drum and blare of trumpet and the. Once again Yudhishthir’s weapons drank his fiery foeman’s blood! And the peaceful happy nations prosper on their fertile soil! Witnessed Sita’s high devotion and a woman’s lofty creed.
Didst thou hear if royal Bharat leads his forces to the fight.
True to wedded lord and husband she hath followed Raghu’s son. To the dreaded front of battle drove his swift and conquering car! And my wife and faithful brother make the pathless woods their home, We would through these years of exile in some holy.
“Mark the shadowing rain and tempest,” Rama to his brother said. Led by wand’ring thought or fancy once before the cottage stood. Like wild tuskers for a lotus, like the fire that lurks unseen. And the grateful parting monarchs blessed Yudhishthir’s hallowed name. Strive and win, or ever after all repentance may be vain. Hatred dearer than his life-blood in the vengeful Karna woke! And our nearest dearest elder fell upon the gory plain. To protect their virtuous monarch and redeem their ancient fame. They shall nerve my heart to duty and shall safely guard thy own. Witness of her truth and virtue can a loving woman need? Faithless is thy fitful star. Arjun for his ancient teacher dropped a silent filial tear! Vulture shone on Ghatotkacha, Bhima’s proud and gallant boy.
Bright and fair shall be the wedding, rich and bounteous be the feast! Loved of men in fair Ayodhya, sprung of ancient Solar Race.
And the nuptial rites were ended, princes took their brides away.
Entered slow his lofty palace bright as peak of Himalay.
Happier men will mark the tourney and the peerless princes’ fight. Nor excels in birth and lineage, Karna, thou art Pritha’s son!
of Book i. of the original Epic in Sanscrit (Calcutta edition of 1834). Filled the wide and circling stages to behold the maiden’s choice. But brave Karna, though a warrior,—Arjun’s deadly foe was he,—. ’Gainst the humbled sons of Pandu spake his scorn in scornful glee: “’Tis no fault of thine, fair princess, fallen to this servile state. “Arjun!” “Arjun!” cried the Kurus, and in panic broke and fled. Dauntless with the seven brave chieftains Abhimanyu fought alone! Trust me he can do an emprise who hath lofty will to dare! Rama mounted on the chariot clad in arms of heavenly sheen. Banded by a common sorrow we shall fall or stoutly stand!
“Arjun!” said the faithful Krishna, “arduous is thy cruel quest, But thy foaming coursers falter and they need a moment’s rest,”. With the other Yadu chieftains to that wondrous bridal came.
King Santanu had two other sons from his another queen named Satyabati. Like a female forest-ranger bleeding from the hunter’s dart. Nobler than the noble tuskers sprung from high celestial breed.
Like the tide of sounding ocean when the full moon lights the sky. Spake the old and sightless prophet; then he made the funeral pyre.
When thou hearest, helpless Sita is by Ravan torn away! When at Lanka’s gates he thunders with his more than godlike wrath.
True Bibhishan sought thy safety, strove to save his elder’s reign,—. Arjun to his proud preceptor showed his might and matchless skill. Gems and gold by sorrowing Rama oft depicted with a sigh.
Many translations of the Ramayana into the vernacular languages are themselves works of great literary artistry, including the Tamil version of Kampan, the Bengali version of Krittibas, and the Hindi version, Ramcharitmanas, of Tulsidas.
And his gentle voice and glances and his graceful steps and light. And on subjects great and sacred, oft divided in their thought. Queen Kaikeyi young and beauteous bore him Bharat rich in lore. “Hath thy fate,” so answered Ravan, “brought thee to thy deadly foe, Welcome, valiant son of Raghu! Thus from grove to grove they wandered, to each haunt of holy sage. Harboured by the proud Duryodhan driven by his luckless fate.
When the deep deceitful Ravan with my trusting Sita fled. In this throng of crownéd monarchs, ruling kings of righteous fame. For they feared my boy in battle, hunted him to cruel death. Maidens rich in song and beauty erst were wont to watch his sleep. Hoist thy golden lion-banner, speed thee, prince, unto the war! Belief in one Supreme Deity is the underlying thought of this work, and ever and anon, as Professor Garbe remarks, “does Krishna revert to the doctrine Edition: current; Page:  that for every man, no matter to what caste he may belong, the zealous performance of his duty and the discharge of his obligations is his most important work.”. On Bibhishan good and faithful, crowned king of Lanka’s land.
Thus the righteous-souled Vasishtha to Videha’s monarch prayed. be our sacred duty done. Far in pleasant woods and jungle wandered she from day to day.
thou hast loved me as thy life. With his mended warlike weapon now the angry Arjun stood.
Winsome were Ayodhya’s daughters, rich in wit and woman’s grace! Rolling Worlds and this our wide Earth, and each dark and unseen wight.
Brother fought against his brother, strange the deeds of valour done! Since my royal father willeth,—years of banishment be mine.
Yearned his sorrow-stricken bosom for his pure and peerless dame.
If she hath in speech and action unto holy truth conformed. THE real Epic ends with Rama’s happy return to Ayodhya. Few passages in the Epic are more impressive than Rama’s wise and kindly advice to Bharat on the duties of a ruler, and his firm refusal to Bharat’s passionate appeal to seat himself on the throne. And he sorrowed for his parents as his spirit heavenward flew.
Sound of trumpet and of bugle, drum and horn and echoing shell.
Fourth are these seven hundred arrows, crescent in their shining blade. Indrajit discharged his arrows bright as sunbeams through a cloud. To the dark and distant forest where her noble lord had hied.
By my warlike Abhimanyu, fair Subhadra’s darling boy. Hanuman with fragrant blossoms sanctified the sacred rite. Thoughts of wrath like withered blossoms from thy bosom cast away. Kasis and the southern races, brave Kosalas first and best. And with counsel deep and duteous do thy min’sters serve thy will? And I seek no spacious reasons my relinquished throne to win.
Who may be this unknown warrior, questioned they in hushed amaze! But these eyes have never rested on a form so wondrous fair. Think not, ask not friendly counsel, by their passions borne away! Brahmans versed in sacred lore.
Slay the last of Kuru chieftains or surrender throne and life! When surprised by arméd foemen rose in anger Ravan’s son!
Coats of mail to sword impervious, quivers which can never fail. Rank to rank from friend to foeman then a garbled message flew: “Aswa-thaman son of Drona is by mighty Bhima slain,”.
Noble are these crownéd monarchs, radiant like the noonday sun, To the noblest, first in virtue, be the foremost honour done!”.
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