Yuddha Kanda 102

Lakshman Healed.

1 But Ráma, pride of Raghu’s race,

Gazed tenderly on Lakshmaṇ’s face,

And, as the sight his spirit broke,

Turned to Susheṇ and sadly spoke:

“Where is my power and valour? how

Shall I have heart for battle now,

When dead before my weeping eyes

My brother, noblest Lakshmaṇ, lies?

My tears in blinding torrents flow,

My hand unnerved has dropped my bow.

The pangs of woe have blanched my cheek,

My heart is sick, my strength is weak.

Ah me, my brother! Ah, that I

By Lakshmaṇ’s side might sink and die:

Life, war and conquest, all are vain

If Lakshmaṇ lies in battle slain.

Why will those eyes my glances shun?

Hast thou no word of answer, none?

Ah, is thy noble spirit flown

And gone to other worlds alone?

Couldst thou not let thy brother seek

Those worlds with thee? O speak, O speak!

Rise up once more, my brother, rise,

Look on me with thy loving eyes.

Were not thy steps beside me still

In gloomy wood, on breezy hill?

Did not thy gentle care assuage

Thy brother’s grief and fitful rage?

Didst thou not all his troubles share,

His guide and comfort in despair?”

2 As Ráma, vanquished, wept and sighed

The Vánar chieftain thus replied:

“Great Prince, unmanly thoughts dismiss,

Nor yield thy soul to grief like this.

In vain those burning tears are shed:

Our glory Lakshmaṇ is not dead.

Death on his brow no mark has set,

Where beauty’s lustre lingers yet.

Clear is the skin, and tender hues

Of lotus flowers his palms suffuse.

O Ráma, cheer thy trembling heart;

Not thus do life and body part.

Now, Hanumán, to thee I speak:

Hie hence to tall Mahodaya’s peak

Where herbs of sovereign virtue grow

Which life and health and strength bestow

Bring thou the leaves to balm his pain,

And Lakshmaṇ shall be well again.”

3 He ceased: the Wind-God’s son obeyed

Swift through the clouds his way he made.

He reached the hill, nor stayed to find

The wondrous herbs of healing kind,

From its broad base the mount he tore

With all the shrubs and trees it bore,

Sped through the clouds again and showed

To wise Susheṇ his woody load.

Susheṇ in wonder viewed the hill,

And culled the sovereign salve of ill.

Soon as the healing herb he found,

The fragrant leaves he crushed and ground.

Then over Lakshmaṇ’s face he bent,

Who, healed and strengthened by the scent

Of that blest herb divinely sweet,

Rose fresh and lusty on his feet.