Yuddha Kanda 109

The Battle.

1 With wondrous power and might and skill

The giant fought with Ráma still.

Each at his foe his chariot drove,

And still for death or victory strove.

The warriors’ steeds together dashed,

And pole with pole reëchoing clashed.

Then Ráma launching dart on dart

Made Rávaṇ’s coursers swerve and start.

Nor was the lord of Lanká slow

To rain his arrows on the foe,

Who showed, by fiery points assailed,

No trace of pain, nor shook nor quailed.

Dense clouds of arrows Ráma shot

With that strong arm which rested not,

And spear and mace and club and brand

Fell in dire rain from Rávaṇ’s hand.

The storm of missiles fiercely cast

Stirred up the oceans with its blast,

And Serpent-Gods and fiends who dwell

Below were troubled by the swell.

The earth with hill and plain and brook

And grove and garden reeled and shook:

The very sun grew cold and pale,

And horror stilled the rising gale.

God and Gandharva, sage and saint

Cried out, with grief and terror faint:

“O may the prince of Raghu’s line

Give peace to Bráhmans and to kine,

And, rescuing the worlds, o’erthrow

The giant king our awful foe.”

2 Then to his deadly string the pride

Of Raghu’s race a shaft applied.

Sharp as a serpent’s venomed fang

Straight to its mark the arrow sprang,

And from the giant’s body shred

With trenchant steel the monstrous head.

There might the triple world behold

That severed head adorned with gold.

But when all eyes were bent to view,

Swift in its stead another grew.

Again the shaft was pointed well:

Again the head divided fell;

But still as each to earth was cast

Another head succeeded fast.

A hundred, bright with fiery flame,

Fell low before the victor’s aim,

Yet Rávaṇ by no sign betrayed

That death was near or strength decayed.

The doubtful fight he still maintained,

And on the foe his missiles rained.

In air, on earth, on plain, on hill,

With awful might he battled still;

And through the hours of night and day

The conflict knew no pause or stay.