# Echoes from East and West/The Grief of Ravan (Michael Madhusudan Dutt)

THE GRIEF OF RAVAN.
(From Michael M. S. Dutt).
SO at the Lord of Lanka's hest the messenger began— But ere the word was on his lips, his lips grew pale and wan.
Then for a while, like one amazed, his eye around he cast; And o'er his cheek, as he would speak, a sudden colour past.
The colour past from cheek to eye; he knew not how he spake: "Sir King, Virbahu's gone to sleep, O never more to wake!"
To whom said Ravan sore at heart, his face with sorrow white: "This tale of thine is like unto a vision seen at night.
"My son, whose might kept Gods in dread, hath beggar Rama slain? Hath Fate, then, fell'd the stubborn oak with but a flower-chain?
"Alas, my darling! thou art gone so early!—woe is me! Thro' what great sin of mine have I made thee mine arms to flee?
"O Fate Almighty, dost thou will to see me thus undone? Give me mine own; where hast thou kept my loved and loving son?
"My race, O cruel Fate, is fast decaying day by day! Or why did Kumbhakarna, too, so early pass away?
"As stout wood-cutters in a wood first cut off one by one The boughs, and last against the tree their mighty axes run,
'So will my foemen in their wrath first lop off all my kin, And, lastly, felling down myself, my golden island win.
'O Surpanakha! in what hour did first thine eye behold Yon cruel crawling human snake in Dandak's woods of old?
"Me wretched! in what hour again, to set my house on fire, Brought I yon fairy fiery nymph from Panchavati dire?
"O who shall keep the honour now of this far-honour'd line? My hopes are gone; ere long, I see, a downfall will be mine.
"I wish I were within a wood, from man and sin apart, Where, lone and tranquil, I could soothe the burning of my heart.
'My life is barren as a waste—no joy therein can grow; For, he for whom I die is dead; I wish I could be so."
So saying, Ravan once again: "Good envoy, briefly tell How sweet Virbahu bore himself, how he in battle fell."
Then spake the messenger in grief: "The task is all too hard, For, how can I unfold his feats, who am no cunning bard?
"The Demon-host did ne'er before see such a leader brave; Tho' mild at home, yet in the field he bore a figure grave.
"His battle-cry did shake, my lord, the heart of ev'ry foe; His bow he bent, his shafts he sent, and laid whole legions low.
"His arrows flash'd and flash'd; their blaze, reflected in the sky, Did make a sunbow when the cloud of dust had risen high.
"Upon his shoulders clang'd his shield, his brand was in his hand, No fear had he of Rama's arms, nor of his Monkey-band.
"His skill he show'd in bending bow, in wielding sword and shield, Death-blows he dealt on ev'ry side, and dyed the battle-field."
The messenger stopt short in grief, for he could speak no more; The Lord of Lanka wail'd and wept, deep-wounded in the core.
Then to his courtiers Ravan said: Come, from the house-top high Look we upon Virbahu's death and soothe our eager eye."
The King did mount his palace-top, his courtiers all behind; He let his veering glance alight on whatso he could find.
On all sides round the island shone with golden-crested towers Inlaid like brooches in the heart of groves besprent with flowers.
And here upon the grassy green, above a silver fount, Thin thread on thread of stealing mist did many a palm surmount.
And here a lovely pleasure-lake, and here a splendid shrine, And here a gaily-gilded shop in fine array did shine.
For, all the wealth of all the world, exhaustless and untold, Was hoarded up, O Lanka fair, at thy bright feet of gold.
He saw the rampart, long and strong, of Lanka's mother-town, And on the rampart stairs the guards all hurrying up and down.
The Lion-portals all were closed; and here within the doors He saw, full ready and awake, a countless Demon-force.
And there without the town he saw a locust horde of men, That hung and hover'd line on line as far as he could ken.
Then to another scene he turn'd, his courtiers at his back; It was the field of battle, and he felt his bosom crack.
In grief he cried: "O fallen friends, on you the jackals feed! They grin and grapple o'er your hearts and make your bodies bleed!
"The vultures pounce upon your flesh—I cannot bear it more! The war-dogs and the war-hawks, too, will they thus suck your gore?"
There, in the midst of friends laid low, he found Virbahu dead; He lookt but once, then shut his eyes, and, broken-hearted, said:
"The bed whereon, my darling son, Virbahu, thou hast lain, Is glorious; for, in fighting for thy country thou wast slain.
"Thy bed is glorious: yet my heart doth not for glory care: What booteth glory unto me, if thou art lost for e'er?
"This world, O Fate, is but the field of all thy sports below; Why art thou pleased with having seen a mortal suffer woe?"
So saying, Ravan in his woe his eyes to seaward cast, Beheld the bridge by Rama built, and slowly spake at last:
"O Sea! how fine a necklace thou on thy fine neck dost wear!— Yet fie! no necklace, 'tis a chain!—so rude dost thou appear?
"So rude to such a golden isle, that decks thy sable breast Like myriad-lightning'd Koustubh-gem upon young Madhav's chest?
"Throw off that chain! Throw off that chain! why with the bridge thus bound? This isle is waste; in waters vast let all our foes be drown'd."
Then from the golden palace-top he came down with his men, And 'mid the courtiers in the court did mount his throne again.
Pale as, nay paler than, a cloud, Chitrangada came there; A creeping plant bereft of bloom, half-wither'd and half-bare.
She wore no trinkets in her grief; a simple dress she wore; She lookt to Ravan, beat her breast, her golden ringlets tore.
For, stung at heart as with a dart, she could not ope her tongue Like stork what time a snake, her nest approaching, eats her young.
The Lord of Lanka saw her face, he saw her face and wept, The courtiers wept, the gateman too, of one so dear bereft.
And for a while a silence reign'd, an evil silence, there; No nose did breathe, no lips did move, so sad the mourners were.
Then spake the Queen: "A gem serene kind Fate bestow'd on me; With thee I kept it: where is it? I ask it back of thee.
"Thou art a king, thy duty is the poor man's all to save; And I am poor; return me now the gem to thee I gave."
"And thou," said Ravan, "thou, my dear, wilt also vex me so? O add not fuel to the fire, my heart is full of woe.
"This Lanka, nurse of heroes once, hath now no warrior great; My realm is left all hero-reft at thy son's woful fate.
"At one child's death, my dearest Queen, thou art so pale with grief; While at a thousand children's death my mind hath no relief.
"This Lanka will decay, I see in fancy's eye, my Queen; My men fall day by day before the foeman's arrow keen.
"Then weep not, fair Chitrangada, for neither tears nor sighs Can change the fixt decree of Fate or bid the dead arise."
June, 1897.