The Ramayana/Book III/Canto XIX: The Rousing of Khara

When Khara saw his sister lie With blood-stained limbs and troubled eye, Wild fury in his bosom woke, And thus the monstrous giant spoke; 'Arise, my sister; cast away This numbing terror and dismay, And straight the impious hand declare That marred those features once so fair. For who his finger tip will lay On the black snake in childish play, And unattacked, with idle stroke His poison-laden fang provoke? Ill-fated fool, he little knows Death's noose around his neck he throws, Who rashly met thee, and a draught Of life-destroying poison quaffed. Strong, fierce as death, 'twas thine to choose Thy way at will, each shape to use; In power and might like one of us: What hand has maimed and marred thee thus? What God or fiend this deed has wrought, What bard or sage of lofty thought Was armed with power supremely great Thy form to mar and mutilate? In all the worlds not one I see Would dare a deed to anger me: Not Indra's self, the Thousand-eyed, Beneath whose hand fierce Páka died. My life-destroying darts this day His guilty breath shall rend away, E'en as the thirsty wild swan drains Each milk-drop that the wave retains. Whose blood in foaming streams shall burst O'er the dry ground which lies athirst, When by my shafts transfixed and slain He falls upon the battle plain? From whose dead corpse shall birds of air The mangled flesh and sinews tear, And in their gory feast delight, When I have slain him in the fight? Not God or bard or wandering ghost, No giant of our mighty host Shall step between us, or avail To save the wretch when I assail. Collect each scattered sense, recall Thy troubled thoughts, and tell me all. What wretch attacked thee in the way, And quelled thee in victorious fray?' His breast with burning fury fired, Thus Khara of the fiend inquired: And then with many a tear and sigh Thus S'úrpanakhá made reply: ''Tis Das'aratha's sons, a pair Strong, resolute, and young, and fair: In coats of dark and blackdeer's hide, And like the radiant lotus eyed: On berries roots and fruit they feed, And lives of saintly virtue lead: With ordered senses undefiled, Ráma and Lakshman are they styled. Fair as the Minstrels' King are they, And stamped with signs of regal sway. I know not if the heroes trace Their line from Gods or Dánav race. There by these wondering eyes between The noble youths a dame was seen, Fair, blooming, young, with dainty waist, And all her bright apparel graced. For her with ready heart and mind The royal pair their strength combined, And brought me to this last distress, Like some lost woman, comfortless. Perfidious wretch! my soul is fain Her foaming blood and theirs to drain. O let me head the vengeful fight, And with this hand my murderers smite. Come, brother, hasten to fulfil This longing of my eager will. On to the battle! Let me drink Their lifeblood as to earth they sink.' Then Khara, by his sister pressed, Inflamed with fury, gave his hest To twice seven giants of his crew, Fierce as the God of death to view: 'Two men equipped with arms, who wear Deerskin and bark and matted hair, Leading a beauteous dame, have strayed To the wild gloom of Dandak's shade. These men, this cursed woman slay, And hasten back without delay, That this my sister's lips may be Red with the lifeblood of the three. Giants, my wounded sister longs To take this vengeance for her wrongs. With speed her dearest wish fulfil, And with your might these creatures kill. Soon as your matchless strength shall lay These brothers dead in battle fray, She in triumphant joy will laugh, And their hearts' blood delighted quaff.' The giants heard the words he said, And forth with S'úrpanakhá sped, As mighty clouds in autumn fly Urged by the wind along the sky. * * * * *