Then lest the people should repeat Their visit to his calm retreat, Away from Chitrakúta's hill Fared Ráma, ever onward till Beneath the shady trees he stood Of Dandaká's primeval wood. Virádha, giant fiend, he slew, And then Agastya's friendship knew. Counselled by him he gained the sword And bow of Indra, heavenly lord:-- A pair of quivers too, that bore Of arrows an exhaustless store. While there he dwelt in greenwood shade, The trembling hermits sought his aid, And bade him with his sword and bow Destroy the fiends who worked them woe:-- To come like Indra strong and brave, A guardian God to help and save. And Ráma's falchion left its trace Deep cut on Súrpanakhá's face:-- A hideous giantess who came Burning for him with lawless flame. Their sister's cries the giants heard, And vengeance in each bosom stirred; The monster of the triple head, And Dúshan to the contest sped. But they and myriad fiends beside Beneath the might of Ráma died. When Rávan, dreaded warrior, knew The slaughter of his giant crew-- Rávan, the King, whose name of fear Earth, hell, and heaven all shook to hear-- He bade the fiend Márícha aid The vengeful plot his fury laid. In vain the wise Márícha tried To turn him from his course aside:-- Not Rávan's self, he said, might hope With Ráma and his strength to cope. Impelled by fate and blind with rage He came to Ráma's hermitage. There, by Márícha's magic art, He wiled the princely youths apart, The vulture slew, and bore away The wife of Ráma as his prey. The son of Raghu came and found Jatáyu slain upon the ground. He rushed within his leafy cot; He sought his wife, but found her not. Then, then the hero's senses failed; In mad despair he wept and wailed. Upon the pile that bird he laid, And still in quest of Sítá strayed. A hideous giant then he saw, Kabandha named, a shape of awe.