He spoke. The princes both obeyed, And reverence to each river paid. They reached the southern shore at last, And gayly on their journey passed. A little space beyond there stood A gloomy awe-inspiring wood. The monarch's noble son began To question thus the holy man:-- "Whose gloomy forest meets mine eye, Like some vast cloud that fills the sky? Pathless and dark it seems to be, Where birds in thousands wander free; Where shrill cicadas' cries resound, And fowl of dismal note abound. Lion, rhinoceros, and bear, Boar, tiger, elephant, are there, There shrubs and thorns run wild: Dháo, Sál, Bignonia, Bel, are found, And every tree that grows on ground: How is the forest styled?" The glorious saint this answer made:-- "Dear child of Raghu, hear Who dwells within the horrid shade That looks so dark and drear. Where now is wood, long ere this day Two broad and fertile lands, Malaja and Karúsha lay, Adorned by heavenly hands. Here, mourning friendship's broken ties, Lord Indra of the thousand eyes Hungered and sorrowed many a day, His brightness soiled with mud and clay, When in a storm of passion he Had slain his dear friend Namuchi. Then came the Gods and saints who bore Their golden pitchers brimming o'er With holy streams that banish stain, And bathed Lord Indra pure again. When in this land the God was freed From spot and stain of impious deed For that his own dear friend he slew, High transport thrilled his bosom through. Then in his joy the lands he blessed, And gave a boon they long possessed:-- "Because these fertile lands retain The washings of the blot and stain, ('Twas thus Lord Indra sware,) Malaja and Karúsha's name Shall celebrate with deathless fame My malady and care." "So be it," all the Immortals cried, When Indra's speech they heard-- And with acclaim they ratified The names his lips conferred. "Long time, O victor of thy foes, These happy lands had sweet repose, And higher still in fortune rose. At length a spirit, loving ill, Tádaká, wearing shapes at will-- Whose mighty strength, exceeding vast, A thousand elephants' surpassed, Was to fierce Sunda, lord and head Of all the demon armies, wed. From her, Lord Indra's peer in might Giant Márícha sprang to light; And she, a constant plague and pest, These two fair realms has long distressed. Now dwelling in her dark abode A league away she bars the road: And we, O Ráma, hence must go Where lies the forest of the foe. Now on thine own right arm rely, And my command obey: Smite the foul monster that she die, And take the plague away. To reach this country none may dare, Fallen from its old estate, Which she, whose fury nought can bear, Has left so desolate.