By these and high-souled kings beside, Struck down, have lawless women died." CANTO XXVIII THE DEATH OF TÁDAKÁ Thus spoke the saint. Each vigorous word The noble monarch's offspring heard-- And, reverent hands together laid, His answer to the hermit made:-- "My sire and mother bade me aye Thy word, O mighty Saint, obey. So will I, O most glorious, kill This Tádaká who joys in ill-- For such my sire's, and such thy will. To aid with mine avenging hand The Bráhmans, kine, and all the land, Obedient, heart and soul, I stand." Thus spoke the tamer of the foe, And by the middle grasped his bow. Strongly he drew the sounding string That made the distant welkin ring. Scared by the mighty clang the deer That roamed the forest shook with fear. And Tádaká the echo heard, And rose in haste from slumber stirred. In wild amaze, her soul aflame With fury towards the spot she came. When that foul shape of evil mien And stature vast as e'er was seen The wrathful son of Raghu eyed, He thus unto his brother cried:-- "Her dreadful shape, O Lakshman, see, A form to shudder at and flee. The hideous monster's very view Would cleave a timid heart in two. Behold the demon hard to smite, Defended by her magic might. My hand shall stay her course to-day, And shear her nose and ears away. No heart have I her life to take: I spare it for her sex's sake. My will is but--with minished force-- To check her in her evil course." While thus he spoke, by rage impelled-- Roaring as she came nigh, The fiend her course at Ráma held With huge arms tossed on high. Her, rushing on, the seer assailed With a loud cry of hate; And thus the sons of Raghu hailed:-- "Fight, and be fortunate." Then from the earth a horrid cloud Of dust the demon raised, And for awhile in darkling shroud Wrapt Raghu's sons amazed. Then calling on her magic power The fearful fight to wage, She smote him with a stony shower, Till Ráma burned with rage. Then pouring forth his arrowy rain That stony flood to stay, With wingèd darts, as she charged amain, He shore her hands away. As Tádaká still thundered near Thus maimed by Ráma's blows, Lakshman in fury severed sheer The monster's ears and nose. Assuming by her magic skill A fresh and fresh disguise, She tried a thousand shapes at will, Then vanished from their eyes. When Gádhi's son of high renown Still saw the stony rain pour down Upon each princely warrior's head, With words of wisdom thus he said:-- "Enough of mercy, Ráma, lest This sinful evil-working pest, Disturber of each holy rite, Repair by magic arts her might. Without delay the fiend should die, For, see, the twilight hour is nigh. And at the joints of night and day