Canto XXII: Daśaratha's Speech

His tortured senses all astray, Awhile the hapless monarch lay, Then slowly gathering thought and strength To Viśvámitra spoke at length:-- "My son is but a child, I ween; This year he will be just sixteen. How is he fit for such emprise, My darling with the lotus eyes? A mighty army will I bring That calls me master, lord, and King, And with its countless squadrons fight Against these rovers of the night. My faithful heroes skilled to wield The arms of war will take the field; Their skill the demons' might may break: Ráma, my child, thou must not take. I, even I, my bow in hand, Will in the van of battle stand, And, while my soul is left alive, With the night-roaming demons strive. Thy guarded sacrifice shall be Completed, from all hindrance free. Thither will I my journey make: Ráma, my child, thou must not take. A boy unskilled, he knows not yet The bounds to strength and weakness set. No match is he for demon foes Who magic arts to arms oppose. O chief of saints, I have no power, Of Ráma reft, to live one hour-- Mine aged heart at once would break: Ráma, my child, thou must not take. Nine thousand circling years have fled With all their seasons o'er my head, And as a hard-won boon, O Sage, These sons have come to cheer mine age. My dearest love amid the four Is he whom first his mother bore, Still dearer for his virtue's sake; Ráma, my child, thou must not take. But if, unmoved by all I say, Thou needs must bear my son away, Let me lead with him, I entreat, A fourfold army all complete. What is the demons' might, O Sage? Who are they? What their parentage? What is their size? What beings lend Their power to guard them and befriend? How can my son their arts withstand? Or I or all my armed band? Tell me the whole that I may know To met in war each evil foe Whom conscious might inspires with pride."

And Viśvámitra thus replied:-- "Sprung from Pulastya's race there came A giant known by Rávan's name. Once favored by the Eternal Sire He plagues the worlds in ceaseless ire, For peerless power and might renowned, By giant bands encompassed round. Viśravas for his sire they hold, His brother is the Lord of Gold. King of the giant hosts is he, And worst of all in cruelty. This Rávan's dread commands impel Two demons who in might excel, Márícha and Suváhu Light, To trouble and impede the rite." Then thus the King addressed the sage:-- "No power have I, my lord, to wage War with this evil-minded foe; Now pity on my darling show, And upon me of hapless fate, For thee as God I venerate. Gods, spirits, bards of heavenly birth, The birds of air, the snakes of earth Before the might of Rávan quail, Much less can mortal man avail. He draws, I hear, from out the breast, The valor of the mightiest. No, ne'er can I with him contend, Or with the forces he may send. How can I then my darling lend, Godlike, unskilled in battle? No, I will not let my young child go. Foes of thy rite, those mighty ones, Sunda and Upasunda's sons, Are fierce as Fate to overthrow: I will not let my young child go. Márícha and Suváhu fell Are valiant and instructed well. One of the twain I might attack With all my friends their lord to back."