On her ensnared in Ráma's net His eyes the royal Rama set, And thus, her passion to beguile, Addressed her with a gentle smile:
'I have a wife: behold her here, My Sítá ever true and dear: And one like thee will never brook Upon a rival spouse to look. But there my brother Lakshman stands: Unchained is he by nuptial bands: A youth heroic, loved of all, Gracious and gallant, fair and tall.
With winning looks, most nobly bred, Unmatched till now, he longs to wed. Meet to enjoy thy youthful charms, O take him to thy loving arms. Enamoured on his bosom lie, Fair damsel of the radiant eye, As the warm sunlight loves to rest Upon her darling Meru's breast.'
The hero spoke, the monster heard, While passion still her bosom stirred. Away from Ráma's side she broke, And thus in turn to Lakshman spoke: 'Come, for thy bride take me who shine In fairest grace that suits with thine. Thou by my side from grove to grove Of Dandak's wild in bliss shalt rove.'
Then Lakshman, skilled in soft address, Wooed by the amorous giantess, With art to turn her love aside, To Súrpanakhí thus replied:
'And can so high a dame agree The slave-wife of a slave to be? I, lotus-hued! in good and ill Am bondsman to my brother's will. Be thou, fair creature radiant-eyed, My honoured brother's younger bride: With faultless tint and dainty limb, A happy wife, bring joy to him.
He from his spouse grown old and grey, Deformed, untrue, will turn away, Her withered charms will gladly leave, And to his fair young darling cleave. For who could be so fond and blind, O loveliest of all female kind, To love another dame and slight Thy beauties rich in all delight?'
Thus Lakshman praised in scornful jest The long-toothed fiend with loathly breast, Who fondly heard his speech, nor knew His mocking words were aught but true. Again inflamed with love she fled To Ráma, in his leafy shed Where Sítá rested by his side, And to the mighty victor cried:
'What, Ráma, canst thou blindly cling To this old false misshapen thing? Wilt thou refuse the charms of youth For withered breast and grinning tooth! Canst thou this wretched creature prize And look on me with scornful eyes? This aged crone this very hour Before thy face will I devour:
Then joyous, from all rivals free. Through Dandak will I stray with thee.'
She spoke, and with a glance of flame Rushed on the fawn-eyed Maithil dame: So would a horrid meteor mar Fair Rohiní's soft beaming star. But as the furious fiend drew near, Like Death's dire noose which chills with fear, The mighty chief her purpose stayed, And spoke, his brother to upbraid:
'Ne'er should we jest with creatures rude. Of savage race and wrathful mood. Think, Lakshman, think how nearly slain My dear Videhan breathes again. Let not the hideous wretch escape Without a mark to mar her shape. Strike, lord of men, the monstrous fiend, Deformed, and foul, and evil-miened.'
He spoke: then Lakshman's wrath rose high, And there before his brother's eye, He drew that sword which none could stay, And cleft her nose and ears away. Noseless and earless, torn and maimed, With fearful shrieks the fiend exclaimed, And frantic in her wild distress Resought the distant wilderness.
Deformed, terrific, huge, and dread. As on she moved, her gashes bled, And groan succeeded groan as loud As roars, ere rain, the thunder cloud. Still on the fearful monster passed, While streams of blood kept falling fast, And with a roar, and arms outspread Within the boundless wood she fled.
To Janasthán the monster flew;
Fierce Khara there she found, With chieftains of the giant crew
In thousands ranged around. Before his awful feet she bent
And fell with piercing cries, As when a bolt in swift descent
Comes flashing from the skies. There for a while with senses dazed
Silent she lay and scared: At length her drooping head she raised,
And all the tale declared, How Ráma, Lakshman, and the dame
Had reached that lonely place: Then told her injuries and shame,
