That conquering pair, of royal race,

Skilled to observe due time and place,

To Ku?ik's hermit son addressed,

In timely words, their meet request:

Those Rovers of the Night repel?

Speak, lest we let the moment fly,

Thus longing for the strife, they prayed,

And thus the hermits answer made:

O Raghu's sons, your watch must last.

The saint his DikshÁ170 has begun,

Soon as the steadfast devotees

Had made reply in words like these,

The youths began, disdaining sleep,

Six days and nights their watch to keep.

The warrior pair who tamed the foe,

Unrivalled benders of the bow,

Kept watch and ward unwearied still

To guard the saint from scathe and ill.

'Twas now the sixth returning day,

The hour foretold had past away.

Then RÁma cried: “O Lakshma?, now

Firm, watchful, resolute be thou.

The fiends as yet have kept afar

From the pure grove in which we are:

Yet waits us, ere the day shall close,

While thus spoke RÁma borne away

By longing for the deadly fray,

See! bursting from the altar came

The sudden glory of the flame.

Round priest and deacon, and upon

Grass, ladles, flowers, the splendour shone,

And the high rite, in order due,

With sacred texts began anew.

But then a loud and fearful roar

Re-echoed through the sky;

And like vast clouds that shadow o'er

The heavens in dark July,

Involved in gloom of magic might

Two fiends rushed on amain,

MÁrÍcha, Rover of the Night,

SuvÁhu, and their train.

As on they came in wild career

Thick blood in rain they shed;

And RÁma saw those things of fear

Impending overhead.

Then soon as those accursed two

Who showered down blood be spied,

Thus to his brother brave and true

Spoke RÁma lotus-eyed:

Man-eaters, foul of mind,

Before my mortal weapon flee

He spoke. An arrow, swift as thought,

Upon his bow he pressed,

And smote, to utmost fury wrought,

MÁrÍcha on the breast.

Deep in his flesh the weapon lay

Winged by the mystic spell,