A double share of valour brought.
His soul conceived the high emprise
To snatch the Amrit from the skies.
He rent the nets of iron first,
Then through the jewel chamber burst,
And bore the drink of heaven away
That watched in Indra's palace lay.

Such was the hermit-sheltering tree
Which Ravan turned his eye to see.
Still marked where Garud sought to rest,
The fig-tree bore the name of Blest.

When Ravan stayed his chariot o'er
The ocean's heart-enchanting shore,
He saw a hermitage that stood
Sequestered in the holy wood.
He saw the fiend Maricha there
With deerskin garb, and matted hair
Coiled up in hermit guise, who spent
His days by rule most abstinent.
As guest and host are wont to meet,
They met within that lone retreat.
Before the king Maricha placed
Food never known to human taste.
He entertained his guest with meat
And gave him water for his feet,
And then addressed the giant king
With timely words of questioning:

"Lord, is it well with thee, and well
With those in Lanka's town who dwell?
What sudden thought, what urgent need
Has brought thee with impetuous speed?"

The fiend Maricha thus addressed
Ravan the king, his mighty guest,
And he, well skilled in arts that guide
The eloquent, in turn replied:

Canto XXXVI. Ravan's Speech.

"Hear me, Maricha, while I speak,
And tell thee why thy home I seek.
Sick and distressed am I, and see
My surest hope and help in thee.
Of Janasthan I need not tell,
Where Surpanakha, Khara, dwell,
And Dushan with the arm of might,
And Trisiras, the fierce in fight,
Who feeds on human flesh and gore,
And many noble giants more,
Who roam in dark of midnight through
The forest, brave and strong and true.
By my command they live at ease
And slaughter saints and devotees.
Those twice seven thousand giants, all
Obedient to their captain's call,
Joying in war and ruthless deeds
Follow where mighty Khara leads.
Those fearless warrior bands who roam
Through Janasthan their forest home,
In all their terrible array
Met Rama in the battle fray.
Girt with all weapons forth they sped
With Khara at the army's head.
The front of battle Rama held:
With furious wrath his bosom swelled.
Without a word his hate to show
He launched the arrows from his bow.
On the fierce hosts the missiles came,
Each burning with destructive flame,
The twice seven thousand fell o'erthrown
By him, a man, on foot, alone.
Khara the army's chief and pride,
And Dushan, fe