TITANS, assembled here, the race supreme on this earthly globe!

A city supreme bejewelled in this sea-girt isle

On a stony crest they shall set up in their own might,

Fearless defying the King of the gods, in disregard of the world.

But listen! What is this rumour

All along the walls surrounding the city of Lanka,

What is this tumult unprecedented in this land?

Is this the roar of a puny army in laughter and jeer,

Dancing over the head of the Mother of rakshasas, reveling

in pride and victory?

But whom do I fear? Why am I confined, a prisoner in my

own city?

Mute I look at their mad dance, hear their loud boast?

Protected by Varuna in this sea one .can never cross,

We warriors enjoyed the wide universe.

A little island has proudly trampled over the whole mankind,

And is the master of it, possessed as its own

The wide earth with her million habitants.

The haughty King of the gods, who names himself

The imperial majesty of the triple worlds,

Is himself imprisoned and works as a slave here today in our Lanka­

It is through the might of your arms.

Here are we the same Titans. Here is our city, Lanka.

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Is that might of the arms turned limp?

Say, Titans, has that pride lost its brilliance?

Has that power evaporated unnoticed

As we lay courting sleep at night without care?

Who has stolen your blazing might?

Is it Krishna or Mahadeva or any other bold enough

In the still night trembling to enter Lanka while she lay asleep?

Oh! the irony of Fate! the unconquerable race

Is conquered at last in a petty skirmish!

Petty man is victorious in Titan's land!

I could understand, if Rudra with his trident rushed in,

His Cosmic might teeming with demi-gods and demons

And for days and nights and centuries battled and battered

and broke through

And at last, Providence aiding, ravaged and destroyed the

city of Lanka.

I could also understand if the great Vishnu spread

His net of duplicity, cast his spell of darkness

Upon the intelligence of the Rakshasas and stole away

The Fair Royal Deity of Lanka.

But we are conquered by the arms of Rama,

Men have trampled upon the city of Ravana!

Smile happily, O vanquished gods now in heaven,

There is no fear of punishment for you any more.

Smile, O Indra, in happiness, the lord of the gods is now

free from slavery.

I do not blame you, if you take pride in this victory

That should be a shame for you.

Luminous is the city of Heaven, eternal Spring is there,

Enjoy the garden of Paradise there through the mortal's

grace.

Ravana, enemy of the gods, is vanquished at the hands of

a human being.

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Vanquished! Listen! O listen! on the mighty rock afar,

The fierce echo hears and laughs at the word:

It is the daughter of the Mountain in this Isle of Lanka and

her thundering voice.

Vanquished! It rends the mind and heart to utter the word.

A Titan's tongue cannot speak it out.

A proud Rakshasa clad in iron-strength, with iron weapons,

Not content with earthly victories I roamed in all the three

heavens,

Not content, I assailed the very crest of the triple world.

You say that race is vanquished! A mirage is this truth,

False is this history.

Brothers, friends and sons are killed; in my vast bejeweled

halls,

Crowded with slaves and servants I wander all alone

In search of friendly faces but in vain.

The women's quarters are crowded too; there with a dry

and desert heart

I look upon mothers who have lost their sons.

In the Assembly Hall, in the battlefield,

In the joyless taverns, in the insipid playfield

My eyes in vain look-for the glories of Lanka.

Silent is the lion roar. Into these ears used to be poured

­A torrent of delight, the trumpet call of victory,

The wild war-cry, the leonine yell of my brother

Kumbhakarna.

But O Aksha, O Indrajit, why are you silent at this hour

of peril!

Why does not your ever victorious voice delight our ears

anymore!

O my children, is the embrace of Death so fast, so sweet!

Pardon me, Titans, for the first time today the earth

Under Ravana's power is wet with Ravana's tears.

But nay, let them be slain, I am yet there.

Shall history write in its pages in iron letters as truth

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That the world conquerors at last were conquered by Rama,

the little feeble man!

This dark infamy shall never be written down in the history

Of the Rakshasas.

Let the world hear of the past history and wonder

And declare that the son of Dasharath enjoyed a momentary

victory

Because of the negligence of the Rakshasas.

Now, the wonderful news will spread, unique on earth,

A thing to madden a hero's heart, that sons killed,

Friends killed, killed all the great heroes,

Yet Ravana, the Rakshasa, rises again with a roar,

Leaps mad into battle, and a few of Lanka's men

Kill countless enemies in a few days,

With little effort enthrall again the whole rebel world.

Arise once more, wipe away the memory of grief,

Wipe off from your heart all shadow of sorrows,

Kindle fire of wrath in your blinded eyes.

Forget pity, forget weariness, O heaven-conquering race.

In an iron body, an iron mind and heart befits the race of Rakshasas.

Once more we shall slaughter all and each.

We shall cross the seas and depopulate

The land of birth of the son of Wind-god.

With myriads of prisoners, slaves unnumbered

We shall repopulate to overflowing the isle of Lanka,

Beget in the wombs of the enemy womanhood a new race of children.

But what has gone, let it go­―

We shall build again, we shall destroy again.

We are not puny human hearts,

Ravana's thirst is not quenched with scanty blood!

The flaming grief dies not in this vast heart

Satisfied with a feeble revenge.

A little enjoyment does not enfeeble the ardour of these senses.

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I am a Rakshasa, once more I shall conquer

All the world and enjoy the Infinite itself.

Otherwise rest content, O jackals of Shiva's consort,

Rest content, O you host of vultures ­

A deathbed for me shall I build up like a hill

With thousands and thousands of human and ape heads.

Or I shall throw into devouring fire, like faggots,

All the rich treasures, things of beauty and art of ancient Lanka ­

I shall throw down all this peerless grandeur:

This entire great city I shall light up into a titanic funeral

pyre.

The three heavens with Earth I have won in battle,

I imprisoned all the gods, I enjoyed fame incomparable;

I am as though the all-enveloping world-eye of the Sun,

I burn at noon of mid-summer; afflicted by its heat

The world adores the scorching Fire.

I shine over the universe, displaying my effulgence.

As the sun reddens the blue of the firmament with its

own blood

And goes down at setting in all its glory,

So shall I sink into the sea of Death.

I was at dawn, during my sway, head uplifted,

Fierce and radiant.

And at the setting I will be there still,

In death and destruction unconquerable, a fierce lustre and

a mighty blaze.

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