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An Aryan City*
Coshala, by the Soroyou, a land Smiling at heaven, of riches measureless And corn abounding glad; in that great country Ayodhya was, the city world-renowned, Ayodhya by King Manou built, immense. Twelve yojans long the mighty city lay Grandiose and wide three yojans. Grandly spaced Ayodhya’s streets were and the long highroad Ran through it spaciously with sweet cool flowers Hourly new-paved and hourly watered wide. Dussarutha in Ayodhya, as in heaven Its natural lord, abode, those massive walls Ruling, and a great people in his name Felt greater, — door and wall and ponderous arch And market places huge. Of every craft Engines mechanical and tools there thronged, And craftsmen of each guild and manner. High rang With heralds and sonorous eulogists The beautiful bright city imperial. High were her bannered edifices reared, With theatres and dancing-halls for joy Of her bright daughters, and sweet-scented parks Were round and gardens cool. High circling all The city with disastrous engines stored In hundreds, the great ramparts like a zone Of iron spanned in her moated girth immense Threatening with forts the ancient sky. Defiant Ayodhya stood, armed, impregnable, Inviolable in her virgin walls. And in her streets was ever large turmoil, Passing of elephants, the steed and ox, Mules and rich-laden camels. And through them drove The powerful barons of the land, great wardens Of taxes, and from countries near and far The splendid merchants came much marvelling
*Bala Kanda, Sarga 5, 5-22. Page – 3 To see those orgulous high builded homes With jewels curiously fretted, topped With summer houses for the joy of girls, Like some proud city in heaven. Without a gap On either side as far as eye could reach Mass upon serried mass the houses rose, Seven-storied architectures metrical Upon a level base, and made sublime. Splendid Ayodhya octagonally built, The mother of beautiful women and of gems A world. Large granaries of rice unhusked She had and husked rice for the fire, and sweet Her water, like the cane’s delightful juice, Cool down the throat. And a great voice throbbed of drums, The tabour and the tambourine, while ever The lyre with softer rumours intervened. Nor only was she grandiosely built, A city without earthly peer, — her sons Were noble, warriors whose arrows scorned to pierce The isolated man from friends cut off Or guided by a sound to smite the alarmed And crouching fugitive, but with sharp steel Sought out the lion in his den or grappling Unarmed they murdered with their mighty hands The tiger roaring in his trackless woods Or the mad tusked boar. Even such strong arms Of heroes kept that city and in her midst Regnant king Dussaruth the nations ruled. Page – 4 |