As Tadaka still thundered near
Thus maimed by Rama's blows,
Lakshman in fury severed sheer
The monster's ears and nose.
Assuming by her magic skill
A fresh and fresh disguise,
She tried a thousand shapes at will,
Then vanished from their eyes.
When Gadhi's son of high renown
Still saw the stony rain pour down
Upon each princely warrior's head,
With words of wisdom thus he said:--
"Enough of mercy, Rama, lest
This sinful evil-working pest,
Disturber of each holy rite,
Repair by magic arts her might.
Without delay the fiend should die,
For, see, the twilight hour is nigh.
And at the joints of night and day
Such giant foes are hard to slay."
Then Rama, skilful to direct
His arrow to the sound--
With shafts the mighty demon checked
Who rained her stones around.
She, sore impeded and beset
By Rama and his arrowy net--
Though skilled in guile and magic lore,
Rushed on the brothers with a roar.
Deformed, terrific, murderous, dread,
Swift as the levin on she sped--
Like cloudy pile in autumn's sky,
Lifting her two vast arms on high:
When Rama smote her with a dart
Shaped like a crescent, to the heart.
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