BOOK II.
CANTO I.: THE HEIR APPARENT.So Bharat to his grandsire wentObedient to the message sent,And for his fond companion choseS'atrughna slayer of his foes. 1There Bharat for a time remainedWith love and honour entertained,King As'vapati's constant care,Belovèd as a son and heir.Yet ever, as they lived at ease,While all around combined to pleaseThe agèd sire they left behindWas present to each hero's mind.Nor could the king's fond memory strayFrom his brave children far away,Dear Bharat and S'atrughna dear,Each Varun's match or Indra's peer. To all the princes, young and brave,His soul with fond affection clave;Around his loving heart they clungLike arms from his own body sprung. 2But best and noblest of the four,Good as the God whom all adore,Lord of all virtues, undefiled,His darling was his eldest child.For he was beautiful and strong,From envy free, the foe of wrong,With all his father's virtues blest,And peerless in the world confessed.With placid soul he softly spoke:No harsh reply could taunts provoke.He ever loved the good and sageRevered for virtue and for age,And when his martial tasks were o'erSate listening to their peaceful lore.Wise, modest, pure, he honoured eld,His lips from lying tales withheld;Due reference to the Bráhnmans gave,And ruled each passion like a slave.Most tender, prompt at duty's call,Loved by all men he loved them all.Proud of the duties of his race,With spirit meet for Warrior's place,He strove to win by glorious deed,Throned with the Gods, a priceless meed.
With him in speech and quick replyVrihaspati might hardly vie,But never would his accents flowFor evil or for empty show.In art and science duly trained,His student vow he well maintained;He learnt the lore for princes fit,The Vedas and their Holy Writ,And with his well-drawn bow at lastHis mighty father's fame surpassed.Of birth exalted, truthful, just,With vigorous hand, with noble trust,Well taught by aged twice-born menWho gain and right could clearly ken,Full well the claims and bounds he knewOf duty, gain, and pleasure too:Of memory keen, of ready tact,In civil business prompt to act.Reserved, his features ne'er disclosedWhat counsel in his heart reposed.All idle rage and mirth controlled,He knew the times to give and hold,Firm in his faith, of steadfast will,He sought no wrong, he spoke no ill:Not rashly swift, not idly slow,His faults and others' keen to know.Each merit, by his subtle sense,He matched with proper recompense.He knew the means that wealth provide,And with keen eye expense could guide.Wild elephants could he reclaim,And mettled steeds could mount and tame.No arm like his the bow could wield,Or drive the chariot to the field.Skilled to attack, to deal the blow,Or lead a host against the foe:Yea, e'en infuriate Gods would fearTo meet his arm in full career.As the great sun in noontide blazeIs glorious with his world of rays.So Ráma with these virtues shoneWhich all men loved to gaze upon.
The agèd monarch fain would rest,And said within his weary breast,'Oh that I might, while living yet,My Ráma o'er the kingdom set.And see, before my course be run,The hallowed drops anoint my son;See all this spacious land obey,From side to side, my first-born's sway,And then, my life and joy complete,Obtain in heaven a blissful seat!'In him the monarch saw combinedThe fairest form, the noblest mind,And counselled how his son might share,The throne with him as Regent Heir.For fearful signs in earth and sky,And weakness warned him death was nigh:But Ráma to the world endearedBy every grace his bosom cheered,
The moon of every eye, whose rayDrove all his grief and fear away.So duty urged that hour to seize,Himself, his realm, to bless and please.
From town and country, far and near,He summoned people, prince, and peer.To each he gave a meet abode,And honoured all and gifts bestowed.Then, splendid in his king's attire,He viewed them, as the general Sire,In glory of a God arrayed,Looks on the creatures he has made.But Kekaya's king he called not thenFor haste, nor Janak, lord of men;For after to each royal friendThe joyful tidings he would send.Mid crowds from distant countries metThe king upon his throne was set;Then honoured by the people, allThe rulers thronged into the hall.On thrones assigned, each king in placeLooked silent on the monarch's face. Then girt by lords of high renown And throngs from hamlet and from town He showed in regal pride,As, honoured by the radiant bandOf blessed Gods that round him stand,Lord Indra, Thousand-eyed.
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Footnotes89:1 S'atrughna means slayer of foes, and the word is repeated as an intensive epithet.
89:2 Alluding to the images of Vishnu, which have four arms, the four princes being portions of the substance of that God.
CANTO II.:
With him in speech and quick replyVrihaspati might hardly vie,But never would his accents flowFor evil or for empty show.In art and science duly trained,His student vow he well maintained;He learnt the lore for princes fit,The Vedas and their Holy Writ,And with his well-drawn bow at lastHis mighty father's fame surpassed.Of birth exalted, truthful, just,With vigorous hand, with noble trust,Well taught by aged twice-born menWho gain and right could clearly ken,Full well the claims and bounds he knewOf duty, gain, and pleasure too:Of memory keen, of ready tact,In civil business prompt to act.Reserved, his features ne'er disclosedWhat counsel in his heart reposed.All idle rage and mirth controlled,He knew the times to give and hold,Firm in his faith, of steadfast will,He sought no wrong, he spoke no ill:Not rashly swift, not idly slow,His faults and others' keen to know.Each merit, by his subtle sense,He matched with proper recompense.He knew the means that wealth provide,And with keen eye expense could guide.Wild elephants could he reclaim,And mettled steeds could mount and tame.No arm like his the bow could wield,Or drive the chariot to the field.Skilled to attack, to deal the blow,Or lead a host against the foe:Yea, e'en infuriate Gods would fearTo meet his arm in full career.As the great sun in noontide blazeIs glorious with his world of rays.So Ráma with these virtues shoneWhich all men loved to gaze upon.
The agèd monarch fain would rest,And said within his weary breast,'Oh that I might, while living yet,My Ráma o'er the kingdom set.And see, before my course be run,The hallowed drops anoint my son;See all this spacious land obey,From side to side, my first-born's sway,And then, my life and joy complete,Obtain in heaven a blissful seat!'In him the monarch saw combinedThe fairest form, the noblest mind,And counselled how his son might share,The throne with him as Regent Heir.For fearful signs in earth and sky,And weakness warned him death was nigh:But Ráma to the world endearedBy every grace his bosom cheered,
The moon of every eye, whose rayDrove all his grief and fear away.So duty urged that hour to seize,Himself, his realm, to bless and please.
From town and country, far and near,He summoned people, prince, and peer.To each he gave a meet abode,And honoured all and gifts bestowed.Then, splendid in his king's attire,He viewed them, as the general Sire,In glory of a God arrayed,Looks on the creatures he has made.But Kekaya's king he called not thenFor haste, nor Janak, lord of men;For after to each royal friendThe joyful tidings he would send.Mid crowds from distant countries metThe king upon his throne was set;Then honoured by the people, allThe rulers thronged into the hall.On thrones assigned, each king in placeLooked silent on the monarch's face. Then girt by lords of high renown And throngs from hamlet and from town He showed in regal pride,As, honoured by the radiant bandOf blessed Gods that round him stand,Lord Indra, Thousand-eyed.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Footnotes89:1 S'atrughna means slayer of foes, and the word is repeated as an intensive epithet.
89:2 Alluding to the images of Vishnu, which have four arms, the four princes being portions of the substance of that God.
CANTO II.:
THE PEOPLE'S SPEECH.Then to the full assembly bowedThe monarch, and addressed the crowdWith gracious speech, in accents loudAs heavenly drum or thunder-cloud:
'Needs not to you who know declareHow ever with paternal careMy fathers of Ikshváku's lineHave ruled the realm which now is mine.I too have taught my feet to treadThe pathway of the mighty dead,And with fond care that never sleptHave, as I could, my people kept.So toiling still, and ne'er remissFor all my people's weal and bliss,Beneath the white umbrella's 1 shade.Old age is come and strength decayed.Thousands of years have o'er me flown,And generations round me grownAnd passed away. I crave at lengthRepose and ease for broken strength.Feeble and worn I scarce can bearThe ruler's toil, the judge's care,With royal dignity, a weightThat tries the young and temperate.
I long to rest, my labour done,And in my place to set my son,If to the twice-born gathered hereMy counsel wise and good appear.For greater gifts than mine adornRáma my son, my eldest-born.Like Indra brave, before him fallThe foeman's cities, tower and wall.Him prince of men for power and might,The best maintainer of the right,Fair as the moon when nothing barsHis glory close to Pushya's stars,Him with to-morrow's light I fainWould throne the consort of my reign,A worthy lord for you, I ween,Marked as her own by Fortune's Queen.The triple world itself would beWell ruled by such a king as he.To such high bliss and happy fateWill I the country dedicate,And my sad heart will cease to grieveIf he the precious charge receive.Thus is my careful plan matured,Thus for myself is rest secured;Lieges, approve the words I say,Or point ye out some wiser way.Devise your prudent plan. My mindIs fondly to this thought inclined,But men by keen debating moveSome middle course which all approve.'
The monarch ceased. In answer cameThe joyous princes' glad acclaim.So peacocks in the rain rejoiceAnd hail the cloud with lifted voice.Murmurs of joy from thousands roundShook the high palace with the sound.Then when the gathered throng had learnedHis will who right and gain discerned,Peasant and townsman, priest and chief,All met in consultation brief,And soon agreed with one accordGave answer to their sovereign lord:'King of the land, we know thee old:Thousands of years have o'er thee rolled,Ráma thy son, we pray, anoint.And at thy side his place appointOur gallant prince, so brave and strong,Riding in royal state along,Our eyes with joyful pride will seeScreened by the shade that shelters thee.'Then spake the king again, as thoughTheir hearts' true wish he sought to know:'These prayers for Ráma's rule suggestOne question to my doubting breast.This thing, I pray, with truth explain:Why would ye, while I justly reign,That he, mine eldest son, should bearHis part with me as ruling heir?'Then all the people made reply,Peasant and townsman, low and high:' Each noblest gift of form and mind,
O Monarch, in thy son we find.Do thou the godlike virtues hearWhich Ráma to our hearts endear.So richly blest with graces, noneIn all the earth excels thy son:Nay, who to match with him may claimIn truth, in justice, and in fame?True to his promise, gentle, kind,Unenvious, of grateful mind,Versed in the law and firm of soul,He keeps each sense with strict control.With duteous care he loves to sitBy Bráhmans skilled in Holy Writ.Hence brightest glory, ne'er to end,And matchless fame his youth attend.Skilled in the use of spear and shield.And arms which heavenly warriors wield,Supreme in war, unconquered yetBv man, fiend, God in battle met,Whene'er in pomp of war he goes'Gainst town or city of the foes,He ever comes with Lakshman backVictorious from the fierce attack.Returning homeward from afarBorne on his elephant or car,He ever to the townsmen bendsAnd greets them as beloved friends,Asks how each son, each servant thrives,How fare our pupils, offerings, wives;And like a father bids us tell,Each for himself, that all is well.If pain or grief the city triesHis heart is swift to sympathize.When festive scenes our thoughts employHe like a father shares the joy.High is the fate, O King, that gaveThy Ráma born to bless and save,With filial virtues fair and mildLike Kas'yap old Maríchi's child.Hence to the kingdom's distant endsOne general prayer for him ascends.Each man in town and country praysFor Ráma's strength, health, length of days.With hearts sincere, their wish the same,The tender girl, the aged dame,Subject and stranger, peasant, hind,One thought impressed on every mind,At evening and at dawning dayTo all the Gods for Ráma pray.Do thou, O King, of grace comply,And hear the people's longing cry,And let us on the throne by theeThe lotus-tinted Ráma see. O thou who givest boons, attend; A gracious ear, O Monarch, lend And for our weal install,Consenting to our earnest prayer,Thy godlike Ráma Regent Heir, Who seeks the good of all.'
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Footnotes90:1 Chief of the insignia of imperial dignity.
CANTO III.:
'Needs not to you who know declareHow ever with paternal careMy fathers of Ikshváku's lineHave ruled the realm which now is mine.I too have taught my feet to treadThe pathway of the mighty dead,And with fond care that never sleptHave, as I could, my people kept.So toiling still, and ne'er remissFor all my people's weal and bliss,Beneath the white umbrella's 1 shade.Old age is come and strength decayed.Thousands of years have o'er me flown,And generations round me grownAnd passed away. I crave at lengthRepose and ease for broken strength.Feeble and worn I scarce can bearThe ruler's toil, the judge's care,With royal dignity, a weightThat tries the young and temperate.
I long to rest, my labour done,And in my place to set my son,If to the twice-born gathered hereMy counsel wise and good appear.For greater gifts than mine adornRáma my son, my eldest-born.Like Indra brave, before him fallThe foeman's cities, tower and wall.Him prince of men for power and might,The best maintainer of the right,Fair as the moon when nothing barsHis glory close to Pushya's stars,Him with to-morrow's light I fainWould throne the consort of my reign,A worthy lord for you, I ween,Marked as her own by Fortune's Queen.The triple world itself would beWell ruled by such a king as he.To such high bliss and happy fateWill I the country dedicate,And my sad heart will cease to grieveIf he the precious charge receive.Thus is my careful plan matured,Thus for myself is rest secured;Lieges, approve the words I say,Or point ye out some wiser way.Devise your prudent plan. My mindIs fondly to this thought inclined,But men by keen debating moveSome middle course which all approve.'
The monarch ceased. In answer cameThe joyous princes' glad acclaim.So peacocks in the rain rejoiceAnd hail the cloud with lifted voice.Murmurs of joy from thousands roundShook the high palace with the sound.Then when the gathered throng had learnedHis will who right and gain discerned,Peasant and townsman, priest and chief,All met in consultation brief,And soon agreed with one accordGave answer to their sovereign lord:'King of the land, we know thee old:Thousands of years have o'er thee rolled,Ráma thy son, we pray, anoint.And at thy side his place appointOur gallant prince, so brave and strong,Riding in royal state along,Our eyes with joyful pride will seeScreened by the shade that shelters thee.'Then spake the king again, as thoughTheir hearts' true wish he sought to know:'These prayers for Ráma's rule suggestOne question to my doubting breast.This thing, I pray, with truth explain:Why would ye, while I justly reign,That he, mine eldest son, should bearHis part with me as ruling heir?'Then all the people made reply,Peasant and townsman, low and high:' Each noblest gift of form and mind,
O Monarch, in thy son we find.Do thou the godlike virtues hearWhich Ráma to our hearts endear.So richly blest with graces, noneIn all the earth excels thy son:Nay, who to match with him may claimIn truth, in justice, and in fame?True to his promise, gentle, kind,Unenvious, of grateful mind,Versed in the law and firm of soul,He keeps each sense with strict control.With duteous care he loves to sitBy Bráhmans skilled in Holy Writ.Hence brightest glory, ne'er to end,And matchless fame his youth attend.Skilled in the use of spear and shield.And arms which heavenly warriors wield,Supreme in war, unconquered yetBv man, fiend, God in battle met,Whene'er in pomp of war he goes'Gainst town or city of the foes,He ever comes with Lakshman backVictorious from the fierce attack.Returning homeward from afarBorne on his elephant or car,He ever to the townsmen bendsAnd greets them as beloved friends,Asks how each son, each servant thrives,How fare our pupils, offerings, wives;And like a father bids us tell,Each for himself, that all is well.If pain or grief the city triesHis heart is swift to sympathize.When festive scenes our thoughts employHe like a father shares the joy.High is the fate, O King, that gaveThy Ráma born to bless and save,With filial virtues fair and mildLike Kas'yap old Maríchi's child.Hence to the kingdom's distant endsOne general prayer for him ascends.Each man in town and country praysFor Ráma's strength, health, length of days.With hearts sincere, their wish the same,The tender girl, the aged dame,Subject and stranger, peasant, hind,One thought impressed on every mind,At evening and at dawning dayTo all the Gods for Ráma pray.Do thou, O King, of grace comply,And hear the people's longing cry,And let us on the throne by theeThe lotus-tinted Ráma see. O thou who givest boons, attend; A gracious ear, O Monarch, lend And for our weal install,Consenting to our earnest prayer,Thy godlike Ráma Regent Heir, Who seeks the good of all.'
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Footnotes90:1 Chief of the insignia of imperial dignity.
CANTO III.:
DAS'ARATHA'S PRECEPTS.The monarch with the prayer compliedOf suppliant hands, on every sideUplifted like a lotus-bed:And then these gracious words he said:'Great joy and mighty fame are mineBecause your loving hearts incline,In full assembly clearly shownTo place my Ráma on the throne.'Then to Vas'ishtha, standing near,And Vámadeva loud and clearThe monarch spoke that all might hear:''Tis pure and lovely Chaitra nowWhen flowers are sweet on every bough;All needful things with haste prepareThat Ráma be appointed heir.'
Then burst the people's rapture outIn loud acclaim and joyful shout;And when the tumult slowly ceasedThe king addressed the holy priest:'Give order, Saint, with watchful heedFor what the coming rite will need.This day let all things ready waitMine eldest son to consecrate.'Best of all men of second birthVas'ishtha heard the lord of earth,And gave commandment to the bandsOf servitors with lifted handsWho waited on their master's eye:'Now by to-morrow's dawn supplyRich gold and herbs and gems of priceAnd offerings for the sacrifice,Wreaths of white flowers and roasted rice.And oil and honey, separate;New garments and a car of state,An elephant with lucky signs,A fourfold host in ordered lines,The white umbrella, and a pairOf chowries, 1 and a banner fair;A hundred vases, row on row,To shine like fire in splendid glow,A tiger's mighty skin, a bullWith gilded horns most beautiful.All these, at dawn of coming day,Around the royal shrine array,Where burns the fire's undying ray.Each palace door, each city gateWith wreaths of sandal decorate.And with the garlands' fragrant scentLet clouds of incense-smoke be blent.Let food of noble kind and tasteBe for a hundred thousand placed;Fresh curds with streams of milk bedewedTo feed the Bráhman multitude.
With care be all their wants supplied.And mid the twice-born chiefs divideRich largess, with the early morn,And oil and curds and roasted corn.Soon as the sun has shown his lightPronounce the prayer to bless the rite,And then be all the Bráhmans calledAnd in their ordered seats installed.Let all musicians skilled to play,And dancing-girls in bright arrayStand ready in the second ringWithin the palace of the king.Each honoured tree, each holy shrineWith leaves and flowery wreaths entwine,And here and there beneath the shadeBe food prepared and presents laid.Then brightly clad, in warlike guise,With long swords girt upon their thighs,Let soldiers of the nobler sortMarch to the monarch's splendid court.'
Thus gave command the twice-born pairTo active servants stationed there.Then hastened to the king and saidThat all their task was duly sped,The king to wise Sumantra spake:'Now quick, my lord, thy chariot take,And hither with thy swiftest speedMy son, my noble Ráma lead.'
Sumantra, ere the word was given,His chariot from the court had driven,And Ráma, best of all who rideIn cars, came sitting by his side.The lords of men had hastened forthFrom east and west and south and north,Áryan and stranger, those who dwellIn the wild wood and on the fell,And as the Gods to Indra, theyShowed honour to the king that day.
Like Vásav, when his glorious formIs circled by the Gods of storm,Girt in his hall by kings he sawHis car-borne Ráma near him draw,Like him who rules the minstrel bandOf heaven; 1 whose valour tilled the land,Of mighty arm and stately prideLike a wild elephant in stride,As fair in face as that fair stoneDear to the moon, of moonbeams grown, 2With noble gifts and grace that tookThe hearts of all, and chained each look,World-cheering as the Lord of RainWhen floods relieve the parching plain.The father, as the son came nigh,Gazed with an ever-thirstier eye.Sumantra helped the prince alight
From the good chariot passing bright,And as to meet his sire he wentFollowed behind him reverent.Then Ráma clomb, the king to seekThat terrace like Kailása's peak,And reached the presence of the king,Sumantra closely following.Before his father's face he came,Raised suppliant hands and named his name, 1bAnd bowing lowly as is meetPaid reverence to the monarch's feet.But soon as Das'aratha viewedThe prince in humble attitude,He raised him by the hand in hasteAnd his beloved son embraced,Then signed him to a glorious throne,Gem-decked and golden, near his own.Then Ráma, best of Raghu's line,Made the fair seat with lustre shineAs when the orient sun upspringsAnd his pure beam on Meru flings.The glory flashed on roof and wall,And with strange sheen suffused the hall,As when the moon's pure rays are sentThrough autumn's star-lit firmament.Then swelled his breast with joy and prideAs his dear son the father eyed,E'en as himeself more fair arrayedIn some clear mirror's face displayed.The aged monarch gazed awhile,Then thus addressed him with a smile,As Kas'yap, whom the worlds revere,Speaks for the Lord of Gods to hear:'O thou of all my sons most dear,In virtue best, thy father's peer,Child of my consort first in place,Mine equal in her pride of race,Because the people's hearts are boundTo thee by graces in thee found,Be thou in Pushya's favouring hourMade partner of my royal power.I know that thou by nature's bentBoth modest art and excellent,But though thy gifts no counsel needMy love suggests the friendly rede.Mine own dear son, be modest still,And rule each sense with earnest will.Keep thou the evils far awayThat spring from love and anger's sway.Thy noble course alike pursueIn secret as in open view,And every nerve, the love to gainOf ministers and subjects, strain.The happy prince who sees with prideHis thriving people satisfied;Whose arsenals with arms are stored,And treasury with golden hoard,--
His friends rejoice as joyed the BlestWhen Amrit crowned their eager quest.So well, my child, thy course maintain,And from all ill thy soul refrain.'
The friends of Ráma, gathered nigh,Longing their lord to gratify,Ran to Kaus'alyá's bower to tellThe tidings that would please her well.She, host of dames, with many a gem,And gold, and kine rewarded them.
Then Ráma paid the reverence due,Mounted the chariot, and withdrew,And to his splendid dwelling droveWhile crowds to show him honour strove. The people, when the monarch's speech Their willing ears had heard, Were wild with joy as though on each Great gifts had been conferred. With meek and low salute each man Turned to his home away, And there with happy heart began To all the Gods to pray.
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Footnotes91:1 Whisks, usually made of the long tails of the Yak.
92:1 Chitraratha, King of the Gandharvas.
92:2 The Chandrakánta or Moonstone, a sort of crystal supposed to be composed of congealed moonbeams.
92:1b A customary mark of respect to a superior.
CANTO IV.:
Then burst the people's rapture outIn loud acclaim and joyful shout;And when the tumult slowly ceasedThe king addressed the holy priest:'Give order, Saint, with watchful heedFor what the coming rite will need.This day let all things ready waitMine eldest son to consecrate.'Best of all men of second birthVas'ishtha heard the lord of earth,And gave commandment to the bandsOf servitors with lifted handsWho waited on their master's eye:'Now by to-morrow's dawn supplyRich gold and herbs and gems of priceAnd offerings for the sacrifice,Wreaths of white flowers and roasted rice.And oil and honey, separate;New garments and a car of state,An elephant with lucky signs,A fourfold host in ordered lines,The white umbrella, and a pairOf chowries, 1 and a banner fair;A hundred vases, row on row,To shine like fire in splendid glow,A tiger's mighty skin, a bullWith gilded horns most beautiful.All these, at dawn of coming day,Around the royal shrine array,Where burns the fire's undying ray.Each palace door, each city gateWith wreaths of sandal decorate.And with the garlands' fragrant scentLet clouds of incense-smoke be blent.Let food of noble kind and tasteBe for a hundred thousand placed;Fresh curds with streams of milk bedewedTo feed the Bráhman multitude.
With care be all their wants supplied.And mid the twice-born chiefs divideRich largess, with the early morn,And oil and curds and roasted corn.Soon as the sun has shown his lightPronounce the prayer to bless the rite,And then be all the Bráhmans calledAnd in their ordered seats installed.Let all musicians skilled to play,And dancing-girls in bright arrayStand ready in the second ringWithin the palace of the king.Each honoured tree, each holy shrineWith leaves and flowery wreaths entwine,And here and there beneath the shadeBe food prepared and presents laid.Then brightly clad, in warlike guise,With long swords girt upon their thighs,Let soldiers of the nobler sortMarch to the monarch's splendid court.'
Thus gave command the twice-born pairTo active servants stationed there.Then hastened to the king and saidThat all their task was duly sped,The king to wise Sumantra spake:'Now quick, my lord, thy chariot take,And hither with thy swiftest speedMy son, my noble Ráma lead.'
Sumantra, ere the word was given,His chariot from the court had driven,And Ráma, best of all who rideIn cars, came sitting by his side.The lords of men had hastened forthFrom east and west and south and north,Áryan and stranger, those who dwellIn the wild wood and on the fell,And as the Gods to Indra, theyShowed honour to the king that day.
Like Vásav, when his glorious formIs circled by the Gods of storm,Girt in his hall by kings he sawHis car-borne Ráma near him draw,Like him who rules the minstrel bandOf heaven; 1 whose valour tilled the land,Of mighty arm and stately prideLike a wild elephant in stride,As fair in face as that fair stoneDear to the moon, of moonbeams grown, 2With noble gifts and grace that tookThe hearts of all, and chained each look,World-cheering as the Lord of RainWhen floods relieve the parching plain.The father, as the son came nigh,Gazed with an ever-thirstier eye.Sumantra helped the prince alight
From the good chariot passing bright,And as to meet his sire he wentFollowed behind him reverent.Then Ráma clomb, the king to seekThat terrace like Kailása's peak,And reached the presence of the king,Sumantra closely following.Before his father's face he came,Raised suppliant hands and named his name, 1bAnd bowing lowly as is meetPaid reverence to the monarch's feet.But soon as Das'aratha viewedThe prince in humble attitude,He raised him by the hand in hasteAnd his beloved son embraced,Then signed him to a glorious throne,Gem-decked and golden, near his own.Then Ráma, best of Raghu's line,Made the fair seat with lustre shineAs when the orient sun upspringsAnd his pure beam on Meru flings.The glory flashed on roof and wall,And with strange sheen suffused the hall,As when the moon's pure rays are sentThrough autumn's star-lit firmament.Then swelled his breast with joy and prideAs his dear son the father eyed,E'en as himeself more fair arrayedIn some clear mirror's face displayed.The aged monarch gazed awhile,Then thus addressed him with a smile,As Kas'yap, whom the worlds revere,Speaks for the Lord of Gods to hear:'O thou of all my sons most dear,In virtue best, thy father's peer,Child of my consort first in place,Mine equal in her pride of race,Because the people's hearts are boundTo thee by graces in thee found,Be thou in Pushya's favouring hourMade partner of my royal power.I know that thou by nature's bentBoth modest art and excellent,But though thy gifts no counsel needMy love suggests the friendly rede.Mine own dear son, be modest still,And rule each sense with earnest will.Keep thou the evils far awayThat spring from love and anger's sway.Thy noble course alike pursueIn secret as in open view,And every nerve, the love to gainOf ministers and subjects, strain.The happy prince who sees with prideHis thriving people satisfied;Whose arsenals with arms are stored,And treasury with golden hoard,--
His friends rejoice as joyed the BlestWhen Amrit crowned their eager quest.So well, my child, thy course maintain,And from all ill thy soul refrain.'
The friends of Ráma, gathered nigh,Longing their lord to gratify,Ran to Kaus'alyá's bower to tellThe tidings that would please her well.She, host of dames, with many a gem,And gold, and kine rewarded them.
Then Ráma paid the reverence due,Mounted the chariot, and withdrew,And to his splendid dwelling droveWhile crowds to show him honour strove. The people, when the monarch's speech Their willing ears had heard, Were wild with joy as though on each Great gifts had been conferred. With meek and low salute each man Turned to his home away, And there with happy heart began To all the Gods to pray.
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Footnotes91:1 Whisks, usually made of the long tails of the Yak.
92:1 Chitraratha, King of the Gandharvas.
92:2 The Chandrakánta or Moonstone, a sort of crystal supposed to be composed of congealed moonbeams.
92:1b A customary mark of respect to a superior.
CANTO IV.:
RÁMA SUMMONED.The crowd dismissed, to high debateThe monarch called his peers of state,And, counsel from their lips obtained,Firm in his will his will explained:'To-morrow with auspicious rayThe moon in Pushya's sign will stay;Be that the time with happy fateMine eldest son to consecrate,And let my Ráma, lotus-eyed,As Regent o'er the state preside.'
He sought, within, his charioteer,And cried 'Again bring Ráma here.'To Ráma's home Sumantra hiedAgain to be the prince's guide.His coming, told to Ráma's ear,Suggested anxious doubt and fear.He bade the messenger be ledThat instant in, and thus he said:'Tell me the cause, omitting naught.Why thou again my house hast sought.'
The envoy answered: 'Prince, thy sireHas sent thy presence to require.My sender known,'tis thine to sayIf thou wilt go or answer nay.'Then Ráma, when he heard his speech,Made haste the royal court to reach.Soon as the monarch was awareHis dearest son was waiting there,Eager the parley to beginHe bade them lead the prince within,Soon as he passed the chamber doorThe hero bent him to the floor,And at a distance from his seatRaised his joined hands his sire to greet.The monarch raised him from the ground,And loving arms about him wound,Then pointed to a seat that shoneWith gold for him to rest upon.'Aged am I,' he said, 'and worn;In life's best joys my share have borne;Rites to the Gods, in hundreds, paid,With gifts of corn and largess made.I yearned for sons: my life is blestWith them and thee of sons the best.No debt to saints or Bráhmans, no,Nor spirits, Gods, or self I owe.One duty now remains alone,To set thee on thy father's throne.Now therefore, Ráma, hear my rede,And mark my words with duteous heed:This day the peoples' general voice,Elects thee king of love and choice,And I, consenting to the prayer,Will make thee, darling, Regent Heir.Dread visions, each returning night,With evil omens scare my sight.Red meteors with a fearful soundShoot wildly downward to the ground,While tempests lash the troubled air;And they who read the stars declareThat, leagued against my natal sign,Ráhu 1 the Sun, 2 and Mars combine.When portents dire as these appear,A monarch's death or woe is near.Then while my senses yet are spared,And thought and will are unimpaired,Be thou, my son, anointed king:Men's fancy is a fickle thing.To-day the moon, in order due,Entered the sign Punarvasu; 3To-morrow, as the wise foretell,In Pushya's favouring stars will dwell:Then on the throne shalt thou be placed.My soul, prophetic, counsels haste:Thee, O my son, to-morrow IAs Regent Heir will sanctify.So till the coming night he passedDo thou and Sítá strictly fast:From worldly thoughts thy soul refrain,And couched on holy grass remain.
And let thy trusted lords attendIn careful watch upon their friend,For, unexpected, check and barOur weightiest counsels often mar.While Bharat too is far awayMaking with royal kin his stay,I deem the fittest time of allThee, chosen Regent, to install.It may be Bharat still has stoodTrue to the counsels of the good,Faithful to thee with tender trust,With governed senses, pure and just.But human minds, too well I know,Will sudden changes undergo,And by their constant deeds aloneThe virtue of the good is shown.Now, Ráma, go. My son, good night!Fixt is to-morrow for the rite.'
Then Ráma paid the reverence due,And quickly to his home withdrew.He passed within, nor lingered there,But sought his mother's mansion, whereThe dame in linen robes arrayedDevoutly in the chapel prayedTo Fortune's Queen,with utterance checked,That she her Ráma would protect.There was Sumitrá too, and thereWas Lakshman led by loving care:And when the royal choice they knewSítá in haste was summoned too.Absorbed, with half-shut eyes, the queenAttended by the three was seen.She knew that Pushya's lucky hourWould raise her son to royal power,So fixed with bated breath each thoughtOn God supreme, by all men sought.To her, as thus she knelt and prayed,Ráma drew near, due reverence paid,And then to swell his mother's joy,Thus spoke her own beloved boy;'O mother dear, my sire's decreeEntrusts the people's weal to me.To-morrow I, for so his will.Anointed king, the throne shall fill.The few last hours till night shall endSitá with me must fasting spend,For so my father has decreed,And holy priests with him agreed.What vows soever thou mayst deemMy consecration's eve beseem,Do thou, sweet mother, for my sakeAnd for beloved Sitá's make.'
When the glad news Kaus'alyá heard,So long desired, so long deferred,While tears of joy her utterance broke,In answer to her son she spoke:'Long be thy life, my darling: nowThy prostrate foes before thee bow.Live long and with thy bright successMy friends and dear Sumitrá's bless.Surely the stars were wondrous fairWhen thee, sweet son, thy mother bare,That thy good gifts such love inspireAnd win the favour of thy sire.With thee I travailed not in vain;Those lotus eyes reward my pain,And all the glory of the lineOf old Ikshváku will be thine.'
He smiled, and on his brother gazedWho sate with reverent hands upraised,And said: 'My brother, thou must beJoint-ruler of this land with me.My second self thou, Lakshman, art,And in my fortune bearest part.Be thine, Sumitrá's son, to knowThe joys from regal power that flow.My life itself, the monarch's seat,For thy dear sake to me are sweet. 1
Thus Ráma to his brother said,To both his mothers' bowed his head,And then with Sítá by his sideTo his own house the hero hied.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Footnotes93:1 Ráhu, the ascending node, is in mythology a demon with the tail of a dragon whose head was severed from his body by Vishnu, but being immortal, the head and tail retained their separate existence and being transferred to the stellar sphere became the authors of eclipses; the first especially by endeavouring to swallow the sun and moon.
93:2 In eclipse.
93:3 The seventh of the lunar asterisms.
CANTO V.:
He sought, within, his charioteer,And cried 'Again bring Ráma here.'To Ráma's home Sumantra hiedAgain to be the prince's guide.His coming, told to Ráma's ear,Suggested anxious doubt and fear.He bade the messenger be ledThat instant in, and thus he said:'Tell me the cause, omitting naught.Why thou again my house hast sought.'
The envoy answered: 'Prince, thy sireHas sent thy presence to require.My sender known,'tis thine to sayIf thou wilt go or answer nay.'Then Ráma, when he heard his speech,Made haste the royal court to reach.Soon as the monarch was awareHis dearest son was waiting there,Eager the parley to beginHe bade them lead the prince within,Soon as he passed the chamber doorThe hero bent him to the floor,And at a distance from his seatRaised his joined hands his sire to greet.The monarch raised him from the ground,And loving arms about him wound,Then pointed to a seat that shoneWith gold for him to rest upon.'Aged am I,' he said, 'and worn;In life's best joys my share have borne;Rites to the Gods, in hundreds, paid,With gifts of corn and largess made.I yearned for sons: my life is blestWith them and thee of sons the best.No debt to saints or Bráhmans, no,Nor spirits, Gods, or self I owe.One duty now remains alone,To set thee on thy father's throne.Now therefore, Ráma, hear my rede,And mark my words with duteous heed:This day the peoples' general voice,Elects thee king of love and choice,And I, consenting to the prayer,Will make thee, darling, Regent Heir.Dread visions, each returning night,With evil omens scare my sight.Red meteors with a fearful soundShoot wildly downward to the ground,While tempests lash the troubled air;And they who read the stars declareThat, leagued against my natal sign,Ráhu 1 the Sun, 2 and Mars combine.When portents dire as these appear,A monarch's death or woe is near.Then while my senses yet are spared,And thought and will are unimpaired,Be thou, my son, anointed king:Men's fancy is a fickle thing.To-day the moon, in order due,Entered the sign Punarvasu; 3To-morrow, as the wise foretell,In Pushya's favouring stars will dwell:Then on the throne shalt thou be placed.My soul, prophetic, counsels haste:Thee, O my son, to-morrow IAs Regent Heir will sanctify.So till the coming night he passedDo thou and Sítá strictly fast:From worldly thoughts thy soul refrain,And couched on holy grass remain.
And let thy trusted lords attendIn careful watch upon their friend,For, unexpected, check and barOur weightiest counsels often mar.While Bharat too is far awayMaking with royal kin his stay,I deem the fittest time of allThee, chosen Regent, to install.It may be Bharat still has stoodTrue to the counsels of the good,Faithful to thee with tender trust,With governed senses, pure and just.But human minds, too well I know,Will sudden changes undergo,And by their constant deeds aloneThe virtue of the good is shown.Now, Ráma, go. My son, good night!Fixt is to-morrow for the rite.'
Then Ráma paid the reverence due,And quickly to his home withdrew.He passed within, nor lingered there,But sought his mother's mansion, whereThe dame in linen robes arrayedDevoutly in the chapel prayedTo Fortune's Queen,with utterance checked,That she her Ráma would protect.There was Sumitrá too, and thereWas Lakshman led by loving care:And when the royal choice they knewSítá in haste was summoned too.Absorbed, with half-shut eyes, the queenAttended by the three was seen.She knew that Pushya's lucky hourWould raise her son to royal power,So fixed with bated breath each thoughtOn God supreme, by all men sought.To her, as thus she knelt and prayed,Ráma drew near, due reverence paid,And then to swell his mother's joy,Thus spoke her own beloved boy;'O mother dear, my sire's decreeEntrusts the people's weal to me.To-morrow I, for so his will.Anointed king, the throne shall fill.The few last hours till night shall endSitá with me must fasting spend,For so my father has decreed,And holy priests with him agreed.What vows soever thou mayst deemMy consecration's eve beseem,Do thou, sweet mother, for my sakeAnd for beloved Sitá's make.'
When the glad news Kaus'alyá heard,So long desired, so long deferred,While tears of joy her utterance broke,In answer to her son she spoke:'Long be thy life, my darling: nowThy prostrate foes before thee bow.Live long and with thy bright successMy friends and dear Sumitrá's bless.Surely the stars were wondrous fairWhen thee, sweet son, thy mother bare,That thy good gifts such love inspireAnd win the favour of thy sire.With thee I travailed not in vain;Those lotus eyes reward my pain,And all the glory of the lineOf old Ikshváku will be thine.'
He smiled, and on his brother gazedWho sate with reverent hands upraised,And said: 'My brother, thou must beJoint-ruler of this land with me.My second self thou, Lakshman, art,And in my fortune bearest part.Be thine, Sumitrá's son, to knowThe joys from regal power that flow.My life itself, the monarch's seat,For thy dear sake to me are sweet. 1
Thus Ráma to his brother said,To both his mothers' bowed his head,And then with Sítá by his sideTo his own house the hero hied.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Footnotes93:1 Ráhu, the ascending node, is in mythology a demon with the tail of a dragon whose head was severed from his body by Vishnu, but being immortal, the head and tail retained their separate existence and being transferred to the stellar sphere became the authors of eclipses; the first especially by endeavouring to swallow the sun and moon.
93:2 In eclipse.
93:3 The seventh of the lunar asterisms.
CANTO V.:
RÁMA'S FAST.Then Saint Vas'ishtha to the kingCame ready at his summoning.'Now go,' exclaimed the monarch, 'thouEnriched by fervent rite and vow,For Ráma and his wife ordainThe fast, that joy may bless his reign.'
The best of those who Scripture knowSaid to the king, 'My lord, I go.'To Ráma's house Vas'ishtha hied,The hero's fast by rule to guide,And skilled in sacred texts to tellEach step to him instructed well.Straight to Prince Ráma's high abode,That like a cloud pale-tinted showed,Borne in his priestly car he rode.Two courts he passed, and in the thirdHe stayed his car. Then Ráma heardThe holy sage was come, and flewTo honour him with honour due.He hastened to the car and lentHis hand to aid the priest's descent.Then spoke Vas'ishtha words like these,Pleased with his reverent courtesies,With pleasant things his heart to cheerWho best deserved glad news to hear:'Prince, thou hast won thy father's grace,And thine will be the Regent's place:Now with thy Sítá, as is right,In strictest fasting spend the night,
For when the morrow's dawn is fairThe king will consecrate his heir:So Nahush, 1 as the wise relate,Yayáti joyed to consecrate.'
Thus having said, Vas'ishtha nextOrdained the fast by rule and text,For Ráma faithful to his vowsAnd the Videhan dame his spouse.Then from the prince's house he hiedWith courteous honours gratified.Round Ráma gathered every friendIn pleasant talk a while to spend.He bade good night to all at last,And to his inner chamber passed.Then Ráma's house shone bright and gayWith men and maids in glad array,As in the morning some fair lakeWhen all her lotuses awake,And every bird that loves the floodFlits joyous round each opening bud.
Forth from the house Vas'ishtha drove,That with the king's in splendour strove,And all the royal street he viewedFilled with a mighty multitudeThe eager concourse blocked each square,Each road and lane and thoroughfare,And joyous shouts on every sideRose like the roar of Ocean's tide,As streams of men together cameWith loud huzza and glad acclaim.The ways were watered, swept and clean,And decked with flowers and garlands greenAnd all Ayodhyá shone arrayedWith banners on the roofs that played.Men, women, boys with eager eyes,Expecting when the sun should rise,Stood longing for the herald rayOf Ráma's consecration day,To see, a source of joy to all,The people-*honoured festival.
The priest advancing slowly throughThe mighty crowd he cleft in two,Near to the monarch's palace drew.He sought the terrace, by the stair,Like a white cloud peak high in air,The reverend king of men to meetWho sate upon his splendid seat:Thus will Vrihaspati ariseTo meet the monarch of the skies.But when the king his coming knew,He left his throne and near him drewQuestioned by him Vas'ishtha saidThat all his task was duly sped.Then all who sate there, honouringVas'ishtha, rose as rose the king,Vas'ishtha bade his lord adieu,And all the peers, dismissed, withdrew.
Then as a royal lion seeksHis cave beneath the rocky peaks,So to the chambers where abodeHis consorts Das'aratha strode. Full-thronged were those delightful bowers With women richly dressed, And splendid as the radiant towers Where Indra loves to rest. Then brighter flashed a thousand eyes With the light his presence lent, As, when the moon begins to rise The star thronged firmament.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Footnotes94:1 Kaus'alyá aud Sumitrá.
95:1 A king of the Lunar race, and father of Yayáti.
CANTO VI.:
The best of those who Scripture knowSaid to the king, 'My lord, I go.'To Ráma's house Vas'ishtha hied,The hero's fast by rule to guide,And skilled in sacred texts to tellEach step to him instructed well.Straight to Prince Ráma's high abode,That like a cloud pale-tinted showed,Borne in his priestly car he rode.Two courts he passed, and in the thirdHe stayed his car. Then Ráma heardThe holy sage was come, and flewTo honour him with honour due.He hastened to the car and lentHis hand to aid the priest's descent.Then spoke Vas'ishtha words like these,Pleased with his reverent courtesies,With pleasant things his heart to cheerWho best deserved glad news to hear:'Prince, thou hast won thy father's grace,And thine will be the Regent's place:Now with thy Sítá, as is right,In strictest fasting spend the night,
For when the morrow's dawn is fairThe king will consecrate his heir:So Nahush, 1 as the wise relate,Yayáti joyed to consecrate.'
Thus having said, Vas'ishtha nextOrdained the fast by rule and text,For Ráma faithful to his vowsAnd the Videhan dame his spouse.Then from the prince's house he hiedWith courteous honours gratified.Round Ráma gathered every friendIn pleasant talk a while to spend.He bade good night to all at last,And to his inner chamber passed.Then Ráma's house shone bright and gayWith men and maids in glad array,As in the morning some fair lakeWhen all her lotuses awake,And every bird that loves the floodFlits joyous round each opening bud.
Forth from the house Vas'ishtha drove,That with the king's in splendour strove,And all the royal street he viewedFilled with a mighty multitudeThe eager concourse blocked each square,Each road and lane and thoroughfare,And joyous shouts on every sideRose like the roar of Ocean's tide,As streams of men together cameWith loud huzza and glad acclaim.The ways were watered, swept and clean,And decked with flowers and garlands greenAnd all Ayodhyá shone arrayedWith banners on the roofs that played.Men, women, boys with eager eyes,Expecting when the sun should rise,Stood longing for the herald rayOf Ráma's consecration day,To see, a source of joy to all,The people-*honoured festival.
The priest advancing slowly throughThe mighty crowd he cleft in two,Near to the monarch's palace drew.He sought the terrace, by the stair,Like a white cloud peak high in air,The reverend king of men to meetWho sate upon his splendid seat:Thus will Vrihaspati ariseTo meet the monarch of the skies.But when the king his coming knew,He left his throne and near him drewQuestioned by him Vas'ishtha saidThat all his task was duly sped.Then all who sate there, honouringVas'ishtha, rose as rose the king,Vas'ishtha bade his lord adieu,And all the peers, dismissed, withdrew.
Then as a royal lion seeksHis cave beneath the rocky peaks,So to the chambers where abodeHis consorts Das'aratha strode. Full-thronged were those delightful bowers With women richly dressed, And splendid as the radiant towers Where Indra loves to rest. Then brighter flashed a thousand eyes With the light his presence lent, As, when the moon begins to rise The star thronged firmament.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Footnotes94:1 Kaus'alyá aud Sumitrá.
95:1 A king of the Lunar race, and father of Yayáti.
CANTO VI.:
THE CITY DECORATED.Then Ráma bathed in order due,His mind from worldly thoughts withdrew,And with big large-eyed wife besoughtNáráyan, as a votary ought.Upon his head the brimming cupOf holy oil he lifted up,Then placed within the kindled fireThe offering to that heavenly Sire,And as he sipped the remnant prayedTo Him for blessing and for aid.Then with still lips and tranquil mindWith his Videhan he reclined,In Vishnu's chapel, on a bedWhere holy grass was duly spread,While still the prince's every thoughtTbe God supreme, Náráyan, sought.One watch remained the night to closeWhen Ráma from his couch arose,And bade the men and maids adornHis palace for the solemn morn.He heard the bards and heralds raiseAuspicious strains of joy and praise;And breathed devout, with voice restrained,The hymn for morning rites ordained;Then, with his head in reverence bowed,Praised Madhu's conquering foe aloud.And, in pure linen robes arrayed,The priests to raise their voices prayed.Obedient to the summons theyProclaimed to all the festal day.The Bráhmans' voices, deep and sweet,Resounded through the crowded street,And echoed through Ayodhyá wentBy many a loud-toned instrument.Then all the people joyed to hearThat Ráma with his consort dearHad fasted till the morning lightIn preparation for the rite.Swiftly the joyful tidings throughAyodhyá's crowded city flew,And soon as dawn appeared, each manTo decorate the town began.
In all the temples bright and fairAs white clouds towering in the air,In streets, and where the cross-ways met,Where holy fig-trees had been set,In open square, in sacred shade,Where merchants' shops their wealth displayed,On all the mansions of the great,And householders of wealth and state,Where'er the people loved to meet,Where'er a tree adorned the street,Gay banners floated to the wind,And ribands round the staves were twined.Then clear the singers' voices rang,As, charming mind and ear, they sang.Here players shone in bright attire,There dancing women swelled the quire.Each with his friend had much to sayOf Ráma's consecration-day:Yea, even children, as they playedAt cottage doors beneath the shade.The royal street with flowers was strownWhich loving hands in heaps had thrown,And here and there rich incense lentIts fragrance to the garland's scent;And all was fresh and fair and brightIn honour of the coming rite.With careful foresight to illumeWith borrowed blaze the midnight gloom,The crowds erected here and thereTrees in each street gay lamps to bear.The city thus from side to sideIn festal guise was beautified.The people of the town who longedTo view the rite together thronged,And filling every court and squarePraised the good king in converse there:'Our high-souled king! He throws a graceOn old Ikshváku's royal race.He feels his years' increasing weight,And makes his son associate.Great joy to us the choice will bringOf Ráma for our lord and king.The good and bad to him are known,And long will he protect his own.No pride his prudent breast may swell,Most just, he loves his brothers well,And to us all that love extends,Cherished as brothers and as friends.Long may our lord in life remain,Good Das'aratha, free from stain,By whose most gracious favour weRáma anointed king shall see.'
Such were the words the townsmen spokeHeard by the gathering countryfolk,Who from the south, north, east, and west,Stirred by the joyful tidings, pressed.For by their eager longing ledTo Ráma's consecration spedThe villagers from every side,And filled Ayodhyá's city wide.This way and that way strayed the crowd,While rose a murmur long and loud,As when the full moon floods the skiesAnd Ocean's waves with thunder rise. That town, like Indra's city fair, While peasants thronged her ways. Tumultuous roared like Ocean, where Each flood-born monster plays.
CANTO VII.:
In all the temples bright and fairAs white clouds towering in the air,In streets, and where the cross-ways met,Where holy fig-trees had been set,In open square, in sacred shade,Where merchants' shops their wealth displayed,On all the mansions of the great,And householders of wealth and state,Where'er the people loved to meet,Where'er a tree adorned the street,Gay banners floated to the wind,And ribands round the staves were twined.Then clear the singers' voices rang,As, charming mind and ear, they sang.Here players shone in bright attire,There dancing women swelled the quire.Each with his friend had much to sayOf Ráma's consecration-day:Yea, even children, as they playedAt cottage doors beneath the shade.The royal street with flowers was strownWhich loving hands in heaps had thrown,And here and there rich incense lentIts fragrance to the garland's scent;And all was fresh and fair and brightIn honour of the coming rite.With careful foresight to illumeWith borrowed blaze the midnight gloom,The crowds erected here and thereTrees in each street gay lamps to bear.The city thus from side to sideIn festal guise was beautified.The people of the town who longedTo view the rite together thronged,And filling every court and squarePraised the good king in converse there:'Our high-souled king! He throws a graceOn old Ikshváku's royal race.He feels his years' increasing weight,And makes his son associate.Great joy to us the choice will bringOf Ráma for our lord and king.The good and bad to him are known,And long will he protect his own.No pride his prudent breast may swell,Most just, he loves his brothers well,And to us all that love extends,Cherished as brothers and as friends.Long may our lord in life remain,Good Das'aratha, free from stain,By whose most gracious favour weRáma anointed king shall see.'
Such were the words the townsmen spokeHeard by the gathering countryfolk,Who from the south, north, east, and west,Stirred by the joyful tidings, pressed.For by their eager longing ledTo Ráma's consecration spedThe villagers from every side,And filled Ayodhyá's city wide.This way and that way strayed the crowd,While rose a murmur long and loud,As when the full moon floods the skiesAnd Ocean's waves with thunder rise. That town, like Indra's city fair, While peasants thronged her ways. Tumultuous roared like Ocean, where Each flood-born monster plays.
CANTO VII.:
MANTHARÁ'S LAMENT.It chanced a slave-born handmaid, bredWith Queen Kaikeyí, fancy-fed,Mounted the stair and stood uponThe terrace like the moon that shone.Thence Manthará at ease surveyedAyodhyá to her eyes displayed,Where water cooled the royal street,Where heaps of flowers were fresh and sweet,And costly flags and pennons hungOn roof and tower their shadow flung;With covered ways prepared in haste,And many an awning newly placed;With sandal-scented streams bedewed,Thronged by a new bathed multitude:Whose streets were full of Bráhman bandsWith wreaths and sweetmeats in their hands.Loud instruments their music raised,And through the town, where'er she gazed,The doors of temples glittered white,And the maid marvelled at the sight.
Of Ráma's nurse who, standing by,Gazed with a joy-expanded eye,In robes of purest white attired,The wondering damsel thus inquired:
'Does Ráma's mother give awayRich largess to the crowds to-day,On some dear object fondly bent,Or blest with measureless content?What mean these signs of rare delightOn every side that meet my sight?Say, will the king with joy elateSome happy triumph celebrate?'
The nurse, with transport uncontrolled,Her glad tale to the hump-back told:'Our lord the king to-morrow mornWill consecrate his eldest-born,And raise, in Pushya's favouring hour,Prince Ráma to the royal power.'As thus the nurse her tidings spoke,Rage in the hump-back's breast awoke.Down from the terrace, like the headOf high Kailása's hill, she sped.Sin in her thoughts, her soul aflame,Where Queen Kaikeyí slept, she came:
'Why sleepest thou?' she cried, 'arise,Peril is near, unclose thine eyes.Ah, heedless Queen, too blind to knowWnat floods of sin above thee flow!Thy boasts of love and grace are o'er:Thine is the show and nothing more.His favour is an empty cheat,A torrent dried by summer's heat.'
Thus by the artful maid addressedIn cruel words from raging breast,The queen, sore troubled, spoke in turn;'What evil news have I to learn?That mournful eye, that altered cheekOf sudden woe or danger speak.'
Such were the words Kaikeyí said:Then Manthará, her eyeballs redWith fury, skilled with treacherous artTo grieve yet more her lady's heart,From Ráma, in her wicked hate,Kaikeyí's love to alienate,Upon her evil purpose bentBegan again most eloquent:'Peril awaits thee swift and sure,And utter woe defying cure;King Das'aratha will createPrince Ráma Heir Associate.Plunged in the depths of wild despair,My soul a prey to pain and care,As though the flames consumed me, zealHas brought me for my lady's weal,Thy grief, my Queen, is grief to me:Thy gain my greatest gain would be.Proud daughter of a princely line,The rights of consort queen are thine.How art thou, born of royal race,Blind to the crimes that kings debase!Thy lord is gracious, to deceive,And flatters, but thy soul to grieve,While thy pure heart that thinks no sinKnows not the snares that hem thee in.Thy husband's lips on thee bestowSoft soothing word, an empty show:The wealth, the substance, and the powerThis day will be Kaus'alyá's dower.With crafty soul thy child he sendsTo dwell among thy distant friends,And, every rival far from sight,To Ráma gives the power and might.Ah me! for thou, unhappy dame,Deluded by a husband's name,With more than mother's love hast pressedA serpent to thy heedless breast,And cherished him who works thee woe,No husband but a deadly foe.For like a snake, unconscious Queen,Or enemy who stabs unseen,King Das'aratha all untrueHas dealt with thee and Bharat too.Ah, simple lady, long beguiledBy his soft words who falsely smiled!Poor victim of the guileless breast,A happier fate thou meritest.For thee and thine destruction waitsWhen he Prince Ráma consecrates.Up, lady, while there yet is time;Preserve thyself, prevent the crime.Up, from thy careless ease, and freeThyself, O Queen, thy son, and me!'
Delighted at the words she said,Kaikeyí lifted from the bed,Like autumn's moon, her radiant head,And joyous at the tidings gaveA jewel to the hump-back slave;And as she gave the precious toyShe cried in her exceeding joy:'Take this, dear maiden, for thy newsMost grateful to mine ear, and chooseWhat grace beside most fitly mayThe welcome messenger repay.I joy that Ráma gains the throne:Kaus'alyá's son is as mine own.'
CANTO VIII:
Of Ráma's nurse who, standing by,Gazed with a joy-expanded eye,In robes of purest white attired,The wondering damsel thus inquired:
'Does Ráma's mother give awayRich largess to the crowds to-day,On some dear object fondly bent,Or blest with measureless content?What mean these signs of rare delightOn every side that meet my sight?Say, will the king with joy elateSome happy triumph celebrate?'
The nurse, with transport uncontrolled,Her glad tale to the hump-back told:'Our lord the king to-morrow mornWill consecrate his eldest-born,And raise, in Pushya's favouring hour,Prince Ráma to the royal power.'As thus the nurse her tidings spoke,Rage in the hump-back's breast awoke.Down from the terrace, like the headOf high Kailása's hill, she sped.Sin in her thoughts, her soul aflame,Where Queen Kaikeyí slept, she came:
'Why sleepest thou?' she cried, 'arise,Peril is near, unclose thine eyes.Ah, heedless Queen, too blind to knowWnat floods of sin above thee flow!Thy boasts of love and grace are o'er:Thine is the show and nothing more.His favour is an empty cheat,A torrent dried by summer's heat.'
Thus by the artful maid addressedIn cruel words from raging breast,The queen, sore troubled, spoke in turn;'What evil news have I to learn?That mournful eye, that altered cheekOf sudden woe or danger speak.'
Such were the words Kaikeyí said:Then Manthará, her eyeballs redWith fury, skilled with treacherous artTo grieve yet more her lady's heart,From Ráma, in her wicked hate,Kaikeyí's love to alienate,Upon her evil purpose bentBegan again most eloquent:'Peril awaits thee swift and sure,And utter woe defying cure;King Das'aratha will createPrince Ráma Heir Associate.Plunged in the depths of wild despair,My soul a prey to pain and care,As though the flames consumed me, zealHas brought me for my lady's weal,Thy grief, my Queen, is grief to me:Thy gain my greatest gain would be.Proud daughter of a princely line,The rights of consort queen are thine.How art thou, born of royal race,Blind to the crimes that kings debase!Thy lord is gracious, to deceive,And flatters, but thy soul to grieve,While thy pure heart that thinks no sinKnows not the snares that hem thee in.Thy husband's lips on thee bestowSoft soothing word, an empty show:The wealth, the substance, and the powerThis day will be Kaus'alyá's dower.With crafty soul thy child he sendsTo dwell among thy distant friends,And, every rival far from sight,To Ráma gives the power and might.Ah me! for thou, unhappy dame,Deluded by a husband's name,With more than mother's love hast pressedA serpent to thy heedless breast,And cherished him who works thee woe,No husband but a deadly foe.For like a snake, unconscious Queen,Or enemy who stabs unseen,King Das'aratha all untrueHas dealt with thee and Bharat too.Ah, simple lady, long beguiledBy his soft words who falsely smiled!Poor victim of the guileless breast,A happier fate thou meritest.For thee and thine destruction waitsWhen he Prince Ráma consecrates.Up, lady, while there yet is time;Preserve thyself, prevent the crime.Up, from thy careless ease, and freeThyself, O Queen, thy son, and me!'
Delighted at the words she said,Kaikeyí lifted from the bed,Like autumn's moon, her radiant head,And joyous at the tidings gaveA jewel to the hump-back slave;And as she gave the precious toyShe cried in her exceeding joy:'Take this, dear maiden, for thy newsMost grateful to mine ear, and chooseWhat grace beside most fitly mayThe welcome messenger repay.I joy that Ráma gains the throne:Kaus'alyá's son is as mine own.'
CANTO VIII:
MANTHARÁ'S SPEECH.The damsel's breast with fury burned:She answered, as the gift she spurned:'What time, O simple Queen, is thisFor idle dreams of fancied bliss?Hast thou not sense thy state to know,Engulfed in seas of whelming woe;Sick as I am with grief and painMy lips can scarce a laugh restrainTo see thee hail with ill-timed joyA peril mighty to destroy.I mourn for one so fondly blind:What woman of a prudent mindWould welcome, e'en as thou hast done,The lordship of a rival's son,Rejoiced to find her secret foeEmpowered, like death, to launch the blow;I see that Ráma still must fearThy Bharat, to his throne too near.Hence is my heart disquieted,For those who fear are those we dread.Lakshman, the mighty bow who draws,With all his soul serves Ráma's cause;And chains as strong to Bharat bindS'atrughna, with his heart and mind,Now next to Ráma, lady fair,Thy Bharat is the lawful heir:And far remote, I ween, the chanceThat might the younger two advance.Yes, Queen,'tis Ráma that I dread,Wise, prompt, in warlike science bred;And oh, I tremble when I thinkOf thy dear child on ruin's brink.
Blest witn a lofty fate is she,Kaus'alyá; for her son will bePlaced, when the moon and Pushya meet,By Bráhmans on the royal seat,Thou as a slave in suppliant guiseMust wait upon Kaus'alyá's eyes,With all her wealth and bliss securedAnd glorious from her foes assured.Her slave with us who serve thee, thouWilt see thy son to Ráma bow,And Sítá's friends exult o'er all,While Bharat's wife shares Bharat's fall.'
As thus the maid in wrath complained,Kaikeyí saw her heart was pained,And answered eager in defenceOf Ramá's worth and excellence:'Nay, Ráma, born the monarch's heir,By holy fathers trained with care,Virtuous, grateful, pure, and true,Claims royal sway as rightly due.He, like a sire, will long defendEach brother, minister, and friend.Then why, O hump-back, art thou painedTo hear that he the throne has gained?Be sure when Ráma's empire ends,The kingdom to my son descends,Who, when a hundred years are flown,Shall sit upon his fathers' throne.Why is thine heart thus sad to seeThe joy that is and long shall be,This fortune by possession sureAnd hopes which we may count secure?Dear as the darling son I boreIs Ráma, yea, or even more.Most duteous to Kaus'alyá, heIs yet more dutiful to me.What though he rule, we need not fear:His brethren to his soul are dear.And if the throne Prince Ráma fillBharat will share the empire still.'
She ceased. The troubled damsel sighedSighs long and hot, and thus replied:'What madness has possessed thy mind,To warnings deaf, to dangers blind?Canst thou not see the floods of woeThat threaten o'er thine head to flow:First Ráma will the throne acquire,Then Ráma's son succeed his sire,While Bharat will neglected pineExcluded from the royal line.Not all his sons, O lady fair,The kingdom of a monarch share:All ruling when a sovereign diesWild tumult in the state would rise.The eldest, be he good or ill,Is ruler by the father's will.Know, tender mother, that thy sonWithout a friend and all undone.Far from the joyous ease of homeAn alien from his race will roam.I sped to thee for whom I feel,But thy fond heart mistakes my zeal,Thy hand a present would bestowBecause thy rival triumphs so.When Ráma once begins his swayWithout a foe his will to stay,Thy darling Bharat he will driveTo distant lands if left alive.By thee the child was sent awayBeneath his grandsire's roof to stay.Even in stocks and stones perforceWill friendship spring from intercourse.The young S'atrughna too would goWith Bharat, for he loved him so.As Lakshman still to Ráma cleaves,He his dear Bharat never leaves.There is an ancient tale they tell:A tree the foresters would fellWas saved by reeds that round it stood,For love that sprang of neighbourhood.So Lakshman Ráma will defend,And each on each for aid depend.Such fame on earth their friendship winsAs that which binds the Heavenly Twins.And Ráma ne'er will purpose wrongTo Lakshman, for their love is strong.But Bharat, Oh, of this be sure,Must evil at his hands endure.Come, Ráma from his home expelAn exile in the woods to dwell.The plan, O Queen, which I adviseSecures thy weal if thou be wise,So we and all thy kith and kinAdvantage from thy gain shall win.Shall Bharat, meet for happier fate,Born to endure his rival's hate,With all his fortune ruined cowerAnd dread his brother's mightier power!Up, Queen, to save thy son, arise;Prostrate at Ráma's feet he lies.So the proud elephant who leadsHis trooping consorts through the reedsFalls in the forest shade beneathThe lion's spring and murderous teeth.Scorned by thee in thy bliss and prideKaus'alyá was of old defied,And will she now forbear to showThe vengeful rancour of a foe? O Queen, thy darling is undone When Ráma's hand has once begun Ayodhyá's realm to sway, Come, win the kingdom for thy child And drive the alien to the wild In banishment to-day.'
CANTO IX.:
Blest witn a lofty fate is she,Kaus'alyá; for her son will bePlaced, when the moon and Pushya meet,By Bráhmans on the royal seat,Thou as a slave in suppliant guiseMust wait upon Kaus'alyá's eyes,With all her wealth and bliss securedAnd glorious from her foes assured.Her slave with us who serve thee, thouWilt see thy son to Ráma bow,And Sítá's friends exult o'er all,While Bharat's wife shares Bharat's fall.'
As thus the maid in wrath complained,Kaikeyí saw her heart was pained,And answered eager in defenceOf Ramá's worth and excellence:'Nay, Ráma, born the monarch's heir,By holy fathers trained with care,Virtuous, grateful, pure, and true,Claims royal sway as rightly due.He, like a sire, will long defendEach brother, minister, and friend.Then why, O hump-back, art thou painedTo hear that he the throne has gained?Be sure when Ráma's empire ends,The kingdom to my son descends,Who, when a hundred years are flown,Shall sit upon his fathers' throne.Why is thine heart thus sad to seeThe joy that is and long shall be,This fortune by possession sureAnd hopes which we may count secure?Dear as the darling son I boreIs Ráma, yea, or even more.Most duteous to Kaus'alyá, heIs yet more dutiful to me.What though he rule, we need not fear:His brethren to his soul are dear.And if the throne Prince Ráma fillBharat will share the empire still.'
She ceased. The troubled damsel sighedSighs long and hot, and thus replied:'What madness has possessed thy mind,To warnings deaf, to dangers blind?Canst thou not see the floods of woeThat threaten o'er thine head to flow:First Ráma will the throne acquire,Then Ráma's son succeed his sire,While Bharat will neglected pineExcluded from the royal line.Not all his sons, O lady fair,The kingdom of a monarch share:All ruling when a sovereign diesWild tumult in the state would rise.The eldest, be he good or ill,Is ruler by the father's will.Know, tender mother, that thy sonWithout a friend and all undone.Far from the joyous ease of homeAn alien from his race will roam.I sped to thee for whom I feel,But thy fond heart mistakes my zeal,Thy hand a present would bestowBecause thy rival triumphs so.When Ráma once begins his swayWithout a foe his will to stay,Thy darling Bharat he will driveTo distant lands if left alive.By thee the child was sent awayBeneath his grandsire's roof to stay.Even in stocks and stones perforceWill friendship spring from intercourse.The young S'atrughna too would goWith Bharat, for he loved him so.As Lakshman still to Ráma cleaves,He his dear Bharat never leaves.There is an ancient tale they tell:A tree the foresters would fellWas saved by reeds that round it stood,For love that sprang of neighbourhood.So Lakshman Ráma will defend,And each on each for aid depend.Such fame on earth their friendship winsAs that which binds the Heavenly Twins.And Ráma ne'er will purpose wrongTo Lakshman, for their love is strong.But Bharat, Oh, of this be sure,Must evil at his hands endure.Come, Ráma from his home expelAn exile in the woods to dwell.The plan, O Queen, which I adviseSecures thy weal if thou be wise,So we and all thy kith and kinAdvantage from thy gain shall win.Shall Bharat, meet for happier fate,Born to endure his rival's hate,With all his fortune ruined cowerAnd dread his brother's mightier power!Up, Queen, to save thy son, arise;Prostrate at Ráma's feet he lies.So the proud elephant who leadsHis trooping consorts through the reedsFalls in the forest shade beneathThe lion's spring and murderous teeth.Scorned by thee in thy bliss and prideKaus'alyá was of old defied,And will she now forbear to showThe vengeful rancour of a foe? O Queen, thy darling is undone When Ráma's hand has once begun Ayodhyá's realm to sway, Come, win the kingdom for thy child And drive the alien to the wild In banishment to-day.'
CANTO IX.:
THE PLOT.As fury lit Kaikeyí's eyesShe spoke with long and burning sighs:
'This day my son enthroned shall see,And Ráma to the woods shall flee.But tell me, damsel, if thou can,A certain way, a skilful planThat Bharat may the empire gain,And Ráma's hopes be nursed in vain.'
The lady ceased. The wicked maidThe mandate of her queen obeyed,And darkly plotting Ráma's fallResponded to Kaikeyí's call.
'I will declare, do thou attend,How Bharat may his throne ascend.Dost thou forget what things befell?Or dost thou feign, remembering well?Or wouldst thou hear my tongue repeatA story for thy need so meet?Gay lady, if thy will be so,Now hear the tale of long ago,And when my tongue has done its partPonder the story in thine heart.When Gods and demons fought of old,Thy lord, with royal saints enrolled,Sued to the war with thee to bringHis might to aid the Immortals' King.Far to the southern land he spedWhere Dandak's mighty wilds are spread,To Vaijayanta's city swayedBy S'ambara, whose flag displaydThe hugest monster of the sea.Lord of a hundred wiles was be;With might which Gods could never blameAgainst the King of Heaven he came.Then raged the battle wild and dread,And mortal warriors fought and bled;The fiends by night with strength renewedCharged, slew the sleeping multitude.Thy lord, King Das'aratha, longStood fighting with the demon throng,But long of arm, unmatched in strength,Fell wounded by their darts at length.Thy husband, senseless, by thine aidWas from the battle field conveyed.And wounded nigh to death thy lordWas by thy care to health restored.Well pleased the grateful monarch swareTo grant thy first and second prayer.Thou for no favour then wouldst sue,The gifts reserved for season due;And he, thy high-souled lord, agreedTo give the boons when thou shouldst need.Myself I knew not what befell,But oft the tale have heard thee tell,And close to thee in friendship knitDeep in my heart have treasured it.Remind thy husband of his oath,Recall the boons and claim them both,That Bharat on the throne be placedWith rites of consecration graced,And Ráma to the woods be sentFor twice seven years of banishment.Go, Queen, the mourner's chamber 1 seek,With angry eye and burning cheek;And with disordered robes and hairOn the cold earth lie prostrate there.When the king comes still mournful lie,Speak not a word nor meet his eye,But let thy tears in torrent flow,And lie enamoured of thy woe.Well do I know thou long hast been,And ever art, his darling queen.For thy dear sake, O well-loved dame,The mighty king would brave the flame,But ne'er would anger thee, or brookTo meet his favourite's wrathful look.Thy loving lord would even dieThy fancy, Queen, to gratify,And never could he arm his breastTo answer nay to thy request.Listen and learn, O dull of sense,Thine all-resistless influence.Gems he will offer, pearls and gold:Refuse his gifts, be stern and cold.Those proffered boons at length recall,And claim them till he grants thee all.And O my lady, high in bliss,With heedful thought forget not this.When from the ground his queen he liftsAnd grants again the promised gifts,Bind him with oaths he cannot breakAnd thy demands unflnching, make.That Ráma travel to the wildFive years and nine from home exiled,And Bharat, best of all who reign.The empire of the land obtain.For when this term of years has fledOver the banished Ráma's head,Thy royal son to vigour grownAnd rooted firm will stand alone.The king, I know, is well inclined,And this the hour to move his mind.Be bold: the threatened rite prevent,And force the king from his intent.'
She ceased. So counselled to her baneDisguised beneath a show of gain,Kaikeyí in her joy and prideTo Manthará again replied:'Thy sense I envy, prudent maid;With sagest lore thy lids persuade.No hump-back maid in all the earth,For wise resolve, can match thy worth.Thou art alone with constant zealDevoted to thy lady's weal.Dear girl, without thy faithful aidI had not marked the plot he laid.
Full of all guile and sin and spiteMisshapen hump-backs shock the sight:But thou art fair and formed to please,Bent like a lily by the breeze.I look thee o'er with watchful eye,And in thy frame no fault can spy;The chest so deep, the waist so trim,So round the lines of breast and limb. 1Thy cheeks with moonlike beauty shine,And the warm wealth of youth is thine.Thy legs, my girl, are long and neat,And somewhat long thy dainty feet,While stepping out before my faceThou seemest like a crane to pace.The thousand wiles are in thy breastWhich Sambara the fiend possessed,And countless others all thine own,O damsel sage, to thee are known.Thy very hump becomes thee too,O thou whose face is fair to view,For there reside in endless storePlots, wissard wiles, and warrior lore.A golden chain I'll round it flingWhen Ráma's flight makes Bharat king:Yea, polished links of finest gold,When once the wished for prize I holdWith naught to fear and none to hate,Thy hump, dear maid, shall decorate.A golden frontlet wrought with care,And precious jewels shalt thou wear:Two lovely robes around thee fold,And walk a Goddess to behold,Bidding the moon himself compareHis beauty with a face so fair.With scent of precious sandal sweetDown to the nails upon thy feet,First of the household thou shalt goAnd pay with scorn each battled foe.' Kaikeyi's praise the damnel heard,And thus again her lady stirred,Who lay upon her beauteous bedLike fire upon the altar fed:'Dear Queen, they build the bridge in vainWhen swollen streams are dry again.Arise, thy glorious task complete,And draw the king to thy retreat.' The large-eyed lady left her bowerExulting in her pride of power,And with the hump-back sought the gloomAnd silence of the mourner's room.The string of priceless pearls that huugAround her neck to earth she flung,With all the wealth and lustre lentBy precious gem and ornament.Then, listening to her slave's advice,Lay, like a nymph from Paradise.
As on the ground her limbs she laidOnce more she cried unto the maid:'Soon must thou to the monarch sayKaikeyi's soul has past away,Or, Ráma banished as we planned,My son made king shall rule the land.No more for gold and gems I care,For brave attire or dainty fare.If Ráma should the throne ascend,That very hour my life will end.'
The royal lady wounded throughThe bosom with the darts that flew Launched from the hump-back's tonguePressed both her hands upon her side,And o'er and o'er again she cried With wildering fury stung:'Yes, it shall be thy task to tellThat I have hurried hence to dwell In Yama's realms of woe,Or happy Bharat shall be king,And doomed to years of wandering Kaus'alyá's son shall go.I heed not dainty viands nowFair wreaths of flowers to twine my brow, Soft balm or precious scent:My very life I count as naught,Nothing on earth can claim my thought But Ráma's banishment.' She spoke these words of cruel ire;Then stripping off her gay attire, The cold bare floor she pressed.So, falling from her home on high,Some lovely daughter of the sky Upon the ground might rest.With darkened brow and furious mien,Stripped of her gems and wreath, the queen In spotless beauty lay,Like heaven obscured with gathering cloud,When shades of midnight darkness shroud Each star's expiring ray.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Footnotes99:1 Literally the chamber of wrath, a 'growlery,' a small, dark, unfurnished room to which it seems, the wives and ladies of the king betook themselves when offended and sulky.
100:1 In these four lines I do not translate faithfully, and I do not venture to follow Kaikeyi farther in her eulogy of the hump- back's charms.
CANTO X.:
'This day my son enthroned shall see,And Ráma to the woods shall flee.But tell me, damsel, if thou can,A certain way, a skilful planThat Bharat may the empire gain,And Ráma's hopes be nursed in vain.'
The lady ceased. The wicked maidThe mandate of her queen obeyed,And darkly plotting Ráma's fallResponded to Kaikeyí's call.
'I will declare, do thou attend,How Bharat may his throne ascend.Dost thou forget what things befell?Or dost thou feign, remembering well?Or wouldst thou hear my tongue repeatA story for thy need so meet?Gay lady, if thy will be so,Now hear the tale of long ago,And when my tongue has done its partPonder the story in thine heart.When Gods and demons fought of old,Thy lord, with royal saints enrolled,Sued to the war with thee to bringHis might to aid the Immortals' King.Far to the southern land he spedWhere Dandak's mighty wilds are spread,To Vaijayanta's city swayedBy S'ambara, whose flag displaydThe hugest monster of the sea.Lord of a hundred wiles was be;With might which Gods could never blameAgainst the King of Heaven he came.Then raged the battle wild and dread,And mortal warriors fought and bled;The fiends by night with strength renewedCharged, slew the sleeping multitude.Thy lord, King Das'aratha, longStood fighting with the demon throng,But long of arm, unmatched in strength,Fell wounded by their darts at length.Thy husband, senseless, by thine aidWas from the battle field conveyed.And wounded nigh to death thy lordWas by thy care to health restored.Well pleased the grateful monarch swareTo grant thy first and second prayer.Thou for no favour then wouldst sue,The gifts reserved for season due;And he, thy high-souled lord, agreedTo give the boons when thou shouldst need.Myself I knew not what befell,But oft the tale have heard thee tell,And close to thee in friendship knitDeep in my heart have treasured it.Remind thy husband of his oath,Recall the boons and claim them both,That Bharat on the throne be placedWith rites of consecration graced,And Ráma to the woods be sentFor twice seven years of banishment.Go, Queen, the mourner's chamber 1 seek,With angry eye and burning cheek;And with disordered robes and hairOn the cold earth lie prostrate there.When the king comes still mournful lie,Speak not a word nor meet his eye,But let thy tears in torrent flow,And lie enamoured of thy woe.Well do I know thou long hast been,And ever art, his darling queen.For thy dear sake, O well-loved dame,The mighty king would brave the flame,But ne'er would anger thee, or brookTo meet his favourite's wrathful look.Thy loving lord would even dieThy fancy, Queen, to gratify,And never could he arm his breastTo answer nay to thy request.Listen and learn, O dull of sense,Thine all-resistless influence.Gems he will offer, pearls and gold:Refuse his gifts, be stern and cold.Those proffered boons at length recall,And claim them till he grants thee all.And O my lady, high in bliss,With heedful thought forget not this.When from the ground his queen he liftsAnd grants again the promised gifts,Bind him with oaths he cannot breakAnd thy demands unflnching, make.That Ráma travel to the wildFive years and nine from home exiled,And Bharat, best of all who reign.The empire of the land obtain.For when this term of years has fledOver the banished Ráma's head,Thy royal son to vigour grownAnd rooted firm will stand alone.The king, I know, is well inclined,And this the hour to move his mind.Be bold: the threatened rite prevent,And force the king from his intent.'
She ceased. So counselled to her baneDisguised beneath a show of gain,Kaikeyí in her joy and prideTo Manthará again replied:'Thy sense I envy, prudent maid;With sagest lore thy lids persuade.No hump-back maid in all the earth,For wise resolve, can match thy worth.Thou art alone with constant zealDevoted to thy lady's weal.Dear girl, without thy faithful aidI had not marked the plot he laid.
Full of all guile and sin and spiteMisshapen hump-backs shock the sight:But thou art fair and formed to please,Bent like a lily by the breeze.I look thee o'er with watchful eye,And in thy frame no fault can spy;The chest so deep, the waist so trim,So round the lines of breast and limb. 1Thy cheeks with moonlike beauty shine,And the warm wealth of youth is thine.Thy legs, my girl, are long and neat,And somewhat long thy dainty feet,While stepping out before my faceThou seemest like a crane to pace.The thousand wiles are in thy breastWhich Sambara the fiend possessed,And countless others all thine own,O damsel sage, to thee are known.Thy very hump becomes thee too,O thou whose face is fair to view,For there reside in endless storePlots, wissard wiles, and warrior lore.A golden chain I'll round it flingWhen Ráma's flight makes Bharat king:Yea, polished links of finest gold,When once the wished for prize I holdWith naught to fear and none to hate,Thy hump, dear maid, shall decorate.A golden frontlet wrought with care,And precious jewels shalt thou wear:Two lovely robes around thee fold,And walk a Goddess to behold,Bidding the moon himself compareHis beauty with a face so fair.With scent of precious sandal sweetDown to the nails upon thy feet,First of the household thou shalt goAnd pay with scorn each battled foe.' Kaikeyi's praise the damnel heard,And thus again her lady stirred,Who lay upon her beauteous bedLike fire upon the altar fed:'Dear Queen, they build the bridge in vainWhen swollen streams are dry again.Arise, thy glorious task complete,And draw the king to thy retreat.' The large-eyed lady left her bowerExulting in her pride of power,And with the hump-back sought the gloomAnd silence of the mourner's room.The string of priceless pearls that huugAround her neck to earth she flung,With all the wealth and lustre lentBy precious gem and ornament.Then, listening to her slave's advice,Lay, like a nymph from Paradise.
As on the ground her limbs she laidOnce more she cried unto the maid:'Soon must thou to the monarch sayKaikeyi's soul has past away,Or, Ráma banished as we planned,My son made king shall rule the land.No more for gold and gems I care,For brave attire or dainty fare.If Ráma should the throne ascend,That very hour my life will end.'
The royal lady wounded throughThe bosom with the darts that flew Launched from the hump-back's tonguePressed both her hands upon her side,And o'er and o'er again she cried With wildering fury stung:'Yes, it shall be thy task to tellThat I have hurried hence to dwell In Yama's realms of woe,Or happy Bharat shall be king,And doomed to years of wandering Kaus'alyá's son shall go.I heed not dainty viands nowFair wreaths of flowers to twine my brow, Soft balm or precious scent:My very life I count as naught,Nothing on earth can claim my thought But Ráma's banishment.' She spoke these words of cruel ire;Then stripping off her gay attire, The cold bare floor she pressed.So, falling from her home on high,Some lovely daughter of the sky Upon the ground might rest.With darkened brow and furious mien,Stripped of her gems and wreath, the queen In spotless beauty lay,Like heaven obscured with gathering cloud,When shades of midnight darkness shroud Each star's expiring ray.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Footnotes99:1 Literally the chamber of wrath, a 'growlery,' a small, dark, unfurnished room to which it seems, the wives and ladies of the king betook themselves when offended and sulky.
100:1 In these four lines I do not translate faithfully, and I do not venture to follow Kaikeyi farther in her eulogy of the hump- back's charms.
CANTO X.:
DAS'ARATHA'S SPEECH.As Queen Kaikeví thus obeyedThe sinful counsel of her maidShe sank upon the chamber floor,As sinks in anguish, wounded sore,An elephant beneath the smartOf the wild hunter's venomed dart.The lovely lady in her mindResolved the plot her maid designed,And prompt the gain and risk to scanShe step by step approved the plan.Misguided by the hump back's guileShe pondered her resolve awhile,As the fair path that bliss securedThe miserable lady lured,
Devoted to her queen, and swayedBy hopes of gain and bliss, the maidRejoiced her lady's purpose known,And deemed the prize she sought her own.Then bent upon her purpose dire,Kaikeyí with her soul on fire,Upon the floor lay, languid, down,Her brows contracted in a frown.The bright-hued wreath that bound her hair,Chains, necklets, jewels rich and rare,Stripped off by her own fingers laySpread on the ground in disarray,And to the floor a lustre lentAs stars light up the firmament.Thus prostrate in the mourner's cell,In garb of woe the lady fell,Her long hair in a single braid,Like some fair nymph of heaven dismayed. 1 The monarch, Ráma to install,With thoughtful care had ordered all,And now within his home withdrew,Dismissing first his retinue.Now all the town has heard, thought he,What joyful rite the morn will see.So turned he to her bower to cheerWith the glad news his darling's ear.Majestic, as the Lord of Night,When threatened by the Dragon's might,Bursts radiant on the evening skyPale with the clouds that wander by,So Das'aratha, great in fame,To Queen Kaikeyí's palace came.There parrots flew from tree to tree,And gorgeous peacocks wandered free,While ever and anon was heardThe note of some glad water-bird.Here loitered dwarf and hump-backed maid,There lute and here sweet music played.Here, rich in blossom, creepers twinedO'er grots with wondrous art designed,There Champac and As'oka flowersHung glorious o'er the summer bowers,And mid the waving verdure roseGold, silver, ivory porticoes.Through all the months in ceaseless storeThe trees both fruit and blossom bore.With many a lake the grounds were graced;Seats gold and silver, here were placed;Here every viand wooed the taste,It was a garden meet to vieE'en with the home of Gods on high.
Within the mansion rich and vastThe mighty Das'aratha passed:Not there was his beloved queenOn her fair couch reclining seen.With love his eager pulses beatFor the dear wife he came to meet,And in his blissful hopes deceived,He sought his absent love and grieved.For never had she missed the hourOf meeting in her sumptuous bower,And never had the king of menEntered the empty room till then.Still urged by love and anxious thoughtNews of his favourite queen he sought,For never had his loving eyesFound her or selfish or unwise.Then spoke at length the warder maid,With hands upraised and sore afraid:'My Lord and King, the queen has soughtThe mourner's cell with rage distraught.' The words the warder maiden saidHe heard with soul disquieted,And thus as fiercer grief assailed,His troubled senses wellnigh failed.Consumed by torturing fires of griefThe king, the world's imperial chief,His lady lying on the groundIn most unqueenly posture, found.The aged king, all pure within,Saw the young queen resolved on sin,Low on the ground, his own sweet wife,To him far dearer than his life,Like some fair creeping plant uptorn,Or like a maid of heaven forlorn,A nymph of air or Goddess sentFrom Swarga down in banishment.As some wild elephant who triesTo soothe his consort as she liesStruck by the hunter's venomed dart,So the great king disturbed in heart.Strove with soft hand and fond caressTo soothe his darling queen's distress,Aud in his love addressed with sighsThe lady of the lotus eyes: 'I know not, Queen, why thou shouldst beThus angered to the heart with me.Say, who has alighted thee, or whenceHas come the cause of such offenceThat in the dust thou liest low,And rendest my fond heart with woe,As if some goblin of the nightHad struck thee with a deadly blight,And cast foul influence on herWhose spells my loving bosom stir?I have Physicians famed for skill,Each trained to cure some special ill:My sweetest lady, tell thy pain,And they shall make thee well again.Whom, darling, wouldst thou punished see?Or whom enriched with lordly fee?
"Weep not, my lovely Queen, and stayThis grief that wears thy frame awaySpeak, and the guilty shall be freed,The guiltless be condemned to bleed.The poor enriched, the rich abased.The low set high, the proud disgraced.Mv lords and I thy will obey,All slaves who own thy sovereign sway;And I can ne'er my heart inclineTo check in aught one wish of thine.Now by my life I pray thee tellThe thoughts that in thy bosom dwell,The power and might thou knowest wel.Should from thy breast all doubt expel,I swear by all my merit won,Speak, and thy pleasure shall be done.Far as the world's wide bounds extendMy glorious empire knows no end.Mine are the tribes in eastern lands,And those who dwell on Sindhu's sands:Mine is Suráshtra, far away,Suvíra's realm admits my sway.My best the southern nations fear,The Angas and the Vaugas hear.And as lord paramount I reignO'er Magadh and the Matsyas' plain,Kos'al, and Kási's wide domain: 1All rich in treasures of the mine.In golden corn, sheep, goats, and kine.Choose what thou wilt. Kaikeyi, thence:But tell me, O my darling, whenceArose thy grief, and it shall flyLike hoar-frost when the sun is high.'
She, by his loving words consoled,Longed her dire purpose to unfold,And sought with sharper pangs to wringThe bosom of her lord the king.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Footnotes101:1 These verses are evidently an interpolation. They contain nothing that has not been already related: the words only are altered. As the whole poem could not be recited at once, the rhapsodists at the beginning of a fresh recitation would naturally remind their hearers of the events immediately preceding.
CANTO XI.:
Devoted to her queen, and swayedBy hopes of gain and bliss, the maidRejoiced her lady's purpose known,And deemed the prize she sought her own.Then bent upon her purpose dire,Kaikeyí with her soul on fire,Upon the floor lay, languid, down,Her brows contracted in a frown.The bright-hued wreath that bound her hair,Chains, necklets, jewels rich and rare,Stripped off by her own fingers laySpread on the ground in disarray,And to the floor a lustre lentAs stars light up the firmament.Thus prostrate in the mourner's cell,In garb of woe the lady fell,Her long hair in a single braid,Like some fair nymph of heaven dismayed. 1 The monarch, Ráma to install,With thoughtful care had ordered all,And now within his home withdrew,Dismissing first his retinue.Now all the town has heard, thought he,What joyful rite the morn will see.So turned he to her bower to cheerWith the glad news his darling's ear.Majestic, as the Lord of Night,When threatened by the Dragon's might,Bursts radiant on the evening skyPale with the clouds that wander by,So Das'aratha, great in fame,To Queen Kaikeyí's palace came.There parrots flew from tree to tree,And gorgeous peacocks wandered free,While ever and anon was heardThe note of some glad water-bird.Here loitered dwarf and hump-backed maid,There lute and here sweet music played.Here, rich in blossom, creepers twinedO'er grots with wondrous art designed,There Champac and As'oka flowersHung glorious o'er the summer bowers,And mid the waving verdure roseGold, silver, ivory porticoes.Through all the months in ceaseless storeThe trees both fruit and blossom bore.With many a lake the grounds were graced;Seats gold and silver, here were placed;Here every viand wooed the taste,It was a garden meet to vieE'en with the home of Gods on high.
Within the mansion rich and vastThe mighty Das'aratha passed:Not there was his beloved queenOn her fair couch reclining seen.With love his eager pulses beatFor the dear wife he came to meet,And in his blissful hopes deceived,He sought his absent love and grieved.For never had she missed the hourOf meeting in her sumptuous bower,And never had the king of menEntered the empty room till then.Still urged by love and anxious thoughtNews of his favourite queen he sought,For never had his loving eyesFound her or selfish or unwise.Then spoke at length the warder maid,With hands upraised and sore afraid:'My Lord and King, the queen has soughtThe mourner's cell with rage distraught.' The words the warder maiden saidHe heard with soul disquieted,And thus as fiercer grief assailed,His troubled senses wellnigh failed.Consumed by torturing fires of griefThe king, the world's imperial chief,His lady lying on the groundIn most unqueenly posture, found.The aged king, all pure within,Saw the young queen resolved on sin,Low on the ground, his own sweet wife,To him far dearer than his life,Like some fair creeping plant uptorn,Or like a maid of heaven forlorn,A nymph of air or Goddess sentFrom Swarga down in banishment.As some wild elephant who triesTo soothe his consort as she liesStruck by the hunter's venomed dart,So the great king disturbed in heart.Strove with soft hand and fond caressTo soothe his darling queen's distress,Aud in his love addressed with sighsThe lady of the lotus eyes: 'I know not, Queen, why thou shouldst beThus angered to the heart with me.Say, who has alighted thee, or whenceHas come the cause of such offenceThat in the dust thou liest low,And rendest my fond heart with woe,As if some goblin of the nightHad struck thee with a deadly blight,And cast foul influence on herWhose spells my loving bosom stir?I have Physicians famed for skill,Each trained to cure some special ill:My sweetest lady, tell thy pain,And they shall make thee well again.Whom, darling, wouldst thou punished see?Or whom enriched with lordly fee?
"Weep not, my lovely Queen, and stayThis grief that wears thy frame awaySpeak, and the guilty shall be freed,The guiltless be condemned to bleed.The poor enriched, the rich abased.The low set high, the proud disgraced.Mv lords and I thy will obey,All slaves who own thy sovereign sway;And I can ne'er my heart inclineTo check in aught one wish of thine.Now by my life I pray thee tellThe thoughts that in thy bosom dwell,The power and might thou knowest wel.Should from thy breast all doubt expel,I swear by all my merit won,Speak, and thy pleasure shall be done.Far as the world's wide bounds extendMy glorious empire knows no end.Mine are the tribes in eastern lands,And those who dwell on Sindhu's sands:Mine is Suráshtra, far away,Suvíra's realm admits my sway.My best the southern nations fear,The Angas and the Vaugas hear.And as lord paramount I reignO'er Magadh and the Matsyas' plain,Kos'al, and Kási's wide domain: 1All rich in treasures of the mine.In golden corn, sheep, goats, and kine.Choose what thou wilt. Kaikeyi, thence:But tell me, O my darling, whenceArose thy grief, and it shall flyLike hoar-frost when the sun is high.'
She, by his loving words consoled,Longed her dire purpose to unfold,And sought with sharper pangs to wringThe bosom of her lord the king.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Footnotes101:1 These verses are evidently an interpolation. They contain nothing that has not been already related: the words only are altered. As the whole poem could not be recited at once, the rhapsodists at the beginning of a fresh recitation would naturally remind their hearers of the events immediately preceding.
CANTO XI.:
THE QUEEN'S DEMAND.To him enthralled by love, and blind,
Pierced by his darts who shake the mind, 2Kaikeyi with remorseless breast
Her grand purpose thus expressed:"O King, no insult or neglectHave I endured, or disrespect.One wish I have, and faith would soeThat longing granted, laid, by thee.Now pledge thy word if thou incline
To listen to this prayer of mine,Then I with confidence will speak,And thou shalt hear the boon I seek.'
Ere she had ceased, the monarch fell,A victim to the lady's spell,And to the deadly snare she setSprang, like a roebuck to the net.Her lover raised her drooping head,Smiled, playing with her hair, and said:'Hast thou not learnt, wild dame, till nowThat there is none so dear as thou'To me thy loving husband, saveMy Rama bravest of the brave!By him my race's high-souled heir,By him whom none can match, I swear,Now speak the wish that on thee weighs:By him whose right is length of days,Whom if my fond paternal eyeSaw not one hour I needs must die,--I swear by Rama myd ear son,Speak, and thy bidding shall be done.Speak, darling; if thou choose, requestTo have the heart from out my breast;Regard my words, sweet love, and nameThe wish thy mind thinks fit to frame.Nor let shy soul give way to doubt:My power should drive suspicion out.Yea, by my merits won I swear,Speak, darling, I will grant thy prayer,'
The queen, ambitious, overjoyedTo see him by her plot decoyed.More eager still her aims to reach,Spoke her abominable speech:'A boon thou grantest, nothing loth,And swearest with repeated oath.Now let the thirty Gods and threeMy witnesses, with Indra, be.Let sun and moon and planets hear,Heaven, quarters, day and night, give ear.The mighty world, the earth outspread,With birds of heaven and demons regard;The ghosts that walk in midnight shade,And household Gods, our present aid,A every being great and smallTo hear and mark the oath I call.'
When this the archer king was bound,With treacherous arts and oaths unwound,She to her beauteous lord subdued,By blinding love, her speech renewed:'Rememer, King, that long-past dayOf Gods' and demons' battle fray.And how thy foe in doubtful strifeHad nigh bereft thee of thy life.Remember, it was only IPreserved thee when about to die,And thou for watchful love and careWouldst grant my first aud second prayer.Those offered boons, pledged with thee then,I now demand, O King of men,
Of thee, O Monarch, good and just,Whose righteous soul observes each trust.If thou refuse thy promise sworn,I die, despised, before the morn.These rites in Ráma's name begunTransfer them, and enthrone my son.The time is come to claim at lastThe double boon of days long-past,When Gods and demons met in fight.And thou wouldst fain my care requite.Now forth to Dandak's forest driveThy Ráma for nine years and five,And let him dwell a hermit thereWith deerskin coat and matted hair.Without a rival let my boyThe empire of the land enjoy,And let mine eyes ere morning seeThy Ráma to the forest flee.'
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Footnotes102:1 The Sloka or distich which I have been forced to expand into these nine lines is evidently spurious, but is found in all the commented MSS. whioh Schiegel consulted.
102:2 Maumatha, Mind-disturber, a name of Kama or Love.
CANTO XII.:
Pierced by his darts who shake the mind, 2Kaikeyi with remorseless breast
Her grand purpose thus expressed:"O King, no insult or neglectHave I endured, or disrespect.One wish I have, and faith would soeThat longing granted, laid, by thee.Now pledge thy word if thou incline
To listen to this prayer of mine,Then I with confidence will speak,And thou shalt hear the boon I seek.'
Ere she had ceased, the monarch fell,A victim to the lady's spell,And to the deadly snare she setSprang, like a roebuck to the net.Her lover raised her drooping head,Smiled, playing with her hair, and said:'Hast thou not learnt, wild dame, till nowThat there is none so dear as thou'To me thy loving husband, saveMy Rama bravest of the brave!By him my race's high-souled heir,By him whom none can match, I swear,Now speak the wish that on thee weighs:By him whose right is length of days,Whom if my fond paternal eyeSaw not one hour I needs must die,--I swear by Rama myd ear son,Speak, and thy bidding shall be done.Speak, darling; if thou choose, requestTo have the heart from out my breast;Regard my words, sweet love, and nameThe wish thy mind thinks fit to frame.Nor let shy soul give way to doubt:My power should drive suspicion out.Yea, by my merits won I swear,Speak, darling, I will grant thy prayer,'
The queen, ambitious, overjoyedTo see him by her plot decoyed.More eager still her aims to reach,Spoke her abominable speech:'A boon thou grantest, nothing loth,And swearest with repeated oath.Now let the thirty Gods and threeMy witnesses, with Indra, be.Let sun and moon and planets hear,Heaven, quarters, day and night, give ear.The mighty world, the earth outspread,With birds of heaven and demons regard;The ghosts that walk in midnight shade,And household Gods, our present aid,A every being great and smallTo hear and mark the oath I call.'
When this the archer king was bound,With treacherous arts and oaths unwound,She to her beauteous lord subdued,By blinding love, her speech renewed:'Rememer, King, that long-past dayOf Gods' and demons' battle fray.And how thy foe in doubtful strifeHad nigh bereft thee of thy life.Remember, it was only IPreserved thee when about to die,And thou for watchful love and careWouldst grant my first aud second prayer.Those offered boons, pledged with thee then,I now demand, O King of men,
Of thee, O Monarch, good and just,Whose righteous soul observes each trust.If thou refuse thy promise sworn,I die, despised, before the morn.These rites in Ráma's name begunTransfer them, and enthrone my son.The time is come to claim at lastThe double boon of days long-past,When Gods and demons met in fight.And thou wouldst fain my care requite.Now forth to Dandak's forest driveThy Ráma for nine years and five,And let him dwell a hermit thereWith deerskin coat and matted hair.Without a rival let my boyThe empire of the land enjoy,And let mine eyes ere morning seeThy Ráma to the forest flee.'
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Footnotes102:1 The Sloka or distich which I have been forced to expand into these nine lines is evidently spurious, but is found in all the commented MSS. whioh Schiegel consulted.
102:2 Maumatha, Mind-disturber, a name of Kama or Love.
CANTO XII.:
DASARATHA'S LAMENT.The monarch, as Kaikeyi pressedWith cruel words her dire request,Stood for a time absorbed in thoughtWhile anguish in his bosom wrought.Does some wild dream my heart assail!Or do my troubled senses fail!Does some dire portent scare my view?Or frenzy's stroke my soul subdue?'Thus as he thought, his troubled mindIn doubt and dread no rest could find,Distressed and trembling like a deerWho sees the dreaded tigress near.On the bare ground his limbs he thres,And many a long sigh he drew,Like a wild snake, with fury blind,By charms within a ring confined.Once as the monarch's fury woke,'Shame on thee!' from his bosom broke,And then in sense-bewildering painHe fainted on the ground again.At length, when slowly strength returned,He answered as his eyeballs burnedWith the wild fury of his ireConsuming her, as 'twere, with fire:'Fell traitress, thou whose thought designThe utter ruin of my line,What wrong have I or Ráma done?Speak murderess, speak thou wicked one,Seeks he not evermore to pleaseThee with all sonlike courtesies?By what persuasion art thou ledTo bring this ruin on his head?Ah me, that fondly unawareI brought thee home my life to snare,Called daughter of a king, in truthA serpent with a venomed tooth!What fault can I pretend to findIn Ráma praised by all mankind,That I my darling should forsake?No, take my life, my glory take:Let either queen be from me torn,But not my well-loved eldest-born,Him but to see is highest bliss,And death itself his face to miss.The world may sunless stand, the grainMay thrive without the genial rain,But if my Ráma be no nighMy spirit from its frame will fly.Enough, thine impious plan forgo,O thou who plottest sin and woe.My head before my feet, I kneel,And pray thee some compassion feel,O wicked dame, what can have ledThy heart to dare a plot so dread?Perchance thy purpose is to soundThe grace thy son with me has found;Perchance the words that, all these days,Thou hast said in Ráma's praise,Were only feigned; designed to cheerWith flatteries a father's ear.Soon as thy grief, my Queen, I knew,My bosom felt the anguish too.In empty halls art thou posessed,And subject to anothers' hest?Now on Ikshváku's ancient raceFalls foul disorder and disgrace,If thou, O Queen, whose heart so longHas loved the good should choose the wrongNot once, O large-eyed dame, hast thouBeen guilty of offence till now,Nor said a word to make me grieve,Nor will I now thy sin believe.With thee my Ráma used to holdLike place with Bharat lofty-souled.As thou so ofthe, when the pairWere children yet, wouldst fain declare.And can thy righteous soul endureThat Ráma glorious, pious, pure,Should to the distant wilds be sentFor fourteen years of banishment?Yea, Ráma Bharat's self exceedsIn love to thee and sonlike deeds,And, for deserving love of thee,As Bharat, even so is he.Who better than that chieftain mayObedience, love, and honour pay,They dignity with care protect,Thy slightest word and wish respect?Of all his countless followers noneCan breathe a word against my son;Of many thousands not a dameCan hint reproach or whisper blame.All creatures feel the sweet controlOf Ráma's pure and gentle soul.The pride of Manu's race he bindsTo him the people's grateful minds.He wins the subjects with his truth,
The poor with gifts and gentle ruth,His teachers with his docile will,The foemen with his archer skill.Truth, purity, religious zeal,The hand to give, the heart to feel.The love that ne'er betrays a friend,The rectitude that naught can bend,Knowledge, and meek obedience graceMy Ráma pride of Raghu's race.Canst thou thine impious plot design'Gainst him in whom these virtues shine,Whose glory with the sages vies,Peer of the Gods who rule the skies!From him no harsh or bitter wordTo pain one creature have I heard,And how can I my sin address,For thee, with words of bitterness?Have mercy, Queen: some pity showTo see my tears of anguish now,And listen to my mournful cry,A poor old man who soon must die.Whate'er this sea-girt land can boastOf rich and rare from coast to coast,To thee, my Queen, I give it all:But O, thy deadly words recall:O see, my suppliant hands entreat,Again my lips are on thy feet:Save Ráma, save my darling child,Nor kill me with this sin defiled.'He grovelled on the ground, and layTo burning grief a senseless prey,And ever and anon, assailedBy floods of woe he wept and wailed,Striving with eager speed to gainThe margent of his sea of pain.
With fiercer words she fiercer yetThe hapless father's pleading met:'O Monarch, if thy soul repentThe promise and thy free consent,How wilt thou in the world maintainThy fame for truth unsmirched with stain?When gathered kings with thee converse,And bid thee all the tale rehearse.What wilt thou say, O truthful King,In answer to their questioning?'She to whose love my life I owe,Who saved me smitten by the foe,Kaikeyí, for her tender care,Was cheated of the oath I sware. 1Thus wilt thou answer, and forswornWilt draw on thee the princes' scorn.Learn from that tale, the 'Hawk and Dove,'How strong for truth was Saivya's love.Pledged by his word the monarch gaveHis flesh the suppliant bird to save.So King Alarka gave his eyes,And gained a mansion in the skies.
The Sea himself his promise keeps,And ne'er beyond his limit sweeps.My deeds of old again recall,Nor let thy bond dishonoured fall.The rights of truth thou wouldst forgetThy Ráma on the throne to set,And let thy days in pleasure glide,Fond King, Kaus'alyá by thy side.Now call it by what name thou wilt,Justice, injustice, virtue, guilt,Thy word and oath remain the same,And thou must yield what thus I claim.If Ráma be anointed, IThis very day will surely die,Before thy face will poison drink,And lifeless at thy feet will sink.Yea, better far to die than stayAlive to see one single dayThe crowds before Kaus'alyá standAnd hail her queen with reverent hand.Now by my son, myself, I swear,No gift, no promise whatsoe'erMy steadfast soul shall now content,But only Ráma's banishment.'
So far she spake by rage impelled,And then the queen deep silence held.He heard her speech full fraught with ill,But spoke no word bewildered still,Gazed on his love once held so dearWho spoke unlovely rede to hear;Then as he slowly pondered o'erThe queen's resolve and oath she swore.Once sighing forth, Ah Ráma! heFell prone as falls a smitten tree.His senses lost like one insane,Faint as a sick man weak with pain,Or like a wounded snake dismayed,So lay the king whom earth obeyed.Long burning sighs he slowly heaved,As, conquered by his woe, he grieved,And thus with tears and sobs betweenHis sad faint words addressed the queen:
'By whom, Kaikeyí, wast thou taughtThis flattering hope with ruin fraught?Have goblins seized thy soul, O dame,Who thus canst speak and feel no shame?Thy mind with sin is sicklied o'er,From thy first youth ne'er seen before.A good and loving wife wast thou,But all, alas! is altered now.What terror can have seized thy breastTo make thee frame this dire request,That Bharat o'er the land may reign,And Ráma in the woods remain?Turn from thine evil ways, O turn,And thy perfidious counsel spurn,If thou would fain a favour doTo people, lord, and Bharat too.O wicked traitress, fierce and vile,Who lovest deeds of sin and guile,
What crime or grievance dost thou see,What fault in Ráma or in me?Thy son will ne'er the throne acceptIf Ráma from his rights be kept,For Bharat's heart more firmly yetThan Ráma's is on justice set.How shall I say, Go forth, and brookUpon my Ráma's face to look,See his pale cheek and ashy lipsDimmed like the moon in sad eclipse?How see the plan so well preparedWhen prudent friends my counsels shared,All ruined, like a host laid lowBeneath some foeman's murderous blow?What will these gathered princes say,From regions near and far away?'O'erlong endures the monarch's reign,For now he is a child again.'When many a good and holy sageIn Scripture versed, revered for age,Shall ask for Ráma, what shall IUnhappy, what shall I reply?'By Queen Kaikeyí long distressedI drove him forth and dispossessed.'Although herein the truth I speak,They all will hold me false and weak.What will Kaus'alyá say when sheDemands her son exiled by me?Alas! what answer shall I frame,Or how console the injured dame?She like a slave on me attends,And with a sister's care she blendsA mother's love, a wife's, a friend's.In spite of all her tender care,Her noble son, her face most fair,Another queen I could preferAnd for thy sake neglected her,But now, O Queen, my heart is grievedFor love and care by thee received,E'en as the sickening wretch repentsHis dainty meal and condiments.And how will Queen Sumitrá trustThe husband whom she finds unjust,Seeing my Ráma driven henceDishonoured, and for no offence?Ah! the, Videhan bride will hearA double woe, a double fear,Two whelming sorrows at one breath,Her lord's disgrace, his father's death.Mine aged bosom she will wringAnd kill me with her sorrowing,Sad as a fair nymph left to weepDeserted on Himálaya's steep.For short will be my days, I ween,When I with mournful eyes have seenMy Ráma wandering forth aloneAnd heard dear Sítá sob and moan.Ah me! my fond belief I rue.Vile traitress, loved as good and true,As one who in his thirst has quaffed,Deceived by looks, a deadly draught.Ah! thou hast slain me, murderess, whileSoothing my soul with words of guile,As the wild hunter kills the deerLured from the brake his song to hear.Soon every honest tongue will flingReproach on the dishonest king;The people's scorn in every streetThe seller of his child will meet,And such dishonour will be mineAs whelms a Bráhman drunk with wine.Ah me, for my unhappy fate,Compelled thy words to tolerate!Such woe is sent to scourge a crimeCommitted in some distant time.For many a day with sinful careI cherished thee, thou sin and snare,Kept thee, unwitting, like a cordDestined to bind its hapless lord.Mine hours of ease I spent with thee,Nor deemed my love my death would be,While like a heedless child I played,On a black snake my hand I laid.A cry from every mouth will burstAnd all the world will hold me curst,Because I saw my high-souled sonUnkinged, unfathered, and undone;'The king by power of love beguiledIs weaker than a foolish child,His own beloved son to makeAn exile for a woman's sake.By chaste and holy vows restrained,By reverend teachers duly trained.When he his virtue's fruit should tasteHe falls by sin and woe disgraced.'Two words will all his answer beWhen I pronounce the stern decree,'Hence, Ráma, to the woods away,'All he will say is, I obey.O, if he would my will withstandWhen banished from his home and land.This were a comfort in my woe;But he will ne'er do this, I know.My Ráma to the forest fled,And curses thick upon my head,Grim Death will bear me hence away,His world-abominated prey.When I am gone and Ráma too.How wilt thou those I love pursue?What vengeful sin will be designedAgainst the queens I leave behind?When thou hast slain her son and meKaus'alyá soon will follow: sheWill sink beneath her sorrows' weight,And die like me disconsolate,Exist, Kaikeyí, in thy pride,And let thy heart be gratified,When thou my queens and me hast hurled,And children, to the under world.Soon wilt thou rule as empress o'erMy noble house unvext before.But then to wild confusion left,
Of Ráma and of me bereft.If Bharat to thy plan consentAnd long for Ráma's banishment,Ne'er let his hands presume to payThe funeral honours to my clayVile foe, thou cause of all mine ill,Obtain at last thy cursed will.A widow soon shalt thou enjoyThe sweets of empire with thy boy.O Princess, sure some evil fateFirst brought thee here to devastate,In whom the night of ruin liesVeiled in a consort's fair disguise.The scorn of all and deepest shameWill long pursue my hated name,And dire disgrace on me will press,Misled by thee to wickedness.How shall my Ráma, whom, before,His elephant or chariot bore,Now with his feet, a wanderer, treadThe forest wilds around him spread?How shall my son, to please whose taste,The deftest cooks, with earrings graced,With rivalry and jealous careThe dainty meal and cates prepare--How shall he now his life sustainWith acid fruit and woodland grain?He spends his time unvext by cares,And robes of precious texture wears:How shall he, with one garment roundHis limbs recline upon the ground?Whose was this plan, this cruel thoughtUnheard till now, with ruin fraught,To make thy son Ayodhyá's king,And send my Ráma wandering?Shame, shame on women! Vile, untrue,Their selfish ends they still pursue.Not all of womankind I mean.But more than all this wicked queen. O worthless, cruel, selfish dame, I brought thee home, my plague and woe. What fault in me hast thou to blame, Or in my son who loves thee so? Fond wives may from their husbands flee, And fathers may their sons desert, But all the world would rave to see My Ráma touched with deadly hurt. I joy his very step to hear, As though his godlike form I viewed; And when I see my Ráma near I feel my youth again renewed. There might be life without the sun, Yea, e'en if Indra sent no rain, But, were my Ráma banished, none Would, so I think, alive remain. A foe that longs my life to take, I brought thee here my death to be, Caressed thee long, a venomed snake, And through my folly die, Ah me! Ráma and me and Lakshman slay, And then with Bharat rule the state; So bring the kingdom to decay, And fawn on those thy lord who hate, Plotter of woe, for evil bred, For such a speech why do not all Thy teeth from out thy wicked head Split in a thousand pieces fall? My Ráma's words are ever kind, He knows not how to speak in ire: Then how canst thou presume to find A fault in him whom all admire? Yield to despair, go mad, or die, Or sink within the rifted earth; Thy fell request will I deny, Thou shamer of thy royal birth. Thy longer life I scarce can bear, Thou ruin of my home and race, Who wouldst my heart and heartstrings tear, Keen as a razor, false and base. My life is gone, why speak of joy? For what, without my son, were sweet? Spare, lady, him thou canst destroy; I pray thee as I touch thy feet.' He fell and wept with wild complaint. Heart-struck by her presumptuous speech, But could not touch, so weak and faint, The cruel feet he strove to reach.
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Footnotes104:1 This story is told in the Mahábhárat. A free version of it may be found in Scenes from the Rámáyan, etc.
CANTO XIII.:
The poor with gifts and gentle ruth,His teachers with his docile will,The foemen with his archer skill.Truth, purity, religious zeal,The hand to give, the heart to feel.The love that ne'er betrays a friend,The rectitude that naught can bend,Knowledge, and meek obedience graceMy Ráma pride of Raghu's race.Canst thou thine impious plot design'Gainst him in whom these virtues shine,Whose glory with the sages vies,Peer of the Gods who rule the skies!From him no harsh or bitter wordTo pain one creature have I heard,And how can I my sin address,For thee, with words of bitterness?Have mercy, Queen: some pity showTo see my tears of anguish now,And listen to my mournful cry,A poor old man who soon must die.Whate'er this sea-girt land can boastOf rich and rare from coast to coast,To thee, my Queen, I give it all:But O, thy deadly words recall:O see, my suppliant hands entreat,Again my lips are on thy feet:Save Ráma, save my darling child,Nor kill me with this sin defiled.'He grovelled on the ground, and layTo burning grief a senseless prey,And ever and anon, assailedBy floods of woe he wept and wailed,Striving with eager speed to gainThe margent of his sea of pain.
With fiercer words she fiercer yetThe hapless father's pleading met:'O Monarch, if thy soul repentThe promise and thy free consent,How wilt thou in the world maintainThy fame for truth unsmirched with stain?When gathered kings with thee converse,And bid thee all the tale rehearse.What wilt thou say, O truthful King,In answer to their questioning?'She to whose love my life I owe,Who saved me smitten by the foe,Kaikeyí, for her tender care,Was cheated of the oath I sware. 1Thus wilt thou answer, and forswornWilt draw on thee the princes' scorn.Learn from that tale, the 'Hawk and Dove,'How strong for truth was Saivya's love.Pledged by his word the monarch gaveHis flesh the suppliant bird to save.So King Alarka gave his eyes,And gained a mansion in the skies.
The Sea himself his promise keeps,And ne'er beyond his limit sweeps.My deeds of old again recall,Nor let thy bond dishonoured fall.The rights of truth thou wouldst forgetThy Ráma on the throne to set,And let thy days in pleasure glide,Fond King, Kaus'alyá by thy side.Now call it by what name thou wilt,Justice, injustice, virtue, guilt,Thy word and oath remain the same,And thou must yield what thus I claim.If Ráma be anointed, IThis very day will surely die,Before thy face will poison drink,And lifeless at thy feet will sink.Yea, better far to die than stayAlive to see one single dayThe crowds before Kaus'alyá standAnd hail her queen with reverent hand.Now by my son, myself, I swear,No gift, no promise whatsoe'erMy steadfast soul shall now content,But only Ráma's banishment.'
So far she spake by rage impelled,And then the queen deep silence held.He heard her speech full fraught with ill,But spoke no word bewildered still,Gazed on his love once held so dearWho spoke unlovely rede to hear;Then as he slowly pondered o'erThe queen's resolve and oath she swore.Once sighing forth, Ah Ráma! heFell prone as falls a smitten tree.His senses lost like one insane,Faint as a sick man weak with pain,Or like a wounded snake dismayed,So lay the king whom earth obeyed.Long burning sighs he slowly heaved,As, conquered by his woe, he grieved,And thus with tears and sobs betweenHis sad faint words addressed the queen:
'By whom, Kaikeyí, wast thou taughtThis flattering hope with ruin fraught?Have goblins seized thy soul, O dame,Who thus canst speak and feel no shame?Thy mind with sin is sicklied o'er,From thy first youth ne'er seen before.A good and loving wife wast thou,But all, alas! is altered now.What terror can have seized thy breastTo make thee frame this dire request,That Bharat o'er the land may reign,And Ráma in the woods remain?Turn from thine evil ways, O turn,And thy perfidious counsel spurn,If thou would fain a favour doTo people, lord, and Bharat too.O wicked traitress, fierce and vile,Who lovest deeds of sin and guile,
What crime or grievance dost thou see,What fault in Ráma or in me?Thy son will ne'er the throne acceptIf Ráma from his rights be kept,For Bharat's heart more firmly yetThan Ráma's is on justice set.How shall I say, Go forth, and brookUpon my Ráma's face to look,See his pale cheek and ashy lipsDimmed like the moon in sad eclipse?How see the plan so well preparedWhen prudent friends my counsels shared,All ruined, like a host laid lowBeneath some foeman's murderous blow?What will these gathered princes say,From regions near and far away?'O'erlong endures the monarch's reign,For now he is a child again.'When many a good and holy sageIn Scripture versed, revered for age,Shall ask for Ráma, what shall IUnhappy, what shall I reply?'By Queen Kaikeyí long distressedI drove him forth and dispossessed.'Although herein the truth I speak,They all will hold me false and weak.What will Kaus'alyá say when sheDemands her son exiled by me?Alas! what answer shall I frame,Or how console the injured dame?She like a slave on me attends,And with a sister's care she blendsA mother's love, a wife's, a friend's.In spite of all her tender care,Her noble son, her face most fair,Another queen I could preferAnd for thy sake neglected her,But now, O Queen, my heart is grievedFor love and care by thee received,E'en as the sickening wretch repentsHis dainty meal and condiments.And how will Queen Sumitrá trustThe husband whom she finds unjust,Seeing my Ráma driven henceDishonoured, and for no offence?Ah! the, Videhan bride will hearA double woe, a double fear,Two whelming sorrows at one breath,Her lord's disgrace, his father's death.Mine aged bosom she will wringAnd kill me with her sorrowing,Sad as a fair nymph left to weepDeserted on Himálaya's steep.For short will be my days, I ween,When I with mournful eyes have seenMy Ráma wandering forth aloneAnd heard dear Sítá sob and moan.Ah me! my fond belief I rue.Vile traitress, loved as good and true,As one who in his thirst has quaffed,Deceived by looks, a deadly draught.Ah! thou hast slain me, murderess, whileSoothing my soul with words of guile,As the wild hunter kills the deerLured from the brake his song to hear.Soon every honest tongue will flingReproach on the dishonest king;The people's scorn in every streetThe seller of his child will meet,And such dishonour will be mineAs whelms a Bráhman drunk with wine.Ah me, for my unhappy fate,Compelled thy words to tolerate!Such woe is sent to scourge a crimeCommitted in some distant time.For many a day with sinful careI cherished thee, thou sin and snare,Kept thee, unwitting, like a cordDestined to bind its hapless lord.Mine hours of ease I spent with thee,Nor deemed my love my death would be,While like a heedless child I played,On a black snake my hand I laid.A cry from every mouth will burstAnd all the world will hold me curst,Because I saw my high-souled sonUnkinged, unfathered, and undone;'The king by power of love beguiledIs weaker than a foolish child,His own beloved son to makeAn exile for a woman's sake.By chaste and holy vows restrained,By reverend teachers duly trained.When he his virtue's fruit should tasteHe falls by sin and woe disgraced.'Two words will all his answer beWhen I pronounce the stern decree,'Hence, Ráma, to the woods away,'All he will say is, I obey.O, if he would my will withstandWhen banished from his home and land.This were a comfort in my woe;But he will ne'er do this, I know.My Ráma to the forest fled,And curses thick upon my head,Grim Death will bear me hence away,His world-abominated prey.When I am gone and Ráma too.How wilt thou those I love pursue?What vengeful sin will be designedAgainst the queens I leave behind?When thou hast slain her son and meKaus'alyá soon will follow: sheWill sink beneath her sorrows' weight,And die like me disconsolate,Exist, Kaikeyí, in thy pride,And let thy heart be gratified,When thou my queens and me hast hurled,And children, to the under world.Soon wilt thou rule as empress o'erMy noble house unvext before.But then to wild confusion left,
Of Ráma and of me bereft.If Bharat to thy plan consentAnd long for Ráma's banishment,Ne'er let his hands presume to payThe funeral honours to my clayVile foe, thou cause of all mine ill,Obtain at last thy cursed will.A widow soon shalt thou enjoyThe sweets of empire with thy boy.O Princess, sure some evil fateFirst brought thee here to devastate,In whom the night of ruin liesVeiled in a consort's fair disguise.The scorn of all and deepest shameWill long pursue my hated name,And dire disgrace on me will press,Misled by thee to wickedness.How shall my Ráma, whom, before,His elephant or chariot bore,Now with his feet, a wanderer, treadThe forest wilds around him spread?How shall my son, to please whose taste,The deftest cooks, with earrings graced,With rivalry and jealous careThe dainty meal and cates prepare--How shall he now his life sustainWith acid fruit and woodland grain?He spends his time unvext by cares,And robes of precious texture wears:How shall he, with one garment roundHis limbs recline upon the ground?Whose was this plan, this cruel thoughtUnheard till now, with ruin fraught,To make thy son Ayodhyá's king,And send my Ráma wandering?Shame, shame on women! Vile, untrue,Their selfish ends they still pursue.Not all of womankind I mean.But more than all this wicked queen. O worthless, cruel, selfish dame, I brought thee home, my plague and woe. What fault in me hast thou to blame, Or in my son who loves thee so? Fond wives may from their husbands flee, And fathers may their sons desert, But all the world would rave to see My Ráma touched with deadly hurt. I joy his very step to hear, As though his godlike form I viewed; And when I see my Ráma near I feel my youth again renewed. There might be life without the sun, Yea, e'en if Indra sent no rain, But, were my Ráma banished, none Would, so I think, alive remain. A foe that longs my life to take, I brought thee here my death to be, Caressed thee long, a venomed snake, And through my folly die, Ah me! Ráma and me and Lakshman slay, And then with Bharat rule the state; So bring the kingdom to decay, And fawn on those thy lord who hate, Plotter of woe, for evil bred, For such a speech why do not all Thy teeth from out thy wicked head Split in a thousand pieces fall? My Ráma's words are ever kind, He knows not how to speak in ire: Then how canst thou presume to find A fault in him whom all admire? Yield to despair, go mad, or die, Or sink within the rifted earth; Thy fell request will I deny, Thou shamer of thy royal birth. Thy longer life I scarce can bear, Thou ruin of my home and race, Who wouldst my heart and heartstrings tear, Keen as a razor, false and base. My life is gone, why speak of joy? For what, without my son, were sweet? Spare, lady, him thou canst destroy; I pray thee as I touch thy feet.' He fell and wept with wild complaint. Heart-struck by her presumptuous speech, But could not touch, so weak and faint, The cruel feet he strove to reach.
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Footnotes104:1 This story is told in the Mahábhárat. A free version of it may be found in Scenes from the Rámáyan, etc.
CANTO XIII.:
DAS'ARATHA'S DISTRESS.Unworthy of his mournful fate,The mighty king, unfortunate,Lay prostrate in unseemly guise,As, banished from the blissful skies,Yayáti, in his evil day.His merit all exhausted, lay. 1The queen, triumphant in the powerWon by her beauty's fatal dower,Still terrible and unsubdued,Her dire demand again renewed:'Great Monarch,'twas thy boast till nowTo love the truth and keep the vow;Then wherefore would thy lips refuseThe promised boon 'tis mine to choose?' King Das'aratha, thus addressed,With anger raging in his breast,Sank for a while beneath the pain,Then to Kaikeyí spoke again:
'Childless so long, at length I won,With mighty toil, from Heaven a son,Ráma, the mighty-armed; and howShall I desert my darling now?A scholar wise, a hero bold,Of patient mood, with wrath controlled,How can I bid my Ráma fly,My darling of the lotus eye?In heaven itself I scarce could bear,When asking of my Ráma there,To hear the Gods his griefs declare,And O, that death would take me henceBefore I wrong his innocence!'
As thus the monarch wept and wailed,And maddening grief his heart assailed,The sun had sought his resting-place,And night was closing round apace.But yet the moon-crowned night could bringNo comfort to the wretched king.As still he mourned with burning sighsAnd fixed his gaze upon the skies:'O Night whom starry fires adorn,I long not for the coming morn.Be kind and show some mercy: see,My suppliant hands are raised to thee.Nay, rather fly with swifter pace;No longer would I see the faceOf Queen Kaikeyí, cruel, dread,Who brings this woe upon mine head.'Again with suppliant hands he triedTo move the queen, and wept and sighed:'To me, unhappy me, inclinedTo good, sweet dame, thou shouldst be kind;Whose life is well-nigh fled, who clingTo thee for succour, me thy king.This, only this, is all my claim:Have mercy, O my lovely dame.None else have I to take my part.Have mercy: thou art good at heart.Hear, lady of the soft black eye.And win a name that ne'er shall die:Let Ráma rule this glorious land,The gift of thine imperial hand.O lady of the dainty waist,With eyes and lips of beauty graced,Please Ráma, me, each saintly priest,Bharat, and all from chief to least.'
She heard his wild and mournful cry, She saw the tears his speech that broke, Saw her good husband's reddened eye, But, cruel still, no word she spoke. His eyes upon her face he bent, And sought for mercy, but in vain: She claimed his darling's banishment, He swooned upon the ground again.
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Footnotes106:1 Only the highest merit obtains a home in heaven for ever. Minor degrees of merit procure only leases of heavenly mansions terminable after periods proportioned to the fund which buys them. King Yayáti went to heaven and when his term expired was unceremoniously ejected, and thrown down to earth.
CANTO XIV.:
'Childless so long, at length I won,With mighty toil, from Heaven a son,Ráma, the mighty-armed; and howShall I desert my darling now?A scholar wise, a hero bold,Of patient mood, with wrath controlled,How can I bid my Ráma fly,My darling of the lotus eye?In heaven itself I scarce could bear,When asking of my Ráma there,To hear the Gods his griefs declare,And O, that death would take me henceBefore I wrong his innocence!'
As thus the monarch wept and wailed,And maddening grief his heart assailed,The sun had sought his resting-place,And night was closing round apace.But yet the moon-crowned night could bringNo comfort to the wretched king.As still he mourned with burning sighsAnd fixed his gaze upon the skies:'O Night whom starry fires adorn,I long not for the coming morn.Be kind and show some mercy: see,My suppliant hands are raised to thee.Nay, rather fly with swifter pace;No longer would I see the faceOf Queen Kaikeyí, cruel, dread,Who brings this woe upon mine head.'Again with suppliant hands he triedTo move the queen, and wept and sighed:'To me, unhappy me, inclinedTo good, sweet dame, thou shouldst be kind;Whose life is well-nigh fled, who clingTo thee for succour, me thy king.This, only this, is all my claim:Have mercy, O my lovely dame.None else have I to take my part.Have mercy: thou art good at heart.Hear, lady of the soft black eye.And win a name that ne'er shall die:Let Ráma rule this glorious land,The gift of thine imperial hand.O lady of the dainty waist,With eyes and lips of beauty graced,Please Ráma, me, each saintly priest,Bharat, and all from chief to least.'
She heard his wild and mournful cry, She saw the tears his speech that broke, Saw her good husband's reddened eye, But, cruel still, no word she spoke. His eyes upon her face he bent, And sought for mercy, but in vain: She claimed his darling's banishment, He swooned upon the ground again.
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Footnotes106:1 Only the highest merit obtains a home in heaven for ever. Minor degrees of merit procure only leases of heavenly mansions terminable after periods proportioned to the fund which buys them. King Yayáti went to heaven and when his term expired was unceremoniously ejected, and thrown down to earth.
CANTO XIV.:
RÁMA SUMMONED.The wicked queen her speech renewed,When rolling on the earth she viewedIkshváku's son, Ayodhyá's king,For his dear Ráma sorrowing:'Why, by a simple promise bound,Liest thou prostrate on the ground,As though a grievous sin dismayedThy spirit! Why so sore afraid?Keep still thy word. The righteous deemThat truth, mid duties, is supreme:And now in truth and honour's nameI bid thee own the binding claim.S'aivya, a king whom earth obeyed,Onoe to a hawk a promise made,Gave to the bird his flesh and bone,And by his truth made heaven his own. 1Alarka, when a Bráhman famedFor Scripture lore his promise claimed,Tore from his head his bleeding eyesAnd unreluctant gave the prize.His narrow bounds prescribed restrainThe Rivers' Lord, the mighty main,Who, though his waters boil and rave,Keeps faithful to the word he gave.Truth all religion comprehends,Through all the world its might extends:In truth alone is justice placed,On truth the words of God are based;A life in truth unchanging pastWill bring the highest bliss at lastIf thou the right would still pursue,Be constant to thy word and true:Let me thy promise fruitful see,For boons, O King, proceed from thee.Now to preserve thy righteous fame,And yielding to my earnest claim--Thrice I repeat it--send thy child,Thy Ráma, to the forest wild.But if the boon thou still deny,Before thy face, forlorn, I die.'
Thus was the helpless monarch stungBy Queen Kaikeyí's fearless tongue,As Bali strove in vain to looseHis limbs from Indra's fatal noose.Dismayed in soul and pale with fear,The monarch, like a trembling steerBetween the chariot's wheel and yoke,Again to Queen Kaikeyí spoke,With sad eyes fixt in vacant stare,Gathering courage from despair:'That hand I took, thou sinful dame,With texts, before the sacred flame,Thee and thy son, I scorn and hate,And all at once repudiate.
The night is fled: the dawn is near:Soon will the holy priests be hereTo bid me for the rite prepareThat with my son the tnrone will share,The preparation made to graceMy Ráma in his royal place--With this, e'en this, my darling forMy death the funeral flood shall pour.Thou and thy son at least forbearIn offerings to my shade to share,For by the plot thy guile has laidHis consecration will be stayed.This very day how shall I brookTo meet each subject's altered look?To mark each gloomy joyless browThat was so bright and glad but now?'
While thus the high-souled monarch spokeTo the stern queen, the Morning broke,And holy night had slowly fled,With moon and stars engarlanded.Yet once again the cruel queenSpoke words in answer fierce and keen,Still on her evil purpose bent,Wild with her rage and eloquent:'What speech is this? Such words as theseSeem sprung from poison-sown disease.Quick to thy noble Ráma sendAnd bid him on his sire attend.When to my son the rule is given;When Ráma to the woods is driven;When not a rival copes with me,From chains of duty thou art free.'
Thus goaded, like a generous steedUrged by sharp spurs to double speed,'My senses are astray,' he cried,'And duty's bonds my hands have tied.I long to see mine eldest son,My virtuous, my beloved one.'
And now the night had past away;Out shone the Maker of the Day,Bringing the planetary hourAnd moment of auspicious power.Vas'ishtha, virtuous, far renowned,Whose young disciples girt him round,With sacred things without delayThrough the fair city took his way.He traversed, where the people thronged.And all for Ráma's coming longed,The town as fair in festive showAs his who lays proud cities low. 1He reached the palace where he heardThe mingled notes of many a bird,Where crowded thick high-honoured bandsOf guards with truncheons in their hands.Begirt by many a sage, elate,Vas'ishtha reached the royal gate,
And standing by the door he foundSumantra, for his form renowned,The king's illustrious charioteerAnd noble counsellor and peer.To him well skilled in every partOf his hereditary artVas'ishtha said: 'O charioteer,Inform the king that I am here,Here ready by my side beholdThese sacred vessels made of gold,Which water for the rite containFrom Gangá and each distant main.Here for installing I have broughtThe seat prescribed of fig-wood wrought,All kinds of seed and precious scentAnd many a gem and ornament;Grain, sacred grass, the garden's spoil,Honey and curds and milk and oil;Eight radiant maids, the best of allWar elephants that feed in stall;A four-horse car, a bow and sword.A litter, men to bear their lord;A white umbrella bright and fairThat with the moon may well compare;Two chouries of the whitest hair;A golden beaker rich and rare;A bull high-humped and fair to view,Girt with gold bands and white of hue;A four-toothed steed with flowing mane,A throne which lions carved sustain;A tiger's skin, the sacred fire,Fresh kindled, which the rites require;The best musicians skilled to play,And dancing-girls in raiment gay;Kine, Bráhmans, teachers fill the court,And bird and beast of purest sort.From town and village, far and near,The noblest men are gathered here;Here merchants with their followers crowd,And men in joyful converse loud,And kings from many a distant landTo view the consecration stand.The dawn is come, the lucky day;Go bid the monarch haste away,That now Prince Ráma may obtainThe empire, and begin his reign.'
Soon as he heard the high behestThe driver of the chariot pressedWithin the chambers of the king,His lord with praises honouring.And none of all the warders checkedHis entrance for their great respectOf him well known, in place so high,Still fain their king to gratify.He stood beside the royal chief,Unwitting of his deadly grief,And with sweet words began to singThe praises of his lord and king:'As, when the sun begins to rise,The sparkling sea delights our eyes,Wake, calm with gentle soul, and thus
Give rapture, mighty King, to us.As Mátali 1 this selfsame hourSang lauds of old to Indra's power,When he the Titan hosts o'erthrew,So hymn I thee with praises due.The Vedas, with their kindred lore,Brahma their soul-born Lord adore,With all the doctrines of the wise,And bid him, as I bid thee, rise.As, with the moon, the Lord of DayWakes with the splendour of his rayProlific Earth, who neath him lies,So, mighty King, I bid thee rise.With blissful words, O Lord of men,Rise, radiant in thy form, as whenThe sun ascending darts his lightFrom Meru's everlasting height.May Œiva, Agni, Sun, and MoonBestow on thee each choicest boon,Kuvera, Varun, Indra blessKakutstha's son with all success.Awake, the holy night is fled,The happy light abroad is spread;Awake, O best of kings, and shareThe glorious task that claims thy care.The holy sage Vaœishtha waits,With all his Bráhmans, at the gateGive thy decree, without delay,To consecrate thy son today.As armies, by no captain led,As flocks that feed unshepherded,Such is the fortune of a stateWithout a king and desolate.' Such were the words the bard addressed,With weight of sage advice impressed;And, as he heard, the hapless kingFelt deeper yet his sorrow's sting.At length, all joy and comfort fled,He raised his eyes with weeping red,And, mournful for his Ráma's sake.The good and glorious monarch spake:'Why seek with idle praise to greetThe wretch for whom no praise is meet!Thy words mine aching bosom tear,And plunge me deeper in despair.' Sumantra heard the sad reply,And saw his master's tearful eye.With reverent palm to palm appliedHe drew a little space aside.Then, as the king, with misery weak,With vain endeavour strove to speak,Kaikeyí, skilled in plot and plan,To sage Sumantra thus began:'The king, absorbed in joyful thoughtFor his dear son, no rest has sought:Sleepless to him the night has past,And now o'erwatched he sinks at lastThen go, Sumantra, and with speed
The glorious Ráma hither lead:Go, as I pray, nor longer wait;No time is this to hesitate.' 'How can I go, O Ladv fair,Unless my lord his will declare?' 'Fain would I see him,' cried the king,'Quick, quick, my beauteous Ráma bring.' Then rose the happy thought to cheerThe bosom of the charioteer,'The king, I ween, of pious mind.The consecration has designed.'Sumantra for his wisdom famed,Delighted with the thought he framed,From the calm chamber, like a bayOf crowded ocean, took his way. He turned his face to neither side, But forth he hurried straight;Only a little while he eyedThe guards who kept the gate.He saw in front a gathered crowd Of men of every class,Who, parting as he came, allowed The charioteer to pass.
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Footnotes107:1 See Additional Notes, THE SUPPLIANT DOVE.
108:1 Indra, called also Purandara, Town destroyer.
109:1 Indra's charioteer.
CANTO XV.:
Thus was the helpless monarch stungBy Queen Kaikeyí's fearless tongue,As Bali strove in vain to looseHis limbs from Indra's fatal noose.Dismayed in soul and pale with fear,The monarch, like a trembling steerBetween the chariot's wheel and yoke,Again to Queen Kaikeyí spoke,With sad eyes fixt in vacant stare,Gathering courage from despair:'That hand I took, thou sinful dame,With texts, before the sacred flame,Thee and thy son, I scorn and hate,And all at once repudiate.
The night is fled: the dawn is near:Soon will the holy priests be hereTo bid me for the rite prepareThat with my son the tnrone will share,The preparation made to graceMy Ráma in his royal place--With this, e'en this, my darling forMy death the funeral flood shall pour.Thou and thy son at least forbearIn offerings to my shade to share,For by the plot thy guile has laidHis consecration will be stayed.This very day how shall I brookTo meet each subject's altered look?To mark each gloomy joyless browThat was so bright and glad but now?'
While thus the high-souled monarch spokeTo the stern queen, the Morning broke,And holy night had slowly fled,With moon and stars engarlanded.Yet once again the cruel queenSpoke words in answer fierce and keen,Still on her evil purpose bent,Wild with her rage and eloquent:'What speech is this? Such words as theseSeem sprung from poison-sown disease.Quick to thy noble Ráma sendAnd bid him on his sire attend.When to my son the rule is given;When Ráma to the woods is driven;When not a rival copes with me,From chains of duty thou art free.'
Thus goaded, like a generous steedUrged by sharp spurs to double speed,'My senses are astray,' he cried,'And duty's bonds my hands have tied.I long to see mine eldest son,My virtuous, my beloved one.'
And now the night had past away;Out shone the Maker of the Day,Bringing the planetary hourAnd moment of auspicious power.Vas'ishtha, virtuous, far renowned,Whose young disciples girt him round,With sacred things without delayThrough the fair city took his way.He traversed, where the people thronged.And all for Ráma's coming longed,The town as fair in festive showAs his who lays proud cities low. 1He reached the palace where he heardThe mingled notes of many a bird,Where crowded thick high-honoured bandsOf guards with truncheons in their hands.Begirt by many a sage, elate,Vas'ishtha reached the royal gate,
And standing by the door he foundSumantra, for his form renowned,The king's illustrious charioteerAnd noble counsellor and peer.To him well skilled in every partOf his hereditary artVas'ishtha said: 'O charioteer,Inform the king that I am here,Here ready by my side beholdThese sacred vessels made of gold,Which water for the rite containFrom Gangá and each distant main.Here for installing I have broughtThe seat prescribed of fig-wood wrought,All kinds of seed and precious scentAnd many a gem and ornament;Grain, sacred grass, the garden's spoil,Honey and curds and milk and oil;Eight radiant maids, the best of allWar elephants that feed in stall;A four-horse car, a bow and sword.A litter, men to bear their lord;A white umbrella bright and fairThat with the moon may well compare;Two chouries of the whitest hair;A golden beaker rich and rare;A bull high-humped and fair to view,Girt with gold bands and white of hue;A four-toothed steed with flowing mane,A throne which lions carved sustain;A tiger's skin, the sacred fire,Fresh kindled, which the rites require;The best musicians skilled to play,And dancing-girls in raiment gay;Kine, Bráhmans, teachers fill the court,And bird and beast of purest sort.From town and village, far and near,The noblest men are gathered here;Here merchants with their followers crowd,And men in joyful converse loud,And kings from many a distant landTo view the consecration stand.The dawn is come, the lucky day;Go bid the monarch haste away,That now Prince Ráma may obtainThe empire, and begin his reign.'
Soon as he heard the high behestThe driver of the chariot pressedWithin the chambers of the king,His lord with praises honouring.And none of all the warders checkedHis entrance for their great respectOf him well known, in place so high,Still fain their king to gratify.He stood beside the royal chief,Unwitting of his deadly grief,And with sweet words began to singThe praises of his lord and king:'As, when the sun begins to rise,The sparkling sea delights our eyes,Wake, calm with gentle soul, and thus
Give rapture, mighty King, to us.As Mátali 1 this selfsame hourSang lauds of old to Indra's power,When he the Titan hosts o'erthrew,So hymn I thee with praises due.The Vedas, with their kindred lore,Brahma their soul-born Lord adore,With all the doctrines of the wise,And bid him, as I bid thee, rise.As, with the moon, the Lord of DayWakes with the splendour of his rayProlific Earth, who neath him lies,So, mighty King, I bid thee rise.With blissful words, O Lord of men,Rise, radiant in thy form, as whenThe sun ascending darts his lightFrom Meru's everlasting height.May Œiva, Agni, Sun, and MoonBestow on thee each choicest boon,Kuvera, Varun, Indra blessKakutstha's son with all success.Awake, the holy night is fled,The happy light abroad is spread;Awake, O best of kings, and shareThe glorious task that claims thy care.The holy sage Vaœishtha waits,With all his Bráhmans, at the gateGive thy decree, without delay,To consecrate thy son today.As armies, by no captain led,As flocks that feed unshepherded,Such is the fortune of a stateWithout a king and desolate.' Such were the words the bard addressed,With weight of sage advice impressed;And, as he heard, the hapless kingFelt deeper yet his sorrow's sting.At length, all joy and comfort fled,He raised his eyes with weeping red,And, mournful for his Ráma's sake.The good and glorious monarch spake:'Why seek with idle praise to greetThe wretch for whom no praise is meet!Thy words mine aching bosom tear,And plunge me deeper in despair.' Sumantra heard the sad reply,And saw his master's tearful eye.With reverent palm to palm appliedHe drew a little space aside.Then, as the king, with misery weak,With vain endeavour strove to speak,Kaikeyí, skilled in plot and plan,To sage Sumantra thus began:'The king, absorbed in joyful thoughtFor his dear son, no rest has sought:Sleepless to him the night has past,And now o'erwatched he sinks at lastThen go, Sumantra, and with speed
The glorious Ráma hither lead:Go, as I pray, nor longer wait;No time is this to hesitate.' 'How can I go, O Ladv fair,Unless my lord his will declare?' 'Fain would I see him,' cried the king,'Quick, quick, my beauteous Ráma bring.' Then rose the happy thought to cheerThe bosom of the charioteer,'The king, I ween, of pious mind.The consecration has designed.'Sumantra for his wisdom famed,Delighted with the thought he framed,From the calm chamber, like a bayOf crowded ocean, took his way. He turned his face to neither side, But forth he hurried straight;Only a little while he eyedThe guards who kept the gate.He saw in front a gathered crowd Of men of every class,Who, parting as he came, allowed The charioteer to pass.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Footnotes107:1 See Additional Notes, THE SUPPLIANT DOVE.
108:1 Indra, called also Purandara, Town destroyer.
109:1 Indra's charioteer.
CANTO XV.:
THE PREPARATIONS. There slept the Bráhmans, deeply readIn Scripture, till the night had fled;Then, with the royal chaplains, theyTook each his place in long array.There gathered fast the chiefs of trade,Nor peer nor captain long delayed,Assembling all in order dueThe consecrating rite to view. The morning dawned with cloudless rayOn Pushya's high auspicious day,And Cancer with benignant powerLooked down on Ráma's natal hour.The twice-born chiefs, with zealous heed,Made ready what the rite would need.The well-wrought throne of holy woodAnd goldon urns in order stood.There was the royal chair whereonA tiger's skin resplendent shone;There water, brought for sprinkling thenceWhen, in their sacred confluence,Blend. Jumná's waves with Gangá's tide,From many a holy flood beside,From brook and fountain far and near,From pool and river, sea and mere.And there were honey, curd, and oil,Parched rice and grass, the garden's spoil,Fresh milk, eight girls in bright attire,An elephant with eyes of tire;And urns of gold and silver made,With milky branches overlaid,All brimming from each sacred flood,And decked with many a lotus bud
And dancing-women fair and free,Gay with their gems, were there to see,Who stood in bright apparel byWith lovely brow and witching eye.White flashed the jewelled chouri there,And shone like moonbeams through the air;The white umbrella overheadA pale and moonlike lustre shed,Wont in pure splendour to precede,And in such rites the pomp to lead.There stood the charger by the sideOf the great bull of snow-white hide;There was all music soft and loud,And bards and minstrels swelled the crowd.For now the monarch bade combineEach custom of his ancient lineWith every rite Ayodhyá's stateObserved, her kings to consecrate.
Then, summoned by the king's behest,The multitudes together pressed,And, missing still the royal sire,Began, impatient, to inquire:'Who to our lord will tidings bearThat all his people throng the square?Where is the king? the sun is bright,And all is ready for the rite.'
As thus they spoke, Sumantra, triedIn counsel, to the chiefs replied,Gathered from lands on every side:'To Ráma's house I swiftly drave,For so the king his mandate gave.Our aged lord and Ráma tooIn honour high hold all of you:I in your words (be long your days!)Will ask him why he thus delays.'
Thus spoke the peer in Scripture read,And to the ladies' bower he sped.Quick through the gates Sumantra hied,Which access ne'er to him denied.Behind the curtained screen he drew,Which veiled the chamber from the view.In benediction loud he raisedHis voice, and thus the monarch praised:'Sun, Moon, Kuvera, S'iva blessKakutstha's son with high success!The Lords of air, flood, fire decreeThe victory, my King, to thee!The holy night has past away,Auspicious shines the morning's ray.Rise, Lord of men, thy part to takeIn the great rite. Awake! awake!Bráhmans and captains, chiefs of trade,All wait in festive garb arrayed;For thee they look with eager eyes:O Raghu's son, awake! arise.'
To him in holy Scripture read,Who hailed him thus, the monarch said,Upraising from his sleep his head:'Go. Ráma hither lead as thouW (illegible) but now.Come, tell me why my mandate laidUpon thee thus is disobeyed.Away! and Ráma hither bring;I sleep not: make no tarrying.'
Thus gave the king command anew:Sumantra from his lord withdrew;With head in lowly reverence bent,And filled with thoughts of joy, he went,The royal street he traversed, whereWaved flag and pennon to the air,And, as with joy the car he drove,He let his eyes delighted rove.On every side, where'er he came,He heard glad words, their theme the same,As in their joy the gathered folkOf Ráma and the throning spoke.Then saw he Ráma's palace brightAnd vast as Mount Kailása's height,That glorious in its beauty showedAs Indra's own supreme abode:With folding doors both high and wide;With hundred porches beautified:Where golden statues towering roseO'er gemmed and coralled porticoesBright like a cave in Meru's side,Or clouds through Autumn's sky that ride:Festooned with length of bloomy twine,Flashing with pearls and jewels' shine,While sandal-wood and aloe lentThe mingled riches of their scent;With all the odorous sweets that fillThe breezy heights of Dardar's hill.There by the gate the Sáras screamed,And shrill-toned peacocks' plumage gleamed.Its floors with deftest art inlaid,Its sculptured wolves in gold arrayed,With its bright sheen the palace tookThe mind of man and chained the look,For like the sun and moon it glowed,And mocked Kuvera's loved abode.Circling the walls a crowd he viewedWho stood in reverent attitude,With throngs of countrymen who soughtAcceptance of the gifts they brought.The elephant was stationed there,Appointed Ráma's self to bear;Adorned with pearls, his brow and cheekWere sandal-dyed in many a streak,While he, in stature, bulk, and pride,With Indra's own Airávat 1 vied.Sumantra, borne by coursers fleet,Flashing a radiance o'er the street, To Ráma's palace flew,And all who lined the royal road,Or thronged the prince's rich abode, Rejoiced as near he drew.And with delight his bosom swelledAs onward still his course he held
Through many a sumptuous courtLike Indra's palace nobly made,Where peacocks revelled in the shade, And beasts of silvan sort.Through many a hall and chamber wide,That with Kailása's splendour vied. Or mansions of the Blest,While Ráma's friends, beloved and tried,Before his coming stepped aside, Still on Sumantra pressed.He reached the chamber door, where stoodAround his followers young and good,Bard, minstrel, charioteer,Well skilled the tuneful chords to sweep,With soothing strain to lull to sleep, Or laud their master dear.Then, like a dolphin darting throughUnfathomed depths of ocean's blue With store of jewels decked,Through crowded halls that rock-like rose,Or as proud hills where clouds repose, Sumantra sped unchecked--Halls like the glittering domes on highReared for the dwellers of the sky By heavenly architect.
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Footnotes110:1 The elephant of Indra.
CANTO XVI.:
And dancing-women fair and free,Gay with their gems, were there to see,Who stood in bright apparel byWith lovely brow and witching eye.White flashed the jewelled chouri there,And shone like moonbeams through the air;The white umbrella overheadA pale and moonlike lustre shed,Wont in pure splendour to precede,And in such rites the pomp to lead.There stood the charger by the sideOf the great bull of snow-white hide;There was all music soft and loud,And bards and minstrels swelled the crowd.For now the monarch bade combineEach custom of his ancient lineWith every rite Ayodhyá's stateObserved, her kings to consecrate.
Then, summoned by the king's behest,The multitudes together pressed,And, missing still the royal sire,Began, impatient, to inquire:'Who to our lord will tidings bearThat all his people throng the square?Where is the king? the sun is bright,And all is ready for the rite.'
As thus they spoke, Sumantra, triedIn counsel, to the chiefs replied,Gathered from lands on every side:'To Ráma's house I swiftly drave,For so the king his mandate gave.Our aged lord and Ráma tooIn honour high hold all of you:I in your words (be long your days!)Will ask him why he thus delays.'
Thus spoke the peer in Scripture read,And to the ladies' bower he sped.Quick through the gates Sumantra hied,Which access ne'er to him denied.Behind the curtained screen he drew,Which veiled the chamber from the view.In benediction loud he raisedHis voice, and thus the monarch praised:'Sun, Moon, Kuvera, S'iva blessKakutstha's son with high success!The Lords of air, flood, fire decreeThe victory, my King, to thee!The holy night has past away,Auspicious shines the morning's ray.Rise, Lord of men, thy part to takeIn the great rite. Awake! awake!Bráhmans and captains, chiefs of trade,All wait in festive garb arrayed;For thee they look with eager eyes:O Raghu's son, awake! arise.'
To him in holy Scripture read,Who hailed him thus, the monarch said,Upraising from his sleep his head:'Go. Ráma hither lead as thouW (illegible) but now.Come, tell me why my mandate laidUpon thee thus is disobeyed.Away! and Ráma hither bring;I sleep not: make no tarrying.'
Thus gave the king command anew:Sumantra from his lord withdrew;With head in lowly reverence bent,And filled with thoughts of joy, he went,The royal street he traversed, whereWaved flag and pennon to the air,And, as with joy the car he drove,He let his eyes delighted rove.On every side, where'er he came,He heard glad words, their theme the same,As in their joy the gathered folkOf Ráma and the throning spoke.Then saw he Ráma's palace brightAnd vast as Mount Kailása's height,That glorious in its beauty showedAs Indra's own supreme abode:With folding doors both high and wide;With hundred porches beautified:Where golden statues towering roseO'er gemmed and coralled porticoesBright like a cave in Meru's side,Or clouds through Autumn's sky that ride:Festooned with length of bloomy twine,Flashing with pearls and jewels' shine,While sandal-wood and aloe lentThe mingled riches of their scent;With all the odorous sweets that fillThe breezy heights of Dardar's hill.There by the gate the Sáras screamed,And shrill-toned peacocks' plumage gleamed.Its floors with deftest art inlaid,Its sculptured wolves in gold arrayed,With its bright sheen the palace tookThe mind of man and chained the look,For like the sun and moon it glowed,And mocked Kuvera's loved abode.Circling the walls a crowd he viewedWho stood in reverent attitude,With throngs of countrymen who soughtAcceptance of the gifts they brought.The elephant was stationed there,Appointed Ráma's self to bear;Adorned with pearls, his brow and cheekWere sandal-dyed in many a streak,While he, in stature, bulk, and pride,With Indra's own Airávat 1 vied.Sumantra, borne by coursers fleet,Flashing a radiance o'er the street, To Ráma's palace flew,And all who lined the royal road,Or thronged the prince's rich abode, Rejoiced as near he drew.And with delight his bosom swelledAs onward still his course he held
Through many a sumptuous courtLike Indra's palace nobly made,Where peacocks revelled in the shade, And beasts of silvan sort.Through many a hall and chamber wide,That with Kailása's splendour vied. Or mansions of the Blest,While Ráma's friends, beloved and tried,Before his coming stepped aside, Still on Sumantra pressed.He reached the chamber door, where stoodAround his followers young and good,Bard, minstrel, charioteer,Well skilled the tuneful chords to sweep,With soothing strain to lull to sleep, Or laud their master dear.Then, like a dolphin darting throughUnfathomed depths of ocean's blue With store of jewels decked,Through crowded halls that rock-like rose,Or as proud hills where clouds repose, Sumantra sped unchecked--Halls like the glittering domes on highReared for the dwellers of the sky By heavenly architect.
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Footnotes110:1 The elephant of Indra.
CANTO XVI.:
RÁMA SUMMONED.So through the crowded inner doorSumantra, skilled in ancient lore,On to the private chambers pressedWhich stood apart from all the rest.There youthful warriors, true and bold,Whose ears were ringed with polished gold,All armed with trusty bows and darts,Watched with devoted eyes and hearts.And hoary men, a faithful train,Whose aged hands held staves of cane,The ladies' guard, apparelled fairIn red attire, were stationed there.Soon as they saw Sumantra nigh,Each longed his lord to gratify,And from his seat beside the doorUp sprang each ancient servitor.Then to the warders quickly criedThe skilled Sumantra, void of pride:'Tell Ráma that the charioteerSumantra waits for audience here.'The ancient men with one accordSeeking the pleasure of their lord,Passing with speed the chamber doorTo Ráma's ear the message bore.Forthwith the prince with duteous heedCalled in the messenger with speed,For 'twas his sire's command, he knew,That sent him for the interview.Like Lord Kuvera, well arrayed, He pressed a couch of gold,Wherefrom a covering of brocade Hung down in many a fold.Oil and the sandal's fragrant dust Had tinged his body o'erDark as the stream the spearman's thrust Drains from the wounded boar.Him Sítá watched with tender care, A chouri in her hand,As Chitrá, 1 ever fond in fair, Beside the Moon will stand.Him glorious with unborrowed light,A liberal lord, of sunlike might,Sumantra hailed in words like these,Well skilled in gentle courtesies,As, with joined hands in reverence raised,Upon the beauteous prince he gazed:'Happy Kaus'alyá! Blest is she,The Mother of a son like thee.Now rise, O Ráma, speed away.Go to thy sire without delay:For he and Queen Kaikeyí seekAn interview with thee to speak.'
The lion-lord of men, the bestOf splendid heroes, thus addressed,To Sítá spake with joyful cheer:'The king and qneen, my lady dear,Touching the throning, for my sakeSome salutary counsel take.The lady ot the full black eyeWould fain her husband gratify,And, all his purpose understood,Counsels the monarch to my good.A happy fate is mine, I ween,When he, consulting with his queen,Sumantra on this charge, intentUpon my gain and good, has sent.An envoy of so noble sortWell suits the splendour of the court.The consecration rite this dayWill join me in imperial sway.To meet the lord of earth, for soHis order bids me, I will go.Thou, lady, here in comfort stay,And with thy maidens rest or play.'
Thus Ráma spake. For meet replyThe lady of the large black eyeAttended to the door her lord,And blessings on his head implored:'The majesty and royal stateWhich holy Bráhmans venerate,The consecration and the riteWhich sanctifies the ruler's might,And all imperial powers should beThine by thy father's high decree,As He, the worlds who formed and planned,The kingship gave to Indra's hand.
Then shall mine eyes my king adoreWhen lustral rites and fast are o'er,And black deer's skin and roebuck's hornThy lordly limbs and hand adorn.May He whose hands the thunder wieldBe in the east thy guard and shield;May Yama's care the south befriend,And Varun's arm the west defend;And let Kuvera, Lord of Gold,The north with firm protection hold.'
Then Ráma spoke a kind farewell,And hailed the blessings as they fellFrom Sítá's gentle lips; and then,As a young lion from his denDescends the mountain's stony side,So from the hall the hero hied.First Lakshman at the door he viewedWho stood in reverent attitude,Then to the central court he pressedWhere watched the friends who loved him best.To all his dear companions thereHe gave kind looks and greeting fair.On to the lofty car that glowedLike fire the royal tiger strode.Bright as himself its silver shone:A tiger's skin was laid thereon.With cloudlike thunder, as it rolled,It flashed with gems and burnished gold,And, like the sun's meridian blaze,Blinded the eye that none could gaze.Like youthful elephants, tall and strong,Fleet coursers whirled the car along:In such a car the Thousand-eyedBorne by swift horses loves to ride.So like Parjanya, 1 when he fliesThundering through the autumn skies,The hero from the palace sped,As leaves the moon some cloud o'erhead.Still close to Ráma Lakshman kept,Behind him to the car he leapt,And, watching with fraternal care,Waved the long chouri's silver hair,As from the palace gate he cameUp rose the tumult of acclaim.While loud huzza and jubilant shoutPealed from the gathered myriads out.Then elephants, like mountains vast,And steeds who all their kind surpassed,Followed their lord by hundreds, nayBy thousands, led in long array.First marched a band of warriors trained,With sandal dust and aloe stained;Well armed was each with sword and bow,And every breast with hope aglow,And ever, as they onward went, Shouts from the warrior train,And every sweet-toned instrument Prolonged the minstrel strain.
On passed the tamer of his foes,While well clad dames, in crowded rows,Each chamber lattice thronged to view,And chaplets on the hero threw.Then all, of peerless face and limb,Sang Ráma's praise for love of him,And blent their voices, soft and sweet.From palace high and crowded street:'Now, sure, Kaus'alyá's heart must swellTo see the son she loves so well,Thee Ráma, thee, her joy and pride,Triumphant o'er the realm preside.'Then--for they knew his bride most fairOf all who part the soft dark hair,His love, his life, possessed the wholeOf her young hero's heart and soul:--'Be sure the lady's fate repaysSome mighty vow of ancient days, 1bFor blest with Ráma's love is sheAs, with the Moon's, sweet Rohiní.' 2b
Such were the witching words that cameFrom lips of many a peerless dameCrowding the palace roofs to greetThe hero as he gained the street.
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Footnotes111:1 A star in the spike of Virgo: hence the name of the mouth Chaitra at Chait.
112:1 The Rain-God.
CANTO XVII.:
The lion-lord of men, the bestOf splendid heroes, thus addressed,To Sítá spake with joyful cheer:'The king and qneen, my lady dear,Touching the throning, for my sakeSome salutary counsel take.The lady ot the full black eyeWould fain her husband gratify,And, all his purpose understood,Counsels the monarch to my good.A happy fate is mine, I ween,When he, consulting with his queen,Sumantra on this charge, intentUpon my gain and good, has sent.An envoy of so noble sortWell suits the splendour of the court.The consecration rite this dayWill join me in imperial sway.To meet the lord of earth, for soHis order bids me, I will go.Thou, lady, here in comfort stay,And with thy maidens rest or play.'
Thus Ráma spake. For meet replyThe lady of the large black eyeAttended to the door her lord,And blessings on his head implored:'The majesty and royal stateWhich holy Bráhmans venerate,The consecration and the riteWhich sanctifies the ruler's might,And all imperial powers should beThine by thy father's high decree,As He, the worlds who formed and planned,The kingship gave to Indra's hand.
Then shall mine eyes my king adoreWhen lustral rites and fast are o'er,And black deer's skin and roebuck's hornThy lordly limbs and hand adorn.May He whose hands the thunder wieldBe in the east thy guard and shield;May Yama's care the south befriend,And Varun's arm the west defend;And let Kuvera, Lord of Gold,The north with firm protection hold.'
Then Ráma spoke a kind farewell,And hailed the blessings as they fellFrom Sítá's gentle lips; and then,As a young lion from his denDescends the mountain's stony side,So from the hall the hero hied.First Lakshman at the door he viewedWho stood in reverent attitude,Then to the central court he pressedWhere watched the friends who loved him best.To all his dear companions thereHe gave kind looks and greeting fair.On to the lofty car that glowedLike fire the royal tiger strode.Bright as himself its silver shone:A tiger's skin was laid thereon.With cloudlike thunder, as it rolled,It flashed with gems and burnished gold,And, like the sun's meridian blaze,Blinded the eye that none could gaze.Like youthful elephants, tall and strong,Fleet coursers whirled the car along:In such a car the Thousand-eyedBorne by swift horses loves to ride.So like Parjanya, 1 when he fliesThundering through the autumn skies,The hero from the palace sped,As leaves the moon some cloud o'erhead.Still close to Ráma Lakshman kept,Behind him to the car he leapt,And, watching with fraternal care,Waved the long chouri's silver hair,As from the palace gate he cameUp rose the tumult of acclaim.While loud huzza and jubilant shoutPealed from the gathered myriads out.Then elephants, like mountains vast,And steeds who all their kind surpassed,Followed their lord by hundreds, nayBy thousands, led in long array.First marched a band of warriors trained,With sandal dust and aloe stained;Well armed was each with sword and bow,And every breast with hope aglow,And ever, as they onward went, Shouts from the warrior train,And every sweet-toned instrument Prolonged the minstrel strain.
On passed the tamer of his foes,While well clad dames, in crowded rows,Each chamber lattice thronged to view,And chaplets on the hero threw.Then all, of peerless face and limb,Sang Ráma's praise for love of him,And blent their voices, soft and sweet.From palace high and crowded street:'Now, sure, Kaus'alyá's heart must swellTo see the son she loves so well,Thee Ráma, thee, her joy and pride,Triumphant o'er the realm preside.'Then--for they knew his bride most fairOf all who part the soft dark hair,His love, his life, possessed the wholeOf her young hero's heart and soul:--'Be sure the lady's fate repaysSome mighty vow of ancient days, 1bFor blest with Ráma's love is sheAs, with the Moon's, sweet Rohiní.' 2b
Such were the witching words that cameFrom lips of many a peerless dameCrowding the palace roofs to greetThe hero as he gained the street.
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Footnotes111:1 A star in the spike of Virgo: hence the name of the mouth Chaitra at Chait.
112:1 The Rain-God.
CANTO XVII.:
RÁMA'S APPROACH.As Ráma, rendering blithe and gayHis loving friends, pursued his way,He saw on either hand a pressOf mingled people numberless.The royal street he traversed, whereIncense of aloe filled the air,Where rose high palaces, that viedWith paly clouds, on either side;With flowers of myriad colours graced.And food for every varied taste,Bright as the glowing path o'erheadWhich feet of Gods celestial tread,Loud benedictions, sweet to hear,From countless voices soothed his ear.While he to each gave due saluteHis place and dignity to suit:'Be thou,' the joyful people cried,'Be thou our guardian, lord and guide.Throned and anointed king to-day,Thy feet set forth upon the wayWherein, each honoured as a God,Thy fathers and forefathers trod.Thy sire and his have graced the throne,And loving care to us have shown:Thus blest shall we and ours remain,Yea still more blest in Ráma's reign.
No more of dainty fare we need,And but one cherished object heed,That we may see our prince todayInvested with imperial sway.
Such were the words and pleasant speechThat Ráma heard, unmoved, from eachOf the dear friends around him spread,As onward through the street he sped,For none could turn his eye or thoughtFrom the dear form his glances sought,With fruitless ardour forward castEven when Raghu's son had past.And he who saw not Ráma nigh,Nor caught a look from Ráma's eye,A mark for scorn and general blame,Reproached himself in bitter shame,For to each class his equal mindWith sympathy and love inclinedMost fully of the princely four;So greatest love to him they bore.
His circling course the hero bentRound shrine and altar, reverent,Round homes of Gods, where cross-roads met,Where many a sacred tree was set.Near to his father's house he drewLike Indra's beautiful to view,And with the light his glory gaveWithin the royal palace drave.Through three broad courts, where bowmen keptTheir watch and ward, his coursers swept,Then through the two remaining wentOn foot the prince pre?inent.Through all the courts the hero passed,And gained the ladies' bower at last;Then through the door alone withdrew,And left without his retinue.When thus the monarch's noble boy Had gone his sire to meet,The multitude, elate with joy, Stood watching in the street,And his return with eager eyes Expected at the gates,As for his darling moon to rise The King of Rivers 1 waits.
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Footnotes112:1b In a former life.
112:2b One of the lunar asterisms, represented as the favourite wife of the Moon. See p. 4, note.
CANTO XVIII.:
No more of dainty fare we need,And but one cherished object heed,That we may see our prince todayInvested with imperial sway.
Such were the words and pleasant speechThat Ráma heard, unmoved, from eachOf the dear friends around him spread,As onward through the street he sped,For none could turn his eye or thoughtFrom the dear form his glances sought,With fruitless ardour forward castEven when Raghu's son had past.And he who saw not Ráma nigh,Nor caught a look from Ráma's eye,A mark for scorn and general blame,Reproached himself in bitter shame,For to each class his equal mindWith sympathy and love inclinedMost fully of the princely four;So greatest love to him they bore.
His circling course the hero bentRound shrine and altar, reverent,Round homes of Gods, where cross-roads met,Where many a sacred tree was set.Near to his father's house he drewLike Indra's beautiful to view,And with the light his glory gaveWithin the royal palace drave.Through three broad courts, where bowmen keptTheir watch and ward, his coursers swept,Then through the two remaining wentOn foot the prince pre?inent.Through all the courts the hero passed,And gained the ladies' bower at last;Then through the door alone withdrew,And left without his retinue.When thus the monarch's noble boy Had gone his sire to meet,The multitude, elate with joy, Stood watching in the street,And his return with eager eyes Expected at the gates,As for his darling moon to rise The King of Rivers 1 waits.
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Footnotes112:1b In a former life.
112:2b One of the lunar asterisms, represented as the favourite wife of the Moon. See p. 4, note.
CANTO XVIII.:
THE SENTENCE.With hopeless eye and pallid mienThere sat the monarch with the queen.His father's feet with reverence dueHe clasped, and touched Kaikey?s too.The king, with eyes still brimming o'er,Cried 'Ráma!' and could do no more.
His voice was choked, his eye was dim,He could not speak or look on him.Then sudden fear made Ráma shakeAs though his foot had roused a snake,Soon as his eyes had seen the changeSo mournful, terrible, and strange.For there his reason well-nigh fled,Sighing, with soul disquieted, To torturing pangs a prey,Dismayed, despairing, and distraught,In a fierce whirl of wildering thought The hapless monarch lay,Like Ocean wave-engarlandedStorm-driven from his tranquil bed, The Sun-God in eclipse,Or like a holy seer, heart-stirredWith anguish, when a lying word Has passed his heedless lips.The sight of his dear father, painedWith woe and misery unexplained Filled Ráma with unrest,As Ocean's pulses rise and swellWhen the great moon he loves so well Shines full upon his breast.So grieving for his father's sake,To his own heart the hero spake:'Why will the king my sire to-dayNo kindly word of greeting say?At other times, though wroth he be,His eyes grow calm that look on me.Then why does anguish wring his browTo see his well-beloved now?'Sick and perplexed, distraught with woe,To Queen Kaikeyí bowing low,While pallor o'er his bright cheek spread,With humble reverence he said:'What have I done, unknown, amissTo make my father wroth like this?Declare it, O dear Queen, and winHis pardon for my heedless sin.Why is the sire I ever findFilled with all love to-day unkind?With eyes cast down and pallid cheekThis day alone he will not speak.Or lies he prostrate 'neath the blowOf fierce disease or sudden woe?For all our bliss is dashed with pain,And joy unmixt is hard to gain.Does stroke of evil fortune smiteDear Bharat, charming to the sight,Or on the brave S'atrughna fall,Or consorts, for he loves them all?Against his words when I rebel,Or fail to please the monarch well,When deeds of mine his soul offend,That hour I pray my life may end.How should a man to him who gaveHis being and his life behave?The sire to whom he owes his birthShould be his deity on earth.Hast thou, by pride and folly moved,
With bitter taunt the king reproved?Has scorn of thine or cruel jestTo passion stirred his gentle breast?Speak truly, Queen, that I may knowWhat cause has changed the monarch so.'
Thus by the high-souled prince addressed,Of Raghu's sons the chief and best,She cast all ruth and shame aside,And bold with greedy words replied:'Not wrath, O Ráma, stirs the king,Nor misery stabs with sudden sting;One thought that fills his soul has he,But dares not speak for fear of thee.Thou art so dear, his lips refrainFrom words that might his darling pain.But thou, as duty bids, must stillThe promise of thy sire fulfil.He who to me in days gone byVouchsafed a boon with honours high,Dares now, a king, his word regret,And caitiff-like disowns the debt.The lord of men his promise gaveTo grant the boon that I might crave,And now a bridge would idly throwWhen the dried stream has ceased to flow.His faith the monarch must not breakIn wrath, or e'en for thy dear sake.From faith, as well the righteous know,Our virtue and our merits flow.Now, be they good or be they ill,Do thou thy father's words fulfil:Swear that his promise shall not fail,And I will tell thee all the tale.Yes, Ráma, when I hear that thouHast bound thee by thy father's vow,Then, not till then, my lips shall speak,Nor will he tell what boon I seek.'
He heard, and with a troubled breastThis answer to the queen addressed:'Ah me, dear lady, canst thou deemThat words like these thy lips beseem?I, at the bidding of my sire,Would cast my body to the fire,A deadly draught of poison drink,Or in the waves of ocean sink:If he command, it shall be done,--My father and my king in one.Then speak and let me know the thingSo longed for by my lord the king.It shall be done: let this suffice;Ráma ne'er makes a promise twice.'
He ended. To the princely youthWho loved the right and spoke the truth,Cruel, abominable cameThe answer of the ruthless dame:'When Gods and Titans fought of yore,Transfixed with darts and bathed in goreTwo boons to me thy father gaveFor the dear life 'twas mine to save.Of him I claim the ancient debt,That Bharat on the throne be set,And thou, O Ráma, go this dayTo Dandak forest far away.Now, Ráma, if thou wilt maintainThy father's faith without a stain,And thine own truth and honour clear,Then, best of men, my bidding hear.Do thou thy father's word obey,Nor from the pledge he gave me stray.Thy life in Dandak forest spendTill nine long years and five shall end.Upon my Bharat's princely headLet consecrating drops be shed,With all the royal pomp for theeMade ready by the king's decree.Seek Dandak forest and resignRites that would make the empire thine,For twice seven years of exile wearThe coat of bark and matted hair.Then in thy stead let Bharat reignLord of his royal sire's domain,Rich in the fairest gems that shine,Cars, elephants, and steeds, and kine.The monarch mourns thy altered fateAnd vails his brow compassionate:Bowed down by bitter grief he liesAnd dares not lift to thine his eyes.Obey his word: be firm and brave,And with great truth the monarch save.' While thus with cruel words she spoke, No grief the noble youth betrayed; But forth the father's anguish broke, At his dear Ráma's lot dismayed.
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Footnotes113:1 The Sea.
CANTO XIX.:
His voice was choked, his eye was dim,He could not speak or look on him.Then sudden fear made Ráma shakeAs though his foot had roused a snake,Soon as his eyes had seen the changeSo mournful, terrible, and strange.For there his reason well-nigh fled,Sighing, with soul disquieted, To torturing pangs a prey,Dismayed, despairing, and distraught,In a fierce whirl of wildering thought The hapless monarch lay,Like Ocean wave-engarlandedStorm-driven from his tranquil bed, The Sun-God in eclipse,Or like a holy seer, heart-stirredWith anguish, when a lying word Has passed his heedless lips.The sight of his dear father, painedWith woe and misery unexplained Filled Ráma with unrest,As Ocean's pulses rise and swellWhen the great moon he loves so well Shines full upon his breast.So grieving for his father's sake,To his own heart the hero spake:'Why will the king my sire to-dayNo kindly word of greeting say?At other times, though wroth he be,His eyes grow calm that look on me.Then why does anguish wring his browTo see his well-beloved now?'Sick and perplexed, distraught with woe,To Queen Kaikeyí bowing low,While pallor o'er his bright cheek spread,With humble reverence he said:'What have I done, unknown, amissTo make my father wroth like this?Declare it, O dear Queen, and winHis pardon for my heedless sin.Why is the sire I ever findFilled with all love to-day unkind?With eyes cast down and pallid cheekThis day alone he will not speak.Or lies he prostrate 'neath the blowOf fierce disease or sudden woe?For all our bliss is dashed with pain,And joy unmixt is hard to gain.Does stroke of evil fortune smiteDear Bharat, charming to the sight,Or on the brave S'atrughna fall,Or consorts, for he loves them all?Against his words when I rebel,Or fail to please the monarch well,When deeds of mine his soul offend,That hour I pray my life may end.How should a man to him who gaveHis being and his life behave?The sire to whom he owes his birthShould be his deity on earth.Hast thou, by pride and folly moved,
With bitter taunt the king reproved?Has scorn of thine or cruel jestTo passion stirred his gentle breast?Speak truly, Queen, that I may knowWhat cause has changed the monarch so.'
Thus by the high-souled prince addressed,Of Raghu's sons the chief and best,She cast all ruth and shame aside,And bold with greedy words replied:'Not wrath, O Ráma, stirs the king,Nor misery stabs with sudden sting;One thought that fills his soul has he,But dares not speak for fear of thee.Thou art so dear, his lips refrainFrom words that might his darling pain.But thou, as duty bids, must stillThe promise of thy sire fulfil.He who to me in days gone byVouchsafed a boon with honours high,Dares now, a king, his word regret,And caitiff-like disowns the debt.The lord of men his promise gaveTo grant the boon that I might crave,And now a bridge would idly throwWhen the dried stream has ceased to flow.His faith the monarch must not breakIn wrath, or e'en for thy dear sake.From faith, as well the righteous know,Our virtue and our merits flow.Now, be they good or be they ill,Do thou thy father's words fulfil:Swear that his promise shall not fail,And I will tell thee all the tale.Yes, Ráma, when I hear that thouHast bound thee by thy father's vow,Then, not till then, my lips shall speak,Nor will he tell what boon I seek.'
He heard, and with a troubled breastThis answer to the queen addressed:'Ah me, dear lady, canst thou deemThat words like these thy lips beseem?I, at the bidding of my sire,Would cast my body to the fire,A deadly draught of poison drink,Or in the waves of ocean sink:If he command, it shall be done,--My father and my king in one.Then speak and let me know the thingSo longed for by my lord the king.It shall be done: let this suffice;Ráma ne'er makes a promise twice.'
He ended. To the princely youthWho loved the right and spoke the truth,Cruel, abominable cameThe answer of the ruthless dame:'When Gods and Titans fought of yore,Transfixed with darts and bathed in goreTwo boons to me thy father gaveFor the dear life 'twas mine to save.Of him I claim the ancient debt,That Bharat on the throne be set,And thou, O Ráma, go this dayTo Dandak forest far away.Now, Ráma, if thou wilt maintainThy father's faith without a stain,And thine own truth and honour clear,Then, best of men, my bidding hear.Do thou thy father's word obey,Nor from the pledge he gave me stray.Thy life in Dandak forest spendTill nine long years and five shall end.Upon my Bharat's princely headLet consecrating drops be shed,With all the royal pomp for theeMade ready by the king's decree.Seek Dandak forest and resignRites that would make the empire thine,For twice seven years of exile wearThe coat of bark and matted hair.Then in thy stead let Bharat reignLord of his royal sire's domain,Rich in the fairest gems that shine,Cars, elephants, and steeds, and kine.The monarch mourns thy altered fateAnd vails his brow compassionate:Bowed down by bitter grief he liesAnd dares not lift to thine his eyes.Obey his word: be firm and brave,And with great truth the monarch save.' While thus with cruel words she spoke, No grief the noble youth betrayed; But forth the father's anguish broke, At his dear Ráma's lot dismayed.
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Footnotes113:1 The Sea.
CANTO XIX.:
RÁMA'S PROMISE.Calm and unmoved by threatened woeThe noble conqueror of the foeAnswered the cruel words she spoke,Nor quailed beneath the murderous stroke:
Yea, for my father's promise sakeI to the wood my way will take,And dwell a lonely exile thereIn hermit dress with matted hair.One thing alone I fain would learn,Why is the king this day so stern?Why is the scourge of foes so cold,Nor gives me greeting as of old?Now let not anger flush thy cheek:Before thy face the truth I speak,In hermit's coat with matted hairTo the wild wood will I repair.How can I fail his will to do,Friend, master, grateful sovereign too?One only pang consumes my breast.That his own lips have not expressedHis will, nor made his longing knownThat Bharat should ascend the throne.
To Bharat I would yield my wife,My realm and wealth, mine own dear life,Unasked I fain would yield them all:More gladly at my father's call,More gladly when the gift may freeHis honour and bring joy to thee.Thus, lady, his sad heart releaseFrom the sore shame, and give him peace.But tell me, O, I pray thee, whyThe lord of men, with downcast eye,Lies prostrate thus, and one by oneDown his pale cheek the tear-drops run.Let couriers to thy father speedOn horses of the swiftest breed,And, by the mandate of the king,Thy Bharat to his presence bring.My father's words I will not stayTo question, but this very dayTo Dandak's pathless wild will fare,For twice seven years an exile there.'
When Ráma thus had made replyKaikeyí's heart with joy beat high.She, trusting to the pledge she held,The youth's departure thus impelled:''Tis well. Be messengers despatchedOn coursers ne'er for fleetness matched,To seek my father's home and leadMy Bharat back with all their speed.And, Ráma, as I ween that thouWilt scarce endure to linger now,So surely it were wise and goodThis hour to journey to the wood.And if, with shame cast down and weak,No word to thee the king can speak,Forgive, and from thy mind dismissA trifle in an hour like this.But till thy feet in rapid hasteHave left the city for the waste,And to the distant forest fled,He will not bathe nor call for bread.'
'Woe! woe!' from the sad monarch burst,In surging floods of grief immersed;Then swooning, with his wits astray,Upon the gold-wrought couch he lay,And Ráma raised the aged king:But the stern queen, unpitying,Checked not her needless words, nor sparedThe hero for all speed prepared,But urged him with her bitter tongue,Like a good horse with lashes stung.She spoke her shameful speech. SereneHe heard the fury of the queen,And to her words so vile and dreadGently, unmoved in mind, he said:'I would not in this world remainA grovelling thrall to paltry gain,But duty's path would fain pursue,True as the saints themselves are true.From death itself I would not flyMy father's wish to gratify.What deed soe'er his loving sonMay do to please him, think it done.Amid all duties, Queen, I countThis duty first and paramount,That sons, obedient, aye fulfilTheir honoured fathers' word and will.Without his word, if thou decree,Forth to the forest will I flee,And there shall fourteen years be spentMid lonely wilds in banishment.Methinks thou couldst not hope to findOne spark of virtue in my mind,If thou, whose wish is still my lord,Hast for this grace the king implored.This day I go, but, ere we part,Must cheer my Sítá's tender heart.To my dear mother bid farewell;Then to the woods, a while to dwell.With thee, O Queen, the care must restThat Bharat hear his sire's behest,And guard the land with righteous sway,For such the law that lives for aye.'
In speechless woe the father heard,Wept with loud cries, but spoke no word.Then Ráma touched his senseless feet,And hers, for honour most unmeet;Round both his circling steps he bent,Then from the bower the hero went.Soon as he reached the gate he foundHis dear companions gathered round.Behind him came Sumitrás childWith weeping eyes so sad and wild.Then saw he all that rich arrayOf vases for the glorious day.Round them with reverent stops he paced,Nor veiled his eye, nor moved in haste.The loss of empire could not dimThe glory that encompassed him.So will the Lord of Cooling Rays 1On whom the world delights to gaze,Through the great love of all retainSweet splendour in the time of wane.Now to the exile's lot resignedHe left the rule of earth behind:As though all worldly cares he spurnedNo trouble was in him discerned.The chouries that for kings are used,And white umbrella, he refused,Dismissed his chariot and his men,And every friend and citizen.He ruled his senses, nor betrayedThe grief that on his bosom weighed,And thus his mother's mansion soughtTo tell the mournful news he brought.Nor could the gay-clad people thereWho flocked round Ráma true and fair,One sign of altered fortune traceUpon the splendid hero's face.Nor had the chieftain, mighty-armed.Lost the bright look all hearts that charmed,
As e'en from autumn moons is thrownA splendour which is all their own.With his sweet voice the hero spokeSaluting all the gathered folk,Then righteous-souled and great in fameClose to his mother's house he came.Lakshman the brave, his brother's peerIn princely virtues, followed near,Sore troubled, but resolved to showNo token of his secret woe.Thus to the palace Ráma went Where all were gay with hope and joy;But well he knew the dire event That hope would mar, that bliss destroy.So to his grief he would not yield Lest the sad change their hearts might rend,And, the dread tiding unrevealed, Spared from the blow each faithful friend.
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Footnotes115:1 The Moon.
CANTO XX.:
Yea, for my father's promise sakeI to the wood my way will take,And dwell a lonely exile thereIn hermit dress with matted hair.One thing alone I fain would learn,Why is the king this day so stern?Why is the scourge of foes so cold,Nor gives me greeting as of old?Now let not anger flush thy cheek:Before thy face the truth I speak,In hermit's coat with matted hairTo the wild wood will I repair.How can I fail his will to do,Friend, master, grateful sovereign too?One only pang consumes my breast.That his own lips have not expressedHis will, nor made his longing knownThat Bharat should ascend the throne.
To Bharat I would yield my wife,My realm and wealth, mine own dear life,Unasked I fain would yield them all:More gladly at my father's call,More gladly when the gift may freeHis honour and bring joy to thee.Thus, lady, his sad heart releaseFrom the sore shame, and give him peace.But tell me, O, I pray thee, whyThe lord of men, with downcast eye,Lies prostrate thus, and one by oneDown his pale cheek the tear-drops run.Let couriers to thy father speedOn horses of the swiftest breed,And, by the mandate of the king,Thy Bharat to his presence bring.My father's words I will not stayTo question, but this very dayTo Dandak's pathless wild will fare,For twice seven years an exile there.'
When Ráma thus had made replyKaikeyí's heart with joy beat high.She, trusting to the pledge she held,The youth's departure thus impelled:''Tis well. Be messengers despatchedOn coursers ne'er for fleetness matched,To seek my father's home and leadMy Bharat back with all their speed.And, Ráma, as I ween that thouWilt scarce endure to linger now,So surely it were wise and goodThis hour to journey to the wood.And if, with shame cast down and weak,No word to thee the king can speak,Forgive, and from thy mind dismissA trifle in an hour like this.But till thy feet in rapid hasteHave left the city for the waste,And to the distant forest fled,He will not bathe nor call for bread.'
'Woe! woe!' from the sad monarch burst,In surging floods of grief immersed;Then swooning, with his wits astray,Upon the gold-wrought couch he lay,And Ráma raised the aged king:But the stern queen, unpitying,Checked not her needless words, nor sparedThe hero for all speed prepared,But urged him with her bitter tongue,Like a good horse with lashes stung.She spoke her shameful speech. SereneHe heard the fury of the queen,And to her words so vile and dreadGently, unmoved in mind, he said:'I would not in this world remainA grovelling thrall to paltry gain,But duty's path would fain pursue,True as the saints themselves are true.From death itself I would not flyMy father's wish to gratify.What deed soe'er his loving sonMay do to please him, think it done.Amid all duties, Queen, I countThis duty first and paramount,That sons, obedient, aye fulfilTheir honoured fathers' word and will.Without his word, if thou decree,Forth to the forest will I flee,And there shall fourteen years be spentMid lonely wilds in banishment.Methinks thou couldst not hope to findOne spark of virtue in my mind,If thou, whose wish is still my lord,Hast for this grace the king implored.This day I go, but, ere we part,Must cheer my Sítá's tender heart.To my dear mother bid farewell;Then to the woods, a while to dwell.With thee, O Queen, the care must restThat Bharat hear his sire's behest,And guard the land with righteous sway,For such the law that lives for aye.'
In speechless woe the father heard,Wept with loud cries, but spoke no word.Then Ráma touched his senseless feet,And hers, for honour most unmeet;Round both his circling steps he bent,Then from the bower the hero went.Soon as he reached the gate he foundHis dear companions gathered round.Behind him came Sumitrás childWith weeping eyes so sad and wild.Then saw he all that rich arrayOf vases for the glorious day.Round them with reverent stops he paced,Nor veiled his eye, nor moved in haste.The loss of empire could not dimThe glory that encompassed him.So will the Lord of Cooling Rays 1On whom the world delights to gaze,Through the great love of all retainSweet splendour in the time of wane.Now to the exile's lot resignedHe left the rule of earth behind:As though all worldly cares he spurnedNo trouble was in him discerned.The chouries that for kings are used,And white umbrella, he refused,Dismissed his chariot and his men,And every friend and citizen.He ruled his senses, nor betrayedThe grief that on his bosom weighed,And thus his mother's mansion soughtTo tell the mournful news he brought.Nor could the gay-clad people thereWho flocked round Ráma true and fair,One sign of altered fortune traceUpon the splendid hero's face.Nor had the chieftain, mighty-armed.Lost the bright look all hearts that charmed,
As e'en from autumn moons is thrownA splendour which is all their own.With his sweet voice the hero spokeSaluting all the gathered folk,Then righteous-souled and great in fameClose to his mother's house he came.Lakshman the brave, his brother's peerIn princely virtues, followed near,Sore troubled, but resolved to showNo token of his secret woe.Thus to the palace Ráma went Where all were gay with hope and joy;But well he knew the dire event That hope would mar, that bliss destroy.So to his grief he would not yield Lest the sad change their hearts might rend,And, the dread tiding unrevealed, Spared from the blow each faithful friend.
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Footnotes115:1 The Moon.
CANTO XX.:
KAUS'ALYÁ'S LAMENT.But in the monarch's palace, whenSped from the bower that lord of men,Up from the weeping women wentA mighty wail and wild lament:'Ah, he who ever freely didHis duty ere his sire could bid,Our refuge and our sure defence,This day will go an exile hence,He on Kaus'alyá loves to waitMost tender and affectionate,And as he treats his mother, thusFrom childhood has he treated us.On themes that sting he will not speak,And when reviled is calm and meek.He soothes the angry, heals offence:He goes to-day an exile hence.Our lord the king is most unwise,And looks on life with doting eyes,Who in his folly casts awayThe world's protection, hope, and stay.'
Thus in their woe, like kine bereavedOf their young calves, 1 the ladies grieved,
And ever as they wept and wailedWith keen reproach the king assailed.Their lamentation, mixed with tears,Smote with new grief the monarch's ears,Who, burnt with woe too great to bear,Fell on his couch and fainted there.
Then Ráma, smitten with the painHis heaving heart could scarce restrain,Groaned like an elephant and strodeWith Lakshman to the queen's abode.A warder there, whose hoary eldIn honour high by all was held,Guarding the mansion, sat beforeThe portal, girt with many more.Swift to their feet the warders sprang,And loud the acclamation rang,Hail, Ráma! as to him they bent,Of victor chiefs preëminent.One court he passed, and in the nextSaw, masters of each Veda text,A crowd of Bráhmans, good and sage,Dear to the king for lore and age.To these he bowed his reverent head,Thence to the court beyond he sped.Old dames and tender girls, their careTo keep the doors, were stationed there.And all, when Ráma came in view,Delighted to the chamber flew,To bear to Queen Kaus'alyás earThe tidings that she loved to hear.The queen, on rites and prayer intent,In careful watoh the night had spent,And at the dawn, her son to aid,To Vishnu holy offerings made.Firm in her vows, serenely glad.In robes of spotless linen clad,As texts prescribe, with grace implored,Her offerings in the fire she poured.Within her splendid bower he came,And saw her feed the sacred flameThere oil, and grain, and vases stood,With wreaths, and curds, and cates, and wood,And milk, and sesamum, and rice,The elements of sacrifice.She, worn and pale with many a fastAnd midnight hours in vigil past,In robes of purest white arrayed,To Lakshmí Queen drink-offerings paid.So long away, she flew to meet The darling of her soul:So runs a mare with eager feet To welcome back her foal.He with his firm support upheld The queen, as near she drew,And, by maternal love impelled, Her arms around him threw.Her hero son, her matchless boy She kissed upon the head:She blessed him in her pride and joy With tender words, and said:
"Be like thy royal sires of old,The nobly good, the lofty-souled!Their lengthened days and fame be thine,And virtue, as beseems thy line!The pious king, thy father, seeTrue to his promise made to thee:That truth thy sire this day will show,And regent's power on thee bestow."
She spoke. He took the proffered seat,And as she pressed her son to eat,Raised reverent bands, and, touched with shame,Made answer to the royal dame:
"Dear lady, thou hast yet to knowThat danger threats, and heavy woe:A grief that will with sore distressOn Sítá, thee, and Lakshman press.What need of seats have such as I?This day to Dandak wood I fly.The hour is come, a time, unmeetFor silken couch and gilded seat.I must to lonely wilds repair,Abstain from flesh, and living thereOn roots, fruit, honey, hermit's food,Pass twice seven years in solitude.To Bharat's hand the king will yieldThe regent power I thought to wield,And me, a hermit, will he sendMy days in Dandak wood to spend."
As when the woodman's axe has loppedA S'al branch in the grove, she dropped:So from the skies a Goddess fallsEjected from her radiant halls.
When Ráma saw her lying low,Prostrate by too severe a blow,Around her form his arms he woundAnd raised her fainting from the ground.His hand upheld her like a mareWho feels her load too sore to bear,And sinks upon the way o'ertoiled,And all her limbs with dust are soiled.He soothed her in her wild distressWith loving touch and soft caress.She, meet for highest fortune, eyedThe hero watching by her side,And thus, while Lakshman bent to hear,Addressed her son with many a tear:"If, Ráma, thou had ne'er been bornMy child to make thy mother mourn,Though reft of joy, a childless queen,Such woe as this I ne'er had seen.Though to the childless wife there clingsOne sorrow armed with keenest stings,'No child have I: no child have I,'No second misery prompts the sigh.When long I sought, alas, in vain,My husband's love and bliss to gain,In Ráma all my hopes I setAnd dreamed I might be happy yet.I, of the consorts first and best,Must bear my rivals' taunt and jest,And brook, though better far than they,The soul distressing words they say.What woman can be doomed to pineIn misery more sore than mine,Whose hopeless days must still be spentIn grief that ends not and lament?They scorned me when my son was nigh;When he is banished I must die.Me, whom my husband never prized,Kaikeyí's retinue despisedWith boundless insolence, though sheTops not in rank nor equals me.And they who do me service yet,Nor old allegiance quite forget,Whene'er they see Kaikeyí's son,With silent lips my glances shun.How, O my darling, shall I brookEach menace of Kaikeyí's look,And listen, in my low estate,To taunts of one so passionate?For seventeen years since thou wast bornI sat and watched, ah me, forlorn!Hoping some blessed day to seeDeliverance from my woes by thee.Now comes this endless grief and wrong,So dire I cannot bear it long,Sinking, with age and sorrow worn.Beneath my rivals' taunts and scorn.How shall I pass in dark distressMy long lone days of wretchednessWithout my Ráma's face, as brightAs the full moon to cheer my sight?Alas, my cares thy steps to train,And fasts, and vows, and prayers are vain.Hard, hard, I ween, must be this heartTo hear this blow nor burst apart,As some great river bank, when firstThe floods of Rain-time on it burst. No, Fate that speeds not will not slay, Nor Yama's halls vouchsafe me room, Or, like a lion's weeping prey, Death now had borne me to my doom. Hard is my heart and wrought of steel That breaks not with the crushing blow, Or in the pangs this day I feel My lifeless frame had sunk below. Death waits his hour, nor takes me now: But this sad thought augments my pain, That prayer and largess, fast and vow, And Heavenward service are in vain. Ah me, ah me! with fruitless toil Of rites austere a child I sought: Thus seed cast forth on barren soil Still lifeless lies and comes to naught. If ever wretch by anguish grieved Before his hour to death had fled, I mourning, like a cow bereaved, Had been this day among the dead."
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Footnotes116:1 The comparison may to a European reader seem a homely one. But Spenser likens an infuriate woman to a cow 'That is berobbed of her youngling dere.' Shakspeare also makes King Henry VI. compare himself to the calf's mother that 'Runs lowing up and down, Looking the way her harmless young one went.' 'Cows,' says De Quincey, 'are amongst the gentlest of breathing creatures; none show more passionate tenderness to their young, when deprived of them, and, in short, I am not ashamed to profess a deep love for these gentle creatures.'
CANTO XXI.:
Thus in their woe, like kine bereavedOf their young calves, 1 the ladies grieved,
And ever as they wept and wailedWith keen reproach the king assailed.Their lamentation, mixed with tears,Smote with new grief the monarch's ears,Who, burnt with woe too great to bear,Fell on his couch and fainted there.
Then Ráma, smitten with the painHis heaving heart could scarce restrain,Groaned like an elephant and strodeWith Lakshman to the queen's abode.A warder there, whose hoary eldIn honour high by all was held,Guarding the mansion, sat beforeThe portal, girt with many more.Swift to their feet the warders sprang,And loud the acclamation rang,Hail, Ráma! as to him they bent,Of victor chiefs preëminent.One court he passed, and in the nextSaw, masters of each Veda text,A crowd of Bráhmans, good and sage,Dear to the king for lore and age.To these he bowed his reverent head,Thence to the court beyond he sped.Old dames and tender girls, their careTo keep the doors, were stationed there.And all, when Ráma came in view,Delighted to the chamber flew,To bear to Queen Kaus'alyás earThe tidings that she loved to hear.The queen, on rites and prayer intent,In careful watoh the night had spent,And at the dawn, her son to aid,To Vishnu holy offerings made.Firm in her vows, serenely glad.In robes of spotless linen clad,As texts prescribe, with grace implored,Her offerings in the fire she poured.Within her splendid bower he came,And saw her feed the sacred flameThere oil, and grain, and vases stood,With wreaths, and curds, and cates, and wood,And milk, and sesamum, and rice,The elements of sacrifice.She, worn and pale with many a fastAnd midnight hours in vigil past,In robes of purest white arrayed,To Lakshmí Queen drink-offerings paid.So long away, she flew to meet The darling of her soul:So runs a mare with eager feet To welcome back her foal.He with his firm support upheld The queen, as near she drew,And, by maternal love impelled, Her arms around him threw.Her hero son, her matchless boy She kissed upon the head:She blessed him in her pride and joy With tender words, and said:
"Be like thy royal sires of old,The nobly good, the lofty-souled!Their lengthened days and fame be thine,And virtue, as beseems thy line!The pious king, thy father, seeTrue to his promise made to thee:That truth thy sire this day will show,And regent's power on thee bestow."
She spoke. He took the proffered seat,And as she pressed her son to eat,Raised reverent bands, and, touched with shame,Made answer to the royal dame:
"Dear lady, thou hast yet to knowThat danger threats, and heavy woe:A grief that will with sore distressOn Sítá, thee, and Lakshman press.What need of seats have such as I?This day to Dandak wood I fly.The hour is come, a time, unmeetFor silken couch and gilded seat.I must to lonely wilds repair,Abstain from flesh, and living thereOn roots, fruit, honey, hermit's food,Pass twice seven years in solitude.To Bharat's hand the king will yieldThe regent power I thought to wield,And me, a hermit, will he sendMy days in Dandak wood to spend."
As when the woodman's axe has loppedA S'al branch in the grove, she dropped:So from the skies a Goddess fallsEjected from her radiant halls.
When Ráma saw her lying low,Prostrate by too severe a blow,Around her form his arms he woundAnd raised her fainting from the ground.His hand upheld her like a mareWho feels her load too sore to bear,And sinks upon the way o'ertoiled,And all her limbs with dust are soiled.He soothed her in her wild distressWith loving touch and soft caress.She, meet for highest fortune, eyedThe hero watching by her side,And thus, while Lakshman bent to hear,Addressed her son with many a tear:"If, Ráma, thou had ne'er been bornMy child to make thy mother mourn,Though reft of joy, a childless queen,Such woe as this I ne'er had seen.Though to the childless wife there clingsOne sorrow armed with keenest stings,'No child have I: no child have I,'No second misery prompts the sigh.When long I sought, alas, in vain,My husband's love and bliss to gain,In Ráma all my hopes I setAnd dreamed I might be happy yet.I, of the consorts first and best,Must bear my rivals' taunt and jest,And brook, though better far than they,The soul distressing words they say.What woman can be doomed to pineIn misery more sore than mine,Whose hopeless days must still be spentIn grief that ends not and lament?They scorned me when my son was nigh;When he is banished I must die.Me, whom my husband never prized,Kaikeyí's retinue despisedWith boundless insolence, though sheTops not in rank nor equals me.And they who do me service yet,Nor old allegiance quite forget,Whene'er they see Kaikeyí's son,With silent lips my glances shun.How, O my darling, shall I brookEach menace of Kaikeyí's look,And listen, in my low estate,To taunts of one so passionate?For seventeen years since thou wast bornI sat and watched, ah me, forlorn!Hoping some blessed day to seeDeliverance from my woes by thee.Now comes this endless grief and wrong,So dire I cannot bear it long,Sinking, with age and sorrow worn.Beneath my rivals' taunts and scorn.How shall I pass in dark distressMy long lone days of wretchednessWithout my Ráma's face, as brightAs the full moon to cheer my sight?Alas, my cares thy steps to train,And fasts, and vows, and prayers are vain.Hard, hard, I ween, must be this heartTo hear this blow nor burst apart,As some great river bank, when firstThe floods of Rain-time on it burst. No, Fate that speeds not will not slay, Nor Yama's halls vouchsafe me room, Or, like a lion's weeping prey, Death now had borne me to my doom. Hard is my heart and wrought of steel That breaks not with the crushing blow, Or in the pangs this day I feel My lifeless frame had sunk below. Death waits his hour, nor takes me now: But this sad thought augments my pain, That prayer and largess, fast and vow, And Heavenward service are in vain. Ah me, ah me! with fruitless toil Of rites austere a child I sought: Thus seed cast forth on barren soil Still lifeless lies and comes to naught. If ever wretch by anguish grieved Before his hour to death had fled, I mourning, like a cow bereaved, Had been this day among the dead."
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Footnotes116:1 The comparison may to a European reader seem a homely one. But Spenser likens an infuriate woman to a cow 'That is berobbed of her youngling dere.' Shakspeare also makes King Henry VI. compare himself to the calf's mother that 'Runs lowing up and down, Looking the way her harmless young one went.' 'Cows,' says De Quincey, 'are amongst the gentlest of breathing creatures; none show more passionate tenderness to their young, when deprived of them, and, in short, I am not ashamed to profess a deep love for these gentle creatures.'
CANTO XXI.:
KAUS'ALYÁ CALMED.While thus Kaus'alyá wept and sighed.With timely words sad Lakshman cried:'O honoured Queen I like it illThat, subject to a woman's will,Ráma his royal state should quitAnd to an exile's doom submit.The aged king, fond, changed, and week,Will as the queen compels him speak.But why should Ráma thus be sentTo the wild woods in banishment?No least offence I find in him,I see no fault his fame to dim.Not one in all the world I know,Not outcast wretch, not secret foe,Whose whispering lips would dare assailHis spotless life with slanderous tale.Godlike and bounteous, just, sincere,E'en to his very foemen dear:Who would without a cause neglectThe right, and such a son reject?And if a king such order gave,In second childhood, passion's slave,What son within his heart would layThe senseless order, and obey?Come, Ráma, ere this plot be knownStand by me and secure the throne.Stand like the King who rules below,Stand aided by thy brother's bow:How can the might of meaner menResist thy royal purpose then!My shafts, if rebels court their fate,Shall lay Ayodhyá desolate.Then shall her streets with blood be dyedOf those who stand on Bharat's side:None shall my slaughtering hand exempt,For gentle patience earns contempt.If, by Kaikeyís counsel changed,Our father's heart be thus estranged,No mercy must our arm restrain,But let the foe be slain, be slain.For should the guide, respected long,No more discerning right and wrorg,Turn in forbidden paths to stray,'Tis meet that force his steps should stay.What power sufficient can he see,What motive for the wish has he,That to Kaikeyí would resignThe empire which is justly thine?Can he, O conqueror of thy foes,Thy strength and mine in war oppose?Can he entrust, in our despite,To Bharat's hand thy royal right!I love this brother with the wholeAffection of my faithful soul.Yea Queen, by bow and truth I swear,By sacrifice, and gift, and prayer,If Ráma to the forest goes,Or where the burning furnace glows,First shall my feet the forest tread,The flames shall first surround my head.My might shall chase thy grief and tears,As darkness flies when morn appears.Do thou, dear Queen, and Ráma tooBehold what power like mine can do.My aged father I will kill,The vassal of Kaikeyí's will,Old, yet a child, the woman's thrall,Infirm, and base, the scorn of all.' Thus Lakshman cried,the mighty-souled:Down her sad cheeks the torrents rolled,As to her son Kaus'aly?spake: 'Now thou hast heard thy brother, takeHis counsel if thou hold it wise,And do the thing his words advise.Do not, my son, with tears I pray,My rival's wicked word obey,Leave me not here consumed with woe,Nor to the wood, an exile, go.If thou, to virtue ever true,Thy duty's path would still pursue,The highest duty bids thee stayAnd thus thy mother's voice obey.Thus Kas'yap's great ascetic sonA seat among the Immortals won:In his own home, subdued, he stayed,And honour to his mother paid.If reverence to thy sire be due,Thy mother claims like honour too,And thus I charge thee, O my child,Thou must not seek the forest wild.Ah, what to me were life and bliss,Condemned my darling son to miss?But with my Ráma near, to eatThe very grass itself were sweet.But if thou still wilt go and leave.Thy hapless mother here to grieve,I from that hour will food abjure,Nor life without my son endure.Then it will be thy fate to dwellIn depth of world-detested hell.As Ocean in the olden timeWas guilty of an impious crimeThat marked the lord of each fair floodAs one who spills a Br?maa'a blood.' 1 Thus spake the queen, and wept, and sighed:Then righteous Ráma thus replied:'I have no power to slight or breakCommandments which my father spake.I bend my head, dear lady, low,Forgive me, for I needs must go.Once Kaudu, mighty saint, who madeHis dwelling in the forest shade,
A cow--and duty's claims he knew--Obedient to his father, slew.And in the line from which we spring,When ordered by their sire the king,Through earth the sons of Sagar cleft,And countless things of life bereft. 1So Jamadagní's son 2 obeyedHis sire, when in the wood he laidHia hand upon his axe, and smoteThrough Renuká his mother's throat.The deeds of these and more beside.Peers of the Gods, my steps shall guide,And resolute will I fulfilMy father's word, my father's will,Nor I, O Queen, unsanctioned treadThis righteous path, by duty led:The road my footsteps journey o'erWas traversed by the great of yore.This high command which all acceptShall faithfully by me be kept,For duty ne'er will him forsakeWho fears his sire's command to break.'
Thus to his mother wild with grief:Then thus to Lakshman spake the chiefOf those by whom the bow is bent,Mid all who speak, most eloquent:'I know what love for me thou hast,What firm devotion unsurpassed:Thy valour and thy worth I know,And glory that appals the foe.Blest youth, my mother's woe is great.It bends her 'neath its matchless weight:No claims will she, with blinded eyes,Of truth and patience recognize,For duty is supreme in place,And truth is duty's noblest base.Obedient to my sire's behestI serve the cause of duty best.For man should truly do whate'erTo mother, Bráhman, sire, he sware:He must in duty's path remain,Nor let his word be pledged in vain.And, O my brother, how can IObedience to this charge deny?Kaikeyí's tongue my purpose spurred,But 'twas my sire who gave the word.Cast these unholy thoughts asideWhich smack of war and Warriors' pride;To duty's call, not wrath attend,And tread the path which I commend,'
Ráma by fond affection movedHis brother Lakshman thus reproved;Then with joined hands and reverent headAgain to Queen Kausályá said:
'I needs must go--do thou consent--To the wild wood in banishment.O give me, by my life I pray,Thy blessing ere I go away.
I, when the promised years are o'er,Shall see Ayodhyá's town once more.Then, mother dear, thy tears restrain,Nor let thy heart be wrung by pain:In time, my father's will obeyed,Shall I return from greenwood shade.My dear Videhan, thou, and I,Lakshman, Sumitrá, feel this tie,And must my father's word obey,As duty bids that rules for aye.Thy preparations now forgo,And lock within thy breast thy woe,Nor be my pious wish withstoodTo go an exile to the wood."Calm and unmoved the prince explained His duty's claim and purpose high.The mother life and sense regained, Looked on her son and made reply:'If reverence be thy father's due, The same by right and love is mine:Go not, my charge I thus renew, Nor leave me here in woe to pine,What were such lonely life to me, Rites to the shades, or deathless lot?More dear, my son, one hour with thee Than all the world where thou art not.As bursts to view, when brands blaze high, Some elephant concealed by night,So, when he heard his mother's cry, Burnt Ráma's grief with fiercer might.Thus to the queen, half senseless still, And Lakshman, burnt with heart-felt pain,True to the right, with steadfast will, His duteous speech he spoke again:'Brother, I know thy loving mind, Thy valour and thy truth I know,But now to claims of duty blind Thou and my mother swell my woe.The fruits of deeds in human life Make love, gain, duty, manifest,Dear when they meet as some fond wife With her sweet babes upon her breast.But man to duty first should turn Whene'er the three are not combined:For those who heed but gain we spurn, And those to pleasure all resigned.Shall then the virtuous disobey Hosts of an aged king and sire,Though feverous joy that father sway, Or senseless love or causeless ire?I have no powcr, commanded thus, To slight his promise and decree:The honoured sire of both of us, My mother's lord and life is he.Shall she, while yet the holy king Is living, on the right intent,--Shall she, like some poor widowed thing, Go forth with me to banishment?Now, mother, speed thy parting son, And let thy blessing soothe my pain,
That I may turn, mine exile done, Like King Yayáti, home again.Fair glory and the fruit she gives, For lust of sway I ne'er will slight:What, for the span a mortal lives. Were rule of earth without the right?'He soothed her thus, firm to the last His counsel to his brother told:Then round the queen in reverence passed, And held her in his loving hold.
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Footnotes118:1 The commentators say that, in a former creation, Ocean grieved his mother and suffered in consequence the pains of hell.
119:1 As described in Book I, Canto XL.
119:2 Parasúráma.
CANTO XXII.:
A cow--and duty's claims he knew--Obedient to his father, slew.And in the line from which we spring,When ordered by their sire the king,Through earth the sons of Sagar cleft,And countless things of life bereft. 1So Jamadagní's son 2 obeyedHis sire, when in the wood he laidHia hand upon his axe, and smoteThrough Renuká his mother's throat.The deeds of these and more beside.Peers of the Gods, my steps shall guide,And resolute will I fulfilMy father's word, my father's will,Nor I, O Queen, unsanctioned treadThis righteous path, by duty led:The road my footsteps journey o'erWas traversed by the great of yore.This high command which all acceptShall faithfully by me be kept,For duty ne'er will him forsakeWho fears his sire's command to break.'
Thus to his mother wild with grief:Then thus to Lakshman spake the chiefOf those by whom the bow is bent,Mid all who speak, most eloquent:'I know what love for me thou hast,What firm devotion unsurpassed:Thy valour and thy worth I know,And glory that appals the foe.Blest youth, my mother's woe is great.It bends her 'neath its matchless weight:No claims will she, with blinded eyes,Of truth and patience recognize,For duty is supreme in place,And truth is duty's noblest base.Obedient to my sire's behestI serve the cause of duty best.For man should truly do whate'erTo mother, Bráhman, sire, he sware:He must in duty's path remain,Nor let his word be pledged in vain.And, O my brother, how can IObedience to this charge deny?Kaikeyí's tongue my purpose spurred,But 'twas my sire who gave the word.Cast these unholy thoughts asideWhich smack of war and Warriors' pride;To duty's call, not wrath attend,And tread the path which I commend,'
Ráma by fond affection movedHis brother Lakshman thus reproved;Then with joined hands and reverent headAgain to Queen Kausályá said:
'I needs must go--do thou consent--To the wild wood in banishment.O give me, by my life I pray,Thy blessing ere I go away.
I, when the promised years are o'er,Shall see Ayodhyá's town once more.Then, mother dear, thy tears restrain,Nor let thy heart be wrung by pain:In time, my father's will obeyed,Shall I return from greenwood shade.My dear Videhan, thou, and I,Lakshman, Sumitrá, feel this tie,And must my father's word obey,As duty bids that rules for aye.Thy preparations now forgo,And lock within thy breast thy woe,Nor be my pious wish withstoodTo go an exile to the wood."Calm and unmoved the prince explained His duty's claim and purpose high.The mother life and sense regained, Looked on her son and made reply:'If reverence be thy father's due, The same by right and love is mine:Go not, my charge I thus renew, Nor leave me here in woe to pine,What were such lonely life to me, Rites to the shades, or deathless lot?More dear, my son, one hour with thee Than all the world where thou art not.As bursts to view, when brands blaze high, Some elephant concealed by night,So, when he heard his mother's cry, Burnt Ráma's grief with fiercer might.Thus to the queen, half senseless still, And Lakshman, burnt with heart-felt pain,True to the right, with steadfast will, His duteous speech he spoke again:'Brother, I know thy loving mind, Thy valour and thy truth I know,But now to claims of duty blind Thou and my mother swell my woe.The fruits of deeds in human life Make love, gain, duty, manifest,Dear when they meet as some fond wife With her sweet babes upon her breast.But man to duty first should turn Whene'er the three are not combined:For those who heed but gain we spurn, And those to pleasure all resigned.Shall then the virtuous disobey Hosts of an aged king and sire,Though feverous joy that father sway, Or senseless love or causeless ire?I have no powcr, commanded thus, To slight his promise and decree:The honoured sire of both of us, My mother's lord and life is he.Shall she, while yet the holy king Is living, on the right intent,--Shall she, like some poor widowed thing, Go forth with me to banishment?Now, mother, speed thy parting son, And let thy blessing soothe my pain,
That I may turn, mine exile done, Like King Yayáti, home again.Fair glory and the fruit she gives, For lust of sway I ne'er will slight:What, for the span a mortal lives. Were rule of earth without the right?'He soothed her thus, firm to the last His counsel to his brother told:Then round the queen in reverence passed, And held her in his loving hold.
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Footnotes118:1 The commentators say that, in a former creation, Ocean grieved his mother and suffered in consequence the pains of hell.
119:1 As described in Book I, Canto XL.
119:2 Parasúráma.
CANTO XXII.:
LAKSHMAN CALMED.So Ráma kept unshaken stillHis noble heart with iron will.To his dear brother next he turned,Whose glaring eyes with fury burned,Indignant, panting like a snake,And thus again his counsel spake:'Thine anger and thy grief restrain,And firm in duty's path remain.Dear brother, lay thy scorn aside,And be the right thy joy and pride.Thy ready zeal and thoughtful careTo aid what rites should grace the heir,--These 'tis another's now to ask;Come, gird thee for thy noble task,That Bharat's throning rites may heGraced with the things prepared for me.And with thy gentle care provideThat her fond heart, now sorely triedWith fear and longing for my sake,With doubt and dread may never ache.To know that thoughts of coming illOne hour that tender bosom fillWith agony and dark despairIs grief too great for me to bear.I cannot, brother, call to mindOne wilful fault or undesigned,When I have pained in anythingMy mothers or my sire the king.The right my father keeps in view,In promise, word, and action true;Let him then all his fear dismiss,Nor dread the loss of future bliss.He fears his truth herein will fail:Hence bitter thoughts his heart assail.He trembles lest the rites proceed,And at his pangs my heart should bleed.So now this earnest wish is mine,The consecration to resign,And from this city turn awayTo the wild wood with no delay.My banishment to-day will freeKaikeyí from her cares, that she,At last contented and elate,May Bharat's throning celebrate.
Then will the lady's trouble cease,Then will her heart have joy and peace,When wandering in the wood I wearDeerskin, and bark, and matted hair.Nor shall by me his heart be grievedWhose choice approved, whose mind conceivedThis counsel which I follow. No,Forth to the forest will I go.'Tis Fate, Sumitrás son, confess,That sends me to the wilderness.'Tis Fate alone that gives awayTo'other hands the royal swayHow could Kaikeyí's purpose bringOn me this pain and suffering,Were not her change of heart decreedBy Fate whose will commands the deed?I know my filial love has beenThe same throughout for every queen,And with the same affection sheHas treated both her son and me.Her shameful words of cruel spiteTo stay the consecrating rite,And drive me banished from the throne,--These I ascribe to Fate alone,How could she, born of royal race,Whom nature decks with fairest grace,Speak like a dame of low degreeBefore the king to torture me?But Fate, which none may comprehend,To which all life must bow and bend,In her and me its power has shown,And all my hopes are overthrown.What man, Sumitrá's darling, mayContend with Fate's resistless sway,Whose all-commanding power we findOur former deeds alone can bind?Our life and death, our joy and pain,Anger and fear, and loss and gain,Each thing that is, in every state,All is the work of none but Fate.E'en saints, inspired with rigid zeal.When once the stroke of Fate they feel,In sternest vows no more engage,And fall enslaved by love and rage.So now the sudden stroke whose weightDescends unlooked for, comes of Fate,And with unpitying might destroysThe promise of commencing joys.Weigh this true counsel in thy soul:With thy firm heart thy heart control;Then, brother, thou wilt cease to grieveFor hindered rites which now I leave.So cast thy needless grief away,And strictly my commands obey.Those preparations check with speed,Nor let my throning rites proceed.Those urns that stand prepared to shedKing-making drops upon my head,Shall, with their pure lustrations nowInaugurate my hermit's vow.
Yet what have I to do with thingsThat touch the state and pomp of kings?These hands of mine shall water takeTo sanctify the vow I make.Now Lakshman, let thy heart no moreMy fortune changed and lost deplore.A forest life more joys may bringThan those that wait upon a king,Now though her arts successful mar My consecrating rite, Let not the youngest queen too far Thy jealous fear excite. Nor let one thought suggesting ill Upon our father fall, But let thy heart remember still That Fate is lord of all.'
CANTO XXIII.:
Then will the lady's trouble cease,Then will her heart have joy and peace,When wandering in the wood I wearDeerskin, and bark, and matted hair.Nor shall by me his heart be grievedWhose choice approved, whose mind conceivedThis counsel which I follow. No,Forth to the forest will I go.'Tis Fate, Sumitrás son, confess,That sends me to the wilderness.'Tis Fate alone that gives awayTo'other hands the royal swayHow could Kaikeyí's purpose bringOn me this pain and suffering,Were not her change of heart decreedBy Fate whose will commands the deed?I know my filial love has beenThe same throughout for every queen,And with the same affection sheHas treated both her son and me.Her shameful words of cruel spiteTo stay the consecrating rite,And drive me banished from the throne,--These I ascribe to Fate alone,How could she, born of royal race,Whom nature decks with fairest grace,Speak like a dame of low degreeBefore the king to torture me?But Fate, which none may comprehend,To which all life must bow and bend,In her and me its power has shown,And all my hopes are overthrown.What man, Sumitrá's darling, mayContend with Fate's resistless sway,Whose all-commanding power we findOur former deeds alone can bind?Our life and death, our joy and pain,Anger and fear, and loss and gain,Each thing that is, in every state,All is the work of none but Fate.E'en saints, inspired with rigid zeal.When once the stroke of Fate they feel,In sternest vows no more engage,And fall enslaved by love and rage.So now the sudden stroke whose weightDescends unlooked for, comes of Fate,And with unpitying might destroysThe promise of commencing joys.Weigh this true counsel in thy soul:With thy firm heart thy heart control;Then, brother, thou wilt cease to grieveFor hindered rites which now I leave.So cast thy needless grief away,And strictly my commands obey.Those preparations check with speed,Nor let my throning rites proceed.Those urns that stand prepared to shedKing-making drops upon my head,Shall, with their pure lustrations nowInaugurate my hermit's vow.
Yet what have I to do with thingsThat touch the state and pomp of kings?These hands of mine shall water takeTo sanctify the vow I make.Now Lakshman, let thy heart no moreMy fortune changed and lost deplore.A forest life more joys may bringThan those that wait upon a king,Now though her arts successful mar My consecrating rite, Let not the youngest queen too far Thy jealous fear excite. Nor let one thought suggesting ill Upon our father fall, But let thy heart remember still That Fate is lord of all.'
CANTO XXIII.:
LAKSHMAN'S ANGER.Thus Rama to his brother said;And Laksbnmn bent his drooping head.In turns by grief and pride impelled,A middle course of thought he held,Then in a frown of anger, bentHis brows that chief most excellent,And like a serpent in his hole,Breathed fierce and fast in wrath of soul.His threatening brows so darkly frowned,His eyes so fiercely glanced around,They made his glare, which none might brook,Like some infuriate lion's look.Like some wild elephant, full oftHe raised and shook his hand 1 aloft.Now turned his neck to left and rightNow bent, now raised its stately height.Now in his rage that sword he feltWhich mangling wounds to foemen dealt,With sidelong glance his brother eyed,And thus in burning words replied:'Thy rash resolve, thy eager haste,Thy mighty fear, are all misplaced:No room is here for duty's claim,No cause to dread the people's blame.Can one as brave as thou consentTo use a coward's argument?The glory of the Warrior raceWith craven speech his lips debase?Can one like thee so falsely speak,Exalling Fate, confessed so weak?Canst thou, undoubting still restrain?Suspicions of those sinful twain?
Canst thou, most duteous, fail to knowTheir hearts are set on duty's show?They with deceit have set their trains,And now the fruit rewards their pains,Had they not long ago agreed,O Rama, on this treacherous deed,That promised boon, so long retained,He erst had given and she had gained.I cannot, O my brother, bearTo see another throned as heirWith rites which all our people hate:Then, O, this passion tolerate.This vaunted duty which can guideThy steps from wisdom's path aside,And change the counsel of thy breast,O lofty-hearted, I detest.Wilt thou, when power and might are thine,Submit to this abhorred design?Thy father's impious hest fulfil,That vassal of Kaikeyi's will?But if thou still wilt shut thine eyes,Nor see the guile herein that lies.My soul is sad, I deeply mourn.And duty seems a thing to scorn.Canst thou one moment think to pleaseThis pair who live for love and ease,And 'gainst thy peace, as foes, allied,With tenderest names their hatred hideNow if thy judgment still refersTo Fate this plot of his and hers,My mind herein can ne'er agree:And O, in this be ruled by me.Weak, void of manly pride are theyWho bend to Fate's imputed sway:The choicest souls, the nobly greatDisdain to bow their heads to Fate.And he who dares his Fate controlWith vigorous act and manly soul,Though threatening Fate his hopes assail.Unmoved through all need never quail.This day mankind shall learn arightThe power of Fate and human might,So shall the gulf that lies betweenA man and Fate be clearly seen.The might of Fate subdued by meThis hour the citizens shall see,Who saw its intervention stayThy consecrating rites to-dayMy power shall turn this Fate aside,That threatens, as, with furious stride,An elephant who scorns to feel,In rage unchecked, tne driver's steel.Not the great Lords whose sleepless mightProtects the worlds, shall stay the riteThough earth, hell, heaven combine their powers:And shall we fear this sire of ours?Then if their minds are idly bentTo doom thee, King, to banishment,Through twice seven years of exile they
Shall In the lonely forest stay.I will consume the hopes that fireThe queen Kaikeyí and our sire,That to her son this check will bringAdvantage, making Bharat king.The power of Fate will ne'er withstandThe might that arms my vigorous hand;If danger and distress assail,My fearless strength will still prevail.A thousand circling years shall flee:The forest then thy home shall be,And thy good sons, succeeding, holdThe empire which their sire controlled.The royal saints, of old who reigned,For aged kings this rest ordained:These to their sons their realm commitThat they, like sires, may cherish it.O pious soul, if thou declineThe empire which is justly thine,Lest, while the king distracted lies,Disorder in the state should rise,I,--or no mansion may I findIn worlds to hero souls assigned,--The guardian of thy realm will be,As the sea-bank protects the sea.Then cast thine idle fears aside:With prosperous rites be sanctified.The lords of earth may strive in vain:My power shall all their force restrain.My pair of arms, my warrior's bowAre not for pride of empty show:For no support these shafts were made;And binding up ill suits my blade:To pierce the foe with deadly breach--This is the work of all and each.But small, methinks the love I showFor him I count my mortal foe.Soon as my trenchant steel is bare,Flashing its lightning through the air,I heed no foe, nor stand aghastThough Indra's self the levin cast.Then shall the ways be hard to pass,Where chariots lie in ruinous mass;When elephant and man and steedCrushed in the murderous onslaught bleed,And legs and heads tall, heap on heap,Beneath my sword's tremendous sweep.Struck by my keen brand's trenchant blade,Thine enemies shall fall dismayed,Like towering mountains rent in twain,Or lightning clouds that burst in rain.When armed with brace and glove I stand,And take my trusty bow in hand,Who then shall vaunt his might? who dareCount him a man to meet me there?Then will I loose my shafts, and strikeMan, elephant, and steed alike:At one shall many an arrow fly,And many a foe with one shall die.This day the world my power shall see,That none in arms can rival me:My strength the monarch shall abase,And set thee, lord, in lordliest place.These arms which breathe the sandal's scent,Which golden bracelets ornament,These hands which precious gifts bestow,Which guard the friend and smite the foe,A nobler service shall assay,And fight in Ráma's cause to-day,The robbers of thy rights to stay. Speak, brother, tell thy foeman's name Whom I, in conquering strife, May strip of followers and fame, Of fortune, or of life. Say, how may all this sea-girt land Be brought to own thy sway: Thy faithful servant here I stand To listen and obey.' Then strove the bride of Raghu's race Sad Lakshman's heart to cheer, While slowly down the hero's face, Unchecked, there rolled a tear. 'The orders of my sire,' he cried, 'My will shall ne'er oppose: I follow still, whate'er betide, The path which duty shows.'
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Footnotes121:1 The Sanskrit word hasta signifies both hand, and the trunk of the beast that bears between his eyes a serpent for a hand.'
CANTO XXIV.:
Canst thou, most duteous, fail to knowTheir hearts are set on duty's show?They with deceit have set their trains,And now the fruit rewards their pains,Had they not long ago agreed,O Rama, on this treacherous deed,That promised boon, so long retained,He erst had given and she had gained.I cannot, O my brother, bearTo see another throned as heirWith rites which all our people hate:Then, O, this passion tolerate.This vaunted duty which can guideThy steps from wisdom's path aside,And change the counsel of thy breast,O lofty-hearted, I detest.Wilt thou, when power and might are thine,Submit to this abhorred design?Thy father's impious hest fulfil,That vassal of Kaikeyi's will?But if thou still wilt shut thine eyes,Nor see the guile herein that lies.My soul is sad, I deeply mourn.And duty seems a thing to scorn.Canst thou one moment think to pleaseThis pair who live for love and ease,And 'gainst thy peace, as foes, allied,With tenderest names their hatred hideNow if thy judgment still refersTo Fate this plot of his and hers,My mind herein can ne'er agree:And O, in this be ruled by me.Weak, void of manly pride are theyWho bend to Fate's imputed sway:The choicest souls, the nobly greatDisdain to bow their heads to Fate.And he who dares his Fate controlWith vigorous act and manly soul,Though threatening Fate his hopes assail.Unmoved through all need never quail.This day mankind shall learn arightThe power of Fate and human might,So shall the gulf that lies betweenA man and Fate be clearly seen.The might of Fate subdued by meThis hour the citizens shall see,Who saw its intervention stayThy consecrating rites to-dayMy power shall turn this Fate aside,That threatens, as, with furious stride,An elephant who scorns to feel,In rage unchecked, tne driver's steel.Not the great Lords whose sleepless mightProtects the worlds, shall stay the riteThough earth, hell, heaven combine their powers:And shall we fear this sire of ours?Then if their minds are idly bentTo doom thee, King, to banishment,Through twice seven years of exile they
Shall In the lonely forest stay.I will consume the hopes that fireThe queen Kaikeyí and our sire,That to her son this check will bringAdvantage, making Bharat king.The power of Fate will ne'er withstandThe might that arms my vigorous hand;If danger and distress assail,My fearless strength will still prevail.A thousand circling years shall flee:The forest then thy home shall be,And thy good sons, succeeding, holdThe empire which their sire controlled.The royal saints, of old who reigned,For aged kings this rest ordained:These to their sons their realm commitThat they, like sires, may cherish it.O pious soul, if thou declineThe empire which is justly thine,Lest, while the king distracted lies,Disorder in the state should rise,I,--or no mansion may I findIn worlds to hero souls assigned,--The guardian of thy realm will be,As the sea-bank protects the sea.Then cast thine idle fears aside:With prosperous rites be sanctified.The lords of earth may strive in vain:My power shall all their force restrain.My pair of arms, my warrior's bowAre not for pride of empty show:For no support these shafts were made;And binding up ill suits my blade:To pierce the foe with deadly breach--This is the work of all and each.But small, methinks the love I showFor him I count my mortal foe.Soon as my trenchant steel is bare,Flashing its lightning through the air,I heed no foe, nor stand aghastThough Indra's self the levin cast.Then shall the ways be hard to pass,Where chariots lie in ruinous mass;When elephant and man and steedCrushed in the murderous onslaught bleed,And legs and heads tall, heap on heap,Beneath my sword's tremendous sweep.Struck by my keen brand's trenchant blade,Thine enemies shall fall dismayed,Like towering mountains rent in twain,Or lightning clouds that burst in rain.When armed with brace and glove I stand,And take my trusty bow in hand,Who then shall vaunt his might? who dareCount him a man to meet me there?Then will I loose my shafts, and strikeMan, elephant, and steed alike:At one shall many an arrow fly,And many a foe with one shall die.This day the world my power shall see,That none in arms can rival me:My strength the monarch shall abase,And set thee, lord, in lordliest place.These arms which breathe the sandal's scent,Which golden bracelets ornament,These hands which precious gifts bestow,Which guard the friend and smite the foe,A nobler service shall assay,And fight in Ráma's cause to-day,The robbers of thy rights to stay. Speak, brother, tell thy foeman's name Whom I, in conquering strife, May strip of followers and fame, Of fortune, or of life. Say, how may all this sea-girt land Be brought to own thy sway: Thy faithful servant here I stand To listen and obey.' Then strove the bride of Raghu's race Sad Lakshman's heart to cheer, While slowly down the hero's face, Unchecked, there rolled a tear. 'The orders of my sire,' he cried, 'My will shall ne'er oppose: I follow still, whate'er betide, The path which duty shows.'
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Footnotes121:1 The Sanskrit word hasta signifies both hand, and the trunk of the beast that bears between his eyes a serpent for a hand.'
CANTO XXIV.:
KAUS'ALYÁ CALMED.But when Kaus'alyá saw that heResolved to keep his sire's decree,While tears and sobs her utterance broke,Her very righteous speech she spoke:'Can he, a stranger yet to pain,Whose pleasant words all hearts enchain,Son of the king and me the queen,Live on the grain his hands may glean;Can he, whose slaves and menials eatThe finest cakes of sifted wheat--Can Ráma in the forest liveOn roots and fruit which woodlands giveWho will believe, who will not fearWhen the sad story smites his ear,That one so dear, so noble held,Is by the king his sire expelled?Now surely none may Fate resist,Which orders all as it may list,If, Ráma, in thy strength and grace,The woods become thy dwelling-place.A childless mother long I grieved,And many a sigh for offspring heaved,With wistful longing weak and wornTill thou at last, my son, wast born.Fanned by the storm of that desireDeep in my soul I felt the fire,Whose offerings flowed from weeping eyes,With fuel fed of groans and sighs,
While round the flame the smoke grew hotOf tears because thou earnest not.Now reft of thee, too fiery fierceThe flame of woe my heart will pierce,As, when the days of spring return,The sun's hot beams the forest burn.The mother cow still follows nearThe wanderings of her youngling dear.So close to thine my feet shall be,Where'er thou goest following thee.'
Ráma, the noblest lord of men,Heard his fond mother's speech, and thenIn soothing words like these repliedTo the sad queen who wept and sighed:'Nay, by Kaikeyí's art beguiled,When I am banished to the wild,If thou, my mother, also fly,The aged king will surely die.When wedded dames their lords forsake,Long for the crime their souls shall ache.Thou must not e'en in thought withinThy bosom frame so dire a sin.Long as Kakutstha's son, who reignsLord of the earth, in life remains,Thou must with love his will obey:This duty claims, supreme for aye.Yes, mother, thou and I must beSubmissive to my sire's decree,King, husband, sire is he confessed,The lord of all, the worthiest.I in the wilds my days will spendTill twice seven years have reached an end,Then with great joy will come again,And faithful to thy hests remain.'
Kaus'alyá by her son addressed,With love and passion sore distressed,Afflicted, with her eyes bedewed,To Ráma thus her speech renewed:
'Nay, Ráma, but my heart will breakIf with these queens my home I make.Lead me too with thee; let me goAnd wander like a woodland roe.'
Then, while no tear the hero shed.Thus to the weeping queen he said:'Mother, while lives the husband, heIs woman's lord and deity.O dearest lady, thou and IOur lord and king must ne'er deny;The lord of earth himself have weOur guardian wise and friend to be.And Bharat, true to duty's call,Whose sweet words take the hearts of all,Will serve thee well, and ne'er forgetThe virtuous path before him set.Be this, I pray, thine earnest care,That the old king my father ne'er,When I have parted hence, may know,Grieved for his son, a pang of woe.Let not this grief his soul distress,To kill him with the bitterness.With duteous care, in every thing,Love, comfort, cheer the aged king.Though, best of womankind, a spouseKeeps firmly all her fasts and vows,Nor yet her husband's will obeys, 'She treads in sin's forbidden ways.She to her husband's will who bends,Goes to high bliss that never ends,Yea, though the Gods have found in herNo reverential worshipper.Bent on his weal, a woman stillMust seek to do her husband's will:For Scripture, custom, law upholdThis duty Heaven revealed of old.Honour true Bráhmans for my sake,And constant offerings duly make,With fire-oblations and with flowers,To all the host of heavenly powers.Look to the coming time, and yearnFor the glad hour of my return.And still thy duteous course pursue,Abstemious, humble, kind, and true.The highest bliss shall thou obtainWhen I from exile come again,If, best of those who keep the right,The king my sire still see the light.'
The queen, by Ráma thus addressed,Still with a mother's grief oppressed,While her long eyes with tears were dim,Began once more and answered him:'Not by my pleading maybe stayedThe firm resolve thy soul has made.My hero, thou wilt go; and noneThe stern commands of Fate may shun.Go forth, dear child whom naught can bendAnd may all bliss thy steps attend.Thou wilt return, and that dear dayWill chase mine every grief away.Thou wilt return, thy duty done,Thy vows discharged, high glory won;From filial debt wilt thou be free,And sweetest joy will come on me.My son, the will of mighty FateAt every time must dominate,If now it drives thee hence to strayHeedless of me who bid thee stay.Go, strong of arm, go forth, my boy,Go forth, again to come with joy,And thine expectant mother cheerWith those sweet tones she loves to hear.O that the blessed hour were nighWhen thou shalt glad this anxious eye,With matted hair and hermit dressreturning from the wilderness.' Kaus'alyá's conscious soul approved, As her proud glance she bent On Ráma constant and unmoved, Resolved on banishment. Such words, with happy omens fraught To her dear son she said, Invoking with each eager thought A blessing on his head.
CANTO XXV.:
While round the flame the smoke grew hotOf tears because thou earnest not.Now reft of thee, too fiery fierceThe flame of woe my heart will pierce,As, when the days of spring return,The sun's hot beams the forest burn.The mother cow still follows nearThe wanderings of her youngling dear.So close to thine my feet shall be,Where'er thou goest following thee.'
Ráma, the noblest lord of men,Heard his fond mother's speech, and thenIn soothing words like these repliedTo the sad queen who wept and sighed:'Nay, by Kaikeyí's art beguiled,When I am banished to the wild,If thou, my mother, also fly,The aged king will surely die.When wedded dames their lords forsake,Long for the crime their souls shall ache.Thou must not e'en in thought withinThy bosom frame so dire a sin.Long as Kakutstha's son, who reignsLord of the earth, in life remains,Thou must with love his will obey:This duty claims, supreme for aye.Yes, mother, thou and I must beSubmissive to my sire's decree,King, husband, sire is he confessed,The lord of all, the worthiest.I in the wilds my days will spendTill twice seven years have reached an end,Then with great joy will come again,And faithful to thy hests remain.'
Kaus'alyá by her son addressed,With love and passion sore distressed,Afflicted, with her eyes bedewed,To Ráma thus her speech renewed:
'Nay, Ráma, but my heart will breakIf with these queens my home I make.Lead me too with thee; let me goAnd wander like a woodland roe.'
Then, while no tear the hero shed.Thus to the weeping queen he said:'Mother, while lives the husband, heIs woman's lord and deity.O dearest lady, thou and IOur lord and king must ne'er deny;The lord of earth himself have weOur guardian wise and friend to be.And Bharat, true to duty's call,Whose sweet words take the hearts of all,Will serve thee well, and ne'er forgetThe virtuous path before him set.Be this, I pray, thine earnest care,That the old king my father ne'er,When I have parted hence, may know,Grieved for his son, a pang of woe.Let not this grief his soul distress,To kill him with the bitterness.With duteous care, in every thing,Love, comfort, cheer the aged king.Though, best of womankind, a spouseKeeps firmly all her fasts and vows,Nor yet her husband's will obeys, 'She treads in sin's forbidden ways.She to her husband's will who bends,Goes to high bliss that never ends,Yea, though the Gods have found in herNo reverential worshipper.Bent on his weal, a woman stillMust seek to do her husband's will:For Scripture, custom, law upholdThis duty Heaven revealed of old.Honour true Bráhmans for my sake,And constant offerings duly make,With fire-oblations and with flowers,To all the host of heavenly powers.Look to the coming time, and yearnFor the glad hour of my return.And still thy duteous course pursue,Abstemious, humble, kind, and true.The highest bliss shall thou obtainWhen I from exile come again,If, best of those who keep the right,The king my sire still see the light.'
The queen, by Ráma thus addressed,Still with a mother's grief oppressed,While her long eyes with tears were dim,Began once more and answered him:'Not by my pleading maybe stayedThe firm resolve thy soul has made.My hero, thou wilt go; and noneThe stern commands of Fate may shun.Go forth, dear child whom naught can bendAnd may all bliss thy steps attend.Thou wilt return, and that dear dayWill chase mine every grief away.Thou wilt return, thy duty done,Thy vows discharged, high glory won;From filial debt wilt thou be free,And sweetest joy will come on me.My son, the will of mighty FateAt every time must dominate,If now it drives thee hence to strayHeedless of me who bid thee stay.Go, strong of arm, go forth, my boy,Go forth, again to come with joy,And thine expectant mother cheerWith those sweet tones she loves to hear.O that the blessed hour were nighWhen thou shalt glad this anxious eye,With matted hair and hermit dressreturning from the wilderness.' Kaus'alyá's conscious soul approved, As her proud glance she bent On Ráma constant and unmoved, Resolved on banishment. Such words, with happy omens fraught To her dear son she said, Invoking with each eager thought A blessing on his head.
CANTO XXV.:
KAUS'ALYA'S BLESSING.Her grief and woe she cast aside,Her lips with water purified,And thus her benison beganThat mother of the noblest man:'If thou wilt hear no words of mine,Go forth, thou pride of Raghu's line.Go, darling, and return with speed,Walking where noble spirits lead.May virtue on thy steps attend.And be her faithful lover's friend.May Those to whom thy vows are paidIn temple and in holy shade,With all the mighty saints combineTo keep that precious life of thine.The arms wise Vis'v?itra 1 gaveThy virtuous soul from danger save.Long be thy life: thy sure defenceShall b?thy truthful innocence,And that obedience, naught can tire,To me thy mother and thy sire.May fanes where holy fires are fed,Altars with grass and fuel spread,Each sacrificial ground, each tree,Rock, lake, and mountain, prosper thee.Let old Vir?, 2 and Him who madeThe universe, combine to aid;Let Indra and each guardian LordWho keeps the worlds, their help afford,And be thy constant friend the Sun,Lord P?h? Bhaga, Aryaman. 3Fortnights and seasons, nights and days,Years, months, and hours, protect thy ways,Vrihaspati shall still be nigh,The War-God, and the Moon on high,And N?ad 4 and the sainted seven 5Shall watch thee from their starry heaven.The mountains, and the seas which ringThe world, and Varuna the King,Sky, ether, and the wind, whate'erMoves not or moves, for thee shall care.Each lunar mansion be benign,With happier light the planets shine;All gods, each light in heaven that glows,Potect my child where'er he goes.The twilight hours, the day and night,Keep in the wood thy steps aright.Watch, minute, instant, as they flee,Shall all bring happiness to thee.
Celestials and the Titan broodProtect thee in thy solitude,And haunt the mighty wood to blessThe wanderer in his hermit dress.Fear not, by mightier guardians screened,The giant or night-roving fiend;Nor let the cruel race who tearMan's flesh for food thy bosom scare.Far be the ape, the scorpion's sting,Fly, gnat, and worm, and creeping thing.Thee shall the hungry lion spare,The tiger, elephant, and bear:Safe, from their furious might repose,Safe from the horned buffaloes.Each savage thing the forests breed,That love on human flesh to feed,Shall for my child its rage abate,When thus its wrath I deprecate.Blest be thy ways: may sweet successThe valour of my darling bless.To all that Fortune can bestow,Go forth, my child, my Ráma, go.Go forth, O happy in the loveOf all the Gods below, above;And in those guardian powers confideThv paths who keep, thy steps who guide.May S'ukra, 1b Yama, Sun, and Moon,And He who gives each golden boon, 2bWon by mine earnest pravers, be goodTo thee, my son, in Dandak wood.Fire, wind, and smoke, each text and spellFrom mouths of holy seers that fell,Guard Ráma when his limbs he dips,Or with the stream makes pure his lips!May the great saints and He, the LordWho made the worlds, by worlds adored,And every God in heaven besideMy banished Ráma keep and guide.
Thus with due praise the long-eyed dame,Ennobled by her spotless fame,With wreaths of flowers and precious scentWorshipped the Gods, most reverent.A high-souled Br?man lit the fire,And offered, at the queen's desire,The holy oil ordained to burnFor Ráma's weal and safe return.Kaus'aly? best of dames, with careSet oil, wreaths, fuel, mustard, there.Then when the rites of fire had ceased,For Ráma's bliss and health, the priest,Standing without gave what remainedIn general offering, 3b as ordained.
Dealing among the twice-horn trainHoney, and curds, and oil, and grain,He bade each heart and voice uniteTo bless. the youthful anchorite.Then Ráma's mother, glorious dameBestowed, to meet the Bráhman's claim,A lordly fee for duty done:And thus again addressed her son:
'Such blessings as the Gods o'erjoyedPoured forth, when Vritra 1 was destroyed,On Indra of the thousand eyes,Attend, my child, thine enterprise!Yea, such as Vinatá once gaveTo King Suparna 2 swift and brave,Who sought the drink that cheers the skies,Attend, my child, thine enterprise!Yea, such as, when the Amrit rose, 3And Indra slew his Daitya foes,The royal Aditi bestowedOn Him whose hand with slaughter glowedOf that dire brood of monstrous size,Attend, my child, thine enterprise!E'en such as peerless Vishnu graced,When with his triple step he paced,Outbursting from the dwarf's disguise, 4Attend, my child, thine enterprise!Floods, isles, and seasons as they fly,Worlds, Vedas, quarters of the sky,Combine, O mighty-armed, to blessThee destined heir of happiness!'
The long-eyed lady ceased: she shedPure scent and grain upon his head.And that prized herb whose sovereign powerPreserves from dark misfortune's hour,Upon the hero's arm she set,To be his faithful amulet.While holy tunes she murmured low,Aud spoke glad words though crushed by woe,Concealing with obedient tongueThe pangs with which her heart was wrung.She bent,she kissed his brow, she pressedHer darling to her troubled breast:'Firm in thy purpose, go,' she cried,'Go Ráma, and my bliss betide.Attain returning safe and well,Triumphant in Ayodhyá, dwell.Then shall my happy eyes beholdThe empire by thy will controlled.Then grief and care shall leave no trace,Joy shall light up thy mother's face,And I shall see my darling reign,In moonlike glory come again.These eyes shall fondly gaze on theeSo faithful to thy sire's decree,
When thou the forest wild shalt quitOn thine ancestral throne to sit.Yea, thou shalt turn from exile back,Nor choicest blessings ever lack,Then fill with rapture ever newMy bosom and thy consort's too. To S'iva and the heavenly host My worship has been paid, To mighty saint, to godlike ghost, To every wandering shade. Forth to the forest thou wilt hie, Therein to dwell so long: Let all the quarters of the sky Protect my child from wrong.' Her blessings thus the queen bestowed; Then round him fondly paced, And often, while her eyes o'erflowed, Her dearest son embraced. Kaus'alyá's honoured feet he pressed, As round her steps she bent, And radiant with her prayers that blessed, To Sitá's home he went.
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Footnotes124:1 See
124:2 The first progeny of Brahm? or Brahm? himself.
124:3 These are three names of the Sun.
124:4 See p. 1.
124:5 The saints who form the constellation of Ursa Major.
124:1b The regent of the planert Venus.
124:2b Kuvera.
124:3b Bali, or the presentation of food to all created beings, is one of the five great sacraments of the Hindu religion: it consists in throwing a small parcel of the offering, Ghee, or rice, or the like, into the open air at the back of the house.
125:1 In mythology, a demon slain by Indra.
125:2 Called also Garud, the King of the birds, offspring of Vinatá. See p. 53.
125:3 See p. 56.
125:4 See p. 43.
CANTO XXVI.:
Celestials and the Titan broodProtect thee in thy solitude,And haunt the mighty wood to blessThe wanderer in his hermit dress.Fear not, by mightier guardians screened,The giant or night-roving fiend;Nor let the cruel race who tearMan's flesh for food thy bosom scare.Far be the ape, the scorpion's sting,Fly, gnat, and worm, and creeping thing.Thee shall the hungry lion spare,The tiger, elephant, and bear:Safe, from their furious might repose,Safe from the horned buffaloes.Each savage thing the forests breed,That love on human flesh to feed,Shall for my child its rage abate,When thus its wrath I deprecate.Blest be thy ways: may sweet successThe valour of my darling bless.To all that Fortune can bestow,Go forth, my child, my Ráma, go.Go forth, O happy in the loveOf all the Gods below, above;And in those guardian powers confideThv paths who keep, thy steps who guide.May S'ukra, 1b Yama, Sun, and Moon,And He who gives each golden boon, 2bWon by mine earnest pravers, be goodTo thee, my son, in Dandak wood.Fire, wind, and smoke, each text and spellFrom mouths of holy seers that fell,Guard Ráma when his limbs he dips,Or with the stream makes pure his lips!May the great saints and He, the LordWho made the worlds, by worlds adored,And every God in heaven besideMy banished Ráma keep and guide.
Thus with due praise the long-eyed dame,Ennobled by her spotless fame,With wreaths of flowers and precious scentWorshipped the Gods, most reverent.A high-souled Br?man lit the fire,And offered, at the queen's desire,The holy oil ordained to burnFor Ráma's weal and safe return.Kaus'aly? best of dames, with careSet oil, wreaths, fuel, mustard, there.Then when the rites of fire had ceased,For Ráma's bliss and health, the priest,Standing without gave what remainedIn general offering, 3b as ordained.
Dealing among the twice-horn trainHoney, and curds, and oil, and grain,He bade each heart and voice uniteTo bless. the youthful anchorite.Then Ráma's mother, glorious dameBestowed, to meet the Bráhman's claim,A lordly fee for duty done:And thus again addressed her son:
'Such blessings as the Gods o'erjoyedPoured forth, when Vritra 1 was destroyed,On Indra of the thousand eyes,Attend, my child, thine enterprise!Yea, such as Vinatá once gaveTo King Suparna 2 swift and brave,Who sought the drink that cheers the skies,Attend, my child, thine enterprise!Yea, such as, when the Amrit rose, 3And Indra slew his Daitya foes,The royal Aditi bestowedOn Him whose hand with slaughter glowedOf that dire brood of monstrous size,Attend, my child, thine enterprise!E'en such as peerless Vishnu graced,When with his triple step he paced,Outbursting from the dwarf's disguise, 4Attend, my child, thine enterprise!Floods, isles, and seasons as they fly,Worlds, Vedas, quarters of the sky,Combine, O mighty-armed, to blessThee destined heir of happiness!'
The long-eyed lady ceased: she shedPure scent and grain upon his head.And that prized herb whose sovereign powerPreserves from dark misfortune's hour,Upon the hero's arm she set,To be his faithful amulet.While holy tunes she murmured low,Aud spoke glad words though crushed by woe,Concealing with obedient tongueThe pangs with which her heart was wrung.She bent,she kissed his brow, she pressedHer darling to her troubled breast:'Firm in thy purpose, go,' she cried,'Go Ráma, and my bliss betide.Attain returning safe and well,Triumphant in Ayodhyá, dwell.Then shall my happy eyes beholdThe empire by thy will controlled.Then grief and care shall leave no trace,Joy shall light up thy mother's face,And I shall see my darling reign,In moonlike glory come again.These eyes shall fondly gaze on theeSo faithful to thy sire's decree,
When thou the forest wild shalt quitOn thine ancestral throne to sit.Yea, thou shalt turn from exile back,Nor choicest blessings ever lack,Then fill with rapture ever newMy bosom and thy consort's too. To S'iva and the heavenly host My worship has been paid, To mighty saint, to godlike ghost, To every wandering shade. Forth to the forest thou wilt hie, Therein to dwell so long: Let all the quarters of the sky Protect my child from wrong.' Her blessings thus the queen bestowed; Then round him fondly paced, And often, while her eyes o'erflowed, Her dearest son embraced. Kaus'alyá's honoured feet he pressed, As round her steps she bent, And radiant with her prayers that blessed, To Sitá's home he went.
* * * * *
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Footnotes124:1 See
124:2 The first progeny of Brahm? or Brahm? himself.
124:3 These are three names of the Sun.
124:4 See p. 1.
124:5 The saints who form the constellation of Ursa Major.
124:1b The regent of the planert Venus.
124:2b Kuvera.
124:3b Bali, or the presentation of food to all created beings, is one of the five great sacraments of the Hindu religion: it consists in throwing a small parcel of the offering, Ghee, or rice, or the like, into the open air at the back of the house.
125:1 In mythology, a demon slain by Indra.
125:2 Called also Garud, the King of the birds, offspring of Vinatá. See p. 53.
125:3 See p. 56.
125:4 See p. 43.
CANTO XXVI.:
ALONE WITH SITÁSo Ráma, to his purpose true,To Queen Kaus'alyá bade adieu,Received the benison she gave,And to the path of duty clave.As through the crowded street he passed,A radiance on the way he cast,And each fair grace, by all approved,The bosoms of the people moved.
Now of the woeful change no wordThe fair Videhan bride had heard;The thought of that imperial riteStill filled her bosom with delight.With grateful heart and joyful thoughtThe Gods in worship she had sought,And, well in royal duties learned,Sat longing till her lord returned,Not all unmarked by grief and shameWithin his sumptuous home he came,And hurried through the happy crowdWith eye dejected, gloomy-browed.Up Sitá sprang, and every limbTrembled with fear at sight of him.She marked that cheek where anguish fed,Those senses care-disquieted.For, when he looked on her, no moreCould his heart hide the load it bore,Nor could the pious chief controlThe paleness o'er his cheek that stole.His altered cheer, his brow bedewedWith clammy drops, his grief she viewed,And cried, consumed with fires of woe.'What, O my lord, has changed thee so?
Vrihaspati looks down benign,And the moon rests in Pushya's sign,As Bráhmans sage this day declare:Then whence, my lord, this grief and care?Why does no canopy, like foamFor its white beauty, shade thee home,Its hundred ribs spread wide to throwSplendour on thy fair head below?Where are the royal fans, to graceThe lotus beauty of thy face,Fair as the moon or wild-swan's wing,And waving round the new-made king?Why do no sweet-toned bards rejoiceTo hail thee with triumphant voice?No tuneful heralds love to raiseLoud music in their monarch's praise?Why do no Bráhmans, Scripture-read,Pour curds and honey on thy head,Anointed, as the laws ordain,With holy rites, supreme to reign?Where are the chiefs of every guild?Where are the myriads should have filledThe streets, and followed home their kingWith merry noise and triumphing?Why does no gold-wrought chariot leadWith four brave horses, best for speed?No elephant precede the crowdLike a huge hill or thunder cloud,Marked from his birth for happy fate,Whom signs auspicious decorate?Why does no henchman, young and fair,Precede thee, and delight to bearEntrusted to his reverent holdThe burthen of thy throne of gold?Why, if the consecrating riteBe ready, why this mournful plight?Why do I see this sudden change,This altered mien so sad and strange?'
To her, as thus she weeping cried,Raghu's illustrious son replied:
'Sítá, my honoured sire's decreeCommands me to the woods to flee.O high-born lady, nobly bredIn the good paths thy footsteps tread,Hear, Janak's daughter, while I tellThe story as it all befell.Of old my father true and braveTwo boons to Queen Kaikeyí gave.Through these the preparations madeFor me today by her are stayed,For he is bound to disallowThis promise by that earlier vow.In Dandak forest wild and vastMust fourteen years by me be passed.My father's will makes Bharat heir,The kingdom and the throne to share.Now, ere the lonely wild I seek,I come once more with thee to speak.In Bharat's presence, O my dame,Ne'er speak with pride of Ráma's name:Another's eulogy to hearIs hateful to a monarch's ear.Thou must with love his rule obeyTo whom my father yields the sway.With love and sweet observance learnHis grace, and more the king's, to earn.Now, that my father may not breakThe words of promise that he spake,To the drear wood my steps are bent:Be firm, good Sítá, and content.Through all that time, my blameless spouse,Keep well thy fasts and holy vows,Rise from thy bed at break of day,And to the Gods due worship pay.With meek and lowly love revereThe lord of men, my father dear,And reverence to Kaus'alyá show,My mother, worn with eld and woe:By duty's law, O best of dames,High worship from thy love she claims,Nor to the other queens refuseObservance, rendering each her dues:By love and fond attention shownThey are my mothers like mine own.Let Bharat and S'atrughna bearIn thy sweet love a special share:Dear as my life, O let them beLike brother and like son to thee.In every word and deed refrainFrom aught that Bharat's soul may pain:He is Ayodhyá's king and mine,The head and lord of all our line.For those who serve and love them muchWith weariless endeavour, touchAnd win the gracious hearts of kings.While wrath from disobedience springs.Great monarchs from their presence sendTheir lawful sons who still offend,And welcome to the vacant placeGood children of an alien race.Then, best of women, rest thou here,And Bharat's will with love revere.Obedient to thy king remain,And still thy vows of truth maintain. To the wide wood my steps I bend: Make thou thy dwelling here; See that thy conduct ne'er offend, And keep my words, my dear.'
CANTO XXVII.:
Now of the woeful change no wordThe fair Videhan bride had heard;The thought of that imperial riteStill filled her bosom with delight.With grateful heart and joyful thoughtThe Gods in worship she had sought,And, well in royal duties learned,Sat longing till her lord returned,Not all unmarked by grief and shameWithin his sumptuous home he came,And hurried through the happy crowdWith eye dejected, gloomy-browed.Up Sitá sprang, and every limbTrembled with fear at sight of him.She marked that cheek where anguish fed,Those senses care-disquieted.For, when he looked on her, no moreCould his heart hide the load it bore,Nor could the pious chief controlThe paleness o'er his cheek that stole.His altered cheer, his brow bedewedWith clammy drops, his grief she viewed,And cried, consumed with fires of woe.'What, O my lord, has changed thee so?
Vrihaspati looks down benign,And the moon rests in Pushya's sign,As Bráhmans sage this day declare:Then whence, my lord, this grief and care?Why does no canopy, like foamFor its white beauty, shade thee home,Its hundred ribs spread wide to throwSplendour on thy fair head below?Where are the royal fans, to graceThe lotus beauty of thy face,Fair as the moon or wild-swan's wing,And waving round the new-made king?Why do no sweet-toned bards rejoiceTo hail thee with triumphant voice?No tuneful heralds love to raiseLoud music in their monarch's praise?Why do no Bráhmans, Scripture-read,Pour curds and honey on thy head,Anointed, as the laws ordain,With holy rites, supreme to reign?Where are the chiefs of every guild?Where are the myriads should have filledThe streets, and followed home their kingWith merry noise and triumphing?Why does no gold-wrought chariot leadWith four brave horses, best for speed?No elephant precede the crowdLike a huge hill or thunder cloud,Marked from his birth for happy fate,Whom signs auspicious decorate?Why does no henchman, young and fair,Precede thee, and delight to bearEntrusted to his reverent holdThe burthen of thy throne of gold?Why, if the consecrating riteBe ready, why this mournful plight?Why do I see this sudden change,This altered mien so sad and strange?'
To her, as thus she weeping cried,Raghu's illustrious son replied:
'Sítá, my honoured sire's decreeCommands me to the woods to flee.O high-born lady, nobly bredIn the good paths thy footsteps tread,Hear, Janak's daughter, while I tellThe story as it all befell.Of old my father true and braveTwo boons to Queen Kaikeyí gave.Through these the preparations madeFor me today by her are stayed,For he is bound to disallowThis promise by that earlier vow.In Dandak forest wild and vastMust fourteen years by me be passed.My father's will makes Bharat heir,The kingdom and the throne to share.Now, ere the lonely wild I seek,I come once more with thee to speak.In Bharat's presence, O my dame,Ne'er speak with pride of Ráma's name:Another's eulogy to hearIs hateful to a monarch's ear.Thou must with love his rule obeyTo whom my father yields the sway.With love and sweet observance learnHis grace, and more the king's, to earn.Now, that my father may not breakThe words of promise that he spake,To the drear wood my steps are bent:Be firm, good Sítá, and content.Through all that time, my blameless spouse,Keep well thy fasts and holy vows,Rise from thy bed at break of day,And to the Gods due worship pay.With meek and lowly love revereThe lord of men, my father dear,And reverence to Kaus'alyá show,My mother, worn with eld and woe:By duty's law, O best of dames,High worship from thy love she claims,Nor to the other queens refuseObservance, rendering each her dues:By love and fond attention shownThey are my mothers like mine own.Let Bharat and S'atrughna bearIn thy sweet love a special share:Dear as my life, O let them beLike brother and like son to thee.In every word and deed refrainFrom aught that Bharat's soul may pain:He is Ayodhyá's king and mine,The head and lord of all our line.For those who serve and love them muchWith weariless endeavour, touchAnd win the gracious hearts of kings.While wrath from disobedience springs.Great monarchs from their presence sendTheir lawful sons who still offend,And welcome to the vacant placeGood children of an alien race.Then, best of women, rest thou here,And Bharat's will with love revere.Obedient to thy king remain,And still thy vows of truth maintain. To the wide wood my steps I bend: Make thou thy dwelling here; See that thy conduct ne'er offend, And keep my words, my dear.'
CANTO XXVII.:
SÍTÁ'S SPEECH.His sweetly-speaking bride, who bestDeserved her lord, he thus addressed.Then tender love bade passion wake,And thus the fair Videhan spake:'What words are these that thou hast said?Contempt of me the thought has bred.O best of heroes, I dismissWith bitter scorn a speech like this:
Unworthy of a warrior's fameIt taints a monarch's son with shame,Ne'er to be heard from those who knowThe science of the sword and bow.My lord, the mother, sire, and son,Receive their lots by merit won;The brother and the daughter findThe portions to their deeds aligned.The wife alone, whate'er await,Must share on earth her husband's fate.So now the king's command which sendsThee to the wild, to me extends.The wife can find no refuge, none,In father, mother, self, or son:Both here, and when they vanish hence,Her husband is her sole defence.If, Raghu's son, thy steps are ledWhere Dandak's pathless wilds are spread,My foot before thine own shall passThrough tangled thorn and matted grass.Dismiss thine anger and thy doubt:Like refuse water cast them out,And lead me, O my hero, hence--I know not sin--with confidence.Whate'er his lot,'tis far more sweetTo follow still a husband's feetThan in rich palaces to lie,Or roam at pleasure through the sky.My mother and my sire have taughtWhat duty bids, and trained each thought,Nor have I now mine ear to turnThe duties of a wife to learn,I'll seek with thee the woodland dellAnd pathless wild where no men dwell,Where tribes of silvan creatures roam,And many a tiger makes his home.My life shall pass as pleasant thereAs in my father's palace fair.The worlds shall wake no care in me;My only care be truth to thee.There while thy wish I still obey,True to my vows with thee I'll stray,And there shall blissful hours be spentIn woods with honey redolent.In forest shades thy mighty armWould keep a stranger's life from harm,And how shall Sitá think of fearWhen thou, O glorious lord, art near?Heir of high bliss, my choice is made,Nor can I from my will be stayed.Doubt not; the earth will yield me roots,These will I eat, and woodland fruits;And as with thee I wander thereI will not bring thee grief or care.I long, when thou, wise lord, art nigh,All fearless, with delighted eyeTo gaze upon the rocky hill,The lake, the fountain, and the hill;To sport with thee, my limbs to cool,In some pure lily-covered pool,While the white swan's and mallard's wings
Are plashing in the water-springs.So would a thousand seasons fleeLike one sweet day, if spent with thee.Without my lord I would not prizeA home with Gods above the skies:Without my lord, my life to bless,Where could be heaven or happiness? Forbid me not: with thee I go The tangled wood to tread. There will I live with thee, as though This roof were o'er my head. My will for thine shall be resigned; Thy feet my steps shall guide. Thou, only thou, art in my mind: I heed not all beside. Thy heart shall ne'er by me be grieved; Do not my prayer deny: Take me, dear lord; of thee bereaved Thy Sitá swears to die.' These words the duteous lady spake, Nor would he yet consent His faithful wife with him to take To share his banishment. He soothed her with his gentle speech; To change her will he strove: And much he said the woes to teach Of those in wilds who rove.
CANTO XXVIII.:
Unworthy of a warrior's fameIt taints a monarch's son with shame,Ne'er to be heard from those who knowThe science of the sword and bow.My lord, the mother, sire, and son,Receive their lots by merit won;The brother and the daughter findThe portions to their deeds aligned.The wife alone, whate'er await,Must share on earth her husband's fate.So now the king's command which sendsThee to the wild, to me extends.The wife can find no refuge, none,In father, mother, self, or son:Both here, and when they vanish hence,Her husband is her sole defence.If, Raghu's son, thy steps are ledWhere Dandak's pathless wilds are spread,My foot before thine own shall passThrough tangled thorn and matted grass.Dismiss thine anger and thy doubt:Like refuse water cast them out,And lead me, O my hero, hence--I know not sin--with confidence.Whate'er his lot,'tis far more sweetTo follow still a husband's feetThan in rich palaces to lie,Or roam at pleasure through the sky.My mother and my sire have taughtWhat duty bids, and trained each thought,Nor have I now mine ear to turnThe duties of a wife to learn,I'll seek with thee the woodland dellAnd pathless wild where no men dwell,Where tribes of silvan creatures roam,And many a tiger makes his home.My life shall pass as pleasant thereAs in my father's palace fair.The worlds shall wake no care in me;My only care be truth to thee.There while thy wish I still obey,True to my vows with thee I'll stray,And there shall blissful hours be spentIn woods with honey redolent.In forest shades thy mighty armWould keep a stranger's life from harm,And how shall Sitá think of fearWhen thou, O glorious lord, art near?Heir of high bliss, my choice is made,Nor can I from my will be stayed.Doubt not; the earth will yield me roots,These will I eat, and woodland fruits;And as with thee I wander thereI will not bring thee grief or care.I long, when thou, wise lord, art nigh,All fearless, with delighted eyeTo gaze upon the rocky hill,The lake, the fountain, and the hill;To sport with thee, my limbs to cool,In some pure lily-covered pool,While the white swan's and mallard's wings
Are plashing in the water-springs.So would a thousand seasons fleeLike one sweet day, if spent with thee.Without my lord I would not prizeA home with Gods above the skies:Without my lord, my life to bless,Where could be heaven or happiness? Forbid me not: with thee I go The tangled wood to tread. There will I live with thee, as though This roof were o'er my head. My will for thine shall be resigned; Thy feet my steps shall guide. Thou, only thou, art in my mind: I heed not all beside. Thy heart shall ne'er by me be grieved; Do not my prayer deny: Take me, dear lord; of thee bereaved Thy Sitá swears to die.' These words the duteous lady spake, Nor would he yet consent His faithful wife with him to take To share his banishment. He soothed her with his gentle speech; To change her will he strove: And much he said the woes to teach Of those in wilds who rove.
CANTO XXVIII.:
THE DANGERS OF THE WOOD.Thus Sitá spake, and he who knewHis duty, to its orders true,Was still reluctant as the woesOf forest life before him rose.He sought to soothe her grief, to dryThe torrent from each brimming eye,And then, her firm resolve to shake,These words to pious hero spake: 'O daughter of a noble line,Whose steps from virtue ne'er decline,Remain, thy duties here pursue,As my fond heart would have thee do.Now hear me, Sitá, fair and weak,And do the words that I shall speak.Attend and hear while I explainEach danger in the wood, each pain.Thy lips have spoken: I condemnThe foolish words that fell from them.This senseless plan, this wish of thineTo live a forest life, resign.The names of trouble and distressSuit well the tangled wilderness.In the wild wood no joy I know,A forest life is nought but woe.The lion in his moutain caveAnswers the torrents as they rave,And forth his voice of terror throws:The wood, my love, is full of woes.
There mighty monsters fearless play,And in their maddened onset slayThe hapless wretch who near them goes:The wood, my love, is full of woes.'Tis hard to ford each treacherous flood,So thick with crocodiles and mud,Where the wild elephants repose:The wood, my love, is full of woes.Or far from streams the wanderer straysThrough thorns and creeper-tangled ways,While round him many a wild-cock crows:The wood, my love, is full of woes.On 'the cold ground upon a heapOn gathered leaves condemned to sleep,Toil-wearied, will his eyelids close:The wood, my love, is full of woes.Long days and nights must he contentHis soul with scanty aliment,What fruit the wind from branches blows:The wood, my love, is full of woes.O Sitá, while his strength may last,The ascetic in the wood must fast,Coil on his head his matted hair,And bark must be his only wear.To Gods and spirits day by dayThe ordered worship he must pay,And honour with respectful careEach wandering guest who meets him there.The bathing rites he ne'er must shunAt dawn, at noon, at set of sun,Obedient to the law he knows:The wood, my love, is full of woes.To grace the altar must be broughtThe gift of flowers his hands have sought--The debt each pious hermit owes:The wood, my love, is full of woes.The devotee must be contentTo live, severely abstinent,On what the chance of fortune shows:The wood, my love, is full of woes.Hunger afflicts him evermore:The nights are black, the wild winds roar;And there are dangers worse than those:The wood, my love, is full of woes.There creeping things in every formInfest the earth, the serpents swarm,And each proud eye with fury glows:The wood, my love, is full of woes.The snakes that by the river hideIn sinuous course like rivers glide,And line the path with deadly foes:The wood, my love, is full of woes.Scorpions, and grasshoppers, and fliesDisturb the wanderer as he lies,And wake him from his troubled doze:The wood, my love, is full of woes.Trees, thorny bushes, intertwined,Their branched ends together bind,And dense with grass the thicket grows:The wood, my dear, is full of woes,With many ills the flesh is tried,When these and countless fears besideVex those who in the wood remain:The wilds are naught but grief and pain.Hope, anger must be cast aside,To penance every thought applied:No fear must be of things to fear:Hence is the wood for ever drear.Enough, my love: thy purpose quit:For forest life thou art not fit.As thus I think on all, I seeThe wild wood is no place for thee.'
CANTO XXIX.: SÍTÁ'S APPEAL.Thus Ráma spake. Her lord's addressThe lady heard with deep distress.And, as the tear bedimmed her eye,In soft low accents made reply:'The perils of the wood, and allThe woes thou countest to appal,Led by my love I deem not pain;Each woe a charm, each loss a gain,Tiger, and elephant, and deer,Bull, lion, buffalo, in fear,Soon as thy matchless form they see,With every silvan beast will flee.With thee, O Ráma, I must go:My sire's command ordains it so.Bereft of thee, my lonely heartMust break, and life and I must part.While thou, O mighty lord, art nigh,Not even He who rules the sky,Though He is strongest of the strong,With all his might can do me wrong.Nor can a lonely woman leftBy her dear husband live bereft.In my great love, my lord, I ween,The truth of this thou mayst have seen.In my sire's palace long agoI heard the chief of those who know,The truth-declaring Bráhmans, tellMy fortune, in the wood to dwell.I heard their promise who divineThe future by each mark and sign,And from that hour have longed to leadThe forest life their lips decreed.Now, mighty Ráma, I must shareThy father's doom which sends thee there;In this I will not be denied,But follow, love, where thou shalt guide.O husband, I will go with thee,Obedient to that high decree,Now let the Bráhmans' words be true,For this the time they had in view.I know full well the wood has woes;But they disturb the lives of thoseWho in the forest dwell, nor holdTheir rebel senses well controlled.
In my sire's halls, ere I was wed,I heard a dame who begged her breadBefore my mother's face relateWhat griefs a forest life await.And many a time in sport I prayedTo seek with thee the greenwood shade,For O, my heart on this is set,To follow thee, dear anchoret.May blessings on thy life attend:I long with thee my steps to bend,For with such hero as thou artThis pilgrimage enchants my heart.Still close, my lord, to thy dear sideMy spirit will be purified:Love from all sin my soul will free:My husband is a God to me.So, love, with thee shall I have blissAnd share the life that follows this.I heard a Brahman, dear to fame,This ancient Scripture text proclaim:'The woman whom on earth belowHer parents on a man bestow,And lawfully their hands uniteWith water and each holy rite,She in this world shall be his wife,His also in the after life.'Then tell me, O beloved, whyThou wilt this earnest prayer deny,Nor take me with thee to the wood,Thine own dear wife so true and good.But if thou wilt not take me thereThus grieving in my wild despair,To fire or water I will fly,Or to the poisoned draught, and die.'So thus to share his exile, sheBesought him with each earnest plea,Nor could she yet her lord persuadeTo take her to the lonely shade.The answer of the strong-armed chiefSmote the Videhan's soul with grief,And from her eyes the torrents camebathing the bosom of the dame.
CANTO XXX.:
There mighty monsters fearless play,And in their maddened onset slayThe hapless wretch who near them goes:The wood, my love, is full of woes.'Tis hard to ford each treacherous flood,So thick with crocodiles and mud,Where the wild elephants repose:The wood, my love, is full of woes.Or far from streams the wanderer straysThrough thorns and creeper-tangled ways,While round him many a wild-cock crows:The wood, my love, is full of woes.On 'the cold ground upon a heapOn gathered leaves condemned to sleep,Toil-wearied, will his eyelids close:The wood, my love, is full of woes.Long days and nights must he contentHis soul with scanty aliment,What fruit the wind from branches blows:The wood, my love, is full of woes.O Sitá, while his strength may last,The ascetic in the wood must fast,Coil on his head his matted hair,And bark must be his only wear.To Gods and spirits day by dayThe ordered worship he must pay,And honour with respectful careEach wandering guest who meets him there.The bathing rites he ne'er must shunAt dawn, at noon, at set of sun,Obedient to the law he knows:The wood, my love, is full of woes.To grace the altar must be broughtThe gift of flowers his hands have sought--The debt each pious hermit owes:The wood, my love, is full of woes.The devotee must be contentTo live, severely abstinent,On what the chance of fortune shows:The wood, my love, is full of woes.Hunger afflicts him evermore:The nights are black, the wild winds roar;And there are dangers worse than those:The wood, my love, is full of woes.There creeping things in every formInfest the earth, the serpents swarm,And each proud eye with fury glows:The wood, my love, is full of woes.The snakes that by the river hideIn sinuous course like rivers glide,And line the path with deadly foes:The wood, my love, is full of woes.Scorpions, and grasshoppers, and fliesDisturb the wanderer as he lies,And wake him from his troubled doze:The wood, my love, is full of woes.Trees, thorny bushes, intertwined,Their branched ends together bind,And dense with grass the thicket grows:The wood, my dear, is full of woes,With many ills the flesh is tried,When these and countless fears besideVex those who in the wood remain:The wilds are naught but grief and pain.Hope, anger must be cast aside,To penance every thought applied:No fear must be of things to fear:Hence is the wood for ever drear.Enough, my love: thy purpose quit:For forest life thou art not fit.As thus I think on all, I seeThe wild wood is no place for thee.'
CANTO XXIX.: SÍTÁ'S APPEAL.Thus Ráma spake. Her lord's addressThe lady heard with deep distress.And, as the tear bedimmed her eye,In soft low accents made reply:'The perils of the wood, and allThe woes thou countest to appal,Led by my love I deem not pain;Each woe a charm, each loss a gain,Tiger, and elephant, and deer,Bull, lion, buffalo, in fear,Soon as thy matchless form they see,With every silvan beast will flee.With thee, O Ráma, I must go:My sire's command ordains it so.Bereft of thee, my lonely heartMust break, and life and I must part.While thou, O mighty lord, art nigh,Not even He who rules the sky,Though He is strongest of the strong,With all his might can do me wrong.Nor can a lonely woman leftBy her dear husband live bereft.In my great love, my lord, I ween,The truth of this thou mayst have seen.In my sire's palace long agoI heard the chief of those who know,The truth-declaring Bráhmans, tellMy fortune, in the wood to dwell.I heard their promise who divineThe future by each mark and sign,And from that hour have longed to leadThe forest life their lips decreed.Now, mighty Ráma, I must shareThy father's doom which sends thee there;In this I will not be denied,But follow, love, where thou shalt guide.O husband, I will go with thee,Obedient to that high decree,Now let the Bráhmans' words be true,For this the time they had in view.I know full well the wood has woes;But they disturb the lives of thoseWho in the forest dwell, nor holdTheir rebel senses well controlled.
In my sire's halls, ere I was wed,I heard a dame who begged her breadBefore my mother's face relateWhat griefs a forest life await.And many a time in sport I prayedTo seek with thee the greenwood shade,For O, my heart on this is set,To follow thee, dear anchoret.May blessings on thy life attend:I long with thee my steps to bend,For with such hero as thou artThis pilgrimage enchants my heart.Still close, my lord, to thy dear sideMy spirit will be purified:Love from all sin my soul will free:My husband is a God to me.So, love, with thee shall I have blissAnd share the life that follows this.I heard a Brahman, dear to fame,This ancient Scripture text proclaim:'The woman whom on earth belowHer parents on a man bestow,And lawfully their hands uniteWith water and each holy rite,She in this world shall be his wife,His also in the after life.'Then tell me, O beloved, whyThou wilt this earnest prayer deny,Nor take me with thee to the wood,Thine own dear wife so true and good.But if thou wilt not take me thereThus grieving in my wild despair,To fire or water I will fly,Or to the poisoned draught, and die.'So thus to share his exile, sheBesought him with each earnest plea,Nor could she yet her lord persuadeTo take her to the lonely shade.The answer of the strong-armed chiefSmote the Videhan's soul with grief,And from her eyes the torrents camebathing the bosom of the dame.
CANTO XXX.:
THE TRIUMPH OF LOVE.The daughter of Videha's king,While Ráma strove to soothe the stingOf her deep anguish, thus beganOnce more in furtherance of her plan:And with her spirit sorely triedBy fear and anger, love and pride,With keenly taunting words addressedHer hero of the stately breast:'Why did the king my sire, who reignsO'er fair Videha's wide domains,Hail Ráma son with joy unwise,A woman in a man's disguise?Now falsely would the people say,By idle fancies led astray,That Ráma's own are power and might,As glorious as the Lord of Light.Why sinkest thou in such dismay?What fears upon thy spirit weigh,That thou, O Ráma, fain wouldst fleeFrom her who thinks of naught but thee?To thy dear will am I resignedIn heart and body, soul and mind,As Sávitri gave all to one,Satyaván, Dyumatsena's son. 1Not e'en in fancy can I brookTo any guard save thee to look:Let meaner wives their houses shame,To go with thee is all my claim.Like some low actor, deemst thou fitThy wife to others to commit--Thine own, espoused in maiden youth,Thy wife so long, unblamed for truth?Do thou, my lord, his will obeyFor whom thou losest royal sway,To whom thou wouldst thy wife confide--Not me, but thee, his wish may guide.Thou must not here thy wife forsake,And to the wood thy journey make,Whether stern penance, grief, and care,Or rule or heaven await thee there.Nor shall fatigue my limbs distressWhen wandering in the wilderness:Each path which near to thee I treadShall seem a soft luxurious bed.The reeds, the bushes where I pass,The thorny trees, the tangled grassShall feel, if only thou be near,Soft to my touch as skins of deer.When the rude wind in fury blows,And scattered dust upon me throws,That dust, beloved lord, to meShall as the precious sandal be.And what shall be more blest than I,When gazing on the wood I lieIn some green glade upon a bedWith sacred grass beneath us spread?The root, the leaf, the fruit which thouShalt give me from the earth or bough,Scanty or plentiful, to eat,Shall taste to me as Amrit sweet.As there I live on flowers and rootsAnd every season's kindly fruits,I will not for my mother grieve,My sire, my home, or all I leave.My presence, love, shall never addOne pain to make the heart more sad;
I will not cause thee grief or care,Nor be a burden hard to bear.With thee is heaven, where'er the spot;Each place is hell where thou art not.Then go with me, O Ráma; thisIs all my hope and all my bliss.If thou wilt leave thy wife who stillEntreats thee with undaunted will,This very day shall poison closeThe life that spurns the rule of foes.How, after, can my soul sustainThe bitter life of endless pain,When thy dear face, my lord, I miss!No, death is better far than this.Not for an hour could I endureThe deadly grief that knows not cure,Far less a woe I could not shunFor ten long years, and three, and one.'
While fires of woe consumed her, suchHer sad appeal, lamenting much;Then with a wild cry, anguish-wrung,About her husband's neck she clung.Like some she-elephant who bleedsStruck by the hunter's venomed reeds,So in her quivering heart she feltThe many wounds his speeches dealt.Then, as the spark from wood is gained, 1Down rolled the tear so long restrained:The crystal moisture, sprung from woe,From her sweet eyes began to flow,As runs the water from a pairOf lotuses divinely fair.And Sítá's face with long dark eyes,Pure as the moon of autumn skies,Faded with weeping, as the budsOf lotuses when sink the floods.Around his wife his arms he strained,Who senseless from her woe remained,And with sweet words, that bade her wakeTo life again, the hero spake:'I would not with thy woe, my Queen,Buy heaven and all its blissful sheen.Void of all fear am I as He,The self-existent God, can be.I knew not all thy heart till now,Dear lady of the lovely browSo wished not thee in woods to dwell;Yet there mine arm can guard thee well.Now surely thou, dear love, wast madeTo dwell with me in green wood shade.And, as a high saint's tender mindClings to its love for all mankind,So I to thee will ever cling,Sweet daughter of Videha's king.The good, of old, O soft of frame,Honoured this duty's sovereign claim,And I its guidance will not shun,True as light's Queen is to the Sun.
I cannot, pride of Janak's line,This journey to the wood decline:My sire's behest, the oath he sware,The claims of truth, all lead me there.One duty, dear the same for aye,Is sire and mother to obey:Should I their orders once transgressMy very life were weariness.If glad obedience be deniedTo father, mother, holy guide,What rites, what service can be doneThat stern Fate's favour may be won?These three the triple world comprise,O darling of the lovely eyes.Earth has no holy thing like theseWhom with all love men seek to please.Not truth, or gift, or bended knee,Not honour, worship, lordly fee,Storms heaven and wins a blessing thenceLike sonly love and reverence.Heaven, riches, grain, and varied lore,With sons and many a blessing more,All these are made their own with easeBy those their elders' souls who please.The mighty-souled, who ne'er forget,Devoted sons, their filial debt,Win worlds where Gods and minstrels are,And Brahmá's sphere more glorious far.Now as the orders of my sire,Who keeps the way of truth, require,So will I do, for such the wayOf duty that endures for aye:To take thee, love, to Dandak's wildMy heart at length is reconciled,For thee such earnest thoughts impelTo follow, and with me to dwell.O faultless form from feet to brows,Come with me, as my will allows,And duty there with me pursue,Trembler, whose bright eyes thrill me through.In all thy days, come good come ill,Preserve unchanged such noble will,And thou, dear love, wilt ever beThe glory of thy house and me.Now, beauteous-armed, begin the tasksThe woodland life of hermits asks.For me the joys of heaven aboveHave charms no more without thee, love.And now, dear Sítá, be not slow:Food on good mendicants bestow,And for the holy Bráhmans bringThy treasures and each precious thing.Thy best attire and gems collect,The jewels which thy beauty decked,And every ornament and toyPrepared for hours of sport and joy:The beds, the cars wherein I ride,Among our followers, next, divide.'
She conscious that her lord approvedHer going, with great rapture moved,
Hastened within, without delay,Prepared to give their wealth away.
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Footnotes129:1 The story of Savitri, told in the Mahábhárat, has been admirably translated by Rückert, and elegantly epitomized by Mrs. Manning in India, Ancient and Mediaeval. There is a free rendering of the story in Idylls from the Sanskrit.
130:1 Fire for sacrificial purposes is produced by the attrition of two pieces of wood.
I will not cause thee grief or care,Nor be a burden hard to bear.With thee is heaven, where'er the spot;Each place is hell where thou art not.Then go with me, O Ráma; thisIs all my hope and all my bliss.If thou wilt leave thy wife who stillEntreats thee with undaunted will,This very day shall poison closeThe life that spurns the rule of foes.How, after, can my soul sustainThe bitter life of endless pain,When thy dear face, my lord, I miss!No, death is better far than this.Not for an hour could I endureThe deadly grief that knows not cure,Far less a woe I could not shunFor ten long years, and three, and one.'
While fires of woe consumed her, suchHer sad appeal, lamenting much;Then with a wild cry, anguish-wrung,About her husband's neck she clung.Like some she-elephant who bleedsStruck by the hunter's venomed reeds,So in her quivering heart she feltThe many wounds his speeches dealt.Then, as the spark from wood is gained, 1Down rolled the tear so long restrained:The crystal moisture, sprung from woe,From her sweet eyes began to flow,As runs the water from a pairOf lotuses divinely fair.And Sítá's face with long dark eyes,Pure as the moon of autumn skies,Faded with weeping, as the budsOf lotuses when sink the floods.Around his wife his arms he strained,Who senseless from her woe remained,And with sweet words, that bade her wakeTo life again, the hero spake:'I would not with thy woe, my Queen,Buy heaven and all its blissful sheen.Void of all fear am I as He,The self-existent God, can be.I knew not all thy heart till now,Dear lady of the lovely browSo wished not thee in woods to dwell;Yet there mine arm can guard thee well.Now surely thou, dear love, wast madeTo dwell with me in green wood shade.And, as a high saint's tender mindClings to its love for all mankind,So I to thee will ever cling,Sweet daughter of Videha's king.The good, of old, O soft of frame,Honoured this duty's sovereign claim,And I its guidance will not shun,True as light's Queen is to the Sun.
I cannot, pride of Janak's line,This journey to the wood decline:My sire's behest, the oath he sware,The claims of truth, all lead me there.One duty, dear the same for aye,Is sire and mother to obey:Should I their orders once transgressMy very life were weariness.If glad obedience be deniedTo father, mother, holy guide,What rites, what service can be doneThat stern Fate's favour may be won?These three the triple world comprise,O darling of the lovely eyes.Earth has no holy thing like theseWhom with all love men seek to please.Not truth, or gift, or bended knee,Not honour, worship, lordly fee,Storms heaven and wins a blessing thenceLike sonly love and reverence.Heaven, riches, grain, and varied lore,With sons and many a blessing more,All these are made their own with easeBy those their elders' souls who please.The mighty-souled, who ne'er forget,Devoted sons, their filial debt,Win worlds where Gods and minstrels are,And Brahmá's sphere more glorious far.Now as the orders of my sire,Who keeps the way of truth, require,So will I do, for such the wayOf duty that endures for aye:To take thee, love, to Dandak's wildMy heart at length is reconciled,For thee such earnest thoughts impelTo follow, and with me to dwell.O faultless form from feet to brows,Come with me, as my will allows,And duty there with me pursue,Trembler, whose bright eyes thrill me through.In all thy days, come good come ill,Preserve unchanged such noble will,And thou, dear love, wilt ever beThe glory of thy house and me.Now, beauteous-armed, begin the tasksThe woodland life of hermits asks.For me the joys of heaven aboveHave charms no more without thee, love.And now, dear Sítá, be not slow:Food on good mendicants bestow,And for the holy Bráhmans bringThy treasures and each precious thing.Thy best attire and gems collect,The jewels which thy beauty decked,And every ornament and toyPrepared for hours of sport and joy:The beds, the cars wherein I ride,Among our followers, next, divide.'
She conscious that her lord approvedHer going, with great rapture moved,
Hastened within, without delay,Prepared to give their wealth away.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Footnotes129:1 The story of Savitri, told in the Mahábhárat, has been admirably translated by Rückert, and elegantly epitomized by Mrs. Manning in India, Ancient and Mediaeval. There is a free rendering of the story in Idylls from the Sanskrit.
130:1 Fire for sacrificial purposes is produced by the attrition of two pieces of wood.
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